#it’s too real but I love the triumph in the bridge

[iwatcheditbegin]

I really do hate the way I sang along to Dear John at age 12 just thinking the dude was a jerk (and a weirdo). Only to go and relate to every word in that song a few years later

[septembersghost]

something that does have a real weight of sorrow for me in all these discussions about elvis, and portrayals of elvis, is that ultimately the overwhelming majority is some degree of projection, and that's rarely kept in mind. we don't know for certain how he felt about things which occurred in his life, how he perceived them, internalized them, because he never had the chance to tell his own story. every book written is from the perspective of its teller, whether it comes from love or greed, compassion or condemnation. every script and every actor is an interpretation, and by necessity condensed and fictionalized. whenever someone says something about the feminine view of the coppola movie, i think about how that's not as unusual as they seem to think it is, we have a swath of women's stories about him - linda, ginger, kathy, june, anita, mindi, and so on, they've shared their experiences and perspectives on him, like priscilla has, for decades (and those are remarkably consistent). this isn't me saying they shouldn't, they have the right to share their voices, and those accounts told are what we have as biographical record of him, but still, every individual naturally speaks from a place of personal bias. this is, of course, startlingly true with everything members of the mm have put out there as well.

people keep contrasting the luhrmann film with coppola's, and it's wildly missing the point because they're not even looking through the same lens. as much as i love baz's work and think the film is so affecting and beautiful, it's necessary to remember that elvis is actually NOT the pov character. that's our antagonist, parker. austin's remarkable and empathetic performance is the beating heart of the movie, but in many respects elvis (2022) isn't solely about elvis presley, and it's not supposed to be. it's about the struggle of empty capitalism vs. fulfilling creation and art, it's about exploitation and grief, it's about the upheaval and changing landscape of american culture and how this singular man was used as a lens through which to filter those shifts. his social consciousness is relevant because it's too often overlooked, or ignored altogether, in his legacy, and that, like his passion for music, like his spirituality, was essential to his soul and his artistry, but we also need to see that conflict of parker not having understanding for that hunger and grace because they're positioned as the dichotomy of a transforming age. its aim is focused on his influence and resonance as a performer, which is why it's often grand and kaleidoscopic. when the movie truly, wholly becomes dedicated to elvis is the switch flip during unchained melody. i'd argue, in fact, that's why it's powerful - we spend two and a half hours as an audience by intent, told this story, watching the rise and struggles of this man, but at a bit of a thoughtful remove, guided by the colonel, who doesn't even get why we're there. the colonel who tells us directly elvis' tragedy was love, and only we are allowed to perceive that love was also his triumph. the final moments of the film allow the crossing of that bridge, where it's between us and elvis, and the connection and legacy he left behind.

obviously i haven't seen priscilla (2023) and thus cannot comment on its narrative structure or portrayal, but can say that once again, the human being he was individually isn't intended to be the center. she's the focal point and the pov character and it's necessary to keep that in mind. elvis is the supporting player, no matter how large he may loom, in a story about a young woman's journey into a whirlwind and to self-discovery.

the trouble with all these varying accounts and portrayals, no matter how sensitively or salaciously done, is that elvis presley disappears into Elvis™ in the ensuing discussion. he becomes a cipher for whatever anyone viewing and commenting WANTS him to be - scintillating iconoclast or tragic disaster, brilliant musician or embarrassing hack, generous, pensive soul or overbearing, gauche cautionary tale. all of which easily becomes too simplistic or too judgmental, erasing his personhood and complexity and extraordinary humanism for the quickest possible sound bite.

there's no real point to me saying all this beyond it being something i feel is essential to remember and to process. he never told this in his own words, so we piece every account together (playing detective, as austin said), learn to differentiate the noise and the furor from the quiet, persistent truths, find the spirit of the person he was and his dreams and philosophies and heart that are left behind, that do still captivate and comfort people who listen.

this is why i don't feel like our job is to constantly go to war for him, or to try and prove haters hanging onto their ugliest possible opinions wrong (it hasn't worked for decades), because even in that tumult, threads are lost and value is obscured. it's not our responsibility to rescue his image. loving what he gave us is enough.

[doom-dreaming]

Johntana Playlist

(link) Wherever We Are, It Feels Like Home

Surrendering; Alanis Morissette Satellite; Guster Armour Love; La Roux The Last of the Real Ones; Fall Out Boy Starlight; Muse His Brightest Star Was You; Two Steps From Hell End of the Earth; MARINA Now and Forever; Gary Numan Against the Odds; Matias Puumala If We Had Known; Gary Numan Tell Me It's A Nightmare; Kim Petras Sigma; Epic Soul Factory Guardian; Alanis Morissette Boom Clap; Charli XCX

(Arranged to be listened to in order, but I'm not your boss. If you want to hear my ramblings, look under the readmore.)

The ordering is ROUGHLY chronological, following the development of their relationship through the games, up to Cortana's sacrifice, and then the last few I included to fit into my canon-divergence AU but can still be read as canon. Some require harder squinting than others.

Surrendering "Self-protection was in times of true danger / Your best defense to mistrust and be wary / Surrendering, a feat of unequaled measure / And I'm thrilled to let you in / Overjoyed to be let in, in kind." - Cortana's POV; this fits for the majority of their whole relationship, but to me it reads as the point where they've learned to fully trust each other and work together and the vulnerability that entails

Satellite "You're riding with me tonight / Passenger side, lighting the sky / Always the first star that I find." - John's POV; this song has always been for them in my mind, it's been part of the playlist since the beginning

Armour Love "You put on your armor / You put up defenses / But why do you want to? / Because I'm here to protect you." - Cortana's POV; the "somebody else" represents everyone that John feels he owes himself to - the UNSC and humanity as a whole; I read a good chunk of this as the moment he's leaving her behind on High Charity

The Last of the Real Ones "You were too good to be true / Gold plated / But what's inside you? / But what's inside you? / I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you / But not as much as I do." - Cortana's POV; the verses/bridge are more relevant than the chorus IMO; big fan of the quoted verses because it feels like the "I'm not doing this for mankind" moment where her loyalty to John is eclipsing her loyalty to the mission/humanity

Starlight "You electrify my life / Let's conspire to ignite / All the souls that would die just to feel alive. / I'll never let you go / If you promise not to fade away." - both of their POVs, sometimes alternating, sometimes simultaneous; fits the themes of Halo 3 and the gap between 3 and 4

His Brightest Star Was You Instrumental - saw it on someone else's (sorry I cannot remember who without going to find it again) Johntana playlist and went "oh I know that one :)"

End of the Earth "But I'd still follow you down / Slow motion, no sound / To the edge of the world." "If we're torn apart then I won't let go / 'Cause wherever we are it feels like home." - Cortana's POV; favorite song on the list, I feel like it really exemplifies their relationship

Now and Forever "I choose you / Now and forever / And this is my life to give." "I'll be lost / In the forever / Until I find you again." - Cortana's POV; making up her mind at the end of Halo 4 and saying goodbye

Against the Odds Instrumental - has that epic sweeping space feel with a little bit of bittersweet mixed in with the triumph

Tell Me It's A Nightmare "Be careful when you love me / I'm only out for blood / You know I'd be the end of you / But you always wanted more / (Be careful what you wish for)." - the first half of the first verse is Cortana, until "I'm a demon in the shadows" where it switches to John and finishes out in his POV; heavy themes of him blaming himself for not being able to save her

If We Had Known "So here I stand / Tortured and helpless / Lost in my heartbreak / Your journey's over / Mine's filled with memories of you." - John's POV after losing Cortana; maybe a conversation he has with himself, maybe a dream; maybe a combination of both where he says the goodbye he really wanted to

Sigma Instrumental - one of my favorite pieces of music of all time, makes me think about floating in space surrounded by stars; (also semi-represents Cortana's return from The Domain in my AU)

Guardian "You, you who has smiled when you're in pain / You who has soldiered through the profane." "You, you in the chaos feigning sane / You who has pushed beyond what's humane." - Cortana's POV; can easily be taken in a canon context; bonus meta points for the inclusion of "guardian" and "warden" (I guess??????)

Boom Clap "You are the light and I will follow / You let me lose my shadow / You are the sun, a glowing halo." - fully self-indulgent, whimsical, and fluffy :) my house :)

[tsuki-sennin]

Now, for episodes 17-19 of the funny king bug sword people show!

Uhhhh... Racules is a big meanie, there's somebody behind the Fury of the Gods, Gira is living out my fantasies with Yanma, shit's goin' DOWN!

Yeah, that's where I'm at right now, Spoilers, I guess~!

-Yanma, I wouldn't say he sold himself out, I'd wager he's about to do the biggest rugpull of all time.

-"Goddammit, Gira! At least wait for me!"

-Ohhhh, somebody's comin'.

-Daigorg!

-That's like the most Sentai villain name ever, I love it.

-Why you gotta do it, huh?

-Jeremy's gonna have some very cross words with you, Racules.

-Gira's regicidal tendencies are getting a bit much for the prez.

-Yeah he definitely gets it... he just doesn't wanna.

-Put him in the back.

-"I'm doing great, Yanma-dono~! ...can't say the same about you though, huh?"

-Shifty, therefore reliable.

-Lord Kaguragi's about to have himself a naptime

-Rita, honey, you're always on top of things, huh?

-"Peace~! Yippeeeee~!"

-"I will defend our world..."

-Glory to King Racules!

-Oh hey buddy!

-Daigorg!

-Oh... must be one hell of a man.

-"Relax man, I'm here. What is it?"

-This is the guy. Daigorg, the... hoo, big beetle.

-Holy shit

-Racules, you have some serious balls to just

-Dismiss all that.

-The die is cast.

-"I see this as an absolute win~!"

-Morphonia arrives!

-...and Jeremy's in no mood to play along.

-"This is the worst plot twist I've ever read. Please put me in jail."

-RITA JLKHL>L

-I don't know why, but that got me

-Together, we'll be stronger.

-I too am a fan of Kamen Rider Dragon Knight.

-Chris my beloved

-Spiders Jeremy is back in the building!

-King Ohger!

-Oh!

-Here it all is!

-Going all the way out!

-"Now... stick to my perfect script~!"

-Um yeah, we have some notes. On page 2 she's eating peanuts, but later she's wearing a hat. Does that make sense?

-If you get that reference, I love you.

-"I am the protagonist! Me, me, me!"

-King Racules has arrived!

-"How dare you betray me?"

-Get him.

-Dawn comes with the shogun, his scarlet eye burning on his cruel, dark blue face. Amidst the rubble of N'Kosopa's concrete, Emperor Desnarak's Champion stood. Resplendent in silver armor that rings out with a dull clank every step he takes, he glares at the President and Storyteller. In his right hand, he held up a curious weapon. Not quite a scythe, not quite a pick-axe, but a freakish middleman, with what seemed to be orange fungus coating the metal just below the head. He did not move an inch when he was fired upon.

-There he is. Daigorg.

-A SONIC BOOM

-Okay!

-Oh, they're right fucked up.

-Holy shit

-Racules stopped him.

-He cursed Racules, he glared at Racules, he despised Racules with all his might. But that could never change the fact that Yanma was at the man's mercy.

-So they just left Gira there the whole time?

-Yanma...

-His ideals, unwavering even in the face of his own death.

-I see not even the people of Shugoddam are willing to turn a blind eye any longer.

-President Yanma Gast. The man Gira, King of Evil stands with.

-Get this man an IV.

-Oh hey, Racules~! That was a very good evil laugh you did there, quite impressive.

-"This kingdom is all mine! So you vanish!"

-Oh shit, upgrade time.

-"That's my boy, Gira! Masterful rigamarole! Perfect reveal!"

-Oh shit, Ohkuwagata time.

-"Back off. I'll deal with him."

-Holy shit, Racules is good.

-CROWN

-"Ohgai Busou. Glory of the founder."

-He's real shiny.

-Ohger! Crown Lance!

-That is a cool weapon.

-Is Racules seriously gonna mop the floor with this guy before he even does anything substantial.

-Oh, no, he's just gonna put Little Brother in his place.

-"The only needed for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. ...carrying the Bugnarok isn't something I should have to do, but..."

-Jeremist.

-They didn't show this, but there was a montage of Jeremy carrying him across the bridge with Eyes On Me from FFVIII playing in the background. Can't believe they cut that out, smh

-"I'm here to put Racules in jail."

-SELF-DEFENSE, OKAY SURE DOUGA

-"That was awesome! What's that crown thing, anyhow?"

-Kaguragi absolutely wants to wear that crown himself. ...can't blame him at all, tbh.

-"I'm outta here, see youuuuu~!"

-...Oh do you now~?

-Ahhh, left out a crucial detail. Smart.

-"Ugh... I'm gong to tell Desnarak."

-KURODA-SAN

-And their twin!

-Sneaky~!

-"This gives me absolutely horrendous hives in unspeakable areas to admit, but it is necessary for us to go outside the law for this one."

-Dyed your hair again, huh Himeno?

-Racules's cool new toy available on Premium Bandai looks nothing like the crown in the flashback. ...is this perhaps another one of his deceptions?

-If only Kaguragi were around to make things easier... well, as easier as it can get with him around.

-Nooooooo, Jeremyyyyy!

-He's having himself a Mondo Moment.

-"Oooooh~! A secret~?"

-Gira's a very guileless man at heart.

-Even Kaguragi can't help but admire.

-Instant fail sneak.

-Must be playing Extreme Mode.

-"Get his ass."

-Ah, Suzume-san.

-"I must see him driven before us."

-Playing a real Lady Macbeth.

-Kabutomushi~!

-Giiiiiiiii!

-Gii-chan has returned.

-Giiiiii~! Giiiiii~!

-Kagura-giiiiii!

-Suzume????

-Did she trick us into... helping us?

-HOW'D YOU GET IN THERE

-Kaguragi Dybowski. What japes he performs.

-He wanted to ride the cool robot.

-"How long have you tricked me...? How long have you been cheating on me!?"

-Literal chicanery.

-Gira-donoooo~!

-"King Gira! It is time for your grand coronation!"

-King! King! King! King! King!

-Rejoice, rejoice to the heavens above! Gira Husty, forgotten younger Prince of Shugoddam, ascended as the King of Evil hellbent to end the wicked justice. He has come into his own once more. He is now the great King Kuwagata Ohger!

-...which means that Racules's version was called King Ohkuwagata Ohger.

-That's like three kings in one.

-Extreme King-Ohger!

-Well, Jeremy had the right idea! Can't exactly force it, you know?

-God has descended.

-"I didn't do a damn thing! He just... did that!"

-Let's goooo!

-Oh...

-Big Brother Racules... you've truly lost your way.

-"The rules of this world mean nothing... not compared to the people in it!"

-Long Live the King.

-Racules has truly lost it all.

-Here's Jimmy.

-The Sanagim roam the streets.

-Ohhhhh

-Makin' it all official, eh?

-Kaguragi played the game far harder than anyone else.

-"The Bugnarok are your neighbors now. Deal with it."

-"Ow, my every place."

-All for the people, Yanma~! Don't take it personally, yo.

-Treaty Time.

-...incidentally, that's what Rita (allegedly reluctantly) allows Morphonia to call her taking them to McDonald's.

-Still absolutely in love with Zenryoku King, it's just so infectious.

-It's all right, you're King~!

-Awww, Kuwagon :)

-Jeremy has completely checked out.

-"I hate Racules :("

-Becoming friends?

-Suzume's gotten in over her head, it seems.

-Do something, Douga!

-It's almost pitiful seeing Racules's vassals all driven before Desnarak.

-He can hardly be considered a king, anymore. Just a beetle captured to fight for somebody else's amusement.

-Guess Racules's confidence took a hit. He effortlessly dodged Daigorg in his base form, and now he gets clocked by a single guard.

-I see the people's lives have gotten a little worse.

-Gira's home!

-Koga-neesan...

-Headpat.

-Please help us, Prince Gira!

-He's here for us...

-Peak

-Despair! Always with the prolonged suffering.

-Stand up on that green screen, beetle man!

-Throw that sword!

-Lucky~!

-THE AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH-

-"C-c'mon, man, I was just kidding~! You wouldn't hurt a little guy, would you? :3"

-Bang~!

-"Et tu, Jeremy?!"

-A taste of his own medicine.

-"Yanma!"

-Dude

-Seriously?

-Okay, that was hella worth it.

-Didn't take Mama Nephila for a prankster.

-DOVE

-Racules has well and truly lost.

-They gather~!

-International cooperation~!

-A new power forms.

-The Ohsama Sentai... King-Ohger!

-Ohgai Busou!

-King of Kings~!

-Right, no more delay~! Let's see these arthropods swarm~!

-Hehehehehhe

-"Death Penalty."

-This is the good shit right here. Just pure vibes.

-Diamond Dan has no swag.

-Immortal, invincible tyrant king!

-You are! I am! We are the we are the King Ohger~!

-A man of the people, that King Gira.

-"Okaaaaay~! Well, Desnarak-sama, I can see that we're clearly losing, how about we just ditch Diamond Dan and head-"

-Complete Combination, once more!

-Extreme King-Ohger!

-"Jeremy's got this one, don't worry."

-Six kings all at once!

-Hooray~!

-So... I suppose all that's left is to meet with Racules.

-I see Gokkan does things Hammurabi style.

-Oh!

-One final duel. It seems fitting to end things this way.

-Two Kings Enter, One King Leaves.

-That'll have to wait until next time though, hmm~? I have a lot of overdue art to reblog!

[miloscat]

[Review] Webbed (PC)

Cute bugs!

Next in my series on grappling games is this adorable indie work from a Queensland-based duo. The Australianism comes through a bit in the text but mainly in the various native animals chosen for the cast, including the protagonist. Buddy is a peacock spider, who got media attention in recent years due to new studies and footage of their mating dances and the various colourful patterns evident on the males.

Picking a spider as the heroine is a great choice for gameplay, as Buddy can shoot webs at most surfaces to pull herself toward them or create links between things at range, Just Cause style. These are used to make impromptu platforms and bridges or move and lift objects in the various physics puzzles found throughout. You can even grab a leaf and parachute with it! On PC this is done intuitively with the mouse while you WASD around, although controllers are supported too. Spiders could be problematic for some so the devs have helpfully included an arachnophobe mode that turns all arachnids into cute blobs, alongside other thoughtful accessibility features. However censorship of ants, moths, etc. is not included which is a shame as I know people affected by these fears.

The story is extremely wholesome; the inciting incident is Buddy’s mate being abducted to decorate a bowerbird’s nest with his shiny blue bum. She rallies her community and fosters fellowship with ants, dung beetles, bees, and other spiders in order to get him back. The main goal is to convert a moth’s spherical cocoon into an airship, for which Buddy journeys into each critters’ territory and convinces them work together with each of their special skills. There’s no real violence, just hazards to overcome and understanding to be gained. The environments are fairly naturalistic, except for the highly industrialised ant nest which is working on a large ant mech; the incongruity is amusing and for me it didn’t distract from the overall tone. Oh, Buddy also can shoot laser blasts from her eyes, which is more a gameplay tool for removing webs and goes completely unexplained.

There’s a lot of clever puzzles and tricky traversal to be done, and although the map is broad and interconnected there’s no danger of getting lost with the simple layouts and handy maps. Getting around is a joy with Buddy’s webslinging skills; the tree area on the way to the beehive was my favourite, as there’s great opportunity for swinging around at high speed. On the way there are many secrets and hidden rooms to uncover, baby spiders to rescue, and even a skateboarding minigame!

This truly is a gem, and it’s pretty cheap too! I had to look up some of the secrets but a 100% run took me about 5 hours, and I loved every minute. The luscious pixel art does a great job communicating what it needs to while portraying the Australian bush wonderfully. The true triumph for me, squeamish as I am, is making the bugs look cute while maintaining realism. This isn’t really an Umihara Kawase-like either but it’s a highly enjoyable grappling platformer on its own terms, and probably the best spider-based game out there!

[pazodetrasalba]

τᾰ̀ βῐβλῐ́ᾰ

Dear Caroline:

Two years and half have passed since you made these requests, and I imagine some of the topics might have lost personal relevance to you (the China stuff, for example, as you no longer dwell in Hong Kong). Nevertheless, and myself being a rather obsessive bookworm, here go some ideas. I imagine you will also be having in the future, after the gruelling court preparatory work you must be in right now, much more time to read than in the past.

-In Search of the Indo-Europeans: Language, Archaeology and Myth, by J.P. Mallory

This book might be a little bit outdated (last edition is from 1991, I think), but is a very informative read, and mixes together linguistic, archeological and mythological sources for a quite engaging exploration of our ancestors and their language.

-Cambridge history of China, volumes 14-15

This is the best work of scholarship on the topic, and the last two volumes cover everything from the Communist takeover to about 1982. I would recommend the earlier volumes more - those about the Pre-imperial age, the Han, the Six Dynasties and the Tang, but I suspect our interest in Chinese history is orthogonal, you being focused more on the recent and the present.

-Mao: The Unknown Story, by Jon Halliday and Jung Chang

An interesting biography (although it has been accused of being too negatively biased towards its protagonist) that will illuminate a lot of modern Chinese politics, which still feeds a lot on parts of his thought and practice. Also, a very salutary portrait of the evils of a powerful and amoral figure who treats people as means to his ends.

-I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and was Shot by the Taliban, by Malala Yousafzai

An inspiring autobiography, all the more so if you are a teacher and believe in the power of education, or if you are a woman. Really moving! 

-For the Love of Wine: My Odyssey through the World's Most Ancient Wine Culture, by Alice Feiring 

The Georgia in the Caucasus has a very old, wine-making tradition that has been included in the Unesco Intangible Heritage List. The use qvevris (clay fermentation vessels) to make it. and the book also explores the country, the people and the changes they experience.

-De raptu Proserpinae, by Claudian

I don't quite get your interest in this myth, but anyway, Claudian is a late Roman poet (370-404) and 'obstinate pagan' in the words of Orosius, who wrote an incomplete epic poem on the topic. You have some very old, and old-fashioned English translations. If you are into this sort of thing, remember also that Lucan's Pharsalia includes the woman that inspired Héloise.

-The Diamond Age: Or, A Young Lady's Illustrated Primer, by Neil Stephenson

Very good science fiction + girl-coming-of-age story. I am pretty sure it would be to your liking if you haven't read it yet.

-The Rape of Lucrece, by William Shakespeare

Long (not really) poem with strong political overtones, and with a protagonist that really fits the bill for 'really stoic and put-together'.

-Lady Sarashina's Diary. This is the memoir of a c. 1008 AD nerdy, bookish lady at the Japanese Imperial Court who prefers the worlds of fantasy to the real. There are two English translations: one by Ivan Morris (As I Crossed a Bridge of Dreams) and the other by Sonja Arntzen (The Sarashina Diary).

-Hildegard von Bingen, Sei Shōnagon and Sappho. Although not centered on just Hypatia, Catherine Nixey's The Darkening Age paints a very lively portrait of the triumph of Christianity in late Rome and the expulsion and persecution of science and philosophy you might enjoy.

Quote:

I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

[arabian-bloodstream]

Demi Lovato - ‘Skin Of My Teeth’

I had these initial thoughts based on the snippets about "Skin of My Teeth"

Yeah, I kinda totally absolutely wish this was not the lead single. It rather feels like repeating the pattern of DWTD...TAOSO. Demi wrote in "California Sober," that she is "tired of being known for my sickness." And yet the first song released from her next album is about... surviving her sickness. Just like the first single from her last album. [...] I think that entering a new era, a FUN song--even if dealing with what she's gone through--would have been the better choice.

 I take them back after listening to the full song. Re-introducing herself to the world (especially so soon after the--let's get real-disastrous D7 era), it really works.

Looking at the lyrics, I totally got it. It begins with:

Demi leaves rehab again/When is this shit gonna end

Let's be honest, how many times have we heard not only her detractors, but even her stans (although they are more gentle about it) say a variation of here we go again. Her whole California Sober phase had just about everyone calling out that it was a recipe for disaster, after all.

I survived but it got harder to breathe

This line is heartbreaking. She did survive, but the pressure to keep going, and probably that continued, stronger pressure to be a role model *and* to stay away from the stuff was even harder for her. And, yet, think of the image she presented to the world.

Asking why doesn’t make it easier/Go easier on me

Trying to think about it, I don't think that Demi's ever really asked for her detractors to just lay off, to just ever really stop and think: Look at what I've gone through, am going through, just go easier on me. Here she is, and I love it.

And, it's not just to her detractors, I think it's also to those who are trying to help, who love her too. Asking why, how isn't helping. It's just.... let her breathe, let her live, she's trying, but it's not easy, so just let her be.

The reaper knocks on my door/Cause I’m addicted to more/I don’t need you to keep score/When I’m the one who’s at war

And this whole verse is directed at her detractors because it's a clear call saying, yes, I know, I know I fuck up. Yes, I know that I keep failing and falling, but I KNOW THAT. I don't need you telling me. I don't need you reminding me. I'm the one who keeps falling closer and closer to the edge.

Aaaah, and then this, this, this bridge hits so much harder when hearing in the context of the whole song:

I’m just trying to keep my head above water I’m your son and I’m your daughter I’m your mother I’m your father

She's saying that there are SO MANY OTHER PEOPLE out there who are struggling with substance addiction. She's just one of millions and millions. Look around and your son, your daughter, your mother, your father is in the same situation. This epidemic is everywhere, which leads us to...

I’m just a product of the problem

Because, yes, drug proliferation is everywhere, effecting so many people. Too many people. Demi is just one of too, too many. She's just put a very public face on it.

And then:

I’m alive

Yes, she's alive. She made it, and there is a triumph there which we can all be happy about it, but it dives right back into that chorus which reminds us that it's still a fight for her. And there is one different line in that final chorus.

Won't you try and have some mercy on me?

So, yes, I take back my complaint for this is as a single, it's a brilliant bridge between D7, all of the messiness that happened and this new era. Like it or not, Demi Lovato has been known for her sickness, and because of that she's done a lot of messy things. In this song, she's reminding people of that and (for the first time) she's asking people to take that into account and have some mercy.

After all, she's alive by the skin of her teeth. But, goddamnit, she's alive.

Join demiheads

[meanscarletdeceiver]

I'd love to hear your thoughts on Edwards exploit?

It's one of my favourite Edward story's next to old iron.

Hmm, sometimes I prefer “Old Iron” myself, at least so far as TVS goes ♥ (that long tracking shot over the bridge is friggin’ gold, man.)

But only in TVS. Story-wise, while both are great, there's just a little extra something going on in this one...

So many people have noticed the similarities between those two stories, of course, and indeed you can throw in Edward’s introductory arc too—this story doesn’t really break new ground in the Edward-proves-himself genre. And with it, the genre is DONE. Okay y'all? DONE. NO MORE. FIND ANOTHER PLOT. YES, SHOW WRITERS OF YEARS PAST, I AM TALKING TO YOU. Nor is the “exploit” really any more impressive than “Old Faithful” and “Gallant Old Engine,” which in RWS actually come before this story, and in which the stakes were higher.

And yet I still feel like “Exploit” is in a league of its own, and judging from its insane popularity I’m not the only one who feels that way.

At least one thing that sets this story apart, something I’ve come to really treasure: The feat is such a group effort. The crew’s contribution in “Faithful” and “Gallant” was mostly to get out once the train stopped, do an examination, and pronounce, Huh. You’re broken. And we're stuck. *awkward pause* Soooo, uhh… whatcha got, hotshot? And it was really all down to Skarloey and Rheneas. Whereas in this story the main character’s willpower alone is not enough, and the crew had to contribute their own talents. More than once, actually. True teamwork. So, like, yes, this is a story about perseverance, it’s a story about beating the odds, but it’s not only about that. This time at least (for we’ve seen that old theme in RWS before—many times) there’s also something about it that moves me in a similar way to the Henry arc.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this story also shows something important about disability. If your only takeaway here is “Edward is an inspiring badass,” it’s not that you’re wrong, but there’s more. Specifically—he could not have done it without help. Even with the help, he could have done it but it would not have necessarily been a triumph. I mean, this could have easily been a story about a stubborn, in-denial old git finally learning his limits the hard way and limping back home, shamed and beaten and probably damn sure never taking another “important train” ever again. In fact it could very easily be this sort of story, given the big engines’ gossip at the beginning and, at the end, good ol’ STH being on hand and proper pissed off about the extreme lateness.

Why isn’t it an L? Apart from the meta that Edward is a ray of sunshine and one of Awdry’s favorites? Mostly it’s because of the passengers—so let’s give them props, too. They had all the power to define this narrative! But instead of being put out and caught up in their own inconvenience when stranded in the middle of nowhere during a wild dark wet rainstorm, they had the sense to notice and appreciate the efforts of engine and crew. Instead of stropping out onto the platform and complaining, they celebrated and thanked everyone. Whether this incident was a disgrace or an “exploit” is really all a matter of perspective. Hell, they literally changed STH’s!

And, of course, we see it as a triumph because of the way Awdry frames it. Do we always see it that way in real life, though? I hope so. I wish we lived in a world where the need for aid and accommodation does not invalidate what we do. I wish we lived in a world where the disabled or old or sick or just the plain not-as-gifted were always respected rather than disparaged due to the fact that it may take them three times as much trouble and effort to accomplish things that are easy to others.

But let’s be honest: we don’t live in that world. We’re a long ways from it. And while there are lots of RWS stories that inspire us to persevere and to press on and to do our best and to never give up… “Exploit” really hits me in the heart because it also portrays how the need for others’ help and for adjusted expectations isn’t shameful at all, in fact it shows me how interesting and impressive it is when people (people and, I guess, the occasional sapient locomotive) work together in complementary ways—not to mention, it portrays how much more exciting life is when we show each other genuine, unstinting grace.

[sassyhobbits]

Could you please write post Kingdom of Ash fic where Aelin has to go back to Doranelle with Rowan on important business or something and she deals with her trauma going back/ meets Rowans family/ Rowan repairs his relationship with his cousins? Pretty please 🥺

loved this idea and had so much fun writing it!! combined with the modified prompt of “living is so much harder than dying. are you sure youre fit for living?”

here’s day 5 everyone!!

~~~

It had been three years since Aelin Galathynius had stepped foot in the City of Rivers.

Her first two visits to Doranelle had been… less than pleasant, to say the least. Most sane people who had gone through what Aelin had would never get within a hundred miles of the city. But, Aelin had never been one to allow a shitty experience or two keep her away.

In the three years since the end of the war, Terrasen had slowly been rebuilt. Aelin had gotten used to her role as queen, had gotten used to peace. Although it had been hard and strenuous work, it was worth it. Every struggle and late night, argument with lords and advisors, had led to happiness for her people. Aelin would do just about anything for them.

Part of being queen, Aelin had quickly learned, was responding to correspondences from other kingdoms. Sometimes, they weren’t all that bad. She liked to write to Dorian, enjoyed the sporadic letters she received from Manon. But there were plenty of others that were less fun. Taxes, proposals, budgeting.

But, a few weeks ago, she received a letter from Rowan’s cousin, Sellene, the new Queen of Doranelle. She invited both Aelin and her husband for a diplomatic visit to her lands.

“Are you sure about this, Fireheart?” Rowan had murmured to her one night, curled up in his arms in bed. “You don’t have to go.”

Aelin understood his concern. The last time she had been to Doranelle, she had been beaten and bruised within an inch of her life, patched back together, only to go through the process again the next day. Maeve had certainly done a number on her. But Aelin would be damned if she let the bitch get the last laugh.

“I want to go, Ro,” Aelin assured him. “I want to see where you grew up, get to know your family better.”

I need to go, is what she didn’t have to say, but knew Rowan understood. Aelin had conquered many of her fears in the years since the war, but there were still nights she woke up screaming, still nights when it was impossible to tell the difference between the darkness of night and the darkness of the iron coffin.

She needed to go back to the place where she had been brought down to her lowest. Needed to prove that she was strong, and that she had triumphed.

And so it was decided. The queen and king consort would sail east.

They stayed a week in Wendlyn with Aelin’s cousin, Galan. Since he had sailed to her aid during the war, they had formed a closer friendship. It was good to see him, to see the kingdom from which her mother hailed.

From there, they traveled by carriage to Doranelle.

“Much nicer than the first time we made this journey,” Aelin remarked one afternoon from the comfort of their carriage, resting her head against Rowan’s shoulder.

“You certainly smell better.”

Rowan earned himself a slug on the shoulder for that little comment.

They passed into the City of Rivers discreetly, not truly wanting to deal with a huge welcoming party. Aelin convinced Rowan to take a day to themselves, for her husband to show her the city itself. The beautiful, simple lives of the citizens of Doranelle. How Rowan had grown up.

It was a perfect day. Aelin loved seeing Doranelle in all its glory. It was truly a work of art, unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her years traipsing the continent. They wore hoods despite the mild, spring weather, the both of them far too recognizable now to move freely without some sort of disguise. It brought her back to the days of being Adarlan’s Assassin.

Rowan brought her to some of his favorite places growing up, showed her a block that sold the traditional street foods of Doranelle for lunch. He bought her some sweets and took her to a lovely park, where they lounged under the shade, just talking and sharing kisses. He took her to a nice restaurant for dinner, snagging a private back room for just the two of them. It was all perfect.

And then the next day, they woke and readied themselves to head to the palace. Aelin managed to wrangle her husband into something nice, though he protested it on the basis of it just being his cousins. She wouldn’t hear of it.

That first day in Doranelle, exploring the streets as nothing more than another citizen, Aelin had been nothing but content and relaxed… but the first sight of that wide, curving bridge that would lead them to the palace had her heart beating just a little bit faster.

She remembered the last time she had crossed this bridge beside Rowan. She had still been going by Celaena then, freshly nineteen, just stepping into her power and her status. Terrified, though she never would have admitted it then. She had already been falling in love with Rowan, and her newly healed heart certainly wouldn’t have survived losing him.

She knew Rowan noticed the small change in her demeanor, feeling him squeeze her hand comfortingly.

They were greeted by Sellene, who was just as elegant and beautiful as Aelin remembered. It was clear she had stepped into her role as ruler with dignity and grace. She embraced Aelin like she was an old friend, making her feel truly welcome.

They were shown to their rooms, given time to settle in and refresh themselves before they would meet in court before dinner.

Their quarters were lovely: bright, open, and airy. The glassless windows allowed for the sweet spring breeze to blow into their room. There was a large bath that Aelin had full intentions of making use of that evening. Hopefully with Rowan. He wouldn’t need much convincing.

Some of Sellene’s ladies came in to help Aelin prepare, making sure her hair was thoroughly brushed and gleaming, twisted up in perfection before placing her crown on top. Her gown was a lovely piece of Terrasen green and intricate silver embroidery.

By the time they were both ready, they made quite a pair. Striking, indeed. Aelin made sure she complimented her husband thoroughly as they made the short trip from their chambers to the throne room.

It managed to distract both Rowan and herself. She barely took in the halls they walked through, some of it twinging deep recesses in her memory, like some sort of dream. But, she forced herself to focus on Rowan, the man she loved, lest the memories get the better of her.

The next thing she knew, they were being announced as they strolled leisurely through the crowded throne room. Fae nobility bowed and curtsied as they walked by, sending them wide, broad grins.

The throne room was so different than Aelin had remembered it. When it had been Maeve perched on that throne, it had been cold and quiet. It had somehow always felt like a trap. But, with Sellene as queen, it was bright and full of life. Music played, people laughed and smiled. It was… good.

A half hour passed by busily. Aelin was introduced to some of Sellene’s courtiers, reintroduced to Rowan’s other cousins. People gave her their thanks, commended her hard work and sacrifice during the war.

It was hectic enough at the beginning to keep her mind thoroughly occupied. Chatting and charming and laughing. It took a while before there was a lull in the conversation, when Aelin wasn’t listening to someone or speaking herself. But, it finally came.

Aelin took the rare moment of solitude to take in her surroundings. Rowan was across the room, talking with his uncle and cousin, Enda. He looked happy, relaxed. She loved it when he smiled.

She looked away from her husband, glancing around the room. Despite her better judgements, her gaze snagged on that throne.  It almost looked non-threatening in the late afternoon sunlight, but her gut still twisted. Images of a pale woman with dark hair and a spider’s smile flashed to her mind unwillingly. She flinched, eyes screwing shut and willing the memories of Maeve away. She was successful at first, but not for long. Images and snippets of voices, of screams that she didn’t know came from herself or others, assaulted her all at once.

Aelin’s breathing sped up, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. She felt the phantom bite of broken glass in her knees, heard Maeve’s cruel laughs. She saw Fenrys, heard his cry when Connall spilled his own blood right there by the throne. It was so clean now. Like none of it had ever happened.

But no. That had been real. The other images Maeve had sent her weren’t but…

Suddenly, the airy throne room was too small, too packed. Aelin felt ill. She ducked her head down, slipping out as discreetly as she could manage. The moment she was sure she was out of view, she bunched up her skirts and ran.

Her body remembered the way down into the depths of the palace, though she had never navigated herself. It had left a mark on her soul. She would never forget.

The dungeons below the palace were a stark difference from the open, bright architecture above. It could have been a different world. It was just as dark and cold as Aelin remembered, as it was in her nightmares.

She wasn’t sure how, exactly, she knew which of the near identical, dismal cells had been hers but… she knew. She hesitated outside the door, amazed by just how ordinary it looked. Who would have guessed that she had been held and tortured behind that door for two months?

Aelin pressed her palm against the door, the magic left in her recoiling at the iron she sensed. These dungeons had been built to keep people with magic contained. They had been well designed.

She pushed into the room slowly, using her magic to light the torches lining the walls. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find: a coffin, blood stains, iron chains waiting just for her. But… it was empty. Even the stone table she had been chained to while Cairn carved her up was gone.

Just… nothing.

Aelin wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she sensed a familiar presence behind her. She was wrapped in the familiar scent of pine and snow, Rowan’s warm body standing just behind her. He placed a broad hand on her shoulder. “I thought I’d find you here.”

A tiny smile curved her lips, though she didn’t bother looking back at her mate. “You know me well, husband.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aelin didn't have to be looking at Rowan to know he was carefully considering his next words. So, she did him a favor, and spoke first.

“There’s nothing here,” Aelin said simply, stating the obvious.

“No, there isn’t. Is that a bad thing?”

A tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Yes? No?” Aelin hung her head in defeat, covering Rowan’s hand with her own. “Sometimes, it's hard to believe it all really happened. Without the scars, without the coffin… it just seems like something I dreamed up. I know I didn’t but…”

“But what, Fireheart?”

Her eyes burned with tears, throat tightening. “It would be… comforting, I suppose, to know that the experience left its mark somewhere else than in my head. It was terrifying and hopeless but I don’t want to forget it happened.”

Rowan stepped closer, her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her securely, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “I think you know that what happened doesn't only still affect you. I don’t think Lorcan will ever fully forgive himself for summoning Maeve to the beach that day, I don’t think Aedion will ever stop feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him. And I…”

He trailed off, but Aelin knew Rowan better than she knew herself. She knew his fears, his regrets, his insecurities. Just as Aelin awoke some nights thinking she was back in that coffin, Rowan would wake thinking she was gone. Those nights, he would wrap her tightly in his arms and wouldn’t let go until the sunrise, as if she’d disappear with the morning dew.

She gave a meek nod. “You’re right.”

They stood in silence for a bit longer, stealing strength from one another. After a period of silence, Aelin spoke again.

“I thought it’d be easier by now,” she commented. “I spent most of my life struggling to survive, trying not to die in one way or another. It’s been three years of peace. I know three years is nothing to you and will eventually be nothing to me too but… when does life get easier?”

Rowan didn’t answer right away. “Living, Aelin, is so much harder than dying.”

She sighed and nodded. “You’re right. But when have I ever not stepped up to a challenge?” She looked up at Rowan and smiled cockily. He gave a breathy laugh and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’ve already conquered death, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “I have no doubts you’ll conquer life just as easily.”

[marnz]

You’re in one of my favourite parts of the country so I gotta ask: the Pacific Northwest?

ah thanks for this question, but i feel like this is impossible to answer because I love the pnw so much!!!! I love the clear winter when every empty branch is illuminated. I love how ever changing the grey sky is. I love how the sea and the mountains meet. I love the empty beach and the sea grass on the dunes and I love the moss furred evergreens and the rivers. I love the glacial till. I love the bull kelp tangled on the beach as much as I love all the salmon bones on the river bank. I love going on ship canal bridge and seeing the Olympics and the Cascades simultaneously. I love living in a place cupped by the hand of the land. I love how fucked up the mountain names are: star peak, unicorn peak, the fang, mt. triumph, mt. terror, mt. despair. I love that the real name for Mt. Baker, koma kulshan, means the great watcher and I love how when you're in whatcom valley it watches you and is unchanged by time. I love Mt. Rainier too much to talk about. I love how we live under constant threat of death by earthquake, erruption, and lahar and I love how we're the most vibrant part of the country anyway.

ask me about something I can only say good things about

[bluerosewritings]

Why Can’t Life Be Closer To A Dating Sim!? | Idia x Reader

Happy birthday Idia!

This is a direct sequel to this post: https://bluerosewritings.tumblr.com/post/626417568274628608/please-be-my-sibling-in-law-ortho-x-reader

You moved your hands from your cheeks, using them to support yourself against the spare bed’s frame while you tried to make sense of what happened. There were troupes in Idia’s anime and games where their younger siblings got involved in their older sibling’s love life, but it was usually to stop the MC getting romantically involved with said older sibling, not encourage it! On top of that, Ortho’s choice of words to ask you to be his ‘sibling-in-law’... surely he knew what he said, right? Or would it be better if he didn’t? Even if your heart was even ready to comprehend Idia waiting for you in a tuxedo, you doubt his encounter with Eliza had left him wishing for early marriage.

Sighing, you push yourself off the bed frame and shake your head to get a hold of yourself. That shouldn’t be the part you were focusing on - right now, what you needed to think of was how you were going to confess.

...yeah, you couldn’t even think that with a straight face.

Why did love have to be so hard...? It was easy for the love interests in an otome game to just... say whatever they were thinking! Wait, but in some games it was the MC who confessed and had to hope the love interest’s stat was high enough... so, which one were you!? Love interest or protagonist!?

“Wait, maybe don’t compare yourself to a piece of code...” You quietly reprimand yourself, massaging the bridge of your nose. “Just... how can you confess in a way that isn’t going to completely scare off Idia...? Yeah, that’s probably impossible.”

Still, you couldn’t let that deter you. Ortho may have already alerted his brother and he was on his way over, probably completely oblivious to what the younger Shroud had planned. That meant you might have less time than you thought. 

You quickly whipped out your phone and typed in ‘confession advice’. Surely there’d be one or two sites with help outside the usual be yourself stuff, right...?

“Um... (y/n)?”

Idia’s hesitant voice makes you jump out of your skin, turning around to see him standing awkwardly in the spare room’s doorway. You also lost your grip on your phone and it fell to the floor before you had a chance to even glance at the suggestions.

“O-Oh! Idia! I didn’t think you be here so soon!” You laugh half-heartedly.

Idia’s hands fly up to his chest, his expression turning into panic. “E-Eh!? W-W-Was I too fast!?”

“It’s okay! It’s fine!” You tell him, hoping he would relax. Though the fact you weren’t facing might not have helped too much. You just really needed to look at that advice! You’d take anything at this point!

Idia frowned at your behaviour, dropping his arms to his side as he watched you scoot across the floor. He was starting to regret coming over so fast - Ortho had told him you’d had something important to talk to him about and hurried over, worried that something serious had happened. It had not crossed his mind once that he would be lucky enough to have maxed out your metre high enough to reach your confession ending. No way. Not once. No way a gross otaku like him would even dare to think he’d have a chance with someone like you.

His worry only grew at seeing you get more and more frantic while searching for this unknown item. Idia looked across the floor and noticed a small light peaking out from the spare bed. Curious, he kneels down and stretches out to grab it, only being noticed by you at the last second.

Everything seemed to slow down once you realized your phone was still on. “Wait, don’t look...!”

Sadly, your words proved futile, as when they were spoken Idia’s eye’s registered the words on the screen. Not even a second later, his hair turned into raging red flames, not helping your panic at all.

“Idia! Calm down!” You tell him, though it came out more like a question than a command due to your frantic nature. “I-I can explain!”

“T-T-T-This has to be for some sort of g-g-game, right!?” Idia tries to rationalize, pointing between you and your phone. “D-D-Did you want advice for s-some s-super hard game or something!? Haha, you didn’t have to call me all the way out here for t-that...!”

“W... Well, not... exactly...?” You explain hesitantly, trying not to scare him any further. “If I wanted to beat a game, I’d just search up a guide...”

“S-So, what’s this for...?” Idia asks, only slightly calmer as his curiosity took over.

You bite your lip, unable to look Idia in the eye for more than a moment, though you tried your hardest to keep looking in his general area. “...I like you, Idia. Not just platonic. Also romantic.”

You treasured those precious seconds before Idia’s hair burned even bright. A worry about if your phone was melting would have crossed your mind if it wasn’t occupied by thoughts of what Idia’s answer would be. His prolonged silence was not helping in the slightest.

“Y-Y-Y-You m-m-mean it...?” He searched for a confirmation, voice cracking at every possible opportunity.

You slowly nodded, your heart racing too hard for your brain can function your words. Idia went back to his silence as he handed you back your phone, lips quavering as he struggled to summon up a simple one-word answer.

“T-There’s a movie. That we can see this weekend.” You tried to suggest, hoping it would help the situation even the smallest bit. “I can’t remember the name, but it’s something you’d like...”

Idia hummed, cleared out his throat and then nodded. “Yeah... yeah. I’d like that. A lot.”

The two of you stayed in an awed silence before you felt a surge of courage go through you. You couldn’t get any more embarrassed over how this confession was going anymore, right?

You walked up to Idia, who instinctively flinched. Determined not to be deterred, you measure yourself to his height and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before smiling warmly.

“Want to head back to your room and start planning?” You offer once you realize Idia’s muteness wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. Judging by his facial expression anyway.

Idia could only nod in response and follow, eyes wide, as you took him by the hand and guided him back to his own room. He really had gotten high enough on your metre to reach the confession ending...! Was this actually real...!?

Hidden away, Ortho rejoiced, throwing his arms up in triumph as he sent a silent congratulations to his brother.

[egelantier]

Tian Guan Ci Fu

where is it and what is it

it’s a chinese webnovel by mxtx, the same author who did untamed; it exists as a webnovel, finished and kindly translated here, the manhwa, the donghua (animated adaptation) happening right now, and there’s a live action adaptation in plans, directed by the same guy who did untamed. the donghua is gorgeous, the adaptation i’m unsure about but prepared to be hopeful, the manhwa seems to be very pretty. but all the adaptations only cover the very beginning of the novel for now, so i went ahead and read the novel, and i have no regrets. it helps that the translation is very good - not without awkward translatorese, but it has consistent and engaging flow and style, and it’s also pretty good at conveying mxtx’s humor without awkwardness. it reads pretty well.

what’s it about?

the world is split into two parts: mortals and various ghosts and demons and entities share the land, while ‘heaven officials’, aka gods, live in the heavenly kingdom in the sky. pretty much anybody can become a god if they do something really heroic or memorable and/or cultivate (meditation, training, virtuous behavior) really hard. when above, the gods rule their domains and fulfill their believers’ wishes; they work sort of like pratchettian gods, dependent on their followers’ beliefs and getting influenced by them. heavens are strictly hierarchical, with their own economy and pecking order, and the gods aren’t particularly sinless or benevolent; mostly it’s a question of scale.

our hero, xie lian, is a prince of a prosperous kingdom who’s been on a fast track to ascension for most of his very short life; he’s talented, he’s virtuous, he’s kind, he’s strong, and his only peculiar flaw is (somehow naive, but well-meaning) obsession with equality and value of human lives and so on. he becomes a god, unexpectedly, at seventeen, after slaying one especially dangerous god, and rises in heaven at the peak of his faith, influence and happiness.

…and then he finds out about drought and incipient trouble in his own kingdom, and, being a young and righteous god too close to his mortality, eschews heavens and returns to save everybody. it, to put it lightly, does not go well. at all. in fact, it goes catastrophically wrong, and, having lost everything, xie lian ascends again, only to get into a fight with the heavenly emperor, and get banished again, this time for good. he roams the mortal lands for next eight hundred of very lonely, luckless and hard years, technically immortal but not invincible, with his powers and his luck stripped away, and leans to make do, eking out a living as a scrap collector. his temples are desecrated, his name is forgotten, his kingdom is long gone, and - well. so it goes.

so it goes! until one day, to everybody’s great surprise, he ascends once again: a humble, gentle, immune to embarrassment, unflappable man, an embarrassment to heavens, a 'laughingstock of three realms’ who just wants to be left well enough alone. he’s Tired.

instead of rest, he gets sent to investigate a dangerous ghost stealing brides who pass through its mountain, and there, during the course of the interrogation, has his first (he thinks) meeting with a terrifying, old-powerful and vengeful ghost king named hua cheng, who likes to terrorize heavens from time to time. but said ghost king seems to be very benevolent and very interested in helping xie lian, and xie lian is pretty instantly smitten… with knowing what’s the cause of such interest.

…and meanwhile, in the beginning, there'was an unlucky boy, born under the worst stars, whom xie lian saved from falling once, while still mortal, and promptly lost track of. a lot of things happened to this boy, who wanted to be the most devoted worshipper to xie lian the god of the sword and the flower. as one does, you know.

that’s the beginning! from there on: investigations, heavenly secrets, old friends and enemies and acquaintances, thematic parallels, old tragedies, more pining than you can shake a stick at, grand acts of love.

is it good?

it’s very, very good. it’s the first fantasy cnovel i read (aside from the hilarious one about a guy traveling back in his own timeline and becoming a sugar baby to a mafia boss, which was in a very different league), so i don’t know which things are baseline and which things are unique, but it had a very solid foundation: ambitious multilevel, multi-timeline plot coming together in the end both events- and emotions-wise, beautifully iddy main relationship, maybe multifaceted characters who change and grow and clash together in fun ways, a clear and heartfelt understanding of its own core themes.

it’s also, unexpectedly, very funny, in this visual, slapsticky, begs-to-be-adapted way - i found myself laughing out loud over it a lot of times, and it possesses this gift of swerve between understated but earnest emotions and all-out jokes that i associate with… a bit of prattchett and a bit of gintama, honestly. take it as you will.

(oh my god the mecha. i will laugh over this one until i die.)

it also made me cry several times; granted, it’s not like it’s this time, but those were very heartfelt tears.

and the main duo?

first let me say that xie lian was lifted out, wholesale, out of my deepest character preferences. he fell really, really far, and did some bad things, and some very horrible things were done to him, and by the time we meet him he went through everything and achieved this effortless kind of traumatized, humble, accepting, wryly self-deprecating, utterly competent chill that makes a character incredibly appealing to me. he’s kind, and he’s sweet, and he’s gotten any possible embarrassment at least a couple of centuries ago, and he kinda made peace with himself and kinda didn’t. i love him.

and, thankfully for me, hua cheng, the ghost king, loves him a whole damn lot, a ridiculous amount, an epic, over-the-lifetimes, life-shattering amount, and he’s a terrifying presence to everybody else and a shy, protective, sweet dork to xie lian, and every time they’re together on page my entire heart is just. it’s AMAZING. he’s a great combination of playing the obsessive protective yandere stalker-lover trope straight and putting it on its head, by making hua cheng not just revere but respect xie lian, in all his good and bad decisions.

they are just so - good for each other, holy shit. they get each other so well. they’re the best ever power team. i love them.

(the rest of canon is various character reenacting “really? in front of my salad?” meme at them. it’s hysterical, and it’s the best. everybody teams up to tell xie lian that his boyfriend is Problematic way, way before xie lian clues into the fact that he does have a boyfriend, and he’s having none of it. i love it.)

and the themes?

okay, so. roughly half of this novel is ridiculous iddy pining, and a fourth of it is various tropes (off the top of my head: soulbond, sex pollen, body switch, de-age, various shades of identity porn… crossdressing…) played very shamelessly. but it also really benefits from having an overarching set of ethical questions, and while it deals with them a bit shounen-style, it still deals with them, and it makes the whole text fresh, and sweet, and bold.

is it possible to save everybody? should you try to save everybody? if you lack the powers to back your convictions, does it make you complicit? when is it possible to stop the cycle of suffering, what can you do if you want to but can’t? if you tried and people you failed turned on you, whose fault it is, where does the blame stop?

Detailed spoilers begin from here, and i would REALLY advise to stay unspoiled, because the domino reveals are very fun

i loved the various ways the novel sets all those pieces up and then overturns them and then returns to them. xie lian wanted to save everybody and it was arrogant naivete of an untried, untested, privileged young man who never had a real challenge before; his presence made things escalate quicker, and yet everybody around him pretended it was his attempt to make things better that ruined everything, and not a combination of factors outside of his control. and yet he accepts the blame, because it dovetails with his shame at not having enough powers to back his intent up; and yet his triumph over bai wuxian is that he doesn’t, after all, renege on his initial drive to help people.

my most favorite part of this novel is that its turning point, the lynchpin of the whole novel, the moment that keeps xie lian’s soul and safety intact, is not his personal purity and drive; it’s not even hua cheng’s devotion and sacrificial love. it’s just a moment of little, grudging, human kindness from a little, petty, rude man whom the history will sweep away soon. the bamboo hat in the rain. the rest of the plot keeps twisting and turning and coming back to itself, but this? this was unquestionably, beautifully clear, and i loved it. it’s never about the gods, it’s all down to - fallen human is human, ascended human is human, and human is not some state, virtuous or sinful, you get stuck with - it’s a multitude of choices, and there’s never a final one.

and incoherent spoilery screaming for people who read it already

oh my god i had SO MUCH FUN. i’ve been flailing on meme for days, because somebody just finished reading there too, and i’m still bursting with ALL THE FEELS. ruoye origins oh my god! that hat! jin wu’s backstory and ultimate end! e-ming’s praise kink! pei ming’s little shippery 'hoho’! hua cheng’s horribly handwritten stick and poke tattoo of xie lian’s name! the lanteeeeeeeeeeeeerns. feng xin and mu qing on the bridge, making up with each other and with xie lian! hua cheng trying to explain to xie lian that his habit of using himself as bait and pincushion at any given moment is deeply emotionally upsetting to him, and succeeding! banyue’s learning from xie lian to be a truly horrible cook! the entire deal with shi qingxuan and he xuan and the wind fan in the end. THE CAVE. THE GIANT MECHA. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and i am beset, beset by feelings. come scream with me.

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[basicjetsetter]

Part I

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content

▹ Words: 4.6k

▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.

“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”

You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown. 

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?” 

She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”

Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.

The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.

I’ve got you.

Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.

Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.

You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.

“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”

You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”

“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”

You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”

Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”

You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.

“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”

Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.

As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.

I’ve got you.

The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.

“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.

All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.

It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.

The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”

“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.

“Positive.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.

Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.

Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself. 

One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask? 

You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?

Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.

You blink. What the hell is going on?

"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.

You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut? 

You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.

Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."

Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?

"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"

Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."

"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."

Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."

Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school. 

Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.

Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.

You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark. 

When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.

But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.

Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."

Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.

"Here," you gasp. "We're here."

Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.

Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?

Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.

The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.

A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.

It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.

Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning. 

Your ears are buzzing. 

A vice clenches your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace. 

It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.

By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.

It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.

Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.

It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.

Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.

Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.

"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.

Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."

"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.

The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.

Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"

You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.

She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.

Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.

You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.

"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."

"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Teen Wolf."

Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."

"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."

She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."

Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.

You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.

Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.

Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.

I’ve got you.

Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.

I’ve got you.

You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.

I’ve got you.

You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.

Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.

-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx

A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.

They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.

The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.

Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.

“Do you have to do that?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”

Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.

Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”

“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”

You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.

When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”

“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”

“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”

She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”

“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?

She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”

“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”

You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.

“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.

“Something’s not right.”

The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.

I’ve got you.

Everything happens within a second.

You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.

Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.

Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.

“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”

She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.

You drop to your knees, screaming.

And so does the rest of the world.

...

Part II

[gogoseijoh]

losing: pt. 2 - kageyama x reader x tsukishima

 summary: tsukki is taken with you, and your best friend is not a fan of that fact

genre: fluff, with a dash of angst at the end

warning(s): tsukishima’s self doubt, kageyama tryna fight

a/n: tsukki’s pov this time :))) i do be loving both of these men. also thank you for all the support i’m sorry it took me so long to get this out! this isn’t very long, but the next chapter will be :)) 

word count: 1.9k

part 1, part 3

Tsukishima counted himself incredibly lucky. He hadn’t thought that he would find someone like you in high school, so he didn’t even think to look, but here you were, stumbling into his life with open arms and sweet words that turned his ears the most vibrant red he’d ever seen. You left kisses on his cheeks that burned into his skin, and he would lay in bed after he walked you home, fingers brushing over the spots in belated shock that you wanted to touch him. And then there was the sweaters. You liked to wear them, the sleeves swallowing you, because his arms were ridiculously long. They made you feel safe, but you always gave them back to him at the end of the day, and when you did, he was always consumed by the scent of your skin. Tsukishima hadn’t expected himself to be so taken with a girl, but now here he was, looking forward to seeing you every day at school. Even on the weekends he saw you, when for years the only person he hung out with both in and out of school had been the intensely loyal Yamaguchi. Now, though, he shared his time with you as well, and it was lovely. He didn’t think he would ever forget the first time you hung out in your living room, a documentary on the television and his arm draped over your shoulders, wanting to pull you closer, but not wanting to push your boundaries. You were both so nervous to speak, instead feigning interest in the screen in front of you. You had never been alone like this together, typically meeting in parks or cafes, where the ambient noise of others chatting spurred on your own conversations. Here though, it was all up to you two, so you both resigned to the comfortable silence. When the documentary ended, you had turned to look at him, “I feel so safe with you, Tsukki.” At that moment, he decided that you two didn’t need words all the time.

Your first kiss was on your front porch. Tsukki had decided to take you on your first real date, and the two of you had spent hours talking at the coffee shop he brought you to. He walked you home, hands tangled together in between you as you made your way down the street. Tsukishima, not usually one for physical affection, found himself so taken with you that he couldn’t help himself. He never understood the appeal of kissing, and then he saw your lips, covered in peppermint chapstick and always looking so soft. His hand didn’t leave yours when you reached your house, and when you turned to him, the look in his eyes was one you hadn’t seen before. He looked nervous but happy, and before you could ask him if he was okay, his voice broke through your thoughts, “Can I kiss you?” He was overjoyed when you nodded, and suddenly, one hand was cradling the back of your neck and the other held the curve of your waist as he leant down to meet you. He saw your eyes flutter closed and felt your hands snake up to your biceps, and he let his eyes fall closed, too. It was a gentle kiss, only lasting a few seconds, shy lips pressed to each other. Tsukishima basked in the blush of your cheeks when he pulled away and thanked you for a nice day. You just beamed back at him, pulling him in for one last hug before slipping into your house. Tsukki walked back home feeling as if he as walking on air, a feeling only you could give him.

That was a Saturday. Tsukishima was back to being his typically distant and sarcastic self by Monday, preserving the most gentle parts of himself for when you two were alone. In the mornings, he walked to school with Yamaguchi, while you were always accompanied by Kageyama. Tsukishima had been loathe to admit to the feelings he had for you because of your choice in best friend, but he saw that you had the same effect on the setter as you did on him. Kageyama wasn’t exactly subtle about his feelings, and the change in his personality when he was around you was enough to make Tsukishima wary of him. Spending time with you allowed him to hear about the friendship shared between you two, and it helped him understand. Kageyama was your best friend, the only person in the world outside of your family that you knew would be there for you for the rest of your life. Your tie to him was impossible to sever, and you swore up and down that you knew him better than he knew himself. It was still scary, knowing that someone who despised him was so close to you, having so much influence in your life. Tsukishima despised the brunette too, but Kageyama had been in your life longer. Would Kageyama’s opinion of him be the end of your relationship? Tsukishima tried to soothe himself into believing that Kageyama cared enough for you that he wouldn’t do that, but there was still a fear in him. 

Tsukishima was always shocked by the way you looked at him. No matter where you were or what was going on, your eyes always held the softest admiration in them when you saw him. No one had ever looked at him like that. You looked at him as if he had put the stars in the sky, and he felt triumph when he noted that those eyes were reserved for him, not even Kageyama gaining your attention like he did. There was a sense of pride in him when you kissed his cheek in front of the gym before practice, and he watched with a smirk as Kageyama scowled and stalked by you two, not that you had noticed. Tsukishima knew that when it came to volleyball, he wasn’t as talented as Kageyama, but here, with you smiling up at him, he felt like he had finally won against the King. In his mind, he knew it was juvenile to think that. He knew you were no prize to be won, nothing to be paraded around like a trophy in front of someone who Tsukki considered to be a foe, but he couldn’t help the satisfaction that seeped into his bones when Kageyama was close by. There was a conflict in his brain, a battle between the part that wanted to make Kageyama’s life harder and the part that understood how it would feel if the roles were reversed. He grimaced at the thought of having to bare witness to you and Kageyama doing the same things he did with you, but he just couldn’t help himself. You hadn’t noticed the added tension to their relationship, or lack thereof, but the rest of the volleyball club had. For the most part, they were their usual selves, but both of their voices now held an extra edge when they jeered at each other. Tsukishima could feel Kageyama’s steely gaze cutting through him whenever he turned his back, and he returned it when the brunette sought you out after practice and you handed him a snack with a brilliant smile. Still, Tsukishima knew that at the end of the day, you’d be walking home holding his hand, no one else’s. It was the most comforting thing he had ever known.

After five dates with you, Tsukishima figured out how to kill two birds with one stone. He was going to ask you to officially be his girlfriend. It was perfect, because not only would it show you how much he cared for you and that you were paramountly important to him, but it would also settle some of his fears about not being good enough for you if you said yes. Tsukishima’s feelings of uncertainty in himself had carried over from volleyball to his relationship with you, which he wasn’t thrilled about, but his faith in you relieved a lot of that pressure from his mind. He knew you liked him just as much as he liked you, so why should there be doubt in his head about you saying no? 

That doubt festered when Kageyama approached him in the club room one afternoon before practice, scowl drawing deep lines on his face and making Tsukishima stand up from the ground when he had tied his shoes. “Need something, your Majesty?” Tsukishima sneered, one hand coming up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“When are you gonna cut the act?” Kageyama snarled, eyes narrowing even further at the middle blocker. 

Tsukki scoffed, “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“I know you’re just dating (y/n) to mess with me,” Kageyama accused, taking a step forward, “Just leave her alone.”

“Wow, are you that conceded?” Tsukishima chuckled, shaking his head at the thought, “This may come as a shock, but everything isn’t about you, King. She has a life outside of you. I’m dating her because I like her, and, not that it’s any of your business, I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend.” He didn’t miss how Kageyama’s face dropped at that, but he kept going, “Nothing I’m doing has anything to do with you. I seem to have underestimated your selfishness. I will never understand why she chooses to stick with you.” He began to make for the door but not before he turned and in his cool voice, he said, “And for the record, it’s not my fault she doesn’t want to date you.”

Before Tsukishima had a moment to step out the door, Kageyama surged forward, hand locking around the front of Tsukishima’s shirt, “I could say the same for you. She deserves so much more than you, and if you hurt her, I swear-”

“You’ll what?” a timid voice spoke from the door, and there you were standing, eyes widened to the size of dinner plates at the scene in front of you. Ukai had sent you to check on what was taking the two of them so long, and here you found them, at each other’s throats because of you. 

Kageyama let go of the taller boy, who turned around to face you. Both of them began to speak, sputtering nonsense that you couldn’t understand until you held your hand out, to which they both shut their mouths. “We will talk about this later. Go to practice,” your voice was barely a whisper and you wouldn’t meet either of their gazes, which Tsukishima knew to be your tells when you were extremely nervous, like before the grammar exam you had taken a week earlier, but you seemed less nervous and more so in a state of deep thought. You weren’t a stern person by nature, and this was the most serious he had seen you since the two of you had met. He tried to reach out to you, but you turned on your heel and were already heading for the gym. In a moment of unity, the boys shared a grimace before following you to what was sure to be a tense practice. They were in trouble.

Thoughts swirled in Tsukishima’s head as he made his way down the stairs to go to practice, thoughts he had been trying to put to rest. What did you see in him?

---

taglist: @kiritokunuwu​

[i-watch-too-many-movies]

My Sweetest Friend: Which Version of “Hurt” is Better?

(CW: Suicide mention, self-harm mention, drug mention)

Recently, I had been going through the discography of the legendary industrial rock band Nine Inch Nails. After listening to their second record multiple times, I decided to tackle an age-old question that music critics, fans, scholars, and religious philosophers have been debating for centuries. What is the better version of “Hurt”, Nine Inch Nails’ original song or Johnny Cash’s cover?

Nine Inch Nails’ original appears at the end of their seminal sophomore album The Downward Spiral, a dark, masterful concept album, exploring themes of drug abuse, self-hatred, and bleakness with only a faint glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel, if there even is one. The song takes place after the penultimate title track, in which the character followed all throughout the album attempts suicide. He survives, and then the song slowly transitions into “Hurt”. The opening lines are iconic, “I hurt myself today / To see if I still feel / I focus on the pain / The only thing that’s real”. To be so broken and empty that all you can do is just feel the poke of the needle or the cut of the razor blade that causes some sort of relief.

The context of Cash’s version is much different. Trent Reznor, the mastermind behind Nine Inch Nails, was a 29-year-old man when “Hurt” was released. Johnny Cash was 69 when his rendition of it appeared on his record American IV: The Man Comes Around, released in his American Recordings series, which show Cash performing mostly covers. Cash was a phenomenal covers artist, and it shows on these records, especially American IV. He does an excellent rendition of The Beatles’ “In My Life”, a lovely duet with Fiona Apple covering Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, and even a country rock rendition of a new wave classic, Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus”. But the most notable cover is track 2, that of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt”. In the context of the album, it’s still great, but it feels strange to go from a powerful, emotional performance of that song to then have the subsequent song on the record be “Give My Love to Rose”, as you’re continuing to process the power and beauty of such a heavy performance of “Hurt”. 

The best way to listen to Cash’s version of the song is with the music video. Directed by frequent Nine Inch Nails collaborator Mark Romanek, the video attempted to show the contrast between Johnny’s beginnings as a bright, vibrant young man, and Johnny’s present as a withered old man, surrounded by his legacy. To this day, I can’t listen to that lyric “Everyone I know goes away in the end” paired with that immediate cut to a picture of his widow, June Carter, and not just get chills. To see the archival footage of him performing on television, delivering his signature smile, coupled with the empty halls of the House of Cash museum, a frame containing a gold record shattered on the floor is a beautiful, heartbreaking contrast. 

The production of Reznor’s song is distorted and fuzzy, reflecting the ugliness of the record. Some parts feel like you’re listening to the track through a radio, with those crackles on his vocals and the guitars sounding like the audio from said radio is just starting to get out of range, echoing the loss that is in Reznor’s vocals. He sings the verses and the first half of the chorus in a bit of a whisper, as if the shame and regret is too much to bear. The production on Cash’s version is much more spare, just a man and his guitar, alongside some piano during the chorus. Because this cover is stripped of any sort of industrial rock, Cash sings it with much more clarity, like he is in a confession booth, telling all of this to anyone who will listen. 

Certain lyrics in each version stand out much more. One of the best lines is “You are someone else / I am still right here”. In Trent’s version, it makes the most sense, as I imagine him singing this about his old friends, maybe former addicts who have gotten clean and seem to have their lives and their health in order, and he is still in the same place as he was. His delivery on that line is just absolutely perfect.

The one line that sticks with me on Cash’s version is “And you can have it all / My empire of dirt”. In the original, Trent sings it with the intention that his life has completely amounted to nothing, as does Cash. What makes this line so haunting and effective is that Johnny Cash is a country legend. Considered to be one of, if not, the greatest performer in the genre. Millions and millions of records sold, and a blossoming late career that showed that he was still the best in the game. A museum dedicated to his legacy and the impact that he had left, nothing more than dirt on the ground in his eyes. Was all the fame and glory worth it if it didn’t kill the demons you had yet to conquer and if it had left people that he had loved hurt? 

But then there’s the ending line; “If I could start again / A million miles away / I would keep myself / I would find a way”. In the Cash cover, he sings those final lines so clearly, even as the strumming of his guitar and the clinks of the piano only get louder. As dark and as tragic as this cover is, there’s something so beautiful about the way the instrumentation stops and Cash sings “a way”. After a song of self-hatred, anger, pain, and sadness, there’s a calmness, an acceptance, even a hope to his voice at the end of “Hurt”. In Trent’s case, however, it's the opposite. The outro starts off hopeful, with the drums giving a sound of someone finally having that sense of turning their own life around, but once Trent sings “I would find a way”, there’s an ugly, sludgy guitar chord, drowning out his voice, followed by the sound of static, as the album ends. The protagonist cannot escape, they only get sucked into a further darkness. A haunting ending to a haunting album. 

But which version of this classic song is the better one?

The answer is, no version of “Hurt” is best. I know that’s a cop-out answer, but both of these versions showcase two men at different points in their life. Trent Reznor was a drug-addicted twentysomething who needed to perform this song as some sort of catharsis. To attempt to triumph over the demons he was facing. Johnny Cash needed to sing this song as he realized that his own life was about to come to an end. He had also struggled with drug addiction throughout most of his life, and could probably relate to the same things Trent was singing about. Compositionally, each note is perfect, and shows that whether performed on synthesizers or acoustic guitars, Trent Reznor wrote a song that perfectly captures the darkest corners of someone’s mind, at their brink, at their bleakest, one that is the perfect closer to one of the greatest albums ever recorded, and Johnny Cash’s cover transformed the song into one of the most iconic country tracks of the 21st century. One version can be preferred over the other, and it’s the correct answer.