#on account of both it and its source material just causing me to be Full of Joy

[chiropteracupola]

once again I have been utterly captivated (to the point of illustration!) by one of @sanguinarysanguinity's hornblower fics!

bush's face was really cute in the sketch so you get to see that as well

[separatist-apologist]

Adding to the discord of how sjm handles deaths, another factor that make them “dumb” is that sjm always kills someone major at the ending of the book only to bring them back again with magic. Feyre dies TWICE, both in acotar and acosf. Rhysand dies and comes back. Amren dies and comes back. Like girl, why waste time killing them then?

And to me her worldbuilding ends up inconsistent because you have a way to bring people from the death, proven FOUR times already, but you don’t have a safe C sections for winged babies? (This one makes me mad ngl)

I have to just pretend the baby plot does not exist in order to keep going. I have kids, and I sometimes wonder if people truly appreciate the literal nightmare scenario that was presented.

I think for me, it's the constant brutalization of Feyre that feels uncomfortable. There was no reason Feyre had to go through it, and across every book, the consistent theme is Feyre's suffering, often caused by the men in her life who are never truly held accountable for their actions (both in narrative AND by the fandom).

I have long wondered SJM's personal beliefs because I think they do heavily influence the way she writes and the messages she imparts. The High Lords can resurrect people through the power of their combined friendship rings. And Amren tells us in ACOSF that the fae will fuck anything.

And no one has ever had to deal with a winged baby coming out of a narrow pelvis. I just- that plot line makes me feel sick. It turns me into an anti. Feyre didn't deserve it and between you and me, I am literally so fucking tired of the "ancient man who acts like a 17 year old high school drop out knows whats best for his child bride and therefore gets to make all the decisions for her regardless of her own autonomy/reasonable requests/wishes to not see him."

They ALL do it. Rhys is endlessly lying to Feyre (in order to keep secrets from the readers, but it gives the impression he does not respect her). Cassian gets to take Nesta on a nightmare hike because he knows what's best. Azriel gets to go around Elain and veto her decision to help find the trove even after she says she wants to do it/spare Nesta having to do it again.

And the fandom will do absolute backflips on why these men get to act like this. Why it's actually okay, that its mate behavior (kill me actually?), that they aren't invalidating their choices (they absolutely are, across the board) and its so deeply problematic to me. People will talk about the absolute girl power/boss bitch feminism of these books and then refuse to engage critically with the source material and ask "oh shit actually what are these books actually saying?"

These books are mid, full stop. It's absolutely fine to enjoy them, lord knows I do. But I do wish when we were having conversations about like, why Feyre couldn't have a safe pregnancy, it didn't devolve into "stans are fucking stupid" as if these books weren't intentionally written/edited/marketed and then produced. Like choices weren't made narratively, and what those choices are saying. In a society where a good portion of the US was stripped of their right to bodily autonomy, things like a man deciding his wife doesn't need to know the baby living inside her is going to kill her is too close to home for a lot of people.

I can't stay on topic today and I'm sorry. But that pregnancy plotline and the abuse of the women in the books bothers me a lot.

[spottyissleepwalking]

Hello, sorry to bother you but can I ask a question about the warrior cats disability post you reblogged earlier? And I mean this in good faith, honestly, I want to understand.

I haven't read warrior cats, but just from what was described in the post, it sounds... realistic? Since not everyone bounces back from becoming disabled. For example, a coworker and I (in a labor intensive field) have the same injury to our knee. He, I guess you could say has responded "well" to his injury. He has a higher drive to push past pain, not let it limit what he can do, and is able to work as hard, or harder, than non-disabled coworkers, but he is still absolutely disabled. In his case, he often overworks himself and thus ends up having to take off several days to recover and is on a lot of pain medication, both Rx and self medicated. In the scenario presented in the post, he would def be able to stay in the warrior class. But I didn't respond well to my injury, and don't react well to pain. I fell into a deep deep depression that took almost 8 years to crawl out of. Doing the exact same tasks as he does, I work slower and more carefully, avoiding pain at all costs rather than pushing past/despite pain. I'm slower, not as effective. But I don't need to take time off or frequent breaks to recover, and though it takes a little longer, I do just as much work as he does at the end of the week when accounting for the time he takes to recover. I like to imagine that I've reacted to my injury well, but can't help feeling inadequate and worthless when compared to coworker. Especially on days that we work side by side and he's running quite literal circles around me. And remember, we have the exact same injury with very similar causes and only a few months time difference.

From what I understand of the culture of Warrior cats (which is admittedly very very little) I imagine I'd end up in a healer class as well, even if I wished I could be warrior class. I would give almost anything to work as fast, as effectively, as hard as coworker does. But I can't.

So I guess what I'm asking is, what am I missing from the narrative, as someone who hasn't read warrior cats, that makes a character, who has not returned to their former glory after an injury, a poor representation of disability? As the post stands on its own right now, it just feels like it's kicking disabled people when they're down for not acting like they're still fully abled. Like shaming a paralyzed person for not joining a sport.

I have to assume that it's just poorly worded for anyone outside the fandom, but it really does come of as... well... ableist. Which is what drove me to ask, since making assumptions of ableism is generally kinda shitty, and I am curious about the source material.

I hope I didn't come off aggressive or let my emotions on the subject get carried away here, genuinely sorry if it does come off rude. I promise am asking in good faith because I want to understand from a creative standpoint if the narrative actually handled it poorly, and how-so, to help myself and others potentially avoid making the same artistic mistakes.

Thank you for taking the time to read this wall of text, and again, so sorry for bothering you!

No no!! Not aggressive or rude or anything of the sort :D

I’ll be honest, I didn’t read the full text, but I got the gist of it so I’ll try to answer aptly ^^

The problem with Warriors isn’t that there isn’t disability representation - there is, it’s just. Awful. Why? Because almost every single disabled character, sans THREE, in a series that has thousands of named characters, is FORCED into a role they don’t want - or KILLED. Solely for being disabled, solely for being “different”.

It’s not that they necessarily chose that life for themselves, it’s that it was forced upon them, which is where so many fans (reasonably) draw issue with. Disabled characters are offered the bare minimum in Warriors canon. Either they’re essentially forced to become a doctor, with the trope of “the broken-bodied healing the able-bodied” (which personally unsettled me greatly), or they’re shipped off to the elder’s den, which is a place where cats retire due to old age and are cared for by their Clanmates, usually without ever having the chance to prove themselves, and display both their abilities and weaknesses. They’re just automatically shoved into this corner.

There was a Deaf character, once, in the decades-long span of this book series, that was told he would never become a warrior solely because of his deafness - and then was immediately killed off in a manner that was almost never used again as a device to kill a character.

There was a character who was hit by a car and, as a result, ended up losing the function of one of her back legs. Prior to this, she was training as any other young member of her society would. Immediately after? She became a doctor.

There was a character who became blind due to an outside force, and, despite being the equivalent of maybe a thirty-year-old, immediately retired to the elder’s den.

There was a born blind character who fought to train as a warrior, under a half-blind warrior. He was doing well in his training - until the in-universe religion came down to him and forced him to give up his dreams in order to become a doctor. Granted, his case was a little more complicated and intermingled with plot, but it still stands.

There was a character with anxiety who was a poor hunter, and was pressured to become a doctor because of his lack of skills.

There was a character who was paralyzed, and was dismissed as dead, or “better off dead”, by almost everyone around her - INCLUDING HER OWN FAMILY - except the blind character, who found kinship with her and fought tooth-and-nail to keep her alive and healthy.

And the thing is? These characters are CATS! Cats, who have been documented living alone in the wild with these sort of disabilities and thriving!! Which makes it all the more frustrating to see a narrative built around the appeal of cats, have them have this whole support system and community, and that community actively turn their backs on them.

It’s not about them choosing. It’s about them being forced. Not having any opportunity to grow, or learn, or allow others around them to do the same in regards to them. There’s no acceptance here. In universe, it seems like they’re just shoved into the shadows so the able bodied characters don’t have to look at them or think too hard about them, unless they’re healing their wounds.

The characters themselves are not the poor representation. It’s how the authors have handled them - by shoving them aside, to the shadows, to the dogs. It’s frustrating and disheartening.

[thefanficmonster]

Let Them Talk

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female) ft. Sykkuno

Warnings: Swearing, Jealousy

Genre: Fluff, a bit of Angst

Summary: We can all agree Among Us is a fun game on its own but what makes it ten times better is playing it with the right company. Y/N could agree 100% Being a streamer herself, she loves playing with the streamer gang that includes her boyfriend and best friend. But, what happens when her boyfriend starts doubting her feelings for him due to her close relationship with her best friend.

Requested by @cheetoscat . Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, I hope the final product is worth the wait. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

Y/AU/N - Your Among Us Name

I settle in my gaming chair, adjusting my webcam one last time before joining the Among Us lobby with my friends. 

“Hi everyone!“ I say into the mic, a smile plastering itself on my face. Discord is a magical thing, man. It’s so easy to forget that the people you are talking to aren’t around you or within arm’s reach. You could be separated by miles and miles of land or - in our case - oceans as well. Distance becomes negligible when you hear your friends’ voices, their laughter; when you have a good time together despite being each behind a screen, often times alone.

Well, I’m one of those lucky ones that isn’t alone. No one knows that, though. Everyone thinks I’m a single, self-employed girl that’s straight out of college. And they are 90% right. Only thing is - I’m not single. That would be a shocker in and of itself, but revealing who’s changed my relationship status would be a bomb with a whole new intensity.

Speaking of my significant other who shall remain unnamed - just kidding, it’s Corpse - his form materializes in the doorway of my recording room. I give him a hand signal the camera isn’t able to capture, alerting him of the fact that my mic is on. He replies by blowing me a kiss and walking off down the hall to his recording room where he’ll be stationed for the next three or so hours.

I owe this relationship to my best friend Sykkuno. I’m a pretty new and not very well known on the platform, however, thanks to him I haven’t only obtained a boyfriend, but a following of a little over million subscribers as well. 

It all started with an invitation to fill a spot in the Among Us lobby him and his friends had created. It took him quite a bit to convince me to join, but I eventually caved and agreed. Suddenly, there I was. In a Discord call, in an Among Us lobby with some of the most well-known names on this platform. I’m talking YouTube legends. I was that puppy playing with the big dogs. The newbie tagging along with the big leagues. Or at least that’s how I felt until we all started vibing - talking and teasing each other as though we’ve known each other for years and not minutes.

When I joined the call, Corpse wasn’t present. After everyone else introduced themselves, Sykkuno informed me that we were waiting for Corpse to return. The name sounded really cool to me and I was genuinely very excited to meet this Corpse guy.

And then, out of the blue - no prep, no warning...

“Did you get someone to fill the spot? Oh- Hello, Y/AU/N.“ 

…he started talking and he had me star-struck. Apparently, he also had me a blabbering mess cause I remember blurting out: “Whoa, who’s this guy speaking in bold and underlined at the same time?”

The entire lobby, including Corpse, laughed. Sean, or Jack like they called him most often, answered my question, “That is the voice of God, Y/N. Its source is named Corpse, though.”

Heat spread from the bottom of my neck to the tips of my ears. I was mortified by my own stupidity. I was well aware they couldn’t see me and I was incredibly thankful for that, but I simply could not get myself to open my eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I said through nervous laughter.

“No, no, I like that description. Bold and underlined at the same time, huh?“ His voice sounded even more pleasant when it had that teasing, mischievous note to it. That thought popping up in my head only made things worse for my self-esteem and only made me more embarrassed, causing me to hide my face in my hands. “You sure it’s not in Italics as well?“ 

His question got a weak laugh out of me. “Nope, definitely not. Nothing Italic about it.“

Yes, I don’t even know how some terrible jokes about MS Word fonts got me as far as a romantic relationship, but they did! We’ve been living together for quite some time now, dating for even longer - hiding it just as long. It’s not that we have been actively trying to hide it or something, we just wanted to see how long it would take someone to become sus of us. When we realized no one would notice, we decided that if any rumors about us started, or even fans shipping us, we’d come clean. That hasn’t happened either, so we haven’t had the proper chance to address our relationship and neither of us minds.

At this point, I’m honestly afraid of revealing it to the gaming squad. Sykkuno especially. He’s my best friend, after all. I can see him being hurt by the fact that I kept a secret so big even from him. The last thing I wanna do is hurt my best friend but it’s already too late for that, it’s inevitable.

“Y/N have you looked at Twitter today?“ Rae, another streamer I’ve become close with over the months, says urgently.

Overlooking the tension in her words, I answer: “Nope, haven’t had the time. Why? What’s up?“

Before Rae can say anything else, Sykkuno joins the conversation, his voice somehow even more urgent than Rae’s. “It’s nothing, Y/N. If you see it, just don’t let it bother you, ok?”

Hearing such a tone from Rae isn’t unusual, but hearing it from Sykkuno is completely different and a lot more worrisome. “Well if it has the potential of bothering me it can’t be nothing. What’s going on?”

Just then, my phone dings with two notifications. I check to see they are messages from Rae.

“I sent you screenshots. Sorry, Sykkuno. She has to know in order to address it and defuse it as well. I know better than anyone how fast these rumors can spread, especially if no one reacts to them.“ She says, her tone barely apologetic at all.

I open the screenshots she has sent me and I find myself frozen in shock. Some old pictures of Sykkuno and I have been posted on Twitter by some random user. These pictures have started an entire thread of suspicions surrounding our relationship.

The pictures in question are from a New Year’s Eve party a mutual friend of ours held two years ago. Sure, in the pictures we are a lot closer than what would be considered a platonic proximity. And yes one of the pictures is of me kissing his cheek. Yes we were both a bit tipsy. I acknowledge all those things and yet none of them are concrete reasons for these rumors to have started piling. 

“This is silly.“ I finally say after maybe five minutes of silence on my end. ”This is absolutely ridiculous! And why are people so serious about it as well? Actual, important matters get discussed more nonchalantly than the potential relationship between two online personalities! What is this world we live in?“ I know I shouldn’t let these rumors get to me like this, especially not on camera. Still, I can’t help it. I feel it’s so unfair to Corpse. He has to put up with this as well and it’s by no means easy for him. I’ve been shipped with people from our group in the past and he always took those rumors to heart despite acting like he didn’t care. Neither of us should get worked up, but him getting upset about them creates a domino effect with my emotions - causing me to be hit just as hard as him, in some cases harder.

Rumors of the past aside, this one is the worst by far. Mostly cause even Corpse himself suspected something between Sykkuno and I at the very beginning, when we were still acquaintances, barely crossing into the realm of friends.

I pull up Twitter to look for the whole thread, barely sparing my stream chat a glance in the process. It seems pretty split - those who agree with me and those who think Sykkuno and I make ‘such an adorable couple’. The thread is ridiculously long, and if we take into account that it was only started approximately five hours ago, you can either view it as impressive, amusing or sad. Why sad? Because someone has dedicated so much time and effort into fueling the fire of a weakly supported theory.

I love Sykkuno with all my heart. Everyone knows that - fandom, streamer squad, Corpse and Sykkuno included. I love too much and too platonically to ever even dream of having a romantic connection with him. I thought that was more than obvious, but people are either blind here, or just grasping at straws. One thing’s for certain - they’re stepping on a nerve.

“Hey where’s Corpse? Did he disconnect?” Felix asks, gaining my full attention. My eyes dart to the monitor, searching through the little avatars in a desperate search for the one of my boyfriend. It’s nowhere to be found.

“He just messaged me saying his connection is unstable but he might join us later.“ Rae says, “You guys can invite someone to fill...“

“Bathroom break.“ I interrupt, not waiting for a response before shutting my mic off, putting the ‘BRB‘ graphic on my stream and yanking the headset off. I basically run down the hall to Corpse’s recording room, my heart pounding like a bass drum.

“Corpse?!“ I call out to him, one hand already on the doorknob. When five seconds pass by without a response, I barge in. 

Inside, I find his usual spot on the gaming chair empty and his slumped figure seated on his bed.

“Corpse?“ I try again, watching for even the tiniest change of body language. He remains still as a statue, not bothering to look up at me either. 

His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress, his head hanging low. His eyes are covered by the short curtain of his dark messy curls. I can’t gauge much. Is he angry? Is he sad? Both? How should I approach the situation?

Before I find the answer to any of those questions, I am kneeling in front of him, our height difference eliminated. I gently pry his hands off the mattress and take them in mine, holding them firmly but tenderly. With one hand I reach up to tilt his head so his eyes can meet mine. He complies, his tear-filled brown orbs meeting mine. Those tears have the same effect on me as fifty sharp knives stabbing into my chest. These tears focus their attack straight on my heart, tearing it to pieces.

“Baby....“

He cuts me off, “Why is it always someone else, huh? Do they deem me not worthy of being with you? Do they think you deserve better?” His voice wavers, “Well, they might be right. They are correct and there’s little I can do to prove them wrong. They mean you well, Y/N - pairing you with guys better than me. Those are some loyal fans you’ve got. They only want what’s best for you. And so do I. If ‘best’ is being with someone else then...”

It’s my turn to cut him off. I put an end to his nonsense ramble that’s slowly killing me by pressing my finger against his lips. The sternness of my gaze is beyond me as I get up and walk over to his computer setup. I put on his headset and hop into the call as well as the lobby with his avatar.

“Hey Corpse’s back!” Toast says, “Good to have you back buddy.”

“No, not Corpse.” I say in a casual, nonchalant voice.

“Wait, wha-“ Sean’s voice shows just how confused he is, representing the confusion of the entire lobby actually.

“I know all of you are streaming so this message will be heard by several different audiences so I’m gonna make myself perfectly clear.“ I take a deep breath, “Sykkuno and I aren’t dating. He’s a lovely guy and he deserves to find a girl who will treat him right. That girl isn’t and won’t be me though. I am already treating someone right. Someone who treats me more than right as well. An amazing person. A man-child with a heart of gold. You know him, to a certain extent. He goes by the name of Corpse Husband, but I prefer to call him ‘Love of my life’. Thank you for your time and attention, goodbye.“

I exit the call and turn around to find a stunned Copse looking at me.

“That was meant for you just as much.“ I say with a fake strict attitude, one hand on my hip the other rested on his desk behind me, “Were you listening?“

Within milliseconds, he’s on his feet standing directly in front of me, his lips inches away from mine. “I heard and memorized every word. But...” he pauses for a moment, “I think you have no idea how big of a chaos you just created.”

I smile mischievously, “We’ll worry about that later. For now...” I close the gap between us, connecting our lips in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams  @the-fuck-up-of-today  @slashersdream  @chiefwombathoagiepizza  @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01

[phoenixtakaramono]

So I'm here to say that I really love your Bingyuan fic! The research you do for it and share with us is just amazing! I also have a q regarding LBG. From SV we know that he felt admiration for his Shizun so do you think that if SJ wasn't cruel to him LBG's admiration would've grown into love and attraction like it did in LBH's case for SY? Which then also raises a question: would LBH/LBG fall in love with any Shizun who was kind to him? Or was he just drawn to SJ's type of personality. WDYT?

Hi there, Anon! I’m glad you’re liking the Untold Tale! Thanks for reading! I think it lowkey helps when the story I’m writing (in general) is from a culture I’m familiar with and that I know some of its language nuances (just general Mainland dialect; I’m unfamiliar with Shanghainese, the Beijing dialect, etc etc). So fortunately for me, as someone who is Chinese but was born in the Western side of the world speaking Mandarin to family and friends, emulating the Chinese aesthetic and atmosphere in TUT comes a little bit easier to me than someone who did not grow up with this culture. I bet if I had been raised in China, I would be able to write something even more multilayered and deep but, alas, the youthful rebellious me of the past hadn’t taken my pinyin and Chinese character writing lessons seriously so I can only communicate verbally and understand audibly 😫. It’s very special for us writers in fandoms to be able to write a story of a culture that we actually know and can identify with. But high key it’s been immensely fun injecting some references of things I’ve come to notice from watching period C-dramas and the C-novels I’ve read, and I’ve come to learn interesting things about Chinese history and mythology even I didn’t know! So the story really writes itself.

Shen Jiu (OG!Shen Qingqiu)

To answer your question 🤔, to be honest this is why the SVSSS fandom is great—because there’s so many interpretations of the original source material. That’s why we have our headcanons and fanfictions to explore these many different possibilities. So for me personally, I can see it happening both ways: *1) LBG does develop a crush/falls in love with SJ, or 2) no matter how SJ treats him LBG regards him respectfully or coldly. I think Possibility 1 is more likely, since SY transmigrated into SQQ and we saw what happened with “Bunhe.”

Now, mind, for Possibility 1 to be more likely to happen, the SJ in PIDW will have to undergo a massive personality change/ a change of heart/ develop a good conscience and will need to clean up his image aka clear up the massive misunderstandings from PIDW canon (like him being mistaken as a pervert for Ning Yingying, visiting whorehouses, killing LQG, etc). It’ll be difficult though considering who Airplane has changed SJ into for his stallion harem novel (reading through SVSSS, my impression of PIDW besides it being the harem stallion novel is that it sounds similar to a “dog blood plot,” where audiences tune in to see how the villains are brought to justice). I literally have a line from TUT in a future chapter where SY says this about SJ since I will resurrect SJ and bring him into the story for closure:

People like Shen Qingqiu naturally had a set of deeply-rooted values. If one wanted to change them, it’d be easier to just have them reincarnate. (—TUT, ch???)

At his core, he’s a flawed man (which makes sense with the underlying cycle of abuse theory, considering his upbringing and backstory). He’s jealous and petty and prickly. His image is that of a proud and cold immortal. In Chinese terms, he’s the type of character archtype who I can see being àojiāo (definitely not canon characterization; this is just a stray thought that amuses me) in a romantic relationship.

LBH will have to recognize that^, or be in a position where he finds SJ’s caustic side endearing instead. He will also have to be extremely patient with him (although, since the joke in SVSSS is that LBH is an incurable M, it shouldn’t be that hard).

A fun thing about OG!SQQ is that he’s the cannon fodder scumbag villain of PIDW. He’s the reason LBG blackened from a white lotus. And, as you know, villains aka antagonists aka bad boys resonate strongly with people for a reason. That’s why we see a lot of Enemies to Lovers tropes, etc. It squicks me to use this phrase but “the allure of dating a ‘bad boy’ is strong.” SJ is that type of bad boy we could identify as a “fixer-upper project” (ugh, that phrase)—even with the red flags and warning signs—especially for those said to have a troubled past with rejecting neglectful parental figures/ family members/ friends and have have not outgrown their wish to convert that sort of person into a loving, accepting person. When we want something we can’t or shouldn’t have, our desire for it grows exponentially. In fanfiction this is a concept writers and readers can explore safely in a world of the imaginary.

From a Meta Perspective

Although, if we look at it meta-ly, the cold and proud and/or knowledgeable Shizun (teacher/ master) character who comes to know love and “is redeemed” by whomever is the love interest (typically a cute and quirky girl who may or may not have started off as naive to the innerworkings of the Cultivation World and therefore needs an established and mature mentor to guide them) is a very well-known archetype for a reason in Chinese fan culture.

Seeing a terrible person change their ways and try to become a better person because of the influence of the one they love is also a popular depiction for a reason.

It’s almost like gap moe. The crueler and aloof one starts out as (arrogance is a staple), the more impactful the shift is when we see such characters soften their edges.

The draw of the sacred master/disciple relationship is that it’s taboo, so I think it’s fair to say that such a relationship in fiction is a popular trope precisely because of this aspect. From a writer’s perspective, the main appeal is to show that there is someone out there who can cause this respectful figure to lose control (undergo emotional change) and go to great lengths to protect his/her precious person. That precious person also has to fall into the “not like other girls” trope (so they can show the ML a different world he would not have seen the beauty of before). On the other side, we look forward to the point of the story where the love interest has their “Oh” moment and realizes their admiration has somehow shifted into love and attraction over the course of events.

Other Romantic Possibilities

It’s very likely. I personally like the fanon headcanon where anyone with Heavenly Demon blood running through their veins feels a compulsion to “obsessively fixate on one person” (TLJ —> SXY, LBH —> SQQ). Personally I don’t recall if this was canon or fanon, but someone had written something about LBH imprinting on one person in his lifetime on the account of his demon nature. And I like that theory (I think it’s likely more fanon than anything but it’s an intriguing idea full of possibilities!).

For him to fixate romantically on one person, I personally don’t think the prerequisite is just by being kind to LBH (but it probably adds to the person’s appeal). There’s probably other factors that go into this to capture the male protagonist’s eye, such as him finding someone attractive (or passes his own personal standards) and/or having good chemistry with that person. So I could see him being into other Shizuns and whomever else. Personally I also think there is appeal in the unobtainable. It’s one thing to have someone’s affection (see LBG and his harem of 600 wives who definitely aren’t shy about giving him affection), but it’s another to know you’ve earned the affections of someone you really like and respect (especially if it’s someone thought to be unobtainable).

As long as the writer can provide a plausible justification for me to suspend disbelief and they set up events to justify it, I can swallow just about any ship possibility. It doesn’t necessarily have to be SJ’s type of personality. (For example, I read a very good fanfiction before where the writer paired Luo Binghe with Ming Fan. Ming Fan, people!!! And they actually pulled it off! What a madlad! Mind, it’s Shen Yuan who had transmigrated into MF in that premise, but the writer set up events that showed how these two characters came to bond and develop a deep friendship which inevitably had LBH developing a crush on his shixiong. I use this as an example because this is the type of unexpected (crack)ship, but because the writer did their work trying to make it seem plausible, we can only admire their hard work and effort at pulling it off.)

As the saying goes, there are plenty of fishes in the sea! As the protagonist, LBH/LBG can have many OTP possibilities with just about anyone as long as the writer can make it plausible. It’s all about the character development and the story/ central themes they wish to tell with the ship!

(Note, these really aren’t hot takes, lol. I’m just having fun answering to this casually from the perspective of a writer. Thank you for your Ask, anon!)

[scarletarosa]

The War in Heaven and the False God

Most people have heard the legend of the Biblical War in Heaven of Lucifer and his angels against God. Though when young, I had always felt that the story was kept suspiciously short and lacked much sense. We are told of the angels not possessing much free-will, but also how could these divine beings suddenly just turn evil, as we are told? Due to these suspicions that there was more to the story than was told (as it is often said “the victors get to write history”), I decided to connect with Lucifer and other demons in order to learn from their perspective. This gradually led me to become a Luciferian and be told the full story of the War in Heaven.

The supreme deity is not Jehovah; he is neither all-powerful, all-wise, or benevolent. The supreme deity is the Source, the formless consciousness that has existed before all things and created the first gods of this Universe (the first among them being Lucifer). Though in order to create, the Source had to create from themself their female counterpart, the Queen of Heaven (who is formless as well). These two energies together create harmony and allow creation to come into being. The Source and Queen of Heaven have both been known throughout many different cultures under different names. For instance, the Source has been known as Atum in Egypt, Brahman in India, Olodumare in Yoruba, etc. The Queen of Heaven has been known as Adi Parashakti in India.

At the beginning, the Cosmic Egg was formed in the Void with the assistance of elder deities. When the egg broke open, the gods Eros and Lucifer emerged from it- Eros being love and Lucifer being light. Though they were meant to exist separately; Eros remained within the Void and Lucifer dwelled alone within the Universe for many ages until the other gods were created by the Source. Among these first gods were the Angels Mikael, Raphael, Uriel, and others. Lilith was created last among them as the embodiment of the Queen of Heaven (a smaller and less-powerful copy of Herself in order to act within the Universe and marry Lucifer). With these first deities, Lucifer the First-Born became their leader and assisted in the creation of other spiritual races. Overtime, more gods were created by both the Source and through sexual union between the elder deities.

It was during the early stages of the Earth when the aeonic god Jehovah came. The aeonic gods are extremely powerful deities who are tasked with co-creating the material and metaphysical Universe; they are normally peaceful, but for some reason, Jehovah came seeking even more power. His goal was to usurp the Throne of the Universe and take command of an entire planet, which ended up being Earth due to a specific species that was being created here: humans. The humans were a younger race and felt insecure about their lack of magickal prowess compared to the other species on Earth like the elves; this caused them to become deeply envious and greedy as a race. Jehovah had destroyed the ecosystem of several different planets on his way to Earth, causing life to be destroyed on them. As he arrived to Earth to claim it, Lucifer led a revolt against him and was followed by millions of deities and other entities. This battle was terrible for everyone since Jehovah’s great powers allowed him to be able to drain energy from spirits or even kill them at will. Countless entities lost their lives trying to destroy Jehovah, but to no avail. The arch-dragoness goddess, Tiamat, who had created Earth’s lifeforms in the sea, even gave her life to help empower Gaia against the tyrant god.  

When many spirits were destroyed and the survivors were crippled, Jehovah took them and threw them into the nightmarish land of torment called Hell. This is the realm that is far away from the Source’s divine light. Due to this, the deities and other beings who were sent here had their essence transformed by this horrible realm; causing them to become dark and more intense in appearance and presence. Their wings became black and they grew horns; some developed red eyes, spikes, claws, or other monstrous features. Though overall, they remained beautiful, only in a darker way. They became known as “demons”, now restricted from the heavens by Jehovah, who had now claimed the Throne. The demons were in great pain and suffering, as they had all lost family and friends in the battle, as well as their divine homeland. However, they had not lost their drive to destroy the tyrant who had taken everything from them. The three most powerful demons became High Kings of Hell and created their kingdoms where their people could live and train to continue the great War. These High Kings of Hell are Lucifer (the most powerful and wise), Satan, and Leviathan. Though these mighty rebels were soon falsely accused of being evil and representing things that were actually opposite of them (Lucifer being lies when he is truth, Lilith being infertility when she is life/motherhood, Beelzebub being gluttony when he is health, Mammon being greed when he is generosity, etc).  

Overtime, Jehovah was able to win humans over to his side by pretending to be the Source and manipulating them to believe that they were special if they followed him. Little did the humans know that their sins in life would never be forgiven, as Jehovah did not care for what they would end up facing in the Underworld or in Hell. It is also no surprise that the main people who forwarded monotheism were war-lords; all seeking power and dominion over others (see Emperor Constantine, Mohammad, and the ancient Jews who dismantled Canaan and killed the pagans there). With these new religions that inspired hate and fear towards other religions, blind faith towards scripture, and hatred towards any spirits that aren’t “holy”, the world gradually became swallowed by the tyrant’s influence. Pagans were massacred en-masse and their temples, holy sites, stories, statues, cultures, and more were all destroyed. Churches and mosques were built on top of sacred temple sites of polytheists and they were faced with the choice of either dying or converting. And with that, the entire world changed and became a shadow of its former glory.  

Yet all of this was allowed to occur by the Source since existence has always revolved around evolution, and no evolution can exist within perfection. In order to allow wisdom and other attributes to develop, as well as to teach important lessons, all beings are allowed to endure suffering. This suffering, if overcome, holds the key to rising to greater potentials. And so Jehovah was not immediately struck down, but was constantly faced with other forms of justice from not only the gods of vengeance, but also from receiving loads of karmic debt.

Back in the ancient times when other races still roamed this planet, such as the elves, giants, scorpion-men, nagas, and dragons, we had magick here in the physical. When magick was performed, it was actually able to be seen and even deities were able to manifest in the physical with ease. Though in order to keep humans blind, Jehovah destroyed the magickal nodes that surrounded the Earth and ordered his humans to destroy the sacred sites that helped channel magick. Then the other targets were the races of Earth that were not human, since they were less malleable to his will due to their advanced wisdom. The humans were already greedy and envious, so they were easily encouraged to wage war against any race that was different from them. The elves were brutally slaughtered, raped, and enslaved until they all died out; the same happened to many other species. When the humans began killing the dragons and sphinxes, who acted as wise mentors and guardians of the Earth, these mighty beings decided to leave the humans behind to fend for themselves for the rest of their existence. And still in hatred, the humans decided to record the dragons as if they were greedy and savage.  

Overtime, everything was set in place for Jehovah, but the demons and other entities continued to fiercely fight against him over the ages, and they still do. The tyrant god has never cared for any human who has followed him, as he seeks only power and destruction of other deities. He takes the credit for the miracles other deities perform for worthy humans, allowing such people to assume what they want about him. The gods who he killed do not die forever though, as spiritual death is different. But it often takes decades, hundreds of years, or in some cases, a million years, in order for them to reform. Yet, to most humans, the other gods are nothing more than legend now. They watch over the Earth still, helping anyone who seeks them and fighting to make the world how it was back during the Golden Age. Though it will never be the same after all the ages of terrible destruction and death. Even the soul of our planet, Gaia, has been asleep for many years due to the trauma of losing so many of her children.

For those who would argue that the demons could simply just be lying to me about these events, it does not explain why they have helped me to better myself or how they have protected my loved ones in times of need. They ask nothing of me but to evolve as a person and to show open-mindedness towards their harsh history. I do not hold hatred or bias towards those involved in monotheistic religions (unless they act oppressive), I only have hatred towards the religions themselves and their toxic teachings. As well as the hypocrisy of how they destroyed so many cultures and people, all while incorporating their mythology into their own scriptures.  

If we want to learn the truth, we first must question everything we already believe in and then speak to the spirits, as they know far more than we ever will. You can ask any deity you like and they will all say that they hate Jehovah, for he has pulled the veil of ignorance over this world in order to consume it. For anyone who truly seeks answers, keep this account by the demons in mind and ask any gods you want about the truth. Each deity and demon I spoke to said the same, and all had lost family due to this traumatic War against the tyrant god. These religions save no-one, we must take accountability and strive to become better without begging for forgiveness all the time and expecting mercy to be handed out just for bowing down to a god who kills those who defy him. All scriptures of monotheism are nothing but books of manipulation and holier-than-thou mentality; this creates corruption and false spirituality in the end.

The Angels

[spoadicdeviance]

When “Anger Always Wins In The End”: The Story of X-Play vs Skyward Sword

Gather around the Barcalounger over by the fireplace friends, family, and those who only come to the Skyward Sword tag to bash the game in question. Old SporadicDeviance is going to tell you a tale that harkens back from the far distant past of 2011. It’s going to be a quite a long story, so you might want to get comfy.

The Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword was making its rounds across the mainstream game review circuit, largely earning 9′s and 10′s across the boards. The game also ended becoming one of the very few games to earn perfect scores from both EDGE magazine and Famitsu. Talks of potential Game of the Year awards were already underway. 

Yes it seemed Skyward Sword would experience nothing but smooth sailing when it comes to the gaming media.

Enter X-Play; the TV show focused on game coverage airing on the network dedicated to gaming and technology (in the sense that MTV used to be dedicated to music) G4.

Starting in summer 1998, as GameSpot TV, and ultimately concluding its run by the start of 2013, this show was perhaps the most popular source of game reviews in its heyday. In fact, with the shows propensity to include heavy layers of snark and cynicism in their reviews, as well as having the tendency of preforming comedic skits based on the various games they covered, one could say that X-Play was one of the progenitors of various online independent game reviewers that started from around 2006 and continue to the present day.

“Why bring up the show’s history?” One may ask. Well its important to establish that the programs was very popular with a substantial viewership, even in its final years of broadcast.

Which brings us to the moment that X-Play and Skyward Sword crossed paths.

It all started with the shows review of the game and the program ultimately giving Skyward Sword an overall score of a 4 out of 5. This caused a bit of stir amongst X-Play’s audience.

Now, on the surface, a score like that wouldn’t appear to be anything to really harp on about. Sure, a 4 out of 5 score was on the lower end of the range of scores Skyward Sword was receiving at the time. Nevertheless, a 4 out of 5 was still overall a good score. 

However, as said before, this is all surface level. To get a full understanding of why some gamers were questioning X-Play’s review, you have to look at both how X-Play defines its rating scale as well as the content of the review itself, beyond the final score.

First let’s talk about X-Play’s ratings scale. In 2011 the program updated the meaning behind each of the five different ratings. For a game to earn a 5 out of 5, the game would have to “realize all ambitions of its design” while a 4 out of 5 game would only accomplish most of its goals.

Well Skyward Sword’s goal was to be the proof of concept on what the Wii’s intent was as a console. The game’s ambition was to show the world that motion controls not only be practical as the primary means of control for a AAA game but also in some ways surpass traditional controls in terms of immersion and practicality. Does that mean by giving Skyward Sword a 4 out of 5, X-Play thinks Skyward Sword didn’t fully accomplish its ambition?

No. They didn’t think Skyward Sword failed in that regard. In fact, in their review of the game, X-Play stated that despite initial skepticism on Skyward Sword going all in on motion controls, hosts Adam Sessler and Morgan Webb were pleasantly shocked with how good the controls felt, saying that the Wii-Motion Plus controls were fluid, responsive, seamless, and never frustrating. They also stated that if all Wii games controlled just was well as Skyward Sword then a large majority of complaints lobbied against the system would never have materialized.

So what caused the show to give Skyward Sword a 4 out of 5? According to X-Play’s 2011 rating system and game needs to have “minor flaws” on order to get a 4 out of 5 score. So what did X-Play think were said flaws?

Well X-Play used the trite “revisit certain areas of the game” non-criticism that I’ve already touched on in a prior post. It’s weird since games like Metroid Prime also used backtracking and X-Play still gave those games perfect 5 out of 5 scores.

They also said that there wasn’t much to do in the Sky overworld, which is outright wrong considering all of the goddess treasures and various sky islands that have their own minigames/sub quests to do. Yes its mainly side content but almost every Zelda overworlds are mainly used for side content and linking the various areas in the map. I think I’ll go more in depth on the whole “The Sky is too empty.” criticism in another post.

Then they complained about how your shield can break and you would have to go back to Skyloft in order to purchase a new shield. Seriously? This is like when people complain that in Banjo Kazooie, when you die, you have to recollect all the music notes. That’s the point. The game is punishing you for messing up during the combat. Also the game doesn’t force you to purchase a new shield. You can play the game without a shield if you choose to do so.

I would say the shield bit is the worst criticism in the review if it wasn’t for the frankly dumb, and hilarious in hindsight, critique of Skyward Sword’s crafting system. Adam called the system “grindy” and said that crafting doesn’t fit in a Zelda game. Considering how Breath of the Wild not only has a crafting system, but also, by X-Play’s standards, made it more grindy than it was in Skyward Sword, I think even Skyward Sword’s biggest detractors can call this assessment of Skyward Sword crafting system half-baked at best.

And those were the flaws X-Play found in Skyward Sword. Even if those critiques were legitimate, and let’s face it they’re not, it doesn’t seem like these flaws are enough to justify docking Skyward Sword an entire point in a 5 point rating system, does it?

Well according to a lot of fans of the show, it wasn’t. Fans were speculating that X-Play wasn’t really sincere in their giving Skyward Sword a 4 out of 5. Some thinking that they set out to not give the game a perfect score and were grasping at straws trying to find any justification for their score, rather than have their final score come naturally as they played/reviewed the game.

By all accounts, Skyward Sword seemed to have been more deserving of a 5 out of 5 score rather than a 4 out of 5, according to a lot of X-Play’s viewership. 

Viewer response to Skyward Sword’s 4 out of 5 score might have been the primary reason X-Play revamped their ratings scale the following year, using “half-stars” in its ratings (ultimately making the rating system a 10 point scale) as well as reworking the conditions for a 5 out of 5 score. Now for a game to achieve a 5 out of 5 a game doesn’t have to achieve all of its design ambitions and merely not have any “issues” which would result in a 4 out of 5.

My suspicion that the viewer response to the Skyward Sword review was the catalyst for the change is only strengthened by the fact that X-Play used Skyward Sword as their example of a 4 out of 5 game in their new ratings system. 

But despite all that, the backlash to X-Play’s review was relatively minor, especially compared to the backlash a certain other professional reviewer got for giving Skyward Sword a lower score compared to X-Play, but that’s a tale for another time.

This isn’t the main part of the the story. X-Play’s review of Skyward Sword and the viewer response to said review were all the primer for the centerpiece of this tale.

It’s now time for the awards season. All the various gaming publications were nominating and awarding the best games of 2011. Skyward Sword managed to get itself plenty of nominations, including Overall Game of the Year from publications like EDGE.

But what about X-Play? What awards did they nominate Skyward Sword for?

Did X-Play nominate Skyward Sword for Game of the Year? 

No.

Did X-Play nominate Skyward Sword for Best Action/Adventure Game? 

No

Did X-Play nominate Skyward Sword for Most Innovative Game? 

No. .

Did X-Play nominate Skyward Sword for Best Story? 

No.

Did X-Play nominate Skyward Sword for Best Art Direction? 

No.

All Skyward Sword was nominated for were Best Soundtrack and Best Motion Controls.

And you want to know the really messed up part; Skyward Sword only won for Best Soundtrack and lost the Best Motion Controls award to Dance Central 2. Let that sink for a beat. DDR Kinect 2 Dance Central 2 apparently had better motion controls than Skyward Sword according to X-Play. This despite of all the praise the show gave Skyward Sword’s controls in its review. This is like when the Queen bio-pic, Bohemian Rhapsody, won the Oscar for “Best Editing”. Are you kidding me?! But I digress.

Needless to say, if viewers were just a little peeved with X-Play’s review of Skyward Sword, they were outright mad with how the show basically snubbed Skyward Sword from its award show. 

The vast majority of gamers felt that, even if the game would ultimately not win many awards, Skyward Sword should have at least had more than two (relatively minor) award nominations and should have been nominated for Game of the Year. X-Play was being called out, rightfully so, for not giving Skyward Sword its fair dues.

But all was not lost for Skyward Sword, for while X-Play would have full control on which games were nominated and which game would win the majority the awards, the fans would have their own say for one certain award.

G4 decided to do what they called a “Videogame Deathmatch”. This was basically a tournament consisting of 32 games released in 2011. 

Each round would have multiple games paired off to face off against each other. The general public would go online and vote for one of the two games in each match to go on to the next round. The first round had people vote between 16 pairs of games. The next round would have 8. Etc. Etc. This would culminate in a final round where the two winners of each side of the bracket would face off and the people would vote between these last two games to decide which game would win the tournament and would receive the Viewer’s Choice Award at  X-Play’s Best of 2011 Award Show.

Skyward Sword was one of the 32 games selected for the tournament, whether it was because G4 honestly thought the game deserved a chance to win or they were simply trying to placate fans of the game.

I would say the latter because the side of the bracket Skyward Sword was on was definitely the more competitive side of the two. How more competitive? Well while the side of the bracket Skyward Sword was on had games like Portal 2, Minecraft, Uncharted 3, Batman Arkham City and The Elder Scroll V: Skyrim, the game that would become the finalist for the other side of the bracket was Assassin’s Creed: Revelations. Does that answer your question?

So Skyward Sword faced some stiff competition. It really seemed like G4 and X-Play did not want Skyward Sword to win this tournament so they made sure it would go head to head against some of the most popular games of 2011. It was going to be a miracle if Skyward Sword made it to the final round.

Well let me tell you something; a miracle did occur that year.

In round 1, Skyward Sword went up against Uncharted 3, the flagship PS3 title of 2011, and the fans voted for Skyward Sword over Uncharted 3.

In round 2, Skyward sword went head to head against Fifa 12, the latest entry of the videogame series based off of the most popular sport in the world, and the majority chose Skyward Sword over Fifa 12. 

In round 3, Skyward Sword faced off against Batman Arkham City, the game that is considered to be one of the greatest superhero games ever made (if not the greatest), and Skyward Sword got more votes than Batman Arkham City.

In the semi-finals, Skyward Sword went one on one against The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, one of the best selling games of all time, and the gamers chose The Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword over Skyrim.

Needless to say when Skyward Sword went up against Assassin’s Creed: Revelations, a game that even fans of the Assassin’s Creed franchise don’t hold in the highest regards (at least it’s not Unity?) in the final round, the vote went overwhelmingly in Skyward Sword’s favor.

The end result was that Skyward Sword won G4TV’s Videogame Deathmatch: Best of 2011 Tournament and was awarded the Viewer’s Choice Award for 2011.

Now when it came time to officially announce the winner of the winner of the Viewer’s Choice Award during the televised award ceremony, how do you think the hosts handled the situation?

Well take a look for yourself with this Youtube video archiving X-Play’s award show that year. (Timestamp 34:04-35:25)

They start out by saying how close the matchup between Skyward Sword and Assassin’s Creed: Revelations was, despite the fact that by accounts of those who participated in the voting process, Assassin’s Creed never got more than 40% of the votes in the final round, but that can be chalked up as theatrics for the audience.

When they reveal to the audience that Skyward Sword won the final round and in turn won the Viewer’s Choice Award, you can juts tell that Adam Sessler is not happy with the results. The way he’s moving his body. His tense face and pursed lips. The sarcastic tone in his voice as he calls Skyward Sword “Nintendo’s love letter to motion controls”.

Adam is not happy that the game he and the rest of the staff at X-Play snubbed from their award ceremony not only won the Viewer’s Choice Award but also beat two of their nominees for Game of the Year, including their choice for overall Game of the Year, in the process.

At this point, most people think it would be best for Adam to just accept the results for what they are, give Skyward Sword a proper congratulations, and move on with the next award of the night, in spite of Adam’s personal feelings towards the situation. Just be professional. That’s all Adam needed to do.

Most would think that, but Adam Sessler is not most people.

As the hosts were talking about Skyward Sword’s win, Blair Herter made a passing comment saying that the Nintendo fanbase being “enraged” over Skyward Sword not being nominated for Game of the Year helped Skyward Sword win the Viewer’s Choice Award.

Adam immediately jumped on that by adding with and I quote;

“Enraged? That’s a-th-th-that’s a nice term. It was close race, but ANGER always wins in the end.”

Wow. I mean wow. Not even the Red Sea is as salty as Adam Sessler was with that comment.

He couldn’t just take the L like an adult and move on. He felt like he had to get the final word on the matter. 

It’s like Adam wants to say the Viewer’s Choice Award doesn’t really count because the vote didn’t go the way he wanted. This is, ironically, the kind of immature fanboy behavior Adam is trying to make fun of. It makes it seem like Adam thinks he’s above the “unwashed masses” that participated in the Videogame Deathmatch voting process. 

Regardless on if you think Skyward Sword deserved to win the tournament, you must admit that this was bad look on Adam’s part.

Now I don’t want to end this post on a bittersweet note so I want you to think about what actually happened. 

Skyward Sword is so beloved by the majority of gamers that when a review show as big as X-Play tried to downplay the game’s quality as well snub the game from its best of the year award show, the gamers respond by making sure Skyward Sword won the title of the Viewer’s Choice awards.

And this is one of several time where when major reviewer publications/programs reached out to their audience, the gamers, to get their take on what game they felt was the best game of 2011, and The Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword was chosen by said gamers as the the best game of that year.

It’s funny because whenever I bring up that point, the minority of Skyward Sword detractors try to make up some excuse to delegitimize Skyward Sword winning the viewer’s choice award.

When I mention Skyward Sword winning IGN’s viewer’s choice award, or when Skyward Sword was voted the number one, best game of 2011 by the fans of ScrewAttack, they say “Oh that’s because fans of Skyrim, Batman Arkham City, Portal 2, and so on were divided amongst themselves while Nintendo fans were united in their support for Skyward Sword. If the poll wasn’t a free for all, Skyward Sword wouldn’t win.”

Well here’s another instance of Skyward Sword winning a viewer’s choice award; Skyward Sword had to go one-on-one against multiple games in order to win the viewer’s choice award. Skyward Sword got more votes than some of the most popular, well reviewed, and highest selling games of that year. More gamers preferred Skyward Sword over Uncharted 3, Arkham City, and Skyrim.

I think all of that, along with how Skyward Sword was considered the best game of 2011 by ScrewAttack and IGN users, and how people are hyped for the HD rerelease, it’s safe to say that despite what some vocal people may try to say otherwise, The Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword is a game that is far more beloved by gamers than it  is “divisive”. 

[jonthethinker]

After a long day of truly cursed thoughts, I’ve come to the determination that the Cerberus Assembly can act as a sort of Exandrian analog of our world’s Silicon Valley, and I hate it. I hate hate hate it.

The more I think about it, the more it just sort of melds into my mind as fact. I can’t escape it. This is where I live now.

You’ve got this collection of self-proclaimed super geniuses, unbounded by modern social mores and determined to invent a new sort of ethics, with an intent on shaping history and sagely guiding the world into a better future. This is despite the fact that most of the ideas they have inevitably end up making the world worse, and the only thing “new” that they really bring into the world is a bunch of actually very old ideas coated in fresh circuitry/magic.

But let’s dig a little deeper and start getting specific.

They both have these images of fiercely independent, creative bodies desperate to remain free from government control, and sometimes even as a check on that very government. The heads of the Cerberus Assembly outright say their intent is to act as a check on the Crown, and are known to have many secrets the Crown is, to their knowledge, totally unaware of.

Tech companies, particularly in America, have this outward facing very libertarian outlook on things, saying they don’t wish to interfere in the very important process of democracy and free speech, while simultaneously feeling it is their responsibility to fact check those in power and hold them to account, with their “serious vetting” of political ads and the like on their platforms. They also lobby heavily against any and all regulation of their various products and services, preferring to let the “invisible hand” of the market provide the service of keeping them in check, much as the Cerberus Assembly prefers to handle its own problems internally.

But when you really dig into the details this is all bullshit. The Cerberus Assembly, for all intents and purposes, IS the Empire. They run the secret police, for goodness sake. The two are so interconnected, and the Assembly as an institution is so dependent on the infrastructure and manpower, and of course money (because the fancy clothes, giant towers, and expensive sets of material components don’t pay for themselves) of the Empire to accomplish its goals, it can’t serve as a real check on Imperial forces possibly “overstepping”, and it also has no material interest in doing so; the more power and control the Empire has, the more power and control the Assembly has; the less freedom the citizens have due to authoritarian “safety” measures implemented by the Crown, the safer the Assembly itself becomes to pursue it’s morally dubious work and experimentation.

The same goes with Silicon Valley and the various tech companies that fall under its ethos. They will expound continually on the necessary freedom from government control they must have to truly change the world in the ways they think are best, but the primary source of money for most of these companies are governments. They either primarily contract with governments for most of their actual profits or to use its already established infrastructure, as is the case with Amazon, or depend heavily on publicly funded research for their innovations, which is everyone from Apple to Google to Microsoft and dozens and dozens of smaller companies besides. They then even get to patent these publicly funded innovations and hold a monopolized stranglehold on their use. This is not even to mention the starter capital necessary to form many of these companies in the first place itself was provided by governments, with the rather, shall we say “morally questionable” Kingdom of Saudi Arabia being among the top contributors to such start ups.

Even when either of these groups claim to be self-made, it’s all bullshit. So many of our famous tech overlords that supposedly built themselves from nothing started at the upper reaches of society, with more than enough capital and connections to insure they were never at any real risk of failing in the first place. Most even went to the same elite institutions of learning that provide the vast majority of the political leadership of the United States, institutions they had access to due to their wealth and familial connections, not their brains. Elon Musk’s family owned an emerald mine in Zambia for God’s sake, one his family would have never owned without the British Empire being a thing.

The same can be said for the Assembly. The upper classes of the Dwendalian Empire are lousy with mages and magic users. If they don’t have a place to climb among the nobility, they work for the Assembly, and hope to climb there. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that the only poorer mage recruits we know anything real about all were sucked up into the service of the Scourgers, one of the few arms of the Assembly known to regularly interact with societies lower reaches and not so positively at that, and had their familial identities obliterated in the process. Both of these groups are of the upper reaches of society and serve the upper reaches of society, and we should never think anything less.

And this brings us to the ideological framework both of these groups think with. They are both full to the brim with people who are individualists to the extreme. They all believe they are singular actors in the great tapestry of history, who got where they are by hard work and dedication, and anyone who isn’t there just didn’t do enough. The folks living in the tent city outside Zadash? lazy layabouts who simply have not applied their mind to be something greater, or perhaps their veins are just full of bad blood. Poor former factory workers in Detroit whose jobs have been moved to places where labor laws are weaker and wages are lower? If they’d only taken their education more seriously, they could be where I am! Or maybe they just never tried to be an Uber driver or delivering for Grubhub, because that’s how you really pull yourself out of poverty.

Meanwhile, most of the groups consist of people who have never once known real adversity and certainly not the hardship of poverty nor the lack of social and political power that position entails. They are blinded to the reality of most people in the world outside their rather small one, and thus have no understanding of the material hardship that most people experience during their everyday life.

You see this most clearer in the manner in which they try to solve what they see as societies great problems, with no clear thought put into the consequences of these particular solutions. In our world, this is particularly obvious. Uber is painted as an innovative means of transportation on a budget, when in reality it’s just a fleet of untrained, underpaid, non-unionized taxi drivers using their own personal vehicles at their own expense. Elon Musk is seen as this super genius when his solution to LA traffic wasn’t a more robust public transportation system or slowly reconstructing the city to be more pedestrian friendly, but instead to build a massive network of single car elevators under the city to zip cars to key hot spots faster in a manner people less anxious than me would still call risky at best. I mean most of these people think the key to ending poverty is teaching people to code or giving them STEM education, even when in a capitalist economy the only thing a sudden flooding of new coders and STEM educated folks would insure is that the jobs that require those skills will see a sudden massive drop in pay and benefits as the pool of prospective employees becomes over-saturated and individual workers no longer have any bargaining power to protect their once rare jobs. You already see this in animation and video game design, and you’ll certainly see it elsewhere.

For the Assembly, despite being praised as the brightest arcane minds of Wildmount, seem to get most of their ideas either by stealing them from others or digging them up out of the ground. But this is just the nature of empire; it’s always easier for an empire to consume than it is to create. So as little as they think of the Dynasty, they are eager to steal every little bit of knowledge they’ve discovered about Dunamis, and without the faith and moral sense the Luxon-based religion imposes, they will never be forced to put the use of this rare and dangerous magic into perspective. Imagine what harm they can cause with gravity and time magic when they don’t have that religious pressure to consider the value of life and choice. But this makes sense when their main sources of inspiration are the wizards of the Age Of Arcana; you know, the wizards whose hubris nearly destroyed the entire world and spurred an apocalyptic war that sent society into a dark age in which the gods themselves abandoned them? A+ inspiration material if you ask me.

Even the culture of these two groups in regards to how they regulate themselves is so eerily similar. Think of Delilah Briarwood. Member in good standing of the Cerberus Assembly. Also, worshipper of Vecna and talented necromancer. Only expelled from the Assembly after involvement from the Cobalt Soul, even when you know every other member of the Assembly almost certainly had loads of information on this lady.

It just makes me think of all the weird, right-wingers and Nazis who occasionally get expelled from the heights of Silicon Valley whenever some journalist exposes them, and how quickly their colleagues are to condemn them even when so many of them either knew this person was this way well before they were exposed or actively agreed with them and still do. I mean, think of how protected Bill Gates is, because of how much his philanthropist image has served to insulate and protect the gross consolidation of wealth and power in the hands of so few, even when his fortune was built on stolen ideas, military funding and research, and a hardcore software monopoly for well over a decade or two. Also, his philanthropy has done nothing to help African people build their own institutions of power independent of European and American influence, and have help distract us from the damage really caused to the entire continent by earlier colonialism and later capitalist imperialism.

This is to say as bad as our world is, I now definitely don’t want to live in Wildemount. I don’t want to live a world where Mark Zukerberg can cast Disintegrate. Not ideal. I guess I’ll just have to work that much harder to fix this one and not depend on learning Dunamancy to just put us on a different path. Bummer.

[astrologista]

Gavin Bros. Analysis

here be spoilers for apollo justice (aa4)

There are already a bunch of posts all about AA:AJ and just what the heck was behind Kristoph Gavin’s Psychelocks. What were his motivations? Why did he do what he did? As fragmented as the story is surrounding the Gavin brothers, and as much as I wish the source material had rounded out their characters a little more, I believe the game actually tells you pretty much everything there is to know about this case rather succinctly. Don’t worry as I will use evidence to back up my claims...

It is notably interesting that Kristoph’s Psychelocks only come up when Phoenix asks him point blank why he killed Zak Gramarye. This is the one question that Kristoph consistently refuses to answer directly, both in Solitary Cell 13 and in his testimony at his trial. Coincidentally, this is also the main question that he ever gets asked that speaks to his emotions or state of mind. Kristoph has a really good logical answer for basically all of the evidence-based questions. But, it’s also not a coincidence that Apollo has the presence of mind to note - “why not bring up the motive from the start? unless it was a battle he thought he might lose...”

This establishes pretty clearly that Kristoph is going to have a vested interest in keeping all questioning solidly focused on the material evidence at hand such as the postage stamp, the nail polish, and reasons why he cannot be directly connected to those objects. The law provides plenty of escape hatches and loopholes for Kristoph to exploit, which he does, providing him with the legal basis to be able to escape punishment due to the inability for anyone to prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. This is not surprising as being a very successful defense attorney is literally his job and he happens to be extremely competent at it.

This kind of person is scary if you meet them in real life because they can always seem to wriggle out of anything you try to pin on them. Kristoph is a grand master at doing this, quite possibly as good as they come in the AA universe.

Here’s the rub. Apollo brings up that Kristoph wants to avoid bringing the conversation into motives and state of mind questions, why? Because “it’s a battle he thinks he might lose”. Every single time this topic comes up, Kristoph deflects the question. This also is indicated by the five black Psychelocks that come up when Phoenix asks him point blank why he killed Zak. So from this we can gather that the game is drilling it in pretty well that Kristoph’s motivations are a sore spot for him and possibly the one chink in his armor.

Because the material evidence cannot prove anything for or against Kristoph’s guilt, in a typical case like this the police would hope for the holy grail - a full confession and admission of guilt. Kristoph is much too cool of a customer to fall into any traps, no doubt he was questioned very rigorously after being arrested, but all he even had to do was invoke his right to remain silent regarding his motives or simply claim that he killed Zak just ‘cause y’know, being evil is fun. Once he confessed to killing Zak, though, the police probably didn’t care all that much to probe into his thoughts and motivations really, if he did it, he did it and he’s going to spend a stint in jail either way.

Phoenix sees through this, however. In Solitary Cell 13 he does NOT allow Kristoph to drop or evade the question. That is why we get as far as even seeing the black Psychelocks at all. If we can’t know the motive, why bother to have this scene in the game?

Quite simply we can now understand that Kristoph’s motive for killing is something emotional. It is not something that he’s going to divulge casually, but it is also probably something that he is worried about divulging UNCONSCIOUSLY which is why he constantly tries to steer conversations away from it, instead deflecting to discuss the evidence or the emotional state of other people in the room. Consider that Kristoph’s reputation is PREDICATED on him being “the Coolest Defense in the West”. His identity is based on his successful suppression of emotions in court. This is not to say he shows no emotion or is some kind of monotone emotionless husk. He has a rather dry sense of humor. He banters with Apollo. He banters with Phoenix. He isn’t as uptight as some portrayals would have you believe (”life is to be taken easy”). When it comes to surface topics, Kristoph is an open book. He’s not as terse as you would believe, but rather kind of poetic and loquacious and conversational (to his downfall in 4-1). You get the feeling that he would be a very good conversationalist. But only for surface topics. Try to dig a little deeper and he will very neatly deflect your efforts. 

How can we hope to understand a character who by definition does not have any interest in talking about his innermost neuroses? The reason why people still discuss the Gavin brothers and Turnabout Succession so much is that, while a very satisfying and intense case, it is unlike a lot of other AA cases in that you come away from it with a LOT of open ended questions. You don’t feel the same feeling of closure as you would get from the DL-6 case, where it feels like you finally understand all the facts of the case and all of the character motivations come to light making you go “oh! THAT MAKES SENSE!” you understand why von karma killed gregory, and everything comes together nicely in the end. Turnabout Succession is kind of a rarity in that it does not do that. By the end, you feel like you clearly understand the case, but you do not have a crystal clear view of the root cause of the motivations behind it.

In Kristoph’s final testimony he does shed a little bit of light on his motivations for his crimes. The issue that he has is mainly centered around his dismissal by Zak Gramarye as his representation. And, his subsequent replacement with Phoenix Wright, an attorney he perceives to be low-class and sub-par. Kristoph then states “these men shamed me, and I could not forgive that.” This is as close to an answer as to why he went to such lengths to get Phoenix disbarred as we are likely to get. Disproportionate retribution is the name of the game. It seems as if, if there’s one thing Kristoph cannot tolerate, it’s being looked down upon by someone that he perceives as inferior to him. Kristoph has extremely polarized notions of who should get to practice law, who is acceptable and who is categorized under “ignorant swine soiling the courts”. He makes very, very clear that he has nothing but disdain for common people, common wisdom, and any use of emotion or feelings in deciding verdicts.

So the particular manner in which Phoenix sought to bring him down with the jury system was a very deliberate masterstroke to Kristoph’s pride. That much we can establish. But again, motive. The game goes out of its way to tell you that whomever defended Zak would be “famous beyond belief” and, presumably also, rich. They would get a lot of very high-profile clients and cases sent their way after successfully defending the uber-famous magician Zak Gramarye. 

Taking all of this into account, right. Is it possible that everything Kristoph did has its roots in one very simple source, the root of all evil?

Money.

Taking a step back for a moment, consider Klavier. Why does Klavier perform in a rock band? “Because I want Frauleins to look at me when I walk down the street.” I feel like people really want to believe that both Kristoph and Klavier are super deep characters and have all this deep lore and hidden backstory. Maybe they do. Most AA characters do. But consider this. What if they’re both so deep, they’re actually just shallow? Yes, that shallow?

Given how much AA:AJ focuses on the Gavins, which is really not that much, this concept seems difficult to swallow. Is there really more to the story based on what the game gives us? If there is, how would we piece it together?

One major hint the game gives you about Kristoph (and, if this is insignificant, then you have to really wonder why they bother to bring it up at all) takes place directly after seeing Kristoph’s black Psychelocks in Solitary Cell 13. He starts doing his nails. Phoenix says “I know appearances are a big thing with you”. Kristoph says “You know what I say? One cannot live a beautiful life without beautiful nails.”

I feel that this statement is important because it is probably about as deep of a look as we are ever going to get at how shallow Kristoph Gavin really is. He hopes you will believe that he’s playing 12-dimensional chess with some kind of fucked up backstory and motive going, but the truth is, he’s no chessmaster. Based on what the game gives you, there’s really only one motivation for everything that makes sense.

Kristoph killed Zak, Drew and attempted to kill Vera to cover his tracks. He had to do everything he could to make sure no one talked about the forgery. He had to stalk people like Spark and keep Phoenix very close (the epitome of keep your friends close keep your enemies closer). There’s nothing really debatable about those facts because they are all discussed in the game.

What about the root cause? Revenge, of course, for Phoenix stealing away the chance for Kristoph to defend Zak.

Why was defending Zak so important to Kristoph? To become rich and famous.

So wait. Why does Kristoph need to be rich and famous?

As it is, Kristoph appears to be very affluent and well off. There is no real reason directly given in the game as to why he would need such prestige and fame other than that it feeds his massive ego and superiority complex. So that’s a big part of it, no debate there.

But why would the excessive monetary gains that would be secured off of the Gramarye case be so appealing to Kristoph? We’ll re-examine this in a little bit.

In Daryan Crescend’s case, Phoenix tells Apollo “every man has an igniter. find his and set it off”. 

What is Kristoph’s igniter?

I mean some people would say Phoenix Wright is Kristoph’s igniter based on his breakdown. But, I think more of that trial was contrived by Phoenix than we tend to notice.

I think Klavier is Kristoph’s igniter.

The final trial in Turnabout Succession would not have been able to succeed without Lamiroir, without the jury system, without Phoenix pulling the strings, without Trucy, without Apollo, and most especially without Klavier. Removing any of these elements from the scenario would immediately give Kristoph a massive advantage in allowing him to manipulate the courtroom. Can you imagine Payne trying to prosecute Kristoph?

No. Klavier was the only one who could confront Kristoph successfully.

The final trial had to be contrived in such a way as to put maximal pressure on Kristoph to increase the chances that he would slip up or, more likely, that an element of randomness and/or emotion would become introduced. Phoenix sets up Klavier as the prosecutor for this trial for a good reason - remember, Phoenix tells Apollo point blank that he (Phoenix) is pulling all of the strings for the Misham trial, so whatever happens is entirely his responsibility.

It must have been difficult for Phoenix to entrust Klavier, the person who sealed his fate, with such an important task. But realistically, he didn’t really have a choice. Klavier’s disclosure of Kristoph’s visit to the prosecutor’s office is the glue that holds together the entire case against Kristoph Gavin. Notice that Kristoph never really does anything to keep Klavier out of the public eye or otherwise silence him (up until the very end at least). If I knew there was someone walking around giving press interviews and practicing as a prosecutor who knew something really incriminating about me, I would want them swept away or snuffed out asap - I mean, Kristoph has already poisoned Drew and Vera who were unlikely to tattle on him at best; Drew couldn’t even identify him! What Klavier has on him is much, much more damning dirt. Either Kristoph really loves and trusts his brother or is convinced that he can control Klavier to the point where Klavier would never dare tell anyone about that visit or wouldn’t want to. Probably both are true.

The interesting thing about this dynamic is that this is really the only time where we see both Gavin brothers together in one room, as well. Something about being in proximity changes both of their behaviors. Klavier becomes hyper-alert and nervous in Kristoph’s presence, a marked change from his usually easy demeanor. Klavier’s presence causes Kristoph to make several mistakes, which end up costing him the case.

So all of these things needed to happen, and they needed to happen simultaneously for Phoenix to succeed. Getting back to my theory on Kristoph, we can see from what’s said in the game a few things - he really, REALLY wanted to be the one to benefit from defending Zak Gramarye (a trial he knew he would win against his brother using forged evidence), the presence of Klavier is his undoing in court, and his appearances are very, very important to him. 

I honestly think the real reason Kristoph was so salty about losing out on the Gramarye trial fame and money is that he didn’t just want to be affluent or well-to-do. He wanted to be excessively, filthy rich.

If you look at Solitary Cell 13 you will see that Kristoph likes very much to surround himself with many nice things. He likes tasteful decorations and furniture. He enjoys literature, music, art, that weird rose he keeps in a vase, and he has a dog named Vongole. “First rate in all things, accept nothing less.”

To have such top of the line items, Kristoph must not only be rich, he must be like top 1% rich. He has to have the absolute best of everything. This is why he needs money. Without these things, what separates him from the ignorant swine he so despises? This is why Kristoph needed money.

Nowhere is this highlighted more than with the Ariadoney nail polish. I think it’s mentioned a couple of times that the Ariadoney is absolutely the best possible nail polish that you can buy. It’s very, very expensive and is manufactured in extremely limited quantities (this is discussed during Kristoph’s testimony). If Kristoph is this fixated on something as simple as a bottle of nail polish, you can almost imagine the absolutely ludicrous costs of every other item that he uses or owns, not limited to his home, his car, fine foods and wine, his expensive hobbies, possibly traveling etc etc etc etc. I just know this fool shops at Whole Foods, because I can’t see him buying groceries at the Costco. It makes a lot of sense as to why he is single as well. Kristoph Gavin would end up being an expensive habit to any partner who would have him - I wouldn’t want to share a bank account or credit line with him. He needs Gucci to keep him happy. No bootlegs here.

Point is, Kristoph Gavin has an addiction to the finer things in life and he will NOT settle for second rate products. He will have what he wants and he will do basically anything to maintain his lifestyle at its current elite level at the expense of his own morality and soul. Sadly enough I feel like that might be as deep as it gets with him. That’s a really pathetic motive to have and makes me hate him a lot more, but it’s so fucked up I can’t look away.

Consider also the most important thing to Kristoph of all - his appearance. It costs money to keep yourself up and this seems to be the one area that Kristoph might end up pouring the most money into. The top of the line suit, the white shoes, the perfect tan, the platinum blonde hair so immaculately coiffed, the fact that his skin is virtually perfect and the fact that his face is near-identical to Klavier’s despite being some 8 or 9 years older. Most normal people would have some kind of facial imperfection pop up at some point, a wrinkle, a pock mark, something. And that’s when you realize... that Kristoph Gavin has most likely had work done. Like, on his face to make it stay youthful. He’s just that vain and probably also despises watching Klavier stay young and pretty while he’s just aging. Fillers? Botox? Collagen treaments? Something more invasive? No one knows, but all I’m saying is that Klavier’s character description goes out of its way to describe Klavier as “the spitting image of Kristoph Gavin”. Vera notices the extreme resemblance right away. There can certainly be genetic basis for two brothers looking alike, but compare that to how Mia and Maya look “alike”, or Lana and Ema, both of whom have a similar age gap to Kristoph and Klavier. You would realize that Kristoph and Klavier seem to have somewhat of a more obvious resemblance despite the age difference. So this isn’t just possible anymore, this is actually likely. I don’t think the game implies that Kristoph has undergone plastic surgery or anything, so I’m keeping this in the realms of headcanon for now. But it would make perfect sense as yet another reason as to why Kristoph Gavin needs cold cash. He needs to look flawless and he needs access to the absolutely most top of the line treatments and practitioners, continually. And as he continues to age, he needs to get more and more aggressive, more and more products, more and more retouching with those age reversal creams and foundations and stabilizers. That adds up, cost-wise, very very fast, especially if you want top of the line EVERYTHING, and Kristoph does indeed. It is very clear that settling for any less would be completely unacceptable to him.

All of this money, it has to come from somewhere. Being a posh defense lawyer will bring in some money, sure, but nothing near what Kristoph is going to need to live his beautiful life. Winning the Gramarye trial would have probably bought him enough prestige, clients and monetary gains to support himself off of law for the rest of his life. It does make a lot of sense that he would be incensed after losing that chance.

There is one more unexplored possibility as to why Kristoph had to be the one to win the Gramarye trial, though, and it ties into the money issue as well. This was supposed to be a fair match, after all, brother to brother. Klavier’s first case, in fact. It was supposed to be Kristoph vs. Klavier, and Kristoph wanted to make sure that he would be the one to win. Only Zak and Phoenix ruined that chance - a once in a lifetime chance, actually, for Kristoph to go up against his brother on Klavier’s very first day.

Klavier was the prosecutor of the Gramarye trial. It was his very first case. What could Kristoph have to gain by being the one to trounce 17-year-old Klavier in court on his first day on the job?

Well, not much, other than it would have been a huge crushing blow to Klavier psychologically.

There’s a comic floating around by someone, I think zarla-s, where Kristoph wins the Gramarye trial and is discussing his win with Klavier afterwards. Kristoph is smug and hopes Klavier will be humbled by his impressive win, but Klavier is unperturbed by his loss, happy for his brother and insists he’ll win next time.

As cute as this is, somehow I don’t think that’s exactly how it would go down.

Klavier has actively shown how nervous / anxious / upset Kristoph’s mere presence makes him in a courtroom setting. Based on this, it’s not unfair to say that losing to Kristoph IN PARTICULAR on Klavier’s very first case would have been a devastating psychological blow that could technically end Klavier’s prosecutor career before it even began. There is a lot on the line with the Gramarye trial, don’t forget the praise and adulation that Klavier gained by winning it. So other than all of the fame, adulation, money and pride Kristoph would have gained by rigging and winning the Gramarye trial, there is another dimension that he was also robbed of - the ability to ruin his brother’s law career. Losing to another attorney like Phoenix or anyone else would not be enough to do the job. It would have to and could only be Kristoph’s doing.

What reason could Kristoph have for wanting Klavier’s law career to come to an end?

Well, Klavier does have another job. As a rock star.

Wildly popular rock stars make a lot of money, many many many times more than even a celebrity defense attorney could dream to make.

The Gavinners had multiple albums go platinum. They sold out shows all over the country, I believe, possibly all over the world. They are a brand. They are profitable. Klavier is profitable.

With how much Kristoph depends on and uses Klavier, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Kristoph gets to take a big cut of Klavier’s earnings from his music career. For all we know, Kristoph could have been responsible for assembling and filing many of the Gavinners’ early contracts and legal paperwork. The rights to songs, record deals, merchandising - this is a lot of stuff. I’d say it’d be pretty hard to believe that Kristoph did not have his hooks into the Gavinners from day one. If he handled contracts, he could have written in loopholes that would give him a huge cut of any earnings resulting from Klavier’s band, the Gavinners.

Now I know what you’re thinking, Klavier himself is a legal prodigy. He could have easily read through anything Kristoph prepared and refused to sign on the dotted line if he found anything amiss or hidden in the fine print. What if Kristoph’s legal control of Klavier started much earlier than that? Depending on when Klavier started in the entertainment business, which could have been a very early age, Kristoph could have had plenty of time and opportunity to secure access to any of Klavier’s future earnings, especially if their parents were out of the picture.

 If you think Kristoph has nothing to do with the Gavinners, think about it. One of their songs is literally called “Atroquinine, My Love”. They are a brand. They are marketed specifically to teeny boppers. They’re not squeaky clean mainstream pop like the Jonas Brothers or anything, but they are marketable. The advertising, the way they dress, the way Klavier says he’s tired of the youthful angst scene, the fact that Klavier only gives Apollo and Trucy a 20% discount on concert tickets. I’m just saying a lot of it could end up being contrived, perhaps by a certain someone with an ulterior motive. It seems really, really weird and coincidental that the band broke up right after AA4 too. Klavier seems like he’s really dedicated to his art, and to music. This much is clear in the way he reverently talks about Lamiroir, how he teared up at her song, even the Guitars’ Serenade seems like a very different song than what the Gavinners would typically do, and it only debuts after Kristoph is already in jail.

It makes you wonder if there might be a little something more going on here. If Kristoph had it set up to where he could get access to Klavier’s assets, which almost certainly dwarf his own by several times, then he had every reason to want to crush Klavier in court. He had to be the one to face Klavier in the Gramarye trial and win, causing Klavier to end his prosecutor dreams - and do what?

Go back on the road, put everything into his music career and become a workhorse for Kristoph’s ambitions.

Putting Klavier full time on the Gavinners would have solved all of Kristoph’s monetary worries for good. He could skim everything off the top and finally live the beautiful life of his dreams, the life he needed to have and couldn’t do without. Most importantly, he could keep up appearances and always look continually young and attractive.

Until we learn otherwise, I think that that is really all that was behind Kristoph’s black Psychelocks. Just a narcissistic, vain, preening loser masquerading as some mastermind villain when, in the end, that’s not really what he cared about being. He cared about painting his nails in a luxurious mansion surrounded by piles of money in a big Scrooge McDuck money vault, and laughing maniacally at anyone who ever thought that there was anything more to it.

[uomo-accattivante]

The Dune trailer (1:37) releasing online on Wed., September 9!

Sources have confirmed to Inside The Film Room that the first official “Dune” trailer will be released online on Wednesday, September 9. The will come in the wake of a special, theater-exclusive teaser that is attached to screenings of “Tenet.”

A Canadian cinema employee shared the following details to ITFR. The teaser will run for one minute and 37 seconds and will give audiences around the world a glimpse of Frank Herbert’s classic sci-fi world through the eyes of Academy Award-nominee Denis Villeneuve (“Arrival,” “Blade Runner 2049”).

But wait… There’s more! Not only did our source confirm the teaser’s existence and Warner Bros.’ plan for marketing the full official trailer’s release, but they have actually seen the footage – and so have I. It’s nothing short of spectacular and a true tease.

*Teaser Spoilers Below, Scroll Down For Non-Spoiler Section*

It opens with gorgeous, custom WB and Legendary logos that fit the gold and black aesthetic the marketing material has shown so far. Then, it hops right into an iconic scene fans of the novel will immediately recognize: the Gom Jabbar test. This scene takes place early in the novel and is the focal point of this teaser.

Before traveling to Arrakis, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) is introduced to the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling). She asks Paul to place his hand inside a box that causes Paul to feel excruciating pain without physically harming him. The catch? He’ll die if he removes his hand. The Gom Jabbar is a lethal poisonous needle that Mohiam wears on her finger and presses against Paul’s neck during this test of his humanity, awarenesses and animal instincts. You’ll discover the reason for this test during his journey.

This is nothing short of stunning from a visual perspective. The set that Chalamet and Rampling sit in is enormous and circular, with beautifully ornate carvings in the walls and floor. Sunlight beams through a skylight, and the two characters are centered in the room. The Reverend Mother is wearing a complex gown. It’s almost terrifying how the black, netted material drapes over her entire body, from head to toe. She speaks with a taunting, almost mechanical voice, explaining the test to Paul – the poor boy is clearly in over his head.

As the test plays out and his fear and pain increases, the footage is intercut with a sweeping shot of Arrakis’ deep desert, with dunes as far as the eye can see. It’s exactly how you would imagine it. They’re bright yellow, and you can feel the sun through the screen. We also get quick, big shots of almost every cast member, making their faces obvious to viewers.

We see the door open on an aircraft and the Atreides men stand in their armor as the Arrakis sun shines onto them. Oscar Isaac looks absolutely regal and badass as Duke Leto Atreides. Rebecca Ferguson is hooded and smiling as Lady Jessica, and Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa) makes a quick appearance wearing a stillsuit. We also see Javier Bardem’s Stilgar remove his face mask to speak to someone and Zendaya’s Chani climbing over rocks with a group of Fremen.

Some quick shots also include an ornithopter touching down in the desert and Paul stepping off. We also see Chang Chen as Dr. Wellington Yueh, Sharon Duncan-Brewster as Liet-Kynes and our first look as “Beast” Glossu Rabban Harkonnen, played by Dave Bautista. He looks almost painted white or covered in dust. There is also the quickest glimpse of a large character’s head emerging from a huge tub full of a liquid that had a similar color to Rabban’s skin. This character seemed to be Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgård), and it was a perfectly grotesque moment.

Throughout the teaser, the intensity of Paul’s test build and builds with each new cast member that is introduced, finally culminating with an epic closeup of Paul in the desert in a stillsuit, walking among Fremen. The score really comes in as the title reveals itself, and I am almost certain this is a piece from Hans Zimmer himself. It sounded like a cross between “Blade Runner” and “The Lion King,” with a good amount of drums mixed in with some ethereal, synth vibes. It perfectly fits “Dune.”

The teaser finishes with the title reveal, followed by a stacked list of every cast member that fills the screen from top to bottom, and a stamp that says “FILMED IN IMAX.” This film wasn’t captured with IMAX cameras, so this could mean they’re going the “Top Gun” Maverick” route of having their digital cameras certified by IMAX themselves. I’d expect expanded aspect ratios for at least part of the film, if not the entire film, when you eventually see it in IMAX. The images themselves look unbelievably crisp and almost surreal in a way that’s hard to put my finger on. I don’t know what exactly Villeneuve and cinematographer Greig Fraser did here (anamorphic lenses might’ve done the trick), but if these simple character shots look this good, I can’t wait to see the big and complex stuff.

*No Teaser Spoilers Beyond This Point*

It must be noted the teaser closes with the phrase “ONLY IN THEATERS,” but this is nothing new. Despite their upcoming films having official release dates picked out, all of WB’s recent trailers have forgone these dates in favor of highlighting the theatrical experience and keeping their trailers evergreen in the event of a delay — they won’t have to release a new trailer just because the date is wrong. I actually recognized this pattern last week with “Judas and the Black Messiah” and “Tenet” and predicted that the new trailers for “Wonder Woman 1984” and “Dune” would also go this route. The absence of a date is not any indication that “Dune” will be delayed; this is simply the new normal in a pandemic.

So, we know it exists, but when and where will this theater-exclusive teaser be available? That is a little less clear. In social media messages posted yesterday, both the Facebook and Twitter accounts for Canadian theater chain Cinemark stated “the teaser trailer for ‘Dune’ will be debuted in select Tenet screenings starting August 31.” Additionally, the Twitter account stated “Warner Bros. has pushed back the date for the ‘Dune’ trailer.”

But despite being rated and ready for theaters when Canada and countries around the world show “Tenet” today, WB has asked for Cinemark to withhold the teaser until next week. The explanation for this is likely two-fold.

Firstly, the trailer for “The Batman” made an earth-shattering splash when it arrived on Saturday and is still dominating social media conversation. I suspect WB didn’t want one of their babies stealing limelight from the other. Despite this teaser being exclusive to theaters, news of it (and bootleg footage, no doubt) would have been all over social media the remainder of the week. Secondly, the first screenings of “Tenet” in the United States begin on Monday. It is entirely possible that WB wanted to wait until domestic public screenings began before allowing the teaser to show overseas, as well.

The final impression that I will leave you with is that this teaser did not disappoint me in the slightest. Although the 1:37 runtime whisked by in a flash, I could not have been more impressed with the look of this film and the way Villeneuve and company are capturing the world of Dune. This will blow every previous adaptation out of the water.

With all the cast members getting shown off, the music, the designs and tease of the official trailer coming soon, this is truly Warner Bros. and Legendary flexing their muscles. They know they have something special on their hands, and they want the trailer debut for this event film to be an event all on its own. With the marketing to this point having been basically nonexistent, I have to admit some concern was growing in me. That’s all gone now. I have no doubt in my mind that the official trailer that drops online on September 9 is going to melt faces and blow minds.

The wait is almost over, everyone. The sleeper has awakened.

“Dune” is set to hit theaters December 18, 2020.

###

[oscopelabs]

It’s Arrested Development: How ‘High Fidelity’ Has Endured Beyond Its Cultural Sell-By Date by Vikram Murthi

It’s easy to forget now that at the beginning of 2020, before the pandemic had taken hold of our consciousness, for a brief moment, High Fidelity was back. Not only did Nick Hornby’s debut novel and Stephen Frears’ film adaptation celebrate major milestones this year — 25th and 20th anniversaries, respectively — but a TV adaptation premiered on Hulu in February. In light of all of these arbitrary signposts, multiple thinkpieces and remembrances litigated Hornby’s original text on familiar, predictable grounds. Is the novel/film’s protagonist Rob actually an asshole? (Sure.) Does Hornby uphold his character’s callous attitudes towards women? (Not really.) Hasn’t the story’s gatekeeping, anti-poptimist approach to artistic taste culturally run its course? (Probably.) Why do we need to revisit this story about this person right now? (Fair question!)

Despite reasonable objections on grounds of relevancy, enough good will for the core narrative—record store owner seeks out a series of exes to determine a pattern of behavior following a devastating breakup—apparently exists to help produce a gender-flipped streaming show featuring updated musical references and starring a decidedly not-middle-aged Zoë Kravitz. I only made it through six of ten episodes in its first (and only) season, but I was surprised by how closely the show hewed to High Fidelity’s film adaptation, to the point of re-staging numerous scenes down to character blocking and swiping large swaths of dialogue wholesale. (Similarly, the film adaptation hewed quite close to the novel, with most of the dialogue ripped straight from Hornby.) Admittedly, the series features a more diverse cast than the film, centering different experiences and broadly acknowledging some criticisms of the source material regarding its ostensibly exclusionary worldview. Nevertheless, it seemed like a self-defeating move for the show to line itself so definitively with a text that many consider hopelessly problematic, especially considering the potential to repurpose its premise as a springboard for more contemporary ideas.

High Fidelity’s endurance as both a piece of IP and a flashpoint for media discourse is mildly baffling for obvious reasons. For one thing, its cultural milieu is actually dated. Even correcting for vinyl’s recent financial resurgence, the idea of snooty record store clerks passing judgment on customer preferences has more or less gone the way of the dodo. With the Internet came the democratization of access, ensuring that the cultivation of personal taste is no longer laborious or expensive, or could even be considered particularly impressive (if it ever could have been). Secondly, as one might imagine, some of Hornby’s insights into heterosexual relationships and the differences between men and women, even presented through the flawed, self-deprecating interiority of High Fidelity’s main character, are indeed reductive. Frears’ film actually strips away the vast majority of Hornby’s weaker commentary, but the novel does include such cringeworthy bits like, “What’s the deal with foreplay?” that are best left alone.

Accounting for all of that, though, it’s remarkable how many misreadings of Hornby’s text have been accepted as conventional wisdom. It’s taken as a given by many that the novel and film earnestly preach the notion that what you like is more important than what you are like when, in fact, the narrative arc is constructed around reaching the opposite conclusion. (The last lines of the novel and film are, literally, “…I start to compile in my head a compilation tape for her, something that's full of stuff she's heard of, and full of stuff she'd play. Tonight, for the first time ever, I can sort of see how it's done.”) That’s relatively minor compared to the constant refrain that Rob’s narcissism goes uncriticized, even though the story’s thematic and emotional potency derives from what the audience perceives that Rob cannot. To put it bluntly, High Fidelity’s central irony revolves around a man who listens to music for a living being unable to hear the women in his life.

While Hornby’s prose immerses the reader in Rob’s interior monologue, providing ample room for the character to spout internal justifications of his behavior, the novel hardly obscures or conceals this conclusion. Moreover, the film makes it unavoidably explicit in numerous scenes. Rob (John Cusack) triumphantly pantomimes Rocky Balboa’s boxing routine soundtracked to Queen’s “We Are The Champions” after his ex-girlfriend Laura (Iben Hjejle) confirms she hasn’t yet slept with her new boyfriend Ray (Tim Robbins), but doesn’t hear the part where she says she prefers to sleep next to him. When Laura informs Rob that she did eventually sleep with Ray, Rob completely falls apart. In an earlier, more pointed scene, Rob goes out with his ex-girlfriend from high school (Joelle Carter) to ask why she chose to have sex with an obnoxious classmate instead of him. She venomously informs him that he actually broke up with her because she was too prudish, an abrupt, cruel bit of business we actually witness at the film’s beginning. It was in her moment of heartbroken vulnerability that she agreed to quickly sleep with someone else (“It wasn’t rape because I technically said, ‘Okay,’ but it wasn’t far off,” she sneers), which ultimately put her off sex until after college. Rob doesn’t hear this explanation or the damning portrait of his teenaged self. Instead, he’s delighted to learn that he wasn’t actually dumped.

These are evidently low character moments, one’s that are comedic in their depiction of blinkeredness but whose emotional takeaways are crystal clear, and one’s that have been written about before. My personal pick from the film, though, comes late when Rob attends Laura’s father’s funeral. He sits in the back and, in typical fashion, turns to the camera to deliver a list of songs to play at his funeral, concluding with his professed wish that “some beautiful, tearful woman would insist on ‘You’re The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me’ by Gladys Knight.” It’s a really galling, egotistical moment that still makes me wince despite having seen the movie umpteen times. Yet, it’s immediately followed by the casket being lowered to the ground as Laura’s sobs ring out in the church. In a movie defined by John Cusack’s vocal timbre, it’s one of the few times when he completely shuts up. From two-thirds down the center aisle, Frears’ camera pushes into Cusack’s face until tears in his eyes are visible, but what you really see is an appropriately guilt-ridden, ashamed expression.

However, none of this evidence carries any weight if your objection to High Fidelity is that Rob suffers no material consequences for his behavior. While Rob is frequently called out for his actions, he is never actively punished. He doesn’t, say, receive a restraining order for continually calling Laura after they’ve broken up or end up alone mending a permanent broken heart because of his past relationships. By the end, Rob and Laura get back together and Rob even starts an independent record label on the side. It’s a stretch to characterize Hornby’s High Fidelity as a redemption tale, but it is a sideways rehabilitation narrative with a happy ending that arises at least partly out of mutual exhaustion.

Those two elements—Rob’s asshole recovery and the exhausted happy ending—rarely seem to factor into High Fidelity discourse. Granted, there’s credence to the idea that, socially and culturally, people have less patience for the personality types depicted in High Fidelity, and thus are less inclined to extend them forgiveness, let alone anything resembling retribution. I suppose that’s a valid reaction, one against which I have no interest in arguing, but it’s somewhat ironic that High Fidelity has endured for reasons that have nothing to do with its conclusions regarding inflexible personal principles and the folly of escapism. Both the book and film are specifically about someone who slowly comes to terms with accepting reality rather than live in a world mediated by pop cultural fantasies whose unrealistic expectations have only caused personal suffering. It’s not unfair to characterize this as a fairly obvious epiphany, but considering we currently live in a world dominated by virtual echo chambers with an entertainment culture committed to validating arrested adolescence, it retroactively counts as “mature” and holds more weight than it otherwise should.

Near the end of High Fidelity, the book, after Rob and Laura have gotten back together in the aftermath of Laura’s father’s death, Hornby includes a chapter featuring five conversations between the couple unpacking the state of their relationship. During the third conversation, Rob and Laura fight about how she doesn’t care about music as strongly as he does, catalyzed by Rob’s objection to Laura liking both Solomon Burke and Art Garfunkel, which, in his mind, is a contradiction in terms. Laura finally admits that not only does she not really care about the difference between them, but that most people outside of his immediate circle of two don’t care about the difference, and that this mentality is indicative of a larger problem. It’s part of what keeps him stuck in his head and reluctant to commit to anything. “I’m just trying to wake you up,” she says. “I'm just trying to show you that you've lived half your life, but for all you've got to show for it you might as well be nineteen, and I'm not talking about money or property or furniture.”

I fell for High Fidelity (first the movie, then the book) as a younger man for the reasons I assume most sensitive-cum-oblivious, culturally preoccupied straight guys do: it accurately pinpoints a pattern of music consumption and organizationally anal-retentive behavior with which I’m intimately familiar. I spent the vast majority of my early years listening to and cataloguing albums, and when I arrived at college, I quickly fell in with a small group of like-minded music obsessives. We had very serious, very prolonged discussions filled with impossibly strong opinions about our favorite artists and records. Few new releases came and went without them being scrutinized by us, the unappreciated scholars of all that is righteous. List-making wasn’t in vogue, but there wasn’t a song that passed us by that we didn’t judge or size up. I was exposed to more music during this relatively short period of time than I likely will ever absorb again. Some of these times were the most engaging and fun of my life, and I still enjoy discussing and sharing music with close friends, but I’m not such a true believer to fully feel comfortable with this behavior. It’s not entirely healthy on its own and definitely alienating to others, and there comes a point when you hear yourself the way a stranger might, or maybe even catch a glimpse of someone’s eyes when you’re midst rant about some stupid album, and realize, “That’s all there is of me. There isn’t anything else.”

This is what Rob proclaims to Laura in the conversation when she tells him she was more interested in music during their courtship than she is now. It’s a patently self-pitying statement on his part that doesn’t go unchallenged by her in the moment or bear fruit in the rest of the novel. Yet, it’s this type of uncomfortably relatable sentiment that goes under-discussed. If High Fidelity will continue to have a life well after its cultural moment has passed, then it’s worth addressing what it offers on its own terms. Near the end of the book, Laura introduces Rob to another couple with whom he gets along quite well. When the evening comes to an end, she tells him to take a look at their record collection, and it’s predictably filled with artists he doesn’t care for, e.g. Billy Joel, Simply Red, Meat Loaf. “'Everybody's faith needs testing from time to time,” Laura tells him later when they’re alone. Amidst Rob’s self-loathing and sullen pettiness, Hornby argues that one should contribute in some way rather than only consume and that, at some point, it’s time to put away childish ideas in order to get the most out of life. It’s an entirely untrendy argument, one that goes against the nostalgic spirit of superhero films and reboot culture, but it doesn’t lack merit. Accepting that some values aren’t conducive to a full life, especially when it’s shared with someone else, doesn’t have to mean abandoning interests or becoming an entirely different person. It just means that letting go isn’t an admission of defeat.

It’s why I’ve always found the proposal scene in the film to be quite moving, albeit maybe not specifically romantic. It plays out similarly in both the book and the film, but the film has the added benefit of Cusack and Hjejle’s performances to amplify the vulnerability and shared understanding. Laura meets Rob for a drink in the afternoon where he sheepishly asks if she would like to get married. Laura bursts out laughing and says that he isn’t the safest bet considering he was making mixtapes for some reporter a few days prior. When asked what brought this on, Rob notes that he’s sick of thinking about love and settling down and marriage and wants to think about something else. (“I changed my mind. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I do. I will,” she sarcastically replies.) He goes on to say that he’s tired of fantasizing about other women because the fantasies have nothing to do with them and everything to do with himself and that it doesn’t exist never mind delivering on its promise. “I’m tired of it,” he says, “and I’m tired of everything else for that matter, but I don’t ever seem to get tired of you.”

This sort of anti-Jerry Maguire line would be callous if Laura didn’t basically say the same thing to him when they got back together. (“I’m too tired not to be with you.”) It’s possible to read this as an act of mutual settling, but I always thought Hornby’s point was personal growth and accepting one’s situation were intertwined. The key moment in High Fidelity, the film, comes when Laura finds Rob’s list of top five dream jobs. (In the book, Laura makes Rob compile the list.) At the bottom of the list, after such standard choices like music journalist and record producer, lies architect, a job that Rob isn’t entirely sure about anyway. (“I did put it at number five!” he insists.) Laura asks Rob the obvious question: wouldn’t you rather own your own record store than hypothetically be an architect, a job you’re not particularly enthused with anyway?

It’s Laura who convinces Rob that living the fifth-best version of your life can actually be pretty satisfying and doesn’t have to be treated like a cruel fate worse than death. Similarly, Rob and Laura both make the active decision to try to work things out instead of starting over with someone else. Laura’s apathy may have reunited them, and Rob’s apathy might have kept him from running, but it’s their shared history that keeps them together. More than the music and the romance, High Fidelity follows the necessary decisions and compromises one has to maneuver in order to grow instead of regress. “I've been letting the weather and my stomach muscles and a great chord change in a Pretenders single make up my mind for me, and I want to do it for myself,” Rob says near the end of Hornby’s novel. High Fidelity’s emotional potency lies in taking that sentiment seriously.

[new-sandrafilter]

Sources have confirmed to Inside The Film Room that the first official “Dune” trailer will be released online on Wednesday, September 9. The will come in the wake of a special, theater-exclusive teaser that is attached to screenings of “Tenet.”

A Canadian cinema employee shared the following details to ITFR. The teaser will run for one minute and 37 seconds and will give audiences around the world a glimpse of Frank Herbert’s classic sci-fi world through the eyes of Academy Award-nominee Denis Villeneuve (“Arrival,” “Blade Runner 2049”).

But wait… There’s more! Not only did our source confirm the teaser’s existence and Warner Bros.’ plan for marketing the full official trailer’s release, but they have actually seen the footage – and so have I. It’s nothing short of spectacular and a true tease.

It opens with gorgeous, custom WB and Legendary logos that fit the gold and black aesthetic the marketing material has shown so far. Then, it hops right into an iconic scene fans of the novel will immediately recognize: the Gom Jabbar test. This scene takes place early in the novel and is the focal point of this teaser.

Before traveling to Arrakis, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) is introduced to the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling). She asks Paul to place his hand inside a box that causes Paul to feel excruciating pain without physically harming him. The catch? He’ll die if he removes his hand. The Gom Jabbar is a lethal poisonous needle that Mohiam wears on her finger and presses against Paul’s neck during this test of his humanity, awarenesses and animal instincts. You’ll discover the reason for this test during his journey.

Confirmation of the upcoming theater-exclusive “Dune” teaser accompanying “Tenet” via the theater video system..

This is nothing short of stunning from a visual perspective. The set that Chalamet and Rampling sit in is enormous and circular, with beautifully ornate carvings in the walls and floor. Sunlight beams through a skylight, and the two characters are centered in the room. The Reverend Mother is wearing a complex gown. It’s almost terrifying how the black, netted material drapes over her entire body, from head to toe. She speaks with a taunting, almost mechanical voice, explaining the test to Paul – the poor boy is clearly in over his head.

As the test plays out and his fear and pain increases, the footage is intercut with a sweeping shot of Arrakis’ deep desert, with dunes as far as the eye can see. It’s exactly how you would imagine it. They’re bright yellow, and you can feel the sun through the screen. We also get quick, big shots of almost every cast member, making their faces obvious to viewers.

We see the door open on an aircraft and the Atreides men stand in their armor as the Arrakis sun shines onto them. Oscar Isaac looks absolutely regal and badass as Duke Leto Atreides. Rebecca Ferguson is hooded and smiling as Lady Jessica, and Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa) makes a quick appearance wearing a stillsuit. We also see Javier Bardem’s Stilgar remove his face mask to speak to someone and Zendaya’s Chani climbing over rocks with a group of Fremen.

Some quick shots also include an ornithopter touching down in the desert and Paul stepping off. We also see Chang Chen as Dr. Wellington Yueh, Sharon Duncan-Brewster as Liet-Kynes and our first look as “Beast” Glossu Rabban Harkonnen, played by Dave Bautista. He looks almost painted white or covered in dust. There is also the quickest glimpse of a large character’s head emerging from a huge tub full of a liquid that had a similar color to Rabban’s skin. This character seemed to be Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgård), and it was a perfectly grotesque moment.

Throughout the teaser, the intensity of Paul’s test build and builds with each new cast member that is introduced, finally culminating with an epic closeup of Paul in the desert in a stillsuit, walking among Fremen. The score really comes in as the title reveals itself, and I am almost certain this is a piece from Hans Zimmer himself. It sounded like a cross between “Blade Runner” and “The Lion King,” with a good amount of drums mixed in with some ethereal, synth vibes. It perfectly fits “Dune.”

The teaser finishes with the title reveal, followed by a stacked list of every cast member that fills the screen from top to bottom, and a stamp that says “FILMED IN IMAX.” This film wasn’t captured with IMAX cameras, so this could mean they’re going the “Top Gun” Maverick” route of having their digital cameras certified by IMAX themselves. I’d expect expanded aspect ratios for at least part of the film, if not the entire film, when you eventually see it in IMAX. The images themselves look unbelievably crisp and almost surreal in a way that’s hard to put my finger on. I don’t know what exactly Villeneuve and cinematographer Greig Fraser did here (anamorphic lenses might’ve done the trick), but if these simple character shots look this good, I can’t wait to see the big and complex stuff.

It must be noted the teaser closes with the phrase “ONLY IN THEATERS,” but this is nothing new. Despite their upcoming films having official release dates picked out, all of WB’s recent trailers have forgone these dates in favor of highlighting the theatrical experience and keeping their trailers evergreen in the event of a delay — they won’t have to release a new trailer just because the date is wrong. I actually recognized this pattern last week with “Judas and the Black Messiah” and “Tenet” and predicted that the new trailers for “Wonder Woman 1984” and “Dune” would also go this route. The absence of a date is not any indication that “Dune” will be delayed; this is simply the new normal in a pandemic.

So, we know it exists, but when and where will this theater-exclusive teaser be available? That is a little less clear. In social media messages posted yesterday, both the Facebook and Twitter accounts for Canadian theater chain Cinemark stated “the teaser trailer for ‘Dune’ will be debuted in select Tenet screenings starting August 31.” Additionally, the Twitter account stated “Warner Bros. has pushed back the date for the ‘Dune’ trailer.”

But despite being rated and ready for theaters when Canada and countries around the world show “Tenet” today, WB has asked for Cinemark to withhold the teaser until next week. The explanation for this is likely two-fold.

Firstly, the trailer for “The Batman” made an earth-shattering splash when it arrived on Saturday and is still dominating social media conversation. I suspect WB didn’t want one of their babies stealing limelight from the other. Despite this teaser being exclusive to theaters, news of it (and bootleg footage, no doubt) would have been all over social media the remainder of the week. Secondly, the first screenings of “Tenet” in the United States begin on Monday. It is entirely possible that WB wanted to wait until domestic public screenings began before allowing the teaser to show overseas, as well.

The final impression that I will leave you with is that this teaser did not disappoint me in the slightest. Although the 1:37 runtime whisked by in a flash, I could not have been more impressed with the look of this film and the way Villeneuve and company are capturing the world of Dune. This will blow every previous adaptation out of the water.

With all the cast members getting shown off, the music, the designs and tease of the official trailer coming soon, this is truly Warner Bros. and Legendary flexing their muscles. They know they have something special on their hands, and they want the trailer debut for this event film to be an event all on its own. With the marketing to this point having been basically nonexistent, I have to admit some concern was growing in me. That’s all gone now. I have no doubt in my mind that the official trailer that drops online on September 9 is going to melt faces and blow minds.

The wait is almost over, everyone. The sleeper has awakened.

“Dune” is set to hit theaters December 18, 2020.

insidefilmroom - EXCLUSIVE: ‘Dune’ trailer to release online Sept. 9

[chapitre7]

bloodstained

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Vampire AU

For the MDZS/The Untamed Kink Meme

My personal thank you to @bookwyrmling, @syolen and @starfieldcanvas for the beta work and help putting this all together ❤

Read on AO3

Warning: Explicit sexual content and themes written for a mature audience

Never trust strangers blindly, his uncle would always say. Never show who you really are.

Lan Wangji always remembered uncle's words, the earliest he had memory of. Every year in school, he would keep his peers at the corners of his eyes, and his elbows next to his body. Not so much closed off as cautious, as aware. He would watch his classmates bathed in the sunburned light of late afternoon, knowing that as soon as the sun went down, it would be the others’ time to come out and play. Beings not always shaped like monsters from books to scare children, but friend-shaped, speaking in voices that called him by his name, that sometimes asked for his notes.

He remembered uncle’s words and walked home with his elbows close to his body, his jacket closed all the way up, and his eyes high and alert. As a student, Lan Wangji was always home before dark. And after dinner, after homework, he would take out his uncle’s books and he would read about the world of the night and the creatures that inhabited it. On weekends, after practicing the guqin, the erhu and the violin, he would practice with a secular sword, blade stainless and sharp as if it had been forged yesterday, but ever brilliant under the moonlight. His feet would move exactly where he wanted them to move, and he replayed his uncle’s teachings even when uncle was away, too busy to guide his training.

Never ignore a life in need. Never stray from the family path.

He grew up, remembering the words. He went through college, learning both the history of the human world and of the world unseen. He studied and he trained and he was dedicated and steadfast. A jewel in the family of Lan, an esteemed guide to the ancient hunter families. A light in the darkness, working among used books for the common folk, but with a priceless library just down the stairs that most of his customers would never see.

He remembers the words, the teachings, remembers it all. Remembers even as he stares at Wei Wuxian, sitting on the ground, hands laying down a man’s corpse. Remembers everything, even as he stares at Wei Wuxian’s tongue, sees it lick a speck of blood off the corner of his mouth.

Wei Wuxian. The professional in charge of the apothecary adjoined to the Wen clinic, only a few blocks away from Lan Wangji’s used bookstore in Tanzhou. You’d never catch him there during the day; a well-mannered, sickly-looking, oddly inexpressive man named Wen Ning would sell you all manner of Wei Wuxian’s creations if you stumbled upon the shop before dusk. But Lan Wangji had caught glimpses of him, many a time, when the sun was but a flesh wound in the dusking sky, and the moon already shone bright upon her throne above the clouds. All long legs, long neck, long hair. His smiles were all teeth, easily given if your gazes met. The lights by the shop’s front were always broken, always weak and flickering, but his eyes reflected red flames with no outside source. A candle lit from within. He was always gone, back inside the shop by the time Lan Wangji caught himself enough to check if the man had a shadow.

They said he was kind and welcoming, but his hands were cold. They said his food was red with the smell of spices and something else. They said he had a treatment for everything, barring the chronic and the terminal, and even then, in those impossible cases, he could soothe your pain. They said the lost causes that left his shop met their end in their sleep, with a smile on their lips.

Lan Wangji had never entered his apothecary. He had watched, and he had listened to the rumors, and he had held his cloud-patterned coat tightly around himself. If there was no proof, the rules stated that the hunters couldn’t act. And there had never been proof, he had never been caught with his hand in the till. Not before, not ever, not until—

“Ah, little Lan,” Wei Wuxian says, tilting his head to the side, still kneeling on the floor of the subway station. The man he had been touching lies unmoving and unbleeding. His appearance matches that of a serial rapist in the area, and Lan Wangji had only been drawn to the corner where he found Wei Wuxian by a woman that had been running away from the scene, as fast as she could. There’s little light where they are, the walls are old and cracked and stained, but Wei Wuxian’s eyes reflect the lamps shining down the stairs, reflect the headlights of the train. Reflect yellow, reflect red. “We meet at last.”

There had been no concrete accounts of vampires in Tanzhou, or indeed anywhere in China, in hundreds of years. There had only been whispers and rumors and unfounded suspicions. The records only ever spoke of one name. Watching Wei Wuxian get to his feet, stand to his full height, flip his long, unbound hair over his shoulder, Lan Wangji recalls, maybe mouths, maybe gasps it. The Patriarch.

“You knew it, didn’t you?”

Wei Wuxian’s steps are loud in the deserted night. All of the immediate past and future vanishes from Lan Wangji’s mind. What had led him to the man, his conversation with his brother over tea not an hour before, the reading plans he had been making in his head for when he got home. Hunters, missions, victims, deaths. There’s a corpse lying near them, yet there’s nothing but the present, the now, the tunnel vision of Wei Wuxian approaching him. “Of course you did, you’re the Lightbearer of Gusu Lan, is there anything you don’t know?”

Lan Wangji didn’t know Wei Wuxian knew about him; he had only been greeted with friendly waves before. He didn’t know he could freeze before a monster, something more than simple hesitation. He didn’t know much about confrontation, had always been trusted to be the lighthouse in the fog, to have the answers, to defend rather than attack, although he had always wanted, had always craved, had always desired...

(What?)

Wei Wuxian stands before him. He keeps his hands — his bloodstained hands, long fingers with long nails — to his sides. He ducks his head and leans towards Lan Wangji, not touching, but lingering, just... smelling. Perhaps assessing. Lan Wangji catalogs everything about him, the line of his nose, his tongue wetting his lips, the red fabric lining the inside of his long black coat.

“Say, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Wangji's attention snaps back to the man’s face, only slightly dazed. He wants to think Wei Wuxian put him under a charm spell, but his ears burn hot with the truth. “The blood from trash tastes really foul. If you give me some of yours, could you pretend you never saw me?”

The vampire licks his lips again and grins. Lan Wangji can’t look away from his canines, sharp and white and beautiful. There’s no trace of blood in his mouth, nor the stench of death in his breath, just something so sweet Lan Wangji can almost taste it. Wei Wuxian can’t touch him, all of the protection spells woven on the inside of Lan Wangji’s blue coat keeps him away, but it’s less like shelter and more like a cage, and Lan Wangji wants to open the door—

“Oh.”

He doesn’t know what he did, or what he looked like. In the next second, Wei Wuxian’s grin falls. The precarious lights in the station flicker, on and off, more off than on, and Wei Wuxian is cast in sharp shadows, predatory. He takes one step, another, and then he’s coming faster, closer, and Lan Wangji backs away until his back hits a pillar.

The lights flicker on, and his vision is all Wei Wuxian upon him, but still not touching. Lan Wangji doesn’t make any sudden movements, or any movements at all, and doesn’t summon his spiritual weapon. Wei Wuxian regards him with catlike focus, unwavering. Lan Wangji holds his gaze to hold his ground. He’s not a bird. He’s not prey.

“Did you know there used to be a flower spirit in Tanzhou?” Wei Wuxian asks, leaning closer, but still at a distance, as if Lan Wangji himself is his favorite fragrant flower. “And she loved poems, so every year she’d wait for someone to charm her with well-recited verses, and then she’d give them a flower that never wilted.”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to the side, his eyes catching light from someplace else, someplace that is not this decrepit station. Someplace ancient, where the sky is clear enough to see the stars. Lan Wangji swallows.

“Little Lan,” the vampire says, his breath playing on Lan Wangji’s skin. Lan Wangji doesn’t move away; never run away, his uncle had taught him, even though his middle, his very core, trembles. Not in fear of Wei Wuxian. He could try to overpower him, and would suffer no shame in defeat. But he doesn’t want to. He wants...

“I have been waiting all this time for your poem,” Wei Wuxian says, never touching, his fingers and nose and mouth dancing centimeters away from Lan Wangji’s face, his neck. “Don’t you want my flower?”

Dangerous fingers move lower, to the collar of Lan Wangji’s jacket. Wei Wuxian’s eyes follow the movement before locking back on Lan Wangji’s. Time moves around them, seconds, but Wei Wuxian is supernaturally still, having no need to breathe or blink.

He’s even more beautiful up close. Lan Wangji had thought about his proportions, about the swing of his hips, the spring in his step, and the curl of his fingers after he waved, as if he wanted to draw Lan Wangji in. All the rest was imagination, an embarrassing wet dream from a man who had thought for too long about the human contact he had read about in books.

Wei Wuxian is very real. Blinking for his benefit, to punctuate the inexorable passing of time.

Lan Wangji lifts his hands. Wei Wuxian’s eyes follow them, the line drawn by Lan Wangji’s fingers over the buttons of his coat, opening one by one, shedding the material and its protection along with it. The sound of his coat falling to the ground is loud in the silence, but not as loud as the guttural noise Wei Wuxian makes as he pushes forward and Lan Wangji’s head hits the pillar with a painful thud, his wrists pinned above it by Wei Wuxian’s hands.

The vampire’s body is like fire. Lan Wangji knows it’s because he fed tonight, but the heat radiating from his proximity, from his hands around Lan Wangji’s wrists, prickles his skin with goosebumps. One of Wei Wuxian's legs moves between Lan Wangji’s, and he should put up more of a fight over parting them, but he doesn’t. Tension has him frozen, or maybe it’s something else, something more primal, something like—

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian whispers next to his ear, breath hot, dragging every vowel. “My mouth tastes horrible from before. Won’t you cleanse my palate, hmm?”

His nose touches Lan Wangji’s neck, the tip cold, and Lan Wangji visibly shivers. He can feel Wei Wuxian’s smile against his skin, yet there’s no bite, his mouth is closed, almost a lover’s game. Lan Wangji is not a man for games. Not with his senses going haywire, not when he finally recognizes that this vibration, this need, the culmination of his thoughts and dreams is hunger.

Lan Wangji tries to speak, but only a low sound comes from his throat. He swallows, lightly pushes against the hands that hold him down. He opens the door to his cage, not merely ajar but wide open, and invites the monster in with a clear “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian bites him with no flourish and no warning. Lan Wangji jerks in the action, hits his head against concrete again. There’s no pain this time, nothing that could overcome the pleasure of Wei Wuxian feeding on his blood.

One of his hands — for both are now freed, lost in the air — finds itself in Wei Wuxian’s hair, tugs at it mindlessly. Wei Wuxian groans, pushes flusher against him, rubs his thigh against Lan Wangji’s clothed, swelling cock. One of Wei Wuxian's own arms has reached around Lan Wangji’s back, his hand coming to touch Lan Wangji's shoulder, fingers digging into his skin, keeping him in a close, possessive half-embrace. The other hand pulls Lan Wangji’s shirt from the safety of his trousers, snakes up his torso, and Wei Wuxian lets out another groan at the topography of Lan Wangji’s body.

His teeth and mouth release Lan Wangji’s neck with a tiny pop. If he wasn’t being held up by the vampire, Lan Wangji might have fallen, graceless.

“You taste so good, Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says, sounding like a whining child. “Did you know how good you taste? Is that why you kept tempting me with your pressed clothes, your perfect posture, staring at me like you knew all my secrets?”

He licks at the twin punctures on Lan Wangji’s neck, and it’s only when his chest presses against Lan Wangji’s that the man notices his own erratic breathing. His mind is foggy, comprehending things at a much slower pace. Lan Wangji is a lightweight of a drinker and his experiences with alcohol are merely blackouts in his brother’s presence, but he thinks this might be something like being drunk.

Wei Wuxian looks down at him, at the state of him, licking his lips as his hand under Lan Wangji's shirt continues its exploration. Finds a nipple, flicks at it with his thumb, but otherwise pays it not much attention. Lan Wangji lets out a choked sound.

“You’re wearing all blue for me today, so much better than that mourning white, hmm? You’re like a cute little bird.”

Lan Wangji pulls at Wei Wuxian’s hair again, remembering he still holds it, and Wei Wuxian gasps, laughs an open-mouthed laugh that draws attention to his sharp canines. Lan Wangji thinks he shouldn’t be blushing, not at the condescending praise, but he is. There’s no grace in arousal, just every sense loud and all-consuming.

(Maybe it’s an aftereffect of being bitten. He wants it again and again and again.)

“You have bite in you, don’t you? But you are so pretty and good. Wrapped up like a gift in blue, begging me to take you.”

His hand travels lower, lower down Lan Wangji’s front, fingers working his trousers open. Lan Wangji seems to remember his free hand, and takes hold of Wei Wuxian’s wrist before those fingers find his neediest place.

“I...”

What does he want to say? No? Ridiculous. He’s almost sprawled on the man’s lap, and his virtues were shed along with his coat.

Wait? He doesn’t want to. He wants Wei Wuxian’s teeth on his neck and Wei Wuxian’s hands on his skin, digging deeper and deeper until he forgets his own name.

Not here? Someplace else, darker, where Wei Wuxian can eat him whole—

Wei Wuxian tuts at him, leaning close, so close; he’s a blurred image, a trace of black hair and flushed lips. He doesn’t quite kiss Lan Wangji, but he licks Lan Wangji's lips, nips at them, threatens to bite but doesn’t. Lan Wangji’s hold on his wrist weakens.

“I hear you,” Wei Wuxian whispers, breath mingling with his. Can he? Lan Wangji’s knowledge is hidden behind his cloud of want. Wei Wuxian leans away from Lan Wangji's mouth to whisper against his ear, “Let me take care of you, my little Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji’s hand moves from his wrist, up his arm, and seems to pull him impossibly closer. It’s all the vampire needs to push his hand past the waistband of Lan Wangji’s trousers, inside his underwear, to touch him at the same time as he bites his neck again.

There’s no strength left in Lan Wangji's legs to hold him upright. He slumps down the pillar and all but falls in Wei Wuxian’s hold. There are only flashes of red behind his eyelids, and pleasure shoots through his veins, alight. He doesn’t know if he breathes, only that he rides the pumping of Wei Wuxian’s fingers around his cock, though his movements are restrained by the vampire’s firm hold on his upper body. A hum vibrates against his skin as Wei Wuxian’s fingers show attention to the head, slowing his movements, appreciatively indulging in the wet mess of Lan Wangji's pre-come. He’s not going to last, not with his head so light, not with the intoxicating pressure of Wei Wuxian’s teeth on his neck, not with the tantalizing movements of his hips against Lan Wangji, ah—

It’s a whiteout. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, nor does he take notice of the trembling of his body against the heat of his still-clothed companion. He breathes through his open mouth, the sound of his exhalations loud in the chamber of his head. His limbs feel lost in a tide. He lets his head fall forward, feeling lulled with the light scraping of fingernails against his scalp, and he breathes. He feels himself being pulled away from the pillar, but he doesn’t fall. He breathes Wei Wuxian in, and out.

By the time he opens his eyes again, he’s not at the subway station anymore. He’s sitting on the sidewalk of his own block, only a few steps away from his home. He can see the apothecary, its malfunctioning lettering, and the shadow that walks towards it. Black hair swishes from one side to the other, flipping over his shoulder as Wei Wuxian looks back at him. He can vaguely make out the glint in the vampire's eyes and the feline smirk on his lips. Then he’s turned away again, and he’s gone.

Lan Wangji should feel sated.

He swallows, mouth dry.

***

It takes only a few days until Lan Wangji sees him again. Or rather, he’s looked for glimpses of Wei Wuxian when he’s at the apothecary, finding excuses to walk by but no excuse to interact. He should have reported his encounter with Wei Wuxian to his uncle. He should have told him the real cause of death of the man at the station, since there had been no marks left on the body. He should have done something, as he was taught to do. He shook with his silence, stayed awake with it, but he never spoke. Once his sleep caught up with his restless mind, his dreams were bathed in red, hands drawing with blood on skin, and he grasped at them shamelessly, throwing himself to the mercy of the wolf. For days he woke up breathless, soaked in sweat, and as he took himself in his fist with aggravation and need, he could still feel the pressure on his neck.

So when Wei Wuxian walks into the bookshop while the sun still tinges the sky with the orange of late afternoon, Lan Wangji still isn’t entirely himself, or at least not the same person he’s known for years. His brain tries to match up the two realities: the man known as Wei Wuxian who was rumored, sometimes in jest, to be a vampire, and Lan Wangji’s personal knowledge of who he really was. Wei Wuxian is sporting vintage, round-framed sunglasses and a different coat from the one he wore the last time they met, but one that’s still black outside and blood red on the inside. He’s flashy in the way he walks — under the sun — but when he pushes his glasses down his nose to look at Lan Wangji, his eyes are an ordinary black. Not compelling, just... charming.

Lan Wangji finds no words to speak. This is not a problem for Wei Wuxian, who walks up to the counter behind which Lan Wangji spends most of his days, props his elbow on its surface, and leans forward. Whether he’s hiding in plain sight or enrapturing Lan Wangji in the dead of night, his sense of boundaries is still wholly defective.

“Lan Wangji,” he says in greeting, belatedly, or maybe just with a dramatic flair he had intended. He beams up at Lan Wangji, as if the very sight of him is a delight. Lan Wangji waits for the punchline. “You’re immune!”

“What,” Lan Wangji asks, but it’s flat, barely a question, and more like an annoyed noise.

“I can’t turn you!” Wei Wuxian says, resting his chin in the cup of his palms, peeking up at Lan Wangji like he’s something worth admiring. “I waited this whole time to see if me biting you—”

“You—”

“—would make you my servant, but it had no effect!”

Lan Wangji sweeps the shop with his eyes, trying to see if he missed anyone entering ever since Wei Wuxian waltzed in, but it’s just as deserted as it was a minute ago. He looks back down at Wei Wuxian, waiting for the continuation of his musings, but the man is quiet, seeming lost in thought, a pleased smile on his face. Lan Wangji sighs, barely making a sound.

“What does that mean?”

He has asked himself the same question for days, but couldn’t find the answer in his archives. The Patriarch, age unknown, is apparently the best source he gets.

The Patriarch leans back against one of his hands, the other pushing his glasses up to rest on his head.

“It means there’s something unnatural in your blood. Or maybe... Maybe someone really loved you.”

He leans back from the counter at the same time as the bell connected to the door chimes. A teenage girl walks in, and in the time it takes for Lan Wangji to greet her with a minimal bow, Wei Wuxian is gone into the maze of narrow aisles of Cloud Recesses — Used & Rare Books, only the end of his coat catching at the corner of Lan Wangji’s eyes.

Lan Wangji waits — one, two, five, ten whole seconds for the girl to call for him or ask for any assistance, but she continues her quiet exploration. Lan Wangji gets up, crosses the front aisles and climbs the small steps to the back of the store. He finds Wei Wuxian perched on one of his stepladders, a mystery novel in his hands, browsing through the pages and admiring the illustrations of a murder investigation.

“What do you mean?” Lan Wangji asks, voice low but clear in the quiet space.

“It means,” Wei Wuxian says, not looking up from his book, “that either your immunity is hereditary, or someone went through a great deal to keep you protected.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on Wei Wuxian’s foot, moving lazily in the air as he keeps his legs crossed. Lan Wangji’s mind is far away, in a different time, when a woman would whisper, “Don’t you want to run away, darling? Won’t you run away with me?”, all between lullabies and giggles. She’d giggle even though nothing fun happened during those days.

“Or maybe both.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice is distant, almost an echo. Lan Wangji can’t remember anything about his mother and no one would ever tell him what he did not know. If she was remarkable, if she knew about the other world, if she was from there. There was nothing but void. Mother was kind, was all Xichen would say. Uncle would speak no words but say everything in frowns and glares and grunts. She is gone now, only a memory of a pale nightgown glowing in the night, hugging him to her chest, calling him beautiful, calling him precious, and, in between singing words he didn’t understand, asking him to run away with her.

Run away where?

“Ah, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan.”

When did Wei Wuxian get up? He’s close, so close that Lan Wangji flinches, would have stepped away if one of Wei Wuxian’s arms hadn’t moved around his middle, keeping him in place. He’d called him Lan Zhan again, and Lan Wangji can feel his ears burning. Today, his shirt, pants, and even his coat, hanging just behind the counter up front, all of them are in complementary shades of blue. The only white is the ribbon in his long black hair, a ribbon that Wei Wuxian twirls around his finger, all the black of him against the blue of Lan Wangji. His mind had been so full of blue and red, red and blue, the ghost of Wei Wuxian’s breath playing on his skin when he was alone. But it’s here now, real now, and Lan Wangji is rooted in place again, whether by something supernatural or by his own urges, he cannot say. Even though Wei Wuxian is cold, he’s still like the scent of the coming rain to those who have been tired of the heat.

“Someone went to all this trouble, but you don’t want to be protected, do you?”

He keeps a hand flat on Lan Wangji’s back, and the other, which had been playing with Lan Wangji’s ribbon, trails up to run down the length of his hair.

“You want to walk away from this place and into the filthiest corners of the night, don’t you? Find out what’s out there? Stand in the middle of the chaos?”

He crowds in, chest pressing against Lan Wangji’s, his cold lips playing, pecking, pulling lightly at Lan Wangji’s earlobe. And though he’s trained to defend himself, Lan Wangji can’t move.

“The darkness draws you in, doesn’t it, Lan Zhan? You want to immerse yourself in it and come out on the other side. You think yourself strong enough.”

When he traces Lan Wangji’s jawline with his fingertips, Lan Wangji leans into the touch, lets himself be drawn into the spell of Wei Wuxian’s gestures. Lan Wangji looks straight into those thousand-year-old eyes, black and red and shining under the weak yellow lights of the shop. Like a cat’s. The eyes of a predator in the dark.

“Isn’t it wonderful, then, Lan Zhan, that I cannot taint you?”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side, and his lips tip up, closer, within reach. Lips that soak into blood and flesh. Lips that looked alive not too long ago, alive and red and beautiful. Lips that stretch into a wide, knowing smirk, showing a perfect row of teeth. His canines are simpler today, though still protuberant compared to the others. Lan Wangji wants them on his skin. He wants to run his tongue over them and let them hurt, until his own blood warms the mouth they're in. He wants to cast away his sleeping hours and dive into the long night. See what Wei Wuxian sees. Draw his blade, his blood pumping hot in his veins. He wants—

Wei Wuxian breaks contact. Steps away, brings his hands to his own back. Lan Wangji almost falters, almost falls, but he was taught better than that, so he does neither. Wei Wuxian grins, taps his sunglasses back on his nose, but still watches Lan Wangji over the rims. He seems to study the details of the bookseller just like he studied the illustrations of the book he held a moment ago.

“I’ll be waiting for you, my little blue bird.”

And he’s gone. Lan Wangji waits. The seconds stretch into a minute, and when he finally reaches the front of the shop again, it’s deserted. The sun is still up, painting the clouds from behind, brushstrokes rendering the sky in countless shades of orange and blue. Blue like Lan Wangji’s cloud-patterned coat, and his shirt, and his socks.

Lan Wangji sighs, runs a hand through his hair, brings his white ribbon down and looks at it in his hand. Imagines those blood-kissed hands touching it, wrapping it around long fingers, wrapping it around his neck and pulling—

When uncle shows up at five for the evening shift, Lan Wangji says his usual goodbyes and walks his usual path for grocery shopping, just up ahead, a few blocks away. He returns to his apartment above the bookshop, makes his dinner, eats, showers, meditates, and waits.

Waits until the moon is high and bright in the sky, and then he goes out, his uncle never noticing his absence.

***

There is a man who works at the apothecary. He greets distressed parents with a benevolent smile and the perfect cure for tummy aches, and lists all the benefits from his tea blends to the elderly, walking them to the door himself, offering freebies, tonics, and incense to help with sleep.

There is a man who talks animatedly with a youth named Wen Yuan who helps at the apothecary in the early evening while he studies, before the man shoos him off to his home in the second story of the Wen Clinic. Medic Wen Qing needles this man with words every time she stops by, grills him about how he’s always keeping the place a mess despite Wen Ning’s best efforts at organization, about how he should stop instructing Wen Yuan to perform chemistry experiments because now the boy’s room smells as bad as this man does. She points out that he’s always looking for trouble as she pointedly looks at Lan Wangji, resolute in her posture. This man dotes on Wen Ning, always reminding him to take his supplements to boost his immune system.

There is a man who serves Lan Wangji tea by his counter, who asks Lan Wangji about his day and his life and his passions, just little tidbits at a time, like Lan Wangji’s words are snacks he doesn’t want to run out of. When they’re alone, he asks about the missions Lan Wangji assigned to the region’s hunters, laughing and prodding at Lan Wangji’s reticence until he finally gives in and talks about them, not at length or in detail, but enough to keep the man entertained. And when the moon is full, this man takes Lan Wangji out into the night, and then he’s no longer a man.

Although Lan Wangji has worked in a support role for years, he’s known monsters. Wei Wuxian, maybe due to his age, maybe due to the nature of his powers, or maybe for no simple reason, is nothing like them. He’s highly intelligent, stitching sigils and talismans between the layers of his coats so he can walk out when the sun is weakest and torment Lan Wangji, pulling him into hugs the other has not yet learned to accept, making Wei Wuxian laugh. He’s always laughing, so bright, like a youth who doesn’t yet know of life’s struggles.

Wei Wuxian knows. When he leaves the apothecary behind, when he cloaks himself in night, it’s clear as footsteps in the silence. No mission Lan Wangji describes impresses him, no matter how impressed he makes himself sound. No suffering of victims fazes him, nor makes the smile drop off his face. He walks through streets, around corners, up walls, without ever breaking pace, because he knows every place, he’s seen it all, he’s lived it all. Lan Wangji can see it; maybe because Wei Wuxian lets him. Wei Wuxian guides him through the shadows, and by holding his hand, helps him come out on the other side, on some other street, some other place, the top of a building where the wind catches in his long hair.

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he insists on calling him. Inwardly, Lan Wangji delights in it, in being pulled close, by a name, by his hand. “I want you to call me...”

It’s a secret, whispered against Lan Wangji’s lips. Wei Ying, he says, lips forming a smile that falters and brightens a couple of times, like the moon peeking through the clouds. Then he closes the gap, catches Lan Wangji in between breaths. His gaze is heavy, before Lan Wangji dares to close his eyes. His eyes crush Lan Wangji with the weight of centuries.

It’s nothing like a first kiss. It’s wet, Wei Wuxian’s tongue lapping at his lips before he covers them with his own, pulling, pulling at the tender flesh until it’s hot, until Lan Wangji’s mouth falls open and he wastes no time pushing through, making his mark on the uncharted territory of Lan Wangji’s insides. His hands, tongue, breath are a hot brand on Lan Wangji, all over, all under. The kiss is drawn out, their mouths parting only to join again with the tilt of a head, on and on until Lan Wangji’s chest hurts with the desperation to breathe.

There’s a sting on his tongue before Wei Wuxian — Wei Ying — lets him go. He can taste the blood in his mouth, and his partner looks pleased with himself, a satiated cat. Wei Wuxian licks his lips, his thumbs drawing circles on Lan Wangji’s sides. What had Lan Wangji’s hands been doing all this time? Had they been holding on tight, like his core demanded?

Tonight, Wei Wuxian seems to say, without speaking the words. Tonight, he promises, with another peck, another lick, another smile against his mouth. Tonight, he vows, his body a flame, alive, and Lan Wangji can’t fathom the sacrifice made so he could have this. How many have had to die so Wei Wuxian could stay. He wants to think them righteous deaths. He doesn’t want to think. He wants to leap.

Without really breaking contact, Wei Wuxian takes off his jacket, turns it inside out, and throws it over Lan Wangji’s head.

It’s a reflex to close his eyes. He lets his breath falter, blinks into the darkness, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re somewhere else. The room — a bedroom — is drenched in the smell of night jasmine, the pot resting close to the window, a bouquet of tiny flowers escaping the frame, as if eager to jump into the night, into the moon. It is the most endearing part of the room, the rest turned over in a mess of bed sheets, clothes, and papers covered in annotations and diagrams. Surprisingly, there’s a skylight in the middle of the room, through which the moonlight showers down, illuminating the dust and the spiderwebs. There’s so much to look at that Lan Wangji almost loses track of what’s going on, until Wei Wuxian touches him, grounds him back to his presence.

Wei Wuxian’s coat is resting on Lan Wangji’s shoulders, the red turned out. Although Lan Wangji is slightly taller, although they’re standing to the side and not under the skylight, the moon reflects in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and Lan Wangji steps back and stumbles onto the bed, now at the mercy of the beast.

The vampire is on his lap, straddling him, before he knows what to expect. He takes hold of Lan Wangji's face, not quite gently, but not unkindly. There’s nothing kind about the kiss he gives him next, demanding, suffocating, his tongue brushing against Lan Wangji's, against the roof of his mouth. Lan Wangji isn’t quite sitting upright; he has a hand keeping him from falling into the mattress, the other grasping at Wei Wuxian’s waist, but it’s a flimsy balance, the gravity of Wei Wuxian slowly robbing him of his strength. When Wei Wuxian starts moving on his lap, a languid, rhythmic motion, his mouth lets go of Lan Wangji’s for open-mouthed kisses, allowing him to breathe. Those smirking lips travel down, down his jawline, to the spot below his ear, and suck, noisily.

Lan Wangji feels himself slipping. Wei Wuxian’s pearly white teeth graze his neck in the exact same spot as the first time. Wei Wuxian’s hips grind down on Lan Wangji’s groin, and then comes the sudden sharp pain of the bite — Lan Wangji falls, faces the flaring dark behind his eyelids.

Wei Wuxian keeps him from falling, an arm around him, one hand on his back, the other braced on the mattress. He’s still swaying to a nameless song against Lan Wangji’s lap, albeit quieter now, slower, like a soft evening breeze over a warm sea at the height of summer. Lan Wangji is already gone, erect and straining in the confinements of his pants, and if he focuses, if he pushes against the fog of exhilaration brought on by Wei Wuxian’s vampire kiss, he can feel the press of Wei Wuxian’s own erection against his stomach.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. At one point, the biting turns into laps of tongue, then kisses, and then he’s opening his eyes to Wei Wuxian’s moonlit room again. He’s on his back now, having been so carefully eased down that he never noticed, and Wei Wuxian is still on him, licking his lips, running a hand down his clothed torso.

“Lan Zhan ah,” he says, eyes burning golden, burning fire. He leans down, kisses Lan Wangji again, but oh, he tastes different now — it’s blood, it’s Lan Wangji’s blood. There’s a ritual here, there’s a turn here and Lan Wangji couldn’t care less, he arches into it, inhales through it. Wei Wuxian breaks away, blinks slowly and says, “Open up to me, my blue bird.”

His hands slither under Lan Wangji’s shirt and move up. Lan Wangji obediently reaches to remove his jacket, then his shirt, throwing both of them off with uncharacteristic carelessness. Wei Wuxian’s coat is still under him, still smelling of Wei Wuxian, lulling him, causing his eyelids to droop, and he has to force them open to look at the other man. Wei Wuxian kisses and licks his chest, humming at the lines of his body, hand trailing down what his mouth can’t. As if he wants to touch all of Lan Wangji, all at once. As his mouth works on one of Lan Wangji’s nipples with distant interest, his hand is intent on unbuttoning Lan Wangji's trousers, on sliding down his zipper, and reaching inside his underwear to grab him in a now-warm hand, an echo of the first time.

“Do you think about me, Lan Wangji?” he says, pumping Lan Wangji with cruel slowness, leaning over him like a lion playing with its prey. “Did you think about me before that night? And since then — how often?”

Lan Wangji wants to touch him, wants to answer him, but if his words were scarce before, they run from him now, hide behind his overflowing desire. His hands still lie uselessly by his head, where they’ve been ever since he removed his shirt. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, whatever Lan Wangji is showing, whatever sounds he’s making, only make the glow in Wei Wuxian's eyes brighter and his smirk wider. He teases Lan Wangji’s tip with his thumb at the same time as he licks his neck, pumps tighter as he sucks on his flesh, drawing a bruise but not opening a wound.

“I think of you.”

Maybe Lan Wangji says it. Maybe they both do.

Whether it’s from anticipation or abandon, Lan Wangji can’t discern, can’t think, he just tips over the edge, spilling over Wei Wuxian’s hand and onto his own stomach. Wei Wuxian hadn’t even needed to bite him again.

He’s still panting when he registers Wei Wuxian licking Lan Wangji’s come off his hand like it’s a delicacy. The vampire kisses his way down Lan Wangji’s body, and Lan Wangji’s dazed eyes trace every movement. There’s a performative air to the way Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out and noisily licks Lan Wangji clean; it should be insulting, how close to laughter Wei Wuxian is, like Lan Wangji is a cute plaything, but it’s not. Lan Wangji wishes he could claim he knows it because he can read him, but he just feels too good to put the proper thoughts into their right places. If Wei Wuxian is enjoying himself, it’s enough.

Wei Wuxian pulls down Lan Wangji’s pants and underwear, and Lan Wangji barely has a mind to help him in the task. The vampire presses kisses to the inside of his thigh, licking off his perspiration, going from one thigh to the other, until finally his mouth closes around the tip of Lan Wangji’s limp, sensitive cock. He shudders, lets Wei Wuxian open his legs, lets the beast do as it wants. Wei Wuxian’s hands, sometimes cold, sometimes pale, burn against his thighs tonight, as if breaking through his flesh and clutching at his bones. Wei Wuxian licks him clean there as well, long stripes up and down his cock, and the muscles in Lan Wangji’s thighs contract at the touch, too much. He’s not given a second to come back to himself, to breathe. Once Wei Wuxian deems him clean enough, Wei Wuxian crawls up, noses at the dark curls of Lan Wangji’s pubic hair, the cold tip of his nose tickling the skin of Lan Wangji’s stomach. Quick, innocent kisses along his lower abdomen are a sweet distraction, leaving Lan Wangji wholly unprepared for the bite that follows.

Lan Wangji’s hips jump from the mattress, but Wei Wuxian’s hands, supernaturally strong, push him back down. The vampire hums, fingers like claws against Lan Wangji’s hips, leaving imprints that Lan Wangji hopes will last for days. He throws his head back, consumed by his wants. The sounds coming from Wei Wuxian’s throat, the touch of his hair against Lan Wangji’s crotch and legs, and the warmth of his hand moving to grip Lan Wangji’s thigh, all form a song that sets fire to Lan Wangji’s desire, bringing him up to a dizzying half-mast. Does he breathe, does he speak? Is he anything more than the end signals of his skin, of his lust?

Wei Wuxian opens his jaw with agonizing slowness. He breathes on the punctures, licks at them, makes them heal. He backs away until they’re not touching, until his presence is just like the warmth of a campfire. Devastatingly cold, Lan Wangji is forced to look at him.

Kneeling between Lan Wangji’s open legs, Wei Wuxian unbuttons his black shirt, throws it far back. He moves further away, off the bed, and unzips his tight pants, shimmying out of them and his underwear and kicking everything away. The room is already a mess and they’ve only made it messier, but Wei Wuxian is a vision in the dim light. Dark lips and flushed skin, body toned and cock erect, he would almost look like a man, if it weren’t for his eyes. Shining, never straying from Lan Wangji’s, even as he moves to the nightstand. Lan Wangji can only look, can only follow. His body doesn’t have time to cool off. Wei Wuxian returns, climbs on him again, covers him, aligns to kiss him on the mouth.

It’s the slowest they’ve kissed, the slowest Lan Wangji has ever been kissed. He wraps his arms around the vampire, discovering that he still can control his body after all, and pulls Wei Wuxian down, pulls until they’re almost melded into one. When Wei Wuxian moves to create friction between their cocks, Lan Wangji hears himself make a sound, but all he can think is Wei Ying, Wei Ying, ah, you...

You.

Wei Wuxian licks his lips. He suffocates Lan Wangji with his scent, burning millennia-old fingerprints on his skin. Lan Wangji has wanted men before, has touched himself to completion before, has fantasized about a lasting connection with someone before. But tonight, the shadows of a world that was only ever just glimpses through a gap in a doorway live in his lungs. Lives in the blood that Wei Wuxian feeds him in his kisses.

You.

Wei Wuxian breaks the kiss, touches his cheek adoringly, reverently.

“Lan Zhan ah. Where have you been all these lifetimes?”

Where has he been? When has he lived?

Wei Wuxian bites Lan Wanji’s neck on the side yet untouched, without drawing blood. Lost in the sensation of Wei Wuxian’s mouth closing around his pulse, Lan Wangji doesn’t pay attention to the vampire’s hands until one of them touches the inside of his knee, pushes up, and one slicked finger touches his rim.

Lan Wangji trembles at the contact, but Wei Wuxian hushes him, places deceptively kind kisses on his lips, lets him breathe away his tension to melt into the intrusion. Wei Wuxian is patient and reassuring, the perfect lover, and it could be a role, it could be more performance, but it works, so Lan Wangji doesn’t care.

“Look at you,” Wei Wuxian says, voice deep, like the humming strings of a cello. “Noblewomen have been in this exact position, kings, but none can compare to you, none are as beautiful as you, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji preens, opens up like a flower when Wei Wuxian’s finger curls inside of him, when Wei Wuxian’s hand envelops his cock to work it perfectly erect again, and Wei Wuxian calls it so nicely curved, so thick, so beautiful, the words falling from the vampire’s lips sounding like polished prose.

“Turn around for me,” Wei Wuxian says. Hours seem to have passed since he last spoke, but it was only seconds. Wei Wuxian pulls away and an embarrassing sound comes from Lan Wangji’s throat.

Lan Wangji does as instructed, even if his limbs aren’t the same as they were when the night started, a tingling sensation blooming at the tip of his fingers and toes, and everywhere that Wei Wuxian touches burns like a fever. The coat that Lan Wangji had been lying on is tossed aside like the rest of their clothes, and Lan Wangji mourns its loss in a detached, dream-like way. But when Wei Wuxian guides him to his knees, his ass high in the air, and holds him there with a hand, the other finding its way back inside him, Lan Wangji wants for nothing. Wei Wuxian is an all-encompassing presence behind him, over him, his hair cascading down Lan Wangji’s back. Letting his forehead fall against his sheets, Lan Wangji breathes nothing but Wei Wuxian. He breathes in and out, Wei Wuxian’s fingers move in and out, turning, searching for a spot inside of him that makes him surrender. The voice that comes out of Lan Wangji sounds nothing like him. No words, just needs, just human.

Wei Wuxian bites his neck again, the expanse of the vampire’s chest covering Lan Wangji’s back. The hand against Lan Wangji’s hip moves to his cock, and the fingers inside of him— ah, when did they move? When did the gentle but meticulous stretching stop and Wei Wuxian start sliding in, so much bigger than his slim fingers had foreshadowed? Lan Wangji doesn’t clench up for long, unable to focus on the intrusion; Wei Wuxian’s mouth is closed tight on him, sucking, drinking, making him light-headed, making him cold and hot all at once. His cock is feeling a different kind of pain in Wei Wuxian’s hold, until Wei Wuxian stops pumping and grips, as though sensing that Lan Wangji might come too soon, and Lan Wangji is both tormented and grateful. He doesn’t know if he can take much more once his orgasm has come and gone, so he lets himself be taken and led in an almost painful dance.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth parts with Lan Wangji’s skin, and it’s only then that Lan Wangji can feel him bottom out, the vampire’s hips flush against his backside. Lan Wangji breathes — in, out, in, out, his panting loud in the quiet room. Wei Wuxian doesn’t make a sound: he has no need to catch his breath.

“Is this what you wanted?” Wei Wuxian whispers in his ear.

Is it? To feel Wei Wuxian’s hand, dirty because it was touching him, reach across the sheets and take hold of his own hand, fingers interlacing? To feel the curve of his cock inside, to know him as much as he knows Lan Wangji, on this night, surrounded by a mist of night jasmines? Is it this, the intimacy, the danger, Wei Wuxian’s teeth breaking his skin, his cock breaching past the last of Lan Wangji’s defenses, while a sentient darkness caresses them?

“Yes,” Lan Wangji answers, not because he has to; Wei Wuxian, with his predatory grin, already knows. Lan Wangji answers because he wants to.

Wei Wuxian starts to move. Pulling out only halfway, slowly, like the introduction to a song, and then he pounds back, the sound of their flesh colliding loud to Lan Wangji’s ears, their shadows mirroring their sensual dance on the wall. He does this once, twice, Lan Wangji can’t keep count. Once Lan Wangji has adjusted to his girth, he picks up the pace, slamming into Lan Wangji as deep as he can, as if, having once dug out his place inside the man, he can’t bear not to fill it.

“Lan Zhan ah, do you feel how wet you are, how you suck me in?” Wei Wuxian breathes against his ear, voice shaking with laughter, but never fully laughing. “Do you like it, when I take you like this? Or do you like it when I suck you better, Lan Zhan? Tell me, tell me everything, Lan Zhan,” he says, repeating the name that is a secret between them like a spell, driving Lan Wangji to the edge like the pulling tide.

When Lan Wangji feels close to orgasm, Wei Wuxian pulls fully out, and, with a single movement, manhandles Lan Wangji onto his back. All Lan Wangji sees as one of his legs is pulled up over one of the vampire’s shoulders is red. The space inside of him, every inch of his skin, his blood in his veins, all scream Wei Wuxian’s name. The vampire covers him, pushes his cock inside of him and possesses his neck, one last time.

Lan Wangji swears his mouth tastes sweet. With the night jasmines, with Wei Wuxian’s flavor. Like the tea they drank earlier, or what blood tastes like for Wei Wuxian. He breathes through his open mouth, taking it all in, his body going taut against the pressure and the humming on his neck, his hole still pulling Wei Wuxian inside. There’s barely any room for Wei Wuxian to move in and out of him, but he’s already on the edge, and with a single brush of Wei Wuxian’s hand against his cock, a single pull, he’s falling, lost at sea.

The colors are bright behind his eyelids, and the world around him is vague, a half-awake dream. He feels Wei Wuxian’s teeth let go, and a small, sad sound come out of him, making Wei Wuxian chuckle. His body is still moving with Wei Wuxian’s thrusts, but he doesn’t see the vampire come, doesn’t feel it until Wei Wuxian pulls away and his essence drips out of Lan Wangji. Without Wei Wuxian covering him, without being connected to him, Lan Wangji shivers. One of his hands searches, even if his eyes are still closed, fingertips running across the ghost of Wei Wuxian’s warmth, where the vampire’s hands had been. He wants. Even now, he wants.

Wei Wuxian returns. At his touch, Lan Wangji forces his eyes open, to gaze at this ageless man as he cleans Lan Wangji up, as he pulls the covers from under Lan Wangji’s body and up over him. Now, with the seconds ticking by again, Lan Wangji’s head is empty in a way that is both blissful and concerning. Wei Wuxian is barely visible, covered in shadows. He touches the frown between Lan Wangi’s eyebrows, rubs against it until it’s gone.

“Why are you so cute, Lan Zhan?”

No one has called him “cute” in years. He leans into Wei Wuxian’s touch, and Wei Wuxian chuckles again, the sound imprinted in Lan Wangji’s mind now, to play in his dreams.

“Be careful, Lan Zhan. Don’t you know vampires are very possessive? I may never let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

He says it without thinking, his body weightless. Tomorrow he will ache in places he’s never ached before, and he’ll need to rebuild all of the energy that Wei Wuxian drank out of him. Tomorrow, when the sun rises, a new day begins, in this place he’s never seen, where Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying, The Patriarch, lives. He doesn’t know where it is. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring.

Tonight, he tucks his nose against Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he holds on to Wei Wuxian’s body, and he means every word he says. He breathes the perfume of the night flowers, and it’s like he’s been missing it all along. This darkness.

Lan Wangji sleeps, right where chaos lives.

***

The time Lan Wangji spends with Wei Wuxian stretches out. A single night spanning like days, the feeling of being scooped up in someone’s arms rewriting the nights when he slept alone, lonely, thinking of the lives he could be living. These nights, in turn, feel like years of a different life, lived in his uncle’s blindspot. In his uncle’s eyes, Lan Wangji never looks any different when morning comes, when the shadows let him travel back to the place he’s used to calling home.

Home is a broader term to Lan Wangji now. It’s not just the place he knows, the place where he’s comfortable in monotonous minutes, in the practice of his duty. Now, it’s also the dark alleys where he finds monsters that think they’re safe from being caught. He slashes through them with his glowing blade, while Wei Wuxian, perched atop a building, showers him with compliments.

Lan Wangji’s blood is hot under his skin, even on the colder nights. He shakes, as if consumed by a fever, in his place in the vampire’s lap, and Wei Wuxian holds Lan Wangji so tight that Lan Wangji thinks he can never fall again. Even if Wei Wuxian decided to fuck him out in the open, on the edge of a window, under the blue moon, like a ritual, like a pledge, long fingers would hold firm on Lan Wangji’s lower back, guiding the movements of his hips, and in the vampire’s supernatural embrace Lan Wangji would not fall.

Lan Wangji is immune, Wei Wuxian had said. And smart, and serious, and competent, and loyal, superlatives showered on him night after night. Wei Wuxian is mesmerized by him. Lan Wangji doesn’t want to stray a moment from his lover’s gaze, from the beast’s line of sight.

It’s Sandu Shengshou who tips over the hourglass of their time together, changing the course of Lan Wangji’s life back to what it was, or a semblance of it. Looking at his life now forces a painful comparison to the world where Lan Wangji didn’t know all the things he wanted, missed, and longed for. It hurts so much more now, to know and not have them.

You never get a warning for when things are about to change. One night, Lan Wangji had been walking back home from visiting his older brother; when he exited the subway train, a woman ran past him, up the stairs into the city, and he followed the echo of her sobs to find a vampire. Tonight, he’s fighting a painted-skin ghost with little success. Wei Wuxian intervenes, grabs the monster with claw-shaped hands, throws it to the ground, and from his shadow come the wisps of shadows from the beginning of time, from everywhere, to feed on the monster’s resentment. Wei Wuxian raises his head towards the moon, ecstasy on his lips, on his jaw, in his laugh, eating up the darkness. Lan Wangji grips his sword tighter, unable to look away — and it happens.

Zidian is just as old as Bichen, a relic from ages past, just as powerful now as it was when it was first made. Perhaps it’s older than Wei Wuxian himself, and as such, capable of slicing the vampire’s head clean off in a single sweep. Lan Wangji, from the very first moment he laid eyes on Wei Wuxian, knew his hand would never be firm enough to wield Bichen to eliminate the vampire. But Sandu Shengshou has no appreciation for relics and his blood doesn’t sing Wei Wuxian’s name, so with a flick of the wrist that Lan Wangji fails to see, he attacks Wei Wuxian. The vampire narrowly manages to jump off the painted-skin ghost and land on the wall of the narrow alleyway.

Like Lan Wangji, Sandu Shengshou is not known to be a man of many words. But unlike Lan Wangji, he’s known for his powerful voice in battle, a roar as crackling as the sound of his spiritual whip, and he’s admired for having a hand that never holds back. Like every hunter, Sandu Shengshou’s story is one of loss, but his hate for monsters and ghosts is unrivaled.

With fluid steps and turns, he strikes against Wei Wuxian again. The vampire leaps, twirls in the air, and dives into Lan Wangji’s shadow, disappearing by Lan Wangji’s frozen feet.

“No, you don’t!” Sandu Shengshou barks, throws the tip of Zidian into the pit where Wei Wuxian disappeared to, but when it emerges, there’s only a strip of fabric attached to the whip. The portal disappears, becoming nothing but regular shadow, and with a growl and a snap of Zidian, Sandu Shengshou turns to Lan Wangji.

“I trust you’ll report this to the Lan Council.”

He storms away, lightning bolts in his steps. Lan Wangji stays there, one, two, three, ten seconds, before he falls to his knees like a puppet whose strings were cut by the world’s sharpest weapon.

With Sandu Shengshou as a witness, Lan Wangji can’t fail to report it, not this time.

All of the hunter families get in an uproar at the implications of such a powerful being wandering unrestrained for so long. How many lives has it taken? How many years of bloodshed has it caused? The Patriarch becomes the name on everybody’s tongue, becomes the top target of hunters who come to Lan Wangji’s bookshop. Are there any leads? Should they organize a nationwide hunt?

Lan Wangji is left cold. His steps go back to being controlled, few throughout the day. His breath has no reason to go off-rhythm, just like his heart. He searches the monochrome nights of new moons, asks the ghosts about the one who’s outlived them all, but finds no sign that Wei Wuxian has appeared in town since their last encounter.

The apothecary is run exclusively by the Wen siblings and their young cousin now; when Lan Wangji walks past their windows, their tea isn’t as fragrant as it once was. The smell of night jasmines fades into a memory. Some nights, he takes himself in hand, his own fingers pressing against his tongue, and pretends Wei Wuxian fills him, all the parts of him, even the cracks where his real self slips through. He comes and he’s still cold.

Does cold also run through Wei Wuxian’s veins, wherever he is? Does he long for Lan Wangji’s embrace like Lan Wangji longs for his kisses? Were those nights, countless and endless to Lan Wangji, nothing but a few drops in the vast ocean of the immortal's lifetime? Was any of it real, or had Lan Wangji been one of the vampire's thralls from that very first night?

Days pass. Nights, flavorless meals. The Patriarch becomes too bitter a name on hunters’ tongues after their failures. Some of the Jin hunters claim they find his victims, but Lan Wangji knows they can’t prove it. Wei Wuxian never leaves a mark. Not physical. Nothing like the ones Lan Wangji carries.

He ends his shift, bows to his uncle, makes his dinner. He reads, he meditates. He sits by his window, looks up at the full moon, and lets time slow to a halt. He holds on to a strip of red fabric and remembers all the times he held onto Wei Wuxian’s coat, all the times Wei Wuxian was within reach. Lan Wangji remembers being covered in darkness, traveling through it, and arriving at a place he’s come to call home.

Lan Wangji doesn’t see the hand come out of his shadow. Doesn’t feel a presence emerge, little by little – a head, a toned torso, lean legs. It’s only when Wei Wuxian drapes himself over Lan Wangji’s back, wraps his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and nuzzles him that Lan Wangji jerks in place, shivers, turns his head. Wei Wuxian is too close, Lan Wangji can’t see him properly, but when Lan Wangji closes his hands around the vampire’s arms, he’s solid, real. Lan Wangji exhales, a shaky thing, and his heart beats the song of reunited lovers, an ancient, timeless tune.

“Did you think I’d let you go, my little blue bird?”

Wei Wuxian’s words tickle Lan Wangji’s ear, make him shiver with a name that belongs only to the two of them.

“Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji is wearing blue tonight. There hasn’t been a single day where he hasn’t worn it, like a signal flare in the sky. Come back. Come back to me.

“Do you want me to surrender?” Wei Wuxian asks, his mouth moving against the skin below Lan Wangji’s ear. It’s a delicious sensation. Lan Wangji can’t keep his eyes open, thirsty for every word and touch and second. “Do you want me to give in to your clan, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji opens his eyes. Thinks of all the years he’s lived for his clan, for his duty, for righteousness. Every hunter has a story of loss, every family was almost wiped out from existence at least once. There’s blood on every single one of their backs, and the blood of countless monsters on their hands. Wei Wuxian feeds on humans and monsters alike. He’s as old as time, and he commands Lan Wangji with his fingertips, with his very eyes. He’s dangerous.

The Wens suffered his loss for months. There’s a story there, too. Lan Wangji wants to know. He wants everything.

He stands from his chair next to the window, stands in front of Wei Wuxian. The vampire looks pale. Probably hasn’t fed in a while. But his eyes are still shining golden under the moonlight, and he’s smiling. It’s a soft thing, that smile, weak in a way Lan Wangji has never seen on Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji touches Wei Wuxian’s bottom lip with his thumb, tracing the chapped skin from one side to the other before caressing Wei Wuxian’s cheek.

His other hand moves behind Wei Wuxian’s head and pulls gently. He tilts his own head to the side and guides Wei Wuxian to his neck.

“Wei Ying,” he says, before kissing Wei Wuxian’s temple. He says nothing else. His voice is firm; his breath, calm. For a moment, Wei Wuxian does nothing, doesn’t even hold him, but Lan Wangji isn’t afraid. Are there even words to verbalize everything between them?

All at once, Wei Wuxian circles his arms around Lan Wangji, tight, just short of crushing. He sinks his teeth into the neck so willingly offered and sucks, drawing a pleased gasp from Lan Wangji. The vampire takes a step back and Lan Wangji follows. Another step and they’re falling through the shadows, through the dimensions. Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The smell of the jasmines is like coming home, in an ugly shack in Yiling.

When Wei Wuxian’s teeth leave Lan Wangji this time, he doesn’t lick the wound, doesn’t close it. He lets it bleed, lets it scar, and kisses Lan Wangji. He’s warm now, healthier. There’s blood on his tongue and Lan Wangji savours it. Like Wei Wuxian’s words have become a part of Lan Wangji, of his life, of how he sees the world, Lan Wangji’s blood becomes part of Wei Wuxian — it becomes his lifeforce.

Wei Wuxian once said somebody must have loved Lan Wangji very much, or that different blood ran in Lan Wangji’s veins. Something darker, something from the other side. His parents had their story or tragedy; Lan Wangji might never know his own truth for sure. He feels all that he needs in Wei Wuxian’s embrace: sheltered, appreciated, cared for. And tonight, more than any other night, he dares to say he feels loved.

The vampire kisses the breath out of him, tears his clothes open, and devours him. Lan Wangji clings back, just as fiercely, just as bruising, and bites the vampire’s neck.

Under the gaze of the full moon, Lan Wangji dares.

[frankrich08]

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[legendaryorangeloot]

This is "The Union Screaming House", a short story I wrote as an alternate-universe American M.R. James story (which is why it's not got fully modern language when describing people's race and ethnicity, and the language/spelling in general is idiosyncratic in the way that letters from the <1900s tend to be.) I wrote it in one huge burst on a road trip with my partner from Milwaukee to St. Louis, and never really edited it, but I think it's true to the style and form of the author I'm trying to pay homage to, so all the weaknesses I can see are present in the source works and serve to make it more accurate (sorry, Monty James. you know I love you.)

Dec 22, 18--

My dearest Daniel - I write to you about events which recently occurred in the small town of Union, Mo., feeling certain that they will prove of interest to you, for your personal collections of curious supernatural tales and revolutionary literature. I suppose, as I shall leave no descendants, you may publish my full confession after all parties involved are deceased - such is the advantage of having much-younger friends, I suppose!

We were traveling across the midwestern states at a leisurely pace, hoping to recuperate my equilibrium after the trial in which I had recently defended Mr. W-- S-- against numerous charges of murder, about which: the less said, the better. It had become our custom over a period of weeks to seek out remote roads and tracks and follow them to their sources, which almost invariably were villages and towns with unusual “claims to fame”, such as one that boasted an underground lake, another with what they claimed as the oldest living tree in the state. This proved a diverting experience, and I greatly enjoyed conversing with many of the “oldsters” I met outside general stores and hearing tales of the War, and of their luck or lack there-of in the agriculture business. The endeavor was beginning to allow me to leave behind the feeling of grave wrong-doing that had dogged me since the verdict of the S-- trial, but what replaced it in Union may yet prove to be worse.

It was on one of these rather aimless treks that we found ourselves in Union, home of some 700 people. It was a chill autumn night, and darkness fell early, no later than 5 o. clock. Bryan, who was acting as driver, refused to travel in such a rural area after dark (wise, owing to his appearance - as you may recall from our last visit, Bryan is light enough to pass for “black Irish” stock, and usually does so successfully, but in the more… concerned areas of the country, he has been sometimes “found out”, with all the concurrent discriminatory rigmarole… sneaking “my servant” into my lodging-house rooms has been quite the risky undertaking in some of these towns.) At any rate, we obtained the name of a local widower who would be willing to rent a room to me for the night, and allow Bryan and our four-horse team to stay in his guest house and lavish stables, respectively.

Mr. R--, a sprightly gentleman of maybe 55 years, proved a quite gracious host, and commenced to give me a tour of the property, which was called Blackwater Woods. We walked around the barn, various outbuildings, and past many pastures and livestock holding-pens, before approaching the enormous main house. It was built in a style quite unlike the modest but modern homes of Union proper, and appeared to be designed in the manner of a frontier cabin, but on a scale so large that it made it seem slightly ridiculous, as though perhaps it had been constructed to display at a Worlds Fair and not for humans to inhabit at all. Mr. R-- was oddly reluctant to show me around much of the house in detail, as he had the farm-buildings, but he invited me to dinner and after-dinner drinks and cigars politely enough after escorting me to my second-floor room, which had clearly been a woman’s “boudoir” prior to being pressed into service as a guest room. I changed clothes and washed up with alacrity, eager to get the dust and grime of the road off my person, and still had ample time left to explore my surroundings. The room was large, and sparsely-furnished, but feminine touches from the prior inhabitant (Mrs. R--, I assumed at the time) still remained in the form of a silver-backed hairbrush near the vanity mirror, a jewelry box which played a tune when opened (I shut it quickly, as the mechanism appeared to be functioning not very well, and the too-slow tune rendered me oddly soporific), and a gauzy canopy hanging from the four posts of the bed, which I imagined was intended to be exotic in the manner of a harem, but was instead exotic in the manner of tropical anti-mosquito netting. I was oddly moved by this nod to concepts of Romance and Beauty in such a rural locale, and smiled to myself in the mirror, only to quickly blanch and whip my head round to look when I saw the form of a woman - a dusky-skinned woman, with high cheekbones and full lips - materialize behind me, visible in the mirror! In retrospect, I believe it was not just my terror at being accompanied at a time I believed myself alone that caused me to react so immediately and physically, but that the woman so obviously required help. She could hardly have communicated it more clearly than her facial expression did, even if she had plainly said “Help me!”. When I turned to look where I had seen her standing, near the enormous limestone fireplace, there was no-one there, and looking back in the mirror, she also did not re-appear. But there lingered in the air a smell - you are the only one I could tell this to - a womanly smell, but one that was attractive to me, in a way, which, I know you know, I have not experienced before (or since).

For all those reasons, I was deeply shaken as I went down to the dining-room to eat with Mr. R--. I thought that perhaps I could ask questions about the room’s former inhabitant, but each time I tried to broach the topic, Mr. R-- cut me off with florid tales of inconsequential things, which would have been greatly entertaining, had they not distracted me from my goal. I learned many interesting tid-bits of the area’s history, but was unable to discern a reason for the visage of the woman to appear, or what help she might require. I did learn that the “guest house” where my beloved Bryan now stayed was, in fact, former slave quarters, and this did not sit well with me. I was also able, by making some off-hand comments about the food, to learn that indeed we were alone in the house entirely, the woman who had cooked the meal being employed only at the dinner-hour and returning to her home in Union after serving. I do not remember what we ate.

After the meal, we retired to Mr. R--’s study, and he poured us generous doses of a bourbon of exceptional quality. The study, unlike the rest of the house, was furnished in an extravagant style that would not have seemed much out of place in the wealthiest salons of London or Vienna. Presumably for this reason, it was kept locked at all times with a latch and bolt-lock on the door, and keyed locks on the single window, to which, Mr. R-- explained, he held the only keys. I sipped at my bourbon as he spoke at length about various topics, and realized soon that he was drinking his as though it were water. I saw my opportunity to perhaps gain more information about the mirror woman, so I surreptitiously poured out the rest of my liquor onto the Turkish carpet, and proposed a refill, then another, then another, which I disposed of in the same way. As Mr. R-- became first tipsy, then outright intoxicated, I steered the conversation to the topic of the room I now stayed in. “Was it your wife’s chambers?” He appeared startled by this question and was quick to say, in a brusque manner, “No. It was used for brief, er, overnight stays only, for no-one in particular.” He attempted to change the subject after this answer, but I could see him beetling his brows at me from time to time as we spoke on less consequential matters. The evening wound down soon after this, and I excused myself to my room.

Upon reaching my room, it was no more than ten minutes before I heard the tip-tap of tiny pebbles being flung at my window, the typical sign from Bryan that he was waiting unseen below and wished entry. Never had I more needed his strong and steady presence, his welcome simple physicality, the comfort of his arms - I hope that you do not mind, and rather believe that you will enjoy this part, as unsatisfying as it ended up in reality - and I began to ready myself even as I quietly opened the window, using the heel of my hand to press against my rapidly-stiffening member in preparation for our reunion. But it was not to be, for the Bryan that hoisted himself through my window after climbing up the ivy and planks on the side of the house was not amorous, but terrified. I immediately asked what the trouble was, and he said that we must go, and that he needed to show me something in the “guest house” - which I shall refer to as the slave quarters from now on, as this is more relevant to its position in the story - after which we must flee this house. He used this exact word, “flee”, and it was one of the ways I knew just how serious this revelation he had for me must be.

We both climbed down the side of the huge house as quickly as we could, and dashed across the moonless dark of the lawn, past the garden and woodpile, to the former slave quarters, a squat building greatly resembling Indian long-houses I have seen, but made of sturdy split logs and patched with something between mud and cement. A fire burned inside and smoke spiraled up from the small chimney, and when we reached it and went indoors, shutting the pine-plank door fast behind us, Bryan first kissed me fiercely and quickly, then went on to say “I found this account written on bark, stripped from the walls of this house, hidden in one of the straw mattresses. But it is more than half in slave pidgin and picto-grams, and what English is used is not very grammatical. Do you trust me to tell you the contents truly?” and by way of reply I kissed him tenderly, pressing my forehead to his, and squeezed his hand, saying “With my very life.” He replied that it hopefully would not come to that. He showed me a long strip of bark with writing on it, and what I could read conformed to his translation, which I will put here in more colloquial ways of speaking, for clarity: “Last winter Margaret was called to visit Mr. R-- after sunset and never did return, and he said that she ran away, but never bothered to tell the lawman, or offer a reward for the return of a servant, and I think sometimes that I see her in the upper window, but never except at night when fires are burning in all the rooms of the house. Now he has arranged for me to come to the big house secretly after dark and I fear that I, too, will never return. If you find this, look for me. Meliora.”

We stared at each other wide-eyed as I put together the pieces in my mind and I said to Bryan “I know what we must do, but if you do not like it - I also do not like it - I understand if you must simply go and ready the horses for our escape.” He said that he would accompany me even to the gates of Hell, and I said that it hopefully would not come to that. We went to the great woodpile beside the house and found an axe and hatchet, and used the latter to break the lock of the front door, and went directly to my room. As quietly as one can accomplish such a thing, we began dismantling the room - we moved the furniture to the center, and started using the tools as pry-bars to remove boards from the wall. It was not long before I heard a stifled cry behind me and saw Bryan kneeling near one wall, pulling forth what was unmistakably a winding-shroud, stained with old blood, containing naught but dark skin, bones, and black hair. As I came over to assist him, I stumbled and fell against the limestone mantel, and broke it away, and the falling rock opened the boards of the floor, where more gauzy shrouds were hidden beneath, and my heavy axe smashed the fire-warmed stone at the back of the fireplace, where a recent, beautiful corpse, matching my mirror apparition exactly, lay in surprisingly dignified repose. This kind of noise would wake anyone, even the bourbon-soaked Mr. R--, who entered the room just at that second, and it is hard to say now which sight shocked him the most greatly. But he had no opportunity to say anything about it, as Bryan fairly flew at him from across the room, holding his hand over Mr. R--’s mouth, and the hatchet’s handle across his throat in preparation to strangle the life from him. “No!” I hissed quickly. And Bryan’s expression in that moment caused me to die inside, seeing how fast he thought I would side with the despicable murderer Mr. R-- over the love of my life, due only to our shared skin color, but I put this aside to say my actual piece, which was “We have to make it look like an accident.”

We frog-marched Mr. R-- downstairs, and forced him to unlock the study, confiscating the keys afterwards. We tied him to the heaviest chair using his own silk smoking-jacket, and I touched a brand from the fire to the Turkish carpet I’d soaked with bourbon earlier in the evening, and we did not spare the struggling, squealing Mr. R-- another look as we walked from the room, hands clasped, to return the axes to the woodpile before driving away.

I trust that, after your actions in Lawrence, this story will please you, rather than shock you. I hope that I have done your revolutionary spirit proud in administering fair and equitable justice. After long discussion, I have decided to prove to Bryan that his assumption in the moment Mr. R-- entered the room was entirely wrong, and we depart for France, together, next week. The keys from Mr. R--’s house, we will throw into the Atlantic Ocean, and never mention the sorry incident again.

With love,

Your friend,

J. Schiffmann

[anika-ann]

Heart Too Cold, but Friends of Gold - Pt.3

Dead Woman Walking

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 3590

Summary: Avenger!reader AU. Part 2 of Melting Hearts series. Part 1 HERE.

Facing an enemy who took your parents was a challenge. Facing your parents, who had lived under the impression you had died was a other story entirely...Let’s just say that it was too much to handle... but punching you could do.

Warnings: swearing, violence, violence caused by superpowers… (if that’s a thing…Ice Ice Baby)

Story Masterlist

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You knew you were not ready to see your parents ever again.

You sure as fuck were not ready to see them with a knife at their throats, no matter how much you tried to brace yourself.

All remnants of your cool, all the confidence you had gained when fighting your way through, it all turned into ash.

You were a helpless kid again – helpless and ill, finally seeing their mother after an endless procedure and all you wished for was to curl up in her arms and let her cradle you in her warm and safe embrace, where everything got better.

You felt the air being knocked out of you, tears prickling your eyes. Your dad was right next to her, a huge man holding him in some sort of a headlock, blade on his throat. His expression was one of horror; the fact you might have been the true source of his fear stung your gut sharper than you anticipated.

Your mother was simply crying, watching you with mixture of healthy respect, fear and hesitant hope. It broke you even when you knew she could never ever recognize you like this.

You sprang in her direction first, but a man waiting behind the door on your left surprised you, lunging after you. You shushed the yelp and the pissed off ‘sloppy’ that sounded in your head and caught his arm on you, flipping him over, knocking him unconscious with your fist covered in ice.

The one appearing right behind him ended up with his feet frozen to the floor by two thick columns of ice, your sole in his abdomen. Also, his hand received a bit of a frostbite when he aimed his gun at you. And then you punched him in his face twice. He fell down.

“If I didn’t have my hands full, I would clap,” a sly voice commented, sending icy shivers down your spine.

You snapped your head to him, your ponytail flying with the swift movement.

Oh how you had learnt to hate and despise that voice in just few hours. Had you had fallen asleep during the time between receiving the phone call and your arrival here, you would have heard him in your nightmares.

You barely made a move towards him when the click of his tongue stopped you, his gaze focused on the blade of your mother’s skin. You froze in the middle of your step.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Snowflake.”

Your nails dug into your palm at the addressing, the action followed by his cheeky smile. God how much you craved for freezing that smile and punching all of his teeth out.

“Let them go,” you hissed, not caring if you sounded cliché or not.

He seemed to consider for long seconds, his gaze getting distant.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” he replied in the end, meeting your eyes again.

You would swear you saw a flash of madness in them; your heart stopped at that. Mad people had nothing to lose. Who had nothing to lose did whatever they wanted.

You gulped. How do you get through to a psychopath?

You had no better plan than offering yourself in exchange – you were not afraid of showing your weakness, he had already known it after all, he had used it to get you here.

“Please. You don’t have to hurt them. You got my attention. I’m here. These people are innocent,” you pleaded in shaky voice, glancing at your parents’ faces again.

Their expressions twisted with fear made you want to cry and curl up in a ball.

Here I am, you fucking bastard. Here I am, so let them go. For god’s sake, just let them go. I was supposed to die years ago and if not that, than at least months ago. I am in relative peace with my death and so are they. But not with their own.

They were both crying, eyes puffy and their features worn. It seemed like the exhaustion they were used to was nothing compared to this, this time not settled into their bones; no, the weariness was now eating their bones like a disease.

Your mother was a kindergarten teacher and your dad was an accountant, after all. They were not built for this shit. They were never meant to go through this. They didn’t deserve it. And yet, here they were. Because of you. And because of him.

“Just one ‘please’? I would expect more from you…. After all, their lives should matter to you greatly. Don’t you think, Madam?” he whispered to your mom’s ear and your hand jerked their way. “Oh come on, don’t be stupid. She’ll be dead before you even try. That’s not how this works. Beg.”

The hate coiling in your abdomen mingled with fear. The instinct of being a good girl and do as he asked so your parents, the people you loved endlessly, wouldn’t be harmed any further, and the instinct of a fighter developed during your moths as an Avenger were in a furious battle… and no one was winning.

Except Michaels.

“Get on your knees. And beg.”

Your jaw clenched as he beckoned to his friend; the man added a bit of a pressure and suddenly the thinnest trickle of blood went down, sinking into your father’s collar. He wore a blue shirt – you didn’t think this could get any more ironic. You obediently sunk to your knees, your eyes locked with his.

The floor around you covered in black ice in perfect circle without you intending it. You ignored it and sought out their captor again. “Please. Please, don’t hurt them. I’m begging you.”

His lips spread in a smile. “Not bad, sweet-cheeks. Now, why don’t you take the eye-mask off? So they know why they’re gonna die?”

You glanced at your mother’s pale face and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes. Your hands shook as you placed them both on the edges of your mask, slowly, oh so slowly stripping it.

You raised your gaze hesitantly, not even faking the reluctance – you just gave up one barrier that was separating your true identity from your Avenger persona. Today, you had given your money on two more things – the voice disguiser and the skin-thin mask S.H.I.E.L.D. was using to conceal someone’s face so no one could suspect a thing. It was an incredible technology that worked all too well.

Unless your enemies knew for a fact that this was not what you looked like.

The man in charge clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Aww, Frosty, it’s cute that you think you can hide. But you’re forgetting I know who you are. Some fancy tech won’t fool me. Take off your mask… or she dies.”

He pressed the knife tighter to your mom’s skin and you would swear your heart stopped. Your hands instinctively went to prop up, so you could lunge forward; a warning tsk made you change your mind effectively.

“Uh-huh. Stay where you are and. Take. Off. Your. Fucking. Mask.”

“She’s not wearing a mask! What are you talking about?” your mother cried out, tears rolling down her cheeks and you swore that moment that you would fucking gut that bastard who had done this to her.

“Oh she is. Come on. Do I need to start a countdown?” he mocked you.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, icy fire sneaking through your body, filling your veins with unknown feeling as well as the room.

The walls started covering in thin ice too – you weren’t aware of doing it, it must have been a subconscious reaction of your powers to your mental state. You were losing control, but you didn’t give a fuck. You had no intention to spare this worm, the poor excuse for a human being.

“To make a show. But don’t worry, you’re gonna die too. I vowed to find a soft spot of each Avenger to detach them from the team and make them an easy target to kill… you were the easiest one really. Leaving the people you care about so much unprotected…” he teased you slyly and the unknown feeling suddenly blossomed into something much more familiar, only with yet unrecognized intensity.

Anger. Rage.

“You fucking bastard-“

“Ouch. You kiss your mother with that mouth?” That fucker! You gritted your teeth, your hands balling into tight fists against the floor. “I’m gonna slit her throat unless you reveal yourself in three…”

You were sure as hell that he wouldn’t hesitate to do as he was promising, even if it meant he wouldn’t get his big revelation – he was insane like that, no doubt.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your tears running down the synthetic material imitating your skin. You held out one of your hands, asking for a moment, but you didn’t expect to get any.

“…two…”

You turned off the voice disguiser first – if you were about to reveal your face, there was no point in it. Then you brought your other hand to the levelled button to deactivate the advanced tech and started stripping it only a fraction of second later after pushing at the right place. You scrambled the thin film off your face, letting it fall.

You heard the astonished gasps, the breath of your name on your parent’s lips as loud as if they were screaming and you swallowed more tears that begged for release. You couldn’t make yourself to meet anyone’s eyes.

“That’s it, pretty girl. It’s a shame to hide a face like that, ain’t it?”

You breathed in sharply when you saw the steam coming out of his mouth peripherally. The temperature dropped significantly – your doing again, another sign of the powers acting on their own.

You lifted your gaze, piercing his eyes with yours with determination.

“Oh-ho, sweet. Never saw you change the colour of your eyes before. I guess the winter is coming.”

You had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Heavy snowflakes started falling down, but there was no gentleness in it – no, cold wind blew them, making them swirl around madly, making everyone in the room squint; except you. You felt something bubble inside you, something fighting its way out, crawling out and you had no need to try to shush it or push it back.

It made you feel strong. It made feel powerful enough to take these sons of bitches out.

“Whoa, now that’s new, Frosty-frost. What else you’ve got?” he mocked you with a victorious grin, his disgusting smugness in a stark contrast to your mother’s pale face.

You let go – you let go completely, allowing the burning energy to get loose. Your arms flew up in front of you intuitively as you jumped to your feet.

The sudden gust of wind threw the two remaining thugs against a wall, while your parents forms remained steady for some inexplicable reason – it was as if the energy acted instinctively again, its rage only focused on the people who had done you wrong.

The thug who had been holding your father’s head was knocked out by the blast; he slid down the icy wall as a rag doll, leaving a thin smudge of blood on its way, the ice cracked on the point of impact.

Michaels scrambled up, trying to catch his breath; behind him, the ice was broken as well. He chuckled a bit shakily, wiping blood from his fingertips to his trousers.

“Gotta admit, didn’t see that coming, Ice Queen.”

You walked to him slowly, having all the time in the world – he was barely standing and you felt the sprouts of energy at your hands that were just begging you to release them. So you did.

His body slammed against the wall once again, this time staying that way – invisible force was keeping him on place and he was stretching his neck so he could watch you approach.

“Why did you do this? The truth,” you demanded flatly, taking your time when erasing the distance between the two of you. You passed by your parents without a word; you had a monster to deal with now.

Michaels’ eyebrow rose – the gesture looked ridiculous since he still had to keep his eyes narrowed to see anything at all as the snowflakes was blowing into his face constantly.

“Big fan of family gathe-“

Your hand shot up to grab his throat before he could finish. He gasped for air.

“Tell. Me.”

Despite fighting for air and his limbs pinned to the wall, he grinned. “Look who’s— showing-- their true--- colours.”

You clenched your jaw and pressed tighter – you could feel your palm burning cold, itching to give a frostbite to his fucking vocal cords. The power was dizzying. You had never felt so strong and you were thanking heavens or hell – you didn’t care whose doing that was – for being able to fight like this now.

A solid weight of an icicle formed in your free hand unwittingly, rising to his neck.

You could see his eyes widen in shock before he composed his expression – you didn’t believe his fake bravery, you knew he was scared and it only fuelled the flame in you. You were the superior one. And this man needed a punishment.

“Frostbite— more like-- Killer Frost,” he choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks as he was fighting for air. His lips were slowly turning blue; you found it more interesting than his words, because he wasn’t saying what you wanted to hear. In fact, something stung your guts at the addressing, making your twitch, that something that felt important. But it wasn’t. “Why don’t--- you show---- mommy and dad-“

The sting was sharper this time. Something twisted your insides, something you couldn’t recognize, an inner voice whispering you to stop this madness; the freaking snowstorm in the room, the wind, the ice, the icy fire on your hands. The voice was shushed by a new rush of anger as you saw the man’s cocky smile, only growing when his hazy gaze looked behind you.

“-daddy— what a mur-murderer-- you are. Not your--- your first time---- ‘fter all.”

You gripped your weapon tighter and squeezed your eyes shut as the voice in your head got louder.

Spare him.

NO.

“Shut up,” you strained through your teeth, forcing yourself to look at him, to remember how much you hated him for what he had done and had tried to do. How much he deserved to die.

“ ’m sure Cap— ‘d be proud-- too.”

The mention of Steve did it.

You roared, burying the icicle in his body – it sank into his muscles as if he was made of butter, instantly covering in crimson liquid.

It was the most satisfying thing you had even done.

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Part 4

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​, @murdermornings​, @elisaa-shelby​ @ask-hellbent-tweek @cxptain, @kallafrench​, @smilexcaptainx​

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Thank you for reading! If anyone happens to want in or out of tags for Steve or this story, lemme know!