#so i did it a lot out of spite. not entire books. but a good chunk of them

[brucequeensteen]

if you're bilingual/multilingual i really suggest doing translation as a hobby. nothing serious, just getting your favourite songs or poems or book passages in one language and trying to translate them into another one. it can be really relaxing, it has the same effect as doing a sudoku or crossword puzzle. it's just the right amount of challenging and soothing and also stretches your understanding of each language and may even reveal things about the meaning of the text you're translating! so if you wanna do something creative but feel kind of unmotivated, some light translating is a good way to go 👍

[johndonneswife]

[ineedjesusverymuch]

Diabolik lovers headcanons pt. 3 (even more stuff)

Hi, it's been a while, no? Even though I feel a bit like I'm screaming into an empty void, I do enjoy writing my thoughts down.

The Diabolik Lovers fandom gets smaller and smaller and since just a few blogs are active, I wanted to post more! I know that without Rejet producing more content (that is canon and not "just" new merchlines, even though I deeply love the art), the dl fandom is bound to shrink. But: now, there are a lot of very respectful blogs, which I do enjoy! The toxicity just shrinks a lot on smaller fandoms. And I really love that no slander of Yui is happening!

Now, lets get into the headcanons after my short ramble.

I won't write anything nsfw this time, just a quick psa.

⚠ I'll try to mark anything that could be triggering with this: ❗trigger warning ❗

⚠This post will briefly discuss topics like: parental trauma and childhood trauma.⚠

The topics in this post will be mostly happy or cute (?), asks are always appreciated!

As always, I'll try to be at least a bit true to canon. But... Well.

this time I did not just ramble about Kanato, I think I talked about Laito quite a bit though...

Headcanons under the cut ⬇

First of all: Shu.

Genuinely loves dogs (remember the scene with Yuma? The little puppy? Yes.)

All fluffy dogs are loved, just as all other dogs.

Loveslovesloves Golden retrievers and sheperd dogs. Likes big dogs a bit more than small dogs, more to hug.

Deeply hates toads. Not frogs, toads. He thinks they're quite ugly and hates how big they can get

Shu is Not dumb but being a little fuck by not-obeying-karlheinz's-orders-like-being-good-in-school

Has only socks with terrible obnoxious patterns, like the weirdest psychedelic shit? I'm talking about rainbow colored mushrooms on sunyellow backdrop and comical faces. (Ngl, it's a vibe)

Huuuuge crush on Yuma. He likes his long hair and the fact that Yuma doesn't try to lie to him. Shu likes honest people and Yuma with his blunt approach is amazing for him. Also, he is convinced that Yuma is very simple to understand, nit at all complicated like some other people.

Next in Line is Reiji! What a surprise.

Has a huge collection of Hand cream and lotion. He has those long, slim fingers and his nails are manicured so impeccable that they don't even look real anymore.

Wears only black socks. Its a hassle to sort them since some of them have different lengths or fabrics

Has pet rats. Definitely pet rats.

They're cute and all but he's named ever single one outrageous names like Berthold and Brunhilde, the typical old german names you'd read in very old books.

Reiji Is able to speak not only german, japanese and the demon language but can also speak latin (even though shu is on a much higher level), a bit of French and russian.

Would be the type to do things simply out of sprite. Shu once mentioned not liking blue curtains and now all curtains are blue.

Has an academic rivalry with Ruki. All the other students (including Ruki) think they're flirting, only Reiji is oblivious.

Next: our boy Ayato!

Hates bees with a passion.

Kanato once "gifted" him a box of bees out of spite (the little shit put the whole bee hive in that box), ever since then Ayato runs as soon as humming from a bee can be heard in a ten mile ratio. (Being outside is very exhausting for everyone, himself included)

Very much enjoys shows like Brigderton and say yes to the dress. Loves the drama and the intrigue.

Ayato actually? Doesn't hate his brothers??? He likes to bicker with them, especially his other triplets, but genuinely cares about them. He's just a bit too emotionally stunted on that front (thank you cordelia).

Likes not only takoyaki but also any type of japanese festival food. I'm talking about mochi, dango and tayaki, etc.

the type to have lactose intolerance and ignore it completely to seem "cool"

went on an ice cream date with Yui once and spent the entire night in the bathroom because he was too proud to say no

Actually wears makeup? I'm not talking about full-on glam but a bit concealer and eyeliner. Ayato has red mascara and omfg he looks so good with it???

Laito and he enjoy playing those multiplayer games for nintendo

He has an entire village on animal crossing that is managed by him and Laito together

Next in line: Kanato!

I have made quite long posts about him in the past so I wont elaborate on some things that I already wrote down.

Very skilled at makeup. Like top-level skill. Wears eyeliner, liptint or gloss and glitter under and on his eyes. Light blush is a must-have!

Can crochet and knit but is often too impatient to make bigger projects

Will hyperfocus on things like historical fashion and garments for weeks at a time.

Once was so focused on the black plague that he didn't drink blood for like five weeks and passed out until he was fed some blood

Gremlin.

Has a friendship with Yuma? They plant plants together and since Kanato (canonically) likes apples, Yuma will bring him some after plucking.

Kanato enjoys tea time with Reiji

Kanato also likes to gossip with Laito. Or more like: Laito gossips and Kanato sits next to him and munches on some sweets.

Huge crush on Azusa. (I went into more detail on that in earlier posts but I'll answer any questions on that matter! Feel free to send me asks or prompts!)

He and Ayato have both the same interest for old fairy tales and will read them together on those nights were everything just comes up again

❗Laito will comfort him when Kanato has nightmares and Kanato will be there for Laito, since they went through a bit if the same things even though Laito's was much more intense

Cuddle time with Shu

Quiet time with Subaru

Now Laito!

Can speak a fuckton of languages.

I don't care if its canon but Laito is like B2 Level of French. Is able to discuss theological matters is perfect french.

Can also speak italian like all the triplets but he's also able to speak a bit german, polish and romanian

Friends with Kou! ❗They're really good ffriends and can understand what the other went though. Laito stays often over night at Kou's and they spend the night watching funny movies (Deadpool is Laitos current favourite)

Laito enjoys comics. He likes Marvel and DC a lot!

We know that Laito likes crossword puzzles but like. He's so good at them it's almost frightening. Is able to not only do japanese ones but also french.

So intelligent???

Not only booksmart but also "people smart". He notices the smallest things on people around him, constantly analizes everyone. Knows a lot about medicine and psychology.

Loves learning new things.

Has immense knowledge about the universe, is able to name every single star sign on the sky.

in the games we often see Laito wear casual clothing. My headcanon is that he likes the sort of style skaters usually wear.

Really likes cargo pants since everything fits in all of the pockets

Wears oversized hoodies and shirts

Has those two piercings on his left earlobe but also has a lip piercing on the right lower lip and a septum that he got when he was bored

As soon as he's alone, he let's the perverted fassade fall down. He doesn't smile a lot actually, more along the lines of a serious face most of the time.

It took a bit for him to be able to drop that fake face of his in front of Kou and his other triplets but after some time he got used to not fake being friendly and perverted.

Dropped the infamous "bitch-chan" after some time, now uses Yui's actual name. The -chan stayed though.

Last but not least: Subaru!

has very soft plushies in his coffin

Loves those tiny fluffy bunnies. Lionheads especially!

Very gentle with animals.

Animals love him (#disneyprincesssubaru)

once tried to color his hair, it went horrible and his hair was a patchy muddy color for eight weeks

Wears eyeliner. The black, brush-tip ones

Long eyelashes. They genuinely look fake.

So pretty

Is naturally more fair and frail-looking than some other vampires so he tries to roughen himself up

❗Bruises his knuckles and bites his lips to look more dangerous. Even though the scowl he usually wears is more than enough to ward off anyone who wants to pick a fight...

Also friends with Kou (Kou really collects Sakamakis like pokemons)

Wears black nail polish but it chips off pretty fast due to the gardening Subaru does

Bonding time with Kanato is applying nail polish together

Enjoys playing pool and darts with Shu when his older brother has enough motivation

Knows he is fucked up from all the stuff with his mother and wouldn't be opposed to therapy (at least after some sweet talk from Yui... And a whole lot of promises for new seeds for his garden and a new set of black clothes)

Has a motor bike and it's his entire pride

Polishes it every week and has a lot of clothes for biking

Takes trips to somewhere when he's bored and/or annoyed by his other brothers

does not realize that Kou flirts with him every time they do something together (obliviousness lies in the family)

So! That's it? I guess? Sometime in the future I'll write about the Mukamis too, I promise!

If there's anything you'd like me to write about, just send me an ask.

And to whoever reads this: I appreciate the time you took to read my post and I hope you have an amazing day/night !

you are truly appreciated!

[strawberrynightmare]

Making hot chocolate for Mikey, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, Koko & Sanzu

Content warning: Let me know if there's anything, just fluff

Mikey

It was routine at this point. Mikey rarely misses an opportunity to come to your place. Then the two of you would rot on the bed/couch and eat mostly unhealthy snacks while talking about nothing. And you would call it “quality bonding time”.

You can’t even tell for 100% sure whether it was a good thing to introduce your special hot chocolate to him or not. He loved it, but demanded it quite often. You even tried to teach him the recipe but he always managed to mess something up.

At this point, you just accepted your fate, but you made him go shopping for you in return. Even if you were somewhat aware that it was most likely someone else who did his job. 

He especially likes to drink it during evenings. His mood instantly improves thanks to it, it makes him sleepy and clingy as his brain turns into mush almost entirely. That being said, of course it’s one of the best ways to get him to calm down, even though it requires specific conditions to be met.

It’s a double-edged sword, though.

Imagine that during one of those peaceful times, his phone rings. And keeps ringing, and keeps ringing. And he’s pulled from his hazy, half-conscious state with immediate dark clouds surrounding his head. 

He picks it up only to hear about a sudden fight with a rival gang which suddenly occurred.

Those poor delinquents better pray because Mikey is fucking pissed.

Several gang members will have to pull him away from the enemy leader because he’s making sure they won’t be able to leave the hospital for at least a good month.

He comes back to you one to a few hours later, all covered in blood and with skin torn on his knuckles. He takes a shower and changes into pyjamas before laying back on the couch and demanding another hot chocolate as if nothing happened in the first place.

Chifuyu

Your boyfriend hugs you from behind with his chin resting on your shoulder. His curious eyes remind you of those of a cat. His mouth soundlessly forms an “o” shape and he nods his head in understanding when you put some pieces of chocolate bar into the mug. 

You can’t resist the urge to put one into his spread lips and he doesn’t complain either. 

“So this is how you make it taste so good.”

“Yup, the chocolate melts and makes the flavour richer, although it also increases the amount of calories. I guess one is connected to the other.”

“I burn a lot of them either way so no worries.” He licked his lips off the remnants of the chocolate. “It smells like heaven.”

“I know right? This is why I choose this particular brand.”

He barely waited a moment for it to cool off before having a taste. Good thing you predicted it first and took countermeasures.

You made yourself comfortable on his bed, reaching for the newest volume of a manga the two of you were reading together.

“Don’t you dare start without me, y/n. It was so hard to avoid all of the spoilers online, it felt like walking on landmines!”

Purely out of spite, you lay on your belly and open the book which earns you screams of protests from your boyfriend. He wastes no time getting on top of you and trying to snatch it from your hands so you hold it just out of his reach. You then roll on your back and he falls softly on the bed right next to you before you both burst out in laughter and reach for your mugs.

You then sat cross-legged on his bed with the manga in your hands. He hugged you from behind and put his chin on your shoulder. Both of you began to read, sometimes laughing together, sometimes commenting or clearing out any doubts and recalling past volumes. All of this while drinking the delicious hot chocolate. Such moments with Chifuyu truly are precious <3

Mitsuya

Since your boyfriend always insists on cooking meals for you, it’s only right for you to make the dessert. Seriously, you don’t even know why you let him do it for you. Each time you try to bring it up and try to convey that he doesn’t have to do that, you get knocked out with stuff like “I like to cook for you though”, “it’s much healthier and more affordable” and the one which always leaves you in a lost position: “You don’t like my cooking?”

Half-dead, you fall to the floor while coughing metaphorical blood as he hums a gentle melody and proceeds to head towards the kitchen to make some food. It was truly a battle lost the moment it began. So you gave up.

Making him hot chocolate was the least you could do for him. He didn’t even protest and let you have your fun the first time you decided to. 

That night, his little sisters were in their beds already. You were watching a somewhat boring movie together and you soon fell asleep on his lap. He glanced at you warmly and shook his head at the chocolate stains left on your mouth. He licked a tissue and began to rub your face like mothers do to their kids except gentler. Thankfully you didn’t wake up.

…Which reminded him that he had yet to drink his own. Sorry, love - he thought before raising the mug to his lips without expecting much. His eyes returned to the screen and then widened in shock upon the taste. Later that week, he tried making it himself, but it didn’t taste half as good as yours. That’s when he decided to get the recipe from you.

***

“Are you sure you want to stand here?”

“Yes love,” he replied seriously with his hands resting on the kitchen counter and his eyes following your movements like those of a hawk.

“Wouldn’t you rather sit over there? I’ll be done in-”

“No need, love,” he gently put his hands on your waist and placed a kiss on your arm.

You raised a brow, but shrugged before pouring some hot water over a mix made of chocolate and powdered cocoa. You then stirred well and took condensed milk out of the fridge. Poured some into the drink. Put it back. Then stirred again before adding the marshmallows.

Mitsuya was taking mental notes the whole time. 

“Wouldn’t you rather use boiled milk for it?” He finally asked.

“That’s too much of a hassle. Besides, there’s only some needed for it to taste good. Plus, milk or coffee cream from the fridge cools down the temperature. Thanks to that, it’s ready to drink almost immediately.”

You gave him his own mug and both of you headed towards your seats and settled into comfortable silence. He couldn’t wait to make it for his little sisters!

(Spoiler: they loved it)

Sanzu

“It feels like drinking liquid sugar,” he noticed and then proceeded to only eat the pink marshmallows.

You barely resisted the urge to kick him. The two of you were resting in his bed. He was sitting and you were laying on the opposite side which resulted in him being right next to your feet. 

“I’ll drink it for you then,” you stretched your hand in his direction, but then he moved away to get the cup out of your reach. 

You were perplexed, to say at least.

“I thought you didn't like it?”

“I never said that?”

You kicked his side which - aside from an irritated expression - did not affect him at all. So you tried again. This time, he grabbed and pulled your ankle towards his face and kissed it while looking you straight in the eyes and smiling. 

“Freak.”

He grimaced. “Your feet stink.”

You sighed and sat up. If Sanzu had dog ears, they would perk up in surprise at that.

“Oh my, it seems that me and my stinky feet will have to leave then.” 

You barely managed to stand up and take a step towards the door before he hugged you by the hips and glued himself to you, making you unable to move without losing your balance.

“I was kidding! I love you and your stinky feet,” he nuzzled his face into your side. 

You tried to make another step forward but the weight he put on you made you lose your balance and fall onto his (luckily) carpeted floor. Concern flashed in his eyes before you smacked his head. And then you groaned when he almost laid on top of you, preventing you from leaving. 

“Am I dating a guy or a puppy?” You complained as he nuzzled his face into your neck. 

“If you’re into this, I wouldn’t mind wearing a collar with a leash.”

“Shut up or I might consider adding a muzzle.” You felt him grin into your skin. 

“Woof woof!”

Koko

If he was being honest, he’d much prefer you sitting next to him, maybe even cuddling. He tried to convince you that you can order take out, or he can take you to a cafe or a restaurant if you want to eat something nice. Damn, he even asked you to come back to him while the water was boiling but apparently it was more “complex” than just pouring hot water over powdered cocoa and stirring. 

He sighed, letting his head drop backwards in defeat. He’d much rather drink cold water and spend more time with you. Although, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling to have someone put effort for him just because. In fact, it caused a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

Just as he was about to call for you, you appeared with two mugs of hot chocolate in your hands. He raised one brow at the white and pink, tiny marshmallows richly decorating the top. 

“You might want to drink it before eating the marshmallows. If you eat them first, it will look less tempting.” You sat next to him on the sofa and he wasted no time putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

“I see you have this all thought through,” he noticed, while placing a thank you kiss on your temple before taking his own mug into his hands. He noticed you staring at him intensely.

“Please don’t,” he groaned. 

Your gaze didn’t falter. Your breathing became quicker.

“Y/n…” He pleaded. 

Your lip began to tremble. 

“You’re better than that.”

…

“Choco for Koko.”

“For fuck’s sake-” You barely managed to dodge the pillow aimed at your head.

Your boyfriend shot you one last disappointed look before he took a sip.

And then another. And another.  Before he knew it, it was all gone and he was fishing out the half melted marshmallows from the bottom. 

It was a damn good hot chocolate.

He even contemplated asking for seconds, but it dawned on him that you would have to leave again to do that.

“Did you like it?” You asked while making yourself comfortable in his tight embrace.

“I sure did. Mind selling me the recipe? Just name the price.”

You couldn’t decide whether he was being serious or not so you said the first thing which came to your mind.

“I might want to exchange it. For an… engagement ring.”

Koko turned his face away, almost embarrassed with how wide he grinned. His eyes sparkled uncharacteristically.

[hannigramislife]

I just encountered a person comparing Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, saying how Jiang Cheng got his parents' worst attributes and Jiang Yanli got the best, and after a whole lot of bullshit I'm not gonna repeat, another really tried to erase Jiang Cheng's sacrifice by saying he didn't distract the Wens in the book, but lost his golden core for revenge.

I think this has been a little eye-opening for me, as to why people hate Jiang Cheng and why they can't stand to see the good in him.

Because to see the good in him, is to acknowledge that he is not the man they make him out to be, which, obvious so far. But to really see the good in him, is also to see the hurt in him. To see the suffering that their image of "cold, cruel jc" can't allow.

And to see the suffering means to acknowledge the ways his family - all of his family - failed him.

His father failed him completely, and I don't even have to elaborate. His mother failed him by always putting him on the spot, straining his relationship with his brother, not supporting him in learning for the sake of the leader he was going to be, but out of spite to her husband. Wei Wuxian failed him post-war, because he pulled away from Jiang Cheng completely, causing the chain of events to lead to what it did.

This is not taking into account the emotional toll and influence that Wei Wuxian's presence had his entire life, since they met, because most of that wasn't on Wei Wuxian, but only the fact that Jiang Cheng was given the tall order to rebuild Lotus Pier and take care of his sect, and Wei Wuxian made that all the much harder, and then he left of course.

Jiang Yanli also failed him, and this might be controversial, but this is my opinion as an older sibling myself. The fact that we don't have a single scene where she's offering him support exclusively, without Wei Wuxian in the picture, can be attributed (maybe) to the fact that the story is from Wei Wuxian's pov, but I still think that Jiang Yanli was wrong to go to that battlefield, defenseless, because what happened? She died in Jiang Cheng's arms, leaving him with the added trauma, as well as an infant child to care for.

I realize this is all from a particular point of view, and not taking into account the reasons others did what they did. I know they have their reasons. And they are always allowed those reasons, they justify their actions.

Why isn't Jiang Cheng, who was the youngest of the Jiang family, a boy who had to become a man so his people could rely on him, a boy so traumatized by what happened, what he witnessed, what he went through—

Why is he not allowed his reasons? His grief? Why was he not allowed ignorance?

[mother-ofthe-universedraws]

So you said Bill in Simon’s body can remember being Bull for up to 6 months, what was that like for him? It’s like inevitable countdown to where he couldn’t really considered being himself anymore, but he’s also himself. I just wanna know his thought process during this, not to mention his shock at being Stanley Pines’ child.

He’s got a love-hate relationship with it. Babies are kinda useless when it comes to their ability to do anything, but he does take a lot of pleasure in the fact that all he has to do is scream and Stan will give him anything he wants.

Spoilers for the Book Of Bill, btw;

The idea is that Bill was reincarnated as Simon as a form of exposure therapy; he’s been in the theraprism for centuries by the time this happens, and while he’s been getting better, or at least getting to a point where he’s actively accepting help and trying to change, he still has a lot of unsolved emotional baggage that mostly revolves around his mommy and daddy issues. His parents weren’t great people; while his mum seems to be better than his dad, she still seems problematic. The general vibe that I’ve been picking up from them is that their love for him was very conditional; they wanted him to fit in with the rest of Euclydia to Bill’s own detriment. And even after spending centuries in the theraprism, the damage this did to Bill is still ever-present. Hence the idea of exposure therapy; they’re gonna expose him to unconditional love from a parent.

That’s where Stan comes in; the guy cares about others to the detriment of himself, and never expects someone to change their flavor of weird for anything. What one might consider freakish, he considers special, and all he ever really ask for from other people is for them to care about him too, even if it’s just a little bit. Not to mention the empathy aspect; he knows what it’s like to be unwanted by his own family. He’s kind of perfect for the role of the Good Dad, not to mention that Stan really needed someone in his life who loves him the way Simon does; someone to keep him from being as lonely as he was all his life; Stan needs Simon as much as Simon needs Stan.

Forgetting who he was and becoming an entirely new person is a painful process, but it wasn’t like Bill went into this process unknowingly. He was offered something that could help him, but warned that said help involved reincarnation. He knew the rules and how everything worked when he went into it, but decided that he might as well give this idea a shot, at least for the sake of curiosity than for no other reason. He didn’t know all the details going in, but he knew enough to know that whatever he was doing, it would involve his soul being wiped clean and an entire new life being grown from the ashes. But, by that time he’d been in the prism long enough that he was willing to accept help and try out different methods of getting better.

Simon and Bill are not the same person, but they’re cut from the same cloth. Their personalities and base instincts are extremely similar, as are their interest and quirks.

Being born to Stan is the major shocker, and Bill isn’t very happy about it. He still doesn’t like the guy, even if the intense and bitter hatred has calmed down over time. Bill does have fun “tormenting” Stan just a little as a newborn; he’d scream as often as he could out of spite, and tried his absolute best to keep Stan from getting a full nights sleep. And he does find it rather amusing that all he has to do is scream a bunch and Stan will basically be at his beck and call. He considers it a small amount of payback for the whole “killing him” thing.

He does warm up to the idea of Stan as his father over time. It’s kinda hard not to when the guy’s constantly holding you and giving you attention and love. By the time his days of being Bill are practically over, he’s pretty ok with the idea that this guy is gonna be his dad from now on. Hell, he even has an inkling of faith in the guy; he might consider Stan a failure at absolutely everything, but even he’s gotta admit that Stan’s really good at loving his family. That baby is Stan’s whole world, and even Bill can find some manner of comfort in that fact.

Sorry to go all essay on ya lol. This is something I’ve thought about a lot!

[moodywyrm]

bookish lil crush

college au! Abby Anderson x bookworm! reader

she is occupying my every thought I want her so bad but here!!! a lil series of thoughts I had about abby bc she is so cute I wanna hold her hand. occasionally nsfw/suggestive at times so MDNI pls go away u can’t be here I'll block u 

also listened to do I make you nervous by dreamer isioma while writing this! I am also!!! so down to talk about these books and other books pls talk to me about books in my asks I love reading so so much and so does abby! or talk about college abby bc she is rotting my brain away 

wc: 1.7k im sorry idk how

Thinking so much about Abby developing the most debilitating crush on the cute girl in her class who is always early and always reading

Like one day she decides to show up to class earlier than usual, bc she usually gets there like 5min before class starts and gets stuck with weird seats or super packed aisles that had the only seat open and it really sucks

So out of spite she just starts showing up unreasonably early (1hr before class) to make sure she gets a good seat and low and behold there is no class in that room before her english class (bc I firmly believe she would do an english minor and like maybe kinesiology? I have not put too too much thought to her major but i would love to hear opinions!), so she gets her pick of the entire room!

She nestles into the third row bc it’s the perfect spot! Not too far back to be easily distracted but not immediately in front of the professor. I think she’d pick an end seat, but the ones next to the wall and not the aisle bc she knows she’s a bigger girl and she doesn’t want to make people like crawl over her to get a seat and she’s always super aware of how much space she takes up anyways

There she is! In her lil seat! An hour before class just hanging out! She’s checking her laptop and her phone and getting her note-taking situation set up and god she is so regretting not bringing like a book or something bc this is a lot of free time and it would be perfect for reading and then!!

Like fifteen minutes later you show up and she doesn’t really notice until you sit in the same row as her, a few seats down

She looks over and she is f l o o r e d bc who is this cutie??? Have you always been in her class??? How did she not know??? She thinks ur so cute in ur lil outfit, how much shorter you look compared to her, even in the seat, ur headphones in and ur music barely audible and she’s just staring at this point and oh god oh no you notice and now she wants to crawl into a hole and decay 

You, unbeknownst to her, are completely Awestruck by this absolute goddess of a woman who is suddenly sitting in your row and thank god she didn’t take Your seat that you have been sitting in since the class began and oh god ur not gonna change seats now so you have to sit next to her

So you act Natural and pull out your stuff as you usually would, including your current read!! Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo!! Very good very gay and oh my god you hope the mystery girl sees the girls on the cover and gets the hint and you hope that she also likes girls bc wowowowow!!! She’s even prettier the closer you are to her!! And she looks so strong!!! Her arms so big and now ur head is spinning bc she could probably pick you up and mandhandle you and do whatever she wanted and now ur completely off track bc she is just so pretty

And she is staring at you!! So you panic a little bit and send her a lil smile and wave and her heart damn near stops because One she got caught Two ur so fucking cute so she Composes herself and waves back and then

Just turns back to her laptop

Like a coward. Bc u are so cute and she wants to talk to u so bad so Obviously she can’t bc she can and will make a bigger fool of herself than she already did

n this makes you sad bc duh, she’s so cute u thought she was gonna say something but no :( so you just start reading ur book and u get so into it that u don’t notice that abby keeps looking over at u! And she thinks ur so cute! Bc ur so focused and there’s this lil crease between ur brows from how hard ur focusing on this book and oops now she’s trying to look at the cover without u noticing and oops now she’s typing it into her browser and would u look at that! It’s in stock at her favorite bookstore! so now she knows what she’s doing after class instead of homework!

so u two sit and u read and she watches and floats aimlessly on the internet and then class proceeds as usual and abby feels so much better in this seat! She can actually hear and see without being stuck with ppl who talk during class or are super distracting on their laptops bc ur the closest to her and ur a diligent little notetaker! truly the best idea she’s ever had good job abby :)

Immediately after class she hauls ass to the bookstore and picks up the book u were reading (and maybe two more ok she has little self control in here it’s fine her dad is a neurosurgeon) and she starts reading it that day and omg!! She loves it!!! She reads like half of it in one day and forgets to do her homework and oh shit okay she has to bust out two discussion posts before midnight and now she’s panicking but it’s fine she’s got this!

the next time she has that class, she brings the book with her to read beforehand and u show up! But with a different book :( she’s so sad she wanted to talk to u about this one but u probably already finished it! So, of course, she pulls out her phone and writes down the book ur reading now, In A Lonely Place by Dorothy B. Hughes

she is both kinda shocked that it’s so different, some old crime novel but it sounds interesting so after class she runs back to the bookstore to get it and it’s there!! She didn’t even bother to check if it was in stock but it was! obvs the universe wants yall to have this connection so ofc she buys it and starts reading it the next week bc school caught up to her and it took a second to finish the first book :(

so she’s so excited when she shows up to class that week with the book, which she hasn’t started yet! And then u show up! And omg she might cry bc u have another book again :( ur just so fast she cannot keep up but she is gonna keep trying!

another two weeks pass with another two books and by now ur starting to notice that she always seems to be reading the last book u read and u don’t know if it’s intentional but if it is that is so sexy of her and u will hold her hand about it

so u decide to test it! u slow down on ur reading speed for the next book and u intentionally pick a less popular one (???)  bc at that point what are the odds it isn’t intentional? So u show up with When the Moon Was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore for the next three classes and sure enough! By the second class she has it and she’s reading it and so are u and ur both so excited about it!!

Abby is like ninety percent sure she’s been found out but her suspicions are confirmed when u turn to talk to her, voice low even though ur like the only people in the classroom bc class doesn’t start for another forty minutes, and u ask her how she likes it, especially compared to the rest of the books and she just turns Bright Red

She’s so cute and blushy and tripping over her sentences when she tells u she really likes it even though she just started it and by god she thinks she’s gonna melt into a puddle of pure sapphic when u giggle and smile at her and tell her ur glad!! Bc it’s one of ur favorite books!!

n y’all start talking about the books you’ve been reading and ur both so into it that u completely give up on reading before class today! Not when this absolute sweetheart of a girl is reading the book u read!! For u!! Bc abby straight up tells u she wanted to talk to u but didn’t know how so she just started reading all the books u read bc that makes sense?? I mean it worked so yeah!! Makes sense!!

u scoot into the seat right next to her, abandoning ur old seat :( but for a much better one bc omg she smells so good u wanna bite her or kiss her or sit in her lap and snuggle into her :( and abby is freaking out bc u also smell good and ur so pretty she wants to hug u and kiss u and make u cre-

Anyways eventually class starts :( which sucks so bad but ur right next to her and she maybe finds it a lil bit harder to focus but it’s fine!! She gets through it and at the end of class, she builds up the courage (tbh she wasn’t really listening to the last ten minutes bc she was so Anxious) to ask u for ur number!!! Which u give her ofc, and right before u leave u nearly make her heart pop out of her chest

As u pull on ur bag, u turn to her and say that you’ll text her to set up ur lil bookclub :( maybe you can go get coffee to talk about it :) and by god that is close enough to a date for abby that she just nods dumbly and smiles and watches as you leave, a lil smile on ur face that makes her want to pull u back and kiss u silly!!

She knows then and there that she has to make u her gf or she’ll literally wither away (ofc she succeeds!! She’s abby!!!)

Anyways yeah thinking of her debilitating crush i luv her

[twainxavier]

You know I have to ask for Dark Academia 😸

@embroiderling

Of course! 😊🫂💜

Okay, so, this is one I've been working on for a while and have recently been struggling to continue for some reason.

So this is a Catwin AU, basic premise is that Edwin and Thomas (the Cat King) both take the same course in University and somehow no matter how hard Edwin studies Thomas always seems to be top of the class 🤣👌 Thing is, it does get a little dark soon into the story thanks to Edwin's roommate Simon and his friends 👀

So yeah, several trigger warnings on this one for graphic descriptions of violence, homophobia, homophobic slurs and a lot more horrible things for Thomas to help Edwin through later on 🫂

As for the snippet, I'll go for something more tame, before the Simon incident 😅👌 So here is Edwin and Thomas meeting by chance in the library...

For the next few weeks, Edwin spent most of his free time in a dark corner of the University's expansive library—his usual spot—studying as hard as he possibly could. There was a fortress of books stacked up around him, so high he would have to stand to see the rest of the library. Edwin was certain that each and every one would be useful in some way, he just had to keep searching. Every now and then someone would breach his safe corner to find a book of their own, and Edwin would feel himself tense up every single time. There was a reason he chose to sit in the corner, corners were safer, more secure, protected. It was harder for someone to sneak up on you if you were in a corner already. But then that just made it all the more anxiety inducing whenever anyone wandered into his safe corner. Edwin would have gone back to his room to study, but the library would never allow him to take out this many books at once. He had to settle for his corner, and the many interruptions that came with it. Just as he was getting back into the swing of things, yet another student invaded his corner to hunt for a book. Edwin couldn't help but sigh slightly. He did his best to pretend he was still working and that was the reason for the sigh, but for some reason this particular student still seemed to be hanging around. Edwin was about to ask if they needed help, purely to get them out of his hair, but they managed to speak first, and Edwin froze entirely. “That's a lot of books you got there, already researching your thesis?” Thomas King. Of course it had to be him who came to invade Edwin's peace. He didn't want to grant him an answer, but he learned long ago that silence was somehow worse than talking back most of the time. “I am working on the next assignment, if you must know.” Edwin kept his response curt and short in the hope that Thomas would decide he was rude and leave him alone. “With this many books? Half your essay is gonna be references, surely?” Thomas asked with a slight chuckle, looming over Edwin's table and shoulder in such a way it almost made him flinch. “I know what I am doing, thank you very much. Wider reading is always useful. Now if you do not require a specific book I would appreciate it if you would leave me to my studies,” Edwin commented, still not daring to even look at the other man leaning over him. Thomas just chuckled again, but thankfully stopped leering over him. “Well, I would ask to borrow one of the books from your book towers, but I can see you're busy with it. I'll grab it another day.” Edwin was so absolutely shocked by Thomas’ nonchalant attitude in spite of him hoarding what he had to admit was a small library's worth of books, that he actually looked up and met his eyes. Thomas was smiling at him, a genuine sort of smile, wholly unlike his usual smirks across lecture halls. “Well good luck with the research, see you next class, Edwin,” Thomas said, as casually as anything. Then he grinned down at Edwin, and winked. Actually winked. The infuriating American simply sauntered off, as Edwin tried to recover from the encounter. He was beyond confused by the other man's behaviour towards him at this point, with the smirking and the glances and the winking now. All of it just angered Edwin further. He was so flippant and unserious and yet he had clearly decided to learn the name of the one boy in class who refused to laugh at his jokes. Edwin could feel himself tensing up again for a whole new reason, fists clenching where they rested by his forgotten work.

Hope you enjoyed this little hint! Hopefully the words will be returned to me as soon as possible so I can continue this fic and finally start posting it 👀🫂💜

[nalyra-dreaming]

I enjoy your blog and I’m not trying to be argumentative; just some friendly debate, but I notice you and Virginia both frequently reduce the entire Antoinette ordeal to Louis’ feeding habits and Lestat’s need for attention and adoration. Don’t you think Lestat had to have at least a little love for Antoinette? He had to love her on some level not to kill her right off the bat. This is apparent in the scene before Louis is playing cards before Doris tells him Jonah is there, Lestat is standing up close to the stage, completely entranced watching Antoinette perform like there is no one else in the room. Louis isn’t even present to make jealous. He slept with her and didn't kill her before Loustat was having serious problems like lack of intimacy. He stayed with her just as long as he stayed with Louis. I’m sorry, but I don’t think that man ever had any intention of being in a monogamous relationship.

Hey nonny!

(All good, you can be argumentative, as long as you're kind it's all fine, I just won't accept hate or insults anymore^^, hope that makes sense! Also, I really don't see that as argumentative^^)

I think @virginiaisforvampires and I just ... shorten the Antoinette discussion at times (by now) because it's been... a theme.

Like, the fandom latched onto the jealousy angle so massively, the asks wrt her were so numerous, the human cheating AUs on Ao3 so prevalent... the vampiric aspect seems to be often overlooked.

I think you're referring to my ask with the open relationship?

Because of course Antoinette was more.

(this is long, so the rest under the cut:)

She became more when he did not kill her as a feeding fling. (And I still stand by the fact that they must have had a lot of feeding flings, for example Louis is not really taken aback by soldiers in their bedroom - the same bedroom he gets so sharp about with Antoinette, which is another detail.)

So yes, Lestat apparently slept with her and didn't kill her. We don't get to see it, but it is insinuated.

But there is a lot more to Antoinette, and that is why some think she might show up again later. I am not sure if you're familiar with "the musician" from IWTV, "Antoine" from the later books?

Let me recap:

In IWTV we have the unnamed "musician". Louis never bothers to find out his name, even though it is clear that Lestat turns him. That unnamed musician then gets into the crossfire of Claudia's attempt on Lestat's life, and Louis... forgets about him. But he did know about him from the beginning:

"Lestat had a musician friend in the Rue Dumaine. We had seen him at a recital in the home of a Madame LeClair, who lived there also, which was at that time an extremely fashionable street; and this Madame LeClair, with whom Lestat was also occasionally amusing himself, had found the musician a room in another mansion nearby, where Lestat visited him often. I told you he played with his victims, made friends with them, seduced them into trusting and liking him, even loving him, before he killed. So he apparently played with this young boy, though it had gone on longer than any other such friendship I had ever observed." [..] "I could not tell whether he had actually become fond of a mortal in spite of himself or was simply moving towards a particularly grand betrayal and cruelty. Several times he’d indicated to Claudia and me that he was headed out to kill the boy directly, but he had not. And, of course, I never asked him what he felt because it wasn’t worth the great uproar my question would have produced. Lestat entranced with a mortal! He probably would have destroyed the parlor furniture in a rage."

(Interesting tidbit about the rage, which they picked up for the show!)

Louis even encounters Antoine, has a bit of a discussion with him after the initial attack on Lestat:

‘What is it?’ I asked him. ‘What did you need from him? I’m sure he would want me to...’ “ ‘He was my friend!’ He turned on me suddenly, his voice dropping with repressed outrage.

This last bit is important, for the later books, most importantly for "Prince Lestat", which we know Rolin takes from. Because in that book, in chapter 7, we find out what happened to "the musician", Antoine, after that fateful night, when Rue Royale burned (in the book).

Because Antoine did not burn to death (in the show, likely: Louis and Claudia did not know to scatter the ashes), and he survives, hideously burned, needing decades to heal. Lestat reunites with him before he chases after Louis and Claudia (to Europe).

When Antoine later tells of his own story, he says this:

“He was my friend, Lestat,” Antoine confessed. “He told me about his lover, Nicolas, who had been a violinist. He said he couldn’t speak his heart to his little family, to Louis or Claudia, that they would laugh at him. So he spoke his heart only to me.”

There is a LOT in that little paragraph. A lot that fits with what we know from the show, too.

Louis (in the show) tells of Lestat saying that "Antoinette fortifies him against them". Antoinette became more than a passing interest, a passing feeding fling, true, because Lestat can confide in her, can be himself with her, especially later, when things between him and Louis take on a strain. But he never leaves Louis, and I think that is often overlooked - (s)he was never a real threat to Louis, nor Claudia. Lestat left Antoine behind when he goes after them, to try to save them.

Louis on the show makes it seem as if Antoinette was that major threat. And the show (of course^^), sharpened that threat by making Antoine a woman, a white woman, whose very presence represented what Louis could not be in their relationship at the time, namely an official partner.

Louis uses the focus on Antoinette and what she represents to overshadow other things that coincide with the affair. He does the same later, when they are threatened, to shift the focus to Lestat's paranoia. It's clever, because it's built on truth, a "look at my right hand, not at my left" approach. But the real story is much more difficult than that.

And I think that goes for Antoine(tte) as well.

Since Rolin is specifically taking from "Prince Lestat" as well there is no way in hell he has somehow missed reading chapter 7, or has missed Antoine in the later books/chapters.

I for one wouldn't be surprised if she shows up at the trial - or in Dubai. Maybe she's that interior designer, who knows that Louis is missing the natural world....

I don't know. We'll see. But I doubt that the jealousy angle is all there is to it. There are too many discrepancies, even down to the make-up they used for her (which is its own meta). Lestat may have very well loved her, albeit differently than he loves Louis.

As for the monogamous relationship(s)...

Nonny, forgive me, but these are not humans. They are vampires.

They hunt, and kill humans, for food and pleasure. They play with their food, like other predators in our world do, too. They are also inherently hedonistic, looking for pleasure. (Maybe) Especially Lestat is trying to drown himself in the pleasurable things at times, for reasons that the show will still get to. Since the show explicitly added sex to the mix that desire is of course expressed in the hunt for pleasure, too.

But totally apart from "food", and sex... these vampires are a mess, relationship-wise.

When Lestat and Louis are "married" in the later books as Jacob calls it (I bet they'll make that literal in the show^^), that doesn't mean that they don't still love others. Have loved others. Will love others. They are beyond the need to narrow down their love though. And they are "official partners" then.

But it's... a knot of relationships and history.

Some of these people are truly immortal. Like, can not be killed anymore.

Imagine living with that fact (it maybe most famously sends Lestat reeling in "The tale of the Body Thief", for example).

Imagine loving with that fact. Imagine having the time.

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

What Gatsby musical do you think is best?

The Great Gatsby : A New Musical

Gatsby : An American Myth

And depending on which you pick, why did you choose that one?

I have been outspoken in my criticism of The Great Gatsby: A New Musical to the point where it's kind of marked me as an asshole to fans of said musical, but I'm not backing down. Read my opinions boy

No, but seriously. Let me begin by saying that I came to this point already worn down by so many heartless, obnoxious, cash-grabby adaptations of prior works (Mean Girls, Beetlejuice, Heathers, etc) that bank almost entirely on nostalgia and spectacle and, in some cases, the unknowing of their YOUNG target audience, in order to blind said audience into just calling the music a bop and moving on.

And I'm tired of it. Yes, I'm aware musical theater has always run on adaptations—Chicago and Little Shop of Horrors are among some of my favorites! But I approach every single adaptation of ANYTHING with the same baseline question: is this adaptation justified?

You could take the very moderate opinion of "having more musicals to listen to is a good thing!" but I think that's naive, and falling right into the trap set by creators who are only here for Lin Manuel-level Tony's and that's it. There's no dedication to actually making something new with something already established. Nothing transformative. It's lazy.

That's what I mean by 'is this adaptation justified'. Does the adaptation in question engage with the source material in a way that refreshes it, dives deeper into it, and takes advantage of the new method of storytelling (in this case, from book to stage musical) to showcase how the new method of storytelling benefits the source material? Like in the case of Little Shop of Horrors, it uses satire to highlight deeper issues that are barely skated across in the source material while also pulling forth factors of the source material that were more relevant at the time when it was released.

I for one am exhausted by adaptations at this point. It's always been a backbone of musical theater but now, even outside of theater, we are awash in them. it's been said before that pretty much everything you see now is a remake or an adaptation or a sequel or a prequel or a cinematic universe or something derivative, and that tends to punch down on the smaller, more creative, original ideas that might've flourished if the market wasn't oversaturated with mass-produced corporatized shiny flashy garbage.

This is where the two Gatsby musicals come in.

If you're here, you know that I...dedicate a lot of time to this novel. I could have gone to college and got a degree with the time I have spent on this novel and its study. Unraveling every single sentence, every character motivation, every real life factor that plays in to Fitz's writing of the novel—every draft, every movie adaptation. The entire history of this novel and its creation is carved into the inside of my skull.

Now, one thing you should know about gatsby is that Fitz wrote it when he was just coming off the massive failure of his play The Vegetable. That's not the full title, but I'm not going to bother typing out the rest of it. Because it was bad. It was not good. No one liked it. So, naturally, Fitz wanted to improve on his playwriting skills. Up until then, he was good at short stories and he was good at long, descriptive novels, but he couldn't quite understand how to condense and reformat his novel-writing style into something more like a stageplay.

Gatsby was sort of his attempt. You'll note that Gatsby is only 47,043 or so words, which is less than half of most of his other novels. The action and dialogue are snappy. There is, shockingly enough, less purple prose than prior releases (in spite of Nick spending 23984798347928374 words, approximately, to describe his new neighbor's smile). Scott was trying desperately to pare down his writing and see if he could slowly shift his formatting toward something that could translate to the stage.

Many of you know that The Great Gatsby was a total major uber flop.

There went his dreams of making this a play. And there have been many attempts since, all with very limited success, because for the most part, there is a total lack of understanding concerning what makes this novel a novel instead of play material. All too many times, there has been a disconnect as to what would translate effectively onto the stage as it is written in the book, like the themes of being dazzled by a spectacle but not, as displayed in the novel, the downside of such a thing.

As I said. All too often, there is too little thought given to the advantages of adapting a written work to musical theater. This leads to much of the deeper shades of the story being left to the wayside in favor of shallow spectacle just to keep the masses entertained without actually translating the stunning symbolism and figurative work Fitz put on the page.

This is what happened to The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. They took the most barebones understanding that most viewers would have of the story (that it's a love story, just like Romeo and Juliet!—side-eye), and made everything as loud and as fast and as bright as they could to make up for any lack of exploration beyond what is very plainly written on the page.

This does not work with The Great Gatsby.

I've mourned the gooberfication of Nick Carraway before. I love the 2013 film, as I'm sure many do because it was many of our first experiences with any Gatsby adaptation, but you can see it with Tobey Maguire and you can see it here in The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. So many times I see people call him an unreliable narrator but it's very clear they don't understand exactly why he's unreliable.

This 'gooberfication' I speak of is Nick's attempt to convince us that he's the innocent one here, in every single situation, and everyone around him is a liar and he's always telling the truth so you can trust him. He's the only honest person he's ever known.

Red flag central.

So from that line alone, you have to understand that everything Nick says or does, leaves in or leaves out, is suspect. He's out of his element in New York but he is absolutely not some baby-cheeked little goober who is SO TOTALLY BLINDED by his infatuation with Gatsby that he's just willing to go along with everything and doesn't pass judgment. We joke "Nick says he doesn't judge anyone then proceeds to judge everyone in the novel!" Yeah, no shit. That's the thing. He is a hypocrite made only lesser by the way he plays up the evils of everyone around him, and that's how he gets by. That's how he sleeps at night.

You can cast that into whatever light you like, whether it's the hypocrisy of saying he's so poor when he's living in at LEAST a two bedroom cottage with a maid and modern appliances and his dad is paying for a full YEAR of his life after paying his way through an Ivy League school. Or you could say he does this to throw suspicion off himself and possibly his sexuality, which is a whole can of worms involving Fitzgerald's constant projection onto his characters that I cannot bear to crack open.

Point being, Nick isn't just the passive bystander in all of these situations. He makes it sound like he is, like he's just doing favors for people who are worse than him, and how he disapproves of even everything Gatsby does despite his evident fascination with the man, but at the end of the day, he's just passing the buck. Washing his hands clean. There are so many clues in the book to this sort of thing that should tip you off to the fact that Nick Carraway is not just some silly sweet guy who gets swept up into a life of chaos and crime just to come out cynical. He was already a judgemental, cynical individual who was forced to come all too close to the realization that he, too, is more 'one of them' than he can bear to admit—even in spite of how he attempts to obscure his own hypocrisy.

Nick is not innocent. No one in this book is (besides Pammy, though she's a ticking time bomb if we're meant to understand the wealth she will inherit). That's the whole point of the fucking book. There are a thousand hands each pushing a tiny bit to keep these impossible shades of class division moving, and condemning one person (like Nick does with Daisy or Tom) doesn't solve the problem. Jay still dies. The American dream is still a nightmare. Nick still has a father to fall back on.

Which is why it's so impossibly perplexing to me to display Nick as some sort of lapdog who just seems honored to spend time with these people. Why Jay is just some quirked up white boy who is, quite literally, just too quirky and obnoxious to bear. He and Daisy are so in love and they're so close to each other and isn't it just tooooo saddd to bearrrr?? So romantic????

There's nothing deeper to it. No asking why Fitz wrote any of these characters the way he did. No understanding of the deeper implications of what he was trying so desperately to convey, on both a social and personal level. Yes, it's a love story, but it's also a commentary on just how fucked everyone is by the cages of tradition.

And there is just no trace of that in the Broadway musical. Everything is simple and easily digestible. There is no deeper interaction with the source material, no drive to have produced it at all except, perhaps, to cash in on the new public domain. They got the biggest names they could with the biggest cult followings, knowing so many would just eat it right up and call each song a bop and it would trend on tiktok and they might get a tony and then they'd move on. No integrity. No passion. No justification.

Gatsby: An American Myth is much the opposite.

After hearing a Totally Legal version of the Broadway musical, I was terrified of what ART would do to this book. Now that I had seen just how fearfully easy it was to just slap some 'art deco' and glitter on the stage, write a painfully obvious love song, and move on, I was really concerned that this trend of bloodless, toothless adaptations would continue and I'd have to sigh and move on with my life.

Fortunately, everything I mentioned that bothered me about the Broadway musical is set right in Gatsby: An American Myth. I really should have expected nothing less from Florence Welch in terms of the music (which is, of course, one of the most show-stopping elements of the musical, as it should be) considering her prior works and how they relate to the Great Gatsby. This is someone who has been obsessed with the book longer than I have been and has woven it into so much of her body of work that I'm surprised this musical didn't drop the day it became public domain. I cannot think of a better contemporary musician to handle that facet of a Gatsby musical.

This adaptation itself does exactly what I would have hoped. I am, of course, someone who holds the book and all its drafts to a very high regard—if this is a religion, that's my bible. What's in there, goes, though it's open to interpretation. Typically I would be against adding things at all.

What they added, however, was brilliant. Nothing massive—just, again, ways to take advantage of the musical theater method of production, and ways to modernize and acknowledge more contemporary understandings of the source material. Where the Broadway musical carefully tiptoed around any indication that nick was anything other than straight and in love with Jordan Baker, Gatsby: An American Myth leaned right into the idea that he was made an outsider by his sexuality, and that was part of why he related to Jay so hard. Because otherwise, why would he? He's a middle-to-upper-middle class Midwesterner whose father is paying for a year of his life while he works a little for-fun job in the big city. What does he know about being an outsider?

Gatsby: An American Myth shows you that. Shows how everyone is an outsider to each other in this story, and how individualism destroys a community that would otherwise support you. You can take that on a society-wide level or personal: Jay being totally disconnected from even himself, or the wealthy pretending they don't live on the same planet as the poor.

Another miraculous addition was a sort of bridge between Myrtle and Wilson that just makes sense. I don't want to spoil it too much, but everything they added or rearranged or re-highlighted just goes to display the depth and breadth this story really reaches. They read between every line, proudly displayed the complexity of every single situation and character—how all of them are the victim and all of them are the perpetrator—while STILL making it sound fantastic in my opinion.

It's by no means a flawless work and I saw it early on its production. It's changed since then and obviously I haven't been able to hear it since I saw it live, but I have total faith in the creative team to have not completely thrown away their good intentions in favor of trending on tiktok.

To conclude I would just ask anyone reading to please inspect the media you consume. Inspect the motives of the person feeding it to you. There's not really any sort of Nobility to art, but at this point, with so many shallow attempts to cash in on our desperate search for community and contentment, quality and passion have been thrown out the window. Shoveling this hot shit at us day and night (remakes, sequels, prequels, adaptations) has become another tool of capitalism to keep us just satisfied to not ask for more.

Ask for more. Ask for better. You deserve it.

[joekeerys]

I find it interesting how we’ve never seen Jacaerys show any interest in women. Even in being betrothed to Baela, they act more like cousins than anything. His dance with Helaena was done almost entirely out of spite for Aegon, whom we’ve seen him show more interest in/affection toward as a child than anyone else. Then we have Cregan, whose relationship with Jacaerys in the book is…a whole other story. Jacaerys seemed quite fond of him in the short scene we got in the show too.

i’m gonna make a lot of people angry by saying this but i agree. i don’t think it’s any fault of the actors but jace and baela do not come off as a romantic couple at all. that’s entirely due to how condal & co chose to write them and their lack of scenes that would imply they’re anything other than close family. it’s unfortunate because i’d really like to see them explored more and they’ve already treated baela’s character poorly enough as it is. i highly doubt we’ll even get a kiss between them before jacaerys dies.

it’s obvious i’m a big jacegon shipper and, regardless of whether you view it as platonic/familial or not, the way they acted together as kids and the tension between them during the dinner because of that fallout is undeniable. we haven’t seen jace act the way he did with aegon with anyone else. i think some people downplay how much he looked up to aegon as a child (as they do with all of aegon’s relationships), especially considering it’s the reason why things were so tense between them after aegon very publicly betrayed him in 1x07. i’d argue that “everyone knows. just look at them.” coming from someone he admired so much is one of jace’s biggest reasons for feeling so inadequate his whole life. this got out of hand lmao but YEAH i think it’s interesting how affected jace and aegon are by each other and i do not see it as entirely platonic.

jace and cregan are a whole other story indeed. i’m not much of a jacegan shipper but cregan’s devotion to jace long after his death is interesting to say the least. i never bought into the whole sara snow thing and the absence of her in the show doesn’t bother me since it’s up in the air whether she existed at all and i take everything mushroom says with a grain of salt. i like the ship more as an idea. them seeing themselves in each other, jace finding someone he can be more comfortable with, and them finding a sort of intimacy in that. another instance where the he chemistry between them is pretty apparent and it helps that harry and tom are such good friends outside of the show.

i think there’s a reason why jace is normally written as gay in fanfics where he’s paired with a man, while the other party is usually written as bisexual. i wouldn’t go as far as to say that the showrunners write him that way intentionally because that would be giving too much credit to someone like sara hess who has called hotd “the gayest show on tv” for reasons beyond explanation.

i’ve always seen show jace at least as being more interested in men because that’s what we’ve been given. book jace is another story and harder to pin down. ultimately, i agree with you!

[chimivx]

‘…and when you’re gone, i’ll tell them my religion’s you…’

Jisung’s dreams are an arms length away, lying in the hands of his superior who gives him a test, one that challenges everything he’s ever known, a taste of a life so intriguing. It’s only a matter of time before he’s faced with a choice… Who’s hands does he take?

✞ sacrilegious!minsung au

✞ 12.5k { one of ??? }

✞ ‼️ 18+, sacrilegious- it says it up top, blasphemy, its all very religious, they live in a clergy home, religious imagery, praying, god/christ/lord usage, they’re all devoted, eventual explicit sexual content, alcohol use, cigarette smoking, mentions of drug usage, light cussing, once again they spend a lot of time at church doing church things and working in a church, if something offends you it costs nothing to keep scrolling, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW !!

Three times.

Deafening, three chimes of the clock tower is all it took for Han Jisung to stretch his legs through the courtyard, skipping over the crooked cobblestones, slipping into the crack of the dilapidated wooden door of the clergy house.

Just through the back door hanging on its hinges lived a kitchen, one always hot and steaming. The house's caretaker, Ann, slaved away day and night ensuring that the men who resided within the home were well fed and taken care of. Between long hours lost in books or prayer, Jisung has had his fair share of visits from Ann, the tall, hollow cheeked, grey haired woman knocking on his door into the hours of the night after he’s missed dinner, or if he’s left his light on for too long.

Many times he’s found himself being dragged out of the church by his collar, the elderly woman forcing a meal into the gangly boy with a waist no wider than the length of his forearm. While he’d sit on the stool beside the stove shoveling whatever it was she’d filled the bowl with for him, he’d listen to her scold the older men, the priests in the other room, damning them for working him too hard.

Sunday was the big day, Jisung couldn’t help himself, they were his favorite. Everything would be perfect, and they always were perfect, ever since he’d been granted the internship everything has been perfect.

If he ever caught himself lost in daydreams, gazing out the window at the land draped in green, the tans and beiges of the courtyards speckled with pink and purple flowers, he’d sometimes begin to wonder if that was why he’d never been offered a higher position. Everything’s perfect. If he were to acquire what he wanted the clergy would be forced to pick someone new to fill his, now, entirely too large shoes. The three priests who lived in the home, who preached in the church just next door, they’ve grown accustomed to Jisung and his perfectionism, though it’s the very thing that made him consider himself flawed.

He’s spoiled them rotten, and if not to excel himself forward in his career, his lifelong dream of becoming a preacher, showing off to the older men that he was worthy, that he was more than capable of reading his own sermons and shaking parish members hands after mass was held, being showered in their thanks, their gratitude- he did it to spite them. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

It was a feeling he’s swallowed down his entire life, one he’s often attempted to pray away. Not the overwhelming infatuation with being absolute perfection, but a constant berating need to be so terribly good that no one else could ever compare. 

Only one priest above him could come close in the race that was perfect intern. Christopher, a man five or so years older than Jisung who always wore his curly hair short and well kempt. A man who Jisung noticed liked to undo the first two buttons of his black shirt while he read in the study late into the night, a hand rolled cigarette burning between his plump lips that pursed as his eyes scanned over the words scattered about the page. Christopher took pride in being the one to hire Jisung, taking him beneath his wing, cracking jokes over drinks with the members that Jisung had surpassed him in expectations. That was how he knew it wasn’t his time. Until right now.

Quickly approaching two years of daunting tasks, cleaning for hours on end, preparing for masses, ensuring the hours of worship went exactly as planned, Jisung was instructed to meet with Christopher after he finished his duties in the sacristy. Organizing book after book, arranging throws of freshly cleaned fabrics, sorting through hundreds of candles, dusting antique gold, the second that tower told him it was three o’clock and that he was free to go, he bolted.

Years he’s worked for this, sleepless nights he’s acquitted for this, it was finally here, minutes away from falling right into his slender little hands. As he barreled through the kitchen, making sure to express his greetings to Ann who gave him nothing but a smile, he couldn’t help but begin to wonder what he’d be allowed to do first. Surely not Sunday’s mass, it was only two days away, he wouldn’t have enough time to prepare, and besides, Christopher was set to preach then. 

Breezing through a short hallway that toward the left led to a laundry room, and toward the right led to a small bathroom, Jisung stepped into the more than adequate living room with ample space to house three large couches around an apple wood table facing a fireplace with a structure that matched the cobblestoned sidewalks outside. To his right, a wall of glass outlined and accented in dark wood, the study, a room through the chestnut archway with bookcases for walls and comfortably cushioned chairs that Jisung has fallen asleep in once. Hardwood creaked beneath the sunken blue rugs all of the furniture sat upon, the house impossible to sneak around in. 

Behind the fireplace there was a staircase that matched the floors, hardwood that took one up to the second floor where four bedrooms fit the men with ease. Christopher in one right at the top of the stairs, the two other priests, Hyunjin, a quiet man who used to scare Jisung a bit, and Jeongin, the eldest and wisest, resided in the two bedrooms to the left of Christophers. Their three rooms were close to the stairs and big enough to house another person within it without feeling cramped. Jisung’s bedroom was shoved toward the back. Up the stairs to the right, down the hall and around a corner. A bathroom separated the pattern of rooms, but regardless, his room may as well be off the map. There certainly was little to no one room to house anyone else with him.

With a promotion though, things could change. Jeongin did just hit his mid-thirties, certainly he wouldn’t want to live out his entire life in a home with three other men. Though he did appear to be the one most dedicated to his faith, following every little detail of every single scripture like his life depended on it, Jisung couldn’t imagine Jeongin living here forever. Perhaps a promotion meant other things would change as well. 

Passing by the staircase he calmed his racing heart with a deep breath, pushing the air deep into his chest, repeatedly telling himself to not get his hopes up too high. There was just no way that this was anything else, Christopher asking to meet with him, setting up an appointed time and everything. This had to be it. 

Tugging at the collar of his white button up Jisung stepped into a dark hallway standing in front of a white wooden door with a golden handle. The smell of cigarettes and musky cologne wafted through the cracks, through the broken keyhole beneath the knob. Christopher was here, he was already inside. Jisungs heart sprung up into his throat.

Wrapping his hand around the cool metal, Jisung pushed the door open with a breath, stepping into the sunlight that poured through the white linen curtains into the office. Unable to help the smile on his face, he grinned as he closed the door gently behind him, placing his hand flat to it for a few seconds before he turned to face Christopher, the broad shouldered man perched upon the edge of the large desk.

A cigarette hung from his lips, the glowing tip bobbing as he smiled larger than he already had been. “Jisung!” His deep, melodic voice echoed in the room full of chairs that matched the couches out in the living room, bouncing off bookshelves and filing cabinets.

Smile faltering as Jisungs eyes spotted another head in the room, dusty brown hair in a chair pointed toward Christopher, the boy took a couple steps forward and planted his focus on his superior.

“Christopher,” he breathed, nodding his head as if to bow to the older man who waved his formality away and beckoned him closer with a wag of his fingers. “I came as fast as I could.” Jisung started through the room, his focus forward.

“I’m sure you did,” Christopher said, something sly pulling at his lips, cigarette ash sprinkling onto the hardwood of the office. Jisung approached the desk and the priest gestured to a chair to the right of him. The other man in the room was seated to his left, dressed simply in slacks and a button down like Jisung, but with silver jewelry dripping from his wrists and his neck.

Glancing from the man who didn’t spare him a look just yet, Jisung set his gaze on Christopher as he sat down on the edge of the flattened cushion, a curiosity growing within him. 

Taking the rolled paper from between his teeth, the priest stood to his feet, adjusted his belt, then rounded the worn wood carved desk that had been set in this clergy house for decades. History was written within it, written on it, beaten into the top of the wood, whispers of clergy members' past left behind for future ones to remember, to protect. He sat down in the chair behind it with a creak and folded his hands, resting his muscled arms over the desk.

Christophers brown eyes darted between the two sitting before him, the ghost of a smile making a home on his plush lips. “Jisung, I’d like you to meet the newest member of our parish,” he said, eyes zeroing in on his intern. Trying to hide the breath that corrupted his lungs, Jisung folded his hands in his lap and pressed his lips together. 

Here we go.

They’ve found a new intern, someone to take his job from him, and he was about to be handed a new one. Interesting choice though, Jisung would tell Christopher later, considering this man wore a straight fringe over his forehead slightly parted toward the center, with silver jewelry wrapped around his joints, chains linked together like Jisung’s never seen before. His jaw, sharp, matched his nose in curvature, the details carved delicately. His features may as well have been handcrafted by Michelangelo himself. 

His neck, slender in size, had one of those silver chains wrapped around it, hugging it ever so perfectly. Beneath it lived another. Beneath that one, a cross, dangling between two milky buttons. It seemed ordinary, the shining cross generic, not like the one made of pure gold, encrusted with genuine jewels that hung around Jisungs neck. He tucked it into his shirt every morning. The crucifix belonged to his grandfather, a token passed down to him from his grandfather. When the time was to come, Jisung would hand it down to his grandson, hopefully after a marriage or when he would take up the family trade and work in the church, serving his God.

He appeared legitimate. Strong faced, proper posture though his legs were crossed, an attentiveness while Christopher spoke. His dark eyes, a deep brown, or a mahogany, or a warm, rich chocolate, they studied. Analyzed. So statuesque, when he turned his chin to look at Jisung, the boy nearly leapt back into place.

“This is Lee Minho,” Christopher said, holding out a hand toward the man who’s analytical gaze had gone cold. Rich milk chocolate turned dark and bitter, and Jisung didn’t like the way it tasted. Within seconds this man had gone from someone whom Jisung would like to get to know to someone who just set their boundaries without even opening his mouth.

Facing him completely, Jisung was now able to see just how beautifully crafted Minho's being had been blessed. Completely symmetrical, his eyebrows set in place above his eyes, two straight lines that set further boundaries for him, his slender lips, the top plumper than the bottom, softening the sharpness his edges created. This was a man who was to not be messed with. Every little siren, every red light going off, flashing in Jisung’s head told him plenty. 

Minho was here for business, he was going to get what he wanted, and Christopher made a mistake hiring him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Minho,” Jisung said, dipping his chin.

Something shifted within his jaw, a setting taking place as the analytical eyes flashed back onto his face. Then, he smiled, only the corners of his lips lifting, rounding the apples of his cheeks. “The pleasure is all mine, Jisung.” He didn’t seem to blink often. His eyelashes have dusted his cheek maybe three times since he’s looked at Jisung.

Beneath his gaze was hot. It wasn’t fun being on the receiving end of someone studying you. Since he was young Jisung has always been the studier, not the one being studied. If this was how everyone he’s been caught observing felt he’d regret every single one. Like Minho had reached over the chairs and wrapped his hands around Jisung’s neck, warmth crept up through his chest, his cheeks hopefully not turning pink. Air a foreign subject, the darkness within his eyes wound Jisung thoughtless, the bitterness laced with a charismatic charm. He felt so small. Minho had only been looking at him for not even a minute and he’d already established his dominance. His place.

Jisung could only suck in a breath when Minho turned to smile at Christopher.

“He’s moved down here from Soro,” the priest said, nodding toward Jisung, “and he’ll be working beside you. I wanted to formally introduce the two of you here.” Parting his lips, Jisung sat straight up, tucking his ankles beneath the chair, knitting them together. “I’ve already told Minho how great you’ve been, Ji. The straight A’s in school, the honors, the awards and degrees and all the decadence from every institution you’ve walked into and tribalized into your own.” Christopher glanced at Minho with a smirk. “He is the best of the best. You’re going to learn great things from him, and one day, because we have the space, you’ll be one of us.”

You’ll be one of us.

Jisung narrowed his eyes, pointing them back at Minho who shared a smile with Christopher, his teeth making an appearance, all perfect in a row.

Today was the day Jisung was supposed to be made one of them.

“We’ll find space for you in one of the bedrooms upstairs, though you may be paired with Hyunjin or myself. Jeongin, since he’s been here so long, we allow him this sort of seniority, you know, for lack of better terms to describe it. I’d say that you could room with Jisung, but I’m not sure the space is enough. Though it’d be perfect, wouldn’t it?” Christopher smiled at Jisung, the boy now watching him with his brows nestled above his eyes. “The two of you will be spending a lot of time together, it’d make sense to share a room, Minho, you’d be a pro in no time.”

He couldn’t get a read on the situation at hand, couldn’t make sense of it. Picking it apart, putting it back together, it was too simple. Too simple for Jisung to come up with something logical to explain why he hadn’t been granted a higher position. Now that Minho had arrived, he’d been hired, taken under here at the house like Jisung had been two years ago by Christopher… Or, maybe, that was it.

Jisung’s last and final task.

Lee Minho.

Something about it didn’t feel right, however. Whether it be the way Minho carried himself or the way his eyes seemed to devour Jisung on the spot. It’d be a challenge. As threatening as he came off, Jisung mentally prepared himself to take this on, to whip Minho into shape and mold him into Han Jisung quality. No matter how painful the matter appealed to Minho, a certain dread was written on his face whenever his gaze brushed over Jisung, the man bobbing his clenched jaw while Christopher spoke, spilling more stories of Jisung and his successes.

He came from Soro, this man with the bitterness steaming out of his ears, a town poorly developed with only one church in the center of the madness they considered community. Jisung had visited twice. Once on his own while enrolled in his years at university, and another with Christopher, accompanying his senior on a matter of business, an exchanging of private documents that Jisung has yet to read with his own eyes.

That trip had only happened a few months ago, sometime in the spring. He supposed Soro wasn’t so bad then, the flowers along the streets reminded him of here, Avida, home. Trees greener than green lined streets of cracked pavement and misery, an immediate heaviness invading his chest when the car crossed the lines of Tamoe, the neighboring town, and sped them deep into Soro. It wasn’t a nice place to be in terms of people and behavior, Jisung had been told his entire childhood to avoid it.

The only reason he’d ventured there on his own after he’d turned eighteen… His own pure, impulsive curiosity. Jisung needed to know. Sitting beside his treacherous perfectionism, one throne below, his insatiable need for knowledge.

Lee Minho came from Soro, from that church he’d visited months ago with Christopher. In fact, he may have even been there when Jisung stepped through the gnarled wooden doors accented in faded bronze and tarnished gold. The tiled floors needed to be redone, the pattern had been chipped, the colors dingy from years of dirty shoes treading over them, like no one took the time to scrub between the grout. His heart seconds away from sinking in as he tipped his chin backward, up toward the high ceilings as he walked and found dust layered on the ornaments, cobwebs hanging from chandeliers with flickering bulbs.

Jisung had been able to care for his church for years without help, on his own, with the occasional five minutes of straightening up after a service by the priest. How someone could and would allow their sacred place, their sanctuary, to be so mistreated, it drove him mad. It fueled the passion he held for his own church. He would never see it turned to what he experienced that day, he wouldn’t stand for it. Priest or intern, Jisung intended to care for what he loved.

Minho came from this church. He must have. If he was their intern, or something of the sorts, if he worked for them, it meant he had taken part in the church becoming so desolate. Uncared for. Messy and one gust of wind away from ruin.

This would be a challenge. Jisung would need to watch him like a hawk.

“I’m very happy to be here,” Minho said, his voice like a needle to the skin, like the rest of him. He stood to his feet, his slacks loosening around his thighs. Stretching a hand toward Christopher who also rose out of his chair, the priest grabbed onto it and shook it with vigor. 

“Spend the rest of your time today getting acquainted with the place.” Christopher's grin made Jisung’s skin crawl. How he could hold his hand innocently without a second thought as to who he was allowing into this parish… They walked into that church together. They experienced the heaviness together. And Christopher now held it by the hand and welcomed it into his home. Their home. Jisung’s home.

Minho thanked the priest, then turned to Jisung who sprung to his feet. Stepping closer to the boy, the bitterness evident in his eyes, Minho held out a hand, one Jisung took out of pure submission, not knowing what else to do. His grip, strong, tight, dismantled any chance of defense Jisung could muster up. His hand engulfed Jisung’s entirely, his fingers reaching his forearm, the digits probably capable of making a perfect circle around his wrist. In more ways than one, Minho was much larger than him. With him standing on his feet he towered over Jisung by a few inches, looking down at him, his eyelashes unmoving.

That energy from before that rendered him breathless came back, a weight sitting on his chest, triggering a tingling within his veins, a nervousness. Tearing his hand away Jisung shoved them in his pockets and glanced toward the floor, swearing that Minho snickered to himself as he turned back toward Christopher who sat back down his desk. 

“Thank you for this opportunity, Father,” Minho said, a smile on his lips, one Jisung could hear. Bowing his head Christopher smiled back and gestured toward the door. With one more look down at the boy in front of him, Minho blinked and the smile wiped from his cheeks instantaneously. “Shall I meet you outside?”

Jisung cleared his throat and pressed his palms to his thighs within his pockets. Shaking his hair aside, he met Minho’s eyes and stuttered before pushing, “I’ll come find you,” from his lips, just above a whisper. Three seconds of silence passed, then Minho removed himself from the room, his shoes clicking on the hardwood until the door was pulled shut.

“Jisung,” Christopher said softly, allowing the boy to take however long he pleased to look at him. To his surprise, it took no time at all. Jisung, with his hands pressed to his legs, bounded for the front of the desk, twisting his eyebrows together. Christopher froze, his jaw agape with lost words between his teeth.

“No warning at all,” the boy whispered, tightening his jaw. “Do you know how-” Jisung cut himself short, shoving the tip of his thumb between his front teeth. Christopher waited with a patience unknown to the pistol in front of him. “Why blindside me?” Jisung took a breath, dropping his hand to his side. “I’ve been here two years, I’m in full control of this position, and you throw me this.”

Christopher shifted in his chair, sitting backward. “It was sprung on us, Ji, I had no choice but to do it this way. I’m well aware of the high standards you hold yourself to, and you know we admire you as you are, but keep that ego in check.” Jisung gulped, lowering his glare to the wood of the desk. “Show some humility. Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support. Welcome him, show him around. You remember your first day here, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jisung whispered, looking the priest in the eye. “I was twenty, about to turn twenty one, and I held within my heart a desire to serve you, to serve Hyunjin and Jeongin, to serve our Lord, and continue this journey in my faith.” A smile tugged at Christopher's lips. “With a single bag on my shoulder I left my parents behind, whom I served all my years prior, and I devoted my life to you. To Christ.”

Nodding once, Christopher thought with his hand, drawing it around in a circle before pointing it toward Jisung, stating the obvious that flew over the boy's head. “Jisung,” he breathed, taking the fingers to the bridge of his nose, “I admire your devotion, I really do. If anything, that is where you outdo all three of us.” Christopher looked at the boy, his wide, somewhat saddened mocha colored eyes and his fluffy hair laying over his forehead. “I know what you expected, coming here today,” he lowered his voice, “I feel sorry for not being able to give it to you.”

Jisung pressed his fingers to his palms, willing away the urge to snap at him out of frustration. It wasn’t his fault, Christopher was a mere pawn for the bishop to play with, giving his orders for the priest to flesh out within his own parish. All over the country it worked this way, Jisung knew his place, he knew Christopher’s place. While in this house he was the one to carry out these decisions made together with the three of them, most of the time they were ordered by the bishop to follow through, which in turn meant Christopher had to follow through.

Hyunjin argued he was too softhearted to deal with being the bearer of bad news, even good news, any news at all. He didn’t want the responsibility in his hands, he knew Christopher had a clearer way of speaking, of relaying his thoughts. A confident charisma. Jeongin had the position before and simply didn’t want it any longer. When Christopher came around the eldest handed it over with little worry that he wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations. Like Jisung, Christopher straight away proved himself more than worthy.

“You deserve it,” the priest said, and Jisung softened. “Trust me on that, Ji. You of all people deserve to be where we are,” he paused for a moment, making the boy look up at him, then, he whispered, “You just have to do this one last thing. I promise.”

“He’s come from Soro, Chris.” Jisung’s concern spread onto his face, his soft cheeks.

The priest hung his head for all of two seconds. “I know,” he whispered.

“The church of Saint Denis,” Jisung continued on, “We both walked through it. That’s where he’s come from, isn’t it?”

“He’s right out there, Ji, why don’t you go find out for yourself?” Christopher leaned forward onto his desk, his hands folding over a grey folder full of papers with 1959 written on the front. A full report of the year so far, the records, the history made. Some type of paperwork from Minho would be in there, just like Jisungs was in the folder labeled 1957. “You could make a friend, you know, he’s not much older than you. Surely you can’t enjoy spending all of your time with us old people.”

Jisung cracked a smile, one Christopher returned. “You’re only thirty, I’ve just turned twenty four. We’re not so different.”

“Ah,” the priest raised his chin and his brows, “So you think.” Pressing his lips together he flickered his eyes toward the closed door and sighed. “Go, Jisung. I’ll be here if you need me, but I have no doubt that you can handle this on your own.”

Jisung stepped out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him quietly, always careful to not disturb the peaceful air that hung about the house. The priests moved just the same, quietly, with a poised purpose and a courtesy to the other men that resided within the cinder block walls. After speaking with Christopher Jisung’s doubts for dealing with Minho had faded somewhat, that is until he turned within the dimly lit hallway and found him perched against the wall opposite of him.

Arms folded over his chest, over the cross that hung from his neck, he had one foot on the wall, the other outstretched before him. That stone cold look was on his face, and it felt as if Jisung hadn’t spoken to Christopher at all. In a single look Minho could swallow him whole and spit him back out, only to devour him once more, finish him off. Jisung, not usually uncomfortable in front of new people, part of the reason why he was so certain he could preach in a room full of utter strangers, felt nervous. Especially now that he stood here alone with the man.

Somehow, beneath the chilling rest of his face, Minho wore the ghost of a smirk, a reminder to Jisung of that arrogant snicker that left him in a breath so quiet that Christopher couldn’t hear it. Jisung wondered if the priest would even believe him if he told him about it.

“Uh, I’ll be honest with you,” Jisung willed his breath to remain steady, “I wasn’t prepared to give out any tours today.”

Minho’s eyes looked from Jisung’s attempt at a smile, then drew back up to his eyes. “That’s not very star student of you, is it?”

Lips parting in shock, Jisung couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “I just… No one told me that you were coming, I didn’t have the chance to…”

His smirk grew ever so slightly, his fingertips pressing into the fabric of his white shirt around his biceps. “Relax, Han Jisung, I’m messing with you.” Pushing off the wall with one foot, Minho took a step closer to the boy. “Besides, you’d be able to pull something out of your ass in seconds wouldn’t you?” 

“Oh,” Jisung sighed, his eyes widening. “We don’t use profanities on property.”

The dark chocolate of his eyes danced around Jisung’s face, the analytic showing through once again. “‘Course you don’t,” he said above a whisper, narrowing his glare slightly. “Apologies, Han Jisung.”

Tilting his head, the boy let out a quiet laugh. “You can call me Jisung.”

“How old are you, Jisung?”

The intensity of his stare had the boy rocking on his feet. “I’ve just turned twenty four a little over a week ago.”

Minho was a statue. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” Jisung whispered. “And… and, you?” 

“I’ll be twenty six in about a month.”

“That’s great,” Jisung swallowed, hard, “We’ll certainly celebrate, Hyunjin is a stickler for recognition and tradition. He’s our feeler, if you will.” Minho turned from him, releasing the strangling hold he had over Jisung, the boy feeling like he was allowed to breathe again. He studied the walls and the next room while Jisung spoke. “Christopher’s the brains, as you can probably tell, you go to him if you have any issues or things you need to work out. Jeongin, he’s rarely seen unless it’s for meals or prayer, but he’s our scholar. A teacher. I learned a lot from him and I continue to do so, if you ever need to-”

Minho turned to face him abruptly, cutting him clean off. “And what of you, Han Jisung?” 

“I’m- I’m sorry?” Jisung stuttered, shaking his head. Minho prodded his cheek with his tongue.

“Come on, don’t get humble on me now.” Minho smiled. He actually smiled, and Jisung’s knees buckled. “You’re all three of them wrapped into one, aren’t you?” 

Jisung never thought about this. He was always his own entity. Sure, he was inspired by the priests he worked for, but he’d never compare himself to them. Every move he made was his own. 

“I- I never… I don’t think I’d say that,” Jisung laughed, a nervousness wavering within it, “The three of them, they’re extraordinary, the best our church has seen in years, I cannot compare.”

Minho dropped his gaze down to Jisungs shoes and allowed it to drag up his stature with ease. Jisung longed to shrivel into a ball of nothing. “Interesting.” A curiosity burned where the bitterness once lived. “Han Jisung of Avida, belonging to the Saint Joseph Calasanz Church, astronomically successful in his schooling which then led him to his position here working alongside the best and the brightest?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Jisung gave a meek nod. “That’s… that’s me.”

“I feel like…” Minho paused, walking closer to the boy, a few inches between them. Jisung held his breath. Lifting a hand above the boy's head, Minho measured a foot of air. “I feel like you need to be here,” he muttered. Jisung blinked fervently, pointing his eyes up at his hand, then to his face where he believed a smile was resting. Minho moved his hands to Han’s shoulders, hovering them above the white cotton, then extended them outward. “And, here.” 

They met eyes and Jisung pursed his lips, Minho blinking down at him.

“You’re so…”

“Small?” Jisung offered, a mere squeak from his squished lips. 

Minho squinted, his lips crinkling. “Hm, no, I was going to say awkward,” Jisung gasped, his eyes shooting open, making Minho laugh, “But, small works, too. Maybe you are somewhat self aware, Han Jisung.”

The boy cringed. “Call me Jisung.”

Rubbing his lips together, Minho then nodded, and said, “Okay, Jisung.” Stepping backward, he nodded behind him. “Work your star student magic, this is a test. How perfect will this tour be?”

With one word he managed to wreck the ‘he’s kind of alright’ image Jisung attempted to build. Here in this hallway, within a few minutes, Minho undid what he’d done in the office, but with one word tangled it all back up again.

He’s the test.

Lee Minho, the challenge.

A cathedral stretching tall into the greying skies of the September-esque weather lived cozily on the edge of the massive green plot of land, the clergy house situated directly behind it, hidden by the peaks and towers atop the church. Around it, the crooked cobblestones, the path winding around the building on both sides, meeting the grand staircase that led up to the delicately carved, well preserved double doors that one often needed two hands to pull open. Along the grainy bricks of pure stone that made the two stories of the church were gardens of flowers and freshly trimmed hedges and bushes alike.

Trees lined up, separated by four feet of space on the other side of the cobblestones would grow across the way, their branches hanging over the paths, creating a canopy of sorts, granting passerbyers a break from the beating sun. Soon the green would settle, and the happy hues would turn a warm yellow, and orange, a comfort, the leaves one day covering the stones. 

Oftentimes when it’d rain in autumn, they’d become so slippery that one would have the hardest time rushing from place to place. An act that took Jisung three times to learn. One can only hit the ground with books stacked in their arms so many times before realizing the leaves were trying to teach him something.

Everyday when he passes through the alleyway, the small strip of stone between the church and the house, he’s reminded to slow down. To breathe. To take him time. To think things through.

The round stones laughed at him, rattling as he stepped over them with Minho trailing behind, the man lagging by a few steps, hanging behind Jisung as they walked throughout the house, brushed by Ann in the kitchen and stepped outside to the overcast skies. 

“She’s always in that kitchen,” Jisung said, wiggling the heavy back door to the clergy house open so that Minho could follow him out. The wood drug, caught along the concrete of the step. Minho, once outside, tipped his chin backward, his stoic gaze taking in the church and its size. “Ann is kind,” Jisung said, forcing the door shut with both hands, then joined Minho at his side, “As long as you’re kind to her.”

“Learned that the hard way, did you?” Minho asked, shifting only his eyes sideways to look at the boy who shrugged. 

“Ever since I’ve been here she’s been kind.” Jisung stepped off the concrete and onto the colored stones, starting for the back door of the church. “Christopher used to tell me I was lucky that I didn’t deal with her rigidness the first few weeks. Both Jeongin and him endured it, before they earned her trust.” 

Three strides. 

Jisung grabbed the shining handle and twisted it, yanking the door open with ease, a blast of heavy, musky, incense filled air washing over him. Glancing over his shoulder, Minho was already there peering inside, his jaw closed tight. With a slight jump, startled, Jisung whirled himself around and stepped inside.

“What of Hyunjin?” Minho asked, letting the door close gently behind him, one of his hands guiding it shut. Dim light engulfed them. A soft glow from the stained glass, well sheltered windows illuminated the space, but nothing more. 

Having taken to putting things in their place already, as if he wasn’t here an hour ago, Jisung straightened out some books and gave Minho a curious look. “What about him?”

“You didn’t mention him,” the man said, his voice the quietest it’s been. Inside the sacristy, a room half the size of the sanctuary that resided through the curtain on the archway and outside the double doors behind that, the air was still. Every sound that they made became incredibly muted, yet entirely loud for either of them. Almost sound proof. The fabrics hanging around, draped on the walls, and the books lining the shelves acted as a barrier, a different type of sanctuary.

Minho stepped around with a caution, hands in his pockets, letting his eyes do the discovery of the cluttered, yet organized space around him. His gaze fell upon Jisung a few times, the boy never happy with the placement of something.

“That’s because the two of them started like Ann and I,” he reached above his head, rising to his tiptoes, pushing a line of books back on the shelf so that they were in line with the rest. 

Minho stopped behind a table with wooden chests stacked on top of it, little and large and all sizes in between. Dragging his middle finger along the edge of one he popped the yellow gold latch open and lifted the lid an inch. Three thick cream colored candles laid inside, every single one of them in their purest form, perfect and untouched. When Jisung turned toward him, wiping his hands on his slacks, Minho closed the lid and met his eyes.

“Hyunjin joined our parish when he was a child.” Jisung came to Minho’s side, his attention dropping the table where he flicked the latch of the chest to lock it, then brushed his hand over the lid, wiping away imaginary dust. “He’s lived here in Avida all his life, his parents belonged to the church.” Minho watched Jisung work, yanking at the chests, pulling them out of place just to put them back where they started. “He decided what he wanted to do with his life when he was very young, and he’s been working here since age ten.”

A smile tugged at Minho’s lips. “Someone more ambitious than yourself, I see.”

Jisung straightened himself out, taking in the amusement that trickled onto Minho’s expression. It jostled something within him. Jisung couldn’t place if it were frustration or anger, or both. The feeling wasn’t debilitating, he could handle it, he wouldn’t let it fuel his response. Swallowing it down, fingers curling over top of a wooden chest, Jisung bobbed his head and blinked.

“I, uh, I suppose so,” he said, willing his tone to be strong, telling himself to ignore the comment. Minho’s the challenge, he was meant to come with these types of hurdles. The frustration settled in further as Minho’s amusement grew. 

“How old is Ann, anyway?” he asked, dropping his eyes to the table and Jisungs clenched fist. His eyelashes fanned along his prominent cheekbones. With a breath, Jisung shrugged.

“No one knows,” he said, and Minho looked up at him. He glowed in the splashes of color from the windows, the warm tones setting his skin alight with a blush Jisung wasn’t sure Minho would be able to produce naturally. Shadows contoured his already chiseled jaw and nose, deepening his artisan aura.

Jisungs frustration threatened to turn sour. No man's appearance ever filled Jisung with envy, his faith wouldn’t allow it. 

‘All men are created equal.’

‘We are all equally made in God’s image.’

‘Every human being is the object of the love of God.’

Through his word Jisung has never needed to feel inferior, nor has he ever been presented with a situation where he’d feel less of himself. Standing here with Minho, since he’s laid eyes on him in the first place at that, he begins to assume that that's what this feeling is. It has to be. An envy of how perfectly symmetrical his features had been placed, a jealousy being spurred on by the utter man he was. Strong, wide, taller than Jisung. A man who’s filled out his face and knows how to fix his hair. A man who knew what to say to knock Jisung down a peg when for two years he’s been living in a comfortable solidarity that everything he’d been doing was perfect.

Jisung couldn’t remember to comb his curls some mornings, not when there was work to do. The mess would hang over his forehead, the black locks brushing his eyebrows unless they were pushed backward from his forehead hours into work. He wasn’t tall, nor would he consider himself strong. Compared to most men, including all three in the clergy house, Jisung’s probably half of what each of them weighed. His clothes hung off of him, his belts desperately clinging to his waist to keep his slacks in place. He was small.

Growing up he’d never been an object of affection, not that it was his goal, nor was it ever really a thought. Girls in school would pay attention to him, but he’d go through his days without needing that attention like other boys would. The matter never bothered him, he had his school work to worry about, he couldn’t see why some of his old friends would waste time running after girls. Little did he know his round cheeks, fluffy hair and gentle build were what the girls wanted.

Inferiority. That’s the feeling Minho gave Jisung. That was the lesson to be learned here.

Puffing out his chest, or attempting to, Jisung nodded toward the curtain. “Shall we continue?” 

Minho relaxed his face and blinked. “You’ve not told me about this room.”

God, why did he talk like that?

“Surely a man of your expertise who can land a job like this knows what room this is, Minho,” Jisung said, snapping his jaw shut. With a harsh turn of his body he hurried away from him, tugging the curtain in the curved archway aside. 

Through the archway was a long, skinny hallway stretching to the right and left, both ends winding around to the front of the church’s entrance hall where the double doors and grand staircase hugged the outside. Along the hall were a few doors to offices, small rooms where records were held or where the priests would work for church matters only. The floor, covered in marble tile outside of the carpeted sacristy, shone in the light fading in through the small rectangular windows built into the walls just below the tall ceiling.

Jisung flew through the double doors, the sound of them being pulled open echoing into the spacious sanctuary, the church. Hidden behind the altar, a tall marble structure that built into the ceiling, Jisung ascended a staircase of five steps, matching the tile of the floor, and took a moment to himself. Closing his eyes, folding his hands over his chest, he breathed in the crisp air laced with nostalgia and released with the quick mutter of a prayer, one his father and his father before him taught him.

‘Oh Jesus, my King and Lord, by the grace of the heavenly Father and the power of the Holy Spirit, guide me in all righteousness as I serve You today at the Altar so I may be always worthy of Your presence.’

Engraved in his mind since he was a young child, Jisung recited the words aloud, whether quiet or with his chest, whenever he was to cross the altar or approach it. A sacred place, the most intriguing part of all for Jisung. The body and blood of Christ, the Bible, one that’s met the hands of priests from centuries before Jisung, before Christopher, before Jeongin.

Unlit cream candles upon it now, in their golden candelabras matching the sconces along the pristine walls of the church, ones Jisung has replaced and scrubbed clean again and again. The altar, free of any objects now aside from the candles as there was no mass taking place, glittered in the sunlight of the fading afternoon. Along both walls that seemed a mile high lived matching sets of stained glass windows telling the story of Christ, of the Virgin Mary and her life's journey with her one and only son. In the four o’clock hour now the sun poured in casting rays over the chestnut pews that Jisung adored much more when they were full of smiling faces, old and young.

Walking across the front of the altar, many steps above the church, looking down into the pews, he imagined what it’d feel like to stand here in a sanctuary full of people. Full of worshipers like himself, their eager ears listening to what he’d have to say, his own homilies, his own take on the scripture left behind for their naked eyes looking for direction. A direction he’d give them, he’d guide them, he’d take them someplace unimaginable, a place full of hope and undying love.

“This place is huge.”

Startled once again Jisung’s shoulders ate his ears, his heart leaping into his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Minho muttered, and Jisung could hear the smirk he wore. Turning to face him, evidently he didn’t wear much on his face which was somehow worse. Standing on the altar within the town's most beautiful, most prestigious church, walking into it for the first time he didn’t show an ounce of appreciation in his stoic self. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jisung sighed, giving his head a shake. “You’re sneaky,” he said quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. Averting his attention to the altar behind him and the angelic statues situated above and around it, he took another longing deep breath. “Are you always so quiet, Minho?” Stepping up to the shining altar Jisung took out a hand and placed it on top, the marble cool to the touch, soothing his frustrations within. 

The man’s feet scuffed along the floor, alerting Jisung he was moving closer to him. “I suppose I am,” he said. He snuck up to Jisung’s side, placing a hand on top of the altar. Continuing his slow stroll he rounded the side, dragging his fingers along the marble until he was across from Jisung, their hands mirroring each other, fingers splayed out to cover as much space as they possibly could. Three feet separated them physically, but the moment Jisung looked into his eyes it was as if the air between them ceased to exist.

“Your church in Soro,” Jisung said, keeping his voice low though it bounced around the vacant space without even trying. “The Church of Saint Denis.” Minho’s eyes shifted to the marble, his chin maintaining its height. “That’s where you’ve come from, isn’t it?” He nodded in answer, his brown eyes taking back to Jisungs, now a grappling hold. “I wanted to ask you if it was alright… I’ve visited before, and-”

“I know you have,” Minho whispered. Jisung clamped his jaw shut. The mans demeanor didn’t change, but Jisung did not like the way those words spewed from his lips. “And I know what you’re going to say, Han Jisung.” Every pause between his words festered a nervousness in Jisung’s gut. “I encourage you to not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.”

Jisung hung his head. “I know the words,” he whispered. “Please accept my apology, it was not my intention to offend.”

“You really do live your life by the book, don’t you?” Minho asked within a breath after a beat of silence. Jisung looked to him in surprise, eyes wide and shining, finding Minho waiting for an answer with baited breath, his own gaze engrossed in a curiosity Jisung couldn’t make out. “Surely I thought you’d be able to weasel the information you wanted out of me, or you’d fight back with something smarter, more obscure than Matthew or Luke, but… Simple words from simple passages and you’ve been subdued.”

Jisungs fingers on the altar moved into a fist. Minho took note. “The words aren’t simple, they’re sacred, as are the passages.”

“Of course they are,” Minho said, beginning to round the other side of the altar, approaching Jisung with a tenacity. “The word of the Lord.” Pausing at his side, Jisung turned his chin to look up at him. “Have you never wondered what life would be like if they were wrong?”

“Never,” Jisung whispered.

“Have you never looked on the outside, have you never challenged the text, never thought your own thoughts? Never wondered why we’re confined to the rules within the passages written by, and translated by people of the past again and again, where something could’ve and may have been misread?”

That frustration Jisung attempted to hide away leapt into his chest, his blood boiling beneath his skin, a disbelief clouding his expression as this man stood inches away from him, a man he’s to share his position with. A man speaking words Jisung has never before attempted to think about in his life. He’s never seen the other side, he’s never wanted to. Never has his curiosity ever threatened to drag him that way, never threatened to take him down a path that goes against everything he’s ever known.

“I challenge you to do so. It wouldn’t just open you up to empathy beyond your imagination, it would broaden your perspective as a preacher. How do you expect to stand up here in front of hundreds of imperfect people looking for answers if you don’t even understand where they’ve gone wrong to have the need or the desire to sit within these pews? Every person you’ve ever met, every person you will preach in front of has sinned somewhere in their life whether or not you have, Han Jisung.”

Jisung gulped, willing his voice strong enough, he said above a whisper, “I liked you better when you were quiet.”

A toothy smile flashed onto Minho’s face, knocking Jisung breathless. “And I like you just the way you are, Jisung.” He held onto his eyes for a few more seconds before directing his attention toward the entrance hall doors that seemed a mile away. “The choir sings from there, correct?” Minho gestured a hand to the second floor balcony that opened up above the church, shoved toward the back behind all of the pews so the voices in the choir would shower down onto the churchgoers.

“Yes,” Jisung said, unable to produce anything else to plead his case, or argue back. Minho knew it too, and that killed Jisung tenfold. The amusement in the man's cheeks made him sick. 

“Take me there,” he said, looking at Jisung, knowing.

The boy sighed and glanced up to the balcony nestled under the painted ceilings of the cathedral, saints and angels dancing about the blues and whites of the ethereal sky. “Ann will have us for dinner soon, we shouldn’t take too long. It’s your first dinner, that’s important for her.” It also explains why she’s been working in the kitchen since early afternoon. She only did so for special occasions, Jisung should’ve seen Minho coming.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Minho, still wearing a smile, said, “The clock hasn’t struck five. When it does we’ll head back, I’m not done here yet.” Jisung didn’t have anything to say, he was entirely defeated, pacified. “Not done with you, either.”

Within the warm kitchens brick walls there was a table that could seat six and this evening five of those chairs were occupied. Sitting at the end of the table Jisung had Christopher to his left and Hyunjin to his right. Beside Hyunjin sat Jeongin who took a sudden interest in the house's newest addition, Minho, sitting at the other end of the table, directly across from Jisung. In the yellow glow from the light fixture mounted into the ceiling the men ate, they sipped their wine, and they laughed.

Conversations flowed through stories of the past, Jeongin ensuring that Minho knew his fair share of history before he retired for the night. The eldest telling stories meant that his first descendant below him was correcting him, Hyunjin flashing looks at Jisung that were making him giggle when Jeongin would get details all wrong.

“You’re thirty six, have you left your memory in the first half of your thirties?” Hyunjin hollered, outstretching an arm to shove Jeongin’s elbow off the table, the man with neatly styled hair scoffing at the one with hair that grew down his neck. Thin, half rimmed glasses sat on the end of his button nose, Hyunjin tossing his head back with a laugh, catching the spectacles before they fell to the floor. “I mean seriously, Yang, pull yourself together, it’s no wonder you can’t keep your mother happy.” 

Snickers sounded around the group, Christopher nearly spitting out his wine across the table at Hyunjin. Jisung laughed along with them, picking at his plate of various meats and veggies. The others had scarfed it down it seemed, the moment they were presented with the food it was gone in a flash. Even Minho at the other end of the table, he filled up a plate after watching the elders do so and had dug right in. Acting as if he’d been here for months, Minho slipped into the laughter and chatter with ease, asking all the right questions at the right time.

At Jisungs first dinner the boy couldn’t shut his mouth. Full of excitement that bled everywhere on top of everyone, he overwhelmed them with questions, with statements, with facts. The elders couldn’t get the information out fast enough, they were forced to, otherwise Jisung would begin assuming things on his own. They learned quickly that night that his brain worked faster than his mouth, more often than not that first dinner his foot may as well have been on the plate because it made a happy home in his mouth.

With Minho, maybe it was his age. Jisung was a mere child when he started. Minho has had years of practice in another church, he was about two years older than Jisung, so it wasn’t a wonder as to why this socializing came easy to him. He portrayed himself a different Minho than Jisung had just spent two whole hours with, however. For some reason once he shook the hands of Hyunjin and Jeongin it was like a wall melted away. At the table tonight as he smiled at him, the rigidness of his being didn’t exist.

Until he’d spare a glance toward Jisung moving food around on his plate with his fork knitted tightly in his fingers. Then the walls built back up.

Maybe Minho was right, maybe Jisung was just awkward.

“A working memory is important to women,” Christopher said, adding to the teasing of Jeongin. Tipping his glass toward him, he pulled his lips down into a smile and laughed.

Jeongin exchanged a glance with Minho who took a sip of his wine, enthralled with the discussion. “You’d know all about that Christopher, wouldn’t you?” 

“Oh, you’re a nuisance!” Christopher threw a hand toward him, sitting back in his chair. Jisung nibbled his bottom lip and gave a look to the man to his left. As if he could feel it, Christopher looked back at him while the men talked amongst themselves. “He’s kidding, Ji. Don’t you let those words get stuck in your head.”

“A joke from years ago, Jisung,” Jeongin said, turning the attention back on himself. “Before his sudden switch to God's grace your role model there was quite popular with the ladies.” A small smile took to Jisungs lips as he glanced to Christopher.

“You’ve never told me this before,” Jisung said, and the older man shrugged, sipping his wine.

“It was never important,” he muttered. “Besides,” he sighed, sitting forward, setting his glass on the table, “It was why I made the sudden switch. Women are wonderful gifts from God, but involvement with the wrong kind and you’ll be wishing for more than forgiveness.” Christopher gave the boy a look that informed him he’d speak of it later, that now was not the time.

“What about you, Jisung?”

The question shot a hole into his gut. Christophers face lit up, his eyes darting every which way, Hyunjin furrowed his brows, and Jeongin chuckled aloud. Meeting eyes with the man who asked the question, Jisung tightened his grip on his fork. The insecurities he felt looking at his face seemed to double beneath the pressure of the question.

When it took a few seconds for him to sort out his thoughts, the older men around him attempted to answer for him.

Hyunjin uttered, “Jisung is a sweet boy.”

“Our Jisung certainly wouldn’t think that way, not after all he’s been through,” Jeongin said.

Christopher listened, then added, “He’s so one track minded, I’ll be shocked if he…”

Minho held up a hand with a smile and slight roll of his eyes. “Let him answer for himself,” he huffed a laugh, and the men around him agreed. How? Jisung wasn’t sure, because if he were him he’d be reprimanded until the following morning. “Seems you all need to learn about it, too, let’s see what he has to say.”

Four sets of eyes burned into him, Jisung only able to stare into the ones that taunted him from the other end of the table. Sitting backward in his chair, his legs crossed, his silver cross hanging over his chest, he was smug as ever. In seconds he’d been able to tug him right back into the church, on top of the altar where he blatantly asked him of his sins. And now, here he was, at the dinner table with men who have become his family, asking him again.

Christopher may have been able to admit it, his history before he ventured into the church, but Jisung? Not only was there nothing to admit, nothing to say, but there was a disgust that grew there in that empty spot, and Jisung couldn’t place why.

“No,” Jisung whispered, glancing down at his full plate he certainly wasn’t touching now.

“No?” Christopher asked, his voice soothing the harshness this once comfortable setting was turning into. Jisung dropped his fork and tossed the napkin from his lap onto the table. “Ji,” Christopher nearly shouted as the boy pushed his chair back abruptly. 

Standing to his feet, Jisung threw his hands out to his sides and looked over the men around the slab of wood. “How can you all sit here and have this conversation? I preferred the stories, or when we discussed scripture, not women.”

“We weren’t even discussing it, it was only a question, we’ll move on,” Hyunjin said, willing Jisung to sit with a wave of his hand. The boy grabbed the back of the chair and shoved it under the table, rattling the glasses on the surface as he did.  

“Han, sit down,” Jeongin said, acquiring a look from Minho.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t,” the boy muttered, dragging a hand through his curls, exposing his forehead. Without another second or another peace offering from one of the men, Jisung turned on his heels and hurried from the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs. He left them in silence, feeling sick and hungry all at once.

“Strong sense of justice that one has,” Jeongin said, shaking his head. “Even jokes he can’t take.”

“But, it wasn’t a joke,” Hyunjin said, his voice smooth and melodic, entrancing Minho every time he spoke. “It was a legitimate question, he has every right to feel upset or uncomfortable.”

“Of course you would say that,” Jeongin muttered, reaching for his wine.

Hyunjin jutted his head backward. “You know how he is, Jeongin, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve met him, Jisung has stormed away from this table more times than I can count. Even when we’ve had guests, members of other parishes here with us, other priests from other churches. You know Jisung, we all do, he’s going to stand firm in what he believes in even if that means causing a scene.” The man with the long dark hair and glasses balled up his own napkin and tossed it beside Jisungs, rising from his chair. “Now let me go talk to him like I always do, I’ll get him back down here.”

“No,” Minho said suddenly, politely holding up a hand. Three heads turned toward him. “Please,” he said, standing up, tucking his chair beneath the table neatly. “Let me. I think I may have said something to him earlier that brought this on. Please, let me apologize to him.”

Hyunjin, after a glance at Christopher, sent Minho on his way with a nod. “Up the stairs to the right, around the corner.” Once he was gone, a satin white flash, Hyunjin sat down and leveled with Jeongin, focusing on Christopher. “Has it been decided where he’ll be living?”

“I was thinking of putting him with me, but Hyunjin, if you’re up for a roommate…”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, the man the face of peace and serenity, a calmness exuding him. “Put him in your room, Chris,” he said, then looked at Jeongin who gave him a nod. “He got comfortable way too fast, you’ll need to keep your eye on him.”

Up the stairs to the right, around the corner.

The floor creaked louder on the second floor than it did on the first, Minho approaching Jisung’s door as quietly as he possibly could. Behind the inch of plywood Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, leaned over his knees with his head in his hands. The light bulb hanging from his ceiling flickered as he took deep breaths down into his stomach, easing the emptiness and the nausea that existed in unity. 

The entire day played through his head, a cassette rewound and replayed as soon as it was over. A normal morning spent preparing for the weekend, for the three days of mass, in peaceful quiet, nothing more to do than hum to himself while he prepped the books and set up the candles. Waiting anxiously excited for his meeting with Christopher, he had no idea that his entire belief system was hours away from being threatened, questioned. 

He’d been told stories like this one, how temptation would waltz straight up to the door and not even knock before allowing itself inside, seducing one without them even realizing it was being done before it was too late and they had nothing left to do but beg the Lord for forgiveness. It looked him in the face, it said the words to him, it put thoughts in his head he’s conditioned himself to ignore. When it came from such a pretty face it became believable. Considerable. His tongue was persuasive though Jisung batted it away, fought it out of his head. 

Then, at dinner, to involve his seniors in such a discussion, one he didn’t even start, but continued. They’ve never spoken that way around Jisung before, that could only mean it was his doing, his persuasion even if he didn’t speak it aloud. He brought an energy that encouraged others to turn, even the strongest of the strong.

He’s just arrived, it hadn’t even been a full day, and he was already infecting the house and the men that lived inside. Jisung wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t stand for it. Tomorrow he’d speak to Christopher, he’d express his doubts whether or not the elder assumed it came from a place of envy, which it did not.

A knock sounded at his door.

Dropping his hands he glanced up at it and sighed. He’s met Hyunjin this way numerous times, he was simply waiting for the knock at this point. Sliding off his bed he took three strides over the hardwood and gripped the handle.

“I know what you’re going to tell me,” he said before he opened the door, “You can save your breath if you’d like.” Stepping back from the wood as he pulled it open, his breath catches in his throat.

“Do you?” Minho asked, a different type of emotion laced in his brows as he stood in the doorway, an emotion that Jisung couldn’t place.

Jisung longed to slam the door in his face, but he was paralyzed in place. “I thought you were Hyunjin,” he mumbled.

“I asked him if I could come instead,” he said, pressing his hands to his thighs. “He defended you, by the way, after you left.”

Jisung clenched his jaw and perked a brow, Minho watching it. “He usually does,” he whispered, sure of himself, and Minho swallowed a laugh. “Why are you at my door and not him? Go back downstairs and involve yourself in conversation of wrongdoings with men I thought I knew.”

He bobbed his head every so slightly, that ghostly smile hanging around his lips. “I need to apologize to you, may I come inside?” Jisung lowered his brows and pouted in thought. He wanted to come into his room and apologize. “Better to not do it out here where everyone may hear me, I want to talk about what happened in the church.”

Jisung scoffed. “You keep your irreligious ideology out here, Minho.” Pushing the door shut, Minho caught it with one hand, staggering Jisung backward a bit.

“We started this all wrong,” Minho said, poking his head around the wood to keep his eyes on the boy. “Please, hear me out.”

“We didn’t start anything,” Jisung sneered. “You let me know exactly who you are and what you’re here to do.” A crack appeared on Minho’s face for the first time since Jisung had laid eyes on him. The cold exterior, the walls he’s built up, the facade he’s been portraying. It cracked, and Jisung sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Minho took a step back. 

Christophers words came back, “Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support.”

‘Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.’

“Ephesians 4:31-32,” Jisung whispered, stepping back from his door, opening it as far as it would go. 

Minho blinked, taking Jisung walking into his bedroom as an invitation and stepped inside. Taking the door in his hands he closed it gently and took his time turning around. He recited the passage aloud, the one Jisung stated, and turned to find the boy waiting, a plea for forgiveness on his face.

“You don’t have to give me that, it is I who needs to apologize to you, and ask for your forgiveness,” Minho began, taking a step closer. “I went too far. I said some things I didn’t mean, things that have been stuck within me since I was young.” With a twist of Jisungs brow, Minho breathed through a laugh. “People like you, people who have nothing but faith and total trust in their God, you challenge me.”

Jisung took a step backward and sat down on his bed. Gesturing to the desk in the corner and the space beside him, he allowed Minho to make his own decision, finding a spot to sit in the wooden chair that he pulled from under the old school desk, sitting on it backwards.

“If I give you a life story I expect one back, Han Jisung,” he smiled.

The boy nodded, his face never changing. “Just speak, please.”

Intaking a breath, one far too deep for Jisung’s liking, telling him he was about to get hit with the cold hard truth, Minho settled his arms over the back of the chair and spilled his mind.

“For the record, I’m not here to be a priest, even though Christopher said it when we met,” Minho shook his head, “That’s not what I am here to do. I’m quite content living my life doing your job. I stated that when I moved here, and I’ll be willing to say it again, as many times it seems fit so that you know that I am not here to take something away from you.” Jisung swallowed, keeping his head moving as Minho spoke, expressing he was actively listening. “I’m not fit to be a preacher, it’s not in my nature, I mean, look at us right now. You’re sitting here listening to me apologize to you when we’ve only met hours ago.”

“People aren’t my forte,” Minho said, then nodded his head. “But, they are yours. This life was meant for you, Jisung. I’ll admit, my behavior stemmed from a place of envy.”

Jisung sat up straight. “Envy?” he muttered, and Minho nodded again.

“You’re a legend now, Han Jisung,” Minho said, squinting his eyes. “Everyone who comes up in the schools behind you, they know your name. The two years you’ve spent here, creating another perfect name for yourself, you’re setting the standard. All of us in your position, we’re compared to you, and so many of us are rooting for you to move up.”

“Even you?” Jisung whispered, his eyes locked on the man in his chair.

Minho tightened his jaw. “Even me,” he raised a brow. “It may not seem like it based off of today, but I am.”

“What was all of that?” Jisung asked, gathering the fabric of his slacks between his fingers. “You had me up here contemplating whether or not to tell Christopher to fire you.”

A flash of that cracked expression hit his face as he looked away and shook his head. “Deserved, I suppose.”

“The words you spoke,” Jisung breathed, the disbelief clouding over him like it once had, “They were unnatural to me, Minho. A person in your place, here in this church, you can surely understand why it scared me.” 

“Of course I can,” Minho answered. “Please understand I am still learning. I wasn’t brought up like you, like Hyunjin. I am much more like Christopher, having lived a whole other life before turning to Christ.”

Silence fell between them. After three seconds, Jisung lifted a hand, encouraging him to continue. The two sitting with one another like a sinner and preacher in penance. Minho, fluttering his lashes, pointed his eyes to the floor and dropped his chin.

“I was lost. I’d just started my late teens, maybe nineteen if I can even remember correctly, and I fell in love.” Lifting his eyes he met Jisungs. “Not with a woman, not with a human being, but poison. I was around some bad people at the time, the kind of people who speak like I had spoken to you earlier. Their influence was intoxicating, sometimes even more so than the garbage we fueled ourselves with.” Minho’s lashes brushed his cheeks with every blink. “I grew up with God, my mother, a single woman who had me quite young, she introduced me to his word the day I was born. We attended church every Sunday, that church up in Soro,“ he flashes Jisung a look, “Sometimes we’d even go during the week if she was able to get us there.”

“She was beautiful, everyone tells me I have her face,” he laughed to himself, and Jisung yearned to smile, because he believed it. “I left her when I turned eighteen, don’t ask me why. If I had to come up with a reason I’d tell you what I tell everyone else, that that teenage syndrome got me. She gave me everything and I ran from it, I abandoned her, my faith, my life that was quite alright, all because I met some people who sparked my interest. People who questioned my love for Christ, people on the other side who challenged me like you do, and you’re on the right side.”

A long sigh left him, Minho taking a second to collect his thoughts. The right side, Jisung was on the right side. According to Minho he’s been on the right side his entire life.

But, what of this wrong side?

Minho never said it was wrong. He’d simply addressed, and suggested believing in Christ was the right side, the right thing to do. Jisung knew what existed, he knew his probabilities after death, but this one was a new one.

Where there is right, where there is wrong… Is there something in the middle? A place in between it all where neither right or wrong exist? Could both be true at once? Could someone be right and wrong?

“What of the middle?” Jisung whispered, and Minho looked up in a hurry. “I was wrong as well, Minho. To dismiss your words in such a hurry that is, though I’m certain if they delivered differently and not in a way that attacked my faith I may have listened to you. I now know that either way I should have just listened to you, you know, if I’m looking to become a well rounded preacher.” Minho smirked. “I’ve never seen this other side, I’ve only known faith. Forgive me for the judgment, I don’t want to be this… know it all who looks down upon others.

“Just a know it all, then, right?” Minho teased. Jisung rolled his eyes while he laughed. “Come on, star student.”

“No, I don’t want that,” Jisung said, relaxing his smile. Shaking his head he took a breath and ran his hands along his thin legs. “I’m very good at what I do, but I’m humble about it.” Minho perked a brow. “I’m learning to be humble about it.” The boys shared a soft laugh. “When you’re isolated here with three other men who praise you like their lives depend on it, it’s a little hard to come down.”

“They care about you,” Minho said, and Jisung expressed his gratitude by closing his eyes and pressing his hands together, tipping his chin backward. “They want you to succeed. But, they keep you in check.”

Releasing a breath, Jisung dropped his hands and shrugged toward Minho. “They do, it’s necessary.”

Minho narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Do you ever get time to yourself? When you aren’t serving them?”

A playful smile evaded Jisungs face, his disproportionate lips flattening. “Don’t test me, Minho.”

“I’m serious,” he held up both of his hands, his dark eyes shooting open wide. “I’m asking you person to person, unrelated to faith.” Grasping the back of the chair he tilted his head again. “I think it’s also me… checking on you. Do you ever get the chance to be you, and not Han Jisung?”

Looking from his hands to Minho, Jisung clenched his jaw along with his fists. After a breath, he mumbled, “I don’t think I ever allow myself to.”

Something flickered into place on Minho’s face, his eyes blinking, reopening to a complete fresh start. “Perhaps I can teach you, while you teach me.”

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you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[thegreymoon]

hey! thank you for responding. your answer helped a lot. I had another question. "even though Chu Wanning loved him and in the latter half of their marriage was very much reciprocating in bed together with him and in other ways, such as comforting him, cooking for him, cuddling when he wanted it and so on." Do you by any chance know what chapters would this information is in? Just an approximation & not the exact chapters is fine too!

Hey, nonny!

It is all over the latter half of the book, once Chu Wanning regains his 0.5 memories and we get his perspective. I'm too lazy to look up the chapters, but here is the rough outline.

We know that Chu Fei cooked for TXJ as early as the first book because Mo Ran, asleep in Chu Wanning's bed after treating his wounds, tells him to make him breakfast thinking that he is still the Emperor in his half-awake state. Food is Mo Ran's love language and he will eat anything Chu Wanning cooks up. There is a whole scene with zombie!TXJ where we see that he deliberately taught Chu Wanning how to make him congee, which he sometimes makes successfully, and sometimes less so. TXJ just wants to eat the food that he cooks, it doesn't even have to be edible.

Chu Wanning starts reciprocating in bed after he finds out that Mo Ran is not evil but cursed. That night, after he figures it out, he has sex with Mo Ran and comes without being drugged for the first time. After that, there are more scenes where it is hinted at (or explicitly described) that they had a whole lot of wild, entirely consensual sex.

There is a whole scene where Mo Ran says that the only thing that could calm him down after a bloodbath was burying his head in Chu Wanning's waist and having him stroke his hair and this is in one of the early books too, when Mo Ran demands that Chu Wanning dries his hair because he did that once for Xue Meng when his arm was broken.

After 0.5 Chu Wanning returns from his trip to the past, Mo Ran is looking for him. Chu Wanning asks him why he isn't at his party and Mo Ran pulls him into a hug and they stay like that. It is one of the rare good moments they have together when Mo Ran's madness isn't as bad.

As Mo Ran is dying in 279, Chu Wanning confirms that he loved him in the past life, that he was willing, that he is still willing and will be willing in the future too, in spite of everything. Chu Wanning always loved him more than anything. He split the universe into two in a desperate attempt to save him rather than kill him to save the world.

I can't wait for the second half of this novel to come out in a proper translation. The things in it are so terrible and gut-wrenching, but they are also so beautiful because Mo Ran and Chu Wanning loved each other so much and we finally get to see the truth first-hand of Mo Ran's "hatred" and Chu Wanning's "contempt", neither of which was real. There was only ever the deepest love between them, even when they couldn't access it because of things beyond their control.

[innocentimouto]

Positive ways to explore Jet

The Older Sibling

Him being very good with kids. Not to the point of shielding kids entirely from war because...war. Also him taking the role of the adult to the point he ignores a lot of his emotional needs and possible ways he could be wrong. Swearing to protect kids under his care at all costs.

Jet walking into a village and seeing some kids suffering and wanting to help, but if it would endanger the kids he already has with him, he won't risk it.

Jet actually falling for Katara and the Freedom Fighters noticing and wondering if he'll back out from the plan and Smellerbee getting angry and Jet promising that they always come first even though he likes Katara.

(I said positive, not healthy)

Not having faith in the Avatar

What's his view on Aang? Is he a kid to him, or does being the Avatar make him an exception?

For someone constantly painted as an extremist by the fandom, he's not interested in getting Appa to help them or in the fact that Aang's the Avatar. None of the kids are excited about it either. Book 1 had a lot of characters treat Aang differently just because he was the Avatar, whether positively or negatively.

Jet didn't care. There has to be many people who gave up hope on the Avatar. What did they go through? Did they lose hope or did their parents lose hope and so the novelty of the Avatar was never passed on to them?

Exploring that along with Aang's heavy weight of having to save the world and then learning some people gave up hope and the guilt he could internalize from that.

Also Aang bringing hope to people! Aang trying to get Jet to be a kid like he did to Katara. Aang's habit of having fun and bringing joy to others.

Fine with being a villain

I'm interested in the idea that Jet could recognize how bad it is to hurt innocent people and children but seeing no other way to save the kids and himself. Jet ignoring the wrongness of his actions until confronted again and again and then he snaps that it's war, who actually believes anyone isn't getting their hands dirty. War isn't a cute little hero story where you have the power and luxury to always do the right thing.

Jet never allowing himself to sit with his thoughts because then he'll look at the kids around him and then look at himself and then look at how much land his people lost and wonder if he will ever recognize himself again, wonder if it's gotten to a point that he can't remember who he was before the war destroyed his home.

Freedom Fighters not being manipulated

Tired of the gang take. He's 16. He's in the same boat as them. Develop the Freedom Fighters more and their relationship with Jet. Show their reasons for hating the Fire Nation. Jet thought Sokka would understand his actions. There's no way he then assumed the people he lived with wouldn't. The Freedom Fighters knew what they were doing.

Well knew to the point that Jet knew, which is to say traumatized children in war.

Give reasons for why these kids didn't choose to live in other villages. Trauma. Talk about the trauma. They weren't kids playing at being vigilantes under some brainwashing cult leader. They lived in trees, near a village that we still don't know if it was occupied or taken over. Trees. Imagine the winters. How many of them died from the elements? How dangerous was it to simply stay in a village instead?

Have the Freedom Fighters be morally gray too. The show could have used more of what could cause kids to ever do something so extreme something something tragedy of war something something judge the victims less than the perpetrators.

Fascination with waterbending or bending in general

Just sleeping on Hakoda adopting Jet. Or just Jet forming a relationship with any Water Tribe people. The Fire Nation tried to wipe out firebenders, and Katara survived against all odds. Even if we didn't have his quick thinking over how bending could work, out of pure spite he may just be interested in waterbending or airbending.

Maybe have him work with benders. Another contrast to Sokka who disliked bending in the beginning but could still find ways for it to be useful while Jet is fascinated by bending and also good at utilizing it.

Loss of culture

Contrast how much Katara strives to preserve and talk about her culture while Jet forgot everything. The idea is so foreign to him that he questions why it would even be important. Que Katara passionately talking about how it's their identity and a way they're connected to their people which inevitably leads to Jet understanding this is another thing the Fire Nation took from him, which he subconsciously always understood.

And then we have Jet, Katara, and Aang and conversations about importance of culture

Earth Kingdom Nonbenders (and Haru)

I've posted this before, but have Jet, Haru, Teo, Jin, Song and maybe some Freedom Fighters band together. Explore their different traumas and personalities. Will Jet take the leader role? How will Jet and Song feel being the only two without fathers?

Will Song's soft approach to everything rub Haru or Jet the wrong way? Does Jin remember the war or was she brainwashed? Will Teo hide how his father helped the army? Will anyone pick up on the fact that teasing Haru for his bending is triggering?

Having Jet in a group where he isn't the automatic leader seems like new territory and a good way to explore his character.

Also have Jet befriend and clash with people he's not directly responsible for.

[oregano-gremlin]

thinking about what would have happened if in the alpha timeline the time stuff lined up right so that dave and rose were able to raise dirk and roxy like in the beta timeline. so, some headcanons!

striders

i think dave would be a bit like beta roxy, in that he would definitely be loving and care about dirk, but due to both having unresolved personal issues and being very young might not be the best parent. he would probably still do the whole ninja training thing, but i think he'd be way more laid back about it, not springing it on dirk without warning and also being more of the 'teaching and showing' philosophy than the 'beating the shit out of you as a learning experience' one. (i also think he would good-naturedly beat the daylights out of any murder robots dirk sent his way.) i think he would still be somewhat emotionally distant, not in the sense that he would scorn vulnerability in others or anything but that he wouldn't really let down the coolguy facade in front of dirk.

i think dirk would still look up to him, although maybe with more resentment towards his success. he would complain about him to the others a lot more than dave did, and be more insistent that he didn't think his movies were any good. where in the beta timeline the strilondes had strifing and passive-aggressiveness respectively, i think the strider's rivalry thing in this timeline would be trying to one-up each other, mostly in regards to ironic bits. i think dirk would be more passionate about winning than dave, but dave would go along with it and put in effort because it's one of the only bonding activities they regularly go through with. i do think the bits would get a bit mean sometimes, though, driving further emotional distance between the two of them.

lalondes

i think rose and roxy's relationship would be very similar to the way it was in the beta timeline, although with a few major changes. you would definitely still have the setup of the daughter (in this case roxy) assuming her mother's (rose's) genuine shows of affection were mocking, but those displays of affection would look different. i think the main thing would be rose being concerned over roxy's alcoholism, but also getting a bit pushy about psychoanalyzing it to the point where roxy closes off from her, being extra stubborn about not stopping to spite her. rose would get more insistent on her side too, leaving long and rather scathing letters stored with the alcohol and whatnot. i think rose would consider cutting her off entirely by removing all the alcohol in the house, but would at the end of the day believe that forcing roxy to improve herself wouldn't be sustainable, and that it would be best for her to come to that conclusion herself.

in regards to rose's writing, i think roxy would still be a big fan of it, writing fanfiction and all that, although a lot more reluctantly. she would insist to the other three that it was a 'separating the art from the artist' thing, but would secretly hope that she could understand her mother better while still avoiding her by reading her books instead of talking to her. i think that later on she would end up having a similar realization to the one that rose had, where she would finally understand that even if rose wasn't the best at expressing her concern, she did genuinely care about roxy and want the best for her.

[btheleaf]

What made you like Pema? :3 Just out of curiosity, I feel like she's a character many people tend to kind of ignore or dislike.

Short answer: Spite

(Very) Long answer under the cut:

Tenzin was my first love and obsession when I got back into LOK. I went to AO3 to read about him and his wife! and found the attitudes towards Pemzin... odd? The ship is way less popular than Linzin, which was strange to me at the time, considering Pema/Tenzin are literally married in canon. But hey, whatever, to each their own. Maybe people just like Linzin more. Lin is a sexy badass, so I get it. Maybe people don't wanna write about the air babies. Maybe the age gap or any other countless things were giving people the ick about pemzin. Fine. It's all good to me. I began to look for pemzin fics to enjoy and found 🥲 strange things.

Pema was usually written as some kind of man-stealing demon with a magic coochie that could make Tenzin bend to her will and stay with her despite the fact that he loved Lin more, but at the same time she was a dumb and useless broodmare? More often than not, the Pema/Tenzin fics seemed to be written by people who didn't actually care for the ship and had Linzin endgame in mind.

I thought, "Okay, I'll check out Linzin, surely with way more fics to pick from, I'll find something that focuses on Lin/Tenzin and not Bad and Evil Pema."

I was disappointed to say the least.

So much cheating and lying, so many secret babies. SO MUCH Pema v. Lin, which doesn't do anything for me. I could understand it if there were Actual Reasons, but it was like Pema was showing up to be an emotional homewrecker despite her being IN HER OWN HOUSE. I just... like what the fuck is going on there?

Why does Pema hate Lin SO MUCH? Did the stories ever touch upon that? No. She just hates Lin. Obviously. Lin dated her husband 20 years ago, so she hates her. Logical. Much logic. No explanation. Look no further. Your bad guy is here. Bye-bye interesting concepts. Pema is a bitch and a snake and a man-trap and she never loved Tenzin anyway. She just wanted to be a trophy wife who ushered in a new generation of airbenders. No explanation. Don't question it. She's one-dimensional in a 3D world.

Pema is everyone's favorite bad guy in Linzin fics all because of that one line from Book one that is honestly super fucking cringe about her "seeing her soul mate with someone else." Linzin shippers asked if anyone was going to demonize this mother of four and didn't wait for an answer.

Both Pemzin and Linzin shippers need to learn how to tag their fics for both "emotional cheating" and just straight up "cheating." Navigating this shit is terrible. I once read 50k of a very interesting concept, and then all of a sudden Pema came out of nowhere and just started acting like a jealous 13 year old for no reason and Tenzin QUICKLY left her and the kids to go be with Lin. Like?? I do not understand what the fuck is going on in some people's minds.

WHERE WERE THE FICS THAT PAINTED PEMA AS A WHOLE HUMAN PERSON WITH FLAWS AND WANTS AND DESIRES??? I think most of my comments started having "thank you for writing Pema like a person" somewhere in them.

When I first made this blog and Let It Be Known that I ship pemzin, I got a looooooot of weird anons asking me stuff about like, if I support cheating and shit? I realized that these attitudes towards Pema were not Old Beliefs. These were very real people in the year of 2024 still unable to conceptualize an interesting idea for a character that has SO MUCH room to play with.

We know jack shit about her. We know just enough that makes her entire character like candy to me. She's not around a lot in the show, but also somehow is always still right there? She goes through Some Very Real Shit in every season, and her absence from screen time is like free real estate to fic writers. I literally don't understand how so many people manage to summarize her entire being into the word "snake" and move on. The potential for expanding on her character is limitless because of how little we know. The more people try to stuff her into a box, the more I'll pull her out of it.

I didn't really care about Pema until it became clear that everyone else disliked her. The more people hate her, the more I love her and the more powerful I become.

I'm like this because of how the fandom treats her.