#so much more powerful in all of its facets

[logicalbookthief]

I adore the fact that in so many other stories, Mob Psycho would’ve concluded with the World Domination Arc. After all, it has the big, climatic battle with the ensemble cast versus the overarching villain. They win, and everyone goes home, all’s well that ends well, right?

Except the story doesn’t end there. Because Mob has yet to reckon with this internal, antagonist force that has haunted the narrative since the very beginning: Himself.

When Mob comes face-to-face with ???% at long last, he says: I am Kageyama Shigeo.

This isn’t a conflict with a villain, or another esper, or even a separate entity that resides inside Mob’s body. It is something far more personal, and far more relatable.

???% is the culmination of everything Mob’s held back. Not just emotions like anger or fear. Even his desires, like his crush on Tsubomi. All muted by his efforts not to hurt anybody with his powers. Mob has come such a long way, but he’s still restraining his feelings so tightly that the moment his control wavered, ???% took over.

But the conflict isn’t the destruction ???% is wreaking just by walking through the city. The conflict is Mob refusing to accept this part of himself he’s suppressed for so long.

And ???% is right! Every attempt to stop him thus far has failed. Because he isn’t meant to be stopped. Mob has to reconcile with the parts of himself that he won’t acknowledge.

And it’s the most difficult thing Mob has ever had to do! This is the part of himself that hurt his brother; that hurt his friends and decimated so much of the city. Reconciling with it means accepting that Mob hurt those people, whether he wanted to or not. It means accepting all facets of himself, even ones he’s not proud of or wishes he could change but cannot.

Mob has grown so much in this latest season alone, he hasn’t had any explosions, and he felt confident enough in his own abilities to actually ask Tsubomi out, which was something the Mob of two seasons ago could never imagine.

But what about the advice Reigen gave him for his confession to Tsubomi?

His true self, in its totality. This is what Mob has struggled with the entire story. This is why his confession to Tsubomi is the culmination of his character arc. Expressing his feelings means exposing his true self to someone else, even with the fear of rejection.

And while we’re on that subject. Let’s talk about Reigen. Right after he gives this advice to Mob, he says this about himself:

It is the height of irony (and tragedy) that Mob and Reigen admire each other’s strengths so much, yet have no idea they struggle with the same exact fear: that if the people they cared for found out who they truly were, they would reject them. It is why Reigen relies on lies and why Mob suppresses himself.

It is also why Reigen has never actually witnessed ???% until now. It is why Mob has never heard Reigen admit the truth about himself out loud.

And that’s why the final arc feels like such a gut-punch in the best of ways. What is harder than accepting who you are, and hoping for others to accept you as you are? Even at your most deceitful, or your most destructive? Mob Psycho ends with the Confession Arc because that’s the very heart of the story.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve been attempting to unlearn what I’ve been taught about the DPRK from western outlets, but I’ve gotten stuck on a facet that you can, perhaps, speak to. As is often harped on here in the west, there seems to be a dynastic quality to the leadership, namely the Kim family. Now the fixation that the people have on their leaders I can understand, we can observe the same kind of obsessive fervor in many countries in the west (especially the US). I guess I don’t fully understand the political structure of the DPRK, nor the people’s relations to it. I apologize for the vagueness of this question, and thank you very much for your time.

It is understandable that most people will have no idea about the political structure of the DPRK, and the title of "Supreme Leader" can be confusing if you don't understand how the DPRK's government works.

The political structure of the DPRK is based around democratic centralism, similar to the USSR. Kim Jong-un was elected to the positions of general secretary of the Worker's Party of Korea and president of the State Affairs Commission, which grants him the honorific title of "Supreme Leader" and makes him the representative of the state. However, he is not the head of government. That would be the premier, Kim Tok-hun (unrelated to Kim Jong-un, Kim is simply a very common surname in Korea.) Kim Tok-hun also serves as the vice president of the State Affairs Commission.

The highest organ of the DPRK, meanwhile, is the Supreme People's Assembly, which is a multi-party legislature that votes on laws and constitutional amendments and is responsible for electing both the Premier and the President of State Affairs, among other positions. While there are multiple political parties in the DPRK, the Worker's Party holds a privileged position under the constitution. So while the position of General Secretary does not confer any formal governmental powers, it is still a powerful political position in the country.

The Premier is the head of the Cabinet, which is the administrative and executive body of the DPRK. While the SPA creates laws, amends the constitution, and decides the budget, the Cabinet administers the implementation of them.

The SAC directs the orientation of state policy in the DPRK. While they do not write laws directly, they can issue directives to guide the SPA in determining which laws to write. However, the SAC is ultimately accountable to the SPA and not above it. The SPA is responsible for electing the SAC in the first place and has the authority to recall its members. So while the SAC is not directly elected by the people, it does not hold greater power than the SPA whose members are directly elected.

Members of the SPA are elected by all citizens 17 and older alongside members of local assemblies (compare governors vs senators in the US.) Elections are conducted via secret ballot. Anyone has the right to run for election regardless of party affiliation, which is why there are multiple parties represented in the SPA as well as independent members.

You can read more about the DPRK governmental structure in the DPRK constitution here:

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Home. The word itself tasted like mothballs and childhood memories, both bitter and sweet on your tongue. 

What others would call home, did not feel like home to you at all, not after your mother had destroyed everything that you were familiar with just when you had turned fifteen.

It was then that she had begun an affair with an actor named Cillian Murphy, whom she had met on the set of a movie he was filming and, just as if she had planned it all, she became pregnant with your stepsister Sadie. 

Your mother was 37 at the time, with Cillian having been five years her senior. 

It was all over the papers at the time and, just as you thought that things could not get any worse, she left your father, who was heartbroken and bewildered, and moved in with this then stranger to you.

You and your twin sister, Cliona, were expected to just follow suit, like little lost puppies and whilst Cillian himself seemed like a nice man, it was not something that you were able to do that easily. You had always been strong willed and gave your mother quite the run for her money with your rebellious nature which, in part, was the reason why she had pushed you to go away to live your father in New York.

New York was where you had finished school and, as soon as you turned eighteen, you made your way on a journey around the world. 

You travelled to New Zealand, Africa and then South Amerika too.  There were times when your money ran out but you always managed to get by, taking on odd jobs here and there, just so that you could survive.

It was during your time in Tanzania, when you met a woman, in her forties, who worked in an orphanage with you, and it was her who introduced you to photography. She told you that the camera was woman's truth and that with it, you had the power to tell stories.

She handed you her canvas camera and you began to snap away, discovering facets of Tanzania, its people and its wildlife in ways that words alone could not articulate.

The experience had left an indelible impression on you and from that day onwards, you knew that photography would be the lens through which you viewed the world and translated your experiences.

Your wanderlust had taken you on a three year journey, one that had seen you capture the beauty of the world through photographs. You had even managed to sell some of them to a hip magazine, which showcased your work alongside a spread of your adventures.

The pay was decent, just enough to keep you going and still let you see the world.

College had been an option, but not one you wanted to seriously consider. You had never been one to follow the rules and conventions that came with higher education, and the thought of being stuck in a classroom for four more years seemed unbearably tedious.

But then, after an amazing three years, your travel journey came to an abrupt end when you got into trouble with the law while passing through the UK, on your way back to New York. 

At London Heathrow,  just after taking a flight from Rome, you were stopped by customs for questioning regarding a package that they found in your luggage. It was a small box that just fit snugly within the zippered pocket in your backpack.

Inside the box there were as an illicit substance and it was this substance that got you arrested. 

You were questioned for hours, leaving you dazed, frightened and confused about how the drugs had even gotten into your bag and, after a series of panicked phone calls to your family, your mother agreed to bail you out.

Days later, in court, you were given a short sentence, including a travel ban for three months and house arrest for one.

"I much rather go to jail than live with my mother for four weeks," you thought to yourself, but the sentence had been handed out and, before you knew it, you were taken to where you had once lived, in the outskirts of London. 

Time seemed to slow down the moment you crossed the threshold of that Victorian house, so familiar in every fine detail that it seemed to shrink around you.

The police officer who accompanied you rang the doorbell on your behalf and, after a few moments, your sister Cliona  , whom you hadn't even spoken to in a year, opened the heavy oak door.

Her dark eyes, much like yours, narrowed at the sight of you, before dissolving into a cold, expressionless mask.

"Hi, Cliona," you greeted her, but it was clear that she wasn't interested in talking.

Her thin lips barely moved as she spoke. "Mum isn't home, but come on in," she simply said to the officer rather than you. 

Cliona's dismissive attitude was nothing new to you, but it still hurt.

You had once been close, like two peas in a pod, but she had changed somewhere along the way. Growing up, you had always been the rebel, the one who pushed boundaries and questioned authority, while she was the obedient one, always trying to please your mother.

Over the years, that gap had only widened, until it seemed like you were living on opposite ends of a vast, unbridgeable chasm.

With a resigned sigh, you stepped into the hallway which is when you saw him, for the first time in 18 months.  It was Cillian, emerging from one of the rooms at the far end of the hallway, with your little half sister Sadie clinging to his side, her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his fingers.

As soon as Sadie saw you, she ran towards you , squealing with excitement, and you couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in her voice as she called out your name.

"Y/N! Y/N!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around your waist. Her laughter echoed through the expansive hallway as you stooped down to pick her up, your heart feeling warmer and softer than it had in months.

You had always kept in touch with her, and even visited her on numerous occasions, putting up with your mother for short periods of times for Sadie's sake, mostly while Cillian had been away filming.

He was a busy man and your interactions with him to date were limited.  Cillian took a step towards you, his warm smile radiating kindness.

"Welcome home, I suppose," he said with a slight chuckle, his rich voice resonating through the room. You couldn't help but blush as he looked directly into your eyes, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine delight at seeing you. It was a small but friendly gesture that made you feel a little better about this somewhat unfortunate situation. 

"Thanks," you mumbled, not quite sure what to say in response. You had imagined seeing him again, but there was something utterly different about him now, something that you had not noticed when you saw him last, about eighteen months ago, at your aunt's wedding. 

He had grown a little older, his hair was peppered with more silver strands, giving him an air of maturity, though his eyes seemed the same vibrant shade of blue that they had been before, sparkling with intelligence and a hint of mischief.

While you were spending some time with your little stepsister, the police officer pulled out some paperwork and what looked like an ankle monitor , informing you that this would now be a part of your daily life since it was ordered by the court for the next one month.

You couldn't help but wince at the sight of the device. It felt like an electronic handcuff latched on, but you didn't complain, knowing that it could have been much worse.

"So, I guess it's a house arrest for you now," Cliona said with a roll of her eyes, "good luck with that." 

"It's only for thirty days," the officer  interjected, clearly trying to soften the blow of the situation, "and if you follow the rules and stay out of trouble, you'll be free to go where you want after that, at least within the UK."

You couldn't help but feel a wry smile creeping up on your face, thinking about all the things you would be able to do once this house arrest was lifted.

But for now, you had to follow the rules and make the best of a less than ideal situation.

"Mr Murphy, are you happy to sign for this?"  the officer asked Cillian, handing him the paperwork related to your bail conditions. Cillian looked down at the documents, his brow furrowing slightly as he read over the terms. 

"Sure," he then said, signing his name with a flourish before looking at the monitor with disdain while the officer turned it on, causing it to light up around your ankle.

"What a strange contraption," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he handed it back to the officer who was quick to leave shortly after that.

"I should probably find my room and get unpacked before mum gets home. I know how much she hates mess," you said as soon as the officer drove off and Cillian nodded  in agreement.

"Of course, you can use your old room, it hasn't changed much," he said before picking up your large backpack and guiding you upstairs.

"You know I could have carried this, right?" you  remarked to Cillian as you watched him struggle with your backpack, his face turning slightly red with the strain.

He chuckled good-naturedly. "I know, but it's no trouble, really," he said as he adjusted the weight of the bag on his shoulder.

You nodded silently, following him as he took you to your old room, which was still located at the far end of the hallway, as it had been before.

He opened the door for you, stepping aside so you could enter first.

As you stepped over the threshold, your senses were immediately bombarded by a whirlwind of emotions – nostalgia, bitterness, and a strange undercurrent of longing.

You had spent countless nights in that room, sitting by the window, watching the stars through the cold glass, dreaming of the day when you could escape the confines of that house after finding out that your mother wanted a divorce. But then again. you were older now and none of this mattered anymore. Now, it was somewhere to sleep for the next thirty days, and, after that, you knew that you would be evaluating your options.  You left your camera bag by the door but the moment you turned around you caught Cillian's gaze, and you could have sworn that there was something tender hidden deep within the blue recesses of his eyes, like a secret too precious to be shared with the world.

"I'm glad to see that it's still the same," you muttered to yourself, as you placed your other smaller bag onto the bed. 

Cillian chuckled lightly, reminding you that he was still standing there, a few feet behind you.

"I'll let you get settled in now," he said with a warm smile. "Dinner is at seven, if you want to join us. Your mother should be home by six," Cillian added, before walking out of the room, leaving you to your own devices.

"Thank you Cillian," you called after him, letting the moment linger for a second, as a chance to catch your breathe and let your thoughts reel.

The air in the room felt heavy, the scent of old books and dust hung thick against it, like an unwelcome fog. The room was exactly how you remembered it, every piece of furniture, every painting on the walls. It was like going back in time.

"Fuck," you  muttered under your breath, as you pulled back the window curtains, revealing the oak tree that stood tall and strong outside. The view had not changed one bit and this realization was as oddly comforting as it was heartbreaking.

You ran your hand over the windowsill, recalling how you used to sit there for hours on end just watching the world go by in this quaint little town on the outskirts of London. It triggered memories of when you had first noticed your mother changing, and her new job on the set of Peaky Blinders getting the better of her. 

She was one of the production managers, young and enthusiastic, and of course, this is where she met Cillian.

It all went downhill from there, and as they got more and more involved, her behavior changed. 

But you never thought to blame him for the failure of your parents' marriage. Their marriage was doomed for years before and yet, the way she put an end to it, by starting an affair with another man, was what really irked you.

Pushing aside these thoughts of the past, you forced yourself to focus on the present and this presence included staying here, with your part of your broken family, for the next thirty days and you knew that this was going to be tough. 

And tough it was when, over dinner later that day, your mother criticized your life choices.

"You know that none of this would have happened if you had decided to live a normal life," she charged at you between bites of roast chicken and boiled potatoes. "Finishing college, finding a real job, staying out of trouble...," she continued on, and her voice was sharp and condescending.

How many times had you heard her repeat the same things, trying to mold you in her image, trying to give you the role that she had always wanted for herself? You swallowed hard, keeping your composure even as the anger boiled inside you.

"Photography is not a career. It's an art and art doesn't pay the bills," your mother added with disdain. 

"Well, art sure pays your bills, because you did not work for years and still have a roof over your head because your husband clearly earns enough money acting," you replied calmly, taking a sip of your water. You glanced at Cillian, who was sitting quietly, seemingly lost in thought. Sadie, however, was busy coloring with crayons, oblivious to the tension around her.

"That's different," your mother retorted, frowning at you. "Cillian is smart about his work while you, on the other hand, are reckless," she continued on, causing Cillian to sigh heavily. 

 "Marion, enough," he simply said, shaking his head probably taking pity in you and your current situation. "Can't we just enjoy our meal together as a family?" he then asked, and your mother huffed but said nothing more.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, with only Sadie occasionally breaking the awkward atmosphere with her chatter.

After dinner, you offered to help Cillian with the dishes, stacking the rinsed off plates 

by the sink while he loaded them into the dishwasher. As he worked, you couldn't help but notice the way his sleeves were rolled up his arms and his hands moved with ease, his fingers deftly maneuvering the utensils as he placed them in their designated spots in the dishwasher.  He had incredible hands, almost perfect, and whilst this was a small thing, it was also oddly intimate, and you felt the heat creeping up to your cheeks as you watched him.

You shook your head slightly, mentally chastising yourself for reacting in such a way.

Cillian was your stepfather, nothing more, and yet there was no denying the way your heart skipped a beat when his hand brushed against yours as you both reached for the same dish.

He smiled at you as he caught you looking, and your face flushed with heat.

"Thanks for helping me with these," Cillian then said as he closed the dishwasher with a soft click. He wiped his hands on a nearby towel and turned to face you, his eyes finding yours. "And, you know, I'm sorry about the whole house arrest thing. If there's anything I can do to make it easier for you, just let me know."

His words caught you off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had extended their help to you without expecting something in return. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Thank you," you finally managed to say. "But it's fine," you nodded. "Thank you for letting me stay here,"  you added astutely, trying to put a positive spin on the situation.

Cillian gave a slight smile, "Of course," he then said before

turning to walk back towards the living room. "I better go keep your mother company," he said, pausing for a moment before adding, "And, I meant what I just said about the house arrest, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask me."

Left alone in the kitchen, you couldn't help but replay that moment over and over again in your mind. You tried to shake it off as just a kind gesture and not something more, but something about the way he looked at you left you questioning yourself, leaving a strange flutter in your chest.

Shaking of these thoughts, you went to your room in order to find something to read or maybe even draw. But of course, your mother had got rid of most of your art supplies when you moved out, claiming that it was all just a waste of money.

Thus, after you got changed into a singlet and some PJ shorts, you made your way back downstairs, recalling a few large shelves stacked with books in the study, which was locate right next to the living room.

Cillian was still sitting with your mother on a comfortable couch but, much to your surprise, there was a large gap between them. He was reading a book while she watched some reality TV show with her uncritical gaze.

When you entered the room, Cillian looked up from his book and his eyes were immediately drawn to you, taking in your form, even though there was nothing particularly sexy about what you were wearing.

He felt the heat grow in his chest, dimming his thoughts and distracting him from the lines of text that he had been attempting to read which, to him, was a strange sensation and not one he had expected. 

Thinking that you had gone unnoticed, you walked into the study and towards one of the large bookshelves before flicking through the spines of the countless novels stacked up haphazardly along the rows.

But then, suddenly, you heard a familiar voice from behind you.

"Can't find anything interesting?" Cillian asked, making you jump and drop the book you had been holding in your hands and, almost simultaneously, you dropped to your knees to pick it up, your heads bumping into each other. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, your hands flying up to your forehead instinctively as you tried to steady the pounding that had started there.

"No, it's my fault," Cillian apologized, his voice close behind you and he put his hand on your shoulder, causing tingles to run down your spine. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said as you turned and looked up at him, your eyes meeting briefly.

"I was trying to find a novel and, god, there are so many to choose from in here," you added, gesturing towards the towering bookshelf that seemed to stretch up towards the high ceiling.

Cillian chuckled, "Well, I do read a lot, but don't worry, I can give you a few recommendations if you want them," he said, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"I would love some recommendations, actually," you said, your face lighting up. "Something about, I don't know, human nature I suppose. I love reading stories about conflicted individuals or history," you said, with a light shrug of your shoulders.

Cillian smiled at your answer, "Did you read the Grass Arena?" he asked, his voice full of curiosity.

You nodded, "Yes, I did. The story was dark but tantalizing," you mentioned, leaving Cillian a little surprised.  "I think it's really good book," you smiled, causing Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

 "A really good book huh?" he echoed, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. "It's one of the best, I think. John Healy's work should be regarded as an invaluable contribution to literature," he declared, and you couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, momentarily getting lost in his bright blue eyes.

"Okay, I agree. It's probably in my top ten," you whispered, before shaking yourself out of your trance-like state, adding, "So, any other recommendations then?"

Cillian nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he guided you towards a different bookshelf.

"I think you might like this one," he said as he pulled out a tattered copy of 'On the Road' by Jack Kerouac, the pages yellowed with age. "I know it's a classic, but it's always a good read and you love travelling, so if you haven't read it yet, you should," he added, his voice full of warmth.

You took the book from him gratefully while inadvertently brushing against his hand. Your palms grew warm and tingly, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. Cillian's eyes locked with yours and there was a charge between you, a current thrumming beneath the surface that tickled your skin.

"Uhm, thank you ," you mumbled, sliding the book from his grip and stepping back. He nodded, seeming to understand the sudden need for space.

"Sure thing," he said, before turning to head back to the living room. "Goodnight, Y/N," he told you and you nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart before tucking the book under your arm and heading to your bedroom.

Tags:

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[art-of-the-sea]

Cookie Run: Facets of Knowledge AU

[pt: Cookie Run: Facets of Knowledge AU]

" The Virtue of Knowledge holds two sides to it; Truth and Deceit. Only together can they truly understand its depths. "

Not so much a complete AU as a likely canon divergence, this 'verse is set after Dark Enchantress's defeat. Her attempt to free the Beasts from their eternal prison by creating new bodies for them ended catastrophically. The only way to keep them all at bay was to seal them within the Soul Jams carried by each of the Ancients, as well as within their own bodies. This came with its benefits and drawbacks- after all, the threat has been tamed for as long as the Ancients remain uncorrupted. Not only that, but the reuniting of the Soul Jams' other halves magnified the Ancients' power beyond imagining- as its main holders, it's all in their control now, out of reach of the Beasts.

The complications, of course, come with the continued presence of the Beasts within the Ancients. They may not have any powers, no, but they can certainly be heard by the Ancients they've been sealed within - even seen as a projection of the Soul Jam's magic. Pure Vanilla Cookie knows he's in no danger from Shadow Milk Cookie as long as he doesn't mentally give in to his lies. However, that doesn't stop the comments, the perspectives, or the presence he brings. Sealed together, they have to learn to understand each other deeper than either expected, and slowly, each begin to open their eyes to the other's views and experiences.

More details & doodles below the cut! ⤵️

- Shadow Milk Cookie can project himself outwardly into the world using the Light of Truth, but in almost all cases, the only one that can see, hear, or feel him is Pure Vanilla Cookie. This leads to quite a few reactions to seemingly "nothing" from the outside, which took a long while for the other cookies around him to get used to.

- Shadow Milk gets bored very often due to not having a physical body or the ability to interact with most cookies, so he often resorts to pestering Pure Vanilla in one way or another. PV found that ignoring him only makes it worse, so he'll often engage in giving hypothetical answers to SM's ridiculous lines of questioning. This tends to result in either an absurdly niche philosophy discussion or a yes-and fantasy lasting on-and-off for days.

- Distrust is rampant between the two, of course, which is beneficial for neither of them. Pure Vanilla is convinced Shadow Milk wants nothing but to control Earthbread once more, and SM thinks PV wants nothing more than to lock him away somewhere dark and eternal. Both are partially right, but they are forced to learn the depths of the others' perspective and understand how their defining traits are reflections of each other, stemming from the same place.

- Because of this, they slowly begin to understand each other. To trust each other. To let down the walls, because really... Who else would ever be able to comprehend them like the other?

- Pure Vanilla still refuses to trust him enough to let Shadow Milk take control of the body, though. After all, control of the body would hypothetically mean control of the Soul Jam, and he can't let himself risk the fate of Earthbread once more. Sure doesn't stop SM from pestering, begging, bargaining, and more to try!

- Arguments are surprisingly rare, because if both of them get too deep into their heated debate, they get uncomfortably close to the reality of how similar they are to each other; this tends to make them back off.

- Both of them also feel this discomfort when the other is genuinely feeling mentally unwell, as viewing the other's complexity reflects on their own they wish to conceal. This can result in an awkward attempt to cheer the other up or help the situation, if nothing else to simply remove the shared disconcertion.

(If anybody's honestly interested in learning details for this AU, send in an ask! I might even draw doodles for the replies. this au is also where this sorta popular doodle comes from)

Bonus:

me too gingerbrave

[austinsastrology8991]

> 8th House LAWD in the HOUZEs <

8th house is the darkness - what you aware is bad but dont like to think about> which is why you tend to repress it - or are incredibly honest about. I view it as like voldemort zappin harry - you were cursed, but now u got powerz

8th house lord in the 1st - the darkness is splattered on yo face. you are a mysterious, and intriguing person; and this feels like a burden to you > because people be looking at you as if you escaped from a failed lab experiment. this is > 6 < houses away from the 8th so the 'darkness' feels like work for you > because people looking at you like a criminal, so you have to be careful not to act like one > but you always actin a lil sly, because you see the dark as a necessary evil, and its apart of your everyday affairs 8th house lord in the 2nd - the darkness is apart of your assets. you utilize your pain and transformations to help you grow > and utilize it by helping others > 7 < houses away - through helping others deal with their dark facets; you can churn it out of them and help them turn it into their ultimate advantage (and your own) by making others your little sock profits. your self esteem however is under pressure to to be of someone of value to others

8th house lord in the 3rd - the darkness is on the tip of yo tongue and you got dirt all under yo finger nails. You have a penetrating mind and you can't help but obsess over anything that enters yo mind. this is > 8 <lt;; houses away - which makes your privacy > very private > you know to keep your thoughts to yoself because you think of the most fucked up shit, and you know if you speak on it you getting cancelled. your a mouse just avoiding the mouse traps that you set up for yourself through the cascades of your own mind. and the mouse traps that others attempt to create for you > are the easier ones to dodge > because you da master at the mouse trap 8th house lord in the 4th - The darkness is never forgotten - you were basically born in a cavern; where you had to raise yourself - but since its > 9 < houses away - this has taught you much and well about the dark, and you low key know how to dodge bullets because you were born in da matrix. this does make you a secretive person though; because you know the secret powers of da dark - and want to be decisive who you teach it too

8th house lord in the 5th - the darkness is where you shine - you are taboo, and the idealization of the dark was formed by your presence alone, because you expose it by falling into it on purpose its > 10 < houses away - you are notorious for this; which means you mastering the dark, and your whole life force (5th) has been dedicated to the darkness > its like you self-sabotage to practise mastering your pain > and now you have real authoritative power due to your notoriety of walking out da dark unfazed 8th house lord in the 6th - the dark sorcerer - you deal with the dark all da time, and since reality so heavy on you, you know how to manifest incredibly well, since you had to in order to survive. > 11 < houses away. you have a probing interest within your community/friends and its probably due to your ability to figure out problems so well; but since you see how it is, this can cause serious issues in fitting in with your community, due to your ability to manipulate reality

8th house lord in the 7th - the dark you know - somehow your partners / the people you meet are dark, and you don't really view yourself as dark; more those around you > 12 < houses away, means that the dark is surrounding you, and it is a necessary lesson to learn how to manifest what you want and stop believing that after being a good person,; good will find you > you must learn to identify what a monster is, to know how to avoid sticky situations

8th house lord in the 8th - The dark is dark - the darkness within you is a grim tale, and you may feel it follows you > 1 < houses away, this darkness is written on your body language > we can see how much pain has plagued you, but we also notice how strong you are to have survived it. if anything you must realize most people could never operate normally after having been traumatized the way you have > and so power falls onto you in many ways... you just need to be bold enough to see it

8th house lord in the 9th - the dark transformed you from a maggot to a moth (not a fly so technically a compliment) - the dark should have been nicer to you than most, but you still would have had something extreme happen to you, and this likely affected your mindset more than anything; but its a sinister killer > 2 < houses away - means it will grow in time > you may grow into power but as you grow; you'll notice the burden/toll/grip it has on you. you will surely reap the benefits, but you will pay the price 8th house lord in the 10th - the dark throne in da big scary castle - your reputation should be dark, and you are vocal about it > 3 < houses away. you are fearless about the dark, even though out of all people, your someone who should be afraid of the dark > and this only exacerbates the fear others have of you > because your bold in what you say, and what you do. but be careful with what you say because it can and will affect your public image greatly > and how well you succeed in venturing through the darkness will be talked about

8th house lord in the 11th - the dark ritual - you are affiliated with dark places/people and you are almost forced to conquer the dark > 4 < houses away. your dark past follows you; so you affiliate yourself with dark people > to be able to feel like you overcame the dark that consumed you as a child. This trauma however, should be utilized to your advantage, because since you have been rejected a lot by others, it should have built yourself some strong armour; where you navigate the world with strong defences > people should trust you faster; especially with power

8th house lord in the 12th - the dark hidden behind you and within - you are surrounded by the dark all the time and this makes you pretend like it isn't dark far more often than what is appropriate > your likely conditioned this way, but since its > 5 <; houses away, your intense creativity and self expression/ self sabotage, can later help you identify the dark faster than most, because your intuition has been molded by dark trials, and this can make you a beacon of hope for people experiencing dark times

Shout out to @Linnienin for the edit <3

[himejoshiangels]

Duke Thomas fic rec list

I've scowered every tag relating to him, combed thru the 'duke centric tag' at least 8 times, this is what ive come back with, at least my personal faves

necessary reminders - duke pov, outsider pov, and some social media following duke as he gets used to his day job as a vigilante. flows really well, has a good balance of sad and happy, and gets dukes character rlly well

that which you cannot bear - THIS FIC WILL BREAK YYOU duke is kidnapped and its only down from there!! this is like, one of the first duke fics I read and it's still labeled as such in my mind. its well based, sooo cohesive plot wise, and stays completely in character w all its characters, especially duke, while exploring such an interesting facet of him > his tendency to self-isolate, insistence on being independent, and his stubbornness. sooo much good angst just incredible stuff while also staying hopeful and grounded. ALSO duke is an intelligent badass throughout the fic which is an important detail 2 me

signal, n. a divine act - same author as the last one, absolutely insane concepts are explored and its just so well written srsly it's like poetry. digs into some of dukes ideologies so well. if u like holy imagery??? kind of but not rlly?? ig you'll love this

this whole series is just so fucking incredible but something about my bodies made of crushed little stars I don't fucking know it messed w my brain chemistry, I've recced it b 4 bcs it made me cry but read the whole series, it's all duke centric and just so good. Saki writes bruce and duke in a way that fizzes u up w emotion and focuses on such unique facets of dukes character/dynamics and sleep well my little sunshine is soo cute and fun and soft >when earth finds the stars - bonus presignal duke and jason fic, balances being incredibly fun with a realistic zoom in on duke before we are robin. he's quippy and witty and always at the edge of his rope

not mutually exclusive - tired of bruce being kinda shoved into the role of dukes capital F father when that's not quite what their dynamic is? Then this is the fic for you!! Just good duke and Bruce interactions overall, it's sad and hilarious with just incredible dialogue and peak Bruce and Duke interactions

signals and symptoms - a classic sickfic and like one of my fave bruce bonding fic ever ever EVERRR!! really introspective abt dukes character and just so well done

even exchanges - some of u are gonna hate me for reccing an incomplete fic and esp one that doesn't look like it's gonna be finished anytime soon but even exchanges is so formative to my duke characterizationalong with portraying such a fascinating dynamic w him and his new family. it delves into his messy and angsty experiences pre-becoming the signal and is overall written like several subsequent punches to the stomach. promise ur gonna bitch and moan about this fic as much as I do

scientific method - extremely cute fic, watch Duke bond w the bats and slowly get more comfortable with them over time as they all tru to figure out what the fuck this guys powers are. Really fun dynamic wise, the dialogue is crafty and captures the familiarity between the characters. Really realistic about day to day vigilante life and how genius the bats truly are. really slice of life fluffy shit w some bonus sciencey stuff

turn my voice human torch remind people what I’m fantastic for - truly a classic, Duke invites cass to slam poetry night. short n sweet I LOVE BUMBLEBATS RAHHHHHH

tradition - pure duke n bruce ice cream fluff

meal prep - real sad angst one shot ft. alfred

occupational health and safety violations - duke pov reverse robins but it's way out of order

write about flowers (at a time like this) - duke and dick fic where they meet pre we are robin. yes I just found this one yesterday yes I'm absolutely obsessed. it characterizes him so well and understands his thought process and motives and UGHH just tune in yall

sidequest: the viper pit - WE ARE ROBIN DND JUMANJI

signals of fear and hope - duke centric reverse robins, caters TTOME specifically it's so fire

and now here are fics that arent duke centric but he's in it and in character/well written and now forced into the back of the room aka some of my general faves that feature duke

gotham aviary - the batman fic where he just adopts a bunch of em truly adorable like the cutest thing you'll read

I walk the streets at night (with monsters in my mind) - dragon fic, absolutely goated 10/10

fight, flight - cass centric but duke plays a big role, they mean everything to me

[my-plastic-life]

Inspiring Women: Rumiko Takahashi

New custom doll is here! I'm sure we all know about the Mattel Barbie Inspiring Women doll line, right? Well, I took it upon myself to create one of my own because I'm sure Mattel will never make one lol. Click here for behind the scenes on how I made this doll!

I opted to create an Inspiring Woman Barbie based off Rumiko Takahashi, the Japanese manga artist who created my all-time favorite manga and anime, Inuyasha. But that isn't the sole reason she's deserving of this title. Yes, that creation got me into all things Japan and introduced me to the entire anime genre, but this mangaka has excelled in her career for 45 years - a profession that has been primarily male-dominated since its inception.

I also created a box for her designed after the official Mattel Inspiring Women boxes. The outfit she's wearing is inspired by the one she wore during the 2023 knighthood honor she received. Accessories include her most recent book, Rumiko Takahashi: Colors 1978-2024, as well as her 35th anniversary book that comes with removable genuine sketches, plus the first volume of the Inuyasha manga (original Japanese version). The doll I used was the Asian sister of Ariel from the live action Little Mermaid, but I cut her hair and styled it differently, painted some age lines on her face, removed her pink eyeshadow, and gave her some glasses. I also gave her a curvy body with the same articulation that dolls in this series have - movement at the shoulder, elbow, wrist, hip, and knee. Because I'm that much of a perfectionist. :D

Doll in the Inspiring Women box. The scene behind her is an actual photo of Rumiko Takahashi's studio.

Back of the box, all made by me based on actual Inspiring Women boxes.

Fun facts: Takahashi has never been married, and she has stated in interviews that she doesn't plan to. In addition, she works with women exclusively as she writes and creates. She has specifically said that she wouldn't hire a male assistant because he would be "troublesome." She prefers the atmosphere of a studio of women working together without distraction. Her work stands out among other shonen pieces because of its creativity, complex characters, and nuanced romances. Her woman and girl characters are never accessories to the guy hero, which was often the case in early shonen stories, especially. Takahashi often likes to implement strong, independent, multi-facetted female characters in leading roles into her stories. Talk about girl power!

Now for more information as to why she's so deserving of having her own doll in my collection. :D Strap in, because this post is a doozy!

BIO: Rumiko Takahashi (born Oct. 10, 1957) is the best-selling female comic artist of all time, selling more than 170 million copies of her work in Japan alone, and one of the names by which to reckon the evolution of anime. She is one of the wealthiest women in Japan, all of her longer running manga have become TV series, and nearly everything she has written has been adapted into animation (OVA or TV). Perhaps more importantly, her influence and the nature of her series since 1980 have been cited as large contributors to the perception and acceptance of anime as a medium today.

Rumiko with her new Colors book. Outfit inspired by the one she wore when receiving her knighthood.

All of Takahashi’s work has become popular throughout the world, and with more than 20 years of publishing her manga art, she earned the title of The Princess of Manga.

Takahashi's professional career began in 1978 when she was a university student. That year, she worked on her first full-length series entitled Urusei Yatsura. It became one of the most loved manga and anime comedies in Japan. In 1980, when she began to publish regularly, she began her second major series, Maison Ikkoku. This series is now considered to be one of the all-time best manga romances.

As her stories appeared and attracted many fans, Takahashi grew in popularity as an artist while improving her writing and artistic abilities. In 1987, a huge year for her career success, three of her most well-known stories ended and she began work on Ranma ½. The series continued for nearly a decade until 1996, when it ended at 38 volumes. Ranma ½ and its anime adaptation are cited as some of the first of their mediums to have become popular in the United States. While publishing Ranma ½, Takahashi was hospitalized several times for peritonitis. But even during her second hospital stay, the series did not stop.

35th anniversary book has removable sketches - real photos actually drawn by the artist. The background is an actual photo of her basement (note all her figures!)

During the latter half of the 1990s, Takahashi began her fourth major work, Inuyasha. With this series, Takahashi is also often said to be the first woman to successfully set foot in the Shōnen genre and leave a lasting impact on it. To date, Inuyasha is her longest-running series, ending in 2008. In 2020, it received a sequel series titled Yashahime: Princess Half Demon.

In the basement library (actually in her home) with the first volume of the Inuyasha manga.

On July 30, 2008, Takahashi noted her 30th anniversary as a mangaka, and on July 8, 2009, during Shonen Sunday's 50th anniversary celebration, characters from three of her most popular series (Urusei Yatsura, Ranma ½, and Inuyasha) joined together in a short crossover to welcome everyone to the celebratory milestone. That same year, VIZ Media, one of the entertainment industry’s most innovative and comprehensive publishing, animation and licensing companies, announced the launch of a brand new imprint, Shonen Sunday, featuring the works of some of the top shonen manga creators in the world today. Takahashi's series RIN-NE was the first to be featured in the new imprint, and was the first manga novel ever to be published simultaneously in Japan and North America.

In her studio showing off genuine sketches. Featured here: Featured here: Lum from Urusei Yatsura, the Tendo house from Ranma 1/2, and Inuyasha character heights. This outfit is inspired by the one she wore at the Rumic World 30th anniversary ribbon-cutting.

Early in her career, Takahashi expressed that though she doesn't write love stories often, she loves a good love story. While none of her works are straightforward romances, many of her works early and later on have compelling romance subplots that are integral to the characters and world. Her works like Inuyasha and Ranma 1/2 are known for their romances. Takahashi's romances are varied, and they are trendsetting. They set the standard for popular romance tropes like slow-burn romances and love triangles. The love triangle between Kagome, Kikyo, and Inuyasha is one of the most iconic in all anime.

In her studio showing off genuine sketches. Featured here: Ranma from Ranma 1/2, Lum from Urusei Yatsura, and Mao and Kiba from Mao.

In her studio showing off genuine sketches. Featured here: Yashahime, Inuyasha 20th anniversary, and Inuyasha, Kagome, and Moroha.

Outfit inspired by the one worn during the Rumic World 30th anniversary ribbon cutting.

HONORS: * Takahashi won the New Comic Artist Award in 1978. * Winner of the 1994 Inkpot Award at The San Diego Comic Con in America. *In 2016, ComicsAlliance listed Takahashi as one of 12 women cartoonists deserving of lifetime achievement recognition, stating that "any one of her projects would be the career highlight of another talent." In 2017, Takahashi was inducted into the Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame as part of the 2016 class. *In July 2018, Takahashi was inducted into the Eisner Hall of Fame. She was previously nominated for entry in 2014, 2016 and 2017. *In January 2019, Takahashi won the grand prize at the prestigious Angouleme International Comics Festival in France, becoming the second woman and second Japanese manga artist to win the award at the festival. * In 2020, Takahashi was awarded Japan's Medal with Purple Ribbon. First awarded in 1955, this honor is awarded to individuals who have contributed to academic and artistic developments, improvements, and accomplishments. * Takahashi was inducted into the Harvey Awards Hall of Fame in October 2021. The Harvey Awards are one of the comic industry's oldest and most prestigious awards. Recognizing outstanding achievement in multiple categories, the Harvey's have been a fixture of the comic industry since 1988. * In April 2023, Takahashi was conferred the Chevalier de l'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres (Order of Arts and Letters) by the French government. She is the first female mangaka to receive this honor.

Books: 35th anniversary (with removable genuine sketches inside), Colors: 1978-2024, and volume 1 of the Inuyasha manga.

Genuine sketches, all fit inside the 35th anniversary book.

Source photos (first is from being bestowed a Knight of the Order of Arts and Letters, second is from the Rumic World 30th anniversary ribbon cutting in 2008):

[merakiui]

[01] 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁.

villain!azul ashengrotto x magical girl!reader note - welcome to this very impulsive magical girl parody! i'm not sure how many chapters it will be exactly, but i'm looking forward to writing more. i hope you'll enjoy reading! chapter navigation: [01] (you are here) // [02]

Magic is a messy, complex thing.

It can enchant and amaze with beautiful, endless possibilities. It can terrify with traumatic results. Like any sort of power in this world, it is a heavy responsibility for those who wield it. Everything has its dark side; you’re sure the same holds true for magic. No matter how marvelous it may be, surely there exists some shadow.

It’s also something you can’t use, and so the good and the bad don’t really apply to you!

Not that this is cause for envy. Rather, you’re relieved you don’t have to worry about experiencing the problems that accompany magic. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is; magic would only further complicate it. With no other plausible way to return to your world, you’ve had to make your home here on Sage’s Island. It’s an isolated place, boasting two elite magical universities and a bustling town.

It also happens to resemble a chicken wing on maps, so that’s a plus. Truly an ideal getaway! If only you weren’t trapped here indefinitely… Maybe then you’d have better appreciation for it.

As it happens, you’re a janitor living in the abandoned, decrepit dorm on the outskirts of campus. It took a month since you moved in, but you’ve managed to clean it up into a habitable space with the help of its resident haunts. The Headmage hasn’t been very helpful or present since your arrival, and so you’ve had to make do with what little you’ve been given. But for all of his troubling qualities, he isn’t inherently cruel. He’s kind enough to pay you for your services (but then that was only after you threatened him into an agreement), and he doesn’t overwork you (again, this is because you made it abundantly clear you won’t do anything if it violates your own sanity in some way, shape, or form). At least he’s willing to negotiate every time you argue for humane working conditions.

He’s an irksome guy. You can’t believe he has the gall to call himself the ‘embodiment of magnanimity’ when he’s done the bare minimum. Even the ghosts have offered more assistance and they don’t have any sort of authority here! You’re pleased to share a space with them. Sometimes they seem more reliable than the Headmage.

Despite your attempts to acclimate, the illustrious Night Raven College is still a place wholly unsuitable for a magicless human such as yourself. You’re the same age as some of the students here, but they feel like they’re on another level. Flying overhead on brooms, casting spells, mixing up potions… You listen in on some of their conversations while washing windows or sweeping the floors and wonder if all magic schools are this rigorous.

Maybe that’s any school regardless of its curriculum. Any sort of academic pursuit comes with difficulties; that’s normal. But magic is a facet unique to this world. There aren’t any arcane academies where you’re from, but now you wish there were. They seem so fascinating.

“Not much of my problem, though, is it?” you mumble, shaking free of that thought. Being a janitor is great. You can avoid the stress of school and keep up with the gossip exchanged in the halls. It’s like reading the newspaper, only it’s spoken instead of written.

Morning spills through the part in the curtains when you open them. You shut your eyes and bask in the warming glow of a sunshine smooch. It’s going to be another great day—you’re sure of this—and a day as pleasant as this deserves to be lived in its entirety. Perhaps you’ll have a picnic outside or you could even—

BAM.

Your eyes snap open just in time to view the raven who’s slammed itself against the window. Disoriented, it jerks itself up and away from the glass, flapping its wings wildly. You watch its attempts with a pitying frown. And then, inching closer to pull the window open to allow the raven respite, you see it: the blue flames racing towards you at a rapid speed.

With a yelp, you dive out of the way just in time. Due to the forceful blast, the window shatters in a spray of glass. Heat licks at your face, so hot it almost singes your brows, and you stumble to the other side of the room in a panicked daze.

“You lousy bird!” someone exclaims, the words pronounced in a growl. “Get back here so I can nab ya and prove that I’m worthy of bein’ at this school!”

The raven squawks, fluttering wildly about your room. A sleek, obsidian-colored feather floats into your hand. You don’t have time to admire it, for the curtains have just caught fire.

“Come on—I just put those up last week!” you bemoan, looking on in abject horror.

From the opening, a furry creature bursts through. He resembles a grey cat with his short, fluffy stature, but his tail is shaped strangely and there’s blue fire flickering from his ears. The same blue fire he’s currently conjuring in an attempt to catch the raven…

You grab hold of the coat rack—the nearest viable weapon you can think of—and jump in front of him. He startles and leaps back when you swing.

“What’re you doing?! You can’t do that in here! Fuck—my curtains! Don’t light anything else on fire!”

Baffled, the cat-creature scoffs at you. “How was I supposed to know someone’s livin’ in here? Not my fault!”

“It’s a residence! Of course someone lives here! I live here!”

“When they make me the Great Mage Grim, I’ll fix this place up for ya. That’s a promise! I just gotta catch that bird and prove myself a worthy candidate. Just you wait—they’ll be puttin’ my name up in lights!”

“Like hell they will!”

With a devastated groan, you whack the curtains down with the coat rack. They land in a heap, smoke curling from beneath the pile and sliding out the shattered window in dark, wispy tendrils. It takes a frazzled few stomps and smacks before the fire fizzles away, leaving you with charred curtains and the distinct stench of something scorched.

Still panting from the adrenaline rush, you loosen your grip on the coat rack. This is a mess. What am I going to do? I don’t have enough money to fix this!

You turn your hateful scowl on the cat-creature. “You!”

“W-Wait! Wait!” He raises a paw to his lips and gestures towards your bedside table. The raven sits perched, a golden chain wrapped around its neck and an envelope clasped in its beak. In all of the chaos, you must have missed that. “Don’t say a word. It’s right there.”

He approaches stealthily, slow as a sloth, and pounces. He misses narrowly, ending up with a mouthful of feathers instead. The raven caws and takes flight, circling overhead.

He spits feathers. “Myahaha! I got it! I actually—oh. Dumb bird… No one can escape the Great Grim.”

The raven lands on your shoulder next. It cocks its head at you.

“What? Is this for me?” you ask, even though you’re certain of the answer. You pluck the envelope from the raven, who sets to preening itself now that it’s no longer occupied.

“Give it here!” The cat-creature hops up onto your bed, reaching with an expectant paw. “That bird’s got my admission letter!”

“Your letter?” You hold it out of reach and stick your tongue out at him. “No ‘great mage’ sets someone’s home on fire. You’re a subpar mage, if anything.”

“I am not! You just wait—I’ll show you!”

“I don’t want to see anymore.” Turning away, you break the wax seal and procure the parchment waiting within.

He swipes at you impatiently. “Lemme see! What’s it say?”

Written in elegant script, complete with a stamp you’ve never seen before, it looks very official. Whoever wrote it is exceptionally good at cursive, their letters swooping together seamlessly. It’s almost like a decorative artwork with its double-looped O’s and dancing cursive. You marvel at the craftsmanship, wishing your handwriting could look as refined as this person’s.

To whom it may concern,  Greetings and congratulations on your admittance into the program! We recognize your outstanding achievements as a model student and believe you have what it takes to do wonderful things. It is with great pride that we bestow upon you a piece of magical history, referred to as The Tried-and-True Trident. You will find it enclosed in this letter.

You look up from the letter just as an aureate necklace lands in your palm. The raven blinks at you once before lifting itself off of your shoulder with a flap of its inky wings. It departs through the window, up into the cloudless, cerulean sky, in a flurry of feathers. There’s a tiny trident pendant hanging from the chain. It winks at you in the light, so shiny you think you might catch your reflection if you stare long enough. You’re not sure what part of it is tried or true, for it looks more like costume jewelry than anything. At least it’s cute. Kind of fashionable, even.

With this historic piece, you are now free to wield the wonders of the sea as you please. You are expected to use these powers to defend those you hold dear from the threat of tragedy. You should have met with your mentor already. If not, we shall send someone to escort you. We look forward to beholding your excellent heroics. Sincerely,

“Gimme that!”

Grim snatches the letter before you can glimpse the name signed at the bottom. The enchanted letter tears in two and then, before both of your eyes, it promptly disintegrates.

You eye the fuzzball with a fresh bout of vitriol. “What did you say your name was again?”

“It’s Grim—the Great Grim—and I promise ya as soon as I—”

“Good. Now I know what name to carve on your tombstone when I put you in the ground for ruining my letter!” You reach for the coat rack, expression ablaze with newfound ferocity.

Grim yelps and scurries away. “H-Hold on! I can fix it!”

“How? It’s ash!”

“Well, what did it say? I’m sure I can explain it to ya!”

“It said something about this necklace. The something-something trident. Protecting loved ones from tragedy. Admittance into some program. A mentor…”

“Mentor… Mentor! Yeah, that sounds about right!” Grim laughs proudly. “Aren’t you in luck, human! I’m gonna be your mentor.”

“Sure you are.” You rest your hand on your hip, brows raised. “The same cat who destroyed my window and curtains is gonna mentor me in whatever this is. Funny story.”

His jaw drops. “A-At least pretend like it’s cool! And I’m not a cat!” He hops off of your bed with a huff. “Ungrateful human. You’re undeserving of the Great Grim’s teaching anyways! I don’t need you!”

“Other way around.”

“You don’t need me!”

“There we go.” You applaud him sardonically. “Look, I don’t know what any of this is. I’m sure it was a mistake. I’m not even a student here.”

Grim, who had been on his way towards the door, halts. He turns to face you slowly. “Yer…not a student?”

“I work here. There’s no way for me to be enrolled here because I can’t use magic.”

“W-Wha—can’t use magic?! Then why did you get in, but I didn’t?!”

You can only shrug. The necklace twists idly when you hold it up for closer inspection. “So this thing is supposed to help me? Hey, Grim, do you know what this is?”

You lower to his height and hold your hand out. He watches you dubiously before approaching and leaning in to sniff at the chain.

“Smells fine to me. Kinda like wet metal.”

“I didn’t ask for a flavor profile.” You heave a tired sigh. The day’s only just begun and you’re already swamped with nonsense. “Maybe that Headmage knows something.”

Grim gasps. “You’re chummy with the Headmage? You think you could talk him into lettin’ me join?”

“Why do you even want in so badly?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a renowned mage! They should be begging me to join!”

Anyone could’ve sent that letter. It might not even be from the Headmage… If I knew the sender’s name, I could just track them down and ask them. 

“You said you wanted to prove yourself, didn’t you?” You offer your hand again, this time to shake on it. “Become my mentor. That’ll show that Crowley you’re plenty capable. Then you can get into this school and I can find a way to return this necklace to its rightful owner.”

Grim folds his arms over his chest, avoiding your hand like it’s the plague. “And what’s in it for me? My services aren’t cheap, y’know!”

“You can live here with me. I’ll find ways to sneak you into the lecture halls if you wanna sit in and observe the class.”

“How about food?”

“Food is…” Nonexistent, really. That cheapskate Crowley! I’ve got to talk him into raising my pay. “I get paid at the end of this week. We’ll have to survive off of what’s in the fridge and the lunch I’m allowed to get from the cafeteria for now.”

Grim’s features soften. “Hm… I guess it’s not terrible. Could be better. But all great mages start from humble beginnings—including myself, but you’d never be able to guess!”

“Right…”

With how carelessly you tossed that fire around, you’re the last mage I should be partnering with.

“Do we have a deal, Grim? You’ll be my mentor and I’ll help you wherever I can.”

Grim places his paw in your palm, his chest puffed out. “You’d better start callin’ me Teacher!”

A smile strains on your lips. “Not happening.”

With a firm shake, your pact is made.

“So what spells do you know? Any that might be able to fix up a window and some curtains?”

“You don’t need those lame spells! The Great Grim can do plenty of other amazing feats.”

“Like?”

“Very amazing feats. Didn’t you hear me?”

“You don’t know anything, do you?”

Grim flinches, guilt flashing across his countenance.

“Is blue fire all you can summon?”

“I… I can do much more! This is just a fraction of my true power! If I had a magestone, this whole spell business would be a lot easier.”

“A magestone? Ah, those things the students have on their pens? I guess that would be helpful. Where can we get one, though?”

“I’d tell ya if I knew.”

“The library might know. If we head there now, we can spend the rest of the morning researching and then we can get lunch.” You reach to fasten the chain around your neck. It’s tucked under your shirt next, safe and sound. “Wait outside for a minute. I’ll change out of my pajamas, clean up the window, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Grim trots out the door without resistance. “I’ll grab a snack from the fridge while yer doin’ all that stuff.”

“One snack! Don’t eat everything!”

But he’s already bounding away, singing as he goes: “Free eats can’t be beat!” Sighing, you shut the door and turn to assess the state of your bedroom. It could be worse. Your bed could have been damaged, or you could have sustained quite the nasty burn.

One mess at a time.

You change into your uniform, which is really just a PE jumpsuit. The same one the students wear. This one has seen better days and it’s a size too big on you, but it’s all Crowley claimed to have on hand when you asked about work clothes. Once again, you soothe yourself with your favorite adage: It could be worse.

You could be homeless. You could be starving. You could be dead.

So it’s not so bad to wear the spare. It’s still got the dorm patch and class numbers sewn onto it, albeit both have worn considerably. Your eyes are drawn to them as you admire yourself in the mirror. Octavinelle Dorm… You’ve heard there are seven dormitories at this school, each based on a historical figure and representing the various spirits of these people. The sorting at the entrance ceremony was something special for the incoming first-years. You’d felt a little awkward to disturb such a grand occasion, even more so when the Dark Mirror announced to a hall full of talented mages that there isn’t an iota of magic in you.

Quite the humbling experience.

But sometimes you wonder which dorm the Dark Mirror would have chosen if your soul was bursting with magical capability.

As of now you’re a faux member of Octavinelle—whatever that implies.

By the time you’ve managed to sweep the glass, dispose of the ruined curtains, and patch the window with a temporary placeholder—what a relief for pasteboard and masking tape—Grim’s nearly through the few items left in your fridge. You yank him away just as he reaches for a container of leftovers.

“If you eat too much, you’ll spoil your lunch.”

“Can’t imagine that problem.”

“You sound so proud of your bottomless stomach.”

“And you’re not?”

You roll your eyes and tug your sneakers on. “Let’s be off.”

“How’re we gonna sneak me in?”

“How do you feel about becoming my temporary purse pet?”

Grim looks unimpressed when you hold your tote bag open for him. “No way!”

“It has lots of space and it’s stylish. Besides, shouldn’t your dedicated student pay proper respect to her great, glorious mentor?”

He doesn’t bother hiding his approving smirk. “Well, when ya put it like that…”

After Grim clambers into your bag, you lock the front door behind you and set off for campus.

“Please don’t blow our cover, Grim.”

From within the depths of your tote, he scoffs. “The Great Grim is the stealthiest mage you’ll ever meet!”

“I highly doubt that.”

It’s the second time you’ve found yourself in the library, but it’s still just as impressive as ever. You could spend hours here, wandering between shelves and skimming all sorts of tomes. Some of them are written in languages you can’t decipher, so you observe the pictures provided in hopes of gleaning any clues. Grim lounges on a chair beside you, absentmindedly turning through a thick textbook. You managed to find a relatively isolated corner in the very back and it’s not especially busy today. The promise of a hearty lunch keeps him well-behaved.

“Find anything?”

“Nothin’ important. Ugh. This stuff is the worst! Why can’t a magestone fall from the sky? That’d be a whole lot easier than this.”

“It sucks, yeah, but what else can we do?” You rest your face against your palm and scan through yet another page of information. “Let’s keep looking. I’m sure we’ll find something useful.”

“Nngh… I’m hungry.”

“You just ate.”

“That was hours ago!”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Feels like it.”

You lean back in your chair and stretch, listening to the satisfying snap of your joints as they crack into place. “Can you understand any of these words?”

“Most of ’em.”

You point to a specific place in the paragraph. “Can you tell me what this one means? I think I’ve got the general idea based on the graphics, but I could be wrong.”

Grim glances at it, his blue hues waltzing across the page. “It’s about merfolk.”

“Merfolk? They exist in this world?” And then you pause to gather your delayed thoughts. “Never mind. That would make sense.”

“What about ’em?”

“Where I’m from, merfolk aren’t real. They’re fiction.”

“Huh. A place without any merfolk… Bet they don’t have anyone like me either. I’m one of a kind!” Grim chuckles. “So where’re you from?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. You usher Grim under the table, who goes but not without protest. He ducks under just in time, hiding within the shadows. A student rounds the corner and stops short when he sees you. He’s holding a few books in his arms, each looking more heavy than the last.

“Ah,” the both of you say in unison.

He clears his throat and offers you a cordial nod. “I wasn’t aware someone had already claimed this corner.”

You eye him carefully. He looks familiar. Glasses. Silvery-grey hair. Blue eyes. Where have you seen him before?

“It’s all yours. I was just leaving.” You move to stand, but he steps closer.

He peers at the open textbook lying in front of you. A smile you can’t quite classify as friendly spreads on his lips. “Is that so? You seem especially engrossed in this book.”

“I like to stay educated.”

I genuinely can’t understand a word in this text.

“On the anatomy of merfolk?”

You shut your mouth at once. That’s what this is? No wonder the diagrams looked…unique. But you’re too committed to your story to falter now.

“Especially the anatomy of merfolk.”

The student chuckles, but it sounds hollow to your ears. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. You’re in Octavinelle?”

You gape at him like a fish out of water before realizing the jumpsuit and its patch. “Oh! Ohhh, no, not at all. This is an old uniform.”

He looks at you with more scrutiny until it clicks. “I remember now. You’re the magicless girl who so carelessly interrupted—ah, forgive me—fortuitously appeared during the entrance ceremony last month.”

What a little fake. You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly defensive. Now you’re made aware of who he is. He was one of the few in the audience during your awkward arrival. Back then, he was clad in a robe with his hood up and so you only caught sight of his glasses and the swoop of his silvery-grey hair peeking out. You’re certain this is the same guy. You could’ve said that without the backhanded barb.

“So my reputation precedes me.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I disagree. You’re still quite the mystery.”

“Well, there’s nothing to solve.” You rise from your seat, reaching for your bag. “I’m just a janitor trying to get by.”

He hums. You can’t decipher the meaning in that, but you don’t particularly care enough to drive yourself mad over it. You feel around on the chair for Grim. He was just here a moment ago…

You drop to your knees to check under the table. Your heart plummets into your stomach.

Grim, you had one job!

“Is something the matter?”

You pop up from beneath the table so fast that your head knocks into it. “Shit! Ow! Yeah, no, I’m fine. I thought I dropped my pencil.”

You scan the rest of the space as discreetly as you can. The student watches you. You don’t like the way he seems to stare through you as if intending to gain access to your very soul. As if he sees something you don’t.

“Have a wonderful day. Study hard. Pass your tests. Get—uh—the scholarship or whatever.” 

Flashing him your most nonchalant grin, you make your way down the aisle at a pace that is the exact opposite of relaxed. There’s no time to dwell on that off-kilter exchange. You’ve got a runaway cat-creature in dire need of capture!

The one day I take off and it’s the day my window’s ruined, I get a weird letter, and my new roommate is missing. That’s horrible luck!

You walk briskly through the library, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Grim couldn’t have gotten far. You were only distracted for a few minutes, and the library is huge. Perhaps he’s just lost and waiting in place for you to find him. For some reason you can’t fool yourself into believing this train of thought.

Your search takes you out of the library and down the hall. Where could he have possibly gone? Surely he didn’t make his way back to Ramshackle. You check the time on your watch. It’s almost lunch.

Lunch! Of course!

You hurry towards the cafeteria with rekindled purpose.

I’m going to start calling him Gluttonous Mage Grim if he makes this a habit!

Fortunately, Grim is predictable. You’ve only known him for a day—not even—but it’s not so difficult to pinpoint his location after you’ve worked out his motivations. Unfortunately, you make it to the cafeteria just as the grand chandelier falls from its support in the ceiling, crash-landing in a broken heap. And standing just feet away from the damage, looking very guilty, is Grim alongside two students you’ve never seen before. Crowley’s there as well, just as frazzled as the feathers on his coat. He’s in the middle of lecturing them about the importance of this relic—how it’s been with the school since it was founded and it’s an irreplaceable piece that would cost over a billion Madol to fix—when he takes notice of you.

“(Name), it’s devastating! A most heart-wrenching tragedy! Why, it’s enough to bring one to tears.”

“Seems so…” You shoot Grim a vicious look. So much for being covert. Not so stealthy now, huh? “I’ll get the broom.”

“No, not yet. These three—” he turns towards them, yellow eyes fierce— “are expelled!”

“Expelled?!” the navy-haired student exclaims. He looks like he’s just stared Death in the face. “This can’t be… What will my mother think? I promised her I was gonna get good grades, attend all of my classes, pass my tests…”

“Hey, it’s not my fault. That hairball’s the one who started it!” the other argues, his arms folded over his chest.

“No way! It wasn’t me!”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable. This school has zero tolerance for blatant tomfoolery. Surely you’re all aware…” He pauses to look at Grim. “And you! You’re not even a student here! Just what are you doing, trespassing on school property?”

Grim flounders dizzily. “Spinning…”

“He’s my roommate.” All eyes flick towards you. “I’m letting him stay for now. Sorry if that breaks any rules. I just don’t believe in turning others away, even if they’re prone to causing trouble.”

“What a noble soul,” Crowley murmurs, impressed. “Well, if that’s the case, seeing as he’s nothing more than a talking pet cat—”

“I ain’t a pet or a cat!”

“I’m afraid my previous statement still remains in place. He’s not to be on school grounds.”

“You heard the Headmage. No school for you.”

But Grim’s already lying flat on the floor like a defeated pancake.

“Then what about us? That hairball can’t get the easy way out and leave us with the worst of it!”

“There’s a way to fix this, isn’t there?”

“Y-Yeah! Can’t you just use magic to fix it right up? It’ll be good as new. Someone with your skill should be able to do it.”

Crowley shakes his head, mournful. “Magic is not limitless. Not only that, but the magestone powering this great chandelier is cracked. And those are not so easily replaced. I fear this is the final day this miraculous chandelier will ever grace this grand hall with its light.”

The ginger-haired student grimaces. “Not good…”

The other withers. “Expelled… What am I going to do? I can’t go back home with this news!”

A magestone… That’s what Grim needs. You glance at the one set into the chandelier. A ghastly crack runs up the surface. Are they really that special?

Before both can succumb to their melancholy, Crowley says, “There is one way! Possibly…”

“Really? What is it?” they say at once, eyes bulging with hope.

“This very magestone was mined from the Dwarfs’ Mine. Perhaps, should you procure one of similar qualities, the chandelier can be repaired.”

“Then… Okay! I’ll get a magestone! As long as it’s all right with you, sir.”

“Ah, but the mines have been closed for some time. I reckon the magestones are all but gone.”

“I’m sure I can find one. Please, sir, I’ll do anything to stay here!”

Crowley seems to consider this. Eventually, he nods his approval. “I’m willing to postpone your expulsion for now.” The navy-haired student’s relief is short-lived when he adds, “However, if you fail to bring a magestone to me by the first rays of the morning sun, it will be expulsion for the both of you. No further exceptions.”

With a hasty nod, he says, “Of course! I understand! Thank you so much for the second chance. I won’t let you down!”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”

You gather an unconscious Grim in your arms while Crowley instructs the students on how to access the mine. They stride off with different degrees of enthusiasm. You open your mouth to ask permission, but Crowley beats you to it.

“Please do accompany them. I trust you’re responsible enough to handle any trouble?”

“If you raise my pay, I’ll do anything.”

He clutches his chest. “Your proclivity to bargain strikes through to my very soul! Ah, but since I am the kindest Headmage I shall grant your request.”

With a satisfied grin, you hold Grim tighter and run off after the pair. “Thanks again, Headmage!”

You follow them all the way to the Mirror Chamber. It’s just as imposing as you recall, but there’s a serene quality to the space that wasn’t there before. Maybe it’s because you’re here willingly and there isn’t an audience to witness your poorly timed debut.

You approach both of them. “Hey! Sorry to bother, but could I join you?”

They turn to look at you. Grim shifts in your arms, groaning.

“I don’t see why not. Welcome to the team,” the navy-haired student says with an awkward smile.

“Might as well. More people means a faster chance at finding that magestone.” He points at Grim next. “And he better be coming, too.”

“That’s the plan. I’ll make sure he won’t cause any problems for you.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Today’s just not my day. What bad luck…”

“No time to sulk. We’ve gotta get that magestone,” the other says, turning towards the mirror. “Dark Mirror, the Dwarfs’ Mine!”

Grim jerks awake then. “Myaah?! Where am I? What’s goin’ on?”

You hold onto him tightly, preventing him from squirming out of your arms. “Relax. You’ll be fine. I think.”

“What d’ya mean by that?!”

The Dark Mirror brightens with life. There’s a blinding flash of light and then, just like that, you’re taken to the mine’s entrance.

Magestone, here we come!

[windienine]

the best game of 2024 was an hour-long visual novel demo, and i can't tell you how it ends

attack and dethrone god.

okay. oh my god. soul of sovereignty by ggdg (of lady of the shard & deltarune fame) is discounted for only a few more days, so i need to get this one out while the iron's hot.

so: i'm inviting you along on another journey. we're following a polite gentleman of the wizardly inclination (loïc) who is approached by a sickly woman in dire need (ysmé). all she requests, in her plea, is an escort to guide her to the nearby temple. his decision to support her may turn out to be the most important choice he ever makes.

... have you ever enjoyed the kind of narrative that traps two people with heavily contrasting motives and personalities together in an unbreakable contract? do you like stories of absolute devotion?

i could look at this shot forever ngl

... are you compelled by immersive speculative fantasy worlds where the use and study of magic heavily influences the rhythm of people's day-to-day lives?

(really intriguing magical linguistics system going on here)

... do you ever promise too much of yourself to others, sometimes, even when it's a bad idea?

... if it was possible -- if you could -- would you abandon your humanity for the power to change your world forever?

and, whatever you may feel in your heart about the above...

do you want to see behind the eyes of a hot trans girl as she bullshits her way into a truly volatile level of power and influence and gets everything she wants?

(+ her pet dilf lovely assistant)

if even one of these elicited a "yes," i think you'll love this story.

i'll go out of a limb:

i think, if you open up your heart, you'll find yourself falling for both of the leads. It's a game that really wants you to look at it from every angle, take it apart, and ask questions about loïc, ysmé, their stories, and what they believe to be true about the world and one another. subtext -- especially the charged subtext this story throws at you and hopes you'll piece together -- is a beautiful thing.

the number of talksprites in this demo is kind of staggering

the jrpg-inspired world of the mosaic and its surroundings is as vibrant as it is profoundly lonely, color folded into every facet of its character as you move through it. appropriately, it's really invested in a lot of questions that arise not just from high fantasy as a genre, but from the modern fantasy sensibilities of jrpgs and the interrogation of what divinity even means in a world where the gods are forces you can interact with and draw power from, however indirectly.

what can i even say? that gg and toby fox's collab score for the prelude is downright heavenly and made it onto my work playlist right alongside the deltarune ost the day it came out on bandcamp? that gg's art, especially their use of light, conveys every scene with vivid beauty?

i wouldn't be posting so much of it if i didn't want to eat every CG. oh my god. he's so pretty. it's not even fair

beyond all of that, i think the game's main resonance point with people is that gg's writing is genuinely thoughtful. they use art detail and deft character writing to convey everything about the leads, using the limited time you get with it to paint layers and layers of information on who these people are and why they make the decisions they do. soulsov's roughly an-hour-and-change of text, expressive talksprites, and lush CGs is infused with so much heart and so much horror and so much intrigue that it leaves you feeling like you're a part of this world, carried along for the ride right alongside the two leads. gg clearly really adores these two, and that level of passion makes everything loïc and ysmé do shine even brighter. in spite of (or perhaps because of) all their friction and flaws, they're easy to love.

(it's really fun to read aloud as a script, too! ysmé's a hoot.)

i hope you experience it with high expectations and an open heart. i don't think it will disappoint. it is, perhaps, just a little bit magical.

i hope you see it through to the end!

[scribe-of-hael]

I wanna say that I don't hate Megatron in ES, in fact I love him very dearly. He is the very reason I got back into TF all these years later. A GOOD Megatron, a character I had only seen as evil or bad being good was a concept so powerful that I got sucked back in.

Then learning about IDW Megatron, only sealed just how complicated a simple Veil of a bad guy, had such depth and layers.

I think a Twitter post put it very simply.

"Can a tyrant who killed millions atone for his sins? The answer is no. But he should try anyway."

I think if we ever got a look at ES Megs (which we won't) for him and Star to talk. He can't undo the damage he is done. He acknowledges what he has done. He is still a damaged person who I wanted to see try, fail but KEEP TRYING.

Much like how Starscream isn't just selfish, he more than just a traitor ,he is a perosn who beyond these simple facets that people have come to beleive him to be.

Much like Megatron is much more than being the leader of a the cons who was brutal. He clearly cares for Dorothy, willing to work with Optimus, wants to teach the youth what happened so its not repeated.

ES megs is one that caught himself earlier than most, but still did alot of damage.

No one has to forgive him. But I want to see him still strive for what he originally wanted.

[dragonagecompanions]

hello, this is my first request :) unsure if your still taking requests but I was wondering how the companions (maybe romanced maybe not) would react to finding out the Inquisitor has a dead kid? I think the only way the party would find out is in the fade via the fear demon, and then maybe the advisors find out on their own ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠∵⁠ ⁠)⁠┌

idk but I would be truly honored to see you answer this request, and even if not than thank you for reading over it <33

- 🍡

WARNINGS For CHILD LOSS YOI HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra: When the fear demon, gleeful in it’s telling of their leader’s loss, reveals the truth the Seeker is…well, there are no words. Forcibly she is reminded of how they swayed, pale and weeping, when she had said there were no other survivors. Guilt churns low and deep at her own words, a year and more gone now, throwing that fact in their face as accusation. Throwing such a loss in their face and then demanding answers.

Throwing a calling at their feet and demanding leadership, never knowing what a loss they struggled through.

She fights all the harder for them, as if every enemy batted away from them is attempted absolution. Cassandra Pentaghast thought she understood grief in all its facets, but what does the loss of older brother and parents- expected losses if come too soon- stand before the loss of a child? Maker, how do they still breathe through it?

When they are free of the fade, she approaches only to offer apology. If they wish to speak of their loss she will listen, but only then. She has forced enough from them.

Varric: Shit. Just…shit. Here he is, going on for months about how this story is bad for heroes and how the Inquisitor is the main character and blathering on, and never saw it. Never saw the aching grief, because it was never shown. The only example he has, or is at least intimately familiar with, is Leandra Hawk and his own mother.

And as the Inquisitor had never fallen into drink or taken to blaming whoever was closest to them for things outside of anyone’s control there had been no sign for Varric to catch on to. And it makes him feel…almost dirty. Stained with his own intentions, blithely going on while their leader had lost their kid.

He doesn’t bring it up to them, doesn’t know how, but Skyhold’s resident author is absolutely the own who tells Josephine as soon as they tumble out of the fade. That raven missive is a short and brutal telling, far from his normal goings on, and his guilt is manifold in it.

Solas: The Dread Wolf is not so unattached from the world as to not consider the losses suffered at the conclave, but for the most part -when he did turn his mind to them- they were mostly academic. A balance of power, and the loss of so many leaders among both chantry and mages a destabilizing force for his future efforts. Numbers laid cooly on a chart, beads on an abacus. The fortunes of war laid bare.

But more than one parent lost a child in that terrible moment, and siblings mourned. Children bereft, friends torn asunder, lovers left to weep alone for their loves. Listening to the fear demon enumerate the inquisitor’s loss magnifies the enormity of what happened, and though he will undoubtedly be the source of much worse for a moment the Dread Wolf cannot breathe.

It passes, of course, and when they leave the fade the rift mage dies his best not to carry those emotions out with him. This world is not to blame for his actions, for the destruction of his world, but he must restore it and so they must bear the cost. It is not fair to them, and it will be long months until he can be east about his plans.

In the interim, he dares to approach the inquisitor only once about their loss. He is there as a listening ear in the silence of his rotunda if they wish to speak of their sorrow. Or if they wish only a silent companion, he will direct the kindest spirits he can find to guard their dreams and remain at their side as long as he can.

Blackwall: Maker forbid. For a moment Skyhold’s would be warden is swamped by the images of Callier’s children, dead under tiny shrouds beside the ruined carriage at his command. Too many children fall victim to the machinations of their elders and with none to protect them from the fall out, but for all that most of Blackwall’s experience has been from the other side.

Being confronted with the parent who had lost a child, confronted with the knowledge that they had told none of them and had suffered under the burden alone was staggering. Damn it, they had all laid burdens at the Inquisitor’s feet and expected answers, demanded decisions and leadership in a word gone mad— and none had known what they had lost.

He doesn’t know what to say or how to act and instead channels everything into the fight to flee the fade. Rainier would be too much the coward to speak to their leader in the aftermath, but Blackwall- older and hopefully wiser from his own griefs- will offer quiet condolences and whatever aid he can. If they need to speak of it be will listen. And if not there is soft wood and chisel enough to grind out any feelings if that is what they need.

Vivienne: Children had never been in her destiny. As a mage, even one so elevated as to be all but free of the constraints of the circle, motherhood was forbidden to her. Any child of her womb would be sacrificed to the Chantry, given to a family deemed ‘more worthy’ to raise it.

And as a mistress, no matter how deeply the love between them bloomed, Bastian could never have given her such a blessing. He had children— an illegitimate child, and a mage child at that, would have been too great a weapon against him.

And so she had put it out of her mind, never allowed herself to consider or imagine what a son might look like, how a daughter might smile. To think of it would be a loss too great to contemplate—or so she had thought. Met with the active loss and overwhelming grief that their leader must feel, Madame de Fer is suddenly glad not to know how such a burden might rest on her soul.

Could she be so calm a leader as the Inquisitor, while bleeding out inside? Vivienne does not know, and that…well, terrifies her in a way little has. But she is not called iron for nothing, and so when all is calm again she will go the Herald and ask simply and plainly what she might do for them. If the answer is nothing she will abide by it. And if there is something that might in any way assuage their grief then she will ensure they have it.

Dorian: Well, that at least explains the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristically violent outburst, when Halward Pavus had made his way to Ferelden. Upon hearing the possible consequences of the blood magic ritual the Inquisitor had laid into the Magister, flaying with words when they could not use violence. Even the Pavus paterfamilias had seemed shaken by the diatribe, and Dorian had felt championed.

He is not so shallow as to feel betrayed by the knowledge of what terrible grief must have driven such an impassioned defamation of character, but can instead only ache for his friend’s loss. They must have been a wonderful parent, and in a quiet time later will gather his courage to tell them so.

Sera: It doesn’t really register in the moment, so great is her own fear of the Fade and it’s denizens, but later it will simply break the Red Jenny’s heart. Their leader lost a true little one, and still managed to bring themselves to protect the rest of the little people no matter their age.

Like Blackwall she will either offer distraction or uncharacteristic silence in comfort, baked goods an offering that feels too…personal for such a gaping loss. But her admiration for them grows exponentially.

The Iron Bull: Public, corporate grief is rare among the Qun. Not forbidden, exactly, but when everyone is given a role it also implies that every person is inherently replaceable in that role. As Koslun said, the tide rises and falls and things must work forward toward peace.

But the death of a child is different. Whether disease or violence or simple accident, losing an imereki is a tragedy. The Tamassran mourns, the others in their care mourn, and all those in the sphere of the lost one are permitted some little allowance for the loss. Things cannot grind to a halt- this is why parents are separated from children, to ensure the deep emotional bonds that are anathema to the Qun- but there is not simple acceptance without acknowledgement of the loss.

Not even that was given to the Inquisitor. It’s east to see the shock of the others even through his own fear, and the knowledge infuriates Bull enough to get him through the Fade. Their leader lost a child, and no one was there for them. Instead piled on the whole world and its imminent loss on their shoulders. It’s disgraceful.

Later, when Adamant is pacified and they return to Skyhold, he will pull them aside. It will be painful and it will be slow, and whether they need alcohol or pain or even the clinical breakdown that bondage and sex can only give-with their explicit consent- he will help them bleed the pain and begin the grieving process.

Cole: The pain was too big for him to help, the threads caught up in pain and joy and guilt and anger and terrible despair. He didn’t even have the words to describe it to others, and so had kept silent.

If they need him later he will help, but this loss is too big for a spirit unsure of how to act.

Cullen: Maker’s breathe. How could they…why did they not…Damn it, how could he not realize?! He had all but thrust the entire inquisition on a parent who had been robbed the chance to even bury their child, let alone mourn them.

Varric’s report rocks him to the core, and the commander in truth does not know what to do. If the rest of the inner circle has it well in hand he will simply work to make sure their leader has less in their plate. If they wish to discuss it with them, he is there and if not…

He hardly has the words anyway.

Josephine: She weeps over the missive, when it arrives. Their inquisitor has been hiding the worst of loses from them, putting on such a brave face to do so much. Like Cullen she works to make sure they have less to do when they return, but does pull them aside briefly to awkwardly hug them and ask if they want a memorial somewhere private in Skyhold.

Leliana: She knew. She knew from only a few days after, when her spies brought her everything there was on the Herald. And even The Nightingales Heart could ache for such a loss, but Leliana took her queues from the Herald and simply never discussed it. That does not change now— she will follow their lead.

Mod Fereldone

[river-in-the-woods]

i have a similar situation - i'm struggling to make my own correspondences, and i'm trying to draw from my pagan practices as well as my ancestral asian practice. i'm having a bit of difficulty with systematically going through a small dictionary, but maybe this can provide some ideas (and of course, if you have any critiques, i'm totally open to that as well!)

I usually just pick up any reference book and choose whatever I like the sound of and can get my hands on. I have a copy of The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by J.M. Greer which I use a lot because it has minimal tangential waffle and is neatly laid out. I like Llewellyn's Charms, Spells and Formulas for the same reason.

For culturally relevant things, I like chinasage which has a symbol index of various flora and fauna. I'm not aware of similar resources for other parts of East Asia, apologies.

While I do think that different materials are endowed with particular virtues, I also think this is another area of magic where people get a little obsessed with categorisation.

It's not like Pokemon where lavender has +10 sleep magic points and chamomile has +12, or roses are exclusively for love and attraction and black pepper is only for cursing and banishing, and so on... It's a little more like cooking where there are many possibilities of creating a satisfying meal and yet it still depends on the individual tastes of who's partaking in it.

Cypress, yew and asphodel are strongly associated with the underworld; mugwort and wormwood are associated with night-time and dreams, but these plants will still die without the light of day. Sunflowers and oranges are very solar, but they still have roots that reach into the earth to anchor them. Chilli peppers are incredibly fiery, but they still die without water. Yarrow is for youth, love and beauty, except when you're allergic to it.

Every herb is a herb for protection, and wealth, and attraction, and fertility, and banishing – and so on, because every plant has its own strategy to survive, thrive and proliferate.

(And that's just plants, not even touching on the properties of minerals, animals, elements, colours and so on.)

They do have their specialisations, yes, and I wouldn't use mint to call on the element of fire, nor would I use coffee beans in a sleep spell... What I'm trying to say is: they're all multi-faceted, so set aside the reference books now and then, and just observe and make connections intuitively.

Reference books might tell you that basil or cinnamon or citrus (or whatever) have wealth-drawing properties.

But grass, plain old common grass, completely dominates the greenery of the earth. Crops like rice, wheat, barley and corn are staple foods that support the world's population. And dandelions, with their solar and ouranic qualities and how quickly they proliferate across an open field, are oft overlooked.

These never get listed in books, yet their literal and symbolic powers are undeniable.

Put these – grass seeds, rice grains and dandelion seeds – into a wealth working with a simple prayer. "Bless me with as much wealth as there are blades of grass on this earth, as there are grains of rice that sustain humanity, as there are dandelion seeds that fill the air in spring."

Correspondences are only part of what makes magic work. There's also your own ability and experience, the spirits you call and the relationship you have with them... I strongly favour the relationship part because reference books become less and less important, when you can just ask and the spirits will tell you what to use. Or even better when you don't have to do a spell at all, because you have spirits to take care of it in exchange for some cake.

It took me a long time to open myself up to receiving that kind of inspiration, but... honestly, don't overthink it. You know a lot of correspondences already because you interact with the world every day.

Good luck 🌿

[see-arcane]

Oof augh argh my heart

Once again @re-dracula is proving to be THE only Dracula adaptation to do this story and its characters justice

The horror-sting in discovering not only that Dracula is trying to erase his tracks, but that it now has a body count (RIP to his agent)

The exuberance of Mina in Isabel Adomakoh Young's voice as she marches head-on into connecting the vital dots to realize where Dracula is and how to track him--and the ultimate chokehold on her courage and love as she must ultimately part ways with Jonathan for the final rush of the chase

The lacing of audio-action under Van Helsing's dialogue as he dishes out his last group-rousing speech where they're all together

The sharper dramatic tone under Jonathan's words as Ben Galpin finally, finally gets to give full heart-tearing voice to that brief but electric rant at--with biting emphasis--Professor van Helsing--about the danger he means to drag Mina into unexcused and unexplained, hammering home the reminder of what all there is to worry for in the future...

On the heels of that, Galpin and the soundscape design managed to bring new ominous life into something I had previously only half-noticed before:

"Do as you will," said Jonathan, with a sob that shook him all over, "we are in the hands of God!"

[...]

My only comfort is that we are in the hands of God. Only for that faith it would be easier to die than to live, and so be quit of all the trouble.

I never thought of those lines being delivered with such a subtle but disquieting pitch of despair rather than hope. As if the speaker very much does have faith in God, but he only knows so from God's proven fallibility--and knows that same fickle Power is the one carelessly juggling all their fates.

And that ending handful of lines, delivered with such a quiet crushing weight of the eerie:

It is a wild adventure we are on. Here, as we are rushing along through the darkness, with the cold from the river seeming to rise up and strike us; with all the mysterious voices of the night around us, it all comes home. We seem to be drifting into unknown places and unknown ways; into a whole world of dark and dreadful things. Godalming is shutting the furnace door....

The way it's directed, the way it's voiced, the way it's all couched in the sort of cinematic beat of hush before the characters walk blindfolded into some fresh Hell, it all seems to turn over some mental stone in my head to reveal I've been walking past gold with each re-read of the novel.

Just

wow

Wow wow wow this podcast

It makes such a difference. There's so much more flavor and so many more facets in how Re: Dracula delivers the story beyond any mere audiobook, and worlds beyond any adaptation I've ever sat through. A million thank yous to the cast and crew.

Gonna go re-listen again

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 20.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: Slight angst. Alcohol.

Tag List: @his-mochi-cheeks

Links: Can I Stay: Masterlist

You looked like a jewel.

You’d been to the salon for hair and makeup; had been to the spa for a waxing and skin treatment. You’d had everything that could be plucked and everything that could be massaged, filed, shaped and painted and the moment you pulled up the sparkly flesh colored, curve hugging, mini dress up over you hips, slipped the nude colored straps over your shoulders and reached just behind you to zip up the hidden zipper and turned to look over your own surprising reflection in your floor length mirror you gave yourself a tiny spin in place.

The dress sparkled like facets of a diamond even in your sparsely lit bedroom. The slight sparkling fringe moved when you moved and where the delicate pattern of the sparkles stopped, the dress gave the illusion of showing a lot more skin than it did; thanks to the fact that it seemed to blend in with your skin tone perfectly. There were some places in which the illusion broke; such as the high slit that crept up so high on your smooth bare thigh or on either side of your breasts where whatever bits of covering fabric simply stopped existing and the slightest glimpse of skin outlined the curves of your body.

The dress was sexy. It looked good on you and you felt beautiful, desirable, and powerful in it.

You bought it a few months ago. You’d happened upon this particular number in a boutique and hadn’t ever planned on spending this much on a dress at the time but when you’d held the dress up to yourself; shrugged and thought what’s the worst that could happen if you just tried it on, well…

Turns out, the worst that could happen was if it you as if it were made exclusively for you and you fell absolutely in love with every sparkly bit that curved over your hips, and hugged tightly around your waist; despite the fact that it was actually much more money than you’d ever wanted to spend on a single garment for one night; and was actually much sexier of a look than you thought you had a right to pull off at the time. What with being single and alone and undesired and the last thing you wanted was the purely animalistic looks you’d recognize in many of the men’s eyes; muted only by the scrutiny of the women around you who leaned toward bitchy and jealous when presented with a woman who wore such a sexy look with confidence and power around them.

You were beyond giving a damn anymore. At least when it comes to anyone who might have anything negative to say about you.

You left your neck bare; the dress was distracting and the cut away sides that gave just enough side boob with the way it landed below your arms and the delicately low cut neckline, you didn’t think you needed to draw any more attention below your neck. Instead you opted only to wear some delicate dangly earrings that might occasionally distract the occasional wandering eyes should they find themselves so inclined to look.

One item though; one very distracting and obvious item had you second guessing.

The diamond engagement ring.

Should you wear it? Something so obvious in its meaning in a place filled with so many people who both had no business knowing the truth and who really shouldn’t know at this point in the game.

You vacillated. Putting it on and taking it off at least three times before you let out the longest sigh and simply moved the ring to your right hand. Maybe you’d get the nerve to move it back when you saw him tonight. Maybe you’d change your mind when his eyes fell down to the empty ring finger of your left hand, then slipped over to catch the sparks that flew and caught his eyes from your right hand and looked back up into your own with whatever flash of disappointment in his eyes hidden so quickly you would question whether you’d seen anything at all.

He would understand. This was work. This was your career. These were your coworkers and this was your professional reputation. Sure, the truth would have to come out eventually, but you were desperate to put a little bit of distance between you being his direct supervisor and him being your soon to be husband.

The ring felt foreign and wrong on your right hand.

You did your best to push the feeling deep down inside of your belly where you could safely ignore it for now.

You hoped for a few things tonight.

That you wouldn’t collapse into a heap of love-sickness when you saw him.

That you could manage to keep yourself from drinking too much alcohol in some weak plan to keep yourself from collapsing into a heap of love-sickness when you saw him.

That Baekhyun would … that he might perhaps, by-chance, maybe you kind of, sort of, you hoped that Baekhyun would fall into a heap of love-sickness when he saw you.

You slinked closer to your front door; making the briefest stop at the entryway table that you kept at the door for one final touch. Something you knew he would very well struggle against when he leaned in close for a harmless and chaste touch of his soft cheek against yours; a hand that might linger on your waist when he came in close for a greeting he would smell the fragrance you sprayed against your neck. He would smell it here when he leaned close to whisper into your ear to ask you something harmless like ‘Would you like another drink, Miss Manager? This is already your second one, will you be okay?’, ‘Did you order the chicken or the fish, Miss Manager?’ or ‘Would you like to dance with me, Miss Manager?’

You felt giddy with anticipation.

All of your team members would be mingling with the other department team members; all of whom had worked tirelessly on this project from the very start. There would even be speeches and acknowledgments of a job well done. Another successful project completed. High ratings would be teased at. The liquor and the beer would flow in a grateful celebration as the wallets of the biggest, fattest cats got bigger and fatter.

Upper level producers, directors, and project executives would likely be on their second or third drinks by now and would start to set their wandering eyes on some of the younger, fresher girls as the alcohol gave them just enough of a push for a flirtatious compliment. Tucked away somewhere within the grand ballroom, one might even catch a glimpse of blond hair adoring a handsome face atop of a pair or strong, broad shoulders that would fill out a designer suit in a way that would surely take anyone’s breath away.

The taxi driver took a turn and you lifted a hand to grab a hold of the grip above the window and your nose caught the scent of your perfume. You were always careful not to overdo it. He might not even notice it until his face came in close to you. Maybe while you were both dancing. Maybe while he sat beside you at the table and leaned down to pick up your napkin that had slipped to the floor by your feet; reaching down at the same moment that you did, your heads nearly colliding.

You had to watch yourself tonight. Maybe three drinks maximum. Maybe three dances maximum. Any more than that was simply too dangerous.

Of course deep down inside you hoped his secret whispered questions wouldn’t all be so very appropriate. In your mind, his questions shifted as you sat in the backseat of the taxi to the hotel where the party was surely well underway by now. You didn’t mind being a bit late to these things. You’d spent the entirety of the year being obsessively dependable and chronically punctual but this was the end. This was the celebration. You could afford to relax now.

The first few times you’d attended, the idea of letting go on a weekday evening felt somewhat forbidden. But this was how they usually scheduled them for the sake of stretching out whatever was left of the budget. The rates were better on a week-night party and you knew the studio could even splurge on an open bar if they planned it well enough. You’d been to enough of these parties to know how they worked. Glitz and glamor, plenty of alcohol, lots of dancing, even more schmoozing. You giggled to yourself recalling the wild rumors and gossip that quickly spread through the last wrap party. It seems that a pair of particularly drunk party goers were caught making out in a darkened corner. It seemed that something scandalous had taken place in a hidden stairwell. Some drunken debauchery led to another pair waking up in the same bed together and at least two walk-of-shames had allegedly been witnessed by some particularly gossip loving members of the group chat that blew up your phone the next morning.

You really, really needed to watch yourself tonight. Absolutely no more than four drinks. A firm and immovable limit you would under no circumstances bend under. Four drinks and spread out thin. Maybe five if they seemed particularly watered down, but that was it. The most, the absolute most dances you would allow with him would be five. And the majority would be fast songs; not all of them slow dances. Not all of them touching each other lightly and carefully as not to sink fingertips too deep into any flesh; in the dimly lit crowded space that felt much more intimate than it had any right to. At least you should keep from staring for too long into the dark brown irises of his eyes. Two, or three, slow dances, max. You would not lose yourself in the embrace of his arms. You would not lean your head over his shoulder as his arms wrapped around your waist and the lyrics grew more romantic over the top of your heads. You would not hold your breath as you strained to listen to the sound of his heart beating inside of his chest over the sound of the music up ahead.

Your imagination quickly ran away from you and you ignored the fact that none of your math seemed to be making any sense right now.

‘Oh really? Was she, Miss Manager? I didn’t notice.’

‘Honestly, I can’t seem to see anyone else but you tonight, Miss Manager.’

‘Miss Manager … I heard that some of the staff just book a room after these parties so they don't have to drive.’

‘Do you think any of them are seeing each other?’

‘Do you think any of them are obsessed with each other?’

‘Do you think any of them are desperate for each other?’

‘Do you think any of them are like us?’

‘Miss Manager …’

‘Noona …’

‘Baby…

‘Should we just go up and get a room?’

You were giggling all alone in the back seat of this taxi. You’d forgotten yourself for long enough for a genuine snort of giggles to escape and you quickly laid a palm over your mouth to somehow catch them and put them back in.

Instinctively your eyes looked toward the cab driver and you caught a split second of eye contact with the man in the rear view mirror before he looked away with an amused grin on his face.

The hotel lobby was opulent and fancy. This was a good one. You dared to guess it was nicer than the last one, but this had been a bigger project with a bigger price tag. You were certain you’d spot an occasional cast member mingling amongst the production staff tonight; doing their due diligence; securing their next big role.

It was a grand event. You could hear the exciting sounds of the crowd inside the moment you stepped up to the foyer doors that would lead to the grand ballroom.

You were so late that it seemed the first episode had already aired. You’d missed the grand unveiling and the credits rolling. You were sure the congratulatory speeches and awards had already been passed out. There were never any such accolades for any one in your field so you didn’t really feel too bad about missing that part. You had entered the open space where larger crowds lingered. Hotel staff passed by with trays of drinks and small bites or held doors for you as you passed through doorways from spaces where people dressed to the nines just as you were, mingled; drank; laughed loudly and freely.

The stress and incredible effort of the past few months was finally let go. Smiles all around were genuine. It felt as if the culmination of a career’s worth of effort had finally amounted to something quite tangible here. The project, like countless you’d worked on in the past, had been a success. Well received by critics, audiences, and sold well to streaming services. Whispers of the next season filtered to your ears and you smiled widely to person after person; all familiar and all just as relieved by the good news as you felt.

They were all familiar in a once or twice introduced or professional acquaintance sort of way. You had yet to come across the members of your team and with as cliquey as things tended to grow after suffering together for so long, you were sure you’d find them in close proximity to each other.

You were sure you’d find another sort of familiar face amongst them. You couldn’t help the drift of your eyes over the heads of the crowds as you searched for that familiar shade of blond hair.

There were a few false alarms. That one was too tall, this one wasn’t even a man.

You heard a gasp that called your focus to your right and you’d at last found some of your team.

“Miss Manager, you look incredible!” Marci covered her open mouth with a palm and her wide eyes drifted over the length of you, her startled reaction pulled your lips into an amused grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” She had a drink in her hands and her eyes had an excited glassiness to them. Already. You giggled when she gripped you tightly around the hand and shook it lightly and you were opening your mouth to refute her claims.

“Nah ~ I always dress up for these events.”

“Like a goddess!” She shouted over the music that had picked up in volume. She was joined by a few other team members and their eyes looked you up and down with the same sort of excited wonder.

“Sandi,” Marci shouted out over your shoulder and you turned your head toward the direction she was looking, “look at how pretty she looks tonight!” Sandi looked upon you with a quiet smile and a knowing expression behind her eyes and before long, Sandi and Marci were soon joined by some of the other girls in your team and you were quickly surrounded by a chorus of oohs and aahs. It seemed you had been just a bit later than you had expected because it was becoming evident that the drinking had been going on for quite some time already. Someone pushed a drink into your hand declaring that you needed to catch up. You were quickly caught up in the excitement and to quiet their noisy cries you raised what you knew was some sort of shot of alcohol and quickly downed it. It burned and tasted bad and someone else shoved a quarter of a lime between your lips. Tequila.

You needed to be more careful. Of all of the liquors that took your rational mind and tossed it quickly out the window, tequila was one of the most dangerous ones.

It was useless though. Everyone was too worked up and much too excited to listen to your polite declinations. This is a party, they all shouted. You’d had another shot of something else; influenced by the excitement that buzzed through them like a flu, spreading from them to you; you were too caught up. Two. You could still keep your wits about you with just two drinks.

Let’s go dance together, someone else urged. You grinned and you pushed your hands forward, promising them that you would join them as soon as you were able to. Just as soon as you made your rounds and said your greetings to your superiors. They gave small groans of disappointment that was quickly forgotten as soon as the next songs began playing in the speakers over their heads. It was a fun and popular pop song and the small group jumped up and down excitedly, abandoning you and your self proclaimed very important managerial duties that still called your name.

And you certainly would greet whoever you happened to run into. Producers and managers from other teams. You nodded politely, shook their hands and gave your sweetest smiles to some of your favorites.

Sophie Choi grabbed you tightly around the shoulders and pulled you in for a warm hug and over her shoulders your eyes scanned the room for any shades of hair that were anything other than black. You’d begun to feel just a little bit desperate the longer you looked and came up empty.

As your eyes searched they met with a pair of eyes that were indeed familiar. You pushed a smile on your lips, making absolutely certain that your expression showed not even a hint of the disappointment you were beginning to feel the longer you searched through in this place and did not find the person you were really looking for.

Ben from the marketing department gave you an almost undetectable double take and his eyes drifted over the length of you before the ultra polite professional smile quickly took over whatever look you might have imagined seeing in his eyes. Perhaps his team had pressured him into having a few more drinks that he had intended to as well. Perhaps that was the reason for the way his focus seemed to linger in places other than your shrewd, business-like eyes and co-worker-appropriate placid smile.

Ben leaned into you with his greeting, a warm hand landing just over your back as he did it. His words spoke into the space where he leaned near your ear. The music was loud, of course, he had to speak up a bit. Despite the unusually close proximity between the two of you and the warm palm that still sat quite high up on your bare shoulder, a part of you marveled at just how little thought you actually gave to anything other than the words coming from his mouth.

He was talking about work. Asking you about this new co-worker who you had sent him. This mystery man who would soon be joining his Marketing Communication team as his newest Marcom Specialist; an impressive sounding title for sure. You gave yourself the smallest internal pat on the back for pulling the necessary strings to sell Ben on such a move for your former assistant. Although it wasn’t as if Baekhyun was any stranger to blatant favoritism in this company, you still felt pretty green when it came to nepotism. Not that it was even needed. The second Ben found out who Baekhyun was, he would have agreed straight away. This man was basically guaranteed to be everyone’s boss one day.

Still, urged by your own guilt, you’d made the deal with plenty of back-end promises to owe Ben big time for this, and knowing the man, he would cash in on those favors as soon as he was met with even the slightest bit of resistance from some of the other managers. After this quick chat with Ben, you felt good about this change.

Ben was now giggling and asking about special treatment the President's son might require; his eyes not even trying to conceal the apprehension that broke through the nervous laughter that he was obviously feeling for agreeing to play host to such a high profile guest. You were quick to refute any such ideas. Your former assistant would be a valuable addition and an asset to his team. At no point in your working with Baekhyun had he ever given any sort of impression that he was even capable of using his birth as a professional advantage. Ben was lucky to have such a talented person working at his side and this was not a decision he would regret.

“I’ll admit I’m still a little bit suspicious of my new charge. But I’ll trust you for now,” he smiled genuinely with his eyes, sated for now.

Ben had always been kind. He had been great in the few instances as you’d had to work with him and he was not unattractive. Although the deeper parts of your brain tended to describe his good looks in rather clinical terms. He looked clean. He looked symmetrical. Conventionally attractive. A safe bet. Perhaps even a little boringly so. The kind of attractive looks that one might have with the occasional medical and orthodontic intervention courtesy of a pair of well-off parents who were probably still securely married to this day.

You couldn’t help the way your mind wandered. You also did very little to stop it. It was probably the alcohol's fault. You had somehow finished another drink. Looking into Ben’s harmless and clean smile you heard a judgemental whisper deep within your subconscious. Comparing this man to the other man who had a death grip on your heart and your soul and your lady parts for good measure. Ben was nice but also felt extremely sterile. Curious judgements of the man slipped in. A man like this, and you’d known a few through the years, but, a man like Ben in the bedroom would not always be a disappointment. But he would not be a triumph either.

With a man like this, a woman might even be satisfied and perhaps thirty percent of the time she might even orgasm. As long as she managed that before fifteen minutes were up of course. A man like this definitely had a time limit.

This was definitely the alcohol speaking.

“Sophie!” A familiar voice interrupted your mind's silly wandering and brought a dark shadow along with it.

You heard his loud abrasive laugh. It sounded fake and forced. The owner of that familiar voice calling for Sophia Choi was lingering close by. It was Sophie’s 1st. The very same man you’d promised your boyfriend you wouldn’t allow yourself an opportunity to spend time alone with. The man who looked you up and down with an unfiltered, animalistic look in his drunken eyes and wagged perfectly manicured eyebrows up and down as his lips pulled into something in between a sneer and a delighted grin.

Chet.

Your eyes rolled and you exhaled a slow breath.

You weren’t too much of a drinker. Occasionally and only in social settings; you rarely let loose too often outside of that. Alcohol wasn’t your first medicine of choice and in situations when others might want to drown their sorrows in something to make the mind far far away from reality; you usually made other self detrimental choices like not eating for a week until you got so dizzy you had to force down a bowl of oatmeal, or on the opposite spectrum downing a quart of ice cream until you felt so full and bloated you had no choice but to wallow in your own self curated misery.

“Chet.” Ben nodded his head, and a single eyebrow danced above his eye, “enjoying the party, I see.” Something in Ben’s tone told you that he didn’t have a very high opinion of the man either.

Chet pulled his eyes up from his blatant and obvious examination of your chest and gave Ben a two second glance with a curt nod before his focus was back on you; thankfully on your face now instead of wherever his lustful eyes had been looking.

“Miss Manager,” you heard Chet tack your name onto the end of your title and the sounds of his words had the sort of inflection that told you he had very much intended to keep talking. “That’s quite a dress. You look … very pretty tonight.”

“Doesn’t she look so pretty, Ben? Like a pretty little princess.” Chet’s words were on the surface directed at Ben but his eyes did not leave you. Although they had drifted from your face again.

“So… I was wondering, Miss Princess—” Chet’s eyes moved slowly back up into your face and the excessive way he drew out the S sounds made his words slither like a snake up the back of your spine.

Ben’s body language had changed with the off-putting new nickname and weirdly confrontational tone Chet somehow felt was appropriate to use with you.

“Whoa. Hey—” Ben had noticeably stiffened and his face pulled into a frown as he lifted a hand, palm facing outward about chest level, calling the other man out audibly for the disrespect.

“Maybe you should slow down on the drinks tonight, Man.” Like any rational person might, Ben attributed Chet’s bad behavior to an alcohol induced slip up. It was an easier conclusion to accept than the realization that maybe Chet was just an asshole who didn’t see women as real people and only showed them basic human decency when delusioned by the chance to fuck them.

Once you’d taken that off the table, Chet no longer had any reason to fake it. This was the real Chet.

His intentions toward you had taken on more transparent and obvious meaning. Had you been completely in your right mind, you might have even sensed a little danger in the darkness you saw in those eyes of his.

But as you stood now, you cared too little about this person. He was insignificant in your life. Let him throw his fit. You were simply not interested in whatever it was he felt he had to say to you and so you allowed your eyes to drift away from both of these men, giving almost no acknowledgement at all to Chet or to his greeting or to whatever the hell he was wondering about. You didn’t even give him the satisfaction of acting offended.

You could blame the loud music for not hearing him. You could blame the alcohol for giving you the nerve to turn your back and walk away from him the way you did. He could blame you for being a cold bitch for all you cared. You’d been clear with him in the past when you told him he wasn’t to speak to you unless absolutely necessary and only for work.

It wasn’t that you liked to hold grudges. It was just that you had seen his true colors already and you simply could not unsee them now.

As you left the two men behind you heard Ben’s attempts at being a rational adult. Their bickering voices quickly faded though when the crowds moved and you saw the familiar shape of a man in a deep blue suit. A man with broad shoulders so significant that you felt a warmth surge deep within your belly when your eyes landed on his back. The effect was instantaneous. It was the sudden blast of a warm shower after being caught in the cold rain. It was the warmth of the summer sunshine hitting your face as the dark clouds parted and heat penetrated every layer of your skin. He was life and happiness and joy and love and the sudden shift within your body nearly gave you whiplash with how complete and instant this transformation that happened inside of you was.

It was him. It was Baekhyun. You knew him in an instant. You’d found him.

He was standing next to your team. You saw Marci, Sandi, Ju Won, Sera, and even Sunny — your newest Assistant. He was laughing with a hand over his mouth; you heard his genuine delight and loud guffaws pierce through the crowds. His back was to you and you dropped your hand that held your empty glass hanging it down by your thigh and you simply took in the sight of him. For just a moment you allowed those feelings to fill you completely. You knew you had to be staring. You knew if someone was paying any attention to you right now they’d know without a doubt how very in love you were with this man.

The suit was fitted. Cinched at the waist and it looked designer, of course and very expensive. He filled it out very well. You could make out the strength in his back, the biceps in his arms. The plushness of his thighs below where the jacket ended. The knowledge that this man was yours bubbled up inside of your chest and you had to lift your fingertips to lightly touch over the heat you felt in your face, begging some of the flushness you felt to dissipate.

Earlier as you wandered around this busy place, greeting people you knew on a surface level it all felt very performative. You would push up your smile wide and believable. You would use your kindest and sweetest voice to speak out many compliments and it felt like work.

This though — standing here and looking at this man. The smile you felt was real. I took no effort. It took more effort to blank out your face and pretend like you weren’t looking at your person; the one that felt like home to you.

Only something was very different. The hair. His hair. No wonder you couldn’t find him earlier; you’d been searching for blond hair. He had done something new.

His hair was brown now. It looked like rich honey or dark caramel in this lighting. It was coiffed and styled up by an expert’s hand and when he turned you caught the sight of his profile. The contrast between the dark hair and his light skin, the slight pink of his cheeks and his pouty lips as he spoke; the dark eyebrows and pretty black of his eyelashes and the specks of the tiny moles on his lovely face — all of it; all of him — you were reeling. You felt frozen. You hadn't been prepared for such a drastic change. He should have told you first. He should have sent you a picture so you could get your reaction ready.

He hadn’t told you that he was going to change his hair color. Although he seemed to change it so often you really should have prepared yourself for the possibility of such a thing but everything about this felt so different.

Still the suddenness of this; the impact of how shockingly beautiful he looked with this particular up-style in this particular shade of caramel; your mind was spinning and you were having a moment in the middle of this crowded party too stunned to take another step.

You caught the moment when Sandi noticed you and she reached out a hand to touch lightly on Baekhyun’s forearm; catching his attention easily, her eyes bounced pointedly to where you stood like a statue glued to the floor behind him.

Baekhyun followed. First with his eyes and then he turned his head before he spun halfway around and he looked into your face; his eyes landing first into your own stunned ones.

The smile he had from the lively chat sank, flattened and vanished when he saw you. His eyes had a drift to them. Those deep brown irises took you in. It was an achingly slow journey from your face where his brown eyes had first sunk in with a splash. But their flighty focus slid down to the bare skin of your neck and your chest. They took their time at the deep plunge of the neckline and the peek of cleavage this dress displayed; no doubt triggering flashes of memories of his mouth and the bite marks he’d left all over your breasts that the sheer swirls of this fabric concealed. The drift of him moved again; lower and lower until you felt thoroughly consumed and had by him. He absorbed you — all of you. He did it slowly and he savored it.

This look from him, this reaction left you dumbfounded; even more so than seeing him standing there looking exactly as he should on your wedding day complete with the hair, the slight eye makeup his stylist had put on him that accentuated his beauty, the expertly fit suit in the exact shade of navy blue satin that complimented him so well and made him stand out like a goddamned god amongst mortals. That he could so affect you in absolute silence; without a word, without a single touch, with only the look in his eyes, was a wonder.

In addition to the new and sudden warmth that built up under the surface of your skin you also felt a rush of power. You very much enjoyed this feeling. This dress in all of its sparkly, curve hugging and teasingly enticing glory from the beginning to where it abruptly ended, so high up on your thighs, it just might have been worth the hefty price tag afterall. Just for this reaction from him.

You wondered at that moment if he’d dressed up for you just as you had done for him.

His eyes had made it down. His gaze was faltering and he was pushing through it. Halfway through the journey back up to once again meet your waiting eyes and now, victorious smile, his parted lips tensed and he snapped his jaw up tight with a visible clench of the muscles on his face and his chest rose with the sudden intake of air through his nose. Then he bit down on his bottom lip, furrowed his eyebrows and he pushed his eyes forcefully away from you; he looked off somewhere else; anywhere else; eyes completely devoid of any focus as he exhaled a purposefully stunted and restrained breath through his parted lips.

You knew you had to do the same. You had to blank out your expression and get rid of the lustful look in your eyes. You had to put on the falsely confident, bright as sunshine smile that did not betray any of your true feelings.

It took some doing. It took a deep breath, quite similar to the one he’d drawn into his lungs just now and you also had to look at something that was not him.

You chose the floor right in front of your feet. You shook your head a tiny bit to rid yourself of whatever leftover bits of haze might still be floating around inside of there and you forced your feet to move.

It was only two or three steps to join the group and you slipped into an empty space between Sunny and Baekhyun, looking at the other friendly faces first before you dared to look head-on into his face from this close.

There were greetings of course. Your eyes danced around the small circle quite quickly and by the time you had taken as many deep and steadying breaths of air you were going to get, you looked up into his face with an absolutely passive and non-sexually charged smile on your face.

“Assistant Byun,” you said with a tick of your face in his direction. He hadn’t been looking at you either. When you spoke his name, you saw him lick his lips, close his eyes tightly once and quickly replace the tension in his jaw with a small smile before he turned his attention to you. Your words were light and you let the surprise out of your voice as casually as you could, “you changed your hair?”

“Or I guess it’s Specialist Byun now, isn’t it?” A single eyebrow danced over one of your eyes and you ticked your head a tiny bit. His focus shifted down and as he caught the movement a look of alarm flew across his face. Those pink pouty lips parted. You watched from up close, the tiny gasp he took the moment you lifted a hand and rolled several strands of this new hair of his between your fingertips and your thumb; resisting the urge to sink your hand in deep and run your fingers through his hair; scraping the warmth of his scalp lightly with your fingernails; eliciting that low throaty moan that you knew would escape from deep within his chest when you did it.

Instead you just smiled wider, dropped your hand without even letting the pads of your fingers run down the smooth warmth of his pretty face, you just dropped your hand down, gripping the stem of this empty wine glass instead of touching any other part of his body.

“I love it like this,” you said softly with affection written all over your voice, “looks so good on you—” you added with a sudden halt at the end of your words as you realized you’d just said all of that with honey dripping off of your tongue, directing genuine compliments toward the man in the presence of at least half of your entire team. The effects of your sudden, easy, and completely out-of-character declarations left him as shell-shocked as you felt on the inside.

“Miss Manager … I’ve never seen you like this. You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” Sandi interjected loudly from the other side of where Baekhyun stood frozen; an amused smile on her face and her eyes wide with a purposeful look that went deeper than others could catch on to.

“I also went to the salon, don’t you love my hair too?” Her lips pulled into a dramatic pout and you smiled wider, understanding that she was saving your ass right now. You leaned into it. Feeling every bit of the warmth of those alcohol shots coursing through your veins you closed the distance between you and this wonderful woman as you gripped both sides of her head with your hands and leaned in closely with a wide smile. You leaned your forehead into hers, unspoken messages of thanks written all over your eyes.

“You look so beautiful. I love it! It’s absolutely stunning!” You declared and the delighted giggles left your chest mingled and mixed with the cadence of the rest of the group's laughter. “And I am, maybe, a tiny bit drunk right now.”

“Oh she has been drinking,” you heard several relieved voices justifying your odd behavior just now. “Well — yeah, it is a party.”

“I thought he was going to faint just now.”

“I know, right. She doesn’t know the power she has over him. Poor guy didn't know what to do.” Their words were whispered in hushed asides between casual members of this small group, but you still caught them. Perhaps Baekhyun’s crush on you had only ever been a secret to you. You must have been the blindest, dimmest, worst work-aholic ever.

Marci was your next target. She was already laughing when you poked an index finger into her cheek, calling her cute as a button. Your hand was off of Sandi and you wrapped one around each of the girls shoulders and declared them both to be the most beautiful women in the room as you urged them both to join you on the dance floor. The music had picked up and more and more people had ventured out to get lost in the crowds and move their bodies to the beat of the music.

You danced and danced. Song after song played and you found yourself completely lost in this unfiltered joy; with so many of your favorite people cheering and laughing and dancing along with you. There was more alcohol that simply appeared and try as you might, you were no match for this kind of pressure.

You’d lost count.

Oh no.

You’d lost count of them.

Still, somehow you could always feel the warm arm of your Sandi by your side. She was strong, but you’d found your way to the edge of the dance floor, peering out toward the tables where a handsome man in a navy blue suit was giggling and laughing with some other men. That same handsome man was throwing back a shot of something, he was making a face and pulling a green lime out from in between his teeth and licking his lips and oh, his eyes, his eyes were darting from the faces of his friends into your own eyes again and again. He was pulling you into him.

“I’m going to dance with him,” you said abruptly to the group of women beside you. Several faces leaned in, unable to hear you over the loud music and you repeated with an evident slur in your voice, “Him. I want to dance with him. Bring him to me. I want him.” You pointed a finger toward Baekhyun and the women were all giggling. One of them was off, rushing toward where he leaned against his table resting his hands joined together over his thighs and she was leaning in close, her hand shielding her mouth as she whispered something into his ear.

His smile was wide and breathtaking. He was grinning. You’d never experienced Baekhyun in any state of intoxication before but his cheeks were pink and he was giggling as he stood up straight, pulled his suit jacket down and smoothed it over with the palms of his hands and allowed himself to be dragged by the sleeve for several feet until he was standing before you within touching distance.

You felt the palm of his hand land over your waist and you smelled the deliciousness of his cologne before you felt the heat of his cheek land over yours. He whispered into your ear.

“I heard — —- —?” A particularly loud song started. This took more than a whisper. You reached a hand up and gripped around the back of his neck, pulling his head down so you could speak loudly into his ear.

“What?” Was all you said. Less than classy and less than romantic. It had him laughing and he closed his eyes tighter as he did it. A small head shake from him preceded the tightening of his arm’s grip around your waist and he gave a rough tug. You stumbled into him and with his other hand, he reached for your face.

You felt unprepared for this. His touch. His touch here, in this place. All of these people. The stiffness you felt all over his body and the way he smelled. How much could you get away with blaming on the alcohol? That hand that touched your face reached for you, slipping around to the back of your neck, he dipped into you. With the entire length of your bodies touching you felt the hot breath from his mouth fan out over your ear and you heard the low rumble from his throat as he growled out the words for you to hear.

“You. Want. Me.”

What was he saying?

What was he doing to you in front of all of these people by saying such a thing to you in the way that he said it?

“To dance,” you shouted over the music, quite loudly, not just for him but for anyone else who might have been watching you.

Baekhyun was laughing again. Loudly. It shook his entire body and you along with it.

“That’s what I meant, silly girl.” He was pushing you deeper into the dance floor with his hands still around your waist, he simply walked forward and you were forced to step back; stumbling a few times without knowing where you were going until the tightness with which he held you around the waist grew stronger and stiffer and his body heat built as his muscles flexed. You were no longer relying on your own feet. You were being carried by these strong arms. He lifted you as he moved. The room was spinning and oh no, what if someone saw?

What if someone noticed the obvious ease and intimate familiarity with which this man handled your body?

You were deposited. The song had changed again. It was, thankfully, another lively quick tempoed pop song; one you liked quite a lot. You found the rhythm easily with his arms around you. He led you around, his eyes boring deep within yours, pushing you out with strong arms and pulling you back.

You followed where he sent you and you found yourself finally giving in. Giggling and squealing when you were spun around in a dizzying circle before you were once again caught in those arms and then, much to your absolute terror, dipped down, frighteningly fast, you were looking straight up into the strings of lights that decorated the ceiling and clawing into the fabric over his strong shoulders; holding on for dear life. Before you were dropped flat on your back in an embarrassing heap, you found the gravity had changed very suddenly and you were back on your feet with this man biting down very hard on his own lip to keep from doing something stupid like leaning in to kiss the red hot embarrassment from the surface of your cheeks.

Baekhyun was a good dancer. He made your dancing seem that much better by comparison, but really, you were simply being dragged around by someone who seemed to know exactly what he was doing. You weren’t awful. You had the basics down and easily found your footing; moving easily to the beat again and again whenever he relinquished a little bit of control over to you. You were lost in this. You never, ever wanted this to end. Devastatingly though, it did.

You were genuinely surprised and even pouting quite visibly when the song ended. It was too quick. If dancing with him was your excuse to touch him and to be held by him tonight then you wanted to dance with him for the rest of the evening.

The song had ended and you stood with both of his arms wrapped around your waist and the rhythm of his heavy breathing matched yours perfectly. You found yourself staring at his parted lips, watching the movement in them as he breathed; glimpsing the tip of his tongue that lightly touched the underside of his front teeth.

“I told you —” you heard the softest whisper from him. The words from him, desperate and careful, piled up slowly one by one inside of your head, “I might not behave myself if you looked too pretty—”

He squeezed his eyes shut and you recognized that the tightness in his arms did not let up.

“How dare you show up in this dress — how dare you — ohh, I’ve been drinking…what do — what do I do?”

His jaw snapped shut and his eyes stayed closed.

“I want to kiss you. You fit so perfectly in my arms.”

His grip was still so tight and the music had changed. The song was slow and lovely and romantic with a soft and delicate melody. Around you, the crowds began to thin as friendly coworkers who had no intention of turning into lovers began to drift away from the dance floor; back to their tables for another drink, or over to the bathrooms, or over to mingle and chat in one of the lounge areas.

“Push me away — please.” His words came as a plea through clenched teeth, “unless you want me to kiss you in front of all of these people, please push me and go. Leave me here.” He was serious. He had enough of his mind still intact to ask for help.

His words and the shift in the air had brought you out of the spell and one glance around had you making eye contact with the occasional curious observer. People were slow with it, but every now and then you would catch someone’s eyes. Why were the two of you still in such a tight embrace? What are they doing? They aren’t even moving anymore. The song ended, shouldn’t they go back to the table?

So you lifted a hand to place over his chest, giving a very light tap atop of his beating heart.

You left your hand to rest there and noticed he didn’t move. It took a slightly firmer hand, you tapped again and pushed, also taking a step back away from him.

The arms loosened and his eyes were opening. You stepped out of his embrace. He was not looking at you, but down at the empty space between his hands where you’d once occupied.

“I’ll go to the bathroom,” you offered, hanging your head slightly as you stepped quickly off the dance floor. You resisted the urge to look back until you were safely at the hallways that led to the restrooms. When you finally did turn and look back, he was nowhere to be found.

The bathrooms were impeccably clean and well lit. You spared yourself a quick glance in the mirror just to be sure that nothing was out of place and you were pleasantly surprised by what you saw. While the reflection staring back at you did take a few moments to stop looking blurry and dizzy, your professional salon makeup job hadn’t seemed to budge and your hair and dress still looked perfect. Furthermore, the soft pink glow in your cheeks and sparkle you saw shining back in your eyes seemed to make you look even better. It was the alcohol, of course.

This was it. You wouldn’t drink any more alcohol tonight. You had plenty to still feel good and you could still reasonably think well enough to avoid making any disastrous mistakes.

When you were satisfied that the danger for such mistakes had passed, you left the sanctity of that private calm space for the darkened hallway just outside. The contrast between the well lit bathrooms and the darkened hallway on the other side of the door had you struggling for your eyes to focus and with the second step you felt the telltale bump of your shoulder against a warm body.

You were quick to step aside and drop your face, uttering a quiet apology for bumping into someone but there was no response that came immediately. It only took a half a second more for you to recognize who this person was.

You smelled it first. It was kind of an acrid alcohol scent and a distinct fragrance from one of those drugstore deodorant sprays, the kinds that prepubescent teen boys spray way too much of as they wander through their high school hallways. You’d always smelled it when he demanded his greeting hugs and you smelled it now.

The realization made you exhale a low breath of irritation and you turned to leave this place and walk away from this conversation before it began.

“Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

Chet’s words slurred even more than that had earlier in the evening.

You already felt exhausted by this. “Chet, you are drunk. We are not having this conversation.”

“You avoid me now. You blocked me.” His words were filled with vitriol and his big body moved to block you off from the exit. All you cared about at this point was removing yourself from this darkened hallway and getting back into the spaces where more people congregated. “You used to be cool but now, now you’re just like … this—”

“If you have any actual, substantial complaints about working with me,” you cut him off. You didn’t want him to say something he was going to regret when he sobered up, “please feel free to contact HR in the morning and we will follow the proper channels to get this resolved. I don’t want you to speak to me outside of work — not alone.”

“Do you know how many times I bought you lunch? Only for you to blow me off like this?”

Was he serious? Was he really saying you owed him more than what you had initially thought was friendship; what you later learned was what he hoped would be something physical just because he used the company card to pay for your lunches sometimes?

His arguments were so stupid you had a physical reaction. You had been trying your best not to react to any of the idiotic things he said but this simply had you overcome. You rolled your eyes hard, crossed your arms over your chest and scoffed out loud.

“Please. Please send me a bill for your itty bitty sandwiches, Chet. I would gladly pay anything to be done with you.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. You had perhaps gone a bit far. You should have known a man like him had plenty to be insecure about. It was too late. You were already mad and the alcohol didn’t help you hold your tongue at all.

“We are done here.”

You’d had all you could stand. How dare this big oaf of a man try and ruin your fun night out. You caught a small gap between him and the wall and you ducked through the space, moving fast so he wouldn’t have a chance to react.

You'd made it four steps before you felt the sting of a strong hand grabbing hard around your wrist and yanking you backward in a fluid motion.

All of your forward momentum shifted in one instant and you spun around, yelping out loud from the sudden shock of being pulled back and also from the genuine pain you felt around your wrist. His hold didn’t let go when your motion stopped; instead he squeezed harder and the stinging pain turned into an ache as the bones in your wrist seemed to flex under the strength of his hold. You wondered how much they could take. You could hear the racing of your own heartbeat echoing loudly inside your ears and the frantic thumping made your already fuzzy mind begin to feel dizzy and unstable. The darkness in this hallway felt suffocating as the fear surged through you; taking your breath and making it shallow and ineffective and you cried out from the terror of this.

“Chet. You’re hurting me.” Your voice sounded so small to your own ears. It sounded helpless and like pleading. It scared you to hear yourself sound this way.

There was a new sound. A shuffling and a grunting sound and your eyes caught a swift blur of motion; someone else was here now. Someone was here.

Someone in blue; someone familiar. You felt a new set of hands on you, around your wrist there was a shove and Chet let go from the surprise of being interrupted. You grabbed at your own wrist and held it up to your chest watching the commotion unfold before you. If you hadn’t known him so well you might not even have known who this was. You could smell him. You could hear the cadence of his breathing and you could make out that specific shade of blue that he wore tonight.

Baekhyun moved quickly, reaching behind the man in one swift motion he grabbed for Chet’s suit jacket and pulled it up over the man’s face, blocking out whatever light he might have been able to see and disorienting him completely. Chet grunted and hollered like a stuck pig. If you hadn’t been so surprised by this you might have even laughed. You saw Baekhyun shoving hard at the man’s back as Chet tried to untangle himself from beneath the coat as he struggled to breathe, struggled to identify his attacker, struggled to free himself of his own coat, it soon became clear why your boyfriend chose this route to come to your rescue.

Chet had no way of knowing who was doing this. Baekhyun didn’t say a single word despite what you knew had to be a deep ache inside of himself to tell this rat bastard to get his filthy hands off his woman and possible go fuck himself while he was at it.

Instead he merely gave one very hard final shove at the man’s back and sent him flying through the doorway of the ladies bathroom. As the door parted you briefly got a glimpse of the chaos that ensued inside that room. A drunken tangle of a man toppled to the floor surrounded by surprised and screeching women who lifted hand bags and swatted at the unwelcome intruder as they all screamed for help. A pervert, one of them cried. The moment he broke free from the coat long enough to open his eyes into the blinding brightly lit room of the ladies bathroom he was swiftly greeted by a rough smack of a heavy purse to the face.

Gravity pulled the door closed and the shouts and shrieks grew muffled behind that door.

You felt too stunned to move. Your hands hung limply by your side and you flinched hard when you felt his warm hands reach out to grab one of them. He held you tightly by the wrist, the same one that was still sore.

“He’s done.” Baekhyun growled. “You’ll never see him or hear from him again. He is blacklisted here and everywhere else. He can shovel shit in Kabul for all I care, that’s the choice he made by putting his fucking hands on you.”

There was a grave seriousness to his voice that you had never, ever heard from him before; in your entire history of knowing him you’ve never witnessed this kind of a reaction from him.

“Baek, I,” you lightly pulled back against his arm. He was walking faster to exit the darkened hallway and put some distance between you and what had just happened back there.

“I told you. I begged you not to be alone with him. Don’t you think I know men? I know a fucking piece of shit when I see one.”

He was worked up. He was angry and cursing and he didn’t seem to hear you call his name or feel you pull against the hold he had on your arm. From the left turn he took it seemed like he was headed for one of the far off lounges where the loud music from the grand ballroom was a distant thumping echo and someone might be able to sit and talk in peace for a while in a somewhat private space.

“Baek,” you called him again a little louder. You were still being dragged and you pulled back again; a little bit harder against him. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful for him being there and intervening when he did. It wasn’t even that he was here dragging you around this place, where anyone who might not yet be drunk enough to pay attention, might see. It wasn’t even that he had a firm grip around the very same wrist that had been wrangled by Chet and it was honestly feeling just a little too sore from all the rough handling, but the part that you really began to feel was unfair, the part that had you stop your legs in their tracks and pull your hand roughly out of his hands, an action so unexpected from him that he turned around to look at you with wide surprised eyes, halfway through, and standing right in the middle of lounge that he’d brought you to; that part, that was what did it to you and made you move. Unfair. This was unfair.

You held your wrist up to your chest and covered it lightly with the other hand, took your eyes away from his questioning ones and looked around the room. There were some people. In the far left corner in the dark a couple sat with their drinks in their hands and their heads close enough for quiet whispers. On the other end, a woman sat with her cell phone in her hands as she frantically typed away on the screen.

You weren’t alone with him here.

Your wrist hurt.

Your feelings hurt.

The alcohol was making everything dizzy and fuzzy and your mood was quickly plummeting.

You didn’t like the wild anger you’d heard coming from him, and while, yes, it was justified — Chet had acted like an asshole and had definitely crossed a line, something in Baekhyun’s words had irked you. Something in the way he turned the situation around and seemed to imply that the responsibility for what happened was on you.

I told you.

I told you not to be alone with him.

I told you so.

He was right and you were… wrong?

What had you done wrong?

You felt it. It was in the burning inside of your eyes. A hot tingling that made you inhale a sharp breath and avert your eyes quickly from him.

“Do you believe that I did something wrong?” Your words came out as a barely inaudible whisper. You caught the motion of Baekhyun’s feet, you saw him take a step into you and you felt the light touch of his fingertips on your forearm.

There was a sharp intake of breath from him. You could heard it even with you looking down at the floor like this. You could hear the breath he took and the way it stuttered and shook. You heard the exhale that came after that and the small groan that came from deep inside him.

You couldn't do this here. There were people here. The last thing you needed was a breakdown. You had to close your eyes to stop it. Stupid alcohol. You knew it was making these bad feelings so much worse.

“No, no.” You heard him whisper under his breath. His fingertips were touching your skin, “shit — I didn’t —”

“I wasn’t … looking for him … I just came out of the bathroom and he was there.” Your bottom lip felt heavy. It trembled under its own weight. You pulled it in between your teeth and bit down, willing yourself to behave, willing your emotions to calm down.

“No. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry I said that.”

You were on the edge right now. Every single bit of your weak and vulnerable humanity had bubbled up right to the very rim and was threatening to crest. You were being tested and the careful control you always maintained, always begged and pleaded to keep under wraps was at its limit. You could feel it abating. You could feel yourself beginning to get on top of it the longer you stood here with your eyes closed; not saying anything to anybody and not touching anything but yourself. Not being touched by anything but the very very tips of his fingers, you could hardly even stand that much.

“I know it wasn’t anything you did.”

He needed to just wait.

“You didn’t do anything. It was him. I’m just…I’m just mad at him.”

This would pass if you just waited it out, it would pass. You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't break down here, at this party filled to the absolute brim with nearly every single person you know in your professional career.

“I’m sorry, baby. I made a mistake. I didn’t mean it about you. I don't think that about you. I don't believe that. I’m so sorry.”

You lifted a single finger and you held it suspended, begging for him to stop speaking for the sake of your own careful control. Your closed eyes were trembling and they were fighting to open; to look into his pretty face and to see the softness in those eyes that you know you heard in his voice.

Your hands were fighting too. You longed to feel the warmth of his chest against your own. You longed to slip inside his suit jacket and wrap yourself around him. But you knew, you knew you weren’t alone with him here. You knew such a thing would be too much; would push you over the edge; would destroy whatever carefully crafted self-soothing emotional control you’d been just on the verge of.

You lost the feeling of his fingertips. The shift pulled your eyes open and you looked down at his feet that hadn’t moved at all. He didn’t leave but he’d taken his touch off of you.

He was too quiet. You had to look.

You started slowly, pulling your stinging eyes up to look at his face. You could see his lips, silently waiting and closed. Motionless. Not demanding; not accusing; not judging.

You looked up into his brown eyes and he was watching your face so closely. His body stood as physically close as he thought you might allow right now and within his eyes sat a deep seated worry. The moment you looked at him, looked into his face and looked into his eyes he inhaled a breath through his nose and you caught the slight motion in his throat as he swallowed.

“Can I touch your shoulder? I won’t grab your wrist, I’m sorry — I wasn’t thinking. I’m just — we can go somewhere private — if you want me to come.” His words were so stifled and unsure you felt a fresh wave of emotions bubbling up inside of your chest. The surge must have been visible in your face somehow because he took the smallest step back and he leaned away from you, changing his plan with one sentence, “or you can just follow me,” he said in a single breath, with a tick of his face and a lift of his eyebrows.

On his mouth, in his lips, manifested the saddest nervous smile you’d ever witnessed.

You were filled with regrets for having seen it.

“Baek,” you whispered and you let your lips frown dramatically.

This was a terrible feeling. This was awful. You wanted to hold him. You wanted him to hold you.

Instead you lifted a hand, palm up and motioned vaguely beyond where he stood; sighing in defeat and lifting your eyebrows with a small shake of your head.

He silently turned around and walked further into the lounge, through a doorway that led to what looked like a sliding glass door. The wall here was lined with curtains and you figured this had to be some outside patio. You wondered how this might possibly be a private space with as many guests of this party just wandering around this area non-stop, but you kept your mouth shut when he reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out his wallet and peered inside. You saw his fingertips leafing through several business card shaped items and after a few false alarms he pulled out a small flat white card; which he held up to a spot above the door.

It beeped and the door clicked as a lock disengaged and he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Outside was exactly as you had thought. A tiny guest patio with a single two person sized lounge chair.

You stood out here with your arms hung at your side watching him busy himself with dusting off the cushion of the seat and after he was sure it was clean enough he stood up straight and looked at you, one hand still holding the white card and the other hand motioning toward the seat; instructing you to sit down.

“What’s that?” You asked without moving your hands.

“A key,” he said flatly.

“Why does it open that door?”

“Master key.”

“Baek,” your head dipped and you blinked in his direction. He wasn’t giving you whole answers. Instead of speaking though, he opened his jaw and bit down on his bottom lip, breathing in a deep breath with a deep squint forming on his eyes as he looked off in the distance. After a few seconds he slowly exhaled the breath and he gave up on standing; lowering himself onto the seat.

“My key,” he said softly with his jaw hung upon after the final syllable. He inhaled again, “my hotel.”

You watched his face for signs of truth. You did not think it was possible for him to continue to surprise you with these bombshells again and again, but here he was sitting before you, a genuine member of some royal family you hadn’t even realized existed. It was too much. Just like the mansion and the staff that followed his every order, it was entirely too much.

You closed your eyes up and felt the remnants of wetness drip down your face. From the upset feeling from earlier, apparently.

You wiped the stray wetness with your fingertips and looked back down for any signs of the color black, or maybe evidence that all of your makeup had been ruined by these unsanctioned tears.

When you looked at him again he was watching you; holding his tongue well as you sniffled whatever bits of the emotions away and blotted at your face again with the back of your hand.

“Do I look like a mess?” You asked through the sniffles.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said without even giving your question a chance to settle. He answered without thinking about the questions or considering the answer, he answered on instinct and the rapid fire response brought out the smallest chuckle from deep inside your lungs. He couldn't even see your face. It was dark out here.

“I spent four hours at the salon. Hair and makeup and waxing and plucking — and I’m crying now. It’s all ruined.” Your low-down mood had lifted some with the sudden compliment. You knew he couldn't even really see you and yet, hearing him say it still had such a strong effect on you.

“Nothing is ruined. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

”I just wanted to look pretty,” you added with a slight whine in your voice now. It was the alcohol for sure. It was the fact that you hadn’t seen him all day and when you did, you had been surrounded by people who shouldn’t ever know this true side of you. It was the way he was looking at you with the smallest smile building on his lips, looking like the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in his suit and tie, with his super shiny shoes on his feet and the hair, my God, the hair.

“You do look very pretty.”

You gripped at the bottom of your sparkly dress, looking down at it and marveling at how even with the limited lighting out here, it managed to grab a hold of a few far off distant lights from the city skyline and shoot them back at you when you moved just right.

“Did you see my dress? Isn’t my dress pretty too?”

You were playing now. He knew it too. It seems that the crisis had passed and getting this alone time with him had been the best medicine for your rotten mood from earlier. After you asked this final question he looked at you with another tiny smile playing on his lips. He didn’t speak right away and just blinked his eyes at you as you swayed just a little so the sparks in the dress could catch his eye the right way.

“I feel like you didn’t really see it,” you said softly mostly to yourself and you lifted a hand to showcase the many beautiful features of it for him.

His smile was growing.

“See,” you pointed with a fingertip to the high slit that showcased your upper thigh; then you spun halfway and lifted an arm, pointing to the spot on the side of your ribs just below your breast where just a bit of side boob was visible.

His jaw parted and you saw the tip of his tongue brush over the surface of his bottom teeth and his eyes rolled with the wider smile that broke through on his face. He looked away, across the empty view and seemed to focus on the other floors of the building next door.

“Oh and this,” you motioned with both hands behind yourself, just above your ass where the small of your back was visible thanks to the low cut of the back of the dress.

“You’re right, I didn’t really get to see it up close.” He was still seated on the chair, possibly for survival. His hands were fisted tightly together in his own lap and he didn’t reach for you or even try and touch the fabric of the dress.

You could feel it though, the way he gave into you; humored you. The way he let you play this little game you were playing. You smiled and took the three steps needed to reach him and he leaned back casually in his seat with a finger lifted to his face as his eyes took you in from up close.

“Look,” you went through the motions again. Starting up high on your thigh, running your fingertip up the entire inside length of the slit, and even making a few strands of jewels sparkle as you did it.

“Mhmm,” he said with his fingers still covering his mouth in deep consideration. His self control even while a little bit drunk was admirable.

“And here,” you spun, showing off the cut-out in the side. His head was nodding and his blinking slowed down a little. He pursed his lips out and he did a good impression of someone who looked thoroughly impressed by your little show.

“I..” he leaned forward just a little, cleared his throat before he continued — “ahh…I don't umm… don’t think I see a bra strap.”

You clapped your hands in excitement.

“Actually!” He flinched.

While on the surface this was an excellent observation from a man who was probably fishing for a sneak peak of your undergarments or lack thereof, but you were wearing something new and you were quite excited about it.

You leaned to the side, and slipped the dress open just a tiny bit. Baekhyun’s eyes widened and he peered his head to see around the side of the fabric.

“I have these little … stickers,” you said it with pride, “for my nipples,” as if you’d accomplished something fantastic tonight with the pasties that covered your nipples so that nobody got a glimpse of anything too noteworthy from this dress tonight.

His eyes were wide and his lips were open. It took him a minute to move. He leaned back again and ran his open palm down the length of his face as his eyes pulled off of you and all of your sparkles and your bare thighs and your nipple stickers and he stared across at the building next door again.

You followed his eyes and the longer you looked the more you focused on each individual window; each space; each tiny world.

You could see the occasional room that was lit up. These were homes. You could clearly see a few of the residents watching tv; sitting at a kitchen table, reading books. You could see details. You could see plenty.

A sudden realization dawned and you gasped lightly.

“Those apartments are all full of people.”

Baekhyun hummed a response and he nodded his head, closing his eyes through the nod. “Yep,” he said. There was a sense of misery you could pick up in the delivery of that single word.

“I can see them.”

”Mhmm,” he hummed. “And they can see us.” He added with a sharp inhale after speaking.

You suddenly understood his standoff-ish reaction to you giving him the grand tour of this dress and your body below it. You understood how he could possibly keep his hands from touching any bit of you.

“We need to go back to the party. We’ve been gone for too long.” You said the words so easily but you didn’t actually move one bit. You stood still, looking down at the man who was fighting his own internal battle; sitting with his hands secured firmly in his own lap and staring blankly ahead of himself into the black of the night.

He blinked but did not respond to you. You kicked your feet just a little, reaching a sparkly high-heeled foot forward you lightly kicked at the sole of his dress shoe.

“I’m leaving now,” you threatened.

Baekhyun closed his eyes.

“You’re just going to let me go, huh?”

You counted inside of your head; completely fine with the idea of blaming this behavior on the alcohol. Even though you knew this was unfair to him. He was your only savior tonight, again and again. The voice of reason in spite of yourself.

You spun on your heels, ready to go and you’d taken the first step away from him when you felt the warmth of his hand wrap securely around your wrist and he pulled you down hard.

You stumbled and you fell and you landed with a yelp and a huff securely on top of his lap, rather clumsy and side-saddle for sure, but definitely within touching and kissing distance.

You turned your face to look at him, not quite expecting the darkness that sat deep inside his eyes to hit you straight in the chest with as much force as it did, but hit you it did. You had to open your lips to breathe through it; you had to reach out a hand to touch his lips lightly and you had to blame the alcohol, you had to. There was no other excuse you could cling to; no other reason for your leaning in and capturing his lips in between your own and touching his cheek with your wandering hands. You had no excuses you could find for why you shifted your weight on top of his lap and straddled his thighs, throwing your head back when his lips moved to bite down hard on the bare skin of your neck and lower.

He moved lower. His mouth sucked and bit and he pushed fabric aside to pull lightly at those damn stickers that covered your nipples with his teeth. You felt the sting as the glue pulled at your skin. They didn't budge much. You were suddenly even more impressed by them.

“Not my stickers,” you whispered “I only have the two,” and you wanted to blame the alcohol for the snort of laughter that escaped your chest to hear yourself utter such an absurd thing in the middle of this kind of a moment but the stifled shaking giggles you heard from the man who sat below you only made your own laughter that much worse.

”Not my precious stickers,” he whispered through the giggles that were barely audible through the fabric he was buried beneath.

When he came up for air the smile you saw on his face was breathtakingly real and when you leaned down to kiss him again you bumped against his teeth when you were taken by the giggles again, mid-kiss.

It took a while for you to recover and after the laughter finally settled you leaned down for one more sweet kiss on his pretty lips.

“I feel like I can make it back to the party now,” you said. His wide smile slowly but completely flattened out in front of your eyes. You pushed up against him, leaving behind the full effect you’d had on him right there for him to come to terms with and he stared at you with a look of utter shock.

“We can’t do that here, Baek,” you pointed toward the rows of homes across the way and his wide eyes looked where you pointed without seeing anything at all.

“You—,” he began, a full tone of attitude on his voice that he quickly interrupted by cutting off his own words.

“You.” He repeated again. You could see it happening. Dreams being crushed. Egos being put to bed. Justice not being served and revenge being planned. He shook his head and threw himself back into that chair with a force and crossed his arms squarely over his chest.

You were already at the door, pulling it open after straightening your dress back out and smoothing your hair.

“I’m getting those stickers later!” He shouted behind your back and you laughed once and threw your hand up into the air before the door closed shut behind you.

[To be continued]

Links: Can I Stay?: Masterlist

[ninja-muse]

August is over! My reading month felt like it took forever even though otherwise, the month flew by. I blame this half on my top two reads of the month, which I was only reading in short snippets, and half on a number of lackluster reads and DNFs. I'm hoping to get back into my usual habits in September.

I did do better on reading off my physical TBR though! Even though one book was a "aw man, what do I read now?" and two more were, "I'm behind on my goal, quick, read something fast!" Plus the T. Kingfisher, which was graciously provided by my work, as was Running Close to the Wind. (Finally a month where I didn't spend money to add to my library!)

As for my top reads, The Salmon Shanties would be near the top of my list even if there wasn't a degree of reverse-nepotism involved. Absolutely excellent poetry collection, very layered and complex. If you're into Canadian poetry or poetry-of-place, pick it up! And Rose/House, once I got it back from the library because my Libby hold ran out, was absolutely fantastic! As was the quality of the French translation, because it sounded like Martine. So very, very glad I had the nerve (and linguistic ability) to read it. Super-creepy and I'm glad Tor's picked it up so I can hype the heck out of it next year. And then there's Jinn-Bot, which I wrote an actual review for.

On the other end of the list, sigh. I DNFed one book for feeling kind of trite, and another for being too predictable, and probably should have DNFed Voyage of the Damned for being uneven but I needed to know who the killer was. The Library Thief I'm also counting as lackluster—very good book, just wasn't for me or what I was expecting. Still deserves a 7.

Lula Dean, on the other hand, was surprisingly good! Fun and satirical and just plain entertaining. Read it in a couple days and it would likely be higher on my list except my reasons to be "glad to have read them" this month are less about quality and entertainingness than usual. I can't put "really liked this" above "finally I get to read a new book by X!", for instance. Or necessarily above "learned stuff!"

You might notice a distinct lack of any other news, and that's because there is none. September may be marginally more exciting, we'll see. (I know there'll be a bigger book haul.)

Anyway, on to September now, and in the meantime, here's my list everything I read this month, in the rough order of how glad I was to have read them.

The Salmon Shanties - Harold Rhenisch

A collection of poems centered on and celebrating Cascadia in all its facets (or taking it to task, as the case may be). Out in September.

10/10

🇨🇦

warning: mentions racism, colonization, genocide

digital reading copy

Rose/House - Arkady Martine

There is a body within Rose House—two, if you count its architect, who ordered the house shuttered with his passing and left to its AI. Only one person is allowed to enter now, and she’s accounted for. And yet there is a body within Rose House….

9/10

🏳️‍🌈 author

warning: descriptions of a dead body

library ebook

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport - Samit Basu

Lina and Bador want freedom: from surveillance, from power structures, for their city, for all bots, or just for their family. This might come from cunning, or revolution, or a lost ancient artifact, or an underground bot-battle, or swaying a visiting space hero or the Not-Prince. Much more than an Aladdin retelling.

8/10

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (multisexual, achillean), Indian-coded cast, Indian author

warning: discusses colonization and oppression, references police violence

reading copy

Unwritten, Vol. 8 - Mike Carey with Peter Gross, Dean Ormston, Yuko Shimizu

When Tommy Taylor learns that Lizzie is trapped in the land of the dead, he goes to rescue her—but he’s unprepared for his adventures there, or the wider implications.

8/10

Indigenous Australian secondary character

off my TBR

All Quiet on the Western Front - Erich Maria Remarque

Paul Bäumer recounts his time serving in the German army in WWI.

7/10

warning: war, death, animal death, gore, injury

off my TBR

A Sorceress Comes to Call - T. Kingfisher

Cordelia’s terrible mother has decided to marry a squire. Cordelia knows he and his sister don’t deserve that—but how to stop her, when she can do magic?

7.5/10

warning: child abuse, torture, murder, animal cruelty and death

finished copy received through work

A Man and His Cat, Vol. 4 - Umi Sakurai

Kanda gets the courage to make a new friend and revisit an old situation.

7/10

Japanese cast, Japanese author

off my TBR

A Gentleman from Japan - Thomas Lockley

The true story of a Japanese man who was brought to the court of Elizabeth I and influenced early modern English science.

7.5/10

warning: slavery, orientalism, war and violence

library book

Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books - Kirsten Miller

In Troy, Georgia, the fight for public decency is kicked off by Lula Dean, who craves attention and loves her Southern history—and her fencepost library, where someone’s put wholesome jackets over books she’s tried to ban….

7/10

ensemble cast including Black, 🏳️‍🌈 (gay, lesbian), and Indo-American POV characters

warning: Nazis, anti-Semitism, anti-Black racism, homophobia, rape, suicide

reading copy

The Library Thief - Kuchenga Shenjé

Florence talks her way into a job repairing a lord’s library, but is quickly drawn in by the mysterious death of the lady of the house. A gothic novel centering race, gender, and other marginalizations in late Victorian England.

7/10

Black British main character, Black British secondary characters, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (trans woman, sapphic), Black British author

warning: racism, including slurs; rape, abuse, misogyny, queerphobia

library book

The Voyage of the Damned - Frances White

A grand state voyage is upset by murder and it’s up to the lowly, non-Blessed Ganymedes to catch the killer before they dock. Goddess help them all if he doesn’t….

5.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (multisexual), fat protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (nonbinary, ace, trans man, sapphic, achillean), Indian-, African-, and Japanese-coded secondary characters

warning: murder, injuries, blood, colonial thinking, attempted genocide, suicidal thoughts

reading copy

DNF

Remedial Magic - Melissa Marr

Safe and ordinary Ellie meets a mysterious woman in her library, and is whisked to a fantasy world where she’s probably a witch—and almost certainly in trouble.

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 author

reading copy

Casket Case - Lauren Evans

Garrett stops to ask for directions at Nora’s casket shop and they hit it off. Unfortunately he works for Death…. Out in September.

African-American secondary characters

reading copy

Currently reading

A Natural History of Dragons - Marie Brennan

A memoir by Lady Trent, renowned natural philosopher and adventuress, but covering her childhood and first expedition, to the mountain highlands of Vystrana, and the troublesome dragons encountered there.

library book

Music from the Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century - Richard Taruskin A history of early written European music, in its social and political contexts. The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Victorian detective stories.

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 11 Yearly total: 70 Queer books: 1 Authors of colour: 3 Books by women: 6 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 1 Classics: 1 Off the TBR shelves: 4 Books hauled: 2 ARCs acquired: 3 ARCs unhauled: 6 DNFs: 2

January February March April May June July

[swanpyart]

Prepare For My Most Deranged Slay The Princess Theory That Makes Sense The More You Think About It - The Narrator IS Another Voice

I'm a bit jumbled so bear with me, but I realized a lot of odd things that give me the idea that the Narrator is actually another Voice and another facet of the Long Quiet.

The game goes out of its way to make it clear that the Narrator is different from the Voices; he has a degree of power over the Player that the other Voices initially lack, he has info about the world that the Player does not, and his authoritative nature puts him (and us by default) in opposition with the Princess. Because of this, none of the other Voices treat him as an equal or even as a friend: They are all either opposed to him, treat him as someone who can be listened to but ultimately ignored, or outright dismiss him. In the Thorn Route, Hero even points out that the Narrator "doesn't count" as one of them.

Another difference is that the Narrator never learns new info from previous chapters; we essentially get a new Narrator each one, while literally EVERYONE else remembers what happened before. This alone feels like the game pointing out the disconnect between the Narrator and the rest of the Long Quiet.

Now, for what my theory hinges upon.... the Start Over Ending, where the Princess wipes the Long Quiet's memories and causes the entire game to start over from scratch. The interesting part of this is that both the Long Quiet AND the Princess remark that there's a chance that they'd done this before, possibly countless times, because they were unable to make a permanent decision the previous times.

If this is actually true, and the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound have been in this perpetual cycle of the Long Quiet finding five vessels, the Narrator's Echo fading away, both gods realizing their true natures but being unable to compromise, and the Princess wiping both of their memories and forcing a restart.... then what becomes of the Narrator? How does he come back for things to restart?

"Well, obviously he's resurrected," You might say, but we're not given any reason to believe that the Long Quiet can resurrect an actual mortal person, right? The entire point of the game is the inevitability of death, and that "even in rebirth, things can't be the same." Not only that, Nary is an Echo, not an actual person, so his presence as a living being is one that's even more precarious than an actual human life; focusing too much on him makes him fade away. The Long Quiet and the Princess can come back from death, but those two are literally GODS.

So, my main theory is this: The Narrator we hear throughout the game is no longer the Narrator the Long Quiet may have originally started with in the VERY first loop with the Shifting Mound, right after the Creator killed himself and split the Gods in half. The original Narrator is actually long dead, along with his original Echos, and now he is merely another Voice of the Long Quiet assuming His role. Perhaps at one point, the Narrator was actually a person who wanted to rid the world of death, and created an Echo of himself to do it, but the Echo of that human has long since faded away, only to be replaced by the Long Quiet to maintain the illusion of the loop.

In this light, it's entirely possible that every version of the Narrator and the Creator we meet is merely an extension of the Long Quiet playing the role of an omniscient storyteller. This could be part of why the Narrator struggles to answer in-depth questions, and why the Creator never goes into detail about his true identity as a human. The Long Quiet doesn't actually know much about the one who created him, and gives the same recycled lines he heard long ago from the voice of a long-dead man.

So, why does the Narrator never remember previous Chapters? That's his role. Every Voice has specific skills and abilities, and the Narrator's role, as a Voice, is to maintain a status quo. With no storyteller, there is no path in the woods, there is no cabin, there is no Pristine Blade, and there is no basement. There's no vehicle through which the Long Quiet and the Shifting Mound can reach an agreement of some kind.

The irony, then, that, if this idea is true, that the Narrator, hellbent on destroying the Shifting Mound, then becomes a vehicle through which her love for the Long Quiet facilitates. It's no wonder that, Like the Voice of the Hero, the Narrator is ALWAYS with us, and if Hero represents our agency, then Nary represents the scenario through which to exercise that agency.

Let me know if I sound like a madman lmao