#one thing that makes a lot of tragedies satisfying is inevitability

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

it's just that i reeeally don't think it would have been that hard to find a solution to the timeline problem that didn't involve condemning the main character to an eternity trapped in his own solitary personal hell

[galedekarios]

that interview is driving me insane i've been thinking about it for the past hour and i still can't wrap my head around it. i think what really gets under my skin is it just... contradicts with the text of the game. the most positive possible reading of the ending where gale blows himself up is that it was an unavoidable tragedy dictated by fate but even that's a stretch. to say it's a good ending?? or a satisfying conclusion to his arc?? i call bull. it's more infuriating because there is such a clear good ending for gale's character arc and it's the professor ending! his arc was about learning to accept himself as he was, to value who he is as he is flaws and all, and he's done that in the professor ending! and the god of ambition ending is a bad end for him but still ties into his overall arc in a satisfying if sad way (imo). the ending where he dies just... doesn't. which is fine as a tragedy but to imply it isn't exactly that, a tragedy, is wild to me. and it being so blatantly contradictory to the actual events of the game makes me think that whole thing was just catering to people who hate gale which like... why? people who don't like him don't care about his story so why pander to them like this?

uhg. i am sorry for blowing up your inbox like this i just feel like i'm gonna rip my hair out and need to express that to a fellow gale appreciator. i love gale's epilogue SO MUCH it made me feel for a bit like maybe the writers had actually changed how they felt about him but. nope! silly of me to hope for that. wish i could memory wipe that whole interview from my brain dark urge style.

don't be sorry at all! 🖤 i feel the same way in a lot of ways. altho i feel the need to mention that gale's writer, jan van dosselaer, was not involved in this interview.

i started to make a meta post about this yesterday, but reading things like this from gale:

act ii [after elminster] Player: An old man with a craving for cheese. Hardly the great wizard of legend. Gale: A wizard doesn't reach Elminster's age without enjoying their home comforts. Those who seek danger over cheese don't tend to live as long. Gale: For Mystra to have sent him... The severity of her bidding could not be clearer. Or weigh more heavily on me. devnote: reflecting on mystra sending elminster, of all people - a powerful individual, becoming reflective. Gale: Time seems so infinite when you are young... a month is an age, a year is a lifetime... it is a strange feeling, to realise how little of it one might have left. Player: You're seriously considering doing what Elminster said?   Gale: Of course - he offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and let go... devnote: Trying to sound upbeat, not fully engaging with what he's saying (that he's going to kill himself). Gale: Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone... devnote: Trying to sound upbeat, not fully engaging with what he's saying (that he's going to kill himself). Gale: ...and I along with it. devnote: Still trying to sound upbeat, though this time the reality that this means he will die weighs a bit heavier

and:

act ii [act ii romance scene] Gale: I am terrified - I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it even if my words sought to deny it. nodecontext: Hushed, vulnerable Gale: There is no point in running from the inevitable. Better to meet it, on my own terms. nodecontext: Resigned

as well as this:

act ii [act ii friendship version] Gale: Yes... but there is so much to live for, and so few moments in which to house it all. Gale: Damn you. Damn you for giving me so much to care about. Our friends, our adventures... this would have been so much easier if it was just me. But it isn't. Gale: If there is a way - any way - to save all that's grown dear to me, I want to seize it. I just cannot fathom what that might be, other than to fail Mystra and condemn the world. Gale: Stay with me, will you? I don't want to think of it any more, but I don't want to be alone either.

act iii [before the netherbrain] Player: Gale... I think we should consider using the orb as Mystra intended. To blow up the Netherbrain. Gale: I'm getting rather tired of how often those I care about seem to reach the same conclusion.

when you have this:

and i just... couldn't finish the meta.

it's absolutely beyond comprehension for me how anyone could try to frame this as an ending that is the right one in "many ways", as the "guy who starts off annoying everyone", eating your "most priced possessions", having to "give back to the world".

for the founder of the company to say he wasn't "ready" the "first time", but he's finally "ready" now.

gale's death isn't only unnecessary, an instruction given to him by his former mentor on the behalf of a goddess, who would've sacrificed not only him but thousands of others to achieve her own goals, he doesn't want to die. he's terrified. he wants to live. he is offering this because he believes that his time has run out. because he wants his death to have purpose if it must happen. because he feels he made a mistake far bigger than he can ever make up for. because he doesn't want others to waste their chance at life like he feels he has. the will he leaves behind in the epilogue if he sacrifices himself isn't finished because he thought there would be more time. i could go on and on.

and again, the question is too... for what exactly does he need to "give back to the world"?

being perceived as annoying after coming out of what is presented as isolation and depression? asking for help with a now chronic impairment that feeds on his very soul and wreaks havoc on his body? for making a mistake? by that logic every companion deserves the same fate.

which brings me to the contrast to how most of the other companions are framed in this interview: k*rlach, "the labrador of the party". l*e'zel, "she's so young". ast*rion, "much of what he does it out of fear". sh*dowheart, "the jason bourne" and "victim of religous trauma". w*ll, "the true baldur's gate hero".

the difference is staggering. there's empathy here. there's at least a surface level understanding and/or appreciation of the characters there.

...and then you have gale.

it's alienating and disappointing to see devs have so little respect and care for their own character, as well as for the parts of their fandom who have grown attached to the character exactly for the strengths and flaws he has, for the struggles he faces and for the healing journey he can have if he is helped and lives.

[hageny]

Succession Thoughts: Gerri x Roman 

1. Forsaken.

I’ve finally gotten around to writing my final Succession Thoughts post. I thought it was to take some time to ruminate on the finale, even if that meant putting the post out later and potentially reaching a smaller audience after the high of the final season had worn off. A lot of the chatter on social media surrounding this ending scene was interesting to me. Many people interpreted Roman’s drinking of the martini, and his smile at the end, as a sign of possible hopefulness regarding his relationship with Gerri. A possibility of things in the future. A chance to call, to reach out and start over. I disagree. The final, seconds long glimpse of his face after his smile fades tells the truth, the real truth in their relationship that people are wanting to ignore which is that it is over, and he knows this. I wrote last season about the basic problem between them being that Roman comes from a place of authenticity in his interactions with Gerri (however flawed his efforts may be), while Gerri is more calculating and always willing to look out for number one. The end to their liaison proves as much. Roman made a good number of mistakes on his part, and contributed as much to the downfall as she did, no doubt, but the real crux and the torment between them is that Gerri is wired to look out for herself no matter what, and discard what she no longer needs. She discarded Laurie once he’d served his purpose, likely discarded Martyn too (who she seemingly only brought to the wedding to make Roman jealous), and, finally, set Roman aside once she was done with the company and didn’t need him anymore. I’ve touched on this quality in her personality numerous times over the course of the show’s run, and in the end, that part dominates her so deeply that she is unable to really form any lasting connections. While Roman is looking for a place to feel safe, to be nurtured, for someone to help him grow, Gerri looks at people for what they can do for her, for their usefulness to her. This is not to say she did not genuinely have feelings for Roman. I believe she did. But this is to say that, in the war against the self, what is inherent to a person will always win out, whatever quality that is. One can try to find better qualities, different qualities, other aspects, but who a person is deep down inside will always lead to the inevitable outcome at the end of the day. And so it did with Gerri. All of Roman’s attempts to nurture something better in her, to connect to her, to bring out something softer worked for a while, but ultimately her cold nature won out and things ended as they always would. And really, the signs were there from the beginning for those willing to see them. While Roman, by the end of the show, seemed to grow and change into someone different, someone who realized the family company served him no greater purpose and was subsequently able to move forward, Gerri remained...well, herself. She’ll go on to do the same thing as before somewhere else while Roman gets to forge a new path, equipped with the lessons he learned from her and from making his mistakes. This is the real tragedy inherent in their relationship, in my opinion. They are two people from the same world, with similar beliefs, similar backgrounds and values, and yet, they are destined not to remain together because internally they are too different. That’s the real tragedy of this show--it’s not the overall occurrences that make things so painful, it’s the tragedy of the self and what, inherently, we are unable to overcome.

2. Mother Monster.

I don’t often touch on other relationships in these posts, but I must say that seeing Tom take over Waystar was so satisfying to me. What fascinated me was the amount of people who were either surprised Shiv would screw her siblings over, or tried to convince themselves that her choice was due to “misogyny”. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, but in my view, both of these are wrong. Shiv, to put it simply, screwed her brothers over because this is who she is at her core. This is who she has always been. She looks out for herself at the expense of others, and at the end of the day, her narcissism caught up to her. She ended up like the mother she despised--stuck in a marriage to a man she has no love for and set to become a mother to a child she is not interested in. Tom, for his part, ended up at the top because, really, after having been saddled with so much suffering, there was no other way to go but up. He was a black sheep in a family of wolves and he learned how to play their game better than his wife, and won as a result. Shiv’s choices have to do with who she is at her core, which is revealed during her fight with Tom in Tailgate Party. The irony of their fight--which begins about her starting the rumor that he will get fired--need not even be touched on. When she says to him, “You’re servile [...] you don’t deserve me, and you never did” she’s essentially echoing what her father told her in season one, which was that she was marrying a man below her station because she could control him. Sadly for her, her self-serving ways caught up to her and now she is victim to the fate she deserves--wife to someone with more influence and power than she will ever likely have again. For all her torturing and disdain for Tom, she ended up in the position she wanted him in, and that is immensely satisfying. 

AN: A huge thank you to all who have read these posts over the time I’ve been writing them. It’s been so satisfying to be able to interact with other fans who enjoy the same thing I do, and to contribute--in some small way--to the ever-evolving discussion surrounding the show. If I see anything interesting regarding Roman and Gerri floating around on the internet, I’ll post it here. As unfortunate as it was that the show ended--even though I believe it ended at the right time--the real loss for me will be the community I managed to find here, and the exchanges I had with others along the way. My inbox is always open for those wanting to chat some more, I welcome any messages, and I can’t wait to hear what you all thought about the finale. Thank you again, it’s been an immensely gratifying journey. 

[strahdapologist]

so I read through your blog and you really don't like the fact that 5e Strahd is a biphobic stereotype. But you run campaigns and play him. Can I ask what changes you've made to his characterisation to make him less of a biphobic stereotype? I know you didn't do the dumb elf genocide thing with him of course

uhm so the first change i made was to his consorts because 5e is shitty towards women and to its other minimal queer rep in the adventure, so in my campaign they were remade to be actual members of his court. their exact responsibilities shifted depending on the ideas i had at the time, but in their latest incarnations ludmilla was in charge of external affairs such as communication with other realms and trade, volenta was in charge of internal affairs, anastrasya was in charge of gathering intelligence and all matters arcane, and escher was charged officially with arts and culture but he was also an active diplomat and spy for strahd. they all have royal titles (that correspond with old romanian nobility) and i made sure they all had their own little story trees of responsibilities to enact across barovia while the campaign was occurring.

i still wanted bisexual representation for strahd that was explicit, however, so a plotline was him and escher breaking up. however their romantic tryst was undertaken with an explicit understanding that strahd was still seeking tatyana, but that in spite of this search he still yearned for intimacy and closeness. escher agreed to these terms and was not taken by surprise when strahd ended things in light of tatyana being reincarnated, though he was still sad about it ending. as strahd's spy, though, he played up this heartbreak to appeal to any who may be against strahd (two members of the party) and tricked them into divulging their true intentions rather quickly. instead of having escher as a hopless gay longing for senpai strahd's love again he became a quietly dangerous character that no one noticed was spying on them lol

i also removed all instances of strahd seeking new consorts in the players. his romantic attention is focused solely on tatyana but in a respectful way that does not cross any lines and instead plays into old ideas of victorian-era courtship. tho he and our tatyana had pre-marital sex so his commitment to prudish courtship is well...... yeah lol

finally sasha was entirely removed. the idea of becoming "bored" of wives and throwing them to the crypts was misogynistic before he was bisexual, and 5th edition made this plot line worse by making strahd bisexual because it implies he is voraciously lustful and can never be sexually satisfied and that the fate of sasha may well be the fate of tatyana if they ever got married. now it's not just sexist, it's biphobic! thank u 5e <3

so yeah tl;dr i just play him as more of a forlorn romantic and gave all the consorts actual titles of duchess/viscount/marquess etc. ditched most of his romantic relationships as well. 5e's biphobia also remove the agency of other women and queer characters in their module so it was important to me not just to adjust strahd's characterization, but the characterization of those around him. through the campaign, it was hinted that ludmilla and volenta had romantic relationships of their own (volenta with gertruda, for example) and escher's crush on ismark turned into the party trying to set the two of them up on dates which is quite sweet. this gave also a lot more room to the tragedy of strahd's love for tatyana when it was inevitably, once again, taken away by forces of darkness

i also spoke to people who are bisexual and i myself read about biphobic tropes in media bc as a lesbian i would find myself icked out by contents of the module but not entirely aware of why or the history of it until context was added, so seeking outside input on what exactly was offensive and why was very helpful

anyway follow me i'm delicious

[fandom-oracle]

doomed by a narrative of your own creation

so the funny thing about the bridge scene is that the cinematography lends itself to making you as the audience identify with goncharov, and that’s why the lens shifts from a look into de niro’s face whenever katya is about to speak, but when the reverse happens, we don’t get a closeup of cybill’s face. it immediately shifts to third person; as if katya’s thoughts were for the audience to consume, a tragedy in the making, one more scripted line in the play we know is slowly acting itself out to goncharov’s eventual death. doomed by the narrative and all that. goncharov, and to a lesser extent andrey, are the only characters treated as having full conscience of the audience’s gaze, of the inevitability of the narrative.

but if we view it from katya’s perspective the scene takes on a completely different meaning; the primary imagery associated with katya is liminality - she’s always presented as some manner of “choice” for goncharov which we as the audience know is never viable, yet she’s there, tormenting him with the idea of power over his fate, even though that’s a fantasy that demands we ignore that katya isn’t a passive recipient of goncharov’s fantasies; in fact, her theme of liminality is her own. she’s always in bridges, doorways, gates, she is the first to greet him in naples. she’s always between worlds; between the conventional and the unconventional, between purity and depravity, between summer and winter, between italy and russia. it is katya who is truly tortured by rootlessness, by the pain of knowing her choices are often mutually exclusive and that’s a really interesting story to be told from the perspective of an immigrant.

the garden party scene showcases it best. with sofia’s italian marchese friends, katya is the image of a madonna, dressed in white, basking in luxury and excess beyond her wildest dreams, and yet she’s tortured by the fact that a part of her is missing. goncharov is missing. she can’t handle leaving him without proper goodbyes and she isn’t even sure she can handle living him. she’s tortured by the bifurcation of her own fate: her future with sofia and her past with goncharov. when ice pick crashes the party and white dress is smeared with blood, she gets that terrible wake up call that goncharov IS a part of her, and a part of her she’s going to have to be the one to dispose of.

she chooses sofia on the bridge, and it’s a choice that is going to haunt her for the rest of her life, knowing that choice had a part to play in goncharov’s demise, and knowing that she benefited from that demise. the last shot we have of katya, she’s walking into a dinner party with a red dress, but her face is not shown. we don’t know who that is, which katya it is: the italian aristocrat or the russian mob wife. and yet we know goncharov, the “stain” her past, is now forever a part of her. and that means pain, because it means she was responsible for the death of the man she may have once loved in some strange way.

we don’t know if katya was satisfied with her grand finale, but we know she had a choice every step of the way, she was the narrative’s primary agent and a lot of that’s getting buried in shallow criticism that she’s only a vehicle for goncharov’s pain, that something about her is inherently male gaze-y. and while there’s some truth to that I think that’s really shallow analysis of her role in the story.

[bootlickerhawks]

Killua Gon Kurapika and Leolio :D for the ask game

:D!!!! bless you for indulging my new hyperfixation <3

putting the rest under a cut cuz i couldn't resist rambling hdjfds

Gon is def one of my fav shounen protags (easily top 5). He's such a wonderfully executed and complex character and every time I think abt his character arc I wanna scream (in a good way). What makes the tragedy of CAA hit harder is that it could have easily been avoided if the adults around him had been more responsible and less eager to exploit him (I adore Morel and I understand his reasoning but you can't deny he's partly responsible. He saw firsthand how emotionally unstable Gon was and chose to utilize it for the mission). Tho tbh even if CAA hadn't happened it's very likely something like this would have occurred sooner or later, Gon's been self-destructive from the very beginning (breaking his arm against Hanzo and going so far as to blow his own arm off to satisfy his ego against Genthru)

I love him sm and I hope Togashi gets the opportunity to explore his character post-CAA ;w;

Kurapika is a weird case cuz for all intents and purposes he should have been one of my top favs, I love revenge stories and he's the "prototype" of a lot of my favs like Sasuke and Akechi. But it turns out I don't feel that strongly about him fbdjhsf. That being said, I do look forward to seeing how his story ends and how his and Leorio's characters will develop together. I don't even ship Leopika but the conflict between them is gonna be fantastic *o* which will prevail? Kurapika's self destructive quest or Leorio's desire to right past wrongs and save his friend in time?

ALSO side note but I fucking adore Kurapika's absence during the Election arc. That's right, Kurapika! DON'T confront the reality of what reckless self destructiveness will inevitably lead to! :D

Leorio fits into one of my favorite tropes: asshole with a heart of gold. And he gets bonus points cuz he wants to be a healer (it's so refreshing to see masculine characters in fiction want to be healers/caretakers). And he gets even more relatability points cuz BOY do I relate to poverty ;w;

Also Leorio punching Ging is the sexiest thing anyone in this show has ever done and I would totally make out with him

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 301: All My Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: We learned that when a bunch of superpowered villains are suddenly set loose with nobody around to stop them, things get fucked pretty quickly. Old Man Samurai and a bunch of other useless people decided to make “I pretend I do not see it” their new mantra, and resigned. Endeavor had a moment of despair on account of being crushed by the guilt of having ruined the lives of himself, his family, and basically everyone else in the entire world. For various reasons the heretical notion of “person who has done bad things feels sorry for doing them” sent fandom spiraling into a meltdown, so that was fun. The chapter ended with the entire Todoroki clan descending upon Enji’s hospital room to have a dramatic chat about Touya and All That General Fuckery.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “here’s the story of how Baby Touya slowly went insane trying to win his father’s love.” It’s a tale full of subverted expectations and heartbreaking inevitability, and also like twenty panels of the cutest fucking kids who ever existed on planet earth, who are so fucking cute that I can’t stop thinking about their cuteness even with all of the horrifying family tragedy unfolding around them. It is absolutely ridiculous how cute they are. Touya is out here pushing his tiny body past its limits because he inherited the same obsession as his dad and neither of them can put it aside even though it’s destroying them, and yet all I can think about is Baby Shouto’s (。･o･｡) face. Anyways what a chapter.

so I have to confess that even though I managed to avoid being caught off-guard by the early leaks, the number of people reblogging my Endeavor posts from earlier this week and using the tag “bnha 301” kind of gave me an inkling that this chapter will include more Tododrama lol. that said, I don’t know anything else about it, so we’re still good spoiler-wise

AHHHHH FLAHSBAKC AHHHH. omg I know I typoed the shit out of that, but I’m just going to leave it lol I think it’s fitting

holy shit holy fuck. so this is Rei and Enji’s first meeting, then??

yepppp, oh shit

so wait, I know this is not even the slightest bit important, but are they meeting at Enji’s home or Rei’s? because I always figured that Enji was the one with the super-Japanese aesthetic, but maybe that was Rei’s side of the family all along

(ETA: from what I found during my very brief google search, omiai meetings are often held at fancy hotels or restaurants, so maybe that’s what this is.)

there’s such a period drama feel to this setting. like it’s so outrageously formal fff how can anyone stand this kind of atmosphere though seriously

OH THANK GOD

I mean they’re still stiff af but at least they’re not rigidly sitting in seiza and staring at each other unblinkingly anymore lol. Enji’s actually got his hands in his pockets now. why is this somehow almost cute

oh damn it’s the flowers

Rei seems so subdued and it’s so hard to get any idea of what she’s actually thinking. I want to see her side of this dammit

but anyway, so at least from Enji’s perspective it seems like even though the marriage was arranged and he picked her because of her quirk, he still loved his wife and wanted to do right by her. the fact that he was watching her and noticed that she liked the flowers, and remembered that detail for all these years -- there’s a reason why Horikoshi’s showing us this. we know what’s going to happen later on; we know how much fear and violence and breaking of trust is coming up ahead, and while it may seem like this scene is serving to soften Enji’s character further -- which to be fair it is -- it also helps drive home the full impact of his abuse. that it’s so terrible not only because of the trauma of the abuse itself, but also because of the way it retroactively destroys all of the good things as well. this could have potentially been such a sweet scene, but it’s inescapably tainted by the knowledge of what’s to come, at least for me. and that’s just brutal

anyways, shit. is the whole chapter going to be like this?? feel free to toss in something I can actually make a joke about sometime, Horikoshi

oop, back to the present

omfg lol

“are you all right” “NO I’M NOT ALL RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK.” “oh, right, because of all the stuff that’s happened with me abusing you and you having a mental breakdown and being hospitalized for ten years and then our son coming back to life and killing thirty people, right, right. I almost forgot.” whoops

omfg you guys I’m loving this new and improved steely-eyed Rei. I’m loving her a lot

and what do you mean “part one” fkjds how long is this going to be. TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR ONE CHAPTER TO HANDLE

oh, hello

yeah I’ll say you did. didn’t seem to bother you much at the time, though

HMMMMMMMMMMMM

Dabi Is A Noumu intensifies even further. anyways though would you fucking look at this boy lounging on this moth-eaten couch doing his best DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS impression wtf

Dabi what if you actually had killed him??? what would you feel?? satisfaction?? regret?? anything at all?? tell me your secrets goddammit

who are you talking to buddy

Fuyumi-chan, Natsu-kun (is it common for brothers to address each other as -kun?? can’t recall seeing that in many other anime, but hey), and “dot dot dot,,,,,, SHOUTO” lol thank you so much for this bountiful heaping of Tododrama Horikoshi we are blessed

AH, WHAT DID I SAY THE OTHER DAY

ULTIMATE MELODRAMATIC THEATER CHILD. “I’M JUST GOING TO LIE ON THIS COUCH SHIRTLESS AND ALONE AND MAKE SPEECHES TO MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO AREN’T THERE AND SAY THINGS LIKE ‘WATCH ME IN THE PITS OF HELL’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE BECAUSE NO ONE’S THERE TO JUDGE ME.” WELL JOKE’S ON YOU MISTER CHATTERBOX BECAUSE I AM IN FACT JUDGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LOL

(ETA: and on a more serious note, it’s interesting to see that “look at me”/”watch me” theme being used again though, because we see that same sentiment uttered repeatedly by the younger Touya in the flashback. well kid, you definitely got your wish at last. don’t know what else to say.)

OKAY HORIKOSHI HAS DECIDED THAT’S ENOUGH FUN, TIME FOR MORE FLASHBACKS

oh my sweet precious lord

just as cute as we left him. giving us a child this cute when we all know full well what’s going to happen to him is just unspeakably cruel though

HOMG

I’m fucking speechless. you broke me, congratulations. what am I even supposed to do with this

I can’t get over this. moving forward my life will be split into two distinct parts, B.P. (Before the Pout) and A.P. (After the Pout)

and meanwhile there’s ALL THIS BACKGROUND ANGST BUILDING UP, AND I CAN’T EVEN FOCUS ON IT. Touya’s arm and cheek are covered in bandages (I’m guessing this is shortly after that “ouch!” panel we got some chapters back), and Enji is deliberately avoiding training with him because he doesn’t want him to hurt himself further. I can’t fucking get over the irony that all this time everyone thought Touya had died because Enji pushed him too far in his training, and it turns out that it’s the opposite -- the tragedy ultimately happened because he didn’t want to push him. but I’m jumping ahead of myself though I guess

by the way,

remember this?? just wanted to remind you that it exists just in case you forgot

so now someone is talking and basically saying that Touya is the exact opposite of what Enji was hoping for when he decided to start playing with quirk genetics

-- okay hold up

...lol no, never mind. for a second I thought “holy shit he looks kind of familiar WHAT IF IT’S UJIKO OMG” before I remembered that Enji would have recognized him during the hospital capture mission if that was the case. so NEVER MIND, PROCEED

IMAGINE THAT, ENJI DOESN’T QUITE SEEM SATISFIED WITH THIS SUGGESTION OF QUITTING NOW

(ETA: how the fuck did this man go around saving 62 towns in a single day what even is All Might.)

[clicks tongue several times] trouble a’brewin’

MEANWHILE BABY TOUYA HAS UNFORTUNATELY INHERITED HIS DAD’S STUBBORN STREAK

KLDIHWOEIJFL:KSDJ

!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god. oh my god. what is this chapter. WHAT IS IT

so now Touya is all “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY MANLY DESIRE TO BURN MYSELF ALIVE” well you got her there champ

THEY’RE TOO CUTE. OH MY GOD. HIS FURIOUS LITTLE TEARS. HER CHUBBY LIL FACE. HIS STUBBY LIL FISTS. SOMEONE HELP ME

also are they just home alone lol or what. “hey Touya, you’re what, like six now?? do us a favor and look after your baby sister for a couple hours for us would you? make sure not to set yourself on fire or anything.” WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!!

now it’s nighttime and Enji and Rei are arguing, presumably about his decision not to train Touya anymore

whew. okay. so, a couple of things here

1. first of all I think this conclusively shows that Enji really was trying to do the best he could for Touya. he stopped training him as soon as he realized it was hurting him, but Touya was still determined so he tried to make it work anyway, and even visited doctors to try and figure out if there was anything they could do. then, once they were absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to work, he tried multiple times to explain to Touya why they had to stop. he didn’t just abandon him out of the blue, which is really important to note. “no matter how much I tried telling him...”

so yeah, that debunks another common fandom accusation. so by the time he finally makes this decision, which we all know is going to turn out horribly, it’s basically because he’s already tried everything else he could think of. which, by the way, still doesn’t mean he handled this right. but at the very least he was taking Touya’s feelings into account and he was trying, and he didn’t just abruptly toss his son aside (at least not yet)

2. buuuut, then there’s this panel right below all that

which is the other side of it. if he’d just quit like the doctor person advised him to, that would have been the end of it. Touya would still have been upset, but he would have eventually gotten over it and the family would have moved on and possibly even been happy. but what happens next happens because Enji can’t let go. he still has this maddening urge to surpass All Might, and so he and Rei keep having more children, and then Shouto is born, and Enji finally has a kid he can start projecting all of his hysterical ambitions onto once again, and everything starts spiraling out of control soon after

though p.s. none of that is Shouto’s fault though!! he’s one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess and I’m very happy that he exists. the tragedy is that his dad fucking lost his mind over his quirk and fucked everything up. but that’s on him, not Touya or Shouto

anyways, SLKFJLSHGLKJL

I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS YOU GUYS??? LOOK AT THAT LIL BUTTON OF A NOSE??? I’M LOSING IT HERE???

AND TOUYA JUST SEEMS DEVASTATED OMG

because children aren’t stupid, after all. he understands that his dad is still looking to surpass All Might. and so he feels like a failure, and feels like his dad is trying to replace him because he wasn’t good enough. and even now, isn’t that what the adult Touya is trying to prove?? that he was good enough after all?? “I’ll show you what happens when you give up on me, dad”?? “I’ll show you what I can do”?? fuck my life fuck everything

AND YOU CAN SEE THE TOLL THAT IT’S ALL TAKING ON REI GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS WELL OH GOD

really nice touch here with the panel outlines becoming all shimmery from the heat of Endeavor’s flames (and/or becoming more unstable as the family gets closer and closer to their breaking point). but man, Horikoshi I can’t handle this, please show us more cute kids or something I can’t

GKELKWFJLDKSHFLKL

WITTLE BABE. BEEB. BUBS. SMOL. lkj; oh ouch a piece of my heart just detached and latched onto him huh look at that

TODOROKI “I’M SO SMALL AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON AND I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE” SHOUTO AHHHHH

crazy how they all just seem to know right off the bat lol. kid doesn’t even have object permanence yet, let alone a quirk. but do they care?? IT’S THE HAIR, RIGHT. WE’RE ALL THINKING IT, I’M JUST GONNA COME OUT AND SAY IT. they knew the minute they looked at him lol

AND MEANWHILE TOUYA IS OFF HAVING UNSUPERVISED TRAINING/CRYING SESSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OR WHATEVER, AND, UH OH

are those blue flames yet?? they seem pretty close

(ETA: this is one of the few cases where the manga being in black and white is infuriating lol.)

OH MY GOD AND STILL

so it’s not like he was so disinterested that he didn’t notice what was happening, and he was still trying to stop it and get through to him. trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things he could do with his life, but this one particular thing just wasn’t going to happen

fucking hell. it’s agonizing seeing how close they actually were to fixing it. if he’d only said the right words, or if he’d realized at this point how destructive his obsession could be to his kids, and backed off from putting that same pressure on Shouto. we came so close to possibly having a happy ending

AND ALSO THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING BUT PLEASE LOOK AT HOW TOUYA IS LIKE THREE AND A HALF FEET TALL AND HIS DAD IS LIKE NINE AND A HALF FEET. Touya barely comes past his knees flkjlkg. the Todoroki household must have been so filled with like plastic stepstools to reach the bathroom sink and all the little baby toothbrushes, and baby gates to keep the kiddos out of the important grown-up rooms and stuff. and also days-old half-empty cups of water and stale crackers and hot wheels and my little ponies strewn everywhere

“BUT EVERYONE AT SCHOOL SAYS THEY’RE GONNA BE HEROES” a wild Deku parallel appears?? how bout that

I know this is like a pivotal moment in the Todo Tragedy and all, but fucking look at this lil dumpling

“sup bro, it’s me, the manifestation of your fears of inadequacy and lack of fatherly affections. a GAAA. ba-baAA-baa [gurgling baby sounds]”

OHHHHH IT’S THE SOUND OF MY HEART BREAKING OH NO

HE WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU ENJI. good lord somebody please just get this family some therapy

“DAD YOU IGNITED IT IN ME” flkjslkj nope, nope. not ready for this pain here

baby Shouto, would you like to weigh in on this affair? “DA!! ba-ga-daaa, [pacifier chewing noises]” oh my, you don’t say. so insightful for one so young

OH MY GODDDDDD

IT’S SO DRAMATIC BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE SHOUNEN WOOSH LINES SURROUNDING FOUR-MONTH-OLD SHOUTO LOL HE WAS LIKE THIS FROM BIRTH OH MY GOD I AM DYING HELP

SHOUTO YOU’RE RUINING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER!?!?!

“yo, the fuck kind of family was I fucking born into” oh, son. if you only knew. IF YOU ONLY KNEW!!

(ETA: lmao I got so distracted by the ridiculous cuteness that I glossed over the fact that Baby Touya seems to possibly be aiming at him?? it’s hard to tell because he’s also super out of it from heatstroke and may just be losing control in his attempt to show off his upgrade.)

ANYWAY THAT’S THE END EXCEPT WHAT’S THIS LAST LINE OMG

ffffff. and we’re in for ANOTHER chapter of this next week?? MORE drama?? MORE BABIES?? MORE OF EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TOUYA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO MADNESS. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT, BUT ALSO YES PLEASE SIGN ME UP

[demonslayedher]

Is their any demon slayer character that you think should of had more screen time in the manga?

I could be diplomatic and say we could have benefitted from a smidge more bonding time with all of the non-Tanjiro cast, but instead I shall go on a selfish rant: we should have gotten more of that magatama-wearing peach-flinger, supposedly rightful heir to the Breath of Thunder himself, freaking Kaigaku.

It's probably no surprise that I say this as a Zenitsu Stan. The two deep-dives we got into Inosuke and Zenitsu's pasts were two-cour, and, these would have worked better with more of a bridge between the first and second cours (Natagumo arc and Infinity Fortress arc). Given Inosuke's personality it works a bit better that he was totally unbothered by an unusual memory or two and then floored by how suddenly important his mother became to him when facing her killer, but some odd recollections of Douma would have really sold that "whoa!! Baby Inosuke resided with an Upper Moon!!" shocker. Still, Inosuke was a baby, it only gets so personal (I would totally accept Douma & Baby Inosuke interactions, though, for absolutely sure, but Douma got a lot of satisfying development in his interactions with Shinobu, Kanao, and the other Upper Moons too). Zenitsu, unlike Inosuke, is someone who ruminates and takes everything personally. Jiichan and Kaigaku both had such an impact on him that it's odd for him to go most of the span of the series only thinking back to them once. It's one thing if Zenitsu chose never to mention Kaigaku to his friends, in fact, such a decision would say a lot about their relationship, but knowing Zenitsu he probably ranted about his mean martial brother at the slightest mention of something that might remind him of Kaigaku. But Zenitsu's feelings toward him were highly complex, and it would have been great to get those thoughts before the betrayal. Besides just being like, "oh no, not Jiichan!" we could have felt that twist of the knife in our backs too; Kaigaku's a character we don't get to appreciate until he's dying and already performed all his bad deeds (but I suppose that's the case for many of the other demons, a la Kimetsu logic).

While seeing more of Kaigaku would had been interesting as a Zenitsu fan, it would had also been an opportunity to bring out more in Himejima's character as well. Kaigaku was very keen on upward mobility in the Corp, he had to have had some familiarity with the current strongest people, and he had to have known who the Rock Pillar was and been like, "oh shit." Getting Kaigaku's perspective on Himejima would have given us a very different "oh dang, we should have been watching out for this crying guy" effect than Inosuke just declaring "dude be strong." (But alas, writing a serialized manga is hard and you fit things in where you can. Hence, Taisho Secrets.)

Mostly, it would had been great to get more Kaigaku for Kaigaku's sake. Channeling his anxieties in the form of emotional self-protection and aggression makes him a striking foil to Zenitsu in more than just their sorely lacking Thunder Breath capabilities. There was an arc there we didn't get to see unfold. He had to have some feelings left over from selfishly allowing that demon massacre to occur at the temple filled with orphans, whom he must have felt at some level he was better than. Having someone he respected see potential in him and treat him as someone special might have given him hope to make a better person out of himself, but if the same care could be given to someone like Zenitsu, then it probably made him feel pretty betrayed too. That drive to make himself be someone special is like a more dangerous look at Shinjuro's drives which drove him to depression, and it would had been so, so, so rich to see Kokushibo see some of himself in Kaigaku too, instead of only being like, "hmm, you're strong, guess I'll spare you."

But to have been in a fight against Upper Moon 1 and held out on his own that long in the first place? Especially someone who was still in training very recently? KAIGAKU WAS A FREAKING BOMBSHELL OF A POWERFUL DEMON SLAYER. He was already on Twelve Moon level when he turned; it must had driven Kaigaku mad to see that Zenitsu was the one running into all the strong demons and Thunderclap-and-Flashing his way up the ranks. Sure, he accepted Kokushibo's proposition because he was terrified. And I love that even someone as assured of his own specialness can succumb to mortal terror (again, interesting Zenitsu foil). But Kaigaku accepted this new role as readily as he accepted demon slaying as his calling; he set right about eating people, lots of people. Which people? We'll never know, but I'd like to think he ate those boys who Zenitsu punched for talking bad about him.

Kaigaku's belief in himself means that whenever he's cornered, he'll discard any previous identity and take on wholeheartedly whatever his new one is. Interesting choice to give him a magatama motif, those are thought to bring out one's innate spiritual power. He's always relied most on himself. Once Kuwajima let him down, he didn't need Kuwajima anymore. Even once he become filled with Muzan's blood (and approval), he wasn't in it for Muzan, he was in it to prove himself superior and talented.

But Kaigaku so, so desperately looks outside of himself for approval anyway. HE'S SUCH A TRAGEDY. And if we had gotten more snippets of him here and there throughout the manga, even just one scene of Zenitsu running into him and getting told off for punching those guys, we would have had the anticipation of him being an inevitable train wreck instead of just "mean guy who was mean to Zenitsu and will probably be mean again in future chapters because he is mean."

No, Kaigaku was mean because he had so many of his own insecurities to wrestle with and he was so bad at that and I wish, I wish, I wish we could have gotten more of Kokushibo being like, "I have the cure for insecurities, just don't be a weak human anymore" (especially because Kokushibo appreciated he could be honest in Muzan's service instead of having to privately wrestle with his jealousy and angst of impending demise, so it would had been great to give Kaigaku a similar outlet). And if Muzan was willing to promote him to Upper Moon 6 so quick off the bat, I wish we could have seen some interaction between them, like Muzan showing up to the site of Kaigaku's first blood bath and praising Kaigaku for his eagerness to get stronger and his potential as a powerful demon. How GOOD that would had sounded to Kaigaku's ears. And dang, oh man, if Himejima could had known, if he could had known ANYTHING about Kaigaku joining the Corp and then showing his true colors, being an untrustworthy little shit because that's all humans usually are, w o w that would had painted more of Himejima's dark side besides just saying a 4-year-old girl was a selfish human (I would totally accept more Himejima cynicism, especially because it's so disconcerting coming from one of the most level-headed characters in this whole manga).

Phew. Anyway. I guess I could go on a rant about a lot of good scenes we could have gotten from many of the characters, but I still stick with Kaigaku as my answer to his because he's the acting agent in a betrayal, and betrayals work best if first see what it is that they're destroying. AAAAUUGHHH I LOVE A GOOD BETRAYAL and this one feels like it was written backwards, I wish it could had been seasoned throughout the text more instead of taking the lid off the shaker and dumping a pile of salt into a few short chapters. KAIGAKU, YOU ARE ONE BIG PILE OF SALT. But also you deserved to have your pain shared, you selfish twit, come back here in some earlier chapters and let us see you try to have a stiff upper lip when people point out your insecurities, you were trying so hard, you big baby, come back here and let us a love you a bit before you zap us with your betrayal.

*angrily throws peaches to conclude the venting Ask reply*

[acrosstobear]

Callum Ilott talks racing accidents, tragedy and mental health

Callum Ilott pauses, takes a deep breath and prepares to answer.

It seems a pretty straightforward question to deliver a response to: are racing drivers affected after a crash or seeing a team-mate or rival have an accident? But it’s a deeply personal topic for the 22-year-old.

The Formula 1 rising star saw the aftermath of a tragic collision at Spa during his F2 days which claimed the life of his close friend Anthoine Hubert and seriously injured team-mate Juan Manuel Correa.

Ilott’s retort after taking some time to consider his thoughts shows the long-lasting effects of the heartbreaking incident. But it also begins to help reveal the psychology of racing drivers and how they deal with the inevitable dangers that come with driving at speeds of 200mph or more.

Callum Ilott opens up about the death of Anthoine Hubert

“To satisfy my own mental state I spent that whole evening and the next day analysing what happened,” the Ferrari Academy Driver said of the 2019 crash.

“In my mind I almost completely understood why it happened and it felt easier to accept it. I go through it and piece it together. I’d lost a good friend and my team-mate was fighting for his life. It was an ongoing process to deal with it.

“You can’t change what happened but he’d (Anthoine) changed me – not because of the accident – but because of how he was, how he influenced people and I took quite a few lessons from him. I took it upon myself to make changes, inspired by him.

“Everyone says ‘you’re doing it (racing) for him’, but I’d rather take the lessons that he gave me as it’s a greater impact than doing it for him. It can happen to anyone and you have to take every chance and moment you get in life, that was one of the lessons I took. It helped change my values and understanding of some things.”

Karting isn’t the safest but neither is rugby, says F1 talent

Like almost all professional drivers, the Cambridge-born talent started out in karting where he “enjoyed the speed” rather than feared it. His biggest concern was making mistakes.

Even though he saw people roll their karts and break their collarbones, his safety was more of a concern to his mum than himself as he continued to calculate and process the risk – a method that remains to this day.

Ilott said: “A lot of possibilities have to come together and at least nine times out of 10 you can get away with a crash and maybe one time you don’t.

“Karting wasn’t the safest thing but then you could say neither was rugby at school, all it takes is someone to do a high tackle or you fall funny and you could be in hospital or a wheelchair for the rest of your life. Anything can happen but I don’t look at things in a negative way.

“When it’s someone close to you that has an accident there’s obviously emotion attached to it. But it’s all facts and statistics for me. At the end of the day you’re in this sport and you’re in this position. If the stats were a bit higher then I think I would be concerned but at the moment you just hope it doesn’t happen to you. A lot of improvements continue to be made in terms of safety too.”

Alfa Romeo reserve relives dramatic Formula 1 test crash

So what happens when it’s you who is involved in an accident? When you have a massive smash that leaves you seriously injured or feeling incredibly lucky to be alive?

Ilott, a reserve for Alfa Romeo, had his biggest crash while testing for the team two years ago. He’d just set his best lap of the day at Barcelona on his F1 test debut when the rear snapped in a fast right-hander and sent him careering into the barriers at around 130mph.

“You have to crack back on,” admitted the 2020 F2 runner-up.

“Whilst you’ve got time you can feel sorry for yourself and punish yourself. It can be a greater lesson than moving on. For one week I don’t think anyone could really talk to me. Physically I was almost completely fine, I had a bit of pain in my back, but it was all mental. To me it was more related to my career.

“It was a big moment to have and then to have that end result, in crashing, so I was more worried about my career. In one or two weeks I was back in Formula 2, it was a distraction to get going again. You can get out of the spiral and get on with what you’re doing. You learn your lesson and take the best side of it.”

Being a passenger unsettles the Ferrari Academy starlet

The Adrian Flux-sponsored driver says it takes him within three corners to know the limit, within 5%, of the vehicle he is operating.

And he is sure that’s what sets professionals aside from anyone who steps behind the wheel of a car.

“Depending on the car and conditions, I will drive to how I feel safe,” concluded Ilott, set to make his IndyCar debut in America next weekend.

“On an Autobahn in Germany in the wet, I won’t go above 150kmh (93mph), at risk of aquaplaning. In dry, I can push to 300kmh (186mph) easily and as long as there’s no traffic I won’t worry. I’m aware of limits. I’m very happy to take a car to 300 and wouldn’t bat an eye, I’d quite enjoy it. If I was in the passenger seat, and someone took it to 300, I’d be very nervous.

“I’ve been on track days with friends and I’m helping them out a bit and straight away they go out and I’m like: ‘Woah, woah, woah, woah, you don’t realise how close you are to the limit already. You can’t push that much more and control the car’. A lot of people can drive but it’s always the last little bit and understanding what to do when it’s not perfect conditions.

“It’s very natural with us because we train. A marathon runner knows what pace they can run at all the time and what will last them until the end of the race. It’s the same as a cyclist – if they start to push over the limit they know when they’ll drop off at the end.

“I wouldn’t say we’re wired differently, racing drivers just know the limits of what we’re in and what we can do a lot more than other people. We’re very aware of the limits of each car we get in. It’s all calculated and you can feel and understand where that is and it automatically enters your brain. My body will say ‘that’s your limit’ and you just know depending on the conditions.”

What is professional racing driver Callum Ilott afraid of?

So does anything scare a man who flies around a track knowing one slight mistake could see him hurtling towards a tyre wall, giant slab of concrete or a huge metal barrier at high speed?

“I don’t like the unknown,” added Ilott who is dreaming of an F1 seat in 2022.

“When I was younger, I don’t mind it so much now, but when you’re snorkelling and you get to the edge of the reef and there’s the drop off – you’re staring down and you think ‘what the hell is down there, how far does it go?’

“It’s not the dark, but what’s inside it? Your mind becomes the enemy. Whatever you think is down there, is down there. That’s something I’ve gradually got used to because I’ve learned why. I don’t like spiders either, but I’m not scared of them.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[themountainsays]

here's an idea for ur role swap au : what if Isa and Mira leave the Encanto together? Mira learns to let go of her need for the family's approval and they run away together to live their happily ever after far from everyone who knows they're sisters and who would judge them

Oh i thought about that option actually! But for some reason the idea of then leaving hurts so much 😭😭😭 i don't know if I should kill this one darling but I lowkey want them to stay. Like narratively it just doesn't feel right to let them leave? Because, when characters leave their current place of residence to seek out freedom, they're usually going somewhere else that they, at the very least, have some knowledge of. And I'm sure the characters learned about their region in school and whatnot but since we only ever see the E.ncanto and its surrounding forest in the story itself idk something feels lacking to me. Like it would be much more fulfilling if they had gotten a taste of the world out there at some point, came back home and Yearned and Longed for freedom for a long time and then finally the story satisfied this tension by allowing them to leave, right? And i cOuld do that, but I don't really like adding much worldbuilding outside of the E.ncanto in my E.ncanto fics. It strikes me as the worldbuilding equivalent of an OC. I don't really like OCs :/ it feels like a far too big diversion from canon, like I'm making stuff up, and I prefer to delve deeper into the existing canon and extrapolate depth from what we already have, rather than building anything entirely new. Does that make sense?

Soooo that leaves us with a few options.

Isabela leaves alone. The story ends in tragedy. We focus on Mirabel's pov as she lets her sister go and has to accept her departure. Most realistic ending, possibly.

They both stay. The family accepts to listen and tries to change for the better. Happy ending. My problem with this one is that it's too similar to canon, AND it almost seems too good to be true. It's a bit too idealistic. A little too perfect for the fucked up situation.

Isabela leaves, Mirabel has to accept her departure, but she comes back a few years later. Now this one is less of an ending and more of a complete re-structuring of the plot, in which the first half of the story is composed of everything we've discussed so far, and the second half is... something else. Maybe Isabela doesn't want to leave again. Maybe she regrets going out there. My biggest fear with this one is the eventual inevitability of facing the historical context, and it seems like a gross insult and lack of respect to comment on those topics in a fucking disney sister inc3st fanfic. Or any fanfic for that matter. The truth is that leaving is the worst thing Isabela can do atm considering the time and place, so realistically it's understandable that she'd come back seeking sanctuary, but dude I'm not touching the topic with a ten foot stick. These conversations belong to, idk history congresses and construcción de la ciudadanía clases. They have to be treated with respect. You won't catch me dead writing about it in fanfic. However this is also the alternative that tempts me the most, even if I find it intimidating to consider, since that means turning this into a quite different story with a different kind of conflict in the second act, which would requiere a different ending, one that doesn't raise the question of "will Isabela stay?", but rather "can Isabela, Mirabel and the rest of the family make it work this time around?" It seems like a perfect marriage of optiond 1 and 2 with a bittersweet melancholy that seems to fit the story much better. The key things I need to figure out is a) the intertextual relationship between acts 1 and 2, and b) how to circumvent the elephant in the room that is the historical context. I ssssssshhhould be able to come up with something, if I do some thinking. Much thinking. Quite a lot of thinking. Until then I'll be drawing angsty fanart uwu. Though I admit I'm not sure if i feel comfortable letting the first conflict (isabela leaving) share space with a new conflict (isabela coming back). Wouldn't that be too big a change?

[astoldbygingersnaps]

Harper’s 2021 Fic Wrap-Up

[sighs]

in some ways i’ve been Dreading making this post because my output this year is just

so much less than the previous year, and it’s lowkey depressing to see that reflected in words and numbers.

for all that 2020 was weird and messy and horrible, 2021 was easily a much worse year for me, and frankly one of the worst years of my life thus far. i’ve made references both on here and on twitter to why the year sucked so much ass and why i spent so much time away from social media and writing, but suffice to say a lot of factors contributed to me being The Ghost of Fanfiction past this year.

still! even though writing was hella difficult for me, i at least managed to turn a few things out this year, so let’s talk about them!

projects i worked on/completed in 2021:

lovers alone wear sunlight (shiita; 70,450 words; in progress):

on the one hand, it’s a fucking tragedy that after all the work i did last year i only produced one (1) chapter of star trek au, on the other hand, if i had to produce a single chapter of this fic in twelve months, i’m glad it was this one.

overall, i’m a lot less happy with LAWS than i was with the first two parts of star trek au, but i think that’s because this section of the story is so crucial and everything i’ve been building up to since day one so i feel like i’m kinda choking under the pressure. 

THAT SAID, i AM happy about how 3.3 came out and i’m glad that (almost) all of the cats are out of the bag. the truth is i’ve been waiting to write the confession scene between shisui and itachi for AGES, and it was both freeing and terrifying to rip that bandage off because i knew after this chapter things would never be the same. after danzogate we’re never going back to the comfortable mission of the week formula filled with wacky interactions with the crew and flirty, will-they won’t-they? banter between itachi and shisui that peaked in parts one and two. and, i’m sad to say it, but in the backend of part three things are only going to get Worse, my loves. whoops! 

HOWEVER, i also feel Incredibly satisfied comparing this chapter to the very first chapter of SBTTS, and seeing a) how much these characters have changed and b) how believable i feel like that journey has been. we’ve watched itachi go from an overly logical, pissy, stick-in-the mud fighting with his own nature to someone who, while conflicted, has found a way to make the two very different halves of himself far more cohesive. (whether this mindset will stick around after the events of the next few chapters of LAWS, well.. we’ll see!) 

meanwhile, shisui has gone from someone who, while a genuinely good person and a good leader, has let his flaws and fears take the wheel and has made some... um... interesting! choices! as a result! and said choices have pushed that deeply buried darker side to him that we first saw in the confrontation scene with kabuto in part two closer and closer to the surface. with that in mind, maybe don’t be too surprised if our boy goes just a liiiittle off the rails post-danzonapping... 

wow that was stupid long, but hey. i’ll always find a million and one words to say about my beloved star trek au. more than anything, i’m excited to get this story back on track and bring part three to its very explosive close, so stay tuned!

lazarus taxon (shiita; alternate universe; 22,315 words; in progress):

oh how i love this silly little fic. the funny thing is i originally came up with this idea for an entirely different ship and fandom YEARS ago, but i was never able to use it because said fandom went completely nuclear and was unfuckingtouchable (no, i won’t name names.) still, i loved it so much i was determined to find a way to reuse it, and considering i could find a way to turn a paper bag into a shiita au it was only inevitable we’d end up here.

more than anything, i love how fun this fic is. i love itachi as a cold, cynical businessman with a very deeply hidden heart of gold and enough daddy issues to fill a mosasaurus’ stomach and shisui as his manic pixie dream paleontologist one night stand. and, it was also a great opportunity to show off two of my biggest passions: dinosaurs and animal behavior. frankly, the levels of self-indulgent content in this fic are Unreal. 

as always, it’s a delight to write a less depressed, less traumatized version of itachi and see what kind of person he could be if he was just a weird little man with a dad who’s mean to him instead of y’know. a child soldier manipulated into committing genocide. meanwhile, it’s been a blast to peel back the layers of shisui as a character, and go from presenting him as this handsome, morally righteous man of mystery who shows up in itachi’s life to challenge his beliefs and push him to be a better version of himself to seeing the person he actually is.

the last chapter of this fic is like. halfway finished, but to be honest i’m not super happy about the plot beats and the pacing, so i might end up scrapping a good chunk of it. either way, i’m excited to bring this story to its conclusion and my goal is to have it finished by the end of the year, so we shall see what happens. 

take my hand, wreck my plans (shiita; canon divergence; 19,517 words; completed):

confession: in some ways, i kind of hate this fic. 

don’t get me wrong: i think it’s one of the better things i’ve written technically as the character/relationship progression is solid, the dialogue is solid, and i feel like it flowed really well. but also, there’s a not nice part of me that resents the fact that of all the things i’ve written, THIS is the fic that’s blown up when there are other projects i’ve put more work into that have gotten a lot less attention. and i hate to say that because i don’t want to be ungrateful, because i truly do cherish the comments and feedback, but it’s hard not to be a little bitter seeing other works of mine that i feel are more deserving flop. 

ON A MORE POSITIVE NOTE, i do love the way itachi and shisui’s relationship came through in this fic. it was a nice change of pace to take things back to canon and imagine the better future they could have had (and deserved!). and by working in a canon setting, it made the transition of a friends-with-benefits situation more believable to me because i think their friendship is genuinely one of the most compelling aspects of them as a ship. 

i also really like the potential of this setting and how in the moment where this story takes place both itachi and shisui are in a transitional period. they’re both growing up in a world where neither one of them really expected to live that long and dealing with what that means for them. for itachi, that’s moving towards a goal that previously seemed impossible (i.e., becoming the hokage), and for shisui that’s realizing he needs to get his shit together and stop hiding from the things he really wants (i.e., the cagey settling down conversation he had with itachi). 

also... the sex. i’ve said before i’m not a person that writes a lot of sex, but this fic definitely helped me get more comfortable working it into my writing. 

i’ve gone back and forth about whether or not i’d want to add anything else to this ‘verse. while i’d certainly be interested in exploring what a hokage itachi would look like in this au and how that would affect shisui and itachi’s relationship, there’s also something deeply appealing in having a project that’s actually finished. so, i’ll never say no to a sequel, but maybe don’t hold your breath waiting for one.

pack up (don’t stray) (shiita; alternate universe; 4,967 words; in progress):

seguing into what may be my favorite thing i wrote this year! i have to say i am sad that band au hasn’t gotten a lot of attention, especially because it was born from a period where i was really creatively struggling and really excited to share something i was genuinely inspired by, but what can you do.

in a lot of ways, this fic came to life because i was experiencing a lot of super intense and negative emotions and a bunch of stresses were piling up at once and i needed a place to put all the ugliness. but! it also came, like most of my fic ideas, from a shitpost alexa and i exchanged via text message that rapidly spiraled out of control.

mostly i was feeling like i was in a rut and like i was writing a lot of the same interactions and dynamics, so i wanted to take two characters i’ve worked with a lot and use them in a very different fashion than i usually do. in some ways it was weirdly nerve-wracking to intentionally write itachi and shisui, characters i genuinely love, in a way that was so unflattering and at times deeply ugly, but it was a good challenge. 

birk put it best by saying the tragedy of band au is that it’s just the story of two adults growing up and growing away from each other. the most important thing for me was that even though this was a story in itachi’s pov, i never wanted things to be one-sided or for there to be a villain, because i do feel like at the end of the day they’re both responsible for the demolition of this relationship (and, if you’ve read the previews for chapter two you’ll know that itachi is handling their breakup, um. poorly) 

(if you ask alexa tho she’s Team Itachi and shisui can die in a fire in this fic) 

(lowkey i’m Team Shisui but we don’t need to talk about it!)

anyway, i really deeply love this fic. i think it has some of the best writing i’ve ever produced and there are lines that to this day still kind of suckerpunch me in the heart if i think about them too hard. i won’t lie, the reception has dimmed some of my original interest in this fic, but it’s definitely still an active wip.

goals i have for 2022:

to be frank, i’m in a not cute place with a lot of things in my life and with writing in particular, so i don’t want to make a lot of huge goals and then feel crappy about not accomplishing them

that said, since the second chapter of atonement au is a scene and a half away from being finished, i think it’s a safe bet it’ll be done soon-ish.

the second chapter of band au is about 40-50% finished, so you should expect that by the end of the year.

jurassic world au is... well, we’ll get there.

to save the best for last, my love and light, star trek au. so help me god, if i don’t publish a chapter for her this year, it’s all over.

and that’s it! i wish i could feel as proud of this wrap-up as i did last year’s, but really all i can do is hope that 2022 will be a better, and kinder, year. as always, thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos and bookmarks, it really does mean the world even if i’ve been super MIA and haven’t been great about saying so. 

until next time!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8: Interlude -

Author note: This chapter is an interlude that contains JC/LWJ adult content. It can be skipped without impacting the remainder of the story.

-

“This is an idea so stupid that I can’t believe Wei Wuxian wasn’t that one to think of it,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji didn’t disagree. If either of them had any sense whatsoever, they’d call off this whole idea before it was too late and they did something that permanently damaged the delicate balance of the life they’d built together forever – and they had, somehow, built a life together, cobbled together out of convenience and tragedy and the fact that no one else in this rotten world would understand what it was to miss someone like Wei Wuxian.

It was utter recklessness to throw it away for – what? Indulging some curiosity? Killing some time out of boredom, now that the Lotus Pier had finally quieted down enough for Jiang Cheng to no longer need to work from sunrise until sunset? Now that Lan Wangji didn’t have to hide himself away at all hours, afraid that someone would see him coming and going?

“You don’t even like me like that,” Jiang Cheng complained mutinously, and glared when Lan Wangji nodded in confirmation. “Wow. Thanks a lot.”

“We don’t have to proceed,” Lan Wangji pointed out.

“No, we’re doing this,” Jiang Cheng said at once, because he was contrary down to the last inch of him. “Take off your clothing already. No matter what the Lan sect may think, there are circumstances that call for not wearing four layers of clothing, and sex is definitely one of them.”

Because that was what they were apparently doing.

This was all Mo Xuanyu’s fault for leaving his books lying around – Jiang Cheng had finally succumbed to pressure and ordered his steward to get some for him – and in particular a spring book with pictures that went beyond the merely suggestive into the explicit. Jiang Cheng had picked it up while neatening up the room and gawked for enough time to make a cup of tea; when Lan Wangji had politely asked if he’d perhaps been abruptly struck blind by the contents and, if so, if there was any medicine he would like Lan Wangji to fetch for him, Jiang Cheng had instead turned to him and said, very frankly, “This cannot be a thing people actually do.”

Lan Wangji had, with great patience and an expression of intense suffering, held out his hands for the book.

The years following his awkward initial interaction with Wei Wuxian – the discovery of his own inclinations, the confirmation that they were irrevocably set in that way, his eventual acceptance of that fact – had led him to explore the more idiosyncratic portions of the Lan library. He was no longer the boy that had spluttered and cursed when tricked into looking at some (fairly run of the mill, in retrospect) pornography.

“Mm,” he’d said after a brief examination. “Real.”

“Impossible. Why would anyone -?”

Lan Wangji hadn’t bothered to dignify that with a response.

“It can’t possibly feel good,” Jiang Cheng had protested.

Lan Wangji had graced him with a pitying look. He hadn’t experienced the act in question with another person, of course, but his older brother had been perhaps unduly interested in ensuring that Lan Wangji had access to anything he might need to assuage his curiosity regarding his unorthodox affections, and, well, the Lan sect did always value a thorough approach to learning.

In other words, he’d read a lot.

It might have been left at that, a casual conversation between friends, except that Lan Wangji must have been suddenly possessed by the spirit of Wei Wuxian because he felt compelled to add, “Not that you would ever have a chance to find out.”

And that, of course, was that; once Jiang Cheng’s competitive instincts were awakened, there was absolutely nothing for it but a test to determine who was right.

Little details as to whether or not Jiang Cheng was even attracted to men enough for the question even to matter were dismissed as irrelevant.

And that was how they’d ended up here. About to go to bed. Together.

Though – perhaps that wasn’t exactly how it had started.

Perhaps it had started earlier, when Jiang Cheng had started helping Lan Wangji with those very particular physical reactions he’d had during the period he’d been too weak to do it himself, or perhaps when he’d continued to help him with it long after the trauma of it was no longer so near as to make it impossible for him to use his hands on himself.

Perhaps Lan Wangji should have been the one to stop that – the one to say no, no more, it’s unnecessary, thank you. But in those years of seclusion he had seen so few people, and seen Jiang Cheng most of all; he hadn’t quite been able to give up the desire for the touch of a human hand against his skin. To give up the intimacy of the act, for all that Jiang Cheng routinely brought him to completion as casually as if he were merely rebandaging his wounds, was simply impossible. Nothing could detract from the satisfaction he obtained, even if Jiang Cheng often spent the time talking about something else entirely, complaining about his day or a particularly irritating set of paperwork.

(There was a period in which Lan Wangji had briefly started to develop unsavory connections to the subject of dam rebuilding – luckily the dam project had ended before it had become a real problem.)

At minimum Lan Wangji should have put a stop to it once he was no longer secluded: when he had Lan Xichen’s embraces, gentle nudges from visiting Lan disciples, all the regular physical contact he had grown up with, and now all the casual affection that passed between Jiang sect disciples, of which he was considered an honorary member…it was more than enough to satisfy any skin hunger that might have been compelling him to continue with that inappropriate behavior that neither of them saw as important enough to name.

It had become a habit by then, though, a part of the routine, and the Lan sect thrived on routine.

“You have to remove yours as well,” he reminded Jiang Cheng, folding his clothing up neatly. If they had been lovers, perhaps Jiang Cheng would have been staring at him at this moment – perhaps he would have been tracing Lan Wangji’s body with his eyes, hunger and anticipation on his features – but they weren’t lovers. They were just friends, and that was why Jiang Cheng was fighting to get his shoe off (it had grown too small after too many washings and was starting to fall apart but he inexplicably refused to get new ones) instead of examining a body he’d seen naked a thousand times already during Lan Wangji’s slow recovery. “Do you –”

“If you offer to assist me, I will punch you,” Jiang Cheng threatened, and finally got the shoe off. “And if I hear one word about me needing to replace it –”

“You do.”

“It’s fine. It does the job! What else do you want from a shoe, damnit?” The other shoe was removed. “Leave me alone. I don’t need your help.”

The rest of his clothing came afterwards, tossed casually onto a chair, and Lan Wangji watched out of lack of anything better to do. In the years that had passed he had also seen Jiang Cheng’s body many times, an inevitable result of living across from each other in a place as hot as Yunmeng. Jiang Cheng was undeniably beautiful, all long lines and slender, his flesh marred by the discipline whip as Lan Wangji’s own had been, although in much lower quantity.

No, Lan Wangji concluded. This would not be the problem he had almost been concerned that it would be. For all that Lan Wangji’s heart belonged to Wei Wuxian and always would, his body had no objection to the idea of trying out something new.

“I assume at least some help is not unwelcome,” Lan Wangji said dryly, standing and walking over to put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s cock. At Jiang Cheng’s mild exclamation, Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “You can’t even do this? I may have overestimated your bravery.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng said, although he was clearly flustered; he reached out to assist Lan Wangji in the same manner. His palm was callused and warm, as always; Lan Wangji’s cock stirred at once at the familiar stimulus. “It’s been a while since it was someone else, that’s all.”

“You’ve had experience?”

“There’s no need to sound so skeptical about it. I was a teenager once too, you know; Wei Wuxian and I – hey, watch it!”

Lan Wangji relaxed his grip apologetically. “You did for Wei Ying as you do for me?” he asked, and didn’t even care when Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at his obvious and immediate fascination. It was a good thing that neither of them had any illusions about Wei Wuxian’s role in their friendship, the ghost of him that hung over it all; if they pretended otherwise, they might have hurt each other. “How did he..?”

“You’re not seriously asking me that question,” Jiang Cheng said, but of course Lan Wangji was.

Jiang Cheng glared at him, but Lan Wangji was patient, and as with all things relating to Jiang Cheng, his patience was rewarded.

“You’re a little more direct,” Jiang Cheng finally said, rolling his eyes once again to demonstrate how ridiculous he thought Lan Wangji was being. “You like long strokes, like this, very purposeful – his preference was a bit more playful. A bit of teasing around the head, like this, and then a bit with the thumb…listen, if you’re going to turn that shade of red this quickly, we’re going to have to call this whole idea off.”

“I can do more than once.”

“I’ll give you the whole rundown another time, you pervert,” Jiang Cheng promised, and Lan Wangji’s cock twitched at the thought of it. “Can we please focus on proving you horribly wrong already?”

“I’m not wrong.”

“So you say.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes and resumed moving his hand on Jiang Cheng’s cock. It felt nice in his hand, filling out as he stroked it. “Why?” he asked after a moment.

“Why what? Why did Wei Wuxian and I get each other off?”

“En.”

“We were young and stupid, obviously,” Jiang Cheng said. “He was my shixiong. We shared everything, figured everything out together…it wasn’t that weird, okay? It was just lending a friendly hand. Literally.”

Lan Wangji could imagine it. The scene sprang up fully formed in his eyes: Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian as he remembered them from the Cloud Recesses, cheeks still a little fat with youth and glistening from perspiration from the humid Yunmeng air, sitting together side-by-side on a bed with their hands in each other’s laps. Perhaps even the bed he slept in now, or Jiang Cheng’s. And perhaps even back then Jiang Cheng liked to talk of other things while he was performing the chore – his lessons, perhaps.

Perhaps they’d even done it for each other while they’d been at the Cloud Recesses…

“Did you do anything more?” he asked, licking suddenly dry lips.

Jiang Cheng blinked at him. “Like what?”

Perhaps it was petty to use their conversation as an excuse to step forward into Jiang Cheng’s personal space, to use his free hand to rub up and down his chest and tweak his nipples, to use teeth and tongue liberally on his neck, on his shoulder, his collarbone, until Jiang Cheng’s knees had grown so weak from surprise and pleasure that Lan Wangji had to loop his arm around his waist to help support him –

But if there was one thing Jiang Cheng had taught him in all these years, it was that there were times when being petty was the best possible option.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he asked, and took the incoherent spluttering and vague hand-waving he received as a yes. “Sit down on the bed and lean back.”

Jiang Cheng obeyed without a single complaint, which Lan Wangji accepted as the compliment it was.

“I think I can definitively say no, just so you know,” he observed as Lan Wangji lowered himself down to his knees. “I did not do anything like this with Wei Wuxian.”

“Did you ever want to?” Lan Wangji asked, mildly curious, and then he leaned down and put his mouth on Jiang Cheng’s cock.

“Am I supposed to be having a conversation with you about this?” Jiang Cheng demanded, thrashing underneath his ministrations. Lan Wangji had to hold his hips down with his hands, using a little force. “Now?”

Lan Wangji purposefully stopped moving.

“You are a piece of shit, you know that?” Fingers made their way into Lan Wangji’s hair, careful to avoid his forehead ribbon as they lightly tugged – hmm, that was rather nice, actually. Lan Wangji mentally noted down the preference. “Fine. Ugh. No, I didn’t. It wasn’t like that. It really did just start out innocent, you know. Us being boys and all, measuring the difference in size and all –”

Jiang Cheng paused and rolled his eyes down at Lan Wangji, who had perhaps overly demonstrated his interested in hearing more.

“– yes, you obsessed stalker, I’m getting there. He was longer, I was wider; we called it a tie. Later on, we got drunk and started talking about how we were both worried that we were doing it wrong, except, you know, that would have been way too embarrassing…you know how we were. It turned into a dumb sort of competition about who could do it better, which one of us was the one doing it wrong, who was doing it right – we got into a lot of stupid contests like that.”

A brief pause.

“Don’t say that I’m stating the obvious.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth was full, which was probably the only reason he wasn’t. He really had lost all sense of self-control when it came to deliberately irritating Jiang Cheng, and he wasn’t sure when that had happened. His uncle would be disappointed in him again.

Good.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Jiang Cheng muttered. He’d gotten into the groove of things, his hips rocking slightly as Lan Wangji sucked him, careful not to go too far or too fast for fear of making Lan Wangji gag again – though to be fair, that had been mostly Lan Wangji’s fault for being overly ambitious in trying to take him in too deep that time. The real thing really wasn’t anything like the jade pillar he’d practiced on. “This is ridiculous. You’d better never expect me to do this for you. No way.”

Lan Wangji didn’t bother responding.

“I mean, I guess if my hands were broken. It’s not like I couldn’t do it. I’ve put worse things in my mouth, over the years.”

No response was necessary. Jiang Cheng’s complex about needing to be the best at everything – or at least skilled enough to be respected – was truly a fearsome thing.

Though speaking of which...

Lan Wangji reached with one hand to pull over the small packet of thickened, scented oil that he’d obtained long ago, dipping his fingers into it and working one finger, then another, into Jiang Cheng.

“How do you even think of these things?” Jiang Cheng complained, because he wouldn’t be Jiang Cheng if he didn’t complain. “You must have done nothing but read spring books day and night – hey, wait! What are you doing? I’m going to be the one on top! Not you!”

Lan Wangji hummed and removed his mouth – Jiang Cheng whined in complaint – and then lifted one of Jiang Cheng’s legs, pressing his cock against him. He didn’t get a fist in the face, even when he rocked back and forth teasingly, his cock sliding right up to Jiang Cheng’s slicked-up entrance and then away.

“…just go ahead and do it already!”

Lan Wangji’s analytical mind temporarily blanked out when he pushed inside. It was hot and tight around him, squeezing him – it felt good. Very good.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was a little unstable, almost breathy. “Fuck.”

“If you insist,” Lan Wangji said, and began moving his hips before Jiang Cheng could correct him. Jiang Cheng grunted as if the sound had been punched out of him. Fucked out of him. “How is it?”

“Why are you asking me, don’t you already – Lan Wangji. You said the picture in the book was realistic.”

Lan Wangji hummed in agreement.

“I assumed that meant you’d done it before.”

That seemed like a Jiang Cheng problem.

“Lan Wangji! Are you saying you don’t know what you’re doing?!”

“I’ve read a lot of spring books,” Lan Wangji said dryly, and started to really put his back into it, long thrusts that felt fantastic to him and from the looks of it not all that bad to Jiang Cheng, either. After a few thrusts, he apparently hit the place described in the books, if he were judging by Jiang Cheng’s sudden moans and a notable increasing in generalized cursing, as opposed to cursing his name in specific.

Lan Wangji finished first, which increased the amount of cursing by a significant degree.

“I can’t believe you –!”

“Would you like to finish in my mouth?”

“It is,” Jiang Cheng hissed at him, “the very least you could do!”

Jiang Cheng was much less polite this time as he fucked his way into Lan Wangji’s mouth, his hands firmly gripping Lan Wangji’s hair and pulling him into place, forcing his way deeper with brutal snaps of his hips.

Despite having recently been wrung dry, Lan Wangji’s cock did its best to give an interested twitch, and Lan Wangji noted that down as well. Perhaps next time he should encourage Jiang Cheng to be the one on top, to see if he would enjoy the sensation more if it was someone else doing the fucking rather than a toy carved out of jade. After all, Jiang Cheng had certainly responded well enough to it.

Lan Wangji was moderately sure there would be another time. Jiang Cheng was not a man motivated by sex – remarkably so, in fact. If anything, he seemed to view physical pleasure, even at his own hand, as a perfectly decent activity, but nothing worth kicking up a fuss over, little different from a massage or a round of acupuncture; neither something especially desirable nor repulsive. As Jiang Cheng himself had admitted, he hadn’t experienced the touch of another since his youthful experimentation with Wei Wuxian, even though Lan Wangji was well aware that he’d received plenty of offers from all types of types of people over the years, and yet the lack hadn’t seemed to bother him.

If not for Lan Wangji, he probably would have continued on with his life without thinking about it any further, either, except perhaps in the theoretical box in his mind that he’d earmarked for having a wife, which he seemed to want only because everyone was expected to want a wife.

That competitive streak again.

But he did have Lan Wangji, who was not naturally inclined towards abstinence, and now that they’d opened the door to having a friendship that included certain additional benefits, he had no intention of shutting that door absent any indication from Jiang Cheng that it no longer suited him.

After all, Jiang Cheng might yet have a wife one day, assuming a patient enough marvel could be found – but Lan Wangji was a Lan, born and bred true, and he would only have one love in his life; he had fallen long ago, chosen long ago. Wei Wuxian was gone, and he would never regret it, nor love another. It had been living with Jiang Cheng, being friends with him, that had taught him to remember joy; what was this, then, but more of the same?

Of course, that was assuming that Jiang Cheng would agree in the future to sate Lan Wangji’s rather prodigious appetites with more than just his hand. He might not. After all, it really wasn’t his area of interest –

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng abruptly said.

Lan Wangji, who was fetching a wet cloth, turned to look at him.

Jiang Cheng was propped up on his elbows, scowling bitterly. “You know what,” he said. “We didn’t even manage to do the right position! The one in the spring book was more – more twisty – you know – with the leg up in the air like that –”

“…mm,” Lan Wangji said. “We’ll do better next time.”

“You’re smirking,” Jiang Cheng said suspiciously. “Why are you smirking? What are you up to?!”

“Nothing,” Lan Wangji said peaceably, putting down the cloth and picking up the oil. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right! I’m – I’m not usually right. Or at least, you don’t normally admit it when I’m right. What am I right about?”

“Did it wrong,” Lan Wangji said, and settled down again. “Need to try again.”

“Try – wait, now? Already?! You can’t be serious!”

Lan Wangji started rearranging limbs. “You’re already prepared,” he pointed out. “‘Avoid needless waste.’”

“Don’t you quote your Lan sect rules at me, Lan Wangji! You’re inhuman! You’re – ah!”

He’d slid right in that time, Lan Wangji observed, all at once in a single smooth slide that made Jiang Cheng moan and his cock start to fill up again; the ease of it must be due to how relaxed Jiang Cheng’s body was after he’d come, and the slickness of both the oil left behind and the new amount he’d added. Definitely a different experience from the previous time, but equally enjoyable.

Well, as he’d said before – the Lan sect always did value a thorough approach to learning.

[chunhua-s]

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

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

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

NOTNING MORE THAN HUMAN ➽ KITA SHINSUKE x READER

genre: angst to fluff

au: soulmate

warnings: none

shinsuke kita is human.

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

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

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

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

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

it’s almost enough to drive him mad.

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

will you be happy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

davi hits 200 followers — haikyuu!! au writing event! 💕

taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue

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[veliseraptor]

Black water arc is more tragic than Yi city arc. What do you think about it and why?

Sorry if you've answered this question before.

Well, I would dispute the ranking of tragic there (also need to stop thinking of black water arc as “beefleaf arc”), but that is beside the point. (At least two of the main players in TGCF make it out alive! and seem to be doing...okay-ish? the “alive” part is a significant distinguishing factor.)

but regardless of relative tragedy factor of side-arcs in MXTX novels, it is a beautiful mess of a thing and I love it very, very much. like, wow! what an arc tailor made for me! I have a lot of favorite arcs in TGCF but this one is way up there for hitting, like, all kinds of very specific buttons in my brain.

and it is just...so well done, everything in it constructed to be horrible and the kind of “inevitable from within but you, the audience, can see how it might have gone differently which makes it hurt so much worse” that I love in a good tragedy. 

So first of all there’s the relationship between Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan, which is probably at the core of this for me personally. The dynamic of Shi Qingxuan being “Ming Yi”s friend, which...I get the sense that Shi Qingxuan is the kind of person who brings in people sitting on the outside, the same way they see Xie Lian and immediately adopt him. So this standoffish new Earth Master - who no one else really seems to notice - ascends, and Shi Qingxuan gloms onto him and just goes FRIEND and despite everything, He Xuan ends up...weird friends. 

And there’s an interpretation that reads that as an opportunistic move, or a “keep your enemies close” choice, but that’s not the sense I get - He Xuan’s willingness to go along with Shi Qingxuan on things, for one, but especially how he repeatedly gives Shi Qingxuan opportunities to step away from Shi Wudu. He’s looking, I think, for a way to let Shi Qingxuan off the hook. That if Shi Qingxuan just breaks off that connection, chooses He Xuan over Shi Wudu--

But of course Shi Qingxuan doesn’t. Can’t, not after Shi Wudu has spent all this time protecting them, and because they love their brother, despite everything. Despite their mess of a relationship - the way Shi Wudu patently treats Shi Qingxuan as something less than a full adult. Overprotective, clearly - but also more than a little condescending and paternalistic. And it comes, clearly, from this fear and desperation to keep Shi Qingxuan safe - but there’s also a power hunger there that I think at some point turned from desire to protect Shi Qingxuan to a need to have power for its own sake. 

And just...the horror of that dungeon confrontation with the three of them - and particularly Shi Wudu’s complete lack of recognition. He doesn’t know who He Xuan is. He’s forgotten the victim of his crime, where his crime has defined He Xuan’s whole life and centuries of death afterwards. That, I think - along with his refusal to admit he’s wrong - is in some ways the final straw that leads to manual decapitation. 

Like any tragedy, the beauty here comes from the interconnections between the three of them, the inextricable web they’re bound up in, that none of them are ultimately able to escape. He Xuan is trapped in his need for vengeance. Shi Qingxuan is held in ignorance and innocence. Shi Wudu’s arrogance and need to protect Shi Qingxuan ends up dooming them both. And no one, I don’t think, actually comes out of it happy.

He Xuan’s continued presence suggests that he’s not fully satisfied - that there is still some unfulfilled need. Shi Qingxuan acts like they’re adjusting to their new life, but I have a hard time believing that’s quite as simple as it looks. And Shi Wudu, of course, is dead, and his reputation and power are destroyed. 

And what if someone had done something differently? If Shi Qingxuan had stepped away from Shi Wudu, or He Xuan had decided to spare Shi Qingxuan, or Shi Wudu had remembered He Xuan and shown even a sliver of remorse-

But because of who the three of them are, and their relationships to each other, and the way that in some ways long before the events of the arc itself their ends are set, it’s so, so easy to see the seemingly inevitable steps that led them, step by step, to where they got to be.

Anyway this all feels very borderline incoherent and I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say, just. It kills me. It kills me very much.

[gayregis]

do you think the moral of renfris story was geralt saying a victim is just as evil as their abuser? i see a lot of netflix fans interpret it this way and idk it just feels... off.

no, i completely disagree. the cycle of violence is probably one of the largest themes in the witcher series, and the lesser evil is only one of these stories. i actually didn’t understand the story until i read the entire saga... so sorry if i answer this question with more references to parts of the witcher that are unrelated to the lesser evil than to actually the short story itself.

this is my take: in the witcher series, everything turns to be a cycle, something inherited from the previous generation that you then pass on to the next generation. the wheel keeps turning and you inherit and pass on many different traits, and this is not confined to biological familial relations.

the biggest theme and story of the series, in my opinion, is that of the inevitable inherited violence and abandonment in the context of witchers. geralt was raised as a witcher because he was abandoned by his mother, and he was then given the burden of violence to carry out. because he doesn’t want to put this burden of violence on ciri, because he wants to somehow circumvent this cycle of inherited violence and prevent ciri from coming into contact with it, he inevitably dooms her to the inherited violence anyways - by deferring her as his child, she experiences the massacre of cintra. and by trying to prevent her from inheriting violence, he realizes after he’s left her that he’s unintentionally given her the other half of the trauma coin he has as well - abandonment. as he was abandoned by his mother, he has now abandoned her. so he searches for her, finds her, but now  undoubtedly needs to be raised as a witcher more than ever. thus she inherits the violence, too... and then she’s abandoned again (this time not intentionally), and when left to her own devices, becomes consumed with this violence. it takes her over and she just kills and kills...

i think the lesser evil is about this. maybe not all of this about inheriting things, but it’s about being consumed by violence, it’s about an unending cycle. it’s not so much about who is right and who is wrong, and stregobor and other sorcerers locked girls in towers and renfri and her gang kill people. it’s not about that so much, the actual actions that they do and weighing these actions to see which is lesser, which is eviler than the other, but the fact that because they have engaged each other in this dance, it’s now unending, and it will continue to destroy and destroy until it finally ends in misery. 

renfri isn’t “just as evil as her abuser” because it’s such a strange way to frame it... she was abused, and then she herself became an abuser and a killer. it’s not about the fact that it was wrong to abuse her, of course it fucking was. of course she deserves revenge. but she, on this quest for revenge, became obsessed with it, and became a killer in her own right, taking out her pain on others. this is also what happens to ciri, later on in the saga. except in my opinion (even though maybe this contradicts with sapkowski’s vision), ciri reigns it in at the end, and she realizes that violence is not the answer to everything, that this violence has destroyed her entire life and her entire family, and that revenge is a wild goose chase because you will never actually ever be satisfied with the amount of revenge you get, so she leaves this world, she is the chosen one but she ends her bloodline because she chooses to end the violence that has consumed her.

the message is that violence begets violence. and that if you experience violence, it is incredibly easy to internalize that, let it fester inside of you, and begin to long for nothing but vengeance and death, and that will lead to your ruin.

this is why geralt tells ciri in a voice colder than the walls of kaer morhen that she will not pick up a sword again until she understands what purpose it holds in a witcher’s hands... a sword is a tool of violence, violence is necessary at times, but it must be controlled. you cannot let the fact that you have experienced violence turn you into someone that craves inflicting violence. you cannot wield a weapon with no regard for the lives you may end. you have to think about what you do and not act on primal instinct. 

this is why ciri, after killing rampantly, has someone worse than the grim reaper set on her heels... her horrific encounters with leo bonhart are just a continuation of the violence which consumes her life. the cycle keeps turning and turning, and every time it turns, it gets worse and more grotesque.

and this is why renfri, after being dealt such horrible abuse and injustice by stregobor and the men allied with him, turns to violence as her tool to obtain justice. and the wheel turns, and people die. more blood is shed, more and more, until everything comes to a halt and it ends in final death.

it’s not saying that “the abused are as bad as their abusers,” it’s saying more like “being exposed to violence makes you vulnerable to also turn to blind and indiscriminate violence that consumes you, and you should resist this powerful temptation because it will make you a danger to yourself and others.” 

i’m not saying that this message is unequivocally right, i am just trying to interpret what i think sapkowski was trying to say in this short story and this series. i tend to feel that this message is a little milquetoast... but i think it was personally helpful for me to understand my own life, that revenge and violence aren’t always the helpful answers. they don’t always make you happy, sometimes they just add to the tragedy. and it’s way more complex than just seeing who is right... it’s delving into how feeling that when someone has hurt you or done you injustice, that’s all that matters, and it tends to blind you and make you stop thinking both about what really matters.