#it's almost inevitably ending in tragedy or madness

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: EP10 Ray's Therapy Scene (First Focus)

I've been meaning to do a deep dive on this scene, which has no doubt been immensely commended for Khaotung's stellar performance (I'm running out of vocabulary to gush about how talented that boy is). However the purpose of this post is to highlight how equally superb First is, as I fear some may overlook the excellent work he does here.

The reason why this scene warrants a huge amount of respect is how challenging this dynamic is on both actors. Only Ray is speaking the entire way through, which means the tone and rhythm of the scene is led by Khaotung, whilst First's role here as Sand is to be reactive to this immense outpouring and release of emotion. First is required to be a very restrained and contemplative presence - a projection and visual representation of Sand in Ray's own mind. It's literally acting on a macro (Khaotung) and micro (First) level in tandem.

I want to start by mentioning how well First portrays this bedded-in weariness in Sand’s demeanor throughout, an expression we’ve seen in Episode 8. It carries this heartbreakingly heavy and worn down quality. A symptom of a man who bears far too much weight on his shoulders, whose mental toil never seems to end; a product of his own nature and those who knowingly or unknowingly take advantage of it. This is the tragedy of Sand's character. And this is the realisation that is well and truly hitting Ray now. His temper and behaviour have inevitably taken its toll on someone Ray knows doesn't deserve all the suffering he's been putting him through.

⬆️ "I was stupid, but I want you to understand me. I was mad at you because I cared so much about you."

When Ray starts asking for forgiveness, there's an air of slightly deflated scepticism that flits across Sand's face. Sand's immediate instinct is to be hopeful, to give someone the benefit of the doubt. But the reality is Ray has apologised a number of times before and that hasn’t stopped him from hurting Sand still. So Sand’s expression sobers, conscious of how likely it is that Ray will let him down again.

This is Ray acknowledging that he's fallen into a pattern of taking Sand for granted. If that’s all Sand has come to expect, why would his apology this time change anything? Ray has not earnt his redemption yet as he hasn't apologised to Sand in person, and has no guarantee it would be accepted. Which is why he's so upset because he registers that Sand's disappointment in him is fully deserved.

⬆️ "There's no one more caring or loving than you. Though I've been nothing but an asshole to you."

You see the tiniest lift of Sand's brow that's tinged with grateful disbelief, 'Me? But I'm nothing special'. His gaze softens by the sentiment, a visible breath inhaled in as if taken aback, clearly touched but hesitant to believe it. A humbling trait of Sand's is that he genuinely struggles to see his own value. He doesn't realise just how meaningful he can be to someone. That he could hold such weight.

And all the criticism that Ray has thrown at Sand has only piled onto the insecurities he possesses. Remarks that have questioned Sand's principles, his dignity, his sense of worth.

⬆️ "But if you don't want to put up with me anymore, that's alright. I get you."

Ray's image of Sand watches on as he begins to fall apart, crushed by a mixture of intense fear, regret, and despair that this may be too little too late. That his last outburst may well have been the final straw, and he failed to appreciate Sand when it mattered.

On the surface Sand may look numb or somewhat devoid of emotion, but you can detect the turbulence brewing underneath. Sand has a habit of holding in his feelings in to an almost painful degree (which begs for release). It gives you the impression he could suddenly burst at the seams at any given moment. But Sand as always holds still, holds strong, holds steady. Other than the slight twitch of his lip, he holds himself together somehow.

⬆️ "No one can put up with me".

Ray vocalises his own self-hatred, how little he deserves someone like Sand, how guilty he feels for causing this damage. Whilst he does so, Sand appears increasingly teary, lip ever so slightly quivering, brows crumpling. He looks like he desperately wants to break down and cry along with Ray.

What sets Sand apart from everyone else in Ray’s life is he understands. He can sympathise with why Ray is the way he is. Despite everything Ray has done, Sand still very much wants to protect him, shield him, care for him. He doesn't blame him. It breaks his heart to see Ray upset, to see Ray hurting. His compassion for Ray has always been his undoing.

The last thing he would want is for Ray to feel unwanted or intolerable. He tries to be the person who can withstand Ray's temper, his volatile nature, because he knows Ray is still deserving of love. It’s because of this love that he can feel every single thing that Ray is going through.

Sand exudes an incredibly strong parental presence in this scene; a form of unconditional love and patience. As we're often told by our parents, they're not angry at us when we veer off path, just disappointed and perhaps saddened on our behalf - but that won't stop them from loving us all the same. This is beautifully captured by First. You can detect Sand's selfless love for Ray in his every gaze, always.

⬆️ "Ever since you walked into my life, I've been so happy. So damn happy Sand."

This is where Sand almost breaks down as he displays a small, tentative smile that is laced with pained and tired relief. His eyes close in an attempt to maintain composure. Whilst there’s overwhelm, there’s also finally a glimmer of peace.

This is what Ray knows Sand needs to hear, what Ray wishes he'd said sooner. Ray picturing himself saying this to Sand may be a form of vindication in the event he doesn't get say this to him in-person.

Finally Ray collapses into Sand's arms. Sand seems to visibly reign in his own emotions, in order to revert back to 'care-taker' mode. Sand nods once, a gesture of kindness and true acceptance that says 'It's all okay, I know.'

He's Ray's pillar, his rock, and his raft. Sand has become Ray's primary source of safety and comfort. Sand's gaze is so endlessly gentle as he nestles in close to hold Ray. Everything about his embrace feels warm and stable in such a reassuring way. Sand is every bit as loving and caring as Ray just described him to be.

What makes this entire portrayal so devastating is this is the Sand Ray sees and knows. Ray mentions in Episode 11 that he’s been stowing away these details. Which indicates that everything Sand has done and said has not gone unnoticed. Whether it was due to denial or ignorance that prevented Ray from confronting it sooner, he has unconsciously taken note of it all. How Ray's image of Sand responds in this scene is based on every interaction he's had with Sand up until now. This imaginary representation of Sand is proof of everything that Ray has come to fall in love with.

First was not given any dialogue in which to communicate in this scene. His entire performance relies solely on the tiniest of micro-expressions and gestures. He symbolises the essence of Sand but not the physical manifestation of him. Therefore his acting may come across as understated but that’s a sign of real talent when you can say so much with so little.

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Mairon and Melkor: The Apollonian and Dionysian

Mairon and Melkor are incompatible — at least, that’s a popular view. On the surface, it’s a reasonable: one seeks order, the other destruction. I’ve always rejected this premise yet struggled to properly articulate why beyond “order is drawn to chaos.”

Recently I came across Frederich Nietschze’s The Birth of Tragedy about ancient Greek deities Apollo and Dionysus. Both Mairon and Melkor have striking similarities to them, the two gods of art.

Apollonian Order, Dionysian Swag

In the Nietschzean lens, Apollo is the god of order, precision, structure, and harmony. Dionysus, on the other hand, represents chaos, unrestrained passion, and divine intoxication.

Just like Apollo and Dionysus, Mairon and Melkor symbolize contrasting cosmic forces in Arda. Two halves of a whole. Both are reminders of our dual nature of reason and primal instinct.

The Apollonian spirit inspires beauty and excellence, yet if lacking the vitality of Dionysus, it heads toward stagnation and decay. Similarly, Dionysian zeal overcomes fear and obstacles yet without Apollonian wisdom, it can lead to indulgence, madness, or death.

As the most powerful being after Illuvatar, Melkor offers what Mairon lacks: connection to raw vitality and wild abandon. In turn, Mairon brings rational thinking and a structured framework to efficiently channel Melkor’s wild spirit.

“But did Mairon know Melkor just wanted to destroy?” Yes and no. Being a Maia, or ‘beautiful artist’, Mairon knew what every artist knows. To quote Picasso:

“Every act of creation begins with an act of destruction.”

Mairon was misled by Melkor but hardly ignorant. He first assessed Melkor’s destructive impulses and power was during the Music, where none of the Ainur, not even Manwe, could halt his discord — only Illuvatar could put Melkor in his place. It’s cliche, but like a moth to a flame, he almost certainly tuned into the frenzied spectacle of Melkor’s lust for dominance.

From of the Maiar, many were drawn to his splendour in his days of greatness… (Silmarillion, “Valaquenta”)

Being a lesser Ainu, Mairon lacked the ability to assert his will against the Valar alone. Moreover, his orderly and conforming nature would be hesitant to “break bad.�� Instead he joined forces with Melkor, using his master’s will-to-power like a bulldozer clearing the way so he can, as promised, organize Middle Earth. Mairon gambling everything for nothing less.

Apollonian and Dionysian energies are not compromise or dichotomy but balance; embracing extremes that manifests creative will. In this manner, Mairon and Melkor harnessed this oscillation, this to-and-fro of dynamic tension — passion and prudence, chaos and control, discipline and savagery — to plunge themselves into deeper depths of malicious artistic achievement.

Melkor’s reign becomes a bacchanalia of greed, torment, and degeneracy. Each assault on the Children — from breeding orcs to the sacking of Gondolin — is a frenzied ritual feasting on their freedom and wills. Not merely evil misdeeds, they are forms of responsive art meant to desacralize beauty and demoralize, like smearing shit on the Mona Lisa. All in effort to keep the Children’s attention downward, away from higher purpose and guidance.

Unlike Apollo and Dionysus, Mairon and Melkor are not on equal footing. As a Vala and Maia, master and servant, Melkor’s chaotic spirit would inevitably prevail over Mairon’s desire for organization. When caution and restraint was needed, Mairon would have faced challenges to curbing his master’s impulses.

Toward the end of Melkor’s reign, Mairon’s loyalty would be tested to its limit. As the dark lord’s nihilism deepened, the relationship between he and his chief servant would destabilize and adversely impact their cause.

Mairon’s counsel, once taken as near gospel, may be disregarded or even ridiculed. But without Apollonian disciplined structure, Melkor would indulge in superficial pleasures and diversions, gradually losing touch with reality. Without Dionysian vitality, Mairon’s innovative edge would stifle, leaving him on autopilot.

With Melkor sent into the Void, Mairon emerges from his servitude, this fever dream of eons but not unscathed.

he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

‘Bonds’ being the divine intoxication of the raw Dionysian spirit.

[xx0yeet-everything0xx]

OK SO :D

listen man. listen. jason and reyna have the potential for the most interesting dynamic in the entire rrverse and i stand by that ok. like imagine. two people who were best friends are suddenly torn apart and when they reunite through no fault of either of them one cares a lot more than the other now. losing jason was the worst thing reyna ever felt and then he came home and looked her dead in the eyes and treated her like a stranger. god i am so unwell about them anyway. im mad that this never gets explored in canon it has so much potential. the fucking tragedy of it all. they avoid each other now because one will inevitably end up saying something a little too familiar and its miserably awkward for just. everyone tbh. they cared so deeply for each other amd then it was just gone. she spent months searching for him overworked and unable to even grieve properly and he just didnt care anymore. its unclear how much memory he got back but its obviously not as clear as percy’s and thats so interestingg?? knowing you cared for this place, for this person, so much it was a part of you, and just. having no emotional attachment to it anymore. not knowing how to get back to that even if you want to. oughhhh. not knowing how to tell them the person they knew is dead or at least unrecognizable. if you take every moment and memory that makes up a person away and put newones in their place is it still the same person? she loved him more than anything. he doesnt know how to be the person she loved anymore. he doesnt know if he wants to. he avoids her, and she lets him, because really what is there to say? she still cares. he doesn’t. i dont even know how to articulate this okay just. they were best friends. and now everything has changed. and how do you cope with that. what do you do, when your best friend looks you in the eyes and treats you like a stranger? what do you do, looking a stranger in the eyes and knowing she was your best friend?

and nobody ever talks about their relationship??? like they either get ignored or treated like weird exes which is just so not what this is. anyway the implication that reyna had a crush on him was stupid thats called *amatonormativity* reyna is arocoded thank you goodnight. i am so utterly deranged about them <3

OMG ANON THANK YOU FOR THIS but literally ikr?? their entire relationship (not in a couple-y way) is just so complex and ends so tragically and it’s like. ughhhhh it literally drives me crazy to think about it and it’s so UNFAIR for both of them because reyna has to look at jason and see someone looking back with a strangers eyes and it’s like. hes there. but he’s NOT because he’s so different and then for jason he can see her but he can’t feel the emotional attachment that SHOULD be there he only knows that he once had it and instead it’s this empty feeling and. the worst part is that they never got to confront the situation with each other!! jason got back to new rome and when he left almost instantly they’d barely exchanged any words with each other so like. the most either can do is soo many presumptions and MAYBE time could’ve fixed it. maybe they could’ve one day talked it out; but god fucking damn it because they didn’t have time and the next time she got to properly see him he was in a coffin. it’s so tragic it really really HURTS and I can’t explain how it feels but u get it aishsjbsksmsksns

and no frrr reducing them to exes of any sort is just soo annoying because it’s completely taking away EVERYTHING abt their dynamic and just as you said all that’s very much linked to amatonormativity. WOW sorry for the rant here but yes im also very very deranged abt three <3

ty for this tho, anon! <333

[susandsnell]

Movies with Scarecrow vibes?

Ahhh, thank you so much for sending this! This might be long-winded, as I tend to be, but such is the way of Cranerot!

Naturally, Brian de Palma's Carrie. Aside from the plot and thematic matches almost eerily to Scarecrow: Year One to the point I'd be shocked if it wasn't a direct inspiration, de Palma's camp balanced with heartrending drama and tragedy and a horror where nearly everyone involved is a monster has Crane written all over it. I actually have several tracks from the score on my inspiration playlist for when I'm writing him!

Hellraiser (1987)! Jonathan Crane is so, so, so Cenobite-coded (highly recommend @acapelladitty's Cenobite!Crane AU, incidentally)! An old house filled with secrets, a plucky heroine whose sanity is doubted but who wins the day (at a great cost), and creatures that want to bring you to the height of sensation until the joy is inextricable from the anguish...it very much suits his more sensual reverent speeches/quotes about fear. "We have such sights to show you" could so easily be a Scarecrow quote, and likewise, "Eventually, the victim desires the horror" could very believably be a Pinhead line!

Since you mentioned it in The Most Poetical Topic, Night of the Hunter (1955) as a Southern noir quasi-folktale thriller absolutely suits the more charming, insidious iterations of Crane, in atmosphere, setting, antagonist, and in the themes of corrupted religion. The themes of childhood fears and defeating your demons while also struggling with their humanity both suit different phases of Jonathan Crane in his life, and the responses to and from the people he knows and terrorizes.

On the note of the South, O Brother Where Art Thou provides heavy atmosphere that give off Crane vibes, bringing a mythic epic to the setting of his backstory, with the music and monsters therein giving a good feel of everything that built the man and the monster.

Also naturally, many a mad scientist movie! The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari gives us a corrupt asylum director who torments his patients until he eventually becomes one of them, and Re-Animator gives us an actual former Scarecrow actor, Jeffrey Combs, in a very Crane-like role when it comes to being penalized in academica for horrific and unethical experiments. (It's even set in the original Arkham for which Gotham's is named!!) The Fly isn't quite as on point, but it does still give those vibes as well. And although the degree of 'madness' when he plays him is debatable, any of Cushing's roles as any member of the Frankenstein family come to mind since he's very much an old school!Crane figure.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984): yes, yes, 'look out for Mr. Pricky-Fingers', in the words of Codotverse!Scarecrow, but fear gauntlets/needles gloves aside, Freddy is the boogeyman who is literally fed on fears, and he much better gives the feel of a distinctly Scarecrowish tormentor than, say, your average Pennywise or other. Nancy's speech to him at the end is highly reminiscent of those who've managed to successfully stand up to Crane over the years, too.

Halloween (1978): On the note of boogeymen, and other than the "one good scare" quote you yourself have mentioned, I imagine Scarecrow to move and function a lot like Michael Meyers; slow, creeping, inevitable. Every kid in Gotham City thinks this place is haunted. They might be right!

For the pure fanservice of it/JonBecky vibes, let's say both the Lon Chaney and Charles Dance Phantom of the Operas, Death Takes a Holiday (1934), The Shape of Water, and The Ghost and Mrs. Muir inspire how I conceive of the more romantic side of our beloved Scarecrow. I'll throw in Silence of the Lambs as well, since that gives us an incarcerated evil psychiatrist meeting his match in an intrepid young woman involved with the law who he forces to face her formative traumas, but who manages to come out on top despite his machinations.

A few Hitchcocks, honestly! The Birds is outright referenced in Year One and definitely gives life to the visceral horrors he underwent in the old Keeny chapel, whereas Vertigo more in atmosphere and obsession captures a lot of torment he experiences. I also do see shades of crane even in Norman Bates' "private traps" speech!

Thanks so much for sending this along!

[soapdish290]

I initially read 'In The Woods' by Tana French in 2013, after seeing a recommendation basically saying that, after reading a Tana French novel, the reader "has to go and hug my dog for a long while", to paraphrase.

Re-reading it over a decade later I wasn't expecting to finish the book feeling just as desolate and affected as I did the first.

I know we here all love the phrase "doomed by the narrative" and let me tell you, there are so many characters here doomed in so many narratives. Sometimes the reader knows the details from minute one. Sometimes you can feel the doom, formless and cloying, and have to read on, aching and helpless, to watch it land.

French is an absolutely stunning writer. She fully leverages the first person perspective to create all the isolated inevitability the format can give. A sad, lonely, nostalgic autopsy of interwoven tragedy. Actually that's my blurb quote, fuck it.

I choose the word "nostalgia" very deliberately. It's a strangely butter feeling, to me. A sort of empty longing. French evokes it frequently and beautifully.

French writes slow and lets the characters and atmosphere breath and grow and move, in fits and starts, to the preordained (but, to the reader, still hidden!) conclusion.

I'm chucking a line break here because below this I'm going to spurt a bunch of spoiler shit I want to talk about and there's a (very faint) possibility that someone might read this and be pushed into reading a novel.

If you are planning to read, however, know this: The narrator is a bit of a prick. He's 100% written that way on purpose. He is what makes everything work.

Embarrassingly, when I first read the book as a 20 year old eejit, I saw Ryan as a likeable, sympathetic protagonist. I do not like who I was as a 20 year old. Luckily, inall subsequent readings, I recognised him as an extremely well drawn example of the casually misogynistic, genuinely thinks he's a good guy, thinks "political correctness has gone mad" prick everybody knew at least one of.

Honestly these days I think it's a testament to French's writing - he's very well drawn, entirely realistic, and completely vital to most of the twists. If he wasn't a fucking arsehole half of it wouldn't work.

One thing I noticed this time, is that it's heavily implied Ryan did to his flatmate Heather what he did to Cass, in part. When he fordt introduces Heather, he says he took the flat in part because he fancied her, but "we both worked out that Harry and Sally were never going to materialise" (page 103 of my kindle copy).

Later, when Heather works out that Ryan slept with and is now shutting out Cassie, Heather says "she doesn't deserve that, [...] any more than I did." (Page 491).

I'll admit this might be really obvious to everyone but my aro/ace arse, but it hit me like a truck this time around.

Another very tenuous thing I noticed and really fucking like is right at the end, when Ryan drunkenly calls Cassie and she leaves the line open and he hears her and Sam. The narrative is unsure whether this was accidental or deliberate. I choose to interpret Cassie's word choice in a way that leans deliberate. She tells Sam it was a wrong number. "He told me he loved me [...] but he turned out to be looking for Britney." (Page 587).

Now it's very likely I'm reading faaaar too much into this, but the phrasing matches Cassie and Ryan joking around about a hypothetical personal ad for Ryan, "male, six foot [...] seeks his very own Britney for..." (Page 188). I love this interpretation. Gives the scene such a delicate, devastating impact. If its a callback its so soft and intimate in its kindness or its cruelty.

There's literally an entire essay topic based on close reading the archaeological dig mirroring Ryan digging up his past, the respective value of one over the other, the effects on the present etc. On the way Ryan goes back at the end and the wood is almost gone, he connects to the people destroying the past, the arrowhead pendant he refuses, etc etc etc. The symbolism be RICH.

Fantastically written novel. I'm rambling.

[tap-writing-updates-thoughts]

blows you up implodes you nukes your house solaria is doomed by the narrative magny is doomed by the narrative voidpyre is doomed by the narrative artemis is doomed by the narrative tungsten is doomed by the narrative selene is doomed by the narrative mors is doomed by the narrative cee is doomed by the narrative the gods are doomed by the narrative they are all DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE

magny and artemis were always cursed with their fate, being part of ashduo and their inevitable fate in the universe. they clicked the trigger but nox/wenston was the one who gave them the gun and target. solaria and tungsten were always meant to die, solaria’s fate was coded into reality and tungsten’s was coded with hers. cee and mors arent as doomed but being deities of nox and their appearance in each reality, they are doomed. they could not stop new years, they could not change their fate. they were always meant to end up in a different reality and it cannot be rewritten

the gods were doomed. they had no choice. TMOP fell ill to her own insanity which was caused by Nox, Asteria was sent on a ship and abandoned by the universe, Leaf Hemlock was inevitably intertwined, NyxVulcan and Bismuth were the first true tragic story of the protocol, Dahlia and Agape were always doomed to die like every other matyr, The 5th could not control his death at the hands of The Godhunter, Zephyr fell because of his recklessness but nox was the one who set up his fall, Notos fell into the sea but nox sent out the storm, Eurus died to flames but the fire was lit long before then, Boreas withered away to the cold that he could not control. Selene could not have avoided her death as The Candle Queen and could not avoid her fate to kill The Mother of Puppets, Voidpyre was always doomed to merge with The Darkness like Solaria/TDA and Asteria/TAA.

There is no free strings, all of their fates were already written by WenSToN long before the story began. they are all trapped, no matter how free they may seem, their endings and tragedies were parts of the universe itself.

anyways i am very normal and silly about characters doomed by the narrative! how could you tell

Uhmm adding on to this moot ask because I am to normal and silly (read:obsessed) about these things I see.

Voidpyre and Selene are the least doomed out of all the characters imo. They are set up for some tragic death for what they believe, and in a way they do. Yet somehow in the end it works out for them.

Tungsten and Solaria are middle of the road. Tungsten is only doomed because of Solaria being doomed. He has the chance HUNDREDS of times to escape. Ultimately he is too tolerant of the signs he is walking to his tomb with her. He sees it all far too late, realizing only hours before his death the scope of what leaf is doing. In the end he can’t even save Solaria from her fate.

Artemis and Magny are the most doomed characters. They are bound mutually at the hip. They are bound at the hand, and shoulder, and hip, and at the brain. They are AshDuo because when the lights dim and the play ends all that remains of them is ashes and dust. They set in motion the end of their world. They are the reason their world almost ends once and then ends so soon after. But ultimately it’s Magny who is doomed by fate. Artemis could leave multiple times and in the end Magny came back to her and pleaded and begged her to help her. And when they break apart after cutting their bonds with a rusty kitchen knife the world starts to end. Magny starts a war that kills tens of millions. Magny causes the Anemoi to feud over old wounds. Magny is the reason Asteria destroys the world. And in the end it’s for the right cause. Asteria is RIGHT.

On to the gods of each world.

I don’t know too much about the gods of A-P so I won’t speak on them.

In Gem Saga the gods are sparse but they are VERY important for the story/vibes/themes/EVERYTHING. First we have Bismuth. She is… well, not very well. She is a mad scientist, in the purest form. And in the end she saves the world. Twice. And Nyx almost ends the world. TMOP is the incarnation of manipulation and time. And she is defeated by Order and Chaos. Voidpyre and Selene.

In Anemoi the anemoi are the backdrop to how colossally Magny fucks up. And their own trashed. The 5th, God of Blood, struck down by the Godhunter. Zephyr, struck down by Magny. Not deserving of the fate that befell her. Zephyr died knowing his siblings would lash out in their anger. Boreas, complacent behind his bulwark of the mountains that hold his hope. He just wants to sleep. He knows the calm cold sleep better than the others. Eurus, the furious fire raging. The true successor of the blood god. The one who was the first to march. Snapping up land like a hungry dog. Angry like a hurt dog. And finally Notos. Notos the god of the seas and the storms. It is such a tragedy that the most curious of the 5, Notos, is the god of destruction. And Asteria, portrayed as the villain not the hero he deserves to be. He saves the universe for the small price of millions and millions of live. And Agape and Dahlia. All but forgotten among the Anemoi. But they are the rot below the surface. Agape, the god of growth and roots, god of sucking out the value out of the land. Dahlia, the god of poison and rot, the god of barren desolation. Leaving not ashes, but bones.

Finally there is Mors and Cee. Mors, the one cursed to sit in hell and rot away from the menial work. And Cee. The Choir. Oracle. Seer. Unable to speak and have others listen. Unable to speak, not sing. Doomed to have others not truely listen. And so fitting to be the eye of Nox into the Greek tragedy of Anemoi.

After all,

Every Greek Tragedy needs

The Choir.

[lasplaga]

[Meta] + Diego Salazar

-;┊ 𓆙 𝕺𝕺𝕮 ; ◥ 𓆙      —       𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 [ 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 ] + 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 / 𝐏𝐇𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐄 / 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 / 𝐄𝐓𝐂. & 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐓. --- Accepting! 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐖: 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 / 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 [ 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 ] / 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

Diego Salazar is imperative to Lord Saddler's backstory & reasoning for his world ending justification, but for more reasons than you might believe. Not EVERYTHING revolves around Ramon or Catalina, & that will be explored below under a read-more for distressing themes:

To begin, Diego was the reigning monarch who was responsible for the death of multiple Saddler prophets ; Speculated, but realistically included in that, Osmund's own mother & father. The 7th was noted to be as severe as his predecessor Gregorio The 1st, who initially colonized & genocided The Illuminados population that first called Valdelobos home. Los Ganados ( Parasitized People ) were ruthlessly culled to the point a bastardized offshoot of Catholicism was born, in which they were depicted as demons, naturally sacrificed to YHWH. This religion was more or less indistinguishable from Catholicism in the belief of Christ, Mary & Saints, etc. --- but having a gruesome, maddening obsession with exorcising / killing "demons" & the obliteration of apostates / heresy. This same obsession & paranoia was inevitably passed down to Pueblo, hence the frescos nearby the lake / mural caves depicting the sacrifice of Ganado & altars requiring blood sacrifices.

Recall those statues with the removable heads of the apostate & blasphemer that would bleed? Yeah, that wasn't the work of Los Illuminados... that was the work of the reigning religion PRIOR their resurgence! Bitores' father was THE LEADER of that aforementioned religion, upheld BY LAW from The Salazar's!

It is important to note that Diego's lineage was not only built upon the destruction of Illuminados heresy, but the heresy of other religions that differed from Catholicism as well. The Salazar's were initially soldiers sent on behalf of The Inquisition to uphold state-mandated Catholicism & to expel heretics from their own lands... or to execute.

It isn't confirmed if this is due to underlying Las Plagas exposure, cultural expectations or an inheritable condition, but four Salazar monarchs were known to be afflicted with madness akin to psychopathy or sociopathy, having an inclination to abuse & torture... perhaps uncontrollably. This was seen in Gregorio The 1st, Gregorio The 3rd ( Architect of Torture devices / Death machines ), Diego The 7th & Ramon The 8th. It is also noted that The Garrador(s) prior Las Plagas infection also had an inclination to torture / kill & was passed generationally to the horror of others ; "He [Garrador] was originally a torture officer who served the castle lord. His father, his grandfather, his brothers & cousins. This is one of the negative legacies of the Salazar family."

The stark contrast between The Salazar's & Los Illuminados is that one is under the sway of a mind-controlling parasite & the other is not, being deliberately cruel out of their own free-will. Osmund knew this wholeheartedly & was subject first-hand to the violence of humans, kindness VERY few & far between, the first & only being Catalina Salazar. Osmund's views upon humans being inherently evil is NOT an isolated occurrence & did not spur out of thin air, it was due to generational oppression / enslavement spanning almost a quincentenary & living throughout the most horrific tragedies that have occurred in recent human history --- as well as surviving his own exile / civil war. Lord Saddler is very much a child soldier as other protagonists in the series such as Sheva, Jake & Carlos --- but this is hardly brought into consideration because he is naturally one of the worst antagonists in the franchise.

It is more than likely isolationism was a LEARNED behavior of Las Plagas for their species survival & why they are distrustful or violent towards outsiders. This is not to say that Earth should willingly surrender to the whims of parasitic overlords, but that the parasite itself is naturally a mimic & mimics what it learns. --- If prior hosts of Las Plagas had experienced warmth & acceptance, perhaps their uncontrollable urge to feast & assimilate animals or human beings would've been mitigated. Perhaps The Ndipayan Kingdom never would've fell. Perhaps Los Illuminados would've never been founded. It is truly anyone's guess --- but the ultimate goal of Las Plagas is to propagate & survive like any other species. The difference being that Las Plagas as an organism itself is scarily intelligent with OR WITHOUT a host & straddles the line of sapience.

I could elaborate forever, but Diego was a despicable man. Not only was he a ruthless child abuser, he voluntarily executed his own wife & mother of his child without remorse. This angered Osmund to the point that his death was immortalized as a mural in his own church ; Being decapitated by Lord Saddler's sickle & his headless, unidentifiable body being given a shallow, unceremonious burial. Diego ruthlessly hunted & slaughtered Osmund's people & family for decades, ultimately paying the price in the end.

[pintsizeddeepthoughts]

Tell Me Your Story: The Aeneid - Virgil

Year Published: 19 B.C.

Country: Roman Republic (Italy)

One of the great works of Latin literature, the ancient poet Virgil recounts the story of the mythic figure of Aeneas, a prince of the city of Troy who wandered around the Mediterranean after the fall of the city and helped found the city of Rome. While tales of Aeneas predate Virgil, the poet collated these stories into one sweeping epic and, more importantly, directly linked Aeneas to traditional Roman virtues, such duty to family and the state, frugality, courage and martial elan, and piety. This made The Aeneid required reading in both the Roman world and for centuries after its fall. In fact, if you take AP Latin in high school, the poem is still required reading for the course.

And poem it is. Virgil has a gift for imagery and a good eye for detail. The lines, even translated to English, have a distinct poetic rhythm that paces one’s reading. A good example is Virgil’s apologia for the lovesick Carthaginian queen Dido - “What good are prayers and shrines to a person mad with love? The flame keeps gnawing into her tender marrow hour by hour, and deep in her heart the silent wound lives on.” Virgil’s tone is empathetic and resigned because he’s let us know right from the start that Aeneas is destined to found Rome. Therefore, Aeneas’s relationship with Dido is a temporary one and we fele pity for her because this love was not of her choosing but that of a vengeful goddess.

The involvement of the gods is inevitable with ancient literature and it provides important context for the actions of the characters. Aeneas does not want to leave Dido but knows that if he shirks his destiny, tragedy will befall him. A modern audience screams for Aeneas to settle down and be happy with a powerful, smart, accomplished woman. That he sails off without her would be expected by an ancient audience. Thus, when Dido commits suicide out of heartbreak we feel a sense of indignation at the cruelty of the gods; an ancient audience might have only felt pity.

Episodes like this make the poem still readable today. Ancient literature can be a slog to read for a variety of reasons. Virgil in particular is fond of telling us who killed whom, who that person was and whose line they are related to, and telling us how they died in extremely graphic detail. But intermixed are undeniably badass lines and visceral images of war’s cost. The Latin villain Turnus, before killing Pallas, tells the prince to inform the deceased Trojan king Priam when he gets to hell that, “Achilles has been reborn as me.” The poem’s ending, cinematic in quality, is brutal and satisfying - and profoundly unsettling.

There are disagreements as the poem’s overall meaning and purpose. It can be frustrating from an authorial perspective to read this poem because character motivation is superseded by divine intervention. Coupled with Virgil’s constant reminders about Aeneas’s fate, it makes one Aeneas himself a rather predictable and boring character. This makes him an ideal character, however, for propaganda - which is how many scholars view this poem. Written at a time when Augustus was transforming Rome from a republic to an empire, Aeneas was someone Augustus could point to the public and say he was emulating.

Yet there’s a subversive streak to this poem. Each act of violence in the poem begets another gruesome act of violence. As the losses mount, each side begins to lose their humanity. The understandable grievance that Turnus begins the war with morphs into animalistic savagery. The levelheaded Aeneas, paragon on virtue, degrades under the strain of fury. In 19 B.C., the Roman world was recovering from almost a century of internal strife that brought down the Republic. In this way it’s not too dissimilar of the Greek poet Homer’s own accounts of the Trojan War and its aftermath. It’s a timeless lesson that, at the time of this writing, the world still hasn’t fully divined.

[itadore-you]

pairing : nanami x gn!reader 

w/c: 2.7k lol 

t/ws: fluff but slight mention of angst + manga spoilers + sexual innuendo + gojo being himself

summary : just an imagine of seeing nanami again after years of no contact whilst he was a salaryman, and thinking a lottt about his beautiful hair (blondes make my heart pit pat a little)

a/n: first fic to be posted to my blog (at last arghhh!) lmk where i can improve, if u liked it, etc etc, welcome to the junkyard.

Slowly brushing away the hair from his face, you lean into each other; shyly not speaking a word as you both indulge in the moment. Dusk falls upon you both from outside the window, spilling over the golden sky with baby blue inks and hazy blends of pink.

“Nanami-kun, your hair is so nice,” you tell him, as the skylight seems to fall on your cheeks, fading into a rosy blush. You struggle with your next words: “But I’d also ... like to see more of your face.” Your eyes catch a tinge of a darker rouge on his uncovered left ear. Is he blushing too?

He's rendered speechless as you run your hands through his fringe again, brushing his hair back from his forehead. Tilting his head down a little. You try to hold back your smile as you say to him: “This also looks really good on you.” Nanami sputters out a low "thanks" and turns his head away from you to hide his now completely reddened face. A flustered laugh escapes your lips, and with that you change the topic, talking to Nanami about the beautiful day it was, and contemplating what the weather would be like tomorrow (perhaps that wasn’t the best segue used in a conversation, on further contemplation that you would have on later nights).

That would be the last evening that you had to relax together.

After numerous tragedies unravelled such as Haibara’s death, and the genocide caused by Getou-senpai, Nanami distanced himself from other jujutsu sorcerers, a persistence of emotional pain stinging him whenever his fellow classmate came to mind. You tried to be there for him, of course, since they were so close, but the loss pained you too. Haibara Yuu had been your friend too, and with the loss of him, you felt as though you had lost Nanami as well. The poison of grief burrowed deeper on the more lonely, more frequent missions you two were sent on, as the number of curses multiplied by the day, and the school became even more cautious of training their schools thoroughly. Even though it remained unsaid, sometimes you could almost understand why Getou had turned to such madness, when you would tiredly wipe the sweat gathering on your temple after a long day of exorcising. But you could definitely say you understood fully why Nanami inevitably would leave the world of sorcery a few years later.

The torment of your younger years no longer followed you as closely as time passed. You were now twenty-seven, working as a fully flourished semi-grade 1 sorcerer and hoping to become grade 1 by the end of the year. Working part-time also as a teacher at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School meant you would pop in on some weekdays to give Gojo a break from teaching - or rather to give his students a break from him. It wasn’t that he was unbearable, it’s just that he was, well, himself. When he used to occasionally poke fun at you first years back then, he was particularly irritating for poor Nanami, who he personally identified as his main target to annoy. It would always make you chuckle a little at his antics whenever Nanami would angrily crumple up a note with male genitalia scrawled across it, or make the most unimpressed, disgruntled facial expression at the newest uncensored thought to leave Gojo's big mouth. You can't believe that you still think of Nanami Kento, even after all of these years. You had lost contact ages ago, but your thoughts would wander to " I wonder how he's doing?..." on the odd occasion.

Maybe he was enjoying the new life that he had carved out for himself, with an idyllic friend circle of non-sorcerers, maybe even a partner - a wife or husband, even, because at this age, it is considered somewhat normal to have found one's soulmate by now. It is a lot harder when you're a busy Jujutsu sorcerer, obviously, but with that out of the equation...

Maybe they're Danish, and Nanami had decided to move back to the country of his partial heritage with them. Or would Nanami have stayed in Japan? Then again, he always loved the idea of visiting Malaysia. Infinite possibilities crisscrossed in your mind, forming layers upon layers of what could have happened to the man with whom you were once schoolmates.

However, today that wasn't what you were thinking about as you stretched your arms behind your back, clicking the joints as you prepared to start a sparring session with your students. Yuuji, Nobara and Megumi stood before you, mirroring similar movements as they engaged their bodies for fighting. "Now, the core lesson for today lies in stealth and agility. Jujutsu sometimes can look flashy with your techniques, but surprising the curse with an instantaneous move can play to your advantage. It helps you to think more on the spot, and you can get somewhat creative with what you're doing." Taking a step towards Nobara, she's quick to narrow her eyes in suspicion as you continue: "Say that I wanted to disable you of your weapon; that's my first priority as it's what enables your cursed energy to strike me, right?"

"Sensei, that's what everyone focuses on. Obviously my hammer is a target." You let out a laugh - Nobara is a sharp girl and quite comedic. "Of course. But you have to be aware of all the ways that I could disarm you." With that, you turn to walk behind your students and as they follow your movements, you quickly catch your foot into the back of her knee, causing her to fall forwards and brace her arms to lessen the fall. The hammer slips in her hand, and you grab onto her wrist, quickly plucking it out of her grasp. "Hey! No fair! Technically you didn't say you were going to do it now! And also, that was a low blow going for my legs like that!"

"Too bad. I have it now," you grin, and then return it, "Apologies though. My next example will be Yuuji, then you all can have a try. So you are quite a dangerous one, being a more close-ranged fighter, but there are always ways around tha-"

"Hey l/n! Hope I didn't interrupt too much, but I have something to show you~" Gojo's voice rings out from right behind you.

Talk about a sneak attack - this menace has teleportation, the ultimate trump card. Irked, you jump a little at his sudden appearance, already questioning why he's here. This was supposed to be his lesson after all, but he knew you could teach it just as well and he had mentioned something earlier about "something just popping up last minute". Your heart dropped heavily into a new seat, aka your ass, as you caught sight of the 'something' that Gojo had dragged with him on his excursion. The 'something' was a suited, blond-haired man with hazelnut eyes that you could recognise from any crowd. Nanami Kento, just in different formatting from original version 1.0. It looked... Good. Really good. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realised the current state you were in. Your teacher attire, forehead slightly sweaty due to the warm weather outside despite not properly sparring yet, and oh god why were you suddenly short of breath?

" Gojo, there was no necessity in using long-range teleportation to bother l/n-san," Nanami sighs, and as polite as ever, "Good afternoon, l/n. Apologies for Gojo."

As he greets the confused students in a similar manner, Gojo speaks up again, "A legendary entrance to introduce the return of the long-lost sorcerer, Nanami Kentooooo! Also known as l/n's best bud from back in high school," He pauses to wink at you two, "they were joined at the hip and possibly in other places until Nanamin here became a boring salaryman and ate bread for like eight years or so." He made a face at the end of his statement.

Your face erupts in fiery crimson as you feverishly pretend to ignore what Gojo was hinting at. Despite his idiotic nature, the moron was always quite perceptive and something tells you that the off-hand comment he made about you and Nanami wasn't made from just joking around.

"Well, we'll be off now. Gotta show ol' Kento around the premises, get him refamiliarised with his surroundings I guess." And with that, both Nanami and Gojo disappeared, probably due to another of his teleportations. Gojo sure loved to show off that technique of his.

"Right, class, back to work. As I was saying-"

"L/n san? Were you and Nanami-kun a thing?" Yuuji blurts out.

"We are just dying to know," Nobara dramatically adds, "you don't seem like the type to have emotions a lot. Especially after almost breaking my knee."

Blushing once more, you deny their accusations as you hurriedly return to the lesson at hand. Kids these days are so damn nosy. That Gojo and his loud mouth!

The next day, your morning routine is slightly altered by the chance of running into your high school crush again. It makes you cringe. You had been tossing and turning constantly in your bed last night, your brain buzzing with an increasing multitude of Nanami-related thoughts. What did he think of you now? What in God's name did Gojo say about you? Did they talk about you? More importantly - why did Nanami return to sorcery? He looked quite well put together in the fleeting time that you saw him, so it probably wasn't for the money. Particularly if he was a salaryman like Gojo had briefly mentioned.

You didn't want it to look too obvious that you were trying a bit for him, but you also wanted to show some development from your teenage self. With a spritz of more costly scent on your wrists and behind your ears, complete with a set of gold jewellery, you looked stunning for such a casual look. You took pride in your looks, knowing you were attractive and well-mannered, which Nanami would hopefully take notice of, compensating for yesterday when you did not feel prepared for his surprise arrival.

You were on edge for most of that morning, looking over your shoulder frequently, hoping to see him again even if accompanied by the talkative Gojo. Thus the wish manifested itself into reality (complete with the Gojo detail) a couple of hours in as you were walking across the precinct to file several curse reports for Ijichi, who had been weighed down in work and you were happy to help. It was then that as you walked up the path, Nanami and Gojo came into your vision, greeting you with varying amounts of energy. Gojo seemed even more amped up than usual, shouting a loud "hey l/n!" whereas Nanami already looked tired of him, and gripped a coffee cup handle with the last of his energy.

"How's my favorite semi-grade one sorcerer doing today? I see you got a bunch of files on you!" Gojo exclaims, then clapping a large hand onto your shoulder: "Thanks for the class take over yesterday by the way, I know it's annoying when I cancel last minute but I've settled Nanamin back in now, so what do you say I take these for you, and let you guys have some nostalgic bonding time?"

In seconds, he grabs the pile from you, taking it into his arms, and yet again disappearing into thin air. Sometimes you can't tell if his ridiculously long legs can just run so fast that it looks like the man teleports. Now you are left with Nanami. It feels a bit awkward, the sudden silence surrounding you. Until he clears his throat, looking you in the eyes as he says: "It's good to see you, l/n-san."

His voice is so smooth and deep that you wish you could drown in its timbre.

"You too, Nanami-kun."

The air is enveloped in silence once again. Where do you two even start? There is too much to ask, and even more to answer. You choose to speak up again, opting for an icebreaker about coping with Gojo, at which Nanami cracks a few smiles and even chuckles. The casual conversation stretches for ages, as you both stroll out of the school gates, deciding to sit at a café to properly converse. It's beyond delightful as you settle into your seats near the storefront, sunlight falling perfectly across the table you are sitting at. His golden hair is particularly lustrous as it shines from the sun's rays and you can't help but notice the change there, too. “You know, Nanami-kun..”, you start, crossing your ankles underneath your bar stool and leaning forward slightly. He hums lowly in response, urging you to continue. “This new hairstyle looks really good on you.”

He clearly wasn’t expecting the light compliment, as Nanami struggles to maintain his calm composure whilst gulping down the remainders of his coffee.

“I... changed it a while ago, what about it?”

“No longer the emo you used to be huh?” you snicker at him, and a smile etches onto his face in response, as he tilts his head a little lower. You watch a few strands of his blond hair fall onto his forehead with this movement, feeling your heart catch onto the rough edges of your rib cage, almost beating out of it. The chambers expand, almost puncturing themselves when he raises his muscled arm so he could push it out of his face and leans his head back, all while still looking at you.

“You’re staring.” "I know.” “Well, your coffee is getting cold.” “Ah. Guess we should probably take leave soon then; we have stayed for a good,” -checking your watch - “forty minutes.” A gentle hum of agreement resounds from him, and both of you start to stand, gathering your empty cups and plates. It had most definitely been a great time with Nanami whilst spending time together. You got your chance to catch up, reminisce, and have a laugh all in the name of being coworkers. And that was the problem; You almost couldn’t take it anymore. The hidden feelings almost burst from the tired dam of time, threatening to spill over. It really had been too long.

“Kento.” “Yes.” He sounds almost breathless at the sound of his first name leaving your lips. “When will I see you again?” “Around the school, of course. I’m not returning to that damned office once more in my life-” “No, Kento. I want to see you again... as in ...” “On a date?" A rush of paroxysm floods your veins - you feel lightheaded and dizzy as he breathes in response, "Y/n... yes. Please."

“I was going to ask you one evening, but then the right moment had passed, and I thought we could just never happen after all of that time.” Both of you are obviously replaying the same memory in your head, of that very scene of you and him. Slowly brushing the hair away from his face, leaning into each other. He was going to ask you out, back then?

Nanami Kento had a marvellous memory. Because that same night, you had suggested the very haircut he insists on wearing to this day. The 16-year-old version of you turned out to be right - it looked good on him.

“Kento, how on earth do you match absolutely everything when you dress up?”

He quirked an eyebrow in response, baffled.

“Simply using the colour wheel...? Yellow and blue are complimentary, contrary to many’s beliefs.”

“That and literally everything about you. You really are the 7:3 sorcerer to a T! There’s your birthday, your technique, and even the name of your haircut... you need to quit being so perfect,” you whine, pouting at your boyfriend of now six months.

“Baby,” he drawls, “You’re the one who is perfect for me.” He was never going to tell you that you were the reason he preserved the same undercut. It was a pleasant coincidence that it just so happened to fit with his overall image so well. It did humor him a little though, that you hadn’t figured this out yet.

After adjusting the patterned tie of his suit behind you in the mirror of your shared bedroom, Kento placed a quick kiss on your bare shoulder, running his hands along your hips in anticipation. “Now come on, we don’t want to be late to watch the sunset after dinner.”

[pianomanblaine]

Down Once More

This story was written for the Potober prompts “Down Once More” and “And Now, How You Betray Me”, particularly with the words “taken hostage” and “betrayal” in mind. It resulted in an alternative version of the final lair. Fair warning: this one does not have a happy ending. 

AO3 FFN

He dragged her along the dark and damp corridors beneath the opera house at a frantic pace, his grip on her arm harsh and unrelenting, not even sparing her a backward glance as she stumbled over her own feet trying to keep up with him. Her head was still reeling from the events leading up to this moment. It had all happened so fast, yet here and now, time seemed to lose all meaning. Every separate moment seemed to fade into the next one, forming one big hazy blur. It might have been several hours or merely a few minutes before they reached the shore of the underground lake and Erik was steering the little boat across the water towards his house.

Once inside, he pushed her into the bedroom which she had come to think of as hers, and roughly thrust the wedding dress he had so painstakingly crafted for her into her arms. He did not leave the room, did not even turn around to give her the smallest bit of privacy as he forced her to change into it. He immediately started yanking at the fastenings of the dress she was wearing, undressing her with great urgency, letting the garment pool around her feet, and for a moment she feared that he had gone completely mad and would try to violate her. But he only barked out an order for her to put on the wedding gown as he began to agitatedly pace the floor, only occasionally glancing in her direction while she got dressed again.

When she was finished, Erik retrieved a veil – she did not see where from, he might as well have pulled it out of thin air – and forcefully pushed it onto her head. Under any other circumstances, she might have been able to appreciate how delicate and beautiful it was, with its wreath of white and pale pink flowers that contrasted so nicely against her dark brown hair. It hardly weighed anything, but to Christine it felt incredibly heavy, carrying with it the full weight of Erik’s expectations.

Now that her wedding attire was complete, Erik finally stood still long enough to fully look at her. She wondered if he was happy with what he saw. He must have imagined her in that very dress so many times. Was he satisfied now that he had what he wanted, even knowing that it was against her will? Was it all really worth it?

Before she got the chance to ask him, he turned his back on her and walked away without saying a word. She followed him into the sitting room, where a fire was burning brightly in the hearth, its warm glow a striking contrast to the icy atmosphere in the room.

“So what now?” Christine asked, breaking the tense silence between them. “Are you planning to keep me hostage here, hoping I will suddenly change my mind and agree to marry you after all? Or will you just drag me in front of a priest and threaten me until I say ‘I do’?”

“This is not exactly how I had imagined it to go either, Christine,” he snapped as he stood by the fire with his back turned towards her. “I had a plan, and it would have worked if your precious little Vicomte didn’t have to ruin it all.”

“Raoul was only trying to protect me.”

“And look where his protection got you,” Erik sneered, turning to face her with a grotesque grin on his bare face as he gestured around the room, “in the Phantom’s lair, captured by the madman!”

“I never believed you to be mad, Erik,” she replied, “but I have come to understand how dangerous you can be.”

Christine’s heart twisted painfully as she recalled the early days of their acquaintance, when she still believed he was the Angel of Music. How kind he had always been to her, how gently he had treated her. But that had changed drastically when she learned of his deception and discovered his true identity. He had continued to act as her tutor, coaxing her voice to unknown heights, and although he was never harsh or violent towards her, he had grown defensive and suspicious, always on his guard around her, as if he could not believe that she could still feel any genuine kindness towards him now that she had seen his face.

“Well yes, I suppose I am like a wild animal in that regard. When feeling threatened, I can be extremely dangerous indeed,” Erik agreed. He took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them, his tall frame towering over her. He seemed to be challenging her, daring her to look at the face of the monster.

“Should I be afraid then?” she asked, rising to the challenge and looking straight into his strange yellow eyes.

At first he merely seemed surprised, maybe even impressed, by her bravery as she stood her ground and faced him without flinching, but by the way his face fell only a moment later, she could tell when the meaning of her words hit him. He turned away as he spoke.

“Of course not. I never meant for you to be scared of me. I never intended you any harm.” He took a few steps back, as if to prove his point, as if he hoped to seem less threatening if he stood a little further away from her.

“Kidnapping me is a strange way of showing it,” Christine huffed.

His posture stiffened at the accusation. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice, did you?” he said through clenched teeth. “You betrayed me!”

“I betrayed you?” she gasped in disbelief, her hands balling into fists by her sides. “Do you want to talk about betrayal, Erik? Do you want to discuss how you lied to me for years, pretending to be an angel sent by my dead father to watch over me? How you blackmailed the managers into doing your bidding, how you terrorized Carlotta and God knows how many others?”

“Don’t you understand? I did it all for you! Because I love you!” he roared.

“Don’t you dare blame this all on me! You killed two innocent people, Erik! How does that have anything to do with love?”

“Buquet was not innocent,” he snorted. “He was a vile lecher, a pervert preying on young defenceless ballerinas in the dark behind the stage. He got what was coming to him.”

The man was certainly no saint, Erik was right about that and Christine knew it, but how could he not see that that did not justify his murder? Even so, she might have been able to forgive him for it eventually, if it had not been for Piangi.

“Piangi never hurt anyone.”

“Piangi was in the way!” he exclaimed. “I did not mean to kill him, merely to incapacitate him long enough to take his place on the stage, but I ran out of time and I became careless. He was the only thing standing between us and I was not about to let him ruin my plan, no matter the cost.”

“You are delusional if you truly believe he was the only obstacle standing in your way. What did you expect to happen tonight, Erik? You would take Piangi’s place, sing with me in an opera of your own creation in front of a full theatre, and then what? I’d fall into your arms and we’d live happily ever after?” She tore the veil out of her hair in frustration, throwing it at his feet. If he thought that after all the times he had tried to force her hand, had tried to manipulate her into choosing him, she would now willingly become his bride, he was sorely mistaken.

“I cannot deny the truth of that, although it now becomes painfully clear how foolish I was to entertain such hopes.” Although his words seemed to imply that he blamed himself for having such unrealistic expectations, the glare he directed at Christine made it clear that he also faulted her for his disappointment. “I was ready to lay my heart at your feet tonight, Christine, and how did you repay me? By tearing off my mask and revealing my monstrous shame for all of Paris to see! I trusted you!”

His angry shouting turned into a sob of betrayal and despair, and for the briefest of moments, Christine’s anger was overshadowed by compassion for the man in front of her. She was well aware of how badly she must have hurt him by doing what she did, but she had no other options. If she hadn’t done something drastic that would enrage him enough to take action, the gendarmes waiting behind the stage would have closed in on him and captured him, or worse.

Raoul must have thought she was in her dressing room or somewhere else out of earshot as he gave his instructions to shoot Erik when the time came, but she had been too nervous to sit still for long, choosing instead to wander the hallways and eventually finding her way behind the stage, pacing back and forth in the dark as she waited for the inevitable tragedy of the night to unfold. She had heard every word. If she hadn’t acted when she did, Erik might have been dead by now.

“I understand that my actions hurt you too, Erik, truly, I do, but you gave me no choice. Can’t you see it was wrong to pin all your hopes and dreams on me? You’ve told me you love me, and I believe that in your own way you really do, but I cannot be held responsible for your feelings, Erik. I do not owe you anything simply because you love me.”

At the crestfallen, heartbroken look on his face, she almost went to him, almost closed the distance between them and embraced him in a futile attempt to offer him some comfort, a silent apology for having shattered his dreams in a few sentences. Almost. Whatever she had to offer him, it would not be enough now. He would always want what she could not give him.

“I know that I cannot make you love me,” Erik began after a long, heavy silence. “God knows I have tried long enough.” His voice sounded softer now, his bitter and accusatory tone completely gone. “But do you not care for me even a little bit? That could be enough for me. We could start over somewhere new, where no one knows who we are. I could still tutor you and you could still sing.” He was pleading now, with his eyes as well as his words, hoping against all odds that he could still convince her to share her future with him.

“I would expect nothing from you, Christine. I’d do anything to make you happy, I’d give you anything you want. You would only have to ask and it would be yours, and you would not have to do anything in return other than stay by my side. Dammit Christine, I am beyond pride. I’ll fall to my knees and beg if I must. Stay with me. Please.”

And for a moment, Christine was truly tempted to throw caution to the wind and go with him. She did care for him, how could she not? Despite everything, he was still her Angel of Music. She could not deny he had been an integral part of her life since the first moment she met him. Erik had been her sole companion during those terrifying first few years after her father’s passing. Through music he had brought her soul back to life. The connection between them was irrefutable, and she could hardly imagine a world where she would never see him again.

Yet she knew that what he asked of her was impossible. Even if he claimed that he had no expectations from her, she knew that he would never be truly happy until she returned his affections, that he would always continue to hope, and she could not bear to disappoint him. Besides, she already had a fiancé. Raoul. Her childhood sweetheart. Sweet, protective, kind-hearted Raoul, who was probably trying desperately to find a way to save her, even if he had to risk his own life to do so, at this very moment.

Where Erik’s love for her was obsessive and at times almost frightening, being with Raoul would be as easy as breathing. He might not be able to give her a life of music, but she would be safe and cared for. She would not want for anything, and unlike Erik, Raoul was not a wanted man. Choosing a life on the run with Erik over a comfortable and uncomplicated one with Raoul might be romantic, but it would also be foolish.

“I do care for you Erik,” she finally replied, “but I cannot stay.”

He did not try to convince her after that. He merely nodded in resignation, as if he had always known this would be the final outcome.

“Go then,” he said. “You can choose a change of clothes from the wardrobe in your – in the spare room. You would draw too much unwanted attention if you returned dressed the way you are now.”

Christine wondered if that was his true reasoning, or if he simply wanted to keep the wedding dress as a memento to torment himself with.

She obeyed his instructions for the last time, selecting a simple yet elegant dark blue day dress out of the assortment of clothes Erik had kept on hand for her since the first time she had spent the night in his home.

When she re-entered the sitting room to say her final goodbyes, Erik was kneeling on the floor, desperately clutching the veil she had so carelessly discarded earlier, a look of terrible sorrow etched across his distorted face. He brought the fabric to his misshapen nose, trying to inhale the little bit of her perfume that might cling to it.

His eyes flew open and he looked up at her in surprise when he heard her footsteps. He clearly had not expected her to come back.

Erik stood up slowly, wiping invisible dust from his trousers, straightening his jacket, as if after all that had transpired, it was still of the utmost importance that he look presentable to her. Maybe his habit of dressing so nicely was an attempt to compensate for the imperfection of his face, she suddenly realized.

A tentative smile formed on his lips as he watched her, silently waiting for whatever last scrap of kindness she would offer him before stepping out of his life for good. Christine could almost feel her heart breaking as she removed the ring he had thrust on her finger earlier that night, holding it out towards him. The ring was supposed to be a promise, a physical sign that their lives would forever be entwined. It did not feel right to keep it.

Erik’s smile disappeared as he reached for the ring, holding her hand in his for a moment while he looked into her eyes, silently begging her to change her mind. She gave a minute shake of her head before letting go of the ring and withdrawing her hand, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

Christine did not say goodbye, her voice unable to get the word out. She turned around and walked away, forcing herself to set one foot in front of the other until she had reached the door. If she did not leave now, she never would, and she knew she had to.

At the door, she stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. One last glance at the man who had taught her voice to soar. He was still watching her, and when he noticed her looking at him he nodded once, as if to say: “It’s alright. Go. I understand.”

Trying to keep her tears at bay, she stepped over the threshold and made her way to the jetty, where the boat lay waiting for her. She knew she was making the right decision by leaving. But then why did it feel as if she was leaving a part of her heart behind?

As Christine steered the boat to the other side and removed herself from his life forever, Erik’s almost inhuman scream of loss and despair echoed across the underground lake. It was a sound that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

[v-thinks-on]

Wanna Know a Writer

Thank you very much to @sparrow-ink for the tag - I love doing these when I get the chance! Incidentally, this is also my 1001st post on Tumblr!

How many works do you have on AO3?

It looks like I have 116 right now, but it will be 117 tomorrow (with a short Batman/Superman fic)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

716,792 apparently... I’ve been writing like crazy lately and I still swear that can’t be right, but there you go

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

It looks like I’ve posted fic for 30 (including crossovers and fusions) and there may be more I haven’t posted, so not listing all of them. You can see the whole list here

Following @sparrow-ink‘s example, I’ll let my filesystem speak for itself:

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Language of Chess has been the undisputed champion for a while (Kirk and Spock flirt using the Vulcan language of chess)

The Old Family Farm is a more recent fic that came up from behind while I wasn’t looking (Clark Kent takes Bruce Wayne to meet his parents)

The Gift Giving Game was my K/S secret santa gift for Herenya_writes (Kirk and Spock stir up rumors as professors at Starfleet Academy)

A Hidden, Personal Thing (Spock offers to mind meld with Kirk)

Human, Vulcan, and Everything in Between (Spock is ace, Kirk is polyamorous, and it works well for them)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to respond to every comment because there’s nothing I like more than talking with people about my writing and the stories that inspire it! I’m more than happy to answer questions on here too, if anyone has any!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

So, these days I’m generally a firm believer in happy endings, but in the pre-AO3 days, I used to mostly write death!fic and a few highlights actually made it onto AO3:

The Death of Spock - Spock dies during the original five-year mission and Kirk is left to pick up the pieces

Only a Fool - Watson dies at Reichenbach and Holmes is left to pick up the pieces

Honorable mention: Devoted - the inevitable tragedy of Mary Watson (nee Morstan)

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

As it turns out, the other thing I used to write is crazy crossovers, many of which were never finished, let alone saw the light of day. I’ve dialed back on it (a little), but here are some highlights:

Spock in Wonderland

Millennium Death Note - currently in progress! (What if Light Yagami solved the Millennium Puzzle?)

The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves - Jeeves and Wooster x Everything, but I think the most outlandish one in there would have to be The Phantom of the Opera

Honorable mention: my old BBC Sherlock x Harry Potter - the writing isn’t great and the plot is a bit of a mess, but it will likely always be my most viewed fic

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Only a little bit and mostly just on FanFiction.net - there was one person offended that my big Star Trek TOS x TNG crossover was “secretly” Kirk/Spock. More often I get people who like most of my fics, but then get annoyed about Kirk being polyamorous or Spock being ace or don’t like how I decided to end something, which isn’t terribly helpful, but could be worse.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nope, don’t read it, don’t write it, just not for me.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, thankfully.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I’m honored that people want to translate my stories into other languages (and make podfic of them)!

The first three chapters of Devoted (the tragedy of Mary Watson) are available in Chinese

Enough to Drive a Man to Madness (Mycroft puts up with Sherlock Holmes angsting about Dr. Watson) is available in Russian

Once Upon a Dream (Holmes and Watson dance) is available in Russian

The Appearance of Dorian Gray (Bertie Wooster meets Dorian Gray) has a podfic

And I think someone did a podfic of a scene from A Crazy Little Thing Called Love (the progression of Kirk and Spock’s relationship over The Original Series), but I can’t seem to find it right now

What’s your all time favorite ship?

My first and dearest will always be Holmes/Watson from the original Sherlock Holmes stories

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’ve gotten to be pretty good at finishing things I want to write, but there’s this huge Disney crossover I started writing with a friend that is glorious and complicated and almost 1/3 of the way done despite being over 90k already. Whenever I think about it, I always think that, yes, I will finish it some day, even though my co-author has lost interest, but the truth is probably not... But who knows, maybe I’ll turn around and have it done for next year’s @wipbigbang!

What are your writing strengths?

I’ve discovered a secret talent for finishing what I start, which is nice - a combination of planning and just keeping at it, slow and steady.

I think I do a good job of capturing characters’ voices, whether in dialogue or narration, and it serves me particularly well when I’m trying to imitate a style - I’m especially proud of some of my Jeeves and Wooster. I can also do some nice flowery prose if put my mind to it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

For all of my love of pretty prose, it’s easy for me to forget to describe things, so my writing can end up fairly sparse. I also feel like I could get better at integrating romance and plot - the romance often ends up getting drowned out by everything else going on, which is especially frustrating because I’m usually writing it because of the romance.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

That’s a good question. Probably Death Note (my friends and I used to ship L/Light) - that’s the oldest fic I have on my computer, at least, but I used to write on paper, so there may be something even older there. The first fandom I posted anything for is Harry Potter (a next-gen OC fic about the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange - it’s best not to ask). I also posted my first Holmes/Watson fic at about the same time (it’s pretty bad, but I tried).

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m actually really happy with a couple of my somewhat recent longer fics:

Generations - my Kirk/Spock Star Trek: Generations fix-it

Bertie Solves a Mystery - Jeeves and Wooster get embroiled in a murder mystery and meet Hercule Poirot and Hastings (also Jeeves has a mysterious backstory)

tagging: I’m going to second @plaudiusplants and tag @the-z-part​ and @marlinspirkhall​ if you’d like to do it, along with anyone else who wants to go for it!

[blossom-hwa]

hi! i really liked your sungyoon fanfiction, light the pyres—apocalypse aus are great. very nervous to ask for your 4th anniv event but could i perhaps get kang yeosang + the title "3 of hearts?" (if anyone reading here knows what show it's from ily!)

hi love! light the pyres is actually one of the works I'm most proud of so it makes me so happy to hear that you liked it! thank you for your request - I'm not sure what 3 of hearts it from lol (maybe one of my followers does), but I hope you still enjoy this!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

I guess this could be seen as a sort of spinoff of Kingdom (read the series here) - I haven’t posted the next parts yet, but this takes place in the Queendom of Hearts, which is where Checkmate is set :D like Kingdom, it’s heavily inspired by Marissa Meyer’s book “Heartless” - the story of a queen who went mad over love >:)

Uh so TXT Yeonjun is technically here but please don’t take my characterization of him as anything even close to who he is irl.... just think of it as me taking just his name and slapping it on a character I made I’m sorry

~

Title: Three of Hearts

Pairing: Yeosang x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Triggers: mentions of blood and death (semi-graphic)

~

They said you were born under the three of hearts, a spell of kind fortune, a card of good omen. "Your child will be beautiful," the diviner said when she placed you in your mother's arms. "They will love deeply, and in return, they will be loved greatly."

It was a blessed birth for the Kingdom of Hearts, whose rulers, though loved, had not been able to secure an heir for many years. Already the conception of a child was a miracle - to have you born under such an auspicious card only heightened the excitement, cast even more light on a day already filled with laughter and joy. Your parents showered you with love, and as the years passed, you grew in blissful happiness, surrounded by those who adored you. And truly, it seemed you were the three of hearts personified - for with you were two boys, Yeosang and Yeonjun, your best friends, who followed you everywhere you went. 

It was inevitable, then, people whispered, that at least two of you would fall in love. 

At the age of six, seven, ten, even twelve, you could ignore this. You could play the innocent card that came so easily to those born under the three of hearts, bat your eyes and cock your head and ask “What do you mean?” in reply to the questions people asked - do you have a crush? I’m sure you do. It must be on one of the boys you’re always running around with, yes? But as you grew older and the question of to whom you would extend your hand in marriage became increasingly important, your eyes began to fixate on soft blond hair and warm brown eyes, smile widening in the presence of a deep, gentle voice accompanied by the loveliest sparkle in his eyes. 

The traits of a certain best friend and heir to the Kang family fortune. 

He offers a courtship under the flowering wisteria tree just under your window, pale cheeks tinted with blush as he stutters his way through a short confession. Your heart warms, lifts, bursts with joy as you accept with a smiling nod, rejoicing that you have found a match who will love you as much as you love him. Three of hearts, you think giddily - I will be loved as much as I give it.

The stages of courtship seem to pass by all too slowly and at the same time, all too quickly. Caught up in a whirl of fine clothes and presents and ceremonies, you fall asleep every night eager to wake at dawn, if only to see Yeosang’s face the next day. Every moment with him seems too short, and every moment with him feels too long. 

One afternoon under the wisteria tree, you complain of this. Yeosang laughs at your indignation, though when you go to hit his shoulder, he catches your fingers with soft, warm hands, before kissing your forehead gently. “It will be all right,” he murmurs, pulling away just enough for you to see the sparkle in his eyes. “We’ll have a lifetime together, after this.”

A lifetime. Born under the three of hearts, destined for a life of love and happiness, you believed it. 

So much, in fact, that you forget to watch out for the second best friend at your side. 

It never occurred to you to take caution with Yeonjun. He was your best friend. Even upon the announcement of your engagement, he only ever smiled and congratulated the two of you, knocking your heads together teasingly when you got too mushy for his taste. Yeosang even asked him to be one of the groomsmen when the wedding date was set. 

So you never notice the way Yeonjun’s gaze always lingers on you a little too long, the way his eyes darken whenever you place a chaste kiss on Yeosang’s lips. You do notice that he spends more and more time away from you, away from Yeosang as the wedding approaches, but it’s easy to put it down to affairs of the Choi family that you simply aren’t privy to. Perhaps something has gone wrong. Yeonjun would tell you about it in due time, wouldn’t he?

On the night before your wedding, you and Yeosang dance together under a sea of sparkling stars, white engagement outfits shimmering under the night sky. The people cheer. Your parents wipe away tears. You almost cry, too, wrapped in the warmth of Yeosang’s arms around your waist, his eyes smiling into yours. 

You part ways with promises of tomorrow and a lifetime hanging on your lips. When you finally fall asleep, it is to dreams of a beautiful future, complete with Yeosang by your side. 

Instead, you wake up in a world where he is dead.

They say the servant who found the body went mad afterward. You don’t blame them. When you saw the body covered in its rips and stains of red, it felt like a part of your mind simply disappeared. Scrambled. Something. All you could see was the body splashed with blood, unseeing eyes wide open and glassed with the sheen of death. 

And there’s no time to grieve, either, because the next day, the Choi family storms the castle with shouts of a coup and rebellion on their lips. 

All you can do is stare into Yeonjun’s stony expression as he orders the execution of your parents right before your eyes. 

He finds you in your rooms a week later, a beautiful prison of silk and satin that they took away so you wouldn’t hang yourself before he came. His eyes soften upon seeing you, but when he reaches out a hand, you slap it away. 

Only one word leaves your lips. “Why?”

Love, he says. Love for you. Love that burned fierce, hot, so unlike the soft warmth of Yeosang’s hand, love that burned so bright it couldn’t stand to fall second to the gentleness of Yeosang’s smile. His heart burned for you, beat for you, enough to plan all of this, enough to ask, even now - 

“Will you marry me?”

The wisteria tree outside your window is in full bloom under a bright, cloudless sky. A mockery of the day Yeosang asked for your hand and you gave him your heart. 

In the absence of blades and bullets, no one should underestimate the power that fingernails can do to raw skin and bone.

“You worthless, worthless human being,” you snarl, even as guards drag you back from Yeonjun’s bleeding face. “Worthless - worthless - I will never marry you -”

“You will,” Yeonjun snarls back, now a safe distance away from the blood caking your nails. “You will or you will die.”

You don’t die. You almost do, jamming the lock on your door and smashing the fortified window with a superhuman strength you believe Yeosang and your parents have lent you for one night, just one night before leaping into the branches of the wisteria tree, crashing to the ground in a heap of branches and flowers and glass. They nearly catch you - an arrow pierces your shoulder and another streaks so close it almost cuts off your ear - but you escape. And hide. For days, weeks, months...

Until you return with a sword and murder in your eyes, slashing through every guard on your way into the castle until you come across Yeonjun sitting upon your father’s throne, the crown of your family on his head. 

“Would you?” he whispers, the tip of your sword positioned over his heart. “Would you, truly?”

A blank smile curves your lips. “Of course,” you whisper. “Just the same way you would.”

They crown you queen with triumph in their eyes, songs of a royal who avenger their lover’s death when a jealous suitor got in the way. You listen to it with stony eyes and teeth gritted behind your lips, especially when they speak of the three of hearts, blessed above all, destined for a life of love -

There is no love left in your heart that wasn’t taken away with the death of Yeosang and your family.

You execute the Chois. You execute their allies. You root through the kingdom, imprisoning those with even a semblance of a relationship to the man who killed your love, who took the blessing of your card away. The songs die away, replaced by whispers of a queen gone mad with the loss of their love. Triumphant shouts of a blessed three of hearts turn into murmurs of a curse, a new meaning to your card - perhaps not one destined for love, but one whose life will end in tragedy. Pain. Suffering.

They are wrong. Your life was full of love, love that you gave on your own and love that was given by those around you. It was the cause of your happiness and the reason for your suffering - love killed Yeosang and your family, just as it killed the last bit of humanity in you. 

The words of the diviner mock your grief. 

“Your child will be beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as he ever was. 

“They will love deeply.”

Where did that get you? 

“And in return, they will be loved greatly.”

Where did that get him?

No longer do they speak of the three of hearts as a blessing, as a sign of blissful omen. Instead, they speak of it as a curse, a curse of love, a curse of madness, a curse of tragedy to follow at every bend. 

Good. They’re right.

The love that the heavens wrought never brought anything more than pain, anyway.

[fresh-prince-of-denmark]

Interpretation of V’s Mikoshi Poem Pt1: Life is Murder

Cyberpunk spoilers ahead: 

Let’s talk about Cyberpunk’s literary references and what they mean for the story, coming from a former English professor/teacher.

Alt will read you one of two poems you cross the bridge to the Mikoshi depending on who is in control. Johnny is read an excerpt from Sailing to Byzantium by Yeats, while V is given an excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. For now, let’s focus on V’s poem:

“Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, 

The muttering retreats 

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels 

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 

Streets that follow like a tedious argument 

Of insidious intent 

To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . . 

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" 

Let us go and make our visit.”

Cool. Some English majors (derogatory) work at project red. So why should I care?

Well I’ll tell you:

First, a summary: In this story, the narrator is on an evening stroll with a woman he most likely has a romantic relationship with although the vibes are far from a romantic love sonnet. Interestingly enough, the first few lines of this poem have been cut from Alt’s reading; including the epigraph from Dante’s inferno, which translates to the following:

 “If I but thought that my response were made

to one perhaps returning to the world,

this tongue of flame would cease to flicker.

But since, up from these depths, no one has yet

returned alive, if what I hear is true,

I answer without fear of being shamed.”

This missing piece from Alt’s poem can be read several ways; most of them drawing a parallel between the Blackwell and hell. In fact, Dante’s inferno has a lot of similarities to the story. One can make a comparison between Virgil and Alt, leaving a debate on who plays the roll of Beatrice (the one being saved) and Dante (the one doing the saving) between Johnny and V. I have to wonder at the writers choice to leave this portion out, as there’s a lot to be said here about who truly comes out alive: who’s flame will cease to flicker? V, for obvious reasons, does not return to the world of the living the same. She will not live much longer, and is dying despite being temporarily “saved.” However, if Johnny returns to the body, he is no longer the Johnny we know; arrogant, self-assured, and more than a little narcissistic. The will to fight seems to have died within him; he leaves Night City, presumably looking to start over. While V clearly changes him before Mikoshi, he is a broken and somber man after returning to life, a flickering flame of who he once was. There’s also a connection to be made about Johnny/V dying and returning to life, literally rising from hell. The next part of the missing introduction is as follows: 

“Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;” 

I can’t think of a better way to describe what is happening in Mikoshi aside from the line “Like a patient etherized upon a table.” Johnny and V, in this moment, are suspended in an almost dream-like state. In Eliot’s poem, the “treatment” this patient is awaiting is presumably an examination/reflection of the self, which will lead to the narrator making a major decision. In this scenario, V is being forced to make a very tough choice, one that will take a lot of reflection as they decide what (a few months) of their remaining life is worth. 

On to the actual portion of the poem that Alt reads:

“Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent.”

While Prufrock is taking his lover on a romantic stroll, they are hardly walking through rose gardens. They are traveling through the unpleasant parts of a city, and he is noticing all the unsavory parts of his world. Obvious references to night city include one-night hotels (such as the no-tell motel, the Pista Sofia, or the hotel that Johnny and V stay at after the parade, which Johnny gripes about and asks ‘what kind of losers stay in a place like this?), and ‘the sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells,’ which is possibly a reference to the fact that food in Night City is real sketchy (odd things like synth-milk, which Takemura complains about throughout the game). The streets like a tedious argument works on several levels here; both the crime of night city’s streets, which is relentless and quite literally never-ending (V can’t walk two blocks without an assault in progress task spawning), and the socio-economic ecosystem that threatens self-combust at any point. There will always be conflict between gangs, between corpos, between Arasaka and Militech, and between the nomads and the Raffins/Wraiths. In one mission with Padre, you find out that Arasaka and Militech are on the verge of waging another war. None of this conflict is positive, and always ends in bloodshed, often of the innocent. One can argue themselves in circles trying to find a solution to NC’s problems, there is no win-win situation. It’s a bit of a damnned if you do, damnned if you don’t situation. This comes up in conversation with Takemura on his career with Arasaka, as well as several other missions that involve those who choose to work for corporations to survive. This is also a point of conflict between V and Johnny a multiple times, one that never gets an answer. A literal tedious argument, tedious because there are no ‘happy endings for all involved’ in Night City. The final lines of Alt’s reading have more to do with V/Johnny’s final choice:

“To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.”

All the unsavory things V has to do to survive, all the people that have died to get to Mikoshi, lead up to one ‘overwhelming’ question: who will live on? There are so many other questions that should be answered: what is beyond the Blackwall? Are Johnny and Alt real, or is the soul truly dead, and are they just a copy of the people they once were? What happens to the idea of God and the afterlife when you introduce the idea of Soulkiller? But much like in the poem, we don’t get these answers. In fact, we are barely given time to contemplate the question as we fight for survival. A decision must be made, despite not knowing or even having time to dwell on these answers. Similarly Johnny, when presented with these questions in several side quests, refuses to even entertain the question, much like the poem’s narrator. 

The rest of the poem, which is not included in Alt’s reading, is full of allusions to the story. The “yellow fog,” which persists across the poem is full of cat-like imagery, conjuring the bakaneko, the spirit of misfortune that can bring people back to life that Takemura mentions (coincidence that V/Johnny can adopt a cat? Keeping death as a close companion? I think not). Prufrock spends the rest of the poem contemplating his question, talking himself in circles, and the only thing that changes is his age as time slips by. Just as he seems to be making progress, he talks himself back to square one and begins again. Much in the same way, Johnny and V go in the same circles. Their journey begins with their deaths, and to death they will both return no matter what. Nothing they did really mattered, the world remains the same, broken and unfair. As Prufrock later contemplates: “Do I dare/ Disturb the universe?…Would it have been worth while/ To have bitten off the matter with a smile,? To have squeezed the universe into a ball?” Johnny loses his life trying to strike against an unjust world, yet he is scarcely a memory to most residents of Night City, who do not have time to contemplate what is right and what is wrong; their focus must be on survival. 

Interestingly enough, both the poem and Cyberpunk reference similar secondary materials. Prufrock references Lazarus and Hamlet as he contemplates how he will never lead an exciting existence. Lazarus, much like V/Johnny, famously rose from the dead. Hamlet is a reoccurring theme in the storyline; Prufrock, V/Johnny, and Hamlet all are faced having to inevitably make a very difficult decision, the latter two involving tragedy for all no matter what. It’s also up for debate whether Hamlet is turning mad, similar to how we can’t be sure how much Johnny is driving V “mad” by taking over their mind. Despite this comparison, V/Johnny are no Hamlet/Lazarus. They are Prufrock; their lives, and their deaths, are meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Despite their efforts, they will simply fade away until they remain only in the memories of those they left behind. The play is further referenced as Jackie’s grave reads “Goodnight, sweet Prince,” and in a deleted audio file Johnny tells V “Sleep well prince/princess” before taking control if V chooses to attack Arasaka with Rogues help. What makes this more interesting is when you look at the line in which Hamlet is mentioned:

“No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.”

The Fool, which is mentioned several times by Misty, represents V and Johnny, in the journey that is told by the major arcane in tarot. The beginning of a journey — of a cycle — while the Death card symbolizes the ending of one phase and the beginning of another. An often painful transformation into something new. The main theme of Eliot’s poem is cycles; he  talks himself in circles, never making a choice, always ending up where he begins. Circles are mentioned once again by Kerry during his personal mission, when he talks about beginning a new cycle in his life. V/Johnny’s journey together begins with death, and so it must end that way for them; whether it is a physical death, or a death of the self. No matter what, V’s fate is inevitable; they will face death again head-on, just as they did at the beginning of their story. The chosen passages of this poem asserts this cycle — the first three words of Alt’s first and last sentence are the same: 

“Let us go.” 

[holydragon2808]

Thoughts On Dragon Age II after Replaying (Massive Spoilers)

Hello fellow DA fans! It's been quite some time since I last posted anything here on Tumblr. Hope everyone has been safe during all of the world's craziness. Figured I'd post something to let people know I'm still alive.

Anyway, DA2 was first released back in 2011. I was 20-21 years old at the time. Back then, while I still acknowledged the lack of genuine player agency with Hawke (in comparison to the Warden before them), I did belong in the camp of people believing that people went way overboard with the DA2 critiques regarding those complaints, at least back then.

Now though? After replaying the game again a decade or so later, and also in light of the Inquisitor and DAI, I now personally believe that Hawke's story stands out as (overall), all the more unbalanced in comparison to both the Warden and Inquisitor.

Massive Spoilers for the franchise abound beyond this point. Last warning.

Despite a lot of the old critiques leveled at DA2, it isn't a 100% terrible experience, and despite the oncoming rant, I do love the game overall.

Even though I've personally always thought that DA2 story was centered around tragedy a bit TOO much, in light of the growing franchise and the directional tone of the other protagonists thus far, it unfortunately stands out even more to me, and not in a good way.

A shame really because DA2 could have been a better and interesting contrast to DAO in tone and direction had it been more balanced with meaningful successes and failures for Hawke as a character rather than veering too far over into angst and tragedy.

For example, in DAO, your Warden character is railroaded into success against the Blight no matter what. Regardless of the origin, regardless of what sort of allies you acquire, no matter if you live or die in the end or which warden gets the final blow, you succeed.

This sort of narrative framing gave the writers a much easier way to balance genuine tragedy and success throughout the journey without veering too far in one direction or the other, and also without making nearly everything the player does seem like an exercise in futility.

In other words, there were failures and successes more properly balanced throughout, from experiencing meaningful failures and heartache during the chosen origin stories, to failure at Ostagar, to having more balance with the party members and their struggles (they weren't too boring or too dysfunctional), romances that stood out as a light for the Warden amidst all the fighting and death and their massive burden, to succeeding with building the army to take on the Darkspawn, to potential personal sacrifice to save the world and so on.

The option to play a more tragic, angsty or "evil" character who alienates everyone around them and then ultimately dies in the end is there too. The point is that the game largely gave the player the reins and let THEM decide what sort of story they were interested in shaping within the confines of the narrative railroading.

This balance just isn't there with DA2 as the player progresses. Hawke is railroaded into failure in almost every way from start to finish, whether in their personal life or with the massive political struggles in Kirkwall.

I'm sure most people would have been fine with the main plot between the mages/Templars spiraling out of their control in the end (thanks Anders), the Qunari rampaging no matter what, and even the Hawke family being forcefully separated as the story progressed.

However, to me some of the railroaded bleak tragedy should have been offset by Hawke (and by extension the player) at least having the OPTION of being able to keep their family alive.

I'm fine with the tragedy of losing the whole family being ONE POSSIBLE option in the game, but when this tragedy along with the main plot failures, the dysfunctional party members that are too problematic to help ease Hawke's burdens (in fact, they all add to Hawke's worries, which if Inquisition shows anything, that it finally takes its toll on Hawke) is THE ONE AND ONLY OPTION in light of everything else wrong in Kirkwall, then that's a potential writing issue and could potentially alienate the player more than make them care about anything that happens and wonder why they aren't given the option to just nope out and leave Kirkwall to its fate.

Tragedy can be fine, don't get me wrong, but not everyone wants to role play a COMPLETE AND UTTER tragedy from start to finish with no option to deviate in any way from that narrative. Options in the way people progress (especially where people can break the story down and see the holes in the narrative where it COULD have possible but just wasn't allowed), should be presented in a ROLE PLAYING game.

I personally find it more realistic and relatable when a character experiences a nice blend of both MEANINGFUL success and failure. However, the writers seemed intent on railroading Hawke into just being at the mercy of the main plot with little to no agency.

In stark contrast to DAO, planning for the entire story in DA2 (or just in an RPG period) to end in failure no matter the player choices is already a bold enough risk on its own. It can definitely work with the proper balance of both positive and negative experiences along the way though in both the political and personal aspects of the player characters life, to keep the player actively engaged in a way that doesn't leave them thinking that their presence in the story amounts to little more than the equivalent of holding a book and simply turning the page rather than actively doing something.

But combining an already planned bleak ending with a very corrupt setting where the leaders on all sides are either completely moronic or passive, party members where the majority of them have too many burdens of their own to give Hawke a genuine sense of a reprieve from the madness even if romancing one of them (except for Varric, Aveline, and Bethany, if alive, everyone else is either a whiner or dysfunctional. It's very telling that Hawke's PET DOG gets more no strings attached visits from the party members than Hawke does. Just saying), railroading Hawke to lose the majority of their family in some way, AND having what little success and influence Hawke DOES acquire to come back and bite them in the ass in the end (Hawke struck it rich and became Champion of Kirkwall?! Awesome!.....right up until its revealed the red lyrium idol they found in the deep roads played a part in screwing up everything), then at that point, a serious argument can be made that the writers veered far too heavily into tragic overdone melodrama for some people.

How cool would it have been to be able to leave the game with "Well, okay, I couldn't do anything about the corruption in Kirkwall or the mage/Templar tensions spiraling out of control, but at least my whole family is alive and well"? There could have even been an achievement/trophy for this very outcome called "The pride of the Hawkes" or something.

Just one possible example of how the railroaded political failures could have been offset by giving Hawke, (and by extension the player), the OPTION for personal success in a more meaningful way. The option for extreme tragedy with some or even all of the Hawkes dying can still be there of course for people who want that degree of angst, but again having multiple OPTIONS is more likely to accommodate more people and their preferred play styles or stories, and thus, give more reasons to play the game multiple times.

As it stands now, sure, Hawke can save the life of one sibling, but they're still railroaded into losing one of them before the prologue is over, the other is either killed by the Blight or forced from their side in act 1 because the game said so, and the mother is forced to die in the most shock value induced way possible (nevermind not even being able to warn Leandra in act one or follow up on this quest until it's too late in act two or the guards and Templars being forcefully incompetent for this to play out like the writers want).

Those have just been my thoughts as of late. Some people argue that in a way, this is the entire point of the game. That sometimes only REALLY crappy choices exist and there may not be a third option. I agree with that to a point.

But "there might not be" and "there NEVER is" an option for an ideal third way are two very different things and IMO, DA2 suffered in veering far too heavily in the direction of the latter, often being too focused on heartbreak and shock value (looking at you "All That Remains") to really work as well as it could have.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts a decade later. Make no mistake, I still love DA2 for what it is, love the general concept and idea of DA2, just not the execution. It's just sad to me that this game could have been so much better with more development time, more options to shape Hawke's story on a more personal level (whether with an ideal outcome of everyone in the family living, or a semi tragic one where some can die depending on choices, or everyone dying), and not being railroaded into tragedy to nearly nigh ridiculous levels to the point where a giant spider nightmare residing in the Fade in a whole other game mocks Hawke for their "failure is the only option" status.

And just to further clarify my point here, true, Kirkwall was a ticking time bomb with or without Hawke being there. They made the tensions between the two factions apparent as far back as DAO. A Mage/Templar war was all but inevitable, as was Anders eventually losing himself to Justice/Vengeance and after exhausting all peaceful options, finally doing the unthinkable and "forcing everyone to choose a side". That part was fine. And it makes sense for this part of the story to remain static and unchanged no matter what (as I said before, the issue isn't necessarily that DA2 had a planned tragic ending or was framed as a set story within a story).

The issue is that, at the end of the day, regardless of whether this is framed as a recounting of events already played out, Bioware still chose to present this part of the story to the world as an RPG, not a novel. It's just too easy to pick apart the current execution of the narrative and find too many holes and inconsistencies, far too easy to see that Bioware wanted tragedy and completely railroaded the player into it regardless of whether or not it made sense to do so at times. Part of it is definitely that it was rushed, but not all of it.

" Genuine inevitable tragedy" (example: the mage/Templar rebellion) and "railroaded and just never given the option to question/change anything because the game/developers said so but still forcefully insisting and trying to frame it as an inevitable tragedy" are two very different things (outright confirming in Act 1 that the remains of the serial killer's vicitms did indeed belong to one of the missing women (Ninette's wedding ring) and he gave them white lilies but conveniently never given the option to bring any of this up to the guards/Templars or pursue the quest or warn Leandra until it's far too late). Leandra's death isn't the only example of this problem, but it definitely is one of the most prominent and IMO, takes away from the intended story of a good woman who met a bad end with their oldest son/daughter being unable to prevent it when the game failed to let them (and by extension the player) truly try.

DA2 could have been a great contrast to DAO. Rather than having the influence to shape the fate of the world like the Warden and succeed in their goal, they could have compromised in DA2 with having the fallout of the Kirkwall Chantry destruction and the rebellion still happening no matter what (i.e. Hawke "failing" to stop any of the madness and still ultimately forced to flee Kirkwall in the end after finally dragging the Amell line back into prominence) but still given the player the option to save their immediate family members across the story if certain choices were made throughout. I'm sure most people would have been fine with a more "bittersweet" option being presented for Hawke, (and by extension the player) in the game, especially where again, one can pick apart the narrative and see where it could have been an option, but just wasn't allowed for no other reason than seemingly because of the "True art is angsty" trope.

Bioware could still have their own canon (similarly to how Alistair is shown to be king in their canon no matter what as an example) of the ultimate tragedy if they wanted, but again, DA2 is still an RPG where players expect to have more meaningful choices reflected in how they progress, even with an inescapable darker and downer ending.

Complete and utter tragedy is fine, but I just don't think it was the best decision to have it as THE ONLY option in an RPG.

[itsclydebitches]

Some of my friends in the RWBY FNDM actually said people don’t forgive their friends for betraying them (Jaune killing Penny) but will forgive strangers betraying them (Em killing Penny). Uh…NO. Being close and attached to someone leads to bias. People are more willing to see someone they don’t know as evil for hurting them BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW THAT PERSON. They said this as an excuse to why RWBY will be pissed at Jaune. NOPE! (1/2)

I think it can go either way depending on the person, or in this case the character. People aren't so uniform that they'll have a single, predictable response to someone's actions depending on whether they're in the "friend" or "stranger" category, to say nothing of the complexities of figuring out when one moves from one category to the other. (Is Ozpin the beloved and respected headmaster they look up to, or a virtual stranger whose age and power makes him someone the group never would have seriously connected with? The fandom is divided.) But that connection (or lack thereof) can go in either direction. It might make it easier to forgive them, or it might make it seemingly impossible. I've been replaying Witcher's Blood & Wine where Anna Henrietta is so relieved to have her sister back that she's blind to the horrors she's committed - love make forgiveness an inevitability. I'm also rewatching Criminal Minds where Reid is furious with JJ for keeping Prentiss' secret from him, specifically because they're so close and JJ was the one to comfort him over Prentiss' "death" - love makes forgiveness that much harder. And it's the same with strangers. If someone you're less close to commits a horrible act, you might respond with pure disgust because who are they to you? Nobody. They're defined only by that one action. Or, their distance might make it easier to forgive them once you have gotten to know them a bit, simply because the action didn't, at the time, feel personal. You know the version of them now, the one that "counts," the one you're emotionally attached to. I don't think it's an either/or situation here, where there's a correct answer of "Yes characters will get angry if they're close to the person in question" or "No characters will be less angry if they're close to them." It depends on the individual, the action, the circumstances, the state of mind of the person trying to grant forgiveness, and a hundred other, smaller factors. If Yang did something horrible, would Blake be less willing to forgive her because they're so close, or more willing because they are? That depends on a whole range of things from "What exactly did Yang do?" to "Has Blake eaten and slept and generally not been stressed out of her mind lately, making her less likely to lash out?" It, to be blunt, comes down to good, nuanced writing.

Which is why the Jaune situation is... complicated. And sadly, RWBY doesn't do well with complicated. Free of the rest of Volume 8, my mind says the group has to be mad. How can they not? Even if Jaune had a 100% solid reason for killing Penny with no possible way to blame him - which, let's be frank, he doesn't. The guy has a healing semblance and just took her word that it was useless - it's not in our nature to approach a tragedy with that level of logical maturity (especially not after the crazy level of trauma that's been going on: Salem, battles, falling to their "deaths."). You don't have a friend admit they killed another friend and immediately go, "Oh yeah. Makes sense. Had to be done. No worries!" and move on with your life. You at least start with some anger, whether it's rational or not, deserved or not. People harbor anger over deaths that we know, realistically, are not the fault of another person involved, we resent people who survived over others even though we know they had no control over it, and we even hate ourselves for hating that person, because we know it's not fair and we're feeling it anyway. If we have all that complexity tied up in deaths that are unambiguously not the fault of the person in question... what do you do with the guy who straight up agreed to an assisted suicide? Gave up on healing or retreat? Was the one to drag his sword across Penny's throat? The fandom recognized that scene as something intensely complicated, made worse by ineffectual writing. We knew, the second it had finished, that Jaune was not an easily categorized innocent here who should be treated solely as a victim of horrible circumstances. There's a very good reason why the fandom went, "What the fuck, Jaune" because this entire situation is so. messed. up. I'm not saying all this to paint Jaune as some irredeemable monster or anything, but rather to highlight that there should be a huge range of emotions coming off of this action. Whether we the audience or the characters decide what he did was the right thing or not, Jaune's actions are still objectively horrifying. He killed Penny. Was it necessary? Given RWBY's shoddy writing, idk, but that's not the point for an initial reaction. The point is, "How would you respond if you found out Friend A helped Friend B commit suicide, right after you'd worked so hard to keep Friend B alive, after she'd already come back from the dead?" The answer should be, "Uh, not well. Not well at all."

But this is RWBY. There should have been a range of emotions to Jinn's vision in Volume 6, but there wasn't. There should have been a range of emotions to Penny's resurrection, but there wasn't. There should have been a more persuasive reason for Jaune to kill Penny, a better job of stripping away other options, but there wasn't. Arguably, Penny shouldn't have died at all, not after being brought back, getting the Maiden powers, being made human... but she was. This situation is already a mess but then, as you say, anon, we have Emerald on top of it all. I mentioned above that it's "Free of the rest of Volume 8" that the group should be mad at Jaune, but obviously that's not how the story goes. I can't separate Emerald from the rest of this and yeah, it looks ridiculous for the group to have a long arc of hating Jaune after they forgave Emerald in, what? An hour? We can talk about that context all we want, but at the end of the day, Emerald's actions were too horrific to shrug off as they were and Jaune's action is also too horrific to shrug off. RWBY has, once again, backed itself into a corner. What the story actually needed was for Emerald to get a full redemption arc, allowing the group to process, grapple with, and learn to forgive her past actions through apologies and new actions to demonstrate growth, so that they could then later do a modified version of that with Jaune, one tailored to his character, their characters, and this new situation. The story needs the group to be mad at both of them because both did things that would generate different types of anger. But because Emerald was granted laughter almost immediately upon arriving at the mansion, yeah, it would read as absurd for the group to go through a whole arc of learning how to forgive Jaune... even though Jaune's actions arguably do need some kind of forgiveness arc. The situation is screwed either way. If the group forgives him quickly it's, "Really? He killed Penny and that's it? No one is going to struggle with that? That's absurd!" and if the group doesn't quickly forgive him it's, "Really? You'll insta-forgive the woman who has been trying to kill you for years, but won't grant the same thing to your friend who only took that action with good intentions? That's absurd!" And if the focus is on Jaune being mad at himself, we're right back to where we were in Volume 4: Jaune mourning a redhead in his life and getting too much focus. I really don't think there's a good solution here, which (as my more recent posts speak to), we're seeing more and more as the series goes on. The more material we get and the more shoddily that material is written, the more we're going to see future situations where we go, "I don't like any of the writing options here, because of something that happened in a previous volume." RWBY has created a situation where the group very much deserves to be angry - or at the very least conflicted - over Jaune's actions, but because it's following on the heels of Hazel, Emerald, and their own horrific choices across Volume 7 and 8, any anger will feel hollow, hypocritical. But isn't that what we're left with? We've been here since the beginning of Volume 7 when Ruby repeated Ozpin's secrets and the story never acknowledged that either she's as bad as he is, or he's not as bad as they believed. We've been watching a show built on that hollow hypocrisy for at least two years (longer, really) and it's just getting worse the more the story introduces sensitive material and then doesn't appropriately follow up on it.

[chunhua-s]

congrats on your milestone event!!! id like to request for kita soulmate!au with angst to fluff genre 👉👈 yknow sumn rejection shit bcs im hopeless like that wehee once again congrats! and i love your writing style :3

anon you’re gonna make me cry 🥺 seriously i’m happy you enjoy my writing and that you think my style’s okay! most of the time i go off of what kind of feelings i get when i’m writing or the imagery that comes up in my head and i’m never sure that it translates well enough for you guys to feel or see the same thing. hopefully as i keep writing then i’ll be able to show you guys what’s on my mind better when i’m writing! thank you again for requesting — seriously, it means a lot! and like always, you guys, don’t be afraid to come and talk to me on and off anon! your interactions mean a lot, especially for content creators! we love hearing what you all think, what you like/dislike about our work, what you think of certain characters — absolutely anything! come and talk with us more whenever you can 💕

writing for kita feels calming somehow. normally the things that come up in my chest or my mind when i write gets nearly overwhelming if that makes sense? like i’ll have to pause and remind myself to breathe because it takes up so much of my attention that i kinda get lost, but with kita, it feels more flowey to me. it’s not demanding but more like a gentle coaxing kind of thing or like looking at the surface of a calm river. i was initially scared to write for him because i was worried i wouldn’t get him right, but i feel satisfied with how this turned out, i think. i hope you guys will find it as calming as i found it too! it might not be exactly what you wanted, but because i had already written the rejection of a person for atsumu’s soulmate oneshot, i wanted to play around with kita’s character and make it instead the rejection of a concept/idea? which would indirectly lead to him... you know, rejecting his soulmate initially, but— ahhhhhh it might make sense to just read it!! these rambles keep getting longer and longer :v i’m sorry for that!! please go ahead and read and tell me what you think in the end! 💕

NOTNING MORE THAN HUMAN ➽ KITA SHINSUKE x READER

genre: angst to fluff

au: soulmate

warnings: none

shinsuke kita is human.

and of course, that much is obvious. he isn’t a machine that’s incapable of feelings and emotions, whose heart is unfamiliar with melodies of an overwhelming joy, or the quiet hymns of deep rooted sadness. his skin still burns under righteous fury and anger, his tongue still weighs heavy under hesitance and silent worries. at the end of every long day, he’s still human.

it’s because he’s human that the words on his collarbone feel so heavy, as if they might cave into the bone and destroy him under their weight. it’s because he’s human that the sight of black markings in the mirror clouds his mind with a new kind of fear and worry. shinsuke kita is human, but he’s long since taught himself how to abandon anxiety and nervousness. he surrounds himself in familiar routines that calm the turbulent voices of doubt, he builds habits that ground him to the earth lest he should be swept away by the current. shinsuke has taught himself not to be afraid for the things that will happen everyday, but meeting his soulmate isn’t one of those things he can prepare for.

it’s a strange concept, he considers to himself. shinsuke doesn’t believe in words like fate or destiny, doesn’t care for the higher powers that should judge his actions. as far as he’s concerned, his own will is what dictates where his life goes — he’s in control, and that’s how it’s always been for him. let the gods watch, if they must, but he’s already decided that he’ll live by what is right, and he wouldn’t dare falter in the face of it. and yet — and it’s such a strange thing for him to do so — he pauses under the notion of a soulmate, of a destined partner who’s supposedly bound to him for as long as he should live. at first, he hadn’t given the idea much thought; it wouldn’t serve any purpose to worry about something that would happen whether or not he wants it, he decided. the truth of it is inevitable, just as the leaves must fall in autumn and the earth should be buried under clouds of white in winter. shinsuke is human — what more can he do but to accept it?

the black words that spread across his skin like droplets of ink became the bitter seeds of doubt that he hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it? the sentence by itself is so bland, like something maybe aran or anyone else might say to him in passing, and at first, it didn’t shake him too much, until he was caught one day under a sudden summer storm. seventeen year old kita somehow found himself stranded beneath a small shelter, where the wooden covering could protect him more than his umbrella until the rain passed. it was nearly unconscious, but he somehow found himself on edge, his breath faltered with the harsh pitter patter of rainfall that tumbled from green leaves and tore ripples from the surface of the lake. shinsuke kita found himself with a stomach full of butterflies and a thundering heartbeat that stole him away from solace and calm, cast the peace that he would so often carry with him away and left him stranded among chopping waves. every trembling breath he took stung on cold air and left him with a burning feeling on his lungs. it’s unfamiliar in its presence and shakes him to his core, but shinsuke kita is reminded of his own humanity when he realizes that what he feels, is anticipation and nervousness.

and it’s an odd thing. as he becomes aware of it, he finds himself twisting his fingers together during spring time; he worries his bottom lip between his teeth during unexpected showers. he feels like a child who stands in line to ride a roller coaster for the first time in his life — wide-eyed and drowning in the millions of feelings that race throughout his body. the feeling itself is nothing new, though it’s unfamiliar and intense in its ferocity and demand, seizes his heart and squeezes so tightly that whenever it rains, he’s left breathless.

it’s almost enough to drive him mad.

his very foundation seems to fall apart with the thunder that rolls across grey skies. for every drop of rain that hits the pavement, he finds himself a jittery mess as his heartbeat tears through his chest. the man who taught himself to abandon his fears reverts into the young boy who watched out for god, for the higher beings who watched his every move. and the thought that comes with every brilliant bolt of lightning burns him just as hotly, invasive and demanding when it flashes through his mind on a single, low whisper:

will you be happy?

shinsuke kita is human. he learns as he sees and lives as he’s learned, and what he saw growing up was that soulmates were bounded together till death do them part. a connection that’s set deep in stone, never to be erased by unforgiving weather and to persevere during the cruelest of storms. it’s an inevitable reality that the gods designed, so that mortals like himself should dance on stage and tell them a story. but shinsuke knows that not all these stories have a happy ending.

there are plays that end in tragedy and loss, those that only knew memories of pain and sang with death’s violin. man becomes the actor to a play that he has no choice in and dances on the puppet master’s strings, he surrenders control and gives himself up to the music, and he has no way of knowing the end of it until the curtains should fall. shinsuke has never been one to lay down his will, and yet, as winter melts once more into gray rain clouds and scattered showers, he’s reminded of his mortality, of the fate that’s been sealed away in the falling of rain. shinsuke kita is human, and so he must, like all men do, bend to fate’s will and never utter a word against her.

and for a long time, the sentiment caused him to completely reject the idea of a soulmate.

that feeling of helplessness that would wash over him with the rain turned into a bitterness that crushed his lungs between tightened fist. the acceptance of an inevitable waltz — whether it be to eternal happiness or to a cruel melody — turned into rebellious loathing that spat in the face of destiny. it’s entirely childish in its tale, like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t want to give up his precious toy. that toy is his control, the power he had to live his life by his truth, not by that of a higher being. he’s human, after all, and humans are selfish and resentful by nature.

he finds himself with a heavy chest today, as well, as he waits for the pouring rain to subside. the small shelter in the middle of the garden park is familiar, and carries with it the memories of his epiphany, the one that created thunder storms in his once tranquil heart, and for that, he hates this place. the sound of the rain hitting the roof is like nails scratching against the chalkboard; the sound of droplets hitting the lake like an annoying whining that he can’t get out of his head. shinsuke curses this little pocket away from the world with all the childish anger in the world — let it be damned that doing so wouldn’t change anything. for once, he let himself go on a petty grudge against the universe, and against that looming stage and its heavy curtains.

it’s nearly faint, but he picks up on the patter-patter of footfalls that quickly approach him, and he turns bronze coloured eyes to find your rain-drenched figure running for shelter under the little gazebo. you’re out of breath by the time you make it underneath, letting out an exhausted and frustrated sigh as you press your hands to your knees, and shinsuke finds himself sympathizing with the way you bitterly push your hair from your face. you’re an ordinary office worker, from what he can see; you’ve hidden what looks to be a messenger back beneath your coat, leaving you to tremble in a thin button-up. this day’s downpour had been sudden, unexpected as spring would soon surrender to the approaching summer, and he imagines that he would have been in a similar position as yourself had he not packed his umbrella beforehand.

a silence settles over the both of you that’s only broken by the heavy rain, but the presence of it is so soothing that shinsuke finds himself breathing on a lighter air. suddenly the smell of petrichor turns sweeter, the melody of raindrops melting into a distant lullaby, and for the first time, shinsuke feels his heart melt under an indescribable sense of warmth despite the weather. and when your eyes turn to find his, a helpless grin on your lips, he feels that warmth explode under summer fireworks and coarse throhgh his veins like liquid lightning.

“it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it?”

for the second time in his life, shinsuke has an epiphany under the shelter in the garden.

he feels every bit of resentment vanish on a sudden gust of wind, one that sends raindrops splashing against his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. not when grey clouds suddenly reveal to him pillars of sunlight that embrace your figure and makes you glow against a background of green leaves. the rain turns into something sweet and enticing, and it suddenly gives shinsuke this unexplainable urge to grab your hand and dance with you underneath the pouring showers, where he can hear your voice ring out on chimes of laughter and innocent bliss. in mere seconds, he manages to let go of the dark clouds that he’d unintentionally harboured on his chest, he let them burst with the weight of anger and childish fury so that they would hit the earth on giant droplets of rain.

shinsuke kita is human — he’s imperfect, mortal. he feels and he thinks and he speaks what’s on his mind. he can hate, and he can love: he can make that decision on whether or not to hold useless grudges and to curse a destiny he can’t change, or to welcome that inevitability with the willingness to learn and grow.

today, as he stands beneath a wooden shelter, hiding from the heavy rains, he decides to stretch his hand out and let the water hit his skin.

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