#feel free to interpret to whomever you like

[lonichedgehog]

Happy birthday to this handsome man <3

[matcha-kathrin]

STRANGERS

Summary: You meet a stranger, share a smoke, and talk a bit about life in the chilly damp streets of New York.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader. Now until these two actually introduce themselves you could literally imagine whomever you want, while I was writing i was thinking about Pedro (how weird!). So feel free to interpret this one however you want.

Word Count: 3k

Notes/Warnings: No warnings, this is all pretty mellow, a bit retorical and a bit philosophical. This is a standalone piece, I consider it to be complete and imo it proves what i was trying to say by itself. I will however, be posting other parts of this that in no way influence it, so if you want to know what happens next tune in!

~*~

STRANGERS - Chapter One

It was a chilly night. The sky dark with lights decorating the edifices above you. You had decided to take a night for yourself, leaving the comfort of your apartment to hit the small bar that stood a few blocks from it. Every time you walked by it looked so inviting, the rough old exterior and the colored lights inside made your heart buzz. It seemed like a speakeasy, a place where they would hold live music nights, any and every genre depending on which night of the week you happened upon it. So there you were, much later in the evening than you expected, standing in front of the bar to light a smoke. 

You were relaxed. More relaxed than you had been in weeks, it seemed all you needed was a drink and some live music to give you some peace of mind. As you took out a cigarette from the pack hidden in your jacket pocket you heard the bar door open next to you, signaling someone had the same craving as you did.

You turned and acknowledged the stranger with a short lift of your brows, who raised his hand slightly in response. Patting down your pockets you searched for your lighter, not finding what you were looking for.

“Need a light?” The stranger asked next to you, not close enough for you to hear him clearly but not too far either. You gave a slight nod approaching him, keeping a good distance between you as you would with any person you didn’t know. He lit up his zippo lighter and offered it to you, you bent down, cigarette in your lips as you took a few puffs to get it well lit.

“Much obliged.” You said, taking a few steps back to get the same initial distance, though somehow it felt as if you two were standing closer than before.

You didn’t really get a good look at him, the one thing you did notice was he had sunglasses on, big and thick rimmed, covering half his face. You found it odd, but you found everyone odd in this city. Sunglasses at night was the least of it. 

He also had a messy head of hair, a leather jacket with a loose fitted shirt, he looked tired that much you could tell. Either that or he was tipsy just as much as you were.

“It was stuffy in there, wasn’t it?” You said just a moment of silence later. You never really did initiate conversation but maybe since you had been sitting alone inside for the past few hours you needed a bit of socialization. A little couldn’t hurt right?

“Yeah, I was desperate for a cigarette break.” He groaned, feeling your sentiment immediately, you smiled, neither of you looked at each other but just stared at the empty street in front of the both of you. If it weren’t for the passerby cars driving a few streets over and the music booming from the bar behind you you’d be all alone in the silence. 

“It always gets stuffy at some point. I think cigarettes are just an excuse to go outside and take a breath of fresh air without looking lost.” You continued without thinking, getting a bit too taken by the conversation solely about cigarettes “Don’t mind me, I’ll shut up now.” 

 “No, no I mean-“ he seemed to struggle to find the words “there’s something nice about talking to strangers isn’t there? People who know nothing about you.”  He waved one of his hands slightly around as he spoke, he was holding a beer in his hand, the liquid sloshing around with his movements. You nodded in agreement, taking another deep puff of the cigarette.

“People who won’t judge you.” You replied.

“Actually, strangers are the ones that judge you the most.”

“You think?” You frown at him and he just shrugs “You don’t?”

“Not necessarily,” you tilt your head in thought “I mean since a stranger doesn’t know you they can’t be influenced by any opinions that they have for you- or feelings. They have no reason to judge you.” 

“They don’t need a reason to.” He answered taking another hit from his own cigarette.

“That’s the problem with strangers, without knowing you they have every possibility to judge you without feeling guilty or mean, so wouldn’t it be easier for them?” He turned to you slightly as he gestured sluggishly, you could hear the slight playful tone in his argumentation. You were glad he was having as much fun talking nonsense as you were.

“Not really, sometimes it’s easier for us to feel entitled to our opinions when we know the person they’re directed to.” You tried to sway his mind but he just pressed his mouth in a tight line, not convinced.

 “Take us for example. You know nothing of me, I know nothing of you. Yet we found common ground in our appreciation for smoke breaks. That being said it doesn’t mean I know you any more, meaning that your opinion on the matter of judgement does not faze me, therefore I don’t judge you for it.” You laughed when you saw his exaggerated confused expression.

He seemed familiar the more you spoke with him, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. The glasses and the dark lighting were definitely not helping. Plus, everyone looked familiar in this city.

“I mean we’re proving my point each passing second!” 

“Mmmh I dunno, how can you be so sure you won’t judge me for-” he looked at himself trying to find something to use as an example “-how I stand?”

“How you stand?” You repeated, he nodded lifting his arms to the side to let you judge the way he stands. You lifted a brow, amused by his perseverance in proving you wrong.

“Why should I judge you for how you stand? You might have a bad back, or better yet you might be tired, or who knows maybe you even have a fake leg.” He gasped dramatically and you laughed, wondering if he was being serious. 

“So you’re saying I stand in a bad way?”

“No! You just look tired.”

“See? You judged me.”

Rolling your eyes you frowned “That’s not judging that’s being observant.” You corrected.

He lifted his arms in a shrug once more, offering you one of his own cigarettes seeing you had finished yours, you happily obliged, thankful he lit it for you too.

“How do you tell the difference?” He mused, and you realized you had turned from being two people minding their own business to an unlikely pair. You didn’t know his name, didn’t know his age but he definitely looked older than you, and you didn’t really want to know. He was just another person living in this city just like you. 

 “Easy. Judging is always mean. If I say you look tired that’s not being mean, it’s being observant.” 

 “I’ll give you a pass on that just because I am actually tired.” He groaned; you laughed in agreement. So were you, you always looked tired. You couldn’t help it, you were working yourself to the bone, so of course you were dead tired the one night you decided to take some time for yourself.

“Tell me about it.” You mumbled, he just chuckled alongside you, then you turned with a frown. “Why did you come out? Why not just stay home and rest?”

“Careful now, the more you ask the less we’ll be strangers.” He warned playfully, you looked at him unbothered “I didn’t ask you why you were tired I asked why you chose to go out despite being tired.” You corrected him once more, for being someone easy to talk to he really did seem to need a lot of correcting.

“Aaaah and that makes a whole difference.” He teased, you shook your head at his tone.

“Of course it does, I won’t know any more about you if you tell me why you decided to come out here tonight.”

“There’s no going back.” 

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

He scrunched up his face, giving you one more moment to stop him. But you didn’t, you just stayed there with one brow raised, waiting for him to reveal such a fundamental truth about him. Why he had decided to go out.

“I needed a break.”

“I feel like I know you better already.”

“Oh, shut up.” He chuckled and you laughed with him, shrugging when he gave you a look from underneath his sunglasses, he had brown eyes, that much you could tell from the split second he lowered his head to look at you from beneath them. Again a flash of recognition hit you, but you couldn’t pin point where or when or how you had seen him. You were sure you had never met him. Not to raise your ego but people usually took notice to you, rarely did people forget your face, you were more the forgetful one.

“I needed a break from…everything.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking back out to the street. You hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“Remember how you said it always gets stuffy at some point?”

“Yeah that was 5 minutes ago.” You smiled, he just waved his hand as if to tell you to go with it, so you just nodded. 

“That’s how I feel. Stuffy. Not just in nights out at bars but in general. Like I can’t really get away from where I am right now, no matter how many cigarette breaks I take.”

You hummed, but he just cleared his throat nervously, not sure if to continue or just shut up all together.

“So, you feel stuck?”

“Stuck- yeah. Like in a- in a box.”

“Caged almost.” You mumbled. That’s how you were feeling. Stuck, trapped, caged. You desperately wanted to resurface from the deep abyss you had swam down in, but it was harder and harder. You had almost forgotten all about it until the stranger brought it up.

“I guess…all I can say is you’re not alone?” He chuckled at your words and you pouted, you sounded so unsure you almost laughed at yourself with him.

“I mean, everyone says that. And a lot of times it doesn’t really help to hear that. But I do feel the same as you. Stuck, trapped, sometimes lost even. Am I doing all of this right? Or have I just been circling around it this entire time? Will I leave the routine I’ve inevitably found myself in or will it change? I don’t know if that’s what you feel but, that’s what it makes me feel.” You whispered the last part solemnly.

You didn’t mean to go so hard on it, but it was true, every word. It was weird how easy it was to say these things to him. A man you didn’t know, didn’t care to know. But he was staring at you intently, listening to every word, watching your eyes as they looked around as you spoke, as if you were unsure. But your voice was strong, clear, in the 10 or so minutes you had been conversing you had planted your feet on the ground, not being swayed in the slightest by every ridiculous notion he was throwing at you. He liked how you corrected him, he liked how your voice sounded. He could listen to it all night, no matter what you were talking about.

You didn’t seem to read all these thoughts he had as you waited for him to reply. 

“It’s not exactly what I feel but…it’s close. Especially the part of being responsible for being stuck in the first place.” He sighed, sipping his beer he had almost forgot he had.

“I said inevitable, not responsible.” 

“Same thing.”

“Maybe,” you lulled, taking out yet another cigarette, and he quickly took his lighter as he saw you. You chuckled, even if he was turned he noticed your cigarette, he was aware of you. That much you could tell. 

Again you placed your lips on the cigarette, puffing a bit as he lit it, looking up to him from below.

That look made his chest do a summersault all of a sudden. You looked…divine. He hadn’t really taken much notice to you when he had stepped out for air, then you started talking and it grabbed his attention, but now he was fully immersed. Noticing how your hair framed your face, how your dark eyes looked at him, acknowledging his presence and help as he lit your cigarette. Then you got up from your slight bent position, blowing out the smoke that was in your lungs, giving him a nod in appreciation.

“Or maybe you can’t distinguish when something is inevitable or solely in your control.” You teased, he huffed shaking his head as he lit his own cigarette, already losing count of how many he’s had.

“Careful, I might think your judging me.”

“Maybe I’m just observant.” 

“Then proceed, observant little stranger.” 

His voice came low, making you shiver when he called you little. How dare he? You liked it, but how dare he? Strangers weren’t so familiar with each other; strangers didn’t make you shiver for any other reason than the cold. Yet he was. And all he had to do was laugh, tease, or call you a little stranger to make your heart beat even the slightest bit faster.

“You have control over your own actions,” you explained, gesturing your hands in front of you as if explaining things to someone oblivious. He loved it.

“not to be confused with your feelings. You have no control over those, unfortunately.” You mumbled bitterly; he raised a brow at your tone.

 “Your actions on the other hand are solely yours. Complete control, even if you are driven by emotion you rationally always have the final say. What you don’t have control over, is others.”

“Others?” He mused, leaning against the brick wall of the bar, making you hesitate as you watched him lean in so casually, so intimately. You followed suit and leaned your back to the wall as well, not wanting to face him completely but still wanting to seem interested.

“Other people. You have no control over them, over their reactions, their choices. Let’s face it we have no power over anyone, sometimes we don’t even have it for ourselves. And once we accept that fact can we distinguish between the inevitable and what was purely our responsibility. So many times we’re defined by the things others say or think or do. Sometimes it’s…”

“Inevitable.” He finished, repeating the perfect words that expressed your sentiment. Your eyes fluttered to his sadly, feeling melancholy creep up in his voice as it was doing in yours 

“Inevitable.” You repeated, staring into his glasses, knowing he was staring into your eyes too. And for a moment, it was just the two of you, not like it had been until then but even more. As if there was no music behind you, no cars in the distance, no lights on the street except for the warm one above both your heads. Again, he was a stranger, but when he looked at you, you felt…understood. As if by just lighting your cigarette and listening to your mindless thoughts it was enough. You didn’t feel so alone, even if you had gone out by yourself, even if you had wanted to be alone, at least you didn’t feel lonely.

“Well then stranger,” you whispered finally after what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a few seconds of a staring contest “I better be going. Time won’t stop just because I want it to.” Standing up from your leaning position against the wall you took out another cigarette, looking at him expectantly “One last time for the road?”

He was in a daze, after what seemed like the most beautiful conversation he had ever had with anyone in his life he was just about to ask you your name, but you had stood up, so nonchalantly, so calmly. As if you knew your night had come to it’s inevitable end, like all things did, and you both would have to part ways. Never to be seen again.

He didn’t want that.

“Will I see you again?” He asked, lighting your cigarette. Making you chuckle.

“Careful now, the more you ask the less we’ll be strangers remember?” You warned him, throwing his same words back at him.

“I don’t have to know you to see you again do I?” He teased, and you shrugged.

“Maybe this time your right.”

“Only this time?”

“Only this time.” You laughed, taking a few steps away from him, ready to walk the five minutes it took to get to your place. He didn’t offer to walk you back home, he knew what you would say, he could already tell what you were thinking. Maybe you weren’t that much of strangers in the end. 

“See you around, stranger. I’ll be there the next time you need a break.” You called as you walked away, waving a hand, and turning your back to him as you slowly walked down the damp, chilly street.

“I’m counting on it!” He called out to you, but you didn’t turn, just kept walking, the fatigue of the day finally settling into you. He watched as you disappeared slowly until you turned onto another street. 

He cursed, he should’ve asked your name, your number, anything. The city was huge; he might never see you again.

But that was the whole point. Strangers were supposed to never see each other again, they were supposed to meet at a random point in time, exchange a few words of wisdom to guide each other on their own path, and then part. That’s how it was. That’s why it was beautiful.

Nonetheless, you counted on seeing him again too.

[agathah]

Hey!! Obviously I fucking love your work. I have so much of it queued up right now.

I just wanted to apologize on behalf of some of the IWTV fans who have been harassing you. I want to let you know you’re valid and you don’t need to answer to anyone about your work or how you present it. EVER.

Idk what’s up with our fandom, but there is so much unnecessary hatred and entitlement going around. Draw/paint whomever you want, however you want, and with whatever tags you want. Anyone who can’t handle your authentic self expression can LEAVE because they don’t deserve it. Fan art is for the artist and/or anyone PAYING you for custom commissions. If they’re not giving you money, they need to learn to cope with the extremely minor inconvenience of scrolling past content they don’t like.

Sorry if this turned into a rant. I’m defensive on your behalf because I appreciate your work so much, and it’s childish for the fandom to bully its own creators into submission. You are keeping us fed with content, and we get to view it for free on your blog. You are generous and prolific and seem genuinely kind. Not to mention, you put so much work into your craft. You don’t deserve this condescension, especially from people who don’t even have the balls to come off anon.

Whew. Sorry about that against lol I need sleep.

(Several fellow IWTV creators have had to give me this speech, and it helped me, so I hope it helps you too. Since the season ended, many people have gone feral in a bad way. It’s the loud minority of fans, and I hope you I hope you know your real fans will go to bat for you.)

oh this made me so emotional, thank you so much for your words. I appreciate them and you so much. I genuinely feel so seen by you, and by everyone who has been supporting me lately. It's truly something I could never thank you enough. And the fact you took your time to write me this beautiful message? Ah yes I'm soft haha. And you're right, I shouldn't even bother answering those harassing comments, I just feel so scared of being misunderstood, because I never, ever have bad intentions while posting my art, I post it because it makes me feel more like myself, and because I want people to express themselves through it just like I do. I feel a strong sense of community in the iwtv fandom, that's why I work hard to give you guys content, because I relate to you and I have the opportunity of showing you how I see and interpret this universe. Again, thank you so much for this, it was really important to me 🖤

[ukyou-kuonji]

Recently I've been thinking a lot about "The Cowbell of Happiness" episode of Revolutionary Girl Utena, and specifically the background song Donna Donna. I actually grew up singing and hearing the English song a lot (which afaik predates the Japanese version but isn't itself the original language?), and thus had an assumed interpretation of the lyrics' application to the shows themes, which I've been changing my interpretation of. However it has been about eight years since I saw the show, so feel free to disagree with me or correct my interpretation! I put a cut in due to the length, sorry it got a bit away from me haha.

I always saw the farmer's mockery of the calf in the second verse "Stop complaining says the Farmer/Who told you a calf to be/Why don't you have wings to fly with/Like the swallow so proud and free," to be an ironic statement. The calf was born a calf, and cannot change it's species more than a person can control the circumstances of their birth. Therefore the third verse, which states "Calves are easily bound and slaughtered/Never knowing the reason why/But whomever treasures freedom/Like the swallow must learn to fly," drives home the impossible truth. You don't want to be exploited? Simply don't be born within an exploited group. The calf's fate is unavoidable, because of his inherent and unchangeable identity and the way society perceives and reacts to it. It is incapable of learning to fly by it's very nature.

This relates to the themes of the show by paralleling Nanami (or later, through extended metaphors and parallels, both Anthy and Utena, among others) to the calf. These characters cannot help being teenage girls navigating the patriarchy, and cannot escape their exploitation. The world within which they exist (Ohtori) does not permit them an alternative existence. This interpretation is very bleak, I know.

But I think this interpretation only engages with one half of the story it sets up, and completely ignores the swallow. This feels particularly erroneous due to the show's bird imagery (the name Ohtori, the prominence of the dead sparrows associated with Kozue and Shiori, the school archways shaped like birdcages to give a few examples, all of which associate students with egg, chick, or bird visual metaphors). Mostly, I thought of the infamous egg speech appropriated from Demian by Hermann Hesse. As Touga and others state in the Revolutionary Girl Utena reconstruction of the original text "If the egg's shell does not break, the chick will die without being born. We are the chick; the egg is the world. If the world's shell does not break, we will die without being born. Break the world's shell!"

Through this, the swallow seems directly implicated as a viable alternative for the calf, or for characters such as Nanami, Utena, and Anthy. The only way for them to avoid being exploited as women within Ohtori or "slaughtered as calves on the farm," to use the language of the song, is for them to self actualize or reject the reality presented to them and move beyond the limitations placed on them through the label of "woman" in a heteronormative and patriarchal system. They must defy the very conditions that determine their condition. Or rather, they must break the world's (Ohtori's) shell, be born as the chick, and take flight as birds. This is what Utena attempts to do in the finale, and what Anthy does do by stepping away from Ohtori and Akio's influence.

The song that seemed to condemn Nanami to life as livestock in episode 16 also promises hope and foreshadows Anthy's choice episode 39. She, like the swallow, has learned to fly, and the other characters have the potential to do so also, provided they value freedom and develop the wings to leave.

[hongtiddiez]

Not Me Episode 3 Music

the (not very well kept) secret come out. i am indeed the not me rewatch event organizer. i hope you all are having fun!! anyway, i got like 1/3 through this episode without recognizing any music (other than generic background music gmmtv has used before) and thought this was going to be a small post but they really jammed a lot in the last 2/3

The episode starts back up on Stronger which we already talked about yesterday so we're gonna skip that.

Keep Asking Me - Francis Wells

We first hear this song when Yok is talking to his mother about her most recent job and subsequent loss of that job. I don't really think there's any deeper meaning to be found here, other than maybe the fact that it's implied that Yok keeps insisting he can provide for them; making some kind of connection to the title but I think it's a tad bit of a stretch.

Worlds Apart - Rannar Sillard

Finally some good fucking food! This song begins when the unnamed diplomat hopeful discovers White is a nepotism baby. The name could not be more fitting as we now know from his backstory that he and White truly are worlds apart in their social standings.

(I couldn't find the music for the scene but the scene where Yok punches Gumpa is foreplay, don't @ me.)

We see another appearance from Trade a Moment in the fight with Sean and White - where they are indeed sharing another moment (and blows.)

Waste of Time (Instrumental) - CLNGR

This is the song playing right after Yok takes pictures of a knocked out White. This is another one that I don't really think has any deeper meaning unless you want to read into the fight being a waste of time, or maybe Sean thinking tending to 'Black' is a waste of time - but again, it's a bit of a stretch.

In the Haze - At The End Of Times, Nothing

We hear this during my favorite scene in the entire show. This is just before Gumpa LITERALLY INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO WHITE. He says "My name is Gumpa. I'm the owner of this garage." because he KNOWS this isn't Black, his suspicions are finally confirmed, and he wants to set whomever this is at peace. (Still accepting @porschesbabydaddy my beloved's headcanon that Gumpa did a background check on Black and knew he had a twin. This entire scene is just a love letter to my raging competency kink.)

ANYWAY. I think this song is more for White than Gumpa - White is quite literally in a haze, he's still figuring things out, piecing together who is who, figuring out he doesn't quite have the skillset to keep up (and maybe he's still a little bit dizzy from that punch.)

(iirc this is also a song used quite a lot in other gmmtv shows)

Mountain Top - Marc Torch

This plays immediately when Yok and Dan lock eyes through the chain link fence. If we want to get really flowery (which I always do) we could interpret this as there being a mountain of space between them still, or perhaps Dan is Yok's mountain he's determined to reach the peak of (lmao). Yok has only just begun to understand the scale of Dan and his work, he's just at the very base of the mountain, but someday he hopes to reach the summit. (Also yay more Marc Torch, though interestingly enough this one is NOT royalty free.)

Kids in Love - Tellow, Lill Persson

UGH THE SONG CHOICE. This comes in midway through White cleaning off Sean's bed so he has a place to sleep. The fores sure are shadowing with this song title and it makes my dumb little heart giddy.

Go Season - MILANO

Ahh, the towel tug of war scene. I don't really have any deep comments about this one other than it's another upbeat, jaunty song that pops in during another playful moment between Sean and White.

As Sean says "I don't have a judge for a mother like you." World's Apart surfaces again to punch us straight in the gut.

Feel - Ian Post

I sure am feeling a lot of things. Feel begins just as Sean grabs White's wrist and says they'll sleep like that so White can't slip away. Sean is physically touching White, feeling the skin to skin contact, and perhaps if we want to stretch again (we're going to be so limber today) White is feeling some complex emotions towards someone who was supposed to be perceived as an enemy.

WHEW. that's it for today's episode! that was a lot and i sincerely hope you guys are still enjoying these (they do take me a few hours to make lajkgla i never realized bc i get so hyperfocused and do genuinely enjoy making them)

[alltid-og-for-evig]

TVDU HALLOWEEN FEST!!!

Are you ready to get spooky?

For the last week of October I invite everyone to make whatever creations spark your fancy! Gifs, fics, art, edits, playlists, bring it all on in this Halloween event.

I've kept the prompts pretty basic so you can make whatever comes to mind. Feel free to interpret these however you want! I'll list some ideas that came to mind for me when making them to help the brain storming start, but you can do whatever you like.

This isn't ship or show specific, so pair up whomever you like, make a group thing, a ship thing, a friend thing, or even solo! Crossover the shows or stick to your fave! Just use the tag #TVDUHalloweenFest so I can reblog ya!

Prompts:

Pumpkin Spice (coffee shops, pumpkin carving, turning into a pumpkin at midnight, being the pumpkin king)

Costume (costume party, buying costumes, turning into your costume)

Trick or Treat (actual trick or treating, fluff, smut, actual candy, trick, angst, fights, darker themes)

Paranormal (ghosts, vamps, zombies. Is the monster of the week something super spooky to defeat? Are strange things happening in your normal world au?)

Fun House (carnival/fair/Maze/house/Graveyard, party, hunting, haunting, corn maze, serial killers loose or just a fun night. Going to a scare house or staying the night at a supposedly haunted mansion, ghost hunting)

Horror Movie (Horror au, put your faves in your favorite Halloween movie, movie marathon, movie night, doesn't have to be horror - just Halloween movie inspired)

Party/free day (house party, school party, celebration, or simply wandering to a secluded house one rainy night and interrupting a strange party, go wild!)

[blueywrites]

I get what previous anon was trying to say. I dont think u need to write hair color or skin color for us to know that in the 1940s in the united states poc we're not happily welcomed. Eddie being white most likely was with a white woman. And i say this as a poc. Matter of fact whenever i read fanfiction i imagine reader being white in every fic even though im not white. 🤷‍♀️ Now the history of the US is not on ur hands and this is just a fun fanfic to get lost in but i do feel representation matters and i think as the author of this fic posting how u see reader kinda puts the idea in our minds that reader is white (with big boobs 🤪)This is in no way hate towards you cuz i seriously crush on you and will read anything u write. Please take this with a grain of salt as this just my 2 cents in the matter. ❤️

Hey babes! 💙 Believe me, I absolutely understand what you're saying here! My other major AU fic (TKYM) is set in modern day and, thus, it's totally believable that Sweet Girl could be any race whatsoever. I do agree with you that it's much harder with TD&TC. Inherently, considering the setting of this story is 1940s America, there has to be some MAJOR suspension of disbelief and disregard for the country's problematic history to cast Dove as anything but white. A friend of mine made an excellent point that in order for her not just to speak with her white male neighbors so comfortably, but also for the reason that they can't court to be because of fault with him and not her... Yes, 100% you would need to ignore reality and just read this story as a little escapist piece of fiction if Dove were not white. That being said, I am also very much ignoring the Great Depression and WWII as I am writing this version of the story btw, so that's in the same vein of playing pretend for the sake of enjoyment haha.

And certainly there's something to be said for the author putting an image out there of how they imagine a character, like that adds more weight to a particular interpretation. Maybe think of that this way: this is a reader insert, and I may be writing it, but I'm also reading it and loving it because I wish it was my life 😩. So I commissioned reader-insert artwork of this story where I'm very much the reader, and I just so happen to also be writing it 😂

So if anyone else wants to hit @toomanyacorns (or whomever!) up for some TD&TC artwork starring yourself as Dove, by all means, please feel free!! Or draw it yourself and please share with me because I would LOVE that! Any and all versions of Dove are welcome here 💙🪺

[digital-devil-arts25]

Some more Megami Tensei demons I've scanned, this time from Tokyo Mirage Sessions.

I love pop culture demons in the franchise in particular, because it plays well into the series lore and helps accentuate the contemporary setting, especially in TMS or Devil Summoner. These three are all from popular horror series.

The first one here is Nickelwise, which is clearly a pun on the iconic Pennywise from "It". I think it shows up early in the game? (I haven't really played it.) Not much to say here but a really cool design and would fit well next to regular demons.

This next one is Cenobite (or Hierophant in the English version), a representation of the most popular character from the "Hellraiser" franchise, the Hell Priest. However, the term "cenobite" also has roots in Monastic tradition. "Cenobite" is used to refer to monks within the monastery, most commonly used in Buddhism and Christianity. This ties back into the English version's name, Hierophant, which is a word for a priest in ancient Greece, who interprets sacred mysteries or esoteric principles. This creates a link between both the historical and pop culture inspirations for the character as it appears in Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE. This one was really fun to research and its been fun to fill out the megaten wiki pages for unexplored territory haha, especially cuz nobody seems to care about the Mirages.

This last one is Sadaco (JP) or Samantha (ENG), and is TMS's very own Sadaka Yamamura from the iconic The Ring franchise.

Sadako is the main antagonist of the series, and her fictional history alternates between continuities, but all depict her as the vengeful ghost of a psychic who was murdered and thrown into a well. As a ghost, she uses nensha, her most distinctive power and weapon, to create a cursed video tape. Whomever watches the tape will die exactly one week later unless the tape is copied and shown to another person, who then must repeat the same process.

With regards to the Mirage Sadaco, the use of the name Samantha appears to be a deviation of the name Samara, which is Sadako's name in the American version of The Ring released in 2002.

The artist's notes in the art book which accompanies the Japanese WiiU Collector's Edition of Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE (from which I have been scanning these artworks) explain how the design itself is reminiscent of dolls or mannequins which you might find in many horror movies, noting a deviation from simply referencing Sadako alone. Anyways I hope you enjoy these lil dives into TMS demons, they were really fun and I hope to continue, if you have any particular creature you have found little art of, or is maybe not well known on the wiki feel free to send me a lil ask box thingy, I really do love this series. I wish TMS had leaned more into Mirages just being demons because the FE mirages really just stand out as being generic soldiers and knights etc. and they feel like they have way less personality than say these cool pop culture creatures. All in all TMS is a sore spot for me cuz I think it needed very little to be so much better and they wasted all of its potential but I digress, until next time!

[tenebriism]

what do you think about OC x canon ships? would you play any?

what do you think about crossover ships? would you play any?

is there a ship you wanted to play, but couldn’t yet?

what’s something that immediately turns you off from shipping with someone?

Shipping Asks - [ ACCEPTING ] ;;

7. Answered here!

9. Answered here!

20. Is there a ship you wanted to play, but couldn’t yet?

I'll name a few, just to give variety.

Ganondorf x Zelda. Midna x Zelda. Shad x Link. Cyno x Alhaitham. Howl x Sophie (it's literally canon. T_T Where are my Sophies?) Aymeric x Estinien. Any ship with my Astarion (I'm still playing through BG3, but I'm all the way in Act III and have done Astarion's personal quest. Mr. Pale Vamp is rarin' to go.)

21. What’s something that immediately turns you off from shipping with someone?

I've had this happen before, but... when 'Duplicate Anxiety' turns into what feels like pure, borderline toxic ownership. When I'm getting policed and made to feel bad because I found another iteration of a character to interact with. We all get doubtful of our writing and interpretations sometimes, that's normal and okay. However, everyone is free to interact with whomever they want to, and if you're feeling bad about YOURSELF, don't take it out on your partners. I am not A Shiny (Insert Character Name) Rper on a shelf to be obsessed over and claimed. :/ I'm just here to vibe.

[letteredlettered]

Hi! I love your work and wish you all the best. I made my first fandom friend last year and I felt that at some point, we were really close - having in-depth conversations on a variety of topics (philosophy, movies we’d both watched and dissect what happened, share intimate personal details about our family backgrounds and dynamics, story ideas) while keeping our names and identities pretty vague. We’d chat online (through texts) a few hours a week and rarely did a span of a few days (1/2)

(2/2) go by without some message being sent. We’d share little pictures of places we’d go to (without any identifying features so generally just really pretty nature shots) and stuff like that. I always really looked forward to our conversations, and the stuff that we would learn together through our discussions with one another - different aspects of topic that weren’t as obvious before, different points of view, etc. In the past few months we’ve texted less (a little something every few days

(3/?) few days and the texts have gotten less frequent. It’s from no lack of interest on my part because I am very happy to converse with this friend. And then a few weeks ago, they’ve stopped texting to me entirely, although our shared social media platform makes it very obvious that they have been online a lot of times. Basically —> I’ve been ghosted.

The rest of this ask is under a cut, because it's long. I reproduced the ask in its entirety and then answered. It's about someone being ghosted and how they feel about that. I didn't answer privately because they didn't request it, and you can't answer anonymous asks privately.

(4/?) and of course it is entirely in their right to interact with whomever they wish, so I’m happy that they are taking care to spend time in a way that feels more meaningful to them and with people that they share a closer bond with. But I also feel like I’ve lost something special (I should mention that I texted them three messages over the course of the few weeks, so I’m pretty sure this is intentional. I’m not going to send any more because I don’t want them to feel uncomfortable)

(5/?) But i do feel sad because I did really care about the discussions we’ve had and my friend themself, even though we never revealed a lot of identifying details. Personally my anonymity made me a lot more candid and open to sharing thoughts that I may not in any other context (for ex: my questioning over my sexuality, which I had never and continued not to have said anything about to anyone)

And perhaps I shouldn’t have felt so emotionally invested, but that’s only because I know the state of our friendship now (and have more of a sense of their investment in it) to evaluate it that way, retrospectively. I really did appreciate this friend and feel a bit down about it, so I was wondering if you had any similar fandom friendship stories or any other thoughts?

Thank you, by the way, for reading such a long long ask. I felt like confessing this to you because I really love the interpretations and emotions you convey through the stories I’ve read and the meta writing thoughts you’ve mentioned in this tumblr, and so I respect your opinion. Anyway, please feel free not to respond (whatever is most comfortable) and thank you again

I'm really sorry that this happened to you. I can't say I have any similar fandom friendship stories, but that doesn't mean I can't deeply sympathize. I do know what it's like to lose a friend, and it sounds to me like you either lost one or feel like you lost one, which is the same thing. I know that's a really hard experience, and the hardest part for me has always been wondering what happened. I know this is really hard, and you have a right to be upset and feel badly. You also had a right to be emotionally invested--online friendships are just as real and true as other friendships, and sometimes even more intense because they involve only communication, rather than a lot of outward trappings. I'm sorry again for what you're going through.

You asked if I have other thoughts, so I suppose now it's time to confess that I don't really have similar fandom friendship stories because I am typically the one who ghosts people. I'm not proud of this. While I'd like to tell you a few things about why it happens or how it feels for me, it's not at all meant as a defense for what that person did to you. It's not at all meant to trivialize or negate the loss you have experienced. But maybe, by sharing why someone might act that way, it can at least help you work through what happened and/or process.

I really struggle with keeping up relationships. I think it's one of the main hardships of my life, and one of my largest sources of anxiety and guilt. I can't say I enjoy people on the whole, but there are quite a few individuals I like, and a subset of those individuals are people I love dearly and want to keep in my life. But I can't say I miss those people. I can't say I find myself deeply desiring their company. In fact, I can't say I ever desire to be around anyone. I literally never feel lonely. I literally never feel bored. I am my best company and entertainment.

But I learned quite early on in life that though I never wanted to be around anyone, I needed to be around people. When I spend too much time on my own, I grow anxious and depressed. This anxiety and depression doesn't make me want to be around people--quite the opposite. It makes me want to be around people even less. People, and socializing with people, starts to seem like more and more of an effort.

The pandemic was particularly hard for me because I enjoyed it so much. It was the perfect excuse never to see anyone, never to do anything, and I have spiraled these last two years into a fairly deep pit. And even though I knew this about myself--I knew how damaging it was for me to be alone too much--I was still surprised when over the last two months, when I finally started to go a lot of places and do a lot of things in public, I finally started to care about my life again in a way I just couldn't before. And note that caring about my life didn't at all mean I suddenly wanted to hang out with people; I just finally started wanting things for myself, to do things and plan things and build things. I was a sudden font of creativity when before nothing seemed worth the effort.

So when I say I want people in my life, I mean that I need them to stay sane. And since I have to be around people to be sane, I might as well be around the people I really enjoy--because I do enjoy people's company; I just never desire it. When I'm with people I like and love, I get these happy bursts of contentment. I'm a lot more likely than most people I know to suddenly announce, "I love you," and "I really like you," and "I'm really glad we're friends" at random times, I think because I always feel surprised. I feel surprised when I'm with people, because I almost feel like I don't or can't love when I'm alone, like people are distant and removed, objects that just don't impact my life that much. But they do, and I have to remember that. I have to remember, because my feelings won't remind me.

So it's a real struggle to maintain relationships when literally none of the impulses are there--I don't miss my friends. I don't suddenly wish I was with them. I do think about them all the time, but it never really occurs to me to reach out to them, to call or text or email or ask to hang, because their company never feels necessary or even desired. I respond to their texts and emails and calls and requests out of a sense of responsibility, the responsibility I have to maintain relationships, so people can understand that I love them and want to be with them, even though it's a struggle for me to feel that way unless I'm with them. And I have to remind myself of this responsibility, of this necessity. I have to remind myself that I do love, quite intensely, that I would be sad to lose someone I love, and that in order to keep people I love, some obligations are required, and those obligations will ultimately make me feel good too, even if I never think to want them.

Okay, so that's me. Then there's fandom, which is different. I have never had to work to be interested in fictional characters and fictional worlds. Things that are not actual or concrete have always interested me more than the real world; I've always preferred thinking about things to the things themselves. I'm not sure it's the healthiest way to live, and yet it feels very deep and intrinsic to who I am, and I'm not really sure I want to change it. I do think I can work on noticing and loving both my body and the real world around me--I think my girlfriend really helps me do that, which is amazing. But my interest in fictional things means I never have to work to stay engaged when I am immersed in a fandom. It feels really natural to me.

I don't know why, but for some reason, I've never been able to maintain interest in a fandom for more than a few years. There are some fandoms I return to over and over--HP being a huge one, but Jane Austen, Star Wars, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are a few others. Whether I'm getting invested for the first time or re-invested, however, the interest really only lasts maybe 2 months to 2 years.

The result is that I could get very invested in a fandom, which would include making lots of fandom connections or even friends. While the impulse to connect with these people is fandom-related, I'm also intensely interested in them as people. I remain so after my interest in the fandom has faded--but sadly, the impulse to keep reaching out, or to reply to messages, fades with the fandom. It's not because I like them less, now; I just don't have that other force driving me. It gets harder and harder to reply. It gets harder and harder to explain that I am a freak who can't maintain normal human friendships. (I understand I'm not a freak, but this makes me feel like one.) It gets harder and harder to deal with the guilt, and letting someone down. It gets easier to just walk away from the friendship entirely, because the struggle to maintain it is so nerve-wracking and difficult.

This happens even sometimes when I have not lost interest in the fandom, or when the initial connection is not driven by being in the same fandom at the same time--I made several good friends through HP fandom even in pockets of time when I wasn't particularly obsessed with HP, for instance. But the fact that we have fandom in common really drives some of the initial interactions and excitement, and makes it feel easy to strike up a friendship. Then it becomes hard again, and I fail.

The worst part is yes, they can see me if I go online. But being online can be both a solitary experience and a communal one, and sometimes I am here to be by myself, and sometimes I am here to talk to people I like. More often it's the former--even doing things like answering asks or talking on message boards feels solitary, because it's talking to strangers, which means I have no real personal stake in the matter. Just because you see that your friend is active online doesn't mean that the friendship meant more to you than it did to them.

Again, I'm not making excuses. I've worked on this and gotten much better over time. These days, when I really hit it off with someone, I generally warn them that I'm not good at emailing or staying in touch, and that if I don't reply it's not because I don't like them. I let them know that most people who remain friends with me do so because they are persistent and don't get too discouraged if I don't reply several times in a row. And I'm lucky--I have friends who are willing to email me over and over, over the course of several months. I have a friend I haven't talked to in two years who still just occasionally leaves me voicemails, saying she knows I only make rare appearances, but she's still my friend and still wants to hang out whenever I'm ready. These are the friends I can have, people who are willing to do this, and I'm deeply grateful that anyone loves me enough to be patient with me, because I find this whole situation truly soul-crushing.

The other thing I will say is that yes, I have also slipped out of touch with people because they were making me unhappy, or I didn't like them as much as they liked me. Some I ghosted because I stated my boundaries and they still broke them, so telling them I didn't want to be friends anymore didn't really seem effective, given that they hadn't listened to my other requests. But some I ghosted because I didn't feel the need to explain, and they never asked.

I can't really offer advice, but if the person who ghosted you is anything like me, it would help to wait a month or two, and then message again, and say something like, "Hey, I really enjoyed talking to you. Even though we don't talk anymore, I wanted you to know I'm thinking about you and hope you're doing well." That kind of message feels like forgiveness to someone like me, who gets really wrapped up in the idea that I'm a terrible person who doesn't deserve friendship because sometimes I can't answer emails. Especially getting it a few months later really helps me move past the guilt that was killing me for so long.

That said, I would never want anyone to send that message to me if they would feel horrible if I still didn't reply to it, because I might not. Sometimes, I just can't. But anyway, what I'm trying to say is that it's entirely possible someone backed off because they just didn't want to pursue the friendship with you any longer, but it's also possible they're just a little fucked up in the way I'm a little fucked up, in which case, it's nice to hear a while later that someone still cares.

I hope this makes sense and doesn't put any additional pressure on you in any way. I'm really sorry about what happened to you, and thank you for sharing. I'm sure many people can identify with a story like yours--and I'm also sure many people can identify with a story like mine. I wish you all the best.

[fantasyinvader]

  Thinking through what Three Houses needed to do to turn Clod into Claude.

It seems like Hopes is implying that Clod originally had an “ends justify the means” mentality, willing to do anything in order to win such as poisoning his opponents before a fight. When he sees what TWSITD and Edelgard are a party to in order to win the war they were planning, Claude begins to believe that there needs to be lines and disagrees with their methods as too extreme. As a result, Claude views violence as a last resort while Clod is willing to wage war in pursuit of his own ideals.

Ideals that were, initially, hypocritical. Clod just walks into Fodlan, makes assumptions and talks about how he wants to fix things by opening up borders and promoting the exchange of ideas. BUT Clod is also very prejudiced and even sheltered, out of touch with the reality of the world around. In essence, this means that Clod wants forcefully tear down barriers and make people listen to his ideas.

Just like how Edelgard wants to conquer and make people follow her beliefs, guess her and Clod’s ideals are really that alike.

Speaking of her, Claude is mad in WC-GD that she managed to pull the wool over his eyes with her whole Flame Emperor thing. While people often talk about how Edelgard looks down on Claude, I think it’s fair to say that Clod also doesn’t think too highly of Edelgard either. He’s taking her at her word in Hopes, probably because he thinks she wouldn’t be able to fool him. That he’s taking her at face value, not looking underneath to see who she really was. The Flame Emperor reveal was really impactful to him for this reason in hindsight. And what Edelgard says falls in-line with Clod’s own prejudices and ignorance. He doesn’t like Rhea and the Church, so he’ll just go along with the charges against them rather than investigate or ask Rhea for her side of the story, instead willing to kill her without trial as it were.

By working with the Church in VW, Claude is made to challenge those prejudices. He learns to see other points of view, leading to him growing and changing as his own understanding of the world opens up. It’s this path that leads to him learning the truth of Fodlan’s past, reevaluating his opinion on Rhea while also fighting the said past directly. And in the end, leaves Fodlan to someone he believes can be the leader it needs. A leader who follows in Rhea’s footsteps.

Compare this to Clod, who in SB breaks his pact with Edelgard after Rheas death, side-eyes Rhea in AG’s ending before going to crush the remaining Empire with the Kingdom, and who killed Rhea “in order to remove the reason for the war.” To me, this says that Clod himself is a conqueror no matter the route, working with whomever can aid him the most only to betray them at the end. Because even with Rhea gone like in SB, he’ll break the peace. In the secret mission, they talk about a truce at the end, but looking at this it’s breaking would likely be on Clod over Edelgard.

And he’s doing this all without the Argathans, not even Tomas trying to leak him information like in Houses. Let that sink in. Edelgard had to be manipulated through her father into doing this war, and Hopes makes me feel White Clouds hardened her up in contrast to softening up Claude. Hell, considering Amyr’s usage, you can interpret that as Edelgard is always Thales’ puppet in Houses, and even in Hopes she’s still corrupted to the point the only way to truly free her is to erase her memories of everything since the experiments. Yet here we have Clod, being described by some as Edelgard-lite.

The Villain You Can’t Hate, like he was originally intended to be.

Honestly, as bad as this can be, I think this makes me appreciate Claude more than ever. With this in mind, it shows that Claude wasn’t exactly the best guy at the start of Houses. We can talk about his character growth, but this makes me realize we were starting at a very different point than where started. Back when Claude was Clod, the guy whose smile Byleth observed didn’t reach his eyes in contrast to Shez only seeing the good in Clod. Byleth was able to observe the flaws in the House leaders, flaws that were fixed in VW and AM while SS is about getting the rest of the Eagles away from Edelgard’s toxic influence and CB is Byleth falling for it themselves. Contrast to Shez seeing the good and not dealing with the darkness. Claude had more growth than any of us figured, because we all believed he started as a good guy.

When in reality, he started as Clod.

Clod can still burn in hell

[fonulyn]

So my partner is amazing and let's me ramble about RE to them whenever I want to, and even sat down to watch Vendetta with me when I bought it, so the other day I was like explaining Leon and Chris' characters (bc my partner knows how much I love them both lmao so of course that's what I was talking about), and we have both come to the conclusion that Leon is a bisexual disaster, and Chris is a homosexual. The running joke is that Leon is also just generally a whore, out there living his best life, and Chris is the kind of gay guy who no one expects to be gay bc of stereotypes and his habit of never really talking about himself, but he also was never really in the closet about it, so he's surprised whenever people are surprised to learn that he's gay lolol but in all seriousness Leon is not only bisexual, but he's the type to fall in love easily despite all of his background and trauma related to betrayal, so his heart is almost continually broken, either bc he's betrayed or he loses whoever it is he's found himself in love with (and sometimes both i.e. Krauser, and Ada at the end of RE2), either through death or just leaving bc he knows he can't stay/can't be with whomever. As for Chris, maybe I'm reading into it wrong, but despite all of the like, romantic connotations they try to put into some of his games (which I don't. Really see? Like there was some in the first game with Jill but I just cannot see them together like that, neither seem interested in one another like that. And of course, Jessica, who I can't stand, and who Chris is supposedly totally oblivious to? Like she thinks he didn't notice her flirting in RE revelations, and Parker is like "is it that, or is he maybe interested in someone else?" And the assumption there is that he means Jill, but again, I don't see it? Even in that game! But that line of Parker's always makes me think "yeah, he's more than just interested in someone else, he's playing for a whole nother team entirely!" lmao. And I haven't seen much for 5 but I'm sure it's there between Chris and Sheva, and then for 6 from what I understand there really is hardly any talk of Chris in regards to any women at all? 8 has nothing, as well, and the DLC for 7 is just another "Chris loses his entire team in horrific fashion yet again" side plot, so nothing there either), he never seems interested. He's always focused on the task at hand, not letting emotions get in his way, and like, some could argue that that's why he doesn't show interest or why Capcom doesn't create more romantic lore around him, but if they really wanted to Make Sure he was straight and Make Sure everyone playing these games knew that, I imagine there would be some one line little hints in the games of him talking about how he can't let himself get distracted, or in his line of work there are no happy endings or what have you, but. There's none of that. Bc he isn't forcing himself not to be interested, he isn't purposefully focusing on saving the day so he doesn't have to get hurt knowing he can never have whichever high potential for a dope ass protag female character who's constantly sacrificing herself to save him bc what better purpose could they serve, right Capcom?, he's just. There, doing his job and trying to save whoever he can, not getting distracted in anyway whatsoever by any of the women in his life, romantically at least. He still cares way too much, but it never comes off as romantic to me in pretty much any way. Also the note he leaves in his STARS locker in RE2remake, Claire being like "this doesn't sound like Chris at all!" Is funny to me bc like, I don't really remember so correct me if I'm wrong, but she doesn't elaborate on WHY that note doesn't sound like Chris lmao is it bc he's respectful to women at all times and doesn't ever objectify them, probably hates when other people do? Or is it bc he would never be interested in women in this way ANYWAYS, the man is so gay, he must have left this note so that Claire would know something is Up, bc her brother is Such a homosexual.

Anyways sorry, I just wanted to ramble/get your opinion on this. Over-analysing RE is actually really fun lmao

haha not gonna lie, I opened your ask in the car on the grocery store parking lot and tried to read it on my phone, and gave up squinting at the small screen halfway through :'D now that I'm back at my laptop though, lol, all good :'D

first of all I'm happy you have someone to ramble to even though they aren't into the thing themselves! :D I regularly rant about RE fandom things to my brother haha and he listens patiently although he isn't in the fandom at all, he's only played the games and that's it. but he still listens to my shippy rambles lol.

as for your thoughts? makes sense to me tbh. I definitely headcanon Leon as a bisexual disaster most of the time, because it does seem fitting. maybe it's partly because I think he's absolutely breathtakingly stunning and it'd be a shame to deny anyone that, so, naturally he wouldn't care about such trivial things as gender, pfth, love is love.

also Leon falling in love easily? absolutely. too damn easily. c'mon this is a man who gets attached to anyone who shows him even the tiniest amount of basic kindness in the matter of minutes. he canonically forms attachments with Claire, Ada, Krauser, Helena, Buddy and JD (JD 😭)... whoever else am I forgetting? but this is the guy who meets someone and would die for them five seconds later. so. it tracks.

and you know what, I can 100% see Chris being only into men. because like. I don't see the romance there either when he's interacting with the women in his life? okay, sure, I could imagine something there between him and Jill if pressed seeing the way he so single-mindedly wants to save her and then holds her in the scene after they get that thing off her chest. maybe. but even there it doesn't really feel super romantic to me, personally.

in the first game with Jill there's not... a lot of romance I don't think? sure she falls asleep against his shoulder in the evac helicopter but i mean, i've fallen asleep against a friend like that? not an indication of romance? they're clearly important to each other! i am not trying to diminish their importance to one another at all! they'd die for each other and they'd do anything it takes to protect each other and i do think their relationship is compelling but... i don't really see anything inherently romantic in it.

and Jessica, yeah, Chris is 100% oblivious to her advances. it is implied in the game that he's into Jill instead but other than that there's again zero actual romantic interaction between Chris and Jill. I was actually talking about this with my brother, who said the same, like there were so many chances in Revelations to put something romantic in there between Chris and Jill but there just. isn't? anything? except for Parker's comment. which is why it felt so damn out of place? (and like my brother would've wanted to ship Chris and Jill, he was kinda bummed about this i feel :'D) so interpreting it to mean he's not interested in women at all would actually make more sense lmao.

as for RE5, I've played it twice (with my brother lmao do we see a theme here) and honestly I don't remember anything in the game that would've insinuated anything more than solid partnership between Chris and Sheva?? if someone who's more familiar with the game wants to correct me on this, then please! but at least off the bat I can not remember anything so I think they actually didn't try to even hint at romance for them?

and in RE6 Chris is way too focused on killing "Ada" to have any thoughts about anything else :'D so no. no mentions in there regarding him and any women. at all. not even hints of Jill which is so incredibly weird (and stupid tbh) bc she was made to be so important to him in RE5 and then doesn't even get a mention in RE6? (/shakes fist damn you capcom! the characters exist outside the games they're in!)

I think that's pretty much the main difference between Chris and Leon tbh. Chris sees the job at hand, and he knows it'll help, he knows it'll save people and it'll make the world safer and he's so single-mindedly focused on the job that he sees nothing else. while Leon sees people, for the better or for worse, and he is willing to take detours if it helps even one person in the meantime. like in RE6, Leon willingly ignores the task at hand to go help just about anyone. Chris doesn't want to pause even when pressed bc he has an end goal in mind.

and bear in mind, I am not trying to say this somehow makes Leon better or Chris better or anything. they're both doing this to help. they both have their heart in the right place. they both care. but they're just so different! their personalities, and their way of dealing with things is different! I feel Chris is really target oriented and wants to get the job done. while Leon's easily distracted from it, because of all the damn feelings :'D

but yeah. i love them both, and i think it's really damn fascinating how they're both the good guys, the heroes of the franchise, but they both take to things so differently.

i don't know if any of this makes sense, I think i rambled too :'D but hey-o, it was fun lmao.

and hey no need to apologize at all!! always feel free to shoot me a message if you wanna chat!

[pipjepipje]

My grim interpretation of Hitman 3 ending

Jesus christ Hitman 3 was a trip...But a good as fuck trip holy SHIT the locations are amazing, especially Chongqing, the attention to details. (I didn't notice any translation error in the chinese texts like you usually find in other video games...

Rip Grey. Can't believe they did my boi like that but he was trying his damnest to protect his only family...

I'm a bit confused about the ending though... Maybe it's my natural attraction to tragic endings but I can't help but interpret it this way... Spoilers warning for those who haven't finished the game, also for my extremely cynical interpretation of the ending.

In the mission in Mendoza you can overhear conversations between Diana and Vidal and they also talked about 47. Diana was asked what 47 would feel if he saw her now, she said "He wouldn't, 47 is a weapon and weapons don't judge. They go where they are pointed." And when Diana was waiting for 47 to save her upstairs, 47 shows up and she orders him to clear the floor, put on a gaurd's outfit and wait for her signal. After she stabs Yates she ordered 47 to finish him and Yates snarled to 47 "such a good...boy". I'm definately reading too much into it but her tone was just so cold when she said these things... And when she stabbed Yates (what I thought she would never do cause she wasn't an "apathetic killer" like 47 was bred to be. Sure she works in the killing business but she never knew "what it was like to take lives"), I legit thought for a second that she really changed into a cold-hearted Constant.

I knew Diana wasn't really gonna betray 47 (we already saw this in Blood Money so I thought they were going for a more polished version of it) and Diana was playing her part but... even when no one was watching though? Even when he was writhing on the ground thinking he was on the verge of death - betrayed by the one who he trusted the most? What was the plan here? Hoping Edwards wouldn't kill him? Hoping he was gonna wake up safe in the train before getting mind-wiped again - his worst nightmaire? No whispered words of reassurance or hinted encouragemnet before he goes unconscious? Just..."this (death) is a kindness. Goodbye, agent"? Not even addressing him by his name in what he thought was the last thing he would hear?

Was there ever a plan? Or was it just 47 convincing himself that there was one in his mind? She didn't give him any hint of hope. No wonder he imagined all those awful things Diana said in his dream. In the end it was Grey who snapped him out of it - his emotions personified, convincing him that Diana was plotting against Edwards, that Diana forgives him, that Diana trusts him to act on his own.

His emotions - love and loyalty for Diana brought him back. But to what end?

I always thought that the best ending of Hitman was to be the retirement of everyone. Tearing down this horrible and, in its core, immoral business of endless lies and bloodshed that ruined the lives of many. People like 47 and Grey could finally, like Grey said, "think about the future and not go back", could have the freedom to choose options other than killing, hurting and being used as weapons.

But alas, in the end, 47 came back to his old ways. Did he really choose this path of murdering people for money on his own, or did he choose it because of Diana? With the unwavering belief that she could do no wrong, that she is uncorruptable by power, that she is untouchable?

Maybe 47 wasn't bred to be the perfect specimen of human capabilities after all. Maybe he was bred to be loyal to whomever he has imprinted on.

Maybe he was bred to not have free will.

It's just my very grim view on this story. Still though, I like the canon one a lot. Really hope this isn't the end of the Hitman franchise... we'll see. I'd love to hear what you guys think of the ending.

QvQ Also someone please write a fix-it fic where everyone rides off into the sunset and get married with each other.

[jackoshadows]

Is it possible that Robb's will is a red herring? That it's actually a thing or be relevant?

I do think that it will play an important role in pushing forward Jon Snow as a possible candidate for KITN. Without that decree, Jon will not in any way be relevant to the politics of the North.

IMO, the only reason Jon even became King on the show is because that’s a book plot. Considering how much Benioff and Weiss wanted Queen Sansa, considering that there is no way the North would have made bastard Jon Snow king when Ned Stark’s legitimate eldest daughter was sitting right there, and considering that the show hand-waved away both of Sansa’s marriages,  I think KITN Jon Snow is a book plot that they inserted in there without the writing to back it up.

And then there’s the things GRRM has mentioned in interviews:

I have a question, since Robb actually  legitimized Jon and named him his heir for Winterfell and the North  before the Red Wedding (granted no one knows about this and is still  alive or free, the Greatjon knows as does Edmure, but I dont see them  getting out of the Twins any time soon and Catelyn would probably die  before telling anyone) does this make Jon's rejection of Stannis' offer  moot?

Edmure and the Greatjon are prisoners, true... but you are forgetting  the envoys that Robb sent to Howland Reed... Galbart Glover, Maege  Mormont, Jason Mallister... they are all alive and free.

As to what is and is not moot... the key point is, only a =king= can legitimize a bastard......

GRRM SSM, August 06, 2000

It is GRRM who brings up that Glover, Mormont and Mallister are still out there and alive and free and were witnesses to the will. I think this implies that this point is going to be relevant.

GRRM has also stressed that at the end of the day, might is right. Meaning, whomever has the most houses and armies supporting them is who gets to be King. Robert Baratheon’s will was torn up to make Joffrey Baratheon king. The same can be done to Robb’s will. And that is even without considering that Robb was considered an enemy traitor and not a king by the Lannisters and Stannis.

I had forgotten that all the others signed and  witnessed Robb's decree. Also, wasn't Robb a King when he signed the  decree? Granted not king of much, with the North lost but he was a King  wasn't he?

He was a king in his own eyes and those of his followers... in the  eyes of the Lannisters and Stannis and =their= followers he was a rebel,  traitor, and would-be usurper.

GRRM SSM, August 06, 2000

On inheritance in Westeros:

Well, the short answer is that the laws of inheritance in the Seven  Kingdoms are modelled on those in real medieval history... which is to  say, they were vague, uncodified, subject to varying interpretations,  and often contradictory.

A man's eldest son was his heir. After that the next eldest son. Then  the next, etc. Daughters were not considered while there was a living  son, except in Dorne, where females had equal right of inheritance  according to age.

After the sons, most would say that the eldest daughter is next in  line. But there might be an argument from the dead man's brothers, say.  Does a male sibling or a female child take precedence? Each side has a  "claim."

What if there are no childen, only grandchildren and great  grandchildren. Is precedence or proximity the more important principle?  Do bastards have any rights? What about bastards who have been  legitimized, do they go in at the end after the trueborn kids, or  according to birth order? What about widows? And what about the will of  the deceased? Can a lord disinherit one son, and name a younger son as  heir? Or even a bastard?

There are no clear cut answers, either in Westeros or in real  medieval history. Things were often decided on a case by case basis. A  case might set a precedent for later cases... but as often as not, the  precedents conflicted as much as the claims.

The Wars of the Roses were fought over the issue of whether the  Lancastrian claim (deriving from the third son of Edward III in direct  male line) or the Yorkist claim (deriving from a combination of Edward's  second son, but through a female line, wed to descendants of his fourth  son, through the male) was superior. And a whole family of legitimized  bastard stock, the Beauforts, played a huge role.

The medieval world was governed by men, not by laws. You could even  make a case that the lords preferred the laws to be vague and  contradictory, since that gave them more power. In a tangle like the  Hornwood case, ultimately the lord would decide... and if some of the  more powerful claimants did not like the decision, it might come down to  force of arms.

The bottom line, I suppose, is that inheritance was decided as much  by politics as by laws. In Westeros and in medieval Europe both.

GRRM SSM, November 02, 1999

I have seen some people state that no one can be disinherited and that legitimized bastards come after legitimate children. As seen above, GRRM has left all this deliberately vague. It’s very possible, that Robb’s will disinherits Sansa and legitimizes Jon, decreeing him as Jon Stark, KITN and Lord of Winterfell - directly putting him ahead of the rest of his siblings. People can be disinherited in Westeros - the question is if being disinherited will be recognized by everyone else.

Reasons for why this is possible - Robb Stark was adamant that Tyrion should not get Winterfell through Sansa. Even Catelyn was agreed on this. Robb would not have allowed for any loop holes for this to happen in his will. And second, Catelyn was strongly against Robb legitimizing Jon and naming him heir precisely because it would put Jon ahead of her children. I can see this as a plot point in the North in the next book.

Questions with the will:

Robb assumed that Bran, Rickon and Arya were all dead when it was written. Many houses like Manderly now know that this is not true. Rickon and Arya will both be back in the North in the next book. So will Robb’s decree still hold true if it’s drawn up with false information?

It all comes down to which house supports whom. I get the feeling that with GRRM’s SSM above, that houses Glover, Mormont and Mallister may push for King Jon Snow. Manderly and others may move for Rickon. And of course there is no way that Littlefinger and Vale Lords would acknowledge or accept Sansa’s disinheritance as valid. Littlefinger does not even acknowledge Robb as king.

All this deliberate vagueness regarding inheritance would also apply to when Daenerys comes to Westeros with a claim to the Iron Throne. Whomever has the most armies and support among the houses would have the better claim. With her dragons, Dany easily wins this one.

At the end of the day, who will become King/Queen is upto whatever GRRM wants for the story - that’s why he’s left it undefined and nebulous.

[uomo-accattivante]

Fantastic (but long) article about Theater of War’s recent productions, including Oedipus the King and Antigone in Ferguson, featuring Oscar Isaac. The following are excerpts. The full article is viewable via the source link below:

Excerpt:

“Children of Thebes, why are you here?” Oscar Isaac asked. His face filled the monitor on my dining table. (It was my partner’s turn to use the desk.) We were a couple of months into lockdown, just past seven in the evening, and a few straggling cheers for essential workers came in through the window. Isaac was looking smoldery with a quarantine beard, a gold chain, an Airpod, and a black T-shirt. His display name was set to “Oedipus.”

Isaac was one of several famous actors performing Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King” from their homes, in the first virtual performance by Theater of War Productions: a group that got its start in 2008, staging Sophocles’ “Ajax” and “Philoctetes” for U.S. military audiences and, beginning in 2009, on military installations around the world, including in Kuwait, Qatar, and Guantánamo Bay, with a focus on combat trauma. After each dramatic reading, a panel made up of people in active service, veterans, military spouses, and/or psychiatrists would describe how the play resonated with their experiences of war, before opening up the discussion to the audience. Since its founding, Theater of War Productions has addressed different kinds of trauma. It has produced Euripides’ “The Bacchae” in rural communities affected by the opioid crisis, “The Madness of Heracles” in neighborhoods afflicted by gun violence and gang wars, and Aeschylus’ “Prometheus Bound” in prisons. “Antigone in Ferguson,” which focusses on crises between communities and law enforcement, was motivated by an analogy between Oedipus’ son’s unburied body and that of Michael Brown, left on the street for roughly four hours after Brown was killed by police; it was originally performed at Michael Brown’s high school.

Now, with trauma roving the globe more contagiously than ever, Theater of War Productions had traded its site-specific approach for Zoom. The app was configured in a way I hadn’t seen before. There were no buttons to change between gallery and speaker view, which alternated seemingly by themselves. You were in a “meeting,” but one you were powerless to control, proceeding by itself, with the inexorability of fate. There was no way to view the other audience members, and not even the group’s founder and director, Bryan Doerries, knew how numerous they were. Later, Zoom told him that it had been fifteen thousand. This is roughly the seating capacity of the theatre of Dionysus, where “Oedipus the King” is believed to have premièred, around 429 B.C. Those viewers, like us, were in the middle of a pandemic: in their case, the Plague of Athens.

The original audience would have known Oedipus’ story from Greek mythology: how an oracle had predicted that Laius, the king of Thebes, would be killed by his own son, who would then sleep with his mother; how the queen, Jocasta, gave birth to a boy, and Laius pierced and bound the child’s ankles, and ordered a shepherd to leave him on a mountainside. The shepherd took pity on the maimed baby, Oedipus (“swollen foot”), and gave him to a Corinthian servant, who handed him off to the king and queen of Corinth, who raised him as their son. Years later, Oedipus killed Laius at a crossroads, without knowing who he was. Then he saved Thebes from a Sphinx, became the king of Thebes, had four children with Jocasta, and lived happily for many years.

That’s where Sophocles picks up the story. Everyone would have known where things were headed—the truth would come out, and Oedipus would blind himself—but not how they would get there. How Sophocles got there was by drawing on contemporary events, on something that was in everyone’s mind, though it doesn’t appear in the original myth: a plague.

In the opening scene, Thebes is in the grip of a terrible epidemic. Oedipus’ subjects come to the palace, imploring him to save the city, describing the scene of pestilence and panic, the screaming and the corpses in the street. Something about the way Isaac voiced Oedipus’ response—“Children. I am sorry. I know”—made me feel a kind of longing. It was a degree of compassion conspicuous by its absence in the current Administration. I never think of myself as someone who wants or needs “leadership,” yet I found myself thinking, We would be better off with Oedipus. “I would be a weak leader if I did not follow the gods’ orders,” Isaac continued, subverting the masculine norm of never asking for advice. He had already sent for the best information out there, from the Delphic Oracle.

Soon, Oedipus’ brother-in-law, Creon—John Turturro, in a book-lined study—was doing his best to soft-pedal some weird news from Delphi. Apparently, the oracle said that the plague wouldn’t end until the people of Thebes expelled Laius’ killer: a person who was somehow still in the city, even though Laius had died many years earlier on an out-of-town trip. Oedipus called in the blind prophet, Tiresias, played by Jeffrey Wright, whose eyes were invisible behind a circular glare in his eyeglasses.

Reading “Oedipus” in the past, I had always been exasperated by Tiresias, by his cryptic lamentations—“I will never reveal the riddles within me, or the evil in you”—and the way he seemed incapable of transmitting useful information. Spoken by a Black actor in America in 2020, the line made a sickening kind of sense. How do you tell the voice of power that the problem is in him, really baked in there, going back generations? “Feel free to spew all of your vitriol and rage in my direction,” Tiresias said, like someone who knew he was in for a tweetstorm.

Oedipus accused Tiresias of treachery, calling out his disability. He cast suspicion on foreigners, and touted his own “wealth, power, unsurpassed skill.” He decried fake news: “It’s all a scam—you know nothing about interpreting birds.” He elaborated a deep-state scenario: Creon had “hatched a secret plan to expel me from office,” eliciting slanderous prophecies from supposedly disinterested agencies. It was, in short, a coup, designed to subvert the democratic will of the people of Thebes.

Frances McDormand appeared next, in the role of Jocasta. Wearing no visible makeup, speaking from what looked like a cabin somewhere with wood-panelled walls, she resembled the ghost of some frontierswoman. I realized, when I saw her, that I had never tried to picture Jocasta: not her appearance, or her attitude. What was her deal? How had she felt about Laius maiming their baby? How had she felt about being offered as a bride to whomever defeated the Sphinx? What did she think of Oedipus when she met him? Did it never seem weird to her that he was her son’s age, and had horrible scars on his ankles? How did they get along, those two?

When you’re reading the play, you don’t have to answer such questions. You can entertain multiple possibilities without settling on one. But actors have to make decisions and stick to them. One decision that had been made in this case: Oedipus really liked her. “Since I have more respect for you, my dear, than anyone else in the world,” Isaac said, with such warmth in “my dear.” I was reminded of the fact that Euripides wrote a version of “Oedipus”—lost to posterity, like the majority of Greek tragedies—that some scholars suggest foregrounds the loving relationshipbetween Oedipus and Jocasta.

Jocasta’s immediate task was to defuse the potentially murderous argument between her husband and her brother. She took one of the few rhetorical angles available to a woman: why, such grown men ought to be ashamed of themselves, carrying on so when there was a plague going on. And yet, listening to the lines that McDormand chose to emphasize, it was clear that, in the guise of adult rationality and spreading peace, what she was actually doing was silencing and trivializing. “Come inside,” she said, “and we’ll settle this thing in private. And both of you quit making something out of nothing.” It was the voice of denial, and, through the play, you could hear it spread from character to character.

By this point in the performance, I found myself spinning into a kind of cognitive overdrive, toggling between the text and the performance, between the historical context, the current context, and the “universal” themes. No matter how many times you see it pulled off, the magic trick is always a surprise: how a text that is hundreds or thousands of years old turns out to be about the thing that’s happening to you, however modern and unprecedented you thought it was.

Excerpt:

The riddle of the Sphinx plays out in the plot of “Oedipus,” particularly in a scene near the end where the truth finally comes out. Two key figures from Oedipus’ infancy are brought in for questioning: the Theban shepherd, who was supposed to kill baby Oedipus but didn’t; and the Corinthian messenger to whom he handed off the maimed child. The Theban shepherd is walking proof that the Sphinx’s riddle is hard, because that man can’t recognize anyone: not the Corinthian, whom he last saw as a young man, and certainly not Oedipus, a baby with whom he’d had a passing acquaintance decades earlier. “It all took place so long ago,” he grumbles. “Why on earth would you ask me?”

“Because,” the Corinthian (David Strathairn) explained genially on Zoom, “this man whom you are now looking at was once that child.”

This, for me, was the scene with the catharsis in it. At a certain point, the shepherd (Frankie Faison) clearly understood everything, but would not or could not admit it. Oedipus, now determined to learn the truth at all costs, resorted to enhanced interrogation. “Bend back his arms until they snap,” Isaac said icily; in another window, Faison screamed in highly realistic agony. Faison was a personification of psychological resistance: the mechanism a mind develops to protect itself from an unbearable truth. Those invisible guardsmen had to nearly kill him before he would admit who had given him the baby: “It was Laius’s child, or so people said. Your wife could tell you more.”

Tears glinted in Isaac’s eyes as he delivered the next line, which I suddenly understood to be the most devastating in the whole play: “Did . . . she . . . give it to you?” How had I never fully realized, never felt, how painful it would have been for Oedipus to realize that his parents hadn’t loved him?

Excerpt:

If we borrow the terms of Greek drama, 2020 might be viewed as the year of anagnorisis: tragic recognition. On August 9th, the sixth anniversary of the shooting of Michael Brown, I watched the Theater of War Productions put on a Zoom production of “Antigone in Ferguson”: an adaptation of Sophocles’ “Oedipus” narrative sequel, with the chorus represented by a demographically and ideologically diverse gospel choir. Oscar Isaac was back, this time as Creon, Oedipus’ successor as king. He started out as a bullying inquisitor (“I will have your extremities removed one by one until you reveal the criminal’s name”), ordering Antigone (Tracie Thoms) to be buried alive, insulting everyone who criticized him, and accusing Tiresias of corruption. But then Tiresias, with the help of the chorus, persuaded Creon to reconsider. In a sustained gospel number, the Thebans, armed with picks and shovels, led by their king, rushed to free Antigone.

“Antigone” being a tragedy, they got there too late, resulting in multiple deaths, and in Isaac’s once again totally losing his shit. It was almost the same performance he gave in “Oedipus,” and yet, where Oedipus begins the play written into a corner, between walls that keep closing in, Creon seems to have just a little more room to maneuver. His misfortune—like that of Antigone and her brother—feels less irreversible. I first saw “Antigone in Ferguson” live, last year, and, in the discussion afterward, the subject of fate—inevitably—came up. I remember how Doerries gently led the audience to view “Antigone” as an illustration of how easily everything might happen differently, and how people’s minds can change. I remember the energy that spread through the room that night, in talk about prison reform and the urgency of collective change.

###

Again, the full article is accessible via the source link below:

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter one)

pairing: reader/bang chan rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: smut with plot, smoking, explicit drug use, alcohol, partying, unprotected hookups word count: about 6,100 also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter one: my house

after being abandoned by your best friend at a lame party, you run into Christopher Bang, a well-known music producer who was also conveniently abandoned at the same party. you're invited back to his place for some fun, but you end up biting off more than you can chew when you find out who he really is.

hello new readers! this is just a precursor to let you know that this is not going to be an all-smut-all-the-time super happy fun fic. there will be dark elements, especially from chapter six to the conclusion. smut has been marked as noted (chapters one through five) so if you’re just here for that, there you go!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

I also recommend listening to "true intentions" by takayan, "bet bet" and "I'm in trouble" by nu'est, and "nxt 2 u" by none other than 3racha while listening to this. playlist can be found here!

“Fuck,” you grumbled under your breath as you sat down on the grungy couch behind you. Your feet were killing you because you thought that your brand new high heels were a great complement to your outfit, no matter what the physical cost to you was. Loud EDM music pulsed from the large speakers on the other side of the room, the bass trembling the couch from underneath you.

Leaning back, appreciating the fact that you were finally off of your feet, you sighed a breath of relief. You silently swore to yourself that you were going to kill Minji the next time you saw her. How could she leave you alone for some dude? Hyunjin: was that his name?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. This party sucked; you didn’t know anyone, it smelled like feet, and whomever was controlling the music was horrible. Who plays EDM sandwiched between lo-fi beats?

You were ripped from your thoughts as the couch shifted as some guy with very bright and well-maintained (albeit obviously bleached) blond hair unceremoniously flopped down next to you. He let his face fall into his hands as he let out an exasperated groan. It seemed like tonight wasn’t going well for him, either.

“What’s your deal?” You shouted in his direction, not actually caring if Mr. Blond responded or was interested in chatting with you.

He lifted his head up from his palms, tilting back to look at you. You saw the whites of his eyes quickly glance up and down your torso and head. An uneasy expression briefly passed over his face - you couldn’t quite decipher exactly what it was. You looked him up and down - in the dim lighting, you could tell he was wearing a nice white button-up shirt, casually buttoned only to his sternum, and some skin-tight, shiny black pants that you assumed were made out of mock leather. He looked good.

Mr. Blond sighed and sat back. He opened his mouth, but didn’t make an effort to look at you. “My friend left me. Ran into some chick he used to fuck off and on and I have no idea where he went.” His hand reached into his back pocket, fumbling around until he pulled out a black pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He brought the pack to his mouth, wrapping his lips around one that popped out of the pack and pulled it out, turning the rest of the pack to you.

“Want one?” He turned his head towards you and looked at you with a relaxed, tired look in his eyes. “You look pretty miserable too. Hot, but miserable.” Mr. Blond’s blatant comment elicited an unwanted snort from you as you grabbed a cigarette from the pack.

“What the hell,” you said with an uncommitted tone as you lifted the cigarette to your lips, “this party sucks and I could use something to take the edge off.” The man sat back on his hand, lifting his lighter to your mouth, lighting the cigarette as you breathed in.

The soft flavour of menthol danced around your tongue as the vapour travelled to your lungs. ‘An interesting choice’, you thought, ‘Blondie doesn’t seem like the type.’

As if he could read your thoughts, Mr. Blond chimed in, “I only smoke when I come to these parties.” You watched him as he relaxed back into the couch, entranced as he took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke billowing up from his lips deliberately travelling up his nose. The sight made your stomach tingle with excitement for a fleeting moment. “I fucking hate menthol, though,” he laughed, looking at the cigarette in his hand before looking to you and smiling, “Name’s Christopher. Chan, when I’m here in Seoul, but I prefer Christopher.”

You smile, taking a drag from your cigarette before introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you, Blondie.” It seemed like your night was finally starting to get a little exciting.

Time had passed, although you weren’t exactly sure how long it was. Conversations with Christopher came naturally - you easily chatted about your interests; how he was in the music production industry and was pretty well known, but preferred staying underground whenever possible; he even seemed genuinely interested when you told him about your modelling career, travelling between South Korea and your home country of Japan, occasionally travelling across Europe and the US for some really high-end shoots.

Minji had texted you an hour ago saying she was sorry for abandoning you and apologizing more, admitting in a text ten minutes later with four pleading face emojis and two sets of eye emojis prefacing that she had left with Hyunjin and was turning off her phone for the night. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, and the look on Christopher’s face as he realized that his friend Hyunjin left with your friend made you belly laugh uncomfortably hard for a good minute.

“What a small world,” you gasp out between laughs, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes. “That bitch left me for your friend! I guess it was fate that we met tonight.”

Christopher smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to ask as he turned to you with a smirk on his face, him biting the corner of his bottom lip. You didn’t want to spoil the fun prematurely by interrupting, deciding you’d hear him out. You always enjoyed watching potential one-night stands squirm when they wanted to ask you to their place.

“Yeah, seems like we were meant to meet each other tonight,” he says as he casually reaches his arm across the back of the couch behind you. The stale smell of cigarette smoke doubled in strength as he leaned in closer to you. “What do you say we leave this horrible party and head back to my place? No pressure, it just seems like it’d be more fun to get to know you somewhere that didn’t smell like a locker room.”

Both of you chuckled at Christopher’s lame, but accurate, joke, and you smiled up at him. “Anything beats this place,” you reach down to touch his thigh, and you bring your face next to his ear, whispering, “let’s get out of here,” as casually as you could manage.

‘Oh shit,’ you thought to yourself as the taxi pulled up to Christopher’s apartment building. This was the good part of Seoul: Blondie lived in Cheongdam-dong, which was where the elite and the wealthiest entertainers lived. Surely this was a mistake?

As incredible as it was to actually be going inside one of these apartment buildings, you felt nervous that you were going to break something or offend someone by looking at them for just too long.

Christopher gently pulled you along by your hand, stopping in front of the elevator bays. He looked over at you, noticing that your eyes were darting around and you seemed nervous. “What’s up?” He softly squeezed your hand, looking down at you.

A nervous laugh surprised you as it escaped your lips. “I’ve never been somewhere like this. Gangnam-gu, sure; Cheongdam-dong, yeah - but an apartment here?” You looked up to Christopher, wide-eyed and bewildered, “Who are you really?”

Ding. The arrival of the elevator interjected in your conversation, as Christopher looked down and chuckled. “C’mon,” he said with a non-committal tone to his voice, “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

The ride up to the 32nd floor was tense, and you could feel your hand starting to sweat as every inch of the skin that touched Christopher’s hand was suddenly hypersensitive. ‘Who is this man,’ you wondered to yourself as you stared at him through the corner of your eye.

“32nd floor. Please watch your step.” The soft, feminine voice of the elevator’s AI announced as you reached your destination. Christopher wordlessly pulled you along, through the doors, down the left corridor. You both paused in front of his door as he pulled his cellphone out from his other back pocket, waving it over the keyless entry at his door. 3217 was emboldened in sleek, silver lettering next to his front door. You made a mental note, ‘I should send Minji a text so she knows where to find my body if I go missing.’ It wasn’t a serious thought, but it was something that did cross your mind.

Christopher looked down to his phone, frowning as he scanned his eyes across the screen. He whispered something in English under his breath as he let go of your hand, his voice tense and uncomfortable. With his free hand, he opened the door, holding it open for you.  He pointedly looked down both sides of the corridor, making sure to press the door closed as he engaged the thick physical lock above the handle.

“I’ve gotta take care of something really quickly,” he said in a serious tone, turning to you and offering you an uneasy smile. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in here, I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he spun on his heel and darted off to a room beyond the kitchen, his eyes glued to his phone the entire walk.

The view from the windows is what you first noticed. You could see the buildings of Seoul reach across the horizon, mesmerized by the twinkling lights across the city. It was a beautiful view, one you figure was worth the money that this surely cost. As you pulled your back to reality, you slipped your shoes off at the entrance and made your way to a barstool towards the kitchen counter. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and shot off a quick text to Minji.

Hey, I’m out with this guy I met at that party. His name is Christopher Bang. Another music producer type haha, oops. Apparently, he knows Hyunjin? Anyway, he lives in Cheongdam of all places! I’ll check in with you tomorrow at some point to make sure I’m still alive lol. Btw, you suck for leaving me at that party alone. I’ll get you back, bitch.

You add in a couple of broken heart and crying emojis at the end of the text so Minji knows you’re not actually mad at her. You also send her a pin of your location - just in case; it was something you both did as a habit. As you lock your phone and put it back in your pocket, you hear some terse yelling come from the room that Christopher is in. You’re not able to make it out from this far away, but it sounds like he’s firmly scolding someone over the phone in a mixture of what you suspect is English and Mandarin.

‘Relax,’ you mentally reassure yourself, ‘you just met the guy, he lives in the expensive part of town, he’s probably just having problems with some music deal or something. It’s fine.’

After a minute or two, you decide to grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, if anything, to pass the time. As you’re turning the faucet off, Christopher comes out of the room, his hair dishevelled and another button from his shirt undone. He walks to the entryway and unceremoniously slips his shoes off. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, then he turns around and walks towards you.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says with a pleading look on his face, “I’ve just been dealing with some issues with work and it pops up at the worst possible times. Hopefully I didn’t worry you too much?” The upward inflection at the end of his sentence and the smirk on his face as he slowly walks up to you somewhat reassures you. The lighting of the room highlights Christopher’s features in the loveliest way possible - you didn’t notice before, but he has a dimple on the right side of his face when he smiles. He was an honestly attractive man.

“It’s fine, it was just…” you smile, shake your head, and look down to your glass of water as your sentence trails off. Strange? Different? You weren’t exactly sure how to end that sentence.

Christopher picks up on your tension, and lifts his hands to your face. They are soft, and there’s a light woodsy scent that travels with them, like a faint cologne that’s slowly worn off through the night. “I’d like to make it up to you,” he softly lifts up your head, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet his. It startles you how close you are to his face, so close that you can see just how thick his eyelashes are and how deep his brown eyes are.

It happens almost mechanically. Before you really register it, your lips are up against his. It’s pensive and timid at first, but the awkwardness fades as you part your lips against his, letting your tongue travel out to touch his lips, his teeth, then his tongue. It goes from soft and romantic to passionate and intense in a split second. Christopher takes your face into his hands with purpose now, trailing his fingers back into your hair, digging his fingernails into your scalp and pulling you into him.

An anguished moan slips from his lips and it causes your stomach to do backflips. As you take the time to acquaint yourselves with each other’s mouths, Christopher’s hands drop from your head down to your waist. He breaks away from the kiss, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before he bends down and lifts you up from your hips. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle excitedly as he carries you from the kitchen into the room he was in earlier.

In a moment, you’re observing the ceiling of this room, as Christopher softly sets you down on the bed. You want to take in the environment, to know more about this mysterious man, but he ruins that opportunity for you as he crawls on top of you, peppering kisses from your lips, to your cheek, down your neck, and across your collarbones. He lifts his head to look at you, smiling somewhat deviously.

“Hey,” he breathes out, “you wanna try something? You can totally say no, but, I think it’ll be fun.” His voice layered in a dark, seductive tone that makes you all the more curious about him, that familiar question popping up in the back of your head: who was this man?

‘Oh no’, you think, worried that he’s going to propose some stupid or weird sexual act that’s going to completely ruin the moment. Christopher must have noticed the look on your face, because he chuckles and sits back on his heels. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that out of the ordinary. It’s just something that I like to do now and then. Like I said, you can absolutely say no and I won’t judge you or pressure you.” He slips his hand in his front pocket and pulls out a small velvet bag.

You sit up on your elbows, curious as to what the man could possibly have in such a tiny bag. As Christopher opens the bag, he pulls out a small plastic bag with white powder, and another small bag with some baby blue tablets. He outstretches his palm towards you, letting you inspect the bags.

“I might also have an affinity for party drugs,” he says with a nervous chuckle, “comes with the music industry.”

You look down at Christopher’s palm, then back up to meet his eyes. You’re not really upset, just a bit taken aback. However, you would definitely be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t  at least somewhat curious. Part of you had a feeling this was a bad idea, but the less-logical part of you just wanted to let loose and enjoy yourself for once. When would you really, honestly get a chance to have sex with such a good looking man in an apartment you would never be able to afford in ten lifetimes?

As you bit your lip back and looked up at Christopher with a smirk, you knew and acknowledged that there were red flags in the back of your head, but you pushed them aside, sitting fully up, grabbing the tops of Christopher’s thighs.

“Let’s do it,” you excitedly whisper, against your best instincts, before you lean in to kiss Christopher again. His lips curl in a boyish, excited grin as he gives you a quick kiss back, reaching down to grab your hands from his thighs.

“Come with me.”

Christopher lays down generic ground rules before anything fun happens. He explicitly tells you that if anything makes you uncomfortable,  you need to tell him. You reassure him that, yes, you’ve tried cocaine a couple of times because it’s rampant in the modelling industry, but that the ecstasy was something foreign to you. This whole situation was foreign to you, but you continued to stuff that down and ignore it. You needed to live a little while you were still young, right?

You hear Christopher assertively say your name as he waves his hand in front of your face. “Are you listening to me? I won’t do this unless you really want to and you listen to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head, coming back to reality. “Sorry, I was just spacing out for a second. Honestly, Christopher, I’m fine. I’ll drink water and I’ll tell you if anything makes me uncomfortable.”  Christopher’s lips tugged into a slight frown as he lifts his eyebrow. “I promise,” you reassure, grabbing his hand from his side.

“Good,” he relaxes, turning back to the kitchen counter. He grabs the blue tablets, handing one out to you. “Take this first. It’s gonna take a half-hour to really feel it, and that’s when you’re really going to want to play around. Make sure you drink the entire glass of water, too. Trust me.”

Excitedly, you grab the tablet from Christopher’s hand and slip it on your tongue, swallowing it down a bit nervously with a few sips of water. Your eyes dart up, taking in how intently Christopher is watching your every movement. When you set your glass down, he follows suit by dropping the tablet into his mouth and taking a single large drink of water from his glass.

“Okay,” he exclaims, a nervous smile on his face, “still wanna do a couple lines?”

You nod your head a bit too excitedly as you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Christopher smirks in response as he empties the bag onto the countertop, methodically dividing it into four lines - two for each of you. He spends time spreading it out with a card he pulled out from his wallet, holding a ₩50,000 note in his other hand.

“Alright,” he says as he stands up straight, turning to look at you. He rolls up the note into a tight cylinder and passes it off to you with a soft smile, “ladies first, yeah?” You take the note from him and look down to the countertop. With a quick breath in, you bend down - making sure to wiggle your bum a bit for good measure - and take the note to your nose, lining up the end of it to the first line. You quickly sniff up the first line, take a couple of breaths, then take in the second line.

With a perk in your step, you snap yourself back upright and look at Christopher with wide eyes and a delighted grin. His mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are wide, taking you in. “Oh my god,” he whispers in English, switching back to Korean in the same breath, “you are so much fun to watch.” You giggle and pass the note back to him.

Christopher bends down and looks up at you as he gets close to the countertop. “This one’s for you,” he says with a wink, before he inhales both lines in succession. He stands back up, quickly rubbing underneath his nostril before leaning on the countertop with his hands. He takes a quick breath, then turns back to you with an obvious fire in his eyes.

“Let’s get started, baby,” he demands, a low tone in his voice you haven’t heard yet. Christopher grabs your hand, pulling you back into what you assume is his bedroom. He leads you to the edge of the bed, guiding you down as he presses his lips to yours with a renewed hunger for you. His kiss isn’t as soft and tender as it was before: this is more calculated and determined, as if he needed to kiss you in order to save his life. He wastes no time inviting his tongue into your mouth without warning, exploring your mouth with purpose.

You can’t really help it, but you moan at the assertiveness in Christopher’s behaviour, which causes him to subconsciously grind his pelvis down into yours. There’s an obvious, apparent firmness that comes between you and a breath hitches in your throat. “Chris,” you groan out, “I want you, please.”

Christopher breaks away from the kiss, lifting his head up to look at you. “No,” he says with a wide grin on his face, “we’re going to play for a while first, baby.” He sits up onto his knees and unbuttons his shirt completely, aggressively pulling the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his pants before haphazardly discarding it on to the floor.

You really don’t mean to stare - especially not with your jaw hanging wide open - but you find yourself transfixed on the man’s very obvious and well-sculpted torso. His abdomen is rigid, and his arms have very well defined muscles that are very distracting. Christopher laughs, stretching his hands out towards you.

“Can I?” He questions, reaching down to the hem of your shirt. You throw all caution to the wind, excitedly nodding, inching closer towards him on your knees. As he smiles at you, he grabs your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the ground with a bit more tact. A gasp escapes him as he draws his attention up from your abdomen, slowly up your torso, and eventually looking back up at you with a completely dumbfounded look plastered on his face.

You take this opportunity to slip your hands behind your back, grabbing each side of your bra and pushing the clips together to unhook each side, slipping the straps down each arm. The soft fabric falls from your skin as you peel it off of you and drop it off the edge of the bed.

“Wow,” Christopher breathes out, taking his hands from your hips and slowly lifting them up under your breasts. He gently cups the underside of them, and pulls you into his lap. His soft lips come crashing into yours as he sinks his hands down to the waistband of your jeans, fumbling with the button a bit before he’s able to finally undo it and slide your zipper down. Making sure not to break from the kiss, you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants and wiggle them off to about your knees.

Christopher guides you onto your back, giving you a quick kiss one more time before he sits up. “Let me help you out with this,” he says with a smirk as he pulls your jeans off, but leaving you in your underwear.  Your jeans easily slip off of your ankles and you can’t help but blush at how exposed you are. Almost as if he can feel your nervousness and insecurities pop up, He smiles and leans down to kiss you for a moment.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with a smile, kissing you again before he steps down to the floor. Your eyes follow him, looking at the way his tongue does a quick pass over his lips before he bites the bottom one and moves to unbutton his pants. The skin-tight material provides a bit of difficulty as he struggles to get the legs to slip down past his thighs, but they come off easily after they pass his knees.

“Man, it’s way easier getting those on than off,” Christopher laughs as he steps out of his pants. He stands upright, and that’s when you realize he’s completely naked.

“Oh my god,” you say with a bit of shock to your voice. It’s a bit embarrassing, you can’t help but stare because his cock is right there and obvious and very hard. It’s larger than you expected, and you subconsciously suck your bottom lip under your teeth as you stare up at him.

He awkwardly laughs as he walks around the bed, sitting at the empty space next to you. “I don’t know if you’re feeling it yet or not, but I really want you to come over here and ride my face right now.”

The sheer bluntness of Christopher’s statement causes a tingling in your stomach and makes your head start to feel fuzzy and tingly. Maybe the ecstasy was starting to kick in after all, because you felt soft and really affectionate. “You want me to do what?” You question, nervously smiling. This was something none of your previous boyfriends or one-night stands had ever done, never mind enthusiastically wanting to try it.

Christopher turns back, grabbing the pillow from your side of the bed, putting it on top of the pillow behind him. He then leans back, resting his head on the pillows, and he tugs your wrist gently, pulling you over him, straddling his waist. “Come on, I promise you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t, then I’ll stop and do whatever you want, okay?”

You have to admit, he has a way with words and you were curious if he could actually make you come or if he just had an oversized ego. “Alright,” you say with a nervous smile, your eyes darting down to Christopher’s chest. His eyes light up and he grabs your hips with a bit too much excitement.

“Really?” The way that he earnestly smiles is really cute. “You wouldn’t believe it, but most women I’ve been with don’t want to try it. It’s something I love doing.” He lets out a giggle and hooks his index fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Can I?”

A wave of excitement takes over - yeah, the drugs are fully kicking in now - and you nod your head a couple of times. “Fuck yes,” Christopher says under his breath as he pulls your panties down in one quick motion, guiding your both of legs out of them. He grabs your hips again and looks up at you with half-open eyes, “Come to me, baby.”

It feels like your inhibitions have completely left you as you shift your pelvis up to Christopher’s face. He reaches his tongue out and takes a quick taste of you, looking up at you very eagerly. A smile comes across his face and he pulls you down onto him fully. Once you’ve rested on his chin, he wastes no time lapping you up.

His tongue is warm and the way it feels on your sensitive skin is enough to make your head spin. A wave of happiness flows up from your toes all the way to your head, giving you a body-wide tingle. As you start to feel warm all around, Christopher takes his tongue and presses it up against your clit, slowly licking you up from the middle of his tongue all the way to the tip. You choke out a moan and slam your hands on the wall ahead of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan out, looking down to Christopher, who has a very happy grin plastered on his face.

“Does it feel good, baby?” He moans out in between aggressive licks, taking one of his hands from your hips and slipping it in between your legs. “If you like that,” he says as he slides one of his fingers inside of you, “you’re going to love this.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and you curl your fingers on the wall. A squeak escapes from your lips as Christopher takes another finger and inserts it into you, fingers slowly riding in and out, curling towards your pelvic bone when they’re fully inside of you. Suddenly, the room is unbearably hot and your nerves are on fire. The drugs were having a tremendous effect on you, and everything felt more intense than you had ever experienced.

Christopher took his free hand, grabbing your thigh to steady you. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere, so relax.” His voice is soothing and the calming tone of his voice somehow turns you on more. Your hands slip down the wall a bit and your head falls onto your forearm.

“If you stop one more, ah, time, I swear,” breathy moans accent your words, “I swear I will, ah, kill you, Christopher Bang. Fuck.”

A laugh comes from him, “I’d like to see you try.” As you try to come up with a witty quip, he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you fervently, sucking your clit into his mouth as he gives frequent small licks to you.

The intensity is almost too much to handle. Whines keep leaving you subconsciously and you turn to bite your arm to stifle your moans. Your teeth dig into your skin, and you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise tomorrow. Christopher is relentless, his fingers and tongue working in tandem, and it’s causing your brain to melt. The heat building up in the pit of your stomach is unbearable; your legs start to shake, and you feel close to climaxing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” you squeak out in a panicked voice, “Chris, I’m gonna come!”

Christopher moves his hand from your hip to the small of your back, somehow working you even harder. With one last press of his fingers against your g-spot, your head snaps up, straightening your back. You scream out his name at the top of your lungs as your orgasm takes control of you. There’s something about this orgasm that’s otherworldly, it feels almost as if you can feel every nerve in your body vibrate within you and it feels incredible. In your blurry state, you make a mental note to try this more often, the drugs and the face-riding.

Reality slowly comes back to you as you roll off of Christopher and to the side of the bed. “Holy shit,” you breathe out, “that was incredible.” You turn your head to look at him and his pupils are fully blown out, a proud grin on his face.

“You look like you had a good time, yeah?” He questions, rolling over onto his side and resting his head on his palm. “What’d I tell you?”

“Yeah, you were right,” a giddy smile is plastered on your face that you can’t seem to relax, “I did enjoy myself. I think you might have ruined me from anyone else for a while.” You both share a good laugh and the room falls quiet. The nerves in your body have calmed down a bit, but your heart is still racing.

Christopher rolls over, reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand. He takes a quick drink and passes it to you. “Here, you definitely need this. And you’re not allowed to say no, remember? Hydration’s important.” Too exhausted to argue, you nod your head and take a couple of sips from the bottle. You hand the bottle back and he puts it back on the nightstand. As you’re about to thank him, he takes you by surprise by crawling over you and crashes his lips against yours.

“We’re not done yet,” he says with an ominous tone, breaking away from the kiss, “Not even close. Are you ready for me, baby?” Your eyes widen and you look down between your legs. Christopher is there and you’re concerned if he’ll actually fit. After staring for a second too long, you look up at him with pleading eyes and nod your head. “Alright.”

He sits back on his heels and licks his hand. Once he’s got enough saliva on his hand, he grabs his cock and starts slowly stroking himself, biting his lip as he looks directly at you. “What? Like what you see?” Christopher smiles, then brings himself back down to your level. “I’m gonna go inside you now, are you ready?” You look up at him nervously and quickly nod your head in agreement a couple of times. “No, I want you to tell me you want it.”

Your face is suddenly hot with embarrassment; somehow, this was more embarrassing than sitting on someone else’s face. Christopher puts a reassuring hand on your cheek, then gives a peck to your forehead. “C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“I want you,” you nervously gulp, but find the confidence you need, “I want you to fuck me like it’s your last day on earth.”

Your words make it seem like a spark is ignited in Christopher: his eyes darken and he suddenly gets a serious look on his face. In an instant, he’s pushing himself inside you, the painful but wonderful sensation of being filled up makes you roll your eyes and head backwards. You reach up your hands haphazardly into his hair, gripping tightly once you have fistfuls in each hand.

“Fuck,” he groans once he’s completely inside you. “Baby, you feel like heaven. I’m gonna move, okay?” You nod your head a bit more excitedly than you were intending to, but it makes him smile. He pulls himself out all the way, then quickly slams his hips against yours. The sudden movement causes you to arch your back and moan louder than you expected you could.

Christopher leans down, his arms on either side of your head. He brings his face to yours and sloppily kisses you as he rocks his hips back and forth, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix. You open your mouth, letting your tongues explore each other. As he keeps moving, he takes his left hand and brings it up to your hair, gripping it. The tugging of your hair causes a lightning strike of nerves to light up for a split second.

“Chris,” you moan into his mouth, breath hitching in your throat as his pace quickens, “fuck me harder!”

Your request makes him break from your kiss. He reaches his arms down to your legs and places them both over his right shoulder. “Alright, baby, just tell me if it’s too much,” he smiles deviously and starts thrusting into you again. The new positioning takes you by surprise, making every small movement that much more intense.

Profanity punctuates each thrust as you moan and cry almost incoherently. It feels like you’re starting to lose your grip on reality. It’s probably the combination of this position and the drugs, but your body feels like it’s on an entirely different plane of existence. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s going to explode and you can’t stop yourself from crying out Christopher’s name over and over.

“That’s it, baby,” his voice brings you back a bit, providing you a sense of anchorage in your bliss, “you belong to me tonight.” He fucks you faster and a bit more sloppily, his cadence no longer keeping up a steady rhythm. “Fuck, if I keep going like this,” he cuts himself off, moaning out your name, “baby, I’m gonna come, can I come inside you?”

Words just won’t come to you, so you settle for vigorously nodding your head. Christopher puts one of his arms down on the bed next to you and puts most of his weight on to it. “Fuck,” he groans and tucks his head into his chest, “fuck!” He thrusts into you one more time and bottoms out, twitching as his cum fills you up in rhythmic spurts.

You both stay like this for a moment, before he releases your legs down to his sides. He leans in and lazily kisses you before rolling over, panting and clearly out of breath.

“That was,” he sighs, turning his head in your direction with half-open eyes, “that was incredible. Yeah? How are you feeling?”

Normally, you wouldn’t curl up into a one-night stand, but tonight has you feeling a certain type of way. You crawl into Christopher’s chest and smile, “I feel amazing. That was the most fun I’ve had in so long.”

Christopher laughs, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin against the top of your head. “I’m glad. Let’s do this again in the morning.” You both let out soft giggles and relax into each other. As sleep starts to overtake you, you swear you hear your cell phone buzzing. “Whatever,” you think, “it can’t be that important.”

As you’d find out the next morning, you were wrong. It was incredibly important.