#i have avoided it thus far.... but i feel like its only a matter of time unless i magically become less exhausted

[alastorss]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.

a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.

You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.

There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.

The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.

And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.

For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.

"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.

He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.

"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.

You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."

Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.

He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.

You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.

Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)

"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."

'Or something?' he wanted to ask.

He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)

It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.

Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.

The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.

He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.

He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.

"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.

"I've come to join you, actually."

Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.

"You have a nice laugh."

He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.

You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.

"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"

Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.

"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.

"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.

Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.

All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.

His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."

"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."

Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.

~

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[astrologanize]

◉ pick a card : how you can make the best of your 2024

*please take a moment to take a deep breath and choose the image you are !most! drawn towards*

----------for pile 1 ⊹

there is a search for substance in your life, you want something real, something meaningful, and you're not doing anything to create it for yourself. you're secretly, or not so secretly, hoping and wishing and expecting for things to somehow fall into place one day. you keep yourself open to the universe, you keep yourself open to interpretation, and you are so open that you are structureless! how can the universe deliver whatever you're desiring when you don't know what that is? or even who you are!

unfortunately the key to it all isn't going to fall into your lap - you must sort through the emotional gunk that's residing within your inner tank and decipher what it is you want to be, what your values are, what matters to you, so that you can hand-pick the life that you want by having these standards in place. it's easier to take risks and to change your life once you have assurance in yourself and this can only happen when you know what you are vs what you aren't, what you like vs what you don't, etc.

gotta work hard to play hard too! "ugh i just want to travel and have a good time" okay but where are the funds coming from? do you know how to budget? do you know how to set up a trip? do you know how to procure the necessary steps in order to make the shit you want happen? to make the best of your 2024 you need to sort through your gunk and get choosier about your life; in doing so you're going to find your connections with others changing, you're going to understand where you've been lacking integrity, where you have been naive, what's worth adjusting for, what you need to attend to more, and once you have the framework built for yourself you're going to see how exciting life can be. no more waiting for life!

----------for pile 2 ⊹

so i see y'all like to throw everything at the wall until something sticks perchance...well, i mean, i guess you're trying at least? though that is better than doing nothing at all, how about you scale back and look at the big picture? you do all these things but where do they get you? i'm not seeing forward movement amongst all this movement i'm just seeing energy bouncing around in a box not going anywhere. perhaps all this stuff you do is to distract you from things you don't want to deal with. it's giving this meme

crazily enough, it is often true that less really is more (though in today's society that sentiment is going extinct and needs to be revived). try to stop dabbling in everything - a jack of all trades is a master to none. what activities/hobbies would you like to be an expert at? is there a craft you could or would want to monetize? what is it that you're avoiding in your life with these multitudes of distractions? give yourself a breather so that you can see the big picture clearer. you'll come to understand the value in setting healthy boundaries for yourself, knowing when to extend and when to just relax. sometimes it is okay to hold off and hold back because maybe there is something that needs to be dealt with first, maybe more time is needed, maybe something is just not worth the effort for now

----------for pile 3 ⊹

looking at the image for this pile gave me such a heavy, wistful feeling. why do you insist on fighting the universe so bad, hm?

are you in a job that sucks? seek something better! are you in a relationship that feels like a chore? love yourself! lean elsewhere! are you majoring in something that makes you miserable? is it worth that? i'm seeing that you need to learn how to trust the universe and follow a new, less traveled path that may be daunting with its uncertainty but you never know what could happen...that is both the best and worst thing about life.

thus far you have been traveling down the same path, you are very involved with this life that you have been trying to make work but i don't know if it's working, do you?

i'm hearing "give yourself a try" by the 1975!

you're learning allllll about the possibilities of life this year and why you should not in fact settle for what you are too afraid to leave. your heart is yours to follow

----------for pile 4 ⊹

oh, y'all take things to heart in an unhealthy way and are perpetually dissatisfied as a result. i imagine someone who gets in their feels over something minor that someone said in passing and instead of asking for clarification or reasoning with themselves, they act all woe is me and curl up in their room with the misbelief that nothing and no one gets them.

emotions can be deeply felt and i wouldn't say feelings can be liars per se but feelings can mislead us if we read too much into them. plus, when we focus too heavily on our own feelings we become engrossed in them to the point of self-defeating self-absorption. you have got to learn how to take things less personally, your lesson for this year is to learn how to socialize...how to mingle...how to have acquaintances...how to have a conversation and drop it afterwards instead of reading into every little thing and finding what's wrong with it. learning how to be embrace the more positive qualities of aquarius basically.

you have some misguidings to work through, there is illusory amuck due to you making mountains out of molehills - the melodrama is doing nothing good for you i'm afraid, tumblr girlies do love some tragedy and a feeling-dump post but for now...let's free ourselves i beg. it's not that deep, it's not that serious, get a grip and let it go. get off the internet, limit social media, touch grass, find some people to converse with even if its small talk at a checkout, somethin, otherwise you can continue to wallow i guess.

----------for pile 5 ⊹

nah...this pile gave me such a bad headache because...you're....whew......there's some narcissistic tendencies here i'm afraid. even if you think you're an angel sweetheart birthed from mary the unicorn, i assure you that you can in fact be a nothing short of domineering. there is a diva energy, there is a my way or the highway energy, there is an i'm upset so everyone is going to know energy, there is some area in your life where you are a tyrant.

there is a dire need to learn to take a step back, gather yourself, and consider others before unleashing your control and bulldozing your way through situations. you shall be forced to learn how to chill tf out this year and i claim that for you tbh because giving me a headache from your energy is WILD.

you need to examine your connections and make sure you're being receptive towards others. do you feel like you're a true friend to them? do you think you're supportive? do you hear them out? do you know what they're going through? do you know how they feel? do you attend to them in the ways they want and need? do you know what those wants and needs are?

make sure you're not being demanding and setting unreasonable expectations, especially for others. also look within yourself and make sure you're not overcompensating for any insecurities you may possess by having power trips. care about being a friend this year, play the supporting role and balance yourself out

----------for pile 6 ⊹

you're going in circles in your head and your heart, babes. eventually you just gotta rip off the bandaid and make a decision and let the chips fall where they may.

you're waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay in your head, you have all these thoughts and ideas, you have all these feelings and sentiments, you have all these things in mind that you want to set up for yourself, and there's so much that you're overloading yourself....there's no way to process all of it at once so nothing is getting done.

make decisions, find answers, get a grip on your feelings, and try to make sure you're not so in your head that you're putting up a guard around yourself. not everything is black & white or a matter of life or death, you're looking at it too extremely! lighten up and just do.

get a cool haircut, get some new accessories, try new boba, talk to your crush, life is meant to be lived!

[austinsastrology8991]

Secrets from > PLUTO < that he told me

Pluto is dark. And its hard to understand him. He is your shadow; he hides from you and you hide from him. But your both watching each other very closely >

> 1 > The brighter something is > The darker the shadow. You cannot expel darkness, you can only accept it. Evil things exist and they always will. NO matter how hard you try to remove something with 'evil eye' or try to fight the good fight; whatever your fighting will always exist and the ever prevailing fight of; 'good vs evil' always will prevail. But everyone seems to forget that the darkness resides in everyone as much as their light does too.

> 2 > Rules don't exist; but we think they do. Rules funnel everyone in similar directions > When you see a rule you are forced to go in certain directions in order to avoid 'breaking the rules' but by not breaking the rules you are 'following the rules' and this makes you go in certain calculated directions (set up by people in power/social constructs) in order to avoid trouble. Or out of frustration you purposefully break them; so rules have a much greater pull on all of us then we all want to give them credit for. Also the mere concept of a law or principle defining how we must live; makes us all compromise into the laws of that are governing us. And thus; we are all products of our environments; of the rules we were forced to obey. Social constructs, government laws, or issues of any sort affect your free will, and whilst you can do whatever you want; there are many punishments awaiting you, which inevitably will affect your overall happiness/contentment because when you thought you could do anything; you realise you are very restricted and you compromise far more often than what you would like to admit.

> 3 > The more you front; the more your showing us who you are > When it comes down to it its actually very difficult to fool anyone. You may have the hang of it; but if you meet someone who also knows how to fool others; you will both stick out like a sore thumb to each other. And well once the jig is up; and the perception of yourself falls as it always does. You will feel like a pathetic person, and so it is almost always worth telling the truth; the longer you lie, the darker the dark becomes. To you and to others. and it will make the shadow work far more difficult to overcome. Embody your light as much as your dark and you will not be afraid of yourself let alone others; and you will not feel the need to 'front' > 4 < The more you prove yourself to others, the more you proved you are trying to prove yourself and rarely did you prove what you wanted to prove. You simply approved yourself as someone willing to prove themselves

> 5 >"When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you" > I love how everyone thinks they are better than one another, because we can point out certain flaws that maybe we are avoiding; to pretend we are better than the other. But your ratchetness is just as ratchet as another, or worse. Does that make you a worser person? well maybe. But that should make you feel pretty stupid for calling other people ratchet. People need to be told what is correct and what is not; but it simply doesn't matter most of the time, because that person usually is very aware of how destructive they are, because its hard to ignore the messes you create, and sooner rather than later, they will find their karma; so why intefere? work on yourself and become an example, don't adopt someones elses kids when they are already rebelling their real mothers.

> 6 >No one can or will hurt you more than who or what you love > your enemies may sting but if your love one hurts you, as no one knows you better than them, when they strike it will hurt. And sometimes you cannot recover a relationship because you 2 have hurt each other too much. Enemies will piss you off, but truthfully fighting enemies is good fun. Fighting love ones is a whole nother ball game and that is a far more plutonian thing. Sometimes it is necessary to hurt those we love so they learn a lesson, but far more often than not ; you both will cause irreparable scars that will leave a sore spot in both of your hearts. > 7 < You are equally as powerful and as powerless as you believe to be. Your flaws are as real as your strengths; and the longer you deny your strength or your weakness, the more it will sting when the realization hits that you are both. You are not worse or better than anyone, and the more someone pretends they are one or the other, the more pathetic they are. Regardless of which form they choose to show. > 8 < You can't blame anyone. Only yourself. If your the vessel of your destiny than everything that passes you is just the current; and you will have a difficult time arguing with the laws of nature. Learn to accept what you are and what is around you, and then you will discover ways to manipulate it. Do not try to educate something that is immovable, but allow it to pass you; in a respectful manner, that is true power; allowing something to exist and not let it interfere with your sense of being. Because you are able to be apart of the dark > notice how any light on in the dark is a magnet to everything that is awake in the dark? > 9 > "The most beautiful thoughts are always besides the darkest" - dark lives in the shadow of light, and because of this many times over when your fighting darkness its when you feel the most powerful; and its because you are actually embodying a more darker aspect of yourself, as you also embody a stronger 'light' within; "dont you know you can only get as high as you fell?"

I don't want to talk about my pluto; I'm just discussing what pluto means to me. There are so many places you can find him, these are just some places I've found him.

[u10como]

Prince Isaac was nervous.

He fully supported the peace treaty with the Elven kingdom and knew it was needed, but he wasn't thrilled about being used as his father's bargaining chip. The war was now reaching its 800th year, which meant even the elves went through several generations since it started any nobody really remembered the true reason - elves blamed humans, humans blamed elves - the usual. But nobody can wage a war forever - if not for economic reasons then for the sheer fact it starts to seem meaningless after several decades of largely no progress in either of the side's favor.

King Langdon III, Isaac's father, decided to make his name in the annals of his kingdom as the great peacemaker. He could drive the final blow to the elven kingdom if he decided so - after all, during the rules of Kings Horatio I, Langdon II and especially Tiberius V, Isaac's grandfather and Langdon III's father, the humans made several great breakthroughs in technology, which allowed them to take the upper hand over the elves - firearms exceeding the range of elven bows, steam powered siege engines impervious to any weapon crafted by elven smiths, even flying machines, soaring far above the reach of best elven archers. But King Langdon III felt his people were growing tired of the contstant state of war and suspected the elves might feel the same. Actually, he knew if he was in the place of Auberon IV, the king of elves, he would beg for a peace treaty long ago - but he also knew the elves were too proud, perhaps even foolhardy to accept one-sided defeat. Thus, king Langdon III offered a mutual peace treaty between the kingdoms, which, to prince Isaac's annoyance, pivoted around royal wedding between human prince and elven princess.

Prince Isaac however felt like he isn't prepared to get married, even less so for complete stranger He knew elven women were considered very beautiful, but none of the elven women he ever saw before was up to his tastes. Not only were they usually much taller than him, but prince Isaac had sort of peculiar taste when it came to women. He never admitted that, because he felt ashamed of it but he was really attracted to women missing limbs. But from what he knew, elves were always perfect. He remembered hearing a tale of Elven warrior who survived being banished to deep woods centuries ago and lived with human lumberjack, but nobody ever saw living, breathing elf with missing limbs ever since - even in the face of total annihilation, the elves kep their bigoted views and their permanently injured soldiers were still sacrificed to keep up the aura of their race's flawless perfection. No - he was destined to marry not for love, but for politics. What does it matter if she was a woman of race which appeared physically perfect in everyone else's eyes: To him, that argument was hollow. Yet, being a gentleman, he still felt the need to introduce himself - she was their honored guest and, if everything goes according to plan, they were going to spend the rest of their lives with one another, so getting to know her can't hurt.

Knocking at the elven princess' chamber door, he heard her answer in weak, timid, yet melodic voice: "C... come in!" As he opened the door, prince Isaac was thoroughly surprised by the appearance of his future wife: She was beautiful, yet not in the expectable elven manner: She was slightly shorter than him, with beautifully rounded hips completely unlike any elf he ever saw before. She had jet black hair and shy expression of a trapped doe, trying to avoid eye contact with him. "Greetings, i'm prince Isaac, your... ahem... future husband? pleased to meet you..." he approached her with outstretched hand." "Oh... Hello, my Lord... i'm Delia... she replied, turning her eyes to him. As she saw his hand, a panic appeared briefly in her eyes before she timidly rose her right foot and took Isaac's hand in it. At thet moment Isaac noticed - Delia had no arms - her outfit should have made that detail apparent, but Isaac never expected elven princess to lack any appendage, let alone both arms at her shoulders. Gently squeezing her foot, he kissed her ankle to Delia's surprise. "I'm sorry, my Lord i am... This..." she said... "My father thought he will get rid of the family shame i am and be free to marry off my beautiful sisters to the counts of elven colonies across the sea, but if you send me back i'm sure you can negotiate an exchange for one of them..." "No!" said Isaac perhaps too sharply, startling Delila. "How could i do that? You're our honored guest, and if your family doesn't treat you well it's even more so our duty to keep you safe with us!" "But my father treats me well! He loves me! He kept me alive in secret despite the fact i was born... damaged - is there a greater sign of love?" "Delia... you are not damaged. To me, you are more beautiful than any woman i ever saw - human or elven. I would never return you back - even less so now that i know how you were treated - Yes, you might consider it a kindness on your father's part and i've no doubt he genuinely thought so too, but even so, sending you back to this life would be cruel. Here, you can be free - go wherever you want, meet whoever you wish, not hidden out of sight because of some preposterous superiority complex your father refuses to let go of." "You... you want to marry me, then, my Lord?" "Please, drop the lord, Delia, i'm Isaac." "So you want to marry me... Isaac?" "I always imagined i would marry for love, not for political machinations. But that's something you and i can work on together, but only if you want to marry me, Delia?." "I would love to, Isaac!"

[akutasoda]

Hello! Its the person who requested the avpd hcs a good while ago, i was wonder if you could follow up with Tecchou, Nikolai, Poe, and Mushitarou? (Maybe fyodor if mushi is too hard to write for in this scenario)

Thank you so much!

please talk to me p2

synopsis - you are everything to your lover, but you just couldn't see why

includes - nikolai, poe, mushitaro, tecchou

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, feelings of insecurity, social anxiety, wc - 1.2k

a/n: hello again!

nikolai gogol ★↷

you had most likely met nikolai as being a fellow member of the doa. you never intended this to be your affiliation but when approached to join you felt compelled to in fear of letting them down, even if they may be one of the worst groups you could've joined.

you two were stark contrasts. he was very open and outgoing while you were closed off and very socially anxious. however they do say opposites attract so that must be why nikolai tried so hard to befriend you after taking intrest. but you never ket people in that easily. it also didn't help you held no trust toward any colleague.

after you befriended him you would've still been asked out by him as you were too scared to ruin what you had managed to obtain so far by confessing and potentially getting rejected, especially after how much you had to try and trust him. he did find your shyness quite endearing up until it affected you day to day.

definitely make sure to compliment you more often, although somehe gets carried away and bombards you whichh makes it worse. he acknowledges this and tries his hardest not to. but he thought it was ridiculous you couldn't see why he loved you so much!

so through the whole time he would try and fail to subtly build up your self-esteem. his attraction to you was because of who you were and seeing you constantly doubt yourself and be so self isolated made his heart break. how could you think so lowly of yourself? you were amazing!

edgar allan poe ★↷

similarly, you most likely were offered a place in the guild and being too afraid to disappoint or anger them you agreed. thus meeting poe. the guild was quite a larger group than you expected but you felt too bad to turn around and leave now, especially because you didn't want them to criticise you for backing out.

however you unusually felt naturally attracted to him and despite your obvious adversion to becoming close with people. perhaps it was because he was naturally as quiet as you so you never felt as if he would test your social anxiety. but sometimes you felt you only annoyed him by naturally gravitating him.

when he picked up on this he did quickly stomp out that idea and said he did enjoy your silent company. this still brought little calmness in your thoughts but you both knew that couldn't be helped. eventually, maybe painfully slowly, you two wpuld come to terms with feelings no matter how awkward both of you were.

he still would have to make the first move however. mainly because you had feared constantly that one of the first friendships you had would turn to nothing if you tried to advance it. and you were still very unsure whether he didn't want to see you or not.

due to both of you being rather awkward in such situations, you both would try your hardest to make it work and help eachother. but it would be very slow but full of affirmation and nothing but positive compliments and comments.

would take it slow with you, for yours and his. but wouldn't stand you constantly feeling bad about yourself, you were the greatest thing in the world to him and he wanted you to see why.

mushitaro oguri ★↷

meeting mushitaro was most likely through yokomizo. yokomizo always would push you to try and atleast overcome some social anxiety and offered you to meet his friend as a starting point, too afraid to disappoint yokomizo since he tried so hard for you, you met mushitaro very reluctantly.

you always tried to avoid being criticized and or disappoint those around you, so naturally mushitaro's attitude was definitely a put you off at first. you cared very much about first impressions and you didn't like that he always seemed so judgemental, making you assume the worst.

now mushitaro would be lying if he said he loved your anxious, shy state. he did find it slightly annoying but you were friends with yokomizo and he could tell he definitely dragged you into this. garnering a bit of sympathy but then he realised how difficult it could be for you in things he could do with ease.

would probably take a very long time for you to actually start a relationship let alone a friendship with him and he most likely had to be the one to ask you out. you had feared constantly that one of the first friendships you had would turn to nothing if you tried to advance it. especially because it took you so long to understand him.

but through the whole time he would try and subtly build up your self-esteem, afterall he did have very high self esteem. he obviously was attracted to you because of who you truly were and seeing you constantly doubt yourself and be so self isolated made him break.

but he knew if he pressed to much it would make it worse so that's why he would do it subtly although sometimes he couldn't help it. hoping to eventually bring you out of your little habits, even if he was a little forward at times.

tecchou suehiro ★↷

similarly to jouno, you probably met tecchou as a hunting dog. you constantly needed to do your best as to avoid disappointment in others, soon leading you to becoming of such a high position. he would notice your lack of interaction with fellow hunting dogs, only talking when absolutely necessary, but never commenting on it.

however he did feel naturally attracted to you and despite your obvious adversion to becoming close with people, but in honesty he was somewhat the same. sure he may of been a bit more social than you but he never got thag close to people and rather kept most at just being acquaintances.

he would've made the first move due to you would've been too scared to ruin what you had managed to obtain so far by confessing and potentially getting rejected. he did find your shyness quite endearing up but heavily disliked how it stopped you from doing things as he wanted to show you how special you truly were.

he would definitely make sure to compliment you often and if he noticed you feeling particularly bad ine day would make sure you stopped thinking and would try and take your mind of whatever was troubling you. although he kind of becomes hopeless to help you as he isn't that emotionally intelligent.

you both chose to take it slow with because as said before his lack of emotional intelligence sometime would do little to soothe your worries. so you both would need to find time to find your footings. but wouldn't stand you constantly feeling bad about yourself, that would always be a no go.

[k4tisblog]

10 MEDIA DIARY: MLP:FiM & YAKYAKISTAN.

Hello! Hi! This post may be a bit of a ramble. I have watched all 9 seasons of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. It’s a comfort show, and has been very dear to me since I was a kid. While I love it to death, I want to point out its portrayal of race.

From the "Buffalo tribe" being analogous to Indigenous Americans (S1), to Rarity gentrifying an Indian Pony restaurant (S6), one could probably write an entire thesis about it. However, for everyone's sake, I'll focus on the episode "She's all Yak." (Season 9 Episode 7). Spoilers ahead, of course.

Introducing MLP:FiM A quick summary of the show thus far- Twilight Sparkle was a unicorn who earned the title of Princess of Friendship (and also wings). She couldn't have done it without her friends Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and last but not least, Rarity! The Mane 6 (that's a pun) have a reputation for saving the world (too many times to keep track). At the premiere of season 8, Twilight starts the very first School of Friendship! The point: to invite everypony everycreature to come and learn friendship. (There are implications here- but that's another discussion in and of itself.) The school's credibility is questionable, but they get through the trials and tribulations of the education system with the power of friendship!

Yakyakistan Let's just say things can go a bit off the rails when you invite different species into the My Little Pony cinematic universe. It didn't have to be bad. It really didn't.

Alas, the Yaks. They're from Yakyakistan. Speak "broken" English when no other species does. Being destructive is "crucial to their culture". Need I say more? It is not necessary to create this association to real-world regions using the suffix "-stan", for them to have "caveman-like” speech, for their "traditions" to be destructive tendencies. They are prideful and nationalistic to an unrational extent as well. Refusing cooperation with others, instead choosing to eat and sleep on snow comes to mind.

"However, despite Pinkie and the yaks' efforts, there is too much snow for them to dig through, and their forceful digging only causes more snow to fall from the mountain. Pinkie Pie offers to return to Ponyville and get help from her friends, but the proud Rutherford and his subjects refuse to accept help from ponies. Rutherford suggests simply waiting for the snow to melt, and he and his subjects resort to eating and sleeping on snow to survive. " (S7 Ep 11, MLP:FiM Wiki)

YONA: SHE'S ALL YAK As much as the Yaks were in poor taste (AT BEST), it was easy to avoid; they typically only existed in their own standalone episodes. Unfortunately, they keep appearing; Yona is chosen by Yakyakistan's Prince Rutherford to attend the School of Friendship. The main thing with the Yaks as characters is that their main "problems" in their episodes are the clash of their “savage” cultural norms vs. the “civilised” ponies.

Considering once again a clear association to real-life ethnic groups and these "cultural norms" enforcing real-world prejudice… Yeah, I do flinch every time a Yak plot is introduced. "She's All Yak" is an episode that I watched all the way through. I have things to say. Yona is asked by her (pony) friend Sandbar to join the Amity Ball and partake in the Pony Pals contest with him. Since the dance is traditionally pony-centric, she responds "But Yona yak. Yona not pony." Sandbar assures her that that doesn't matter and she accepts.

Now filled with a want to be the best Pony Pal, Yona sees Rarity stressing about Ball dresses and feels she has a lot to learn before the event. She turns to Rarity for guidance on what to wear, and how to act.

Rarity teaches Yona how to talk - shoving Brussels sprouts in her mouth to help annunciation.

Rarity: [elocuting] The weather is quite agreeable today. Yona: [muffled] The weather is quite agreeable today. [chews, gulps, belches loudly] Yona like Brussels sprouts! Rarity: Let's move on.

While Rarity looks through different dress options, Yona tells her she likes brown. Rarity expresses disgust at "earth tones," sticking her tongue out and calling them "earthy." She says not to worry; she'll find a dress to make Yona stand out! Yona says she doesn't want to stand out, but rather to fit in… Cue the musical number. "Once you learn the pony way you'll start to fit right in." Rarity sings while Yona gets transformation montage.

Yona's struggle in integrating into pony norms is turned comedic. It's exaggerated to the point of being downright unflattering. She's highlighted as dirty, clumsy, unfashionable, and, of course, destructive.

After a long while of Yona getting everything wrong, she manages to get things right! (She dances without causing earthquakes and speaks like a posh pony now.)

Yona’s ready to rumble.

THE AMITY BALL

Gallus: I'm just glad I'm here with you guys. Least I'm not the only non-pony in the crowd. Sandbar: You're not still worried about that, are you? Like Headmare Twilight said, this is a dance for everycreature. There's no pony pressure.

Yona's friends giggle at the contrast between Sandbars' statement and the sight of ridiculously-overponified-Yona.

They are all taken aback, and Sandbar looks concerned. He plays along with it; she did all this for him after all. The dances begin! Yona is excited, inviting Sandbar to dance. She dances well until she trips on her dress and takes a tumble. Regaining her composure, they move on to the Pony Prance. Yona’s wig temporarily obscures her vision and she freaks out. Stampeding through the Ball, she ends up hurting everyone and destroying everything in her path. Inconsolable, Yona runs off in tears.

"Yona disappoint Sandbar. Yona not make very good pony." Sandbar finds Yona and they have a heart to heart.

Yona: Yona just want to do all the right pony things and fit in at dance! Then maybe Sandbar and Yona win best pony pals contest. Instead, Yona win worst pony ever.[crunch] Sandbar: That's not true. (...) Sandbar: Yona, it doesn't really matter if you're a great pony or a horrible pony. You're the best Yona I know. That's why I asked you to the dance.

I don't have an issue with the message this episode is trying to convey. It's an obvious trajectory towards being yourself; you don't have to change for anyone - I appreciate the representation of this in Sandbar and Yona's relationship.

We get a sincere apology from the Mane 6, admitting that it was no fault of Yona's but rather their fault for unknowingly forcing her to be something she was not. Yona and Sandbar are given the winning trophy for the Pony Pal competition!

Spike then exclaims that "everypony wants to learn that crazy dance [Yona] did." She teaches them all the "Yakyakistan Stomp." They all start to dance as the camera shakes and the credits roll.

How do you feel about the use of the word “crazy”? CONCLUSIONS As much as I understand the intent, I can't ignore the root of Yona's character. From her personality traits to her place of origin... There are too many implications. I've scavenged for online articles, forums, etc. for opinions on My Little Pony’s Yaks, but it's proving to be a bit of a niche topic. Only in conversation have I heard of people who share my concerns or even acknowledge them. A friend of my girlfriend's posted about this on Reddit once, as I have come to learn, but was shot down by negative responses and disagreements. I suspect the difference in the main fanbases for MLP are a factor.

(I might go into this more in a future blog post - let’s just say that humanified fanart now is more diverse compared to a decade ago.) These comments I found while scrolling through the MLP:FiM wiki piqued my interest. While a fine assessment of the episode at large - the descriptions of Yak culture further prove my point. Just choosing to describe Yakyakistan culture with the word "simple" says a lot.

User Angel Emfrbl's "not that bad" feels like we're settling for "it could be worse. It all makes sense with the current characterizations." I want more people to want to dig deeper into what it all represents. There is a lack of acknowledgment of the root of the Yaks’ existence - their designs, plots, and worldviews.

The unflattering portrayal of Yaks being destructive and completely un-ponylike feels dehumanizing (deponifying?). There ARE ponies that are portrayed as Indian and East Asian. Even the Kirin species closely resemble ponies (just sporting different manes, horns, and tails.) If I'd even go out on a limb and hypothetically say the Dragons are implied to be Europeans (since they based on traditional European dragons), who could be hurt by being compared to a dragon? It certainly gets complicated to explore not only racial implications between ponies, but entire different species. Nonetheless, there is a heavy responsibility to check in with those who experience real-world discrimination before using it as plot points. At the end of the day - Personal biases must be checked, especially when writing for children's media. Hm. Thoughts?

Comments? Concerns?

Otherwise, have a good evening!

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 14

I walk through the threshold to my bedroom and let out the breath I’ve been holding since I walked off the flight field. I feel claustrophobic, stuck somewhere tight and oppressive within my own mind.

I pull my arms out of the harness belted at my waist and throw it onto the desk with a clatter as sheathed daggers hit wood.

My head is swimming, and I have to brace my hands on the chair at my desk to keep from sagging to the floor.

I suck in breath after breath, and hang my head, exhaustion permeating every inch of my body.

There’s a throbbing in my temples and I'm overwhelmed by every one of my compounding responsibilities. My people, my city, my dragon, and now my—Violet.

Just Violet.

The kiss I witnessed between Violet and Dain has me reeling. I hate the way he touched her, held her, and spoke to her like he hasn’t spent the last few months gaslighting her. Demeaning her. Using every tool in his arsenal to make her believe she couldn’t make it as a rider.

There’s a loud pounding on my door, knocking me out of my stupor, and I straighten up, reaching for the handle to open it before they resort to breaking down the door.

Impatient bastards.

Garrick, Bodhi, Imogen, Quinn, Heaton, Emery, and a few others march in.

I stand in silence as they settle into the various seats in the spacious room.

“I know we’ve all had a long day, but this couldn’t wait.” I pause and close my eyes, rubbing my temples with my thumb and forefinger, gathering my thoughts.

Exhaustion has become a weight on my shoulders, growing heavier as the night drags on, but there are things that must be arranged before I can escape into the darkness of sleep.

“You all should now be aware that Violet has bonded Tairn, and this means a few things. She and I are now tied to each other in every way that matters. She has a direct line to my thoughts, should she get past my mental barriers, and the threats on her life are a danger to us both. Violet is target number one, especially as she and Tairn’s bond is so new. The unbonded will spend the coming weeks attempting to steal Tairn from her. This poses a threat to the safety of myself and my dragon.” I pause, grief hitting me as memories of that final showdown run through me.

“Nolan dying nearly killed Tairn. And If Tairn dies, Sgaeyl will follow.”

I don’t need to finish the thought for everyone to understand what happens next.

A dragon without its rider is a tragedy.

A rider without their dragon is dead.

The first, and most important part of the Rider’s Codex

There’s a beat of silence before Garrick stands from his seat, “So we protect her.” His eyes are hard, determined. There’s a glimmer of caution in his gaze too though, and I know where his mind is going.

My rapidly slipping control around Sorrengail.

At the back of the room, Imogen’s face has gone pale with panic, but she raises her chin, squaring her shoulders as she addresses me, “Tell us what we need to do, Xaden.” There’s a collective murmur of agreement as the rest of the room nod their heads.

My reliable, steadfast crew. Ready to defend this woman they hate without question in order to protect one of their own.

To protect me.

“Okay.” I breathe, swinging my desk chair around to face them and taking a seat. “Your job now is to stay close to her, make people think twice about attacking her knowing the company she keeps.”

I nod my head at Imogen, “She needs to be able to protect herself, and thus far her training is…lacking.”

She snorts, “Should be easy, especially since I’m not trying to get into her pants” Sarcasm dripping off of every word, and the crew snickers at the not so subtle jab at Aetos.

“Start her on weights,” I order and Imogen nods once. “Her body is weak at the joints. It won’t make the pain go away, but we can at least help her build enough muscle to avoid injury. Everything else can be worked around as needed. For now, your only job is to be at her back, help her learn to protect her front, and help keep me alive.”

“And what about Brennan?” Bodhi asks softly.

I lean forward and prop my forearms on my knees, lacing my fingers together as I look each of them in the eye, “None of you are to utter a single word. He does not exist as far as anyone here is concerned. He is dead and buried. You are to say nothing about the resistance, about Athebyne, any of it.” Everyone nods gravely.

“You’re dismissed,” I say, drawing the meeting to a close with a wave of my hand. “Go blow off some steam, it’s been a long day.”

I stand, opening the door and the crew file out in silence, Garrick pausing by the threshold, “I didn’t say anything to Liam–”

“Good. I’ll tell him myself; he deserves a night.” Garrick is my second for a reason. Sometimes, it feels like he lives inside my head. “We’ve got you brother.” He claps me on the back.

I nod, giving him a small smile. “I know. Now get out of here. Go sleep, or find someone pretty, whatever is going to keep you from being the grouchiest mother fucker in the morning”

He laughed and strides out.

The room is empty save for the redheaded woman sitting on my desk, hands braced on the edge, swinging her feet.

I raise my eyebrows at her, giving her an exasperated look.

“Orla.” I say simply, closing the door and twisting the lock before walking over to her.

She gives me a small lopsided smile and tilts her head, her long copper hair sliding over her shoulder. “Xaden.” Her tone is teasing but soft.

She chews on her lip, looking up at me, studying my face. “I was just going to offer my company and maybe a distraction. If you need it.” She says it matter-of-factly, a genuine offer for sex, for a bit of release from the day, and nothing else.

Orla and I were in the same squad our first-year, and while the physical attraction was instant, we mostly skirted around each other until the end of our second-year.

It’s never been anything other than sex. She more or less holds the same sentiments about love and relationships that I do. They’re messy. A fast track to getting you killed. So it’s worked, this arrangement of ours. And it's comfortable, a friendship and an intimacy without pain or fear. Pleasure and release for us both.

Orla reaches for my hand, and I let her take it, stepping in between her legs until I’m surrounded by her body.

Her thumb rubs a small circle on the back of my hand, and she tilts her head up to look up at me, our lips close enough to share breath

Fragments of the day flash through my mind. Jack charging toward Violet, sword raised. The fear as Tynan circled her, blood splattered in the grass, coating her hands. Violet and Dain hand in hand, their bodies pressed together, his mouth moving against hers

I grit my teeth against that last image of the way Dain touched her face as he kissed her, a searing rage traveling up my spine at the potential violation.

I can still see Violet’s face as I slip my hand under the thin fabric of Orla’s shirt, digging my fingers into her skin as I grasp her bare waist.

She hooks her fingers into my belt loops and pulls me closer until our bodies are flush, every one of her curves pressed against me.

I bow my head, pressing my mouth against her neck, and trail a line of kisses up the curve of her jaw.

She lets out a small sigh, and I bite down on the sensitive skin between her neck and ear, making her gasp in pain and pleasure.

We’ve been doing this for long enough that we know what the other one likes, what gets a reaction out of our bodies, and I love the sounds she makes under my teeth, my hands, my body.

I suck on her skin, soothing the sting of that bite with my tongue.

My cock hardens as she grinds against me, my hand traveling up to cup her breast, thumb stroking her nipple in a long, languid movement.

Orla’s soft moan fills the room, and my hand tightens on her waist. She arches her back, bracing her arms behind her as she stretches up to meet my lips.

Before she can pull me in I lean away from her and cup her chin, my thumb dragging across her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open. She whines, frustrated by my teasing, and I let out a soft chuckle at Orla’s increasing impatience.

This is the part I love. The anticipation and need that grows with every second we spend playing.

She opens easily for me, and I move my hand to cup the back of her neck, twining my fingers through her hair and pulling with a gentle tug, forcing her head back. She hisses, and I swallow the sound as my lips connect with hers, the kiss urgent and needy. My other hand moves to cup her ass, pulling her into me and she grinds against me, harder and my hips push into her at the sensation.

Orla’s hands are warm as they glide under my shirt, and I moan into her mouth as they travel lower, toying with the waistband of my flight leathers.

My hips roll against her palm, and she moves lower, her hand now firmly tucked into the front of my pants, and I open my mouth to say something, to murmur her name.

Violet’s name.

Without warning my body has become a live wire, short-circuiting at the name hanging on my lips, moments away from being spoken.

I release my hold on Orla and step back, breaking the kiss.

My eyes are wide with shock as they land on her face, and I look down at the floor before I can read her expression.

Fuck.

“Xaden.” I hear Orla say warily.

It feels like I’m underwater, struggling to breathe as I realize what thinking Violet’s name, wanting to call out to her in that moment, might mean.

“Hey! Riorson!” Orla snaps her fingers at me, and my eyes dart up to meet hers.

There’s something clear and bright in her face as she studies me. A kind of bald understanding that makes me flinch.

“Riorson.” Orla pauses, hands out in front of her. A person trying to calm a wild animal. “You’re okay. You’re fine alright?”

When I don’t say anything she hops off the desk and grabs my hand, squeezing softly, and there’s nothing sexual in the touch, just a kind of gentle understanding. Like she can hear the echo of the word that almost slipped from my lips.

I look down at her, clearing my throat. “Im sorry, I–”

“Don’t do that Xaden.” She shakes her head. “I’m not someone you need to apologize to. Not for this.”

She lets go of me and I run shaking hands through my hair looking up at the ceiling. It takes me a few tries to swallow the lump in my throat.

My gaze drifts back down to Orla, who’s just silently looking at me.

I press my lips together in a thin line. “I’m so fucked” I whisper, my body slumping as the weight I’ve been carrying around threatens to crush me.

I’ve always felt comfortable around Orla; she keeps things to herself, and she’s got a conviction about her that I respect. An honesty that makes me trust her in a way very few do.

Still, I’ve never spoken to her quite so frankly, never been vulnerable in this way. Never been this vulnerable with anyone.

She moves toward me and reaches up on her tiptoes to cup my face in both hands. “You are not fucked Xaden.” There’s pure honesty in her words. “Things have changed rapidly, in a way that could compromise us all, but you’re not fucked.”

“I–it’s not just that, it’s– Violet” I stumble. Gods I can’t even get a sentence out. Can’t get my thoughts together.

Orla smiles knowingly, “I know, but I don’t think we need to talk about that. You’ll figure it out”

I offer her a small, grim smile in return.

“I can stay if you don’t want to be alone. Or if you want to come with me to the flight field…I want to be with *Faireachail while it’s quiet before everything gets crazy again.”

My friends are better to me than I’ll ever deserve.

I shake my head. “No, no I need to sleep.”

She walks to the door. “Orla?” I say as her hand grabs the knob.

“Yea?” She turns to look at me.

“Thank you. You’re kinder than I deserve.”

She looks at me with a sad smile, “No I’m not Xaden.” And she walks out into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a click.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

Question for the pack but very specifically our alphas. While it’s very typical to want omegas during rut, has there ever been an instinct or longing for another alpha to come help? Has another alpha ever stepped in place of an omega to help ease another ruts by slathering themselves in scent blockers?

Additionally, Y/N and Channie are your individual ruts harder on each other because your Moonmates?

Thank you and love y’all!!!

"This is a great question, and it varies based on alpha actually." You say with a glance between the other alphas, and they all nod in agreement. "Subgender may all be the same, cycles may all be the same, but we still all have very different personalities."

"Yeah, some of us-" Changbin gives you a very pointed look. "-get real grumpy with certain scents around that time."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Yeah, and some of us get overly whiney and want Minho to dominate the fuck out of us."

"Who wouldn't want that?" Jisung asks with slight disbelief, making a very good point, and everyone nods in agreement.

"Anyway." Chan shoots you and Changbin a pointed look, then sighs, raking a hand through his messy curls. "I can only speak for myself personally, but I actually really like to spend my ruts with (Y/N). My alpha gets overly possessive during that time-of everyone actually-but the moonmate thing kicks into overdrive when I'm not entirely in my right mind."

"You like to spend your ruts with me until the last couple of days." You point out. "Then when knotting me isn't enough, you usually switch into omega mode."

"I think that's pretty common, to hyperfocus on us around your ruts." Hyunjin shrugs, and Seungmin nods his silent agreeement. The head omega shoots Chan a smirk now. "And we're always entirely happy to be of service."

"He also gets really pissy with me in general." Changbin adds, and Chan gives him an apologetic glance.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"It's fine. I just avoid the house at all costs during that week usually."

"As Binnie so kindly pointed out-" You glance at the other alpha, who grins and winks in your direction. "-I get pissy about particular scents during rut. I don't usually care very much about subgender? I mean, it's the same thing as Channie, omegas tend to dominate my mind the last couple days, but before then, it doesn't matter, as long as it's not Channie or Binnie."

You wince and reach out to pet Chan's leg in silent apology. He smiles and laces his fingers with yours.

"Their scents are way too strong when I'm so sensitive." You go on, glancing at Minho now. "I can usually handle Minho's because his scent is a little softer for an alpha, so he doesn't spike my wolf's defensive side, but if the other two get anywhere near me during rut, I immediately feel threatened."

"And scent blockers don't seem to help when it comes to us." Changbin points out now. "Which is odd, but your wolf still somehow picks up on our undertones and bares its teeth regardless."

You shrug. "What can I say? She's a Grade A Boss Bitch."

"As far as my ruts go," Changbin continues, looking thoughtful for a moment. "I think we're all the same in that we highly prefer omegas at the end, just because of primal needs and knotting, but in the beginning? I prefer another alpha actually. Unless of course, they're a top leaning omega like Jinnie." He shrugs. "I get a lot more primal in rut, and it's nice to have someone who can tell me what to do and I don't have to think about it. Thus, Minho-hyung."

"He is pretty bossy." Jeongin chirps innocently, with a sly look in Minho's direction, even as the alpha leans over to try to cuff his ear.

"Yah, watch your tongue."

"I also don't particularly care about alpha scents during rut." Changbin adds. "So scent blockers or the lack thereof aren't usually an issue for me."

"As far as the whole moonmate thing," You remark, squeezing Chan's hand, and he squeezes back in response. "biology dictates that yeah, your moonmate's cycle is going to be a little bit rougher on you than just any other cycle. Regardless of subgender of either mate."

"It's interesting when it comes to beta mates though." Seungmin muses, his hand resting on Changbin's thigh, Jisung now playing with the fingers on his other free hand. "We don't experience cycles. But Changbin-hyung and Minho-hyung still have ruts, and I've noticed those take a toll on us regardless."

"Yeah, rut week is hell." Jisung agrees instantly, his dark eyes large and haunted. "Minho-hyung is scary on a good day. He's absolutely fucking terrifying the week of."

Minho levels the beta with a sharp gaze. "Han Jisung. I thought you liked my scary side."

Jisung waves his hands. "Oh, I absolutely do. It's hot as fuck. But also-" He grimaces. "I get awful headaches that week and my skin feels itchy and all I want to do is sleep. And that's your fault."

"Try being the actual one in rut." Changbin mutters beneath his breath.

"No thanks. I choose life."

"That's what I thought."

[offantasiesandreams]

ey man, can i have a drabble with the puppeteer wanting to give the batter lots of kisses (because he deserves it :b)

Ayo, absolutely! Fluff is good and I'm always more than happy to write it! And you are so right, he deserves every kiss on the planet! As well as a lullaby! Someone out there should sing him a lullaby too!

Reader Giving Batter Kisses

“Oh, look! It seems like you’ve got a spot here!” Batter turned to you, utterly confused at your allegation. While it was true that he was eating a cream puff you had brought him, he was attentive enough to not spill anything. Or get some on himself for that matter. Though, you were His Player, you knew best about what he couldn’t see, for your judgement was always correct.

“I understand, the spot will be removed immediately. May I ask where it might be, however?” Looking up and down on his clothing, aside from a few crumbs, which he proceeded to wipe off of himself, he couldn’t find anything, his face didn’t feel as though it had anything on it either.

Still, you gave him a warm smile, one, the sun itself would be envious of. Just looking at you felt like being hit by a ray of light after a dreary night. Your giggles made something in Batter flutter, even if, by now, he knew you were up to something. It may have been good, it may have been bad, but either way, he was going to support you through it, even if it meant he was the victim of another prank of yours.

As you leaned closer to his face, Batter took another bite of his cream puff, chewing it rather slowly, however. Eventually, as he felt your breath on his face, he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact any further. “Oh, another spot seemed to have appeared, let me get it for you real quick!”

Puzzling as that statement of yours may have been, the saviour had no time to question your motives for he felt your lips pressing against his cheek. In that moment, he stopped chewing completely, too stunned to form a coherent thought. Only when he hid underneath the safety of his hat did he realise he still had food to swallow, as it was rude to speak with a full mouth. “My Player, I appreciate your taking care of me.”

“Batter, what are you talking about?” You snatched the baseball cap from his hands and put it aside. “You’re so full of spots right now! I need to get every single one of them!” Putting Batter’s face in your hands may have been your very worst idea yet. There was nowhere he had left to hide his face, red as the setting sun and cold as a winter evening. All four of his ruby red eyes were open, avoiding yours entirely.

And thus, your barrage began. Not a single spot of his was spared. From his cheek, to his nose, to his forehead. And every time you seemed to have gotten rid of a spot, two would appear in its stead somewhere else. Batter truly was as epic as he was mysterious. But even the heroic Hercules had to have his downfall eventually, as he, too, was merely a mortal. The finishing blow, you found, was when you met Batter’s lips.

“Aww, is someone all smiles now?”

Even the tip of his ears were red by the time you were finished with him. If you had been a spectre, Batter’s journey would have been much more difficult, it’s probably for the best you were His Player. But none of that mattered as you were awaiting a response when you didn’t get one. Did you go too far? Or, even worse, did you break him?

When he did face you again, it was a sight you would never forget. A small smile was placed on his lips. Like a blue moon, it was a rare sight, and like the lining up of the planets, an event you would never forget. One last time, you gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispering an “I love you” to a guy, who has not felt this much glee in a long time.

[rollercoasterwords]

I feel like an interesting thing about remus and sirius dynamic in the wfrau is that they're not really that different, it just is kind of convenient that the cause remus works for happens to be the moral highground, bc rlly what other choice does he have when he was forced into prostitution before them. like the order, despite the sacrifices he has to make, is literally the best place for him: he gets a purpose, friends, food and shelter, and a life beyond anything he could have on his own. idk this could be a TOTAL misread of his character, and since we've been looking through sirius' eyes its natural to want to sympathise with him more, but it would be a lot more of a cost for sirius to abandon his life and join some (in the shadows)(LARGELY unsuccessful) rebellion where he could easily be found out and killed/tortured gruesomely. Remus admits himself that he's prideful ("But his pride—that’s the one thing that’s always remained his own.") and he obviously looks down on sirius a lot for the life he lives, but I feel like at the end of the day they both just want to a) avoid suffering/protect themselves and b) protect the people they care about, and they both only have one place to turn to to do both of those things, and remus' just happens to be morally superior to sirius'.

correct me on this if you think I've misread remus (cause hes v complex obviously) or the worldbuilding, and not to understate that sirius is doing bad things and remus is (trying) to do good things, and that it is possible to escape the life sirius has (regulus did, apparently), but idk I just wanted to try and tell what makes their dynamic so interesting.

oooh such a fun analysis for me 2 read!! v interesting 2 see how other people interpret the things i write etc. before i respond tho i feel like i need 2 put a little disclaimer that like, i believe in death of the author etc such that i don't think my interpretation/intent should necessarily be taken as inherently more valuable, bc once a work like this is shared ik there are going 2 be varied ways of reading + interpreting it, and i don't want 2 encourage anyone 2 approach stories like this as if there is one Ultimate Correct Interpretation drawn from the writer's intent that u need 2 find, etc.

that being said, i'm happy 2 share my own interpretations + the thinking + intent behind what i've written thus far! think this is gonna get long so i'm gonna put a cut tho lol

so i definitely see the parallels ur drawing between remus + sirius both joining the organizations they joined due in part to coercive conditions outside their control as well as seemingly sharing some core motivations. however i'm not sure i would go as far as you have in saying that their situations are essentially the same and remus just ended up on the "right side" (to paraphrase)

first off - while i see where your take on remus is coming from, keep in mind that at this point in the fic we don't actually know anything about how or why he joined the order. i do have a backstory in mind regarding how exactly he started working with them, and it might not necessarily align with ur interpretation here. don't want to spoil too much, but i will say that remus's choice to join the order was a choice. it wasn't just a matter of having no other options.

something i specifically wanna put pressure on with ur reading is the idea that he was "forced into prostitution" before joining--it seems like ur interpretation of why remus joined the order is that he did it to escape sex work. but keep in mind that remus joining the order resulted in him "selling himself" in a much more dangerous and violent way--he joined the fighting rings + began risking his life every month as well as killing and maiming his fellow werewolves. we know, from his pov, that this is not something he would have done were it not for the order mission; it's reasonable to conclude that remus himself would have preferred sex work to becoming a fighter in the rings, but did so anyway for a larger goal. i'd encourage you to reflect, here, on whether you have a more visceral emotional reaction to the thought of remus "selling himself" as a sex worker versus "selling himself" as a ring fighter--whether the former strikes you as inherently more debasing, more abject, more likely to warrant a desire to "escape." if so, i'd encourage you to reflect on why that might be, and how it affects the way you think of sex work and sex workers. additionally, we know that his involvement with the order did eventually require him to engage in sex work again--so the idea that he joined the order to escape sex work isn't really something that i'm trying to get at in my writing.

also, getting back to the idea that remus was "forced into prostituion"--again, i wanna step back here and ask u 2 reflect a bit on what your choice of phrasing there might say about the underlying associations you have with sex work that might be influencing your reading. my intent in writing remus's backstory with sex work was not to give the impression that he was an abject victim forced by powers beyond his control into sex work as his only option. rather, it was to portray him as a character who is constrained, yes, by the forces that oppress him--specifically, the government that bars him from using magic, accessing stable work, accessing accommodations for his condition, fails to provide any social safety nets, operates + sustains itself on unfair labor conditions which require an exploited class of laborers, etc. but within those constraints i specifically wrote in that remus does have other options; he has, in the past, found other types of work, and there are, of course, the fighting rings or any other number of illegal methods by which he could try to obtain money. remus weighs those other options and chooses to turn to sex work because it seems like his best choice; whether that's because he thinks it will offer him the most control, or the most money, or the most security--it doesn't matter. what matters is that all his options are equally constrained by his oppression, all come with their own pitfalls and humiliations and degrees of exploitation. mysticizing sex work as somehow inherently more abject than the others is...not really what i was going for. that's part of why i wrote about his experiences with it--including experiences that might be viewed by some as grave violations--in a purposefully casual way. for remus, his body has always been an exploited object; sex work is not something he would have felt the need to "escape," from, because he chose to do it, and it's at least a way to make use of his marginalization by exploiting the fact that his condition is made into a fetish. it doesn't mean he's not aware of the coercion involved in his choice--maybe if his father hadn't been so sick and he hadn't needed cash fast for medicine he would have made a different decision, but there likely would have always come a point where he needed money fast and his dad wasn't able to act as the breadwinner anymore. remus has always been very aware that his options in life are limited.

all this is to say, remus's decision to join the order is not something done out of desperation because he thinks his life will be better with them--it's done specifically with a broader political goal in mind. and this is a significant reason for his disdain for sirius. because remus isn't just trying to survive, to protect himself and his loved ones--he and his loved ones are risking their lives every day in service of their ideals, to fight for change. the fact that sirius, who is so much more privileged than remus has ever been, only joined the death eaters because he was forced to is not something that really wins points with remus. it shifts his view of sirius, sure, to know that he doesn't like...delight in serving voldemort and has enough of a conscience to feel guilty about what he does. but remus still disdains a person who would harm others to save their own skin--it's just that sirius is a coward, not a sadist.

and remus doesn't really know or understand how the drive to protect regulus was bound up with sirius rising through the death eater ranks. he's only had glimpses into sirius's home life and his relationship with his brother, and he honestly isn't going around trying to dig up explanations about any of it--he would much rather continue viewing sirius as a contemptible, cowardly death eater than change his perspective, because sirius literally embodies the forces of oppression that have been hurting remus since he was a child, along with his loved ones.

and then the last major difference i'd point out between their joining of their respective organizations is that sirius does benefit, in many tangible ways, from joining the death eaters. like--remus joining the order is mostly just putting his neck on the line and a target on his back, though he does of course benefit from obtaining a community and friends and support in many ways. but in the larger systems of power at play here, remus joining the order only marginalizes him further, when he was already marginalized.

sirius, on the other hand, gains power from becoming a feared and respected death eater. obviously, he suffers many personal injuries and hardships and would not choose to join them had he been given a choice. but he does, in some ways, enjoy the power he obtains from his status. he enjoys his wealth and the comfort it brings. he enjoys it when he's able to accrue enough power to go off and play rebel in small ways that allow him to grasp onto the illusion that he's not given in totally to these people who he knows are corrupt, when he's able to make himself virtually untouchable by the vast majority of people. for sirius, most of his hardship and struggle is internal, emotional, and though he, too, has suffered and been marginalized in some ways by larger systems of power, when offered an avenue to take advantage of those systems of power it's not as if he hated every part of the ride to the top. yeah, he was forced to join the death eaters because he was a kid whose parents wanted to make sure their heir didn't end up a faggot. and that was incredibly traumatic. but his joining the death eaters did not actually marginalize him--it granted him access to a lot of power. and this is something remus is acutely aware of, and another reason that, from his perspective, it's difficult to just feel sorry for sirius.

anyway, you're not wrong that there are definitely parallels between them, but i'd say when it comes to the organizations they're each working for an important difference is that remus actually believes in what his organization is fighting for, while sirius sort of knows that what voldemort's doing is wrong but ignores it and remains complicit.

[secondsonaym]

"Do not falter now." Fox growled to Deckard, who clenched their fists and directed their gaze at Star.

Again the Yellow Crown shifted into daggers, and the charged, forcing Star to scramble away from the other three. She drew her sword again, focusing entirely on deflecting Deckard's attacks, but all the while was being pushed back by her sibling's onslaught.

"Now, let's deal with you three." Fox shifted his attention to the others and took a step forward, claws tense and ready to strike.

Despite his wounds, Narinder pushed to the front, glaring the Fox down.

"Going to play the hero, then, Narinder?" Fox taunted, before lashing out at him with a swipe of claws.

Narinder grimaced, his stab wounds slowing his reflexes, and only just barely managed to swipe away Fox's attack.

Stolas and Ratau stood there, looking between the two fights worriedly. Neither of them could fight, and Ratau was holding on to Star's heart, so what were they to do?

"Get out of here." Stolas instructed Ratau, gesturing to the still-open door. "Hurry."

"What about--" Ratau began to protest, but Stolas shook his head.

"I'll--I'll think of something! I always do! But you need to get yourself and the heart to safety, now!"

With that, Ratau turned to the exit and began to run, the bloodied bag still held tightly in his arms.

Stolas then looked to the fight between Fox and Narinder. Narinder had been pushed back a few feet, doing his best to stand his ground, but the Fox steadily approaching him--Menacing and patient like a predator closing in on its prey.

Stolas knew he didn't have time to hesitate. He hurried to stand in front of Narinder, ignoring his wobbling legs and shaking frame. If he could give Narinder just a moment's pause--

The Fox paused, staring down at Stolas with the faintest bit of surprise in his eyes. He had not expected the owl to try something like this, convinced he was a sniveling coward.

Well... He still was. And like all owls, he was nothing but words.

"Remember what I said, when we first met, boy?" Fox snarled, stepping closer to Stolas, his ability to loom over him much more apparent.

"Stolas-" Narinder warned, but it was too late.

The Fox's hands grabbed Stolas' shoulders, and his muzzle hovered over the owl's head, as if about to open wide and rip it off right there. He glared down at him with an intense fire in his eyes, slitted eyes narrowed to a deadly degree.

"I. Don't. Care. For. OWLS."

Suddenly, the Fox lifted Stolas up, and threw him over his shoulder, with such ease that Stolas might as well have been a plush toy.

But rather than strike the wall, Stolas collided with something much different.

Instantly, he was grabbed by a cold shroud of darkness, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He tried to fight it, but his limbs quickly went numb, and a force dragged him further into the void.

He couldn't get a word out as the icy feeling covered his face, and his vision went dark.

And the last thing he felt before he lost consciousness,

Was a feeling of falling down,

down,

down.

----

"Now that that annoyance is taken care of," Fox growled, looking back to Narinder. "Let's see just how far the Chained One has fallen."

Narinder just barely managed to duck out of the way of the Fox's swipe, groaning as the movement agitated his wounds. He attempted to strike back with his gauntlets, but the Fox parried them easily, sneering all the while.

"Why did you do this?" He spluttered, breath rushing from his lungs as he avoided another attack. "You had the crown, why didn't you wear it?"

"Being at the top is hardly my interest." Fox laughed dryly, backhanding Narinder so he rolled a few feet away with a pained growl. "My preference for dwelling in the shadows would hardly be possible as a crown bearer, of all things."

"But this lamb that I found, why, they reminded me so much of the Constellation when I first met her. A deep well of hunger, a manic bloodlust to rival my own. So it was a simple matter to give them the crown, and thus, all the hard work."

Fox was interrupted by a loud shout from the other side of the temple floor, and he flicked his gaze over Narinder's shoulder before a twisted smile grew on his face.

"Oh dear. It looks like the Constellation is losing the upper hand."

Forgetting to remain alert, heart plummeting in his chest when he heard the cry, Narinder looked over his shoulder.

In actuality, Deckard had been the one to cry out, having fallen to the floor. Star was now on top of them, knee to their chest.

And then the Fox struck.

Quick as lightning, he lunged forward, jaws clamping down on Narinder's forearm, prompting him to let out a blood-curdling scream.

With a shake of his head, the Fox picked Narinder up and flung him to the side, pausing for a moment to lick the blood from his lips as he watched the cat hit the stone wall. Now confident in his victory, he walked slowly over to Narinder, wicked grin twisting to an unsettling degree.

Star, upon hearing the cry, turned to see what was happening, almost giving out her own cry when she saw Narinder crumpled on the ground.

But she couldn't let Deckard go. They would just attack her.

Sensing her hesitance, Deckard snarled from where they were pinned, glaring up at her.

"No." Star insisted, glancing back at them. "I will NOT."

"It's either kill me and save Narinder, or let him die to the Fox. Your choice." Was all her sibling replied.

Star frowned, once again returning her attention to Narinder. The Fox was almost upon him--She didn't have much--

"OW!" She screamed, as Deckard lunged and bit her arm, fangs digging deep into her skin.

Reflexively, she grabbed the collar of Deckard's cloak, lifting their head up before dropping it down hard on the floor with a startling crack.

Deckard immediately went limp, jaws releasing from their hold on her arm.

Star stared down in horror, wondering if she had just done what she had refused to up until this point, until--They breathed. It was faint, but Deckard was still breathing. She had just knocked them out.

Using that relief as her fuel, she finally got up, turning to the Fox and changing her crown into her signature hammer. An enraged bellow escaped her mouth as she charged at him, already swinging the weapon high in preparation for a strike.

The Fox only just had time to face her before the hammer struck, slamming directly into his gut and sending him tumbling across the floor.

He shakily rose back to his feet, hunched over in pain from the severe blow.

He stared at Star, who stood protectively over Narinder, hammer still at the ready. His eyes slid to Deckard at the far end, noting how they weren't moving.

All he did was scowl as he began to sink into the ground, realizing he had no advantage now. Within seconds, he had vanished into a puddle of dark, and was gone.

Once the dark portal had vanished, Star fell to her knees, letting out a heavy exhale.

It was over.

It was all over...

[martian-garden]

I want an enemies to lovers to friends arc. But Not like the friends ending is a bittersweet thing or just the "it turns out *okay*" vibe, I want the friends to be the endgame, I want the connection they have while platonically bonded to be the way it is deepest, I want them to feel so deeply cared for and at peace that way. Like the trope of "i have feelings for you-i have feelings for you --that feeling was friendship and neither of them had ever experienced it" but they figure it out and are happier that way.

Like gimme two angry, withdrawn people who end up involved despite hating each other because that's the only way they can understand the connection they sense they have, and then when they're lying awake at night feeling their stomach tying itself in knots they finally call the other one not to be self destructive or for escapism, but because they might have one person who will at least listen to them all the way thru, even if only to fucking gloat and insult how pathetic they are. But they so desperately need to get it out that they're too real and crying, and the person who thus far has had nothing but shit things to say is dead quiet the whole time. Because they understand. They relate.

And then the next time they're at work, there's a thermos of curry on their desk. Neither brings it up bc what if it's too awkward, but the thermos is washed and reappears on the doorstep of its owner. One of them will break into the other's apartment and do their dishes and there isn't even a note left saying to get better security, amateur. And finally one of them takes a hit (emotional or psychological) so bad they just crawl in the window and scare the shit out of the other, and they just sit in a blanket for a night, watching mindless tv and lost in space. They sleep on each other's couches between work. Text constantly. Both of them slowly lose interest in the fucking and are relieved when the feeling is mutual. They spend their nights making food for each other and curled up on the couch.

The Big Bad of the story does the whole evil-plan-is-unfolding thing and everyone is surprised when the hero-coded protagonist half is suddenly screaming in blinding rage when the 'wrapped up with the wrong crowd' ""enemy"" gets the short end of the stick, and the pacing of the story is suddenly all wrong, bc instead of planning one last careful victory, they drop every concern they have about their morality and fucking kill the Big Bad with a baseball bat after chasing them three miles down the mountain road away from the hideout on a shitty bicycle. The story doesn't end with the fight and denouement, it cuts to two figures soaked in blood: one their own, the other that of the Big Bad, and the latter turning to the former and promising it'll be okay, and falling asleep in a chair in their friend's hospital room that they definitely didn't break into to avoid the no visitors rule. Offering a shoulder while edgelord half learns to walk with a cane, remarking how absolutely based they'll look if they lean into it and get a monocle and pocket watch. Everyone else is mystified and that does not matter. They are understood, they are loved, they have what they always needed.

[faintingheroine]

okay i asked about your favorite Nigar scene, what are your favorite Nihal scenes/parts of the book?

Every scene she is in?

1- Her father comparing and contrasting her with Bihter before she even comes on the scene:

“Ah! Nihal’s sorrowful, jaundiced face that seemed to complain of being alive; and in its yellow hue the deceptive joy of a fugitive pink, trembling with the delicacy of a rose that will fade at once. Those eyes that tried to fool you with their smile when she was ill, that tried to lull those around her into contentment, that laughed while deep within, her sickening soul wept. He saw the meaning behind all of these. He remembered at that time, his daughter’s illnesses, the nervous fits, the headaches that began all the way at the nape of her neck and continued for weeks…

Suddenly, he thought he saw Nihal’s sad, weeping face looking at him. For a minute he wished to have this day erased from his life. Yes, today should be erased, today, like all other days, should be spent in unsuccessful battles; he ought not to be defeated. But now the application looked like a step that could not be retracted; he could find no opportunity in his heart to change or to yield the distance he had covered. Behind that ill visage was another, one with dark hair, long lashes, and large, sleepy eyes, full of poetry and youth, that smiled at him maddeningly.”

(Chapter 2)

2- I really like this long passage about her fears regarding Bihter coming to her home:

“Nihal, her life spent in a limited sphere, taking from life only what her father and governess, her books and nannies said, not possessing a sophisticated female companion, knew no more than average twelve-year-old children. What she knew of life was limited to the confused inferences drawn by her small judgement from things she had overheard by chance, or seen in the street from the passing carriage.

As soon as she understood that a woman was to come to the house, without considering its true purport, she had felt an entirely emotional, entirely nervous anguish; her reason had no affect on this matter. This feeling could most correctly be summarised by the term, jealousy. She envied this coming woman everything; especially her father, and Bülent, also Beşir, all the house-folk, the house, the furniture, even herself. By coming into these beloved things, this woman would steal them, take them away. Yes, she could not very well figure out how, could not think clearly, but her soul felt that after the woman came, she would herself be unable to love the things she had loved thus far.

After word got out, the house-folk avoided her, in order not to chatter too much in her presence. When Nihal entered Şakire Hanım’s room, Şayeste, kneeling before her as she related something, would suddenly fall silent, Nesrin would constantly sigh and say, ‘of!’, and from all these people around her there emanated a secret meaning. So something was going to happen that she did not understand. Even the eyes that shone out of Cemile’s round face showed that this little girl was more knowledgeable than Nihal.

At first, with a curiosity that she could not get the better of, despite Mlle de Courton’s insistence, she had stubbornly refused to come to the Island. She had wished to stay there in readiness, with the attentiveness of a researching historian, in the capacity of a vigilant witness to the details of the event. She asked nothing of anyone, said not a word about the affair, but only wanted to see and to understand. Later, when she learned that their rooms would be rearranged and the maple bedroom set would be placed there, she had rather lacked the strength to stay, and, at the first blow of this affair, had been defeated and wanted to flee.

In this way she had been thinking of it constantly for the past fifteen days, as if hearing the death rattle of a dear, distant patient, but fearing that if she said one word she would hasten the end. She regretted agreeing to come to the Island. More importantly, she ought to have stayed to the finish. There was such a fear in her heart that it made her believe that on their return, the yalı, her father, everything would have been lost, that they would have been blasted by a wind. If she had stayed there, this wind would not have blown, this wind would not have been able to do anything.

And then she held a bitterness towards her father that could not be expressed openly. Whenever they came to the Island, he would visit at every opportunity, and stay with them for days. This time, he had not, not once stopped by, and had not even wondered about them enough to send a man. In the last days she never mentioned her father to Mlle de Courton.”

(Chapter 4)

3- NIHAL’S PETTINESS:

“Mlle de Courton was saying, ‘no more giving Bülent pencils. From now on, it is necessary to keep the room tidy. We will throw away all unnecessary toys. Bülent will become a little gentleman who loves to keep the house tidy. And we won’t forget to thank the Bey for this beautiful room tonight, will we, Nihal?…’

Nihal did not answer.”

(Chapter 4)

“Nihal was listening quietly, with a slight smile. Interrupting him suddenly, she said, ‘Bülent! Do you know? There is a new development in the house. Şakire Hanım and Cemile have left.’

Bülent shrugged. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I had it from Beşir. She shouldn’t have annoyed my mother…’

Nihal pushed away Bülent’s notebook with an involuntary gesture. The day’s greatest wound had thus been opened by these words. What? So he found that woman in the right, did he? His mother!.. But the woman who had brought him up, who had looked after him, who had mothered him since the day he was born was Şakire Hanım. And these words were the recompense, were they? His mother!.. That woman…

She was looking at the child’s face without saying a word. She pushed the notebook away again. ‘I don’t want it anymore, I’m tired!..’

Bülent, not understanding, asked, ‘what about you? Didn’t you write me a letter, sis?..’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Nihal lied. ‘It’s such a silly thing to do.’”

(Chapter 9)

“Nihal, who persisted in supporting Behlül’s scheme while Bihter showed opposition, seemed, now that Bihter had begun not to object, to be distancing herself from the idea of a Japanese costume.”

(Chapter 12)

“As well as feeling a secret resentment towards this girl who talked of her father’s age, Nihal, without being able quite to identify it, also felt something like gratification. That age difference, by constituting a deficiency in this marriage, seemed to exact Nihal’s revenge.”

(Chapter 13)

“Nihal had noticed something: Bihter did not talk about it unless forced to. While Nihal had taken this as evidence of Bihter’s guardedness towards her, but she had later reached the conclusion that Bihter was dissatisfied with the idea of this marriage. Seen in this light, the jest had gained value in Nihal’s eyes. Unable to consent to the cessation of anything that tortured Bihter, she had covertly allowed everyone to speak of it, and even gave secret encouragements.”

(Chapter 18)

4) I like her first meeting with Bihter for the overly romanticized language:

“Bihter continued her progress, and all at once, with that smile that warmed the coolness of any first exchange with a gentle air of affection, she put one hand on Nihal’s shoulder, held her hand with her other hand, and drew the child’s weak body closer. With a delicate scent of violets emanating from her, she was enveloping Nihal in a fresh, spring atmosphere, and Nihal’s head had rested on her bosom. So the thing that had been so much feared, the thing that had crushed her oppressed soul in the nightmare of an awful catastrophe consisted of this young, beautiful, smiling woman, this body in whose air, as much as in a bouquet of violets, blew a breath of spring? This perfume seemed to vapourise and absorb Nihal’s soul. Lifting her eyes, her head there, she looked at Bihter, and she was laughing too. Now, under that smile of Bihter’s, she appeared to be blooming among the roses of her whole soul’s surrender.

Then Bihter, with her voice that hung a little on syllables as if singing, said, ‘you will love me, won’t you? At any rate it will be impossible not to love me… I will love you, love you so much that at last you will love me too.’

In reply, Nihal reached out her thin lips, Bihter lowered her head, these two bodies, who ought to have been enemies to each other, kissed with an affection that was born in a minute, and became friends. Yes, they had at once become each other’s friend. Nihal felt as if she had come out of a terrible dream.

When she was going upstairs to change her clothes and undress, she drew near Mlle de Courton and said, ‘isn’t it wonderful, Mademoiselle? I had thought…’”

(Chapter 4)

5) The narrowness of Nihal’s world versus the life ahead of Bülent, her waning control over him, life as a monster and a cameo from a cat:

“Bülent had been at school for a week. Sending the boy to school had been so long talked about, and Bülent, after hearing so many amusing tales of recess diversions, endless games played with a band of rascals in the sun and the dust of courtyards, had accepted this idea with such joy, that finally one day, as the child was leaving the yalı, to return for only one day a week later, he and Nihal had been laughing as they kissed goodbye. What made Bülent so ecstatic, had also been an occasion to make Nihal happy. Yet that day, after Bülent left the yalı door, Nihal had run to the window and looked after him. Bülent, in order to reach as soon as possible that new horizon, composed of entertainments heard from Behlül, was running across the stones of the dock. He did not think to turn his head and wave one last goodbye to his sister who watched him. Then something ached in Nihal’s soul. Even after Bülent turned the corner of the dock and disappeared, she continued to watch.

That evening, seeing his place empty at the dinner table, and his empty bed at night, she had felt like crying. So this was something more than a laughing matter, after all? So now a sea, a long distance, high walls, and a strange life had appeared between these two friends? He would have other companions, other loved-ones, other people than his sister to tell him what to do; at night he would sleep with other children than his sister, and everything, everything would be different. Then, without being able to judge the importance of this little matter, her spirit felt its full pronouncement: they had not just parted, their souls were to grow apart; the ties of their heartstrings would be unbound one by one, no, for Nihal, they would be torn, ripped to shreds.

That night, thinking these things, unable to sleep in her bed in her now solitary room, she considered herself completely alone in the world, and felt all the pain of this loneliness. Could they not leave her Bülent? Why had this school business been invented? Was it necessary to take children from their homes, from the arms that were content to embrace them, and throw them in schools?

Was this life? Was it the cruel law of this life not to leave two hearts to their own devices?

After Bülent’s school business was invented, she had heard these lectures on life. Life… life.. what did it mean? Was it such a terrible thing? In her itty bitty judgement, life took on a form and face; became a monster with long, tearing talons, terrible, treacherous, burning eyes. Then people, surprised, crazed, could not struggle free of the hooks of those talons, or escape the fires of its eyes.

This was the life that took her mother, and this life had changed her father, and it, always it, had hooked Bülent onto its claw, and flung him far away. Yet all of these conclusions drawn from her reasoning snagged on one point, and stuck. ‘If she hadn’t come, life would have left us alone,’ she was saying to herself.

Yes, she ascribed the full responsibility for everything, everything, even her motherlessness, to her. ‘Oh! This woman!..’ she was saying. Now her thoughts were growing muddled, and she was falling asleep; all of a sudden, she heard a shy scratching at the wood of her door. Shaking herself awake, she asked, ‘who is that? Fındık, is it you?’

Fındık was answering. Tonight, Fındık was coming to keep her company and help her forget her loneliness. How, how grateful she was this night for Fındık’s presence!”

(Chapter 9)

6) Her banter with Behlül here:

“Behlül was grabbing their bags and parasols, and taking the lead like a footman. He had seated himself between Nihal and Bihter in the boat. He was talking to Nihal. This was one of his best days.

‘Let me invent such an outfit for my little Nihal today that no one at the wedding will see anyone but her,’ he was saying. ‘But do you know? You are becoming quite a stylish, lovely girl. Let me see. Lift your eyes.’

Nihal was lifting her eyes, and asking, ‘is the gentleman pleased with Nihal’s eyes? Shall I smile a little more? Would you like to see my teeth?’

Nihal, widening her thin lips, showing her teeth, was leaning towards Behlül.

Behlül gave his verdict: ‘Yes, isn’t it so? Nihal is quite a stylish, pretty girl… Not beautiful, you know, Nihal, not what one would call beautiful, but something else: elegant, delicate, what to call it… fine, yes, a fine girl… You know those vague pictures, all the way from Japan, that strange Eastern country, painted with three or four lines, figures that resemble flowers more than people, like a graceful, lovely flower that looks as if it will break if you touch it; so Nihal, you have an air that reminds me of them. A fine poem, a girl made of jasmines, for the eyes only…’

Nihal, without answering Behlül, was asking Bihter, ‘I believe I am being praised. How should one respond to this?’ And then turning to Behlül, nodding to him formally, ‘sir,’ she was saying, ‘you are mistaken. Little Nihal is neither a beautiful girl, nor a frail flower. Nihal is no more than a Japanese with a little fan in her hand, and long pins in her hair…’”

(Chapter 12)

7) Her thoughts about the wedding. The entire thing so I only put the first paragraph:

“For Nihal, this wedding had suddenly brought to light many truths that until that day had not been clearly understood, but had only been sensed vaguely. There were certain corners seen from afar, away from the life they always saw and knew. She had never observed its inhabitants, in particular its women — the women of her own world — so closely.”

(Chapter 13)

8) Her reconciliation with her father after the wedding. The promise to not marry, the callback to woodcarved portrait, the melancholy of finding her father old, the “comedic bent” in Nihal (for she is never a one-dimensional “sad girl”), her restraining herself from making a sarcastic remark about her father’s marriage, the wish for the emerald set, the happiness with which she leaves the scene… Best scene. I won’t put the entire thing here since it is too long but I will put the passage echoed in the last paragraph of the book:

“As her soul embraced her father’s look in an air of delicate kinship, something seemed to melt in Nihal’s heart with the pleasure of a great happiness. She would throw herself into her father’s arms, and after five minutes, she would be weeping with the happiness of having found her father. But she could not find the strength to do so. For the sake of saying something, she said, ‘not a young girl, papa. When a child becomes a young girl, she will finally become a bride, won’t she? Don’t you remember? When I was little, you used to ask me: “Nihal, whose will you be?” I, doubtless in all seriousness, would reply, “yours.” Don’t be alarmed, I’m not of that mind now, but I will stay with you. Do you understand me, papa? I will always stay with you…’”

(Chapter 13)

9) Her feelings after having fights with Bihter, everyone who ever been an angry teenager (most of us) can identify the accuracy of the feeling.

10) The passage where she dreams about her mother’s grave:

“Then, when the black, winter days poured their deathly darkness wave upon wave through her window, she would feel a chill and shiver suddenly. To die! Who knows, how beautiful it would be! But how awful… It was its very horror that was beautiful. A black hole, and she, lying there, with her wholly pallid face and yellow hair, wrapped in a white, snow white shroud, and far above, a rain falling from black skies upon the black ground, as if stroking the young girl’s grave; there, those healing tears!.. Since, in this life, she had no generous heart that would wet her yellow hair with its tears, she would find these tears in her grave. As the sky scattered its drops like a mother weeping over her daughter, slowly, heavily, her soul would drink them from the grave, this dead young girl’s colourless lips would find freshness with a happy smile. Then, who knows, perhaps through the dark paths of the graves, from the black halls hidden under the earth, a dead woman, her mother, dragging her white shroud, clawing the soil with her fingernails, would open a way, and come to her daughter so as not to leave her alone at nights, and with her lips seek out her ear among her hair, and in a quiet voice, not to be overheard by the living, would say, ‘my Nihal, my little Nihal! Only I find you justified.’ Yes, only she would find little Nihal justified.

As she sat in her room, alone, thinking about death, she would see in her mind’s eye the fresh grave of a young girl, and resting her chin on her hand, staring into space, would seem to keep vigil at the head of that grave.

If only it were possible to be thus split in two! A Nihal who was dead, kissing her mother in her grave, and another Nihal, standing at the head of the grave, with her chin in her hand, her yellow hair disheveled, her eyes open to a horizon that no mortal could discern, unmoving, living as if she were not living, a statue placed there only to weep, but alive, a grieving statue.”

(Chapter 13)

11) Her feeling of her father being the one who makes her sad rather than vice versa. There is a rebellion in it that I like:

“And then they would say to her, ‘you are making your father unhappy!..’

But her, they were making her unhappy too. Who? Why? How? She did not know, but here she was, unhappy. Today, more than ever… So they now expected this great sacrifice from her too, from her weak heart? So if she were to cry, and revolt against this, they would stand before her and say, ‘Nihal! You are making your father unhappy.’ But who was it who was truly made unhappy?..”

(Chapter 14)

12) Her complicated feelings about the prospect of marrying Behlül:

“In the beginning, she had enjoyed the jest about marrying Behlül; then it had become a topic that somehow oppressed her. She would think about it inadvertently at night, and be unable to sleep. There was a voice in her heart that told her: avoid Behlül. It sounded like Mlle de Courton’s voice. Truly, had she not once told her something of the sort? She could not remember very well. One night, perhaps in a dream, someone — was it Mlle de Courton? — had leaned in and whispered these two words in her ear. Since then, these two words had rung in her ears.

One time, gathering her courage, she had said to herself, ‘since a girl must become a bride, in that case, instead of it being someone else…’

After she had found the courage once, she had continued to repeat this involuntarily, and with each repetition she would want to escape herself, to be sequestered as if she had committed some great offence. For a few days she promised herself to try not to pay any attention to the talk about marriage, but that jest followed her around the house, dogging her steps. She was particularly tired of Behlül. She could no longer treat him in a brotherly way. She discovered in herself, ungovernable nervous impulses. Since this jest was invented, it was as if an unknown hand was scattering cold drops upon the intimacy that had existed between them.”

(Chapter 18)

“This page that promised sunshine and happiness, this page came after pages that were so worn with tears and despair, and ended their pain with such bright joy, that as she listened, the old girl would be as happy as Nihal. Had she not told her little Nihal so, on that last night? Had she not said that she would be happy whenever she had news of her happiness?

Yet, when Nihal sat on her chair to write, her eyes remained fixed absently on the blank sheet, in the wavering light of her candle, and she had been unable to find the first word of this bright page. There was a secret, indescribable fear in her, a hint in the intoxicating air of this happiness that made her tremble a little, that seemed purposefully to draw a thin line of darkness on this new, clear horizon, and kept her from surrendering herself entirely to her felicity.

She had wanted to understand this fear. She only found something in her heart that ached like a deep point of pain. This marriage had been thought of, and put into motion for others’ happiness, not hers. Following what dark, winding traces, she saw her father preparing this alliance in secret with Firdevs Hanım and Behlül, working to be free of this fractious girl. Then she felt a great enmity towards her father. How many times, moved by this feeling, in order to be avenged on them, she had wanted to dare to begin a mutiny that would put an end to this jest; but each time, with an irresistible weakness hampering her, she had felt a laxity that made her desire its continuation. Did she love Behlül? As she posed this question to herself, she felt the need to shake her head to give emphasis to the reply.

‘I don’t suppose so,’ she would say, but again there was a truth that she admitted to herself: perhaps she did not love Behlül, but she wanted to be loved by him. She thought this was enough to be happy; then, when this jest ended in a reality that night, Nihal suddenly found herself reading those lines in her heart that had remained doubtful until then. Yes, she loved Behlül, too. And who knew, since what hour? Yes, she loved him, she could only be his wife. Once she had confessed this, she felt freed of a great load.”

(Chapter 20)

13) Her ability to see through everyone in this great dialogue:

“Behlül looked on with a pained smile. There was such a deep remonstrance in this smile that the jesting smile on Nihal’s lips vanished instantly, and she said, ‘Behlül, will you tell me? Why do you wish to marry me? Confess that this is nothing more than a joke. You would admit the possibility of anything but the possibility of this, this joke, of marrying little Nihal, that girl who looked like the pictures on Japanese fans. Yet chance brought before you a woman bound to her chair, looking to amuse her empty hours, and a father searching for an opportunity to be left at peace with his young wife. They had on their hands a girl doomed to be handed over to the first suitor who appeared. You were thought of first because you were closest. You too, were a little tired, a little bored of your life, you were looking for a little change. When this jest rolled before you, you reached out your hand. Here is a fine toy, you said to yourself, an excellent diversion for a while! Easy to discard once it’s broken…’

Nihal looked at Behlül again with a small smile, then she added, with an elegant gesture in the manner of a child throwing away a broken toy, ‘I think that now it’s time to throw away this plaything.’”

(Chapter 19)

14) Her suicidal vengefulness after learning of the affair. It is long but it is the best:

“Something caught in her throat. She thought it would overflow in a flood of tears, but then this knot stuck, and without crying, without saying another word, she leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, wanting to think to the rhythm of the ferry’s light rocking.

Yes, why was she going down? As soon as she saw those two lines, she had had the idea of leaving the Island, of going home, and once this idea had taken hold, she had not had time to think of anything else. What was she going to do now? As this question drew with a pen that scratched at her mind, she was seeing herself standing before her father. She was going to crumple that piece of paper in her hand, and throw it in his face.

‘There, you crushed your daughter’s life just like that,’ she would say, ‘you crumpled it, turned it to tatters, and now you can toss her out of the window.’

So this woman who had taken her mother’s place, this wife of her father’s, this creature who had taken everything from her one by one, with a ruthless anger, was finally reaching her claws to take her last source of happiness. So they had tricked her? So this marriage was a joke? An awful, treacherous game devised to kill her?

She was seeing Behlül at her feet, hearing his pleading voice that trembled with an intense emotion. Behlül, at the edge of a forest that opened up under a green moon into a love nest, was saying, ‘I love you, little Nihal.’ In fact, he was coming to realise that he had always loved her. His only hope of happiness lay in this marriage. How happy she had been until that morning! She thought of the letter she had written to Mlle de Courton: little Nihal is so happy, so happy,’ she had said. Half an hour later, little Nihal had grown so wretched, so so wretched…

Lying paper! And how painfully strange that this page was now in Behlül’s pocket, smiling secretly with its false tidings of happiness. Behlül’s hand would shortly drop it in the post box. And in a few days, when that lying piece of paper was far away, fooling someone who thought of Nihal, who knew what would happen to Nihal here?

So this wedding would not take place? She repeated those two lines in her mind: “She has confessed everything. That plan is no longer feasible… Be here this evening at all costs!”

Suddenly her heart trembled with a hope. Maybe this was nothing! Perhaps the plan mentioned was something not at all concerned with her. Then, against this hope, she was hearing the mocking laughter of a treacherous voice in her heart, and felt an iron hand pierce her breast and tear at her lungs. In a flash, through the intermingling of what wandering thoughts kindling into a spark of understanding, she saw the truth hidden between these two lines, that awful truth. This was but a moment’s flicker. Until then, she had seen nothing but the treacherous face of a woman who wanted to make her miserable. Now, behind this face, she saw the countenance of that dirty, that ugly truth.

So that was how it was?..

Opening her eyes, she glanced at Nesrin. Perhaps she knew all. Not only her, but everyone knew, and had only hidden it from Nihal. To make her even more miserable, to kill her with a more potent weapon. There was another miserable wretch who had been betrayed alongside her: her father!.. Poor man! Then she found a strange comfort in being made miserable by the same blow, together. This blow would kill her, but she would be avenged on her father… This was filling her heart with such a wild satisfaction that she blessed this blow that would take her revenge on her father by killing her.

Finally, she was gaining her victory, her justice; by dying, by giving up her life, but finally it would be known! She would run laughing to her father, show him the piece of paper.

‘Here,’ she would say, ‘do you see? Behlül cannot be a husband to your daughter, because he is the lover of the woman who came in place of my mother. This will kill your itty bitty Nihal a little, but what’s the harm in that? Since you have possessed the choicest woman in Istanbul…’

How she would laugh as she spoke, and then, as she laughed, fall at this father’s feet, and still laughing, glad to die, how happily she would give up her life. Yes, that was why she had wanted to escape the Island, to return home. It was necessary for her to die, in order for her vengeance on her father to be complete. With the comforting lightness of this thought, she stood up. She gazed out of the window, in order not to think further. The ferry was taking on passengers from Heybeli, chatting, unhurried, as they alighted. She watched them for a long while. As the ferry left the pier, she continued to watch the waves that ran from her gaze. After a clear morning, there was now a bleariness in the air, a tendency towards rain. With a listlessness as if there was nothing on her mind, she attended to the weather, followed, for a long while, the mists that heralded the approaching rain, and then dispersed.

‘I think we will be caught in the rain,’ she said to Nesrin.

Her poor sheet!.. Now she was sorry for her sheet, the sheet that had been made for her and Bihter that spring, of a dark green with faint speckles. Then she thought to herself, ‘since I am to die.’

So poor Nihal was really going to die. They could give this dark green sheet to an orphan girl. And she remembered one by one, all those dresses, and sheets that had been made lovingly, those thousand little things that filled her drawers. All these were now pointless, they would be thrown away, given to the poor. Yet in each of these things was hidden some tie to her, there were such strong bonds between them and her heart. It was necessary to forget these, and even things that had been thought of for the future. A large, velvet case was opening up before her, and looking at her with its smiling, green eyes. She would have to relinquish this too, this set of emeralds, since she was no longer going to be a bride.

So that was how it was?”

(Chapter 20)

15) Her being unable to pity the dying Beşir. Very honest:

“Behlül would certainly not come. So this fear had been nothing but childishness. How had she imagined it? She was trying to laugh at herself. As she opened her window, in order not to think on this subject, she said almost aloud to herself, ‘poor Beşir.’

She wanted to transfer these feelings to Beşir.

The weather was totally overcast; the clouds above her piled upon each other in black clusters. Undoubtedly, it would rain. Nihal sat there, leaning her elbow on the windowsill. It was thundering in the distance, with a deep rumble, the odd large drop was falling on the dust-covered leaves of the trees. There were just such clusters of clouds piling up in her head, and far away, in the depths of her brain, thunderous rumblings. Then, as lightning kindled with a series of liquid blue lights, she, shivering with the lightning flashes that flared and died in her brain, was saying, ‘he won’t come.’

And again she wanted to think of Beşir. She had finally realised today that Beşir would die. But she was angry at herself that she could not think of Beşir, could not pity him entirely. Why wasn’t she crying?”

(Chapter 22)

16) Her somehow managing to plead to her father despite having fainted:

“Adnan Bey had lifted Nihal with the lightness of a child, and was carrying her up the stairs. As she ascended thus, in her father’s arms, Nihal drew in a deep breath, and opening her eyes, gave her father a long look. Then, having said all she wanted to say with this look, her eyes closed once again.”

(Chapter 22)

17) Life (or death) continuing on in other places but Nihal having to return to being a child but it being in vain because her experiences mean that she grew up:

“Nihal had only lain ill in her room for three days, but her convalescence had been ongoing for three months.

‘Don’t stay here,’ the doctors had told her father. ‘Take your daughter on long drives in the Island sun, among the pine forests,’ and for three months, father and daughter could be chanced, morning and evening, in the old aunt’s one-horse carriage on the Island.

It seemed as if one of them had aged, and the other grown more childish. They had a habit of talking little, but of sitting close together in the carriage, of walking with one leaning on the arm of the other, that gave them the appearance of two patients who found their cure in each other.

Not a single, solitary word had been exchanged on either Behlül or Bihter between father and daughter. They were avoiding that unfortunate memory, and seemed to have forgotten the past few years. At rare moments, in one or two words, they dreamt of the future.

Adnan Bey had written the old governess a long letter, and received a short reply: Mlle de Courton would come at the beginning of winter; Şakire Hanım and her husband, having married off Cemile, would leave the two lovebirds in peace in their nest, and spend the last years of their life at the yalı; Bülent would not board at the school. There would once again be long chases around the garden, there would be deserts prepared among the shiny pots of the little kitchen, following recipes discovered in books. Life would once again be an endless holiday for them, now that the father had returned to his daughter, and the daughter to her father.

Only Beşir was missing. ‘Oh, poor Beşir!’ Nihal would say, and then, not wishing to dwell of this awful memory, she would continue, ‘isn’t that so, papa? How we will laugh, you remember, the way we used to laugh…’

And trying to find one of the happy laughs of her happy days, she would throw her arms around her father’s neck with a dry, broken laugh that caught with a sob of agony, would pucker her lips, and kiss him right there, on the bare, beardless spot under his chin.”

(Chapter 22)

18) The GREAT ending:

“As she considered these things, she was drawing her father little by little. She wanted to return to that pine wood, that green nest, that vision that had been carved in emerald. She stopped at the edge of the wood; there seemed to be a hand that held her back.

She stood, watching; perhaps they were in there, the happy betrothed: Behlül and Nihal… Her lips trembled with a pained smile, she forced herself not to think of this, afraid that this thought that entered her mind would make her father unhappy. Did she not owe her life to her father from now on? Only to him?

Now this father and daughter depended on each other to live. As she repeated this, a fear was passing through her mind with the speed of lightning: what if one of them was left alone? Then, to escape this fear, she was tugging at her father.

‘Let us leave,’ she was saying, and shutting her eyes, her heart was answering that fear with a prayer: ‘together, always together, in life, and in death…’”

(Chapter 22)

Yes I put nearly all of her scenes, she is that great

[silyabeeodess]

An Overthinker’s Reaction to Neige Blanche (Twisted Wonderland)

I finished reading Book 5 of the game’s English version a couple days ago, and something’s been bothering me about its ending compared to previous chapters. While the other chapters thus far have done a great job with their independent stories for each of the student-villain parallels, the ending of Book 5 and its message left me feeling sour.  I couldn’t really place exactly why for a while, because my immediate thoughts on the ending as I was reading it didn’t seem justified for how I knew the story needed to go for its theme to truly carry weight; however, the more I’ve thought about it, I’ve drawn it to one conclusion:

Despite being based on Snow White and her pure nature, I do not like Neige Blanche or think he’s all that great a person--or even a true match to Snow White in personality.    

This may seem unfair due to Neige’s very brief appearance in Twisted Wonderland so far, but there’s some off things about him I can’t shake and I mainly just want to get these thoughts out of my head. Because it still hasn’t been that long since the chapter dropped and I want to avoid spoilers, I’ll elaborate further below the cut: 

I’ll say this right off the bat because I can already see the argument: I don’t care that Night Raven College lost the Song and Dance Championship.  For one thing, based on the foreknowledge we’re given that the Royal Sword Academy constantly wins and that even minor events in the stories/special events have the player character get accustomed to losing makes the SDC loss kind of expected as it’s still early in the game’s main story.  For another, plot-wise, the moral Vil has to learn about accepting himself and his own successes as an individual despite falling behind Neige would’ve likely fallen flat had NRC won since winning would’ve only been giving him the external validation Vil’s been after.  NRC winning also wouldn’t have given us the very real detail that Vil’s self-acceptance is going to take time.  This aspect of the chapter was handled extremely well.  Exactly why NRC lost though, is another matter--and I don’t mean the part about Rook making the deciding vote...

The SDC is described as being a premiere competition taking the best vocal artists and performers between the schools for the entertainment/music industry to seek out budding talent with massive reach in Twisted Wonderland’s world.  Despite this, however, we’re supposed to accept that Neige’s group not only won with a simple children’s song, but won despite having a completely poor performance. How come? In short, thanks to cute points. Allow me to pull some quotes from Chapter 60:

“All those dance moves are so simple, anyone could do them.  They’re not even in sync.”

“One of ‘em almost fell over! Neige helped him catch himself, but all of these guys look like they could go toppling at any second.”

“Frankly, the quality is nothing worthy of note.”

“They’re dancing is out of sync and their harmonies are clunky at best... but I’m glued to the performance.”            

This isn’t just the NRC team describing the Neige’s group’s performance, but outsiders in the film crews as well.  The only reason people were “awestruck” by it is because they thought they dwarves were kids and somehow that made it more “family accessible.”  Fine, since this is a competition based on popular vote as opposed to judges, I can accept the win wouldn’t necessarily be based on difficulty or actual skill.  I would’ve even accepted it if everyone voted simply because Neige was in the act because there’s plenty of people in the world who show favoritism and can’t be objective.  However, let me ask you this: Would you think that the average primary school choir would deserve to win a competition like American Idol or Britain’s Got Talent?  Because that’s what this effectively is: A show where people are expected to perform on a professional level, but somehow, an amateur act made it into the final round.  

Neige claimed they practiced hard, but the descriptions of their performance say otherwise.  You could say that, despite all their effort, they just couldn’t improve.  However, we have to keep in mind that the dwarves are not actual kids, Neige himself is a professional performer like Vil, and they should’ve had the time to train and prepare just like the NRC team.  Furthermore, from the way Vil in this same chapter manages to describe the NRC group as being “outplayed” despite this, I can only conclude that using the dwarves for their childlike appearance was a tactic with no basis on actual talent.  Because people tend to feel sad and guilty when kids lose, so they’re going to give them more leeway than teenagers and adults.  This is a complete slap in the face to what the competition is supposed to the be.  It’s not emotionally resonating or captivating: It’s manipulative.  

Spinning off this to finally focus a little more on Neige himself, also in Chapter 60, he describes that his whole reason for joining the competition was “because he wanted to share some special memories with his friends at school.”  On the surface, that sounds like a wholesome line, but what do Neige’s friends have to do with this?  We can assume that the dwarves naturally are his friends, mimicking Snow White’s relationship with her own batch of seven.  The problem with this though is that that would be like Vil picking only Pomefiore students because they share a dorm or excluding Deuce, Ace, Grim, and the player from the auditions because of the fight they had at the start of the Book.  Neige picked his friends to perform with him?  In a massive competition representing his school and involving actual prospects in the music/entertainment industries?  Despite the fact that they can’t sing or dance worth a flip and likely showed little to no signs of improvement as the weeks of training gearing up to the competition went on?

Did the Royal Sword Academy not have an audition process like NRC? Because there is no way the dwarves would have passed it if they were as bad as they were at the actual competition despite all the practice they claim to have had for it.  Granted, we can say the same from our main four freshman at NRC, but even if we ignored the reason why Ace and Deuce were specifically picked (for being a gamble, but both with unique qualities to bring to the group), we can also confidently say that they improved enough to perform well.  We can’t say that for the dwarves.  Therefore, this means one of two things: We’d either have to believe that everyone at RSA is just as bad as them if not worse or that, again, the dwarves weren’t picked on actual merit.  And going off Neige’s friend line... they weren’t.  This means that countless performers at RSA were denied the opportunity to show off their talent and potentially get actual deals simply because Neige wanted his friend group with him.  That is garbage.  

Now, I don’t think Neige is a bad person: I didn’t see any strong hints of his kind, bubbly personality being fake or that he might intend to cause harm.  However, based on what I just explained, I do think he’s an inconsiderate and thoughtless person.  He might not have thought of how picking his friend group meant that he stepped over a lot of talented people who truly deserved the chance to perform on stage at the SDC, or that using the child factor of his performance was a very dirty tactic for a competition that was supposed to be based on talent.

That’s the reason I don’t think Neige completely works as a Snow White parallel.  Snow White could be too trusting/innocent at times, but she wasn’t clueless and did consider how her actions affected others.  When she scared the forest animals after fleeing into the woods, she apologized for it even though it was a simple mistake due to her own fears.  When she entered the dwarves’ cottage for the first time with the intention of hiding out there, she knew she couldn’t just stay there for free and did her best to be useful.  I don’t see Neige showing that same level of consideration toward anyone--be it his competitors or his schoolmates.     

Allow me to bring in the headmaster of RSA, Ambrose, into this, since he also does something similar, and it’ll lead to my final point. When Ambrose speaks with Crowley, he pretty much laughs to the latter’s face about winning the competition and how they’ll soon make it an even one-hundred victories between their schools.  Even though he’s light-hearted about it and is friendly with Crowley, you can tell that it still gets to NRC’s headmaster.  Why wouldn’t it?  That’s rubbing salt into a long festering wound.  No one likes to lose--especially that often over the course of several years--and commenting about how NRC has constantly lost shows a major lack of tact from Ambrose.  

While it’s still too early to say, this indicates a trend with most of the hero-parallel characters.  This behavior is that of good people who are used to winning and getting their way without struggle or consequence, those who don’t earn their victories.  Right now, they seem like fairytale protagonists who skipped the actual story and jumped straight to their happy endings. Think of the relationship between Kalim and Jamil: Kalim is a good person, but he’s also incredibly spoiled and has had most hardships cleared out of the way for him since a young age.  This allowed him to be inconsiderate of Jamil without meaning to, hurting someone he’s always considered a best friend.  I can see the RSA characters falling into a similar category: Neige, the actor the gets all the best roles and stays on top of the industry no matter what, and Ambrose, the headmaster whose school has won countless victories in a constant streak without fail.  The differences between them both and Kalim though is that we as an audience have had time to see more of Kamil’s good qualities and that he has learned a lesson after Book 4.  I haven’t followed the JP version of the game to know how much has been expanded upon with the RSA characters in later books.  Still, I can see this being heavy potential for their development.

Right now though, it makes the RSA gang very hard to like.  For me, it’s not a matter of disliking them because they’re acting as the current antagonists--the literal definition; still not villains, mind you--but because of their poor show of behavior and oblivious regard of it.  In contrast, I never had a problem with Leona’s nephew and brother because neither of them could help the position they were born into any more than Leona and Cheka is still a child who can’t understand how complicated the family/royal situation is.  Neige, meanwhile, should’ve at least remotely understood how hard it is for performers to fight for their chance to shine, since that’s his industry, and should’ve put more focus on merit rather than his own desires for the competition.   

[jojo-hut-jrs]

Devo the Cursed and 28 please? I know you're not a fan of him but I feel like you're one of the few who truly do his character justice, no pressure if you're not feeling it tho 🙏

sorry this takes so long

28. "Please, just open the door."

It had been three weeks since he started following you, and since then your life had not a single moment of peace.

Every second was spent watching or waiting, carefully avoiding, huddled against yourself as every little creak or groan echoed the possibility of your inevitable demise.

And still, he was always just barely there, hiding in the shadows so that you only caught a passing glimpse of him before he disappeared, and thus the chase continued. No matter how far you ran, how cleverly you concealed yourself, how much begged and screamed and pleaded into the empty streets knowing he would hear it, you only sometimes heard manic laughter in response.

And always so very close to your ear. As if he were standing just behind you.

This time you heard his voice from under the door, boisterous and happy as he banged loudly on the delicately carved wood that separated you from him.

"You know," the voice tells you, "this would go so much easier for the both of us if you just opened the door."

You don't move from your position, eyes locked onto the unmoving dark blob that blocks the hallway light, listening to that heavy-handed bashing against the door and wondering how long the supports can withstand the force.

"You're a really, really, really unlucky person, you know," his voice coos out, "you and so many others."

You remain silent, but you know that he's right. Luck was never a real, tangible thing until the very moment you lost it, the very moment you first saw him.

"You have no idea what this world has in store for people like you."

The pounding stops for a moment, and you had only a second to catch your breath before he slams back into the door with a cracking thud, yelling ferociously at the effort as the locks jingle and bend under the force.

He laughs then, whether at you or your methods to keep him at bay, you don't know, but you hear him bat his palms against the door almost playfully.

"At least you're lucky enough to still have me," he says, and there's an arrogance in his tone that makes you sick.

He punches the door against, and a shock goes through you. He's outside the door, but somehow you feel like he can somehow see you.

"Are you listening?!" he screams at you, and you press your face against the tops of your knees and pray that he'll just disappear again like he always does.

He's never approached you like this before, at least not this directly.

There were the notes, incomprehensible and sloppy and almost surely written in blood, and then there were the silent phone calls at random hours of the night. You sometimes saw him on street corners, through the windows of shops, and even occasionally in your yard.

But he was right that you were the most unlucky person on earth.

Your attempts to go the police were always thwarted. The letters you received were missing, and no evidence was ever lest behind to collect. Nobody could give a statement that they saw anyone that matched his description, and anytime you tried to point him out in a crowd, he would vanish. For every little thing you tried, there was always something that prevented its fruition, and it was driving you mad.

You think it might have been the stress that was causing the accidents too, but it's impossible to tell with all the strange happenings that have occurred. Far too many close calls have happened in coincidental circumstances since you met him, and the paranoia was growing within you as each little thing spiraled out of control before your eyes. You had never been so clumsy as to slip and fall in your bathroom, to accidentally place too many items on your overhead shelf and cause it to collapse, to absentmindedly walk into the street while the light changed. These were all just unfortunate accidents you only barely managed to escape from unharmed, and yet you were so scared that you could barely leave the house anymore.

"This world will really eat you alive if you're not careful," he says, and you hate how his voice dropped all the amusement it held and just sounded flat and dead.

He's silent for a moment before he speaks again.

"Please, just open the door."

You hold your breath as you stare at his shadow, anticipating any kind of movement. He has you cornered in here, in your own home, and no matter how reinforced your bedroom door is, you don't doubt that he could force his way through to you if he really wanted to. He's only holding back now for the fun of it, but you can hear in his voice that he's not smiling anymore.

You watch as the shadow moves and the hallway light reappears, but you don't leave your little corner where you're hidden. You heard his footsteps retreating, the heavy thump against the staircase as he descends, but you still feel like he's watching you somehow, and your home no longer feels safe now that he's proven he can find a way inside.

But instead, you helped a stranger, and you couldn't have predicted how angry and aggressive he would become, frightening you until you finally slapped him, then laughing hysterically as he ran away.

The single hair tie you always wore was tight against your scalp, pulling your hair back in an angry grip that felt all too familiar to you. You wanted to reach up and snap the band, but your hands remained clenched against your knees, shaking as you listened for any sign that he was still nearby.

You had heard him leave, yet he felt so close, as if he were leaning just over your shoulder.

And to believe, there was once a time where you sympathized with him. Back when he was just a stranger on the verge of a terrible accident, and you happened to be there and willing to help. If you would have known what kind of monster he turned out to be, you would have let him get hit and gladly watched him bleed out, knowing he could never hurt you or anybody else ever again.

But instead, you helped a stranger, and in return he had directed a sudden fury unto you, so full of pain and aggression that you struck him across the face in fear of what he would do to you.

Then the anger had disappeared and he was smiling, laughing hysterically as he suddenly turned and ran off into the darkness.

"I'll be sure to return the favor!" he called out to you, his voice loud and booming in you ears even after he vanished from sight. "And i'll always be with you!"

[i-did-not-mean-to]

A letter

@sortumavaara I blame you...only you...for this one!!!

(I have been feeling terrible today and this has amused me, so I am thankful, but...hmmm, I am not a smut writer haha)

Either way, here goes my small ficlet for your amazing Glorfindel drawing. I admire you greatly; I hope you know that.

(@the-girl-with-the-algebra-book, e-husband, I wrote light Glorestor smut...)

Words: 1,1 k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, crack as well...I am terrible, I am sorry

Pairing: Glorestor

Glorfindel stormed through the library, only side-stepping once or twice to avoid announcing his arrival by banging his half-hard cock against the wooden bookshelves in a poor imitation of a primitive drum, in search of the devious creature that had reduced him to the deplorable state he presently found himself in.

To his dismay though, Erestor was nowhere to be found and so the much-suffering, golden-haired elf sat down at the desk of that despicable seductor and readied himself to pen a sharply worded missive instead.

Lord

Too formal, he decided.

Councillor Erestor,

He frowned and chewed on the elegant nib for a moment before his mouth started watering and his thoughts drifted back into the realm of unspeakable desire on account of having something hard and smooth wedged between his parched lips. 

Figures that – even absent – Erestor would lead him astray, he thought, and crossed out his second attempt as well with a disgusted flourish.

My friend,

No, that was also wrong; he felt uncomfortable about starting a reprimanding letter by feigning friendship; they were notmere friends and that was the very core of the whole problem.

Erestor,

Less elegant than he would have liked, but functional. 

With a sigh, Glorfindel accepted his defeat, he’d leave it thus, at least for the time being, and focused instead on putting his confused, aching longing into appropriate words that would make Erestor see the errors of his ways.

On this fine morning, we – along with several other respected and revered members of the Council – have attended a meeting during which you have I was aggrieved to notice that you saucy minx had neglected to don appropriate apparel as befits your function and station in these esteemed halls.

Glorfindel nodded to himself; this was going great so far.

Indeed, you wore an intricately embroidered overcoat – which was very beautiful if I may say so – but I could clearly see your clavicles I couldn’t help but notice that your choice of tunic, despite the truly enchanting colour scheme you have created, was woefully unsuitable. As a matter of fact, it was so low-cut and transparent its material and design granted the innocent onlooker unexpected insights into your anatomy. Moreover, your leggings were wholly indecent for they let me see allowed any morally upstanding councillor more than just a cursory glimpse upon your shapely unclothed ankles. I am aghast that you’d display yourself so for all to lust fawn behold.

The uncomfortable tightness in Glorfindel’s own breeches reached the point of agony and – checking that the door was properly closed, it would not do to be caught in such an unfavourable situation – he listlessly pawed at his groin with a small, dissatisfied groan.

This was entirely Erestor’s fault; why had he thought it not only acceptable but even necessary to doll himself up in a way that could not go unnoticed? 

He was blindingly handsome as it was, but it could hardly be expected of a living, breathing being with blood yet in their veins to gaze upon the glimpses of flesh and hints of sensuality so brazenly exhibited and not be driven to distraction.

Thus, one could not possibly fault honourable, dutiful Glorfindel for being diverted and distraught to the point where he found himself, his hand wedged shamefully between his own quivering thighs imagining they were someone else’s, in a secluded office rather than at his own desk working through his own paperwork.

He really needed to get to the end of this letter before he completely lost his mind.

Moreover, you smiled at me it has been impossible to ignore the intimate smirk you’ve produced at least thrice while you pretended to take notes. I am familiar with the extent and the excellence of your memory and thus, I nobody was fooled by your charade. Refrain forthwith, I beg prithee, from making such a spectacle of yourself. You are a dangerous distraction preventing other honest, hard-working, and entirely blameless members of the Council from performing their duties to the best of their abilities.

Yours faithfully, 

Glorf…indel

Tossing the pen across the room, Glorfindel grunted under his breath as his neglected cock demanded relief quite insistently; thinking – at length – about the way Erestor had smiled at him coyly while crossing and uncrossing those sinful legs slowly did not help to keep his voracious cupidity for that soft, white skin in check. Quite the contrary.

The more he thought about it – the mischievous looks through dense lashes and the way Erestor had spoken his name as if it tasted heavenly on that nimble tongue – the tighter his leggings grew and after looking down on his butchered letter, Glorfindel finally gave in to his burning, agonising need.

Undoing his laces quickly, he took himself in hand and almost cried out in relief; suddenly, the thought of Erestor’s delicate ankles and filigree collarbones was a welcome image that made his fingers shiver and tighten around his weeping cock.

“Oh, the things you do to me,” Glorfindel sighed, burying his face in the fabric of the chair he was curled up on and breathing in the remnants of that clean, sober smell he so loved.

His movements grew erratic, and his teeth dug into his lower lip as visions of Erestor’s smile, skin, and soft mouth flashed through his mind.

With a strangled cry, he came undone and – after having wiped every surface he might have soiled – Glorfindel made his hasty retreat, relieved now that he had not found his fellow councillor in the heat of his former…displeasure. 

It was only when he had closed the doors of his own rooms behind him that he remembered that he had left his scratched-out, inarticulate draft of a letter on Erestor’s desk.

As he retraced his steps hastily, he prayed that he would be in time to destroy every testament to his temporary madness.

“Lord, Councillor, or should I say friend? Either way, Glorfindel,” Erestor greeted him, grinning broadly at his colleagueas he slunk – shamefaced – through the half-closed door, “come in and have a seat. I am delighted to learn that my attempts at catching your attention have not gone unnoticed.”

Glorfindel swallowed frantically; Erestor had the good grace to blush bashfully, belying his confident words but that didn’t cancel the awful and wonderful truth in them.

Closing the door with a clangorous bang, Glorfindel was shocked and horrified to feel his treacherous cock stir once more at the sight of the soft, enticing smile beckoning him closer yet.

“I have taken the liberty to remove both offending garments,” Erestor whispered, crossing his outrageously naked legs very slowly. “Anything else I can do for you?”

So, that's it from me. If you want, you can link this to any kinktober prompt you want; it was therapy for me tonight.

Also, first epistolary fic (of a sort) for me.

Lots of love and my sincere apologies!