#which then has been a significant part of her character for the rest of her existence for both good and bad?

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[cocoabubbelle-newblog]

My personal opinion

Spoilers

Marvel Writers: Hank McCoy/Beast is irredeemable. He is a despicable villain. The version you will see in the upcoming comics is a clone of himself with only up to his mid-1980s memories/portrayal. If original Beast does come back, it will still be as a villain and he can never come back to the original team as a hero. He has no one to blame but himself.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sandra Newman’s “Julia”

The first chapter of Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four has a fantastic joke that nearly everyone misses: when Julia, Winston Smith's love interest, is introduced, she has oily hands and a giant wrench, which she uses in her "mechanical job on one of the novel-writing machines":

https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks01/0100021.txt

That line just kills me every time I re-read the book – Orwell, a novelist, writing a dystopian future in which novels are written by giant, clanking mechanisms. Later on, when Winston and Julia begin their illicit affair, we get more detail:

She could describe the whole process of composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She 'didn't much care for reading,' she said. Books were just a commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

I always assumed Orwell was subtweeting his publishers and editors here, and you can only imagine that the editor who asked Orwell to tweak the 1984 manuscript must have felt an uncomfortable parallel between their requests and the notional Planning Committee and Rewrite Squad at the Ministry of Truth.

I first read 1984 in the early winter of, well, 1984, when I was thirteen years old. I was on a family trip that included as visit to my relatives in Leningrad, and the novel made a significant impact on me. I immediately connected it to the canon of dystopian science fiction that I was already avidly consuming, and to the geopolitics of a world that seemed on the brink of nuclear devastation. I also connected it to my own hopes for the nascent field of personal computing, which I'd gotten an early start on, when my father – then a computer science student – started bringing home dumb terminals and acoustic couplers from his university in the mid-1970s. Orwell crystallized my nascent horror at the oppressive uses of technology (such as the automated Mutually Assured Destruction nuclear systems that haunted my nightmares) and my dreams of the better worlds we could have with computers.

It's not an overstatement to say that the rest of my life has been about this tension. It's no coincidence that I wrote a series of "Little Brother" novels whose protagonist calls himself w1n5t0n:

https://craphound.com/littlebrother/Cory_Doctorow_-_Little_Brother.htm

I didn't stop with Orwell, of course. I wrote a whole series of widely read, award-winning stories with the same titles as famous sf tales, starting with "Anda's Game" ("Ender's Game"):

https://www.salon.com/2004/11/15/andas_game/

And "I, Robot":

https://craphound.com/overclocked/Cory_Doctorow_-_Overclocked_-_I_Robot.html

"The Martian Chronicles":

https://escapepod.org/2019/10/03/escape-pod-700-martian-chronicles-part-1/

"True Names":

https://archive.org/details/TrueNames

"The Man Who Sold the Moon":

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/05/22/the-man-who-sold-the-moon/

and "The Brave Little Toaster":

https://archive.org/details/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212

Writing stories about other stories that you hate or love or just can't get out of your head is a very old and important literary tradition. As EL Doctorow (no relation) writes in his essay "Genesis," the Hebrews stole their Genesis story from the Babylonians, rewriting it to their specifications:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/41520/creationists-by-e-l-doctorow/

As my "famous title" stories and Little Brother books show, this work needn't be confined to antiquity. Modern copyright may be draconian, but it contains exceptions ("fair use" in the US, "fair dealing" in many other places) that allow for this kind of creative reworking. One of the most important fair use cases concerns The Wind Done Gone, Alice Randall's 2001 retelling of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind from the perspective of the enslaved characters, which was judged to be fair use after Mitchell's heirs tried to censor the book:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suntrust_Bank_v._Houghton_Mifflin_Co.

In ruling for Randall, the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals emphasized that she had "fully employed those conscripted elements from Gone With the Wind to make war against it." Randall used several of Mitchell's most famous lines, "but vest[ed] them with a completely new significance":

https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/appellate-courts/F3/268/1257/608446/

The Wind Done Gone is an excellent book, and both its text and its legal controversy kept springing to mind as I read Sandra Newman's wonderful novel Julia, which retells 1984 from the perspective of Julia, she of the oily hands the novel-writing machine:

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/julia-sandra-newman?variant=41467936636962

Julia is the kind of fanfic that I love, in the tradition of both Wind Done gone and Rosenkrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead, in which a follow-on author takes on the original author's throwaway world-building with deadly seriousness, elucidating the weird implications and buried subtexts of all the stuff and people moving around in the wings and background of the original.

For Newman, the starting point here is Julia, an enigmatic lover who comes to Winston with all kinds of rebellious secrets – tradecraft for planning and executing dirty little assignations and acquiring black market goods. Julia embodies a common contradiction in the depiction of young women (she is some twenty years younger than Winston): on the one hand, she is a "native" of the world, while Winston is a late arrival, carrying around all his "oldthink" baggage that leaves him perennially baffled, terrified and angry; on the other hand, she's a naive "girl," who "doesn't much care for reading," and lacks the intellectual curiosity that propels Winston through the text.

This contradiction is the cleavage line that Newman drives her chisel into, fracturing Orwell's world in useful, fascinating, engrossing ways. For Winston, the world of 1984 is totalitarian: the Party knows all, controls all and misses nothing. To merely think a disloyal thought is to be doomed, because the omnipotent, omniscient, and omnicompetent Party will sense the thought and mark you for torture and "vaporization."

Orwell's readers experience all of 1984 through Winston's eyes and are encouraged to trust his assessment of his situation. But Newman brings in a second point of view, that of Julia, who is indeed far more worldly than Winston. But that's not because she's younger than him – it's because she's more provincial. Julia, we learn, grew up outside of the Home Counties, where the revolution was incomplete and where dissidents – like her parents – were sent into exile. Julia has experienced the periphery of the Party's power, the places where it is frayed and incomplete. For Julia, the Party may be ruthless and powerful, but it's hardly omnicompetent. Indeed, it's rather fumbling.

Which makes sense. After all, if we take Winston at his word and assume that every disloyal citizen of Oceania is arrested, tortured and murdered, where would that leave Oceania? Even Kim Jong Un can't murder everyone who hates him, or he'd get awfully lonely, and then awfully hungry.

Through Julia's eyes, we experience Oceania as a paranoid autocracy, corrupt and twitchy. We witness the obvious corollary of a culture of denunciation and arrest: the ruling Party of such an institution must be riddled with internecine struggle and backstabbing, to the point of paralyzed dysfunction. The Orwellian trick of switching from being at war with Eastasia to Eurasia and back again is actually driven by real military setbacks – not just faked battles designed to stir up patriotic fervor. The Party doesn't merely claim to be under assault from internal and external enemies – it actually is.

Julia is also perfectly positioned to uncover the vast blank spots in Winston's supposed intellectual curiosity, all the questions he doesn't ask – about her, about the Party, and about the world. I love this trope and used it myself, in Attack Surface, the third "Little Brother" book, which is told from the point of view of Marcus's frenemy Masha:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531/attacksurface

Through Julia, we come to understand the seemingly omniscient, omnipotent Party as fumbling sadists. The Thought Police are like MI5, an Island of Misfit Toys where the paranoid, the stupid, the vicious and the thuggish come together to ruin the lives of thousands, in such a chaotic and pointless manner that their victims find themselves spinning devastatingly clever explanations for their behavior:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/adamcurtis/entries/3662a707-0af9-3149-963f-47bea720b460

And, as with Nineteen Eighty-Four, Julia is a first-rate novel, expertly plotted, with fantastic, nail-biting suspense and many smart turns and clever phrases. Newman is doing Orwell, and, at times, outdoing him. In her hands, Orwell – like Winston – is revealed as a kind of overly credulous romantic who can't believe that anyone as obviously stupid and deranged as the state's representatives could be kicking his ass so very thoroughly.

This was, in many ways, the defining trauma and problem of Orwell's life, from his origin story, in which he is shot through the throat by a fascist: sniper during the Spanish Civil War:

https://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/soldiers/george-orwell-shot.html

To his final days, when he developed a foolish crush on a British state spy and tried to impress her by turning his erstwhile comrades in to her:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orwell%27s_list

Newman's feminist retelling of Orwell is as much about puncturing the myth of male competence as it is about revealing the inner life, agency, and personhood of swooning love-interests. As someone who loves Orwell – but not unconditionally – I was moved, impressed, and delighted by Julia.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/28/novel-writing-machines/#fanfic

[inc0mple]

Alright chat, the flip flop is free now, I CAN SHARE MY THEORY.

This started as a vague crack theory but it spiralled and now I have tangible evidence and a thought process and have spent the last week going INSANE but most of the theory rests on one stupid detail---namely, the brand of this mysterious keyholder's flip-flop---that I couldn't share until now.

This theory is---and hear me out---

Before he was a key, Buddy was actually a fictional storybook character turned real.

WARNING: Long, only vaguely coherent rambling and Inco going insane.

Okay I know you're like "wtf are you on about" so just. just. just hear me out pls

To understand this theory we need a little bit of context, which means talking about:

The Elephant Book

"The Elephant Book" is an unfinished comic that Punko worked on before Cinderella Boy or Stagtown. It is a story about two characters who learn the secrets of a hidden organization, called Artifax... secrets that have to do with beloved fictional characters who become real because of readers' love for them. I don't want to spoil too much of it, but I highly recommend giving it a read if you like theorizing about Cinderella Boy. You can get it on her store here as an eBook. It got cancelled before the plot could be fully realized, but here's the thing---Punko has said that The Elephant Book informs Cinderella Boy.

This in itself is intruiging, but what is most fascinating to me---and here is where the flip-flop comes in, LMAO---is one particular plot point.

Again, I don't want to give away too much of the Elephant Book because it's a fantastic story. However, it does feature one part about one book character in particular---Alice, from Alice in Wonderland.

A book character who attempted to enter the "real world" through a looking glass---through a mirror.

And if you take a look at this mysterious keyholder's flip-flop...

IT SAYS ALIC[E].

here me out im not insane here me out

This looks like just a normal brand to me, nothing that has any plot significance. So it's important to ask, why then was it included? Why would Punko include a fictional brand as detailing on a random item of clothing... unless maybe, it was a reference? A jaded, non-diegetic callback to another "Alice" from a different, dropped story...

This leads me to believe that this mystery keyholder was once a storybook character, and has since been greeted into the real world.

I don't know how, but one theory I have is that maybe, to avoid a hassle, Ex Libris may take book characters and turn them real with magic to use as henchmen.

HEAR ME OUT

These people would be untracable; they would have no documents or papers, and nobody from the real world would miss them.

Their memories could be erased or modified so that they do not realize this is their history. They could be amnesic, or remember a false previous life before working for Ex Libris.

They would be easier to control because of this. Ex Libris could manipulate them because they would have qualities that would stop them from fitting into normal life; Ex Libris would feel like the only place they "belonged".

If the keys and their magic exists---and we've seen Violet and Buddy have a spell page---why couldn't this magic be plausible?

Now hear me out even more: Buddy used to be one of them.

I HAVE REASONS.

1. Words n stuff

Weird that Buddy only has one name, or that it doesn't seem to match the other keys.

That's---an underwhelming first point. Uh. That's all. Food for thought.

OH AND ALSO, "Ex Libris" means "from the library of". Could be referring to people who work with them being LITERALLY from books.

2. Dialogue

Perhaps this statement is more literal than we thought. Perhaps in Buddy's "home book", he was a villainous character.

Almost like all three of those phrases apply to him.

3. THE MIRRORS GUYS THE MIRRORS OH MY GOD

Buddy has been seen with plenty of mirror symbolism. Particularly in Dreams by Night:

Reflections show story characters, we know this.

But also, when Buddy escapes through the mirror (like Alice through the looking glass, in The Elephant Book)...

THE GLASS IS CURVED.

But we saw the mirror, the mirror is flat. We know the dreams are supposed to be extremely symbollic...

So what if the mirror is meant to symbolize more of a portal, from one world---a fictional world---to a real one?

...okay thats all i have for now that was kinda underwhelming.

I PROMISE IM NOT INSANE I PROMISE IM MORE COHERENT WHEN IM NOT EXHAUSTED LIKE I AM RIGHT NOW

[starsofjewels]

hi! first, i love your writing, it's so good! also, i loved your oneshot about the autistic lannister reader so much, it was so relatable🥺 can we get another part (or not following specifically, just the reader being autistic) but focused on their relationship with tywin, please? tysm!

The Weakness of Tywin Lannister

Tywin Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! (daughter) Reader

CONTENT: Canonical! Character death (Joanna), mentions of abortion (Joanna), genereal mistreatment of Tyrion, meltdown(s)

Tywin is a warning in himself, Viserys (3) and Joffrey are mentioned in like a line each, so prepare for that too

Check out the masterpost for the rest of the series x

1.2k words (smol)

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Welcome all to the November update. I'm alive, I'm fairly well and I can't believe I'm getting traction.

Thank you to all your requests, I'm going through them atm this one just- Spoke to me.

I wrote this in a free hour instead of studying, so we'll see what happens.

Live, laugh, Tywin.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

When Joanna dies, Tywin doubts he will find another love so pure, so completely genuine, that it could even scratch the expectations his wife leaves behind. He is not a man of much integrity or kindness, but he loved his wife. Most men are not fortunate enough to have a wife who loved them, and without it, there is not much to do.

But it is not your fault, no. You are an angel, a gift from your mother to him. He should have known Joanna was not strong enough to bear another child, he knows he should have forced Moon Tea down her throat and held her as she bled. Even the cats knew she couldn’t recover from the birth. But, it is not your fault.

The staff expect you to share Tyrion’s rooms, to have another child that is neither spoken to nor visited by their father; Tyrion the imperfect, and the new baby who killed their mother. Instead, Tywin appears himself, and carries the cradle prepared for you from the family rooms right up to the master bedroom. Your nurse is instructed to only appear when you need to be fed, he will handle you.

Tywin realises, nearly immediately, that you are a different sort of child. You are quiet and sweet, you never cry or complain, even as you phase from infancy into childhood, there is nothing, truly, that upsets you. There is a confidence within you, a chubby, blonde toddler running about the halls with an ornate horse in one hand, and the Hand of the King cautiously trailing behind. He has other work to do, but nothing as important as taking care of his sweet one. 

You return to Casterly Rock, your bloodland, when you are five- Nearly six, you say. Jaime and Cersei stay behind in the Red Keep, one married and the other draped in white cloth. You don’t quite understand where your playmate, little Viserys, has gone to, but your father tells you not to ask, and you’ll do just about anything he says.

If there is one instance Tywin could point to the actual realisation that something was amiss, it would be the first weeks he spends with you in Casterly Rock. You have been nothing but calm, and sweet, but here, you break. Hours of crying, refusing to eat or sleep, the maesters assure him you are not ill, and yet you tantrum constantly, for seemingly no reason at all. He figures it out eventually, of course, one of your toys was lost in the journey, a ragdoll with no real significance or extraordinary features. But it was yours and you wanted it, so another was commissioned for you, and although you complain that it is ‘different’, you are seven, and the story that she holidayed in the Reach is convincing enough to shut you up. Tywin learns that day to keep a spare of anything he sees you playing with.

The nurses tell him all children are fussy, the oldest of them, the one to nurse Genna and his youngest brothers, can recall a time in which he himself would wear only red, and for about a week would only sleep in a makeshift fort out in the yard with Kevan; that was, until a winter set in, and the gates were locked at night to keep them from getting out and freezing to death, but there is something within him that says your behaviour is different to the frivolities of youth.

He enjoys your company, as you grow into a delicate young woman. You are unmediated, fresh, in a sense that most are not. You could speak to a king the way you would a peasant, and vice versa. Tywin is there to look after you, to hold your hand and keep you out of harm’s way, and his years of service to Casterly Rock with just you at his side, and Tyrion when he emerges from the brothels, are memories which nothing can besmirch. 

And then his grandson is put to the throne, and life collapses once again. There is war, and chaos in every part of the Kingdoms, five kings stake a claim to iron, or to salt, and Tywin Lannister is once again Hand of the King. Your little dog is by his side, a little spaniel, or some other feminine dog breed, lazy as sin one moment and destroying the place the next. It reminds him of you. He can’t quite remember its name: Winnie, or Wobbles, or something equally ridiculous. Tywin feeds it scraps of mutton from his plate, he won’t tell you he’s feeding it.

“Papa?”

He stands immediately, and rushes to your side. You are practically shaking, with big eyes and frighteningly pale skin. Tywin has seen this many times, and it hurts him every one of them. Even with the life of a princess, you can still find ways to be terribly upset,

“I can’t find Waldred.”

Waldred. That was the damned thing’s name, he knew it was something stupid. He sighs, and travels around his desk, lifting the spaniel up and putting it into your arms. For how lazy it was, the beast was surprisingly light. Usually, you laugh. Today you cry harder. Waldred is put back down, and he takes you onto his knee. The dog doesn’t do very much to assist the situation, he turns himself around and flops over Tywin’s feet, huffing at the inconvenience. He lets you cry, until you start coughing and spluttering, and you are instructed to calm down. He has learned that he can’t be firm with you, you think it a display of anger when there is none.

“I-” When you are ready to speak again, he sets you onto the couch beneath you, “I thought I lost him- I looked everywhere, it’s past his walk time.”

Waldred hears the word ‘walk’ and dramatically flips over, not very keen. Any normal dog would be jumping about the place in anticipation, this one now resembled more of a furry ball than it did an animal. 

Tywin will not question why you were so upset about potentially losing your animal, he knows how much you adore your little dog, and nor will he mention that the thing hasn’t been unsupervised a day in its life. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Waldred is probably more guarded than you are. The lazy beast hasn’t left the Tower of the Hand unless it was carried, and even then it complains. Sometimes he wonders why he bought it for you in the first place.

He sees how the courts treat you, how Joffrey tries near constantly to publicly humiliate your oddities, and how the ladies of his elder daughter’s court leave you entirely on your own, he actually doesn’t know if you even have friends, apart from the dog, and potentially Varys. It doesn’t matter anyways, you are his and his only, and there is no-one but the Gods and a small list of possible suitors for you that will get in his way.

[nyerus]

A Masterpost for the Revised Version of TGCF

Due to the amount and frequency of misinformation about the revised version of TGCF, I wanted to make a post to serve as a resource for those who are confused about it, while also helping to debunk some of the sensationalist rumors floating around.

This post will be edited to include new things as needed.

⚠️Spoiler Warning: if you have not finished reading the original novel, or want to experience the new scenes from the revised naturally/fresh, please proceed with caution! I've intentionally kept things as vague as possible, but some spoilers are unavoidable!⚠️

✨ PART ONE: Frequently Asked Questions ✨

🔹What is the "revised" version of TGCF?

MXTX had been working on a revised version of TGCF since completing the original, as mentioned this in her postscript/afterword, and in an online interview (Q.27) done years ago just as she competed TGCF. That's all that was known for several years.

In early 2023, TGCF was finally released in print format in mainland China — and this was revealed to be the revised version! Due to regulations, this was a censored edition. However, in early 2024, the uncensored edition was uploaded to JJWXC (the site where all of MXTX's webnovels were originally published)! It's currently fully available to read in Simplified Chinese.

If you want a more in-depth explanation about the revised, please see my post about that here.

🔹What does the revised change compared to the original?

Several scenes have been added, some removed, others expanded upon. Overall, MXTX reportedly wrote 100k characters (words) of new content. While the overarching plot of each arc and the novel as a whole remains the same, it's a more cohesive and polished story. Pacing in each part of the story has been adjusted to flow better, especially in arcs notorious for feeling slow or disjointed.

Some segments have had fairly significant changes — namely the Bloody Banquet/Fang Xin Guoshi arc. (Though it still plays out much the same way.) Most others have smaller changes.

A new extra was also added, called "the Ghost King Dressed Down," which has been translated by Scarabsi on twitter.

🔹How does the revised version effect characters?

Apart from certain minor characters — such as the child Lang Ying who was removed entirely — there haven't been many drastic changes. The biggest thing was side characters like Lang Qianqiu and Ling Wen being given notably more backstory to further flesh them out. Their characterization itself hasn't changed, however.

🔹Which version is canon, then?

Whichever you want, and you can mix-and-match! MXTX has given fans her blessings and encouragement!

🔹How do I read the revised version in English?

Currently, there are no official or unofficial English translations of the whole revised version. Nor are there any plans to do so for the near future.

However, there are English fan translations of a few notable chapters, which you can read here. There's also instructions on that site on how to read the rest of the updated webnovel in English, using a browser extension.

Additionally, the audio drama is adapting the uncensored revised version, and has been doing an amazing job! Check out how to listen to that with English subs here.

✨PART TWO: Debunking Rumors & Clearing up Misinformation✨

Note that all chapter numbers given will be referencing the webnovel's. The old chapters are also available towards the bottom of the page as "serialized versions."

(Translated screenshots provided are janky because it's just basic google MTL!)

🔸"Mentions of Mu Qing's mother was removed from the revised!"

Not at all! Both his parents are still mentioned, along with how Mu Qing is the primary breadwinner due to his mom's failing eyesight. (Ch. 57)

🔸"The earring scene isn't there anymore!"

The earring scene is still very much there! Not actually sure why this is a rumor at all, when the whole earring thing spans several chapters. Here's the conclusion of it (Ch. 59):

🔸"Characters have been butchered in general, with Mu Qing especially getting scenes cut!"

No character (who didn't straight-up get deleted) has been butchered. Nor has any character been singled out for having their scenes deleted/changed, because that's happened to every character — yes, including Xie Lian and Hua Cheng! — and they also have new scenes added!

E.g. the scene where Mu Qing picks the cherries is removed, because that whole section was changed. (However, it's still mentioned that others are prejudiced against him due to his background, and so on.) Meanwhile, there's a brand-new scene that shows Mu Qing's aptitude in treating wounds, as well as he and Feng Xin having new hijinks as "junior officials" with Xie Lian, and more.

Despite the rumors, characters haven't been flattened to make them more one-dimensional compared to Hualian. Perhaps the idea of certain scenes being cut sounds scary for characterization, but a lot of the original has been retained one way or another. In many cases, MXTX just condensed things, or moved them around. The revised is meant to be looked at as a whole, after all.

🔸"Mu Qing now leaves for no reason in Book/Arc 4, instead of for his mother!"

Mu Qing clearly states in the revised that he wants to leave in order to find a way to improve their situation, since they anyways cannot agree amongst themselves. Just like in the original, he was frustrated and felt there was no point in continuing along the same path. (Ch 152)

And yes, he does not bring up his mother in the revised scene. For context: there is a three year gap between the end of Book/Arc 2 and the start of 4. Which means in the original, Mu Qing didn't mention his mother for those three years. Given the events leading to his departure, and what follows, this causes several inconsistencies.

That is a whole topic unto itself, however. But it's not surprising the revised did it a bit differently.

🔸"Feng Xin isn't as funny anymore!"

Feng Xin is actually one of the least changed characters! This rumor likely stems from the scene where Xie Lian reveals his password, to Feng Xin, who no longer rolls on the floor while laughing. Or maybe it's a miscommunication based on the printed revised, which censored some of his (and Qi Rong's) cursing. But that was only for the printed!

🔸"Ling Wen's character isn't as interesting because of the changes!"

People will really say anything on the internet. She's been given more depth and complexity, if anything. There's new scenes that expand on her background and early days in heaven, and her relationship with Bai Jing has been given a lot of extra attention. Her motivations and actions remain the same, but if the subtext was missed in the original, it could have led to some readers thinking of Ling Wen as certain way. Like a ruthless girlboss.

The revised reiterating that this isn't the case doesn't change or detract from her, as that was one of the points of her story to begin with. Plus, the revised arc gives Bai Jing much-needed characterization.

🔸"Ling Wen's ascension is now due to Jing Wen/not on her own merit/etc!"

Frankly, this rumor might be due to people not properly understanding how ascension works in TGCF, and thinking the revised is adding something that they forgot was already in the original. The revised didn't change anything about the manner in which Ling Wen ascended.

You can actually check out the revised Brocade Immortal arc here for yourself, as it's been fan translated!

🔸"The dynamic between Hualian is different in the revised!"

Their dynamic is exactly the same as before, only reinforced if anything. If the new additions are enough to destroy someone’s image of Hualian or turn it on its head, that’s definitely not a fault with either novel version!

🔸"The scene where Hua Cheng is disguised as Lang Ying and accidentally catches Xie Lian bathing is removed!"

Unfortunately, yes, the bathing scene is gone. However, Hua Cheng in disguise is still there — he's a village kid instead.

🔸"MXTX made changes to side characters/ships because she felt threatened by their popularity compared to her main couple!"

This one just doesn't really make sense, because several side characters were given *more* content — including their relationships.

Lang Qianqiu finally feels like an actual character. Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu have new stuff about them. Shi Wudu has some clever little cameos. Pei Ming’s feelings about Yushi Huang are brought up. Pei Xiu’s backstory is even more heartbreaking. Qi Rong has new scenes that make him feel genuinely menacing. Xiao Ying’s been completely revamped. These are just to name a few, and excluding things already talked about above.

It seems unlikely that MXTX would go through the trouble of adding to her side characters if she didn’t care about them, felt they weren’t important, or thought they were getting undeserved attention. Besides, popular characters like Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan had no cuts to their arc!

Looking at the actual metrics… MXTX has no need to feel threatened by her side ships vs her main ships.

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there? Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror [Part 2] | [Yandere Masterlist]

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[tavyliasin]

WizKids BG3 MiniFigure Quality

I posted this on a Bsky thread but figured Tumblr people may want to take a look too - there is a vast difference in the quality shown in the advertisements and main page for both the Icons of the Realm D&D minifigures set and the actual product images. The product images are also now on the shop page, and/or in the video review that is displayed on the shop page.

All product images shown here are available either in the images or videos on the shop page. The images and characters belong to the rights holders and are used here to illustrate the review and critique of the products. I do not work for WizKids, WotC, or any affiliated or rival companies. The following is personal opinion.

This is the official advert as seen on Facebook

And THIS is the actual product

More below the cut including other character images~

Ok so looking at just the Astarion image and actual model there, the promo image is really sharp, well painted, highly detailed. It looks to me like a high quality 3D print, but could also be a digitally created or edited image. The product image is very different. The jacket and lower legs are a different colour to each other and neither match the promo image. All detail in the hair is lost. There's very little face detail. The paint in general looks cheap and applied too thickly. Every part looks thicker.

I do not know for certain but if I were to guess, I'd say the actual product is a mass produced mould and pour in a cheaper plastic, not 3D printed. Which would be fine if they were advertising the product with the actual models, but they're showing a version that is vastly different.

Let's take a look at some more, shall we?

Wyll (Phyll) barely has any distinguishable facial features at all, and his horns appear to be uneven. Karlach's (Carlocked's) horns are barely visible from the black lump of her hair, and her axe is visibly warped and bent in the middle. Lae'zel (La'zzle) is stood in a battle stance and whilst some effort seems to have been put in to the markings on her skin and face, the same can't be said for her armour and her hands and hair look like blobs of plastic. Astarion (Astarion't) has the colour issues, and his hair completely lacks most of his classic texture, and most of his colours are inaccurate. Similarly Shadowheart (Shorterhurt) has barely any recognisable facial features and the paint on the hand holding her spear looks chipped even though this is supposedly the promotional photo. Gale's (Goyle's) staff is warped and lacks any defined shape to the blobs at each end, and generally is about as vaguely barely recognisable as the rest. Withers (WitheredAway) has some attention to detail but suffers all the same problems as the rest, undefined, not at all like the promised quality in the advert, and everything is just more blob-like than it should be even on a small scale miniature.

Here they are in their box! And the best box they could get to photograph shows Gale's staff bent at a significant angle. Now I'm not here to judge a wizard by the bend in his staff, but this isn't what's advertised even on the back of the box!

Come on, Gale, that's just sad...

You may notice that the back of the box advertises a line of blind booster boxes! Each of those comes with one Large size figure and 3 Small or Medium figure. Would you like to see the differences between the advertised images on the page and the products shown in the video on that same page?

I know the top image from the video does suffer from the lower resolution, but that drop in quality has nothing to do with the camera/screen. The hair lacks any texture, the mouth no longer has a defined tongue and teeth it's just a blob, the chainmail is far less detailed, all the points on the mace and armour are far less sharp and defined.

The skin colour has changed in this one, despite the red in the armour staying the same. The details have dropped right off, and the face and hair look like a completely different character.

I apologise for the crop in this one but still we have gone from Lump the Enlightened to Lumpier the NotEnlightenedActually - his skin is now green, lacks the fine detail of hair and wrinkles, even misses the skin tone variation and shading from the original. The face is far less defined, you can see clearly that the rope belt has gone from high detail to much more blob-like.

I'm not going to go through all of them, but there are precious few that look like a quality level I would consider to be worth the price point.

You can see the products here:

And here:

The product videos that the screenshots come from are on those pages too in the description part of the product.

Final notes:

This is all just my opinion, but I feel like the advertised images are not representative of the product that will be delivered. If you have preordered already and you feel like you no longer want to have these items, you can apply for a refund before the items are shipped - the standard shop email will tell you that it may take 2 working days (Mon-Fri) to get a response.

If you still like these items and want to order them, I'm genuinely happy for you and hope you enjoy them - there isn't enough official merch for us especially for certain characters.

In my opinion, however, these should be advertised only with the actual products and not the fancy looking prototypes.

And for those feeling disappointed, maybe a meme will help a little? (I don't usually like this template/theme at all but honestly this might be the one time it actually fits)

[bloodbenderz]

there was a lot of mistakes made in the live action but the worst one without reservation was that the creators did not understand patriarchy and they did not understand women's liberation outside of an american context ( or any context if we're being honest )

it's easy to see on a surface level how that fucked up katara's whole character how she wasn't allowed to have her character defining moments how she wasn't allowed to be angry or even excited or impulsive but i think it doesn't really become clear how deeply wrong the show's conception of gender & patriarchy is (and the implications for the political landscape of the show) until you get into how they destroyed sokka's character too

sokka's whole Complex is born of patriarchy. i'm not trying to do men's rights advocacy here but in my experience when a people is under constant threat, constant assault, constant violence (much of which is gendered) and the traditional "protectors" or "providers" of that people are men, the masculine role becomes protecting women and children. i am not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing but it is true the narrative of violent resistance is overwhelmingly about men. to be a man in a time & place like this means fighting to protect your women, & to die for them is honorable. that is where sokka gets this idea that he has to be a warrior & he has to fight & if necessary die for katara & the rest of the tribe. it's about duty. everyone has a part to play, a role to fill

everyone including women! which is the other half of this. the duty of women is to keep up the home, to maintain a country worth fighting & dying for, to raise children so that the community can have a future. it becomes especially obvious in the context of the show when you see how the nwt lives & in specific how yue lives and dies.

many women participate in patriarchy. many colonized women participate in patriarchy. most of my family comes from or still lives in a country completely devastated by colonialism & its aftereffects & many women in my family believe wholeheartedly in the idea that everyone in the house has a role to play. it's not because these women are stupid or they hate themselves. but when you grow up believing that men & women are fundamentally different, and seeing that women are in specific danger because of their gender, it actually makes a lot of sense to expect the men in your family to protect you, and to raise your sons that way.

in practice that means that men aren't really expected to do anything around the house, especially when there's no actual danger. my aunt literally 2 days ago told me this lol like she doesn't make her sons do anything bc she wants to let their lives be easy before they have to go out into the world & take care of their wives & children.

what does women's liberation look like when an entire community is under threat? colonized women have been dealing with this question as long as colonialism has existed. the writers of this show don't even pretend to understand the question, much less to formulate a thoughtful response to it. they just say oh, well, katara, yue, & suki are all the exact same type of liberated girlboss for whom patriarchy is no significant obstacle.

which brings us back to sokka lol. sokka, at the beginning of the show, has completely subscribed to patriarchy, has integrated it into his sense of self. he has a lot of flaws, but he also has a lot of really good traits. his bravery, sense of honor, loyalty, work ethic, selflessness, all of this came from him striving to be a good man. he would die to protect katara, because she's his sister. he also has her wash his socks & mend his clothes, because she's his sister. even after he meets suki, humbles himself, & expands his view of the role a woman can play, he doesn't completely disengage from patriarchy. at the end of the day he believes in his soul that a good man's duty is to fight & if necessary die for his people, & that's exactly his plan. this is a very real psychic burden. pre-aang, it's also largely fictional & completely ridiculous. we're SUPPOSED to think it's ridiculous. he's spending his time training babies & working on his little watchtower. the swt hasn't been attacked since their mother was killed because it has been completely stripped of all value or danger it once held for the fire nation, & everybody knows this. there is very little "men's work" left, aside from hunting & fishing, which is so damaging to sokka's self image he resorts to toddler bootcamp to feel useful. the contradiction here is comical. it's also completely devastating. that's supposed to be the fucking POINTTTT like colonialism & patriarchy convinces this young boy he needs to be a soldier & die for his family. & you know what he does? He acts like a young boy about it. they didn't just leave this unexplored in the remake they completely changed the circumstances to 1. make sokka incompetent for some reason 2. make his "preparations" seem less ridiculous. Which ruins the whole character. Possibly the whole show.

all this makes the writing of katara & the other women infinitely more offensive to me. katara is a good character because she believes in revolution. she wants to liberate her people from imperialism, & she wants to liberate women from colonial gendered violence, traditional patriarchy in her own culture, & the complicated ways those things interact. it is LITERALLY the first thing you're supposed to learn about her. she's the PERFECT vehicle to address the question of women's liberation under colonialism. one of the things i was most looking forward to seeing in this show was how labor is distributed in a place where almost everything that needs to get done is "women's work" & how it affects katara & sokka's day to day relationship when their lives weren't at risk constantly. what actually are her responsibilities every day, & how do they compare to sokka's? how does her grandmother enforce these traditions with katara & sokka, & how is that informed by her own experiences in the nwt? what does patriarchy look like in a tribe made up of mostly women & children? it's so important to who katara is & what she believes! but why bother exploring any of that when u could instead make her a shein model who has nothing in common with the source material except her hairstyle lol.

yue is actually even worse to me bc yue is supposed to be sokka's counterpart. she's supposed to show you how destructive it is for women specifically to internalize this gendered duty so completely. it sucks for sokka, but he is a man & thus his prescribed role gives him some agency. yue's role affords her no agency whatsoever, & this is the POINT. to make her someone who's allowed to break things off with her fiance if she likes, who sneaks off to do what she wants when she's feeling stressed, whose will is respected as a monarch, like what is even the point of yue anymore? in the original the whole reason she was even allowed to spend time with sokka was because her father knew she was with a trustworthy boy. her story completely loses all significance when the dimension of patriarchy is removed from it. the crux of her whole story is that she is not just a princess but the literal & spiritual representation of the motherland. that's what women are supposed to represent during wartime, at the cost of their own sense of self. in order to fulfill her duty to her people she gives her life to them in every single way that matters.

it's just so unbelievably frustrating (and WRONG) that the only types of characters for these writers are "soulless misogynistic fuck" and "liberated american-style feminist." there's no nuance at all! they don't bother exploring how real love manifests in patriarchal communities, & how patriarchy defines the limits of that love. or how for so many of these people their idea of goodness, morality, & honor is gendered. or how imperialism affects not just individuals but entire cultures & their conceptions of gender. but why do any actual work when you could completely change sokka & katara's general demeanors, their entire personalities, & their roles in the tribe so you can dodge any & all nuance

Anyways. in conclusion. it was bad

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #26 – If On A Winter’s Night a Traveller by Italo Calvino

My mother recently started doing some severe post-retirement cleaning and reorganization of her home, which included what was somewhere between an invitation and an ultimatum to go sifting through all the books laying around the house to grab any I might want before 90% of them were disposed of. This provided an excellent chance to get my hands on a bunch of 20th century literature I had vaguely heard of before but didn’t actually know a thing about. Thus, If On a Winter’s Night a Traveller, a blisteringly clever and playful novel that is almost but not quite clever enough to last 260 pages before becoming truly insufferable.

The book is the story of a reader sitting down to enjoy the then newly-published If On a Winter’s Night a Travellerby Italo Calvino. Tragically, only a chapter into the book he discovers that there has been some horrible misprint, and every second page in the rest of the book is totally blank. Returning to the bookstore the following day to get an undamaged copy, he finds himself falling ever further into a farce, each attempt to read more of the last book he opened instead revealing itself to be the first chapter of an entirely different story. Pulled along by chance, circumstance, and a magnetic attraction to the similarly curious reader Ludmilla, he become impossibly entrapped in a bizarre conspiracy of counterfeiters, censors and false translations all engaged in vast esoteric contests over the true significance of reading, authorship, and truth.

So leaving the plot, characters and philosophizing aside for the moment (for better and worse), the most interesting and enjoyable thing about the book by far is the formal experimentation. Each of the different stories the protagonist reads the first chapter of is relayed(either paraphrased in great detail or entirely written out) in a very distinct voice and style than either the main narrative or any of the others. This could easily have been absolutely intolerable (and was beginning to wear out its welcome by the time we got to ‘1970s Italian guy writes pastiche of Japanese literature”), but on the whole I found it an absolute delight. It was overwhelmingly an excuse for Calvino to play around and show off, of course, but he is one of the vanishingly rare authors who can actually pull something like this off.

I was left wishing I either had far more context for the contemporary literary scene Calvino was responding to, or just that I was reading one of those later editions with an introduction by some English professor that spoils the entire plot before you start the book but also explains every reference made at length. I am nearly certain that at least some of the different vignettes were riffing on particular works or trends and that I’d have enjoyed the book more if I’d been familiar with them.

The actual plot I honestly found less endearing. Or better to say, I was enjoying it thoroughly when it was a more grounded farce of a basically average reading enthusiast nursing an intense infatuation with a woman he ran into at the book store and accidentally starting new stories in more and more improbable ways. It got a bit less enjoyable when the framing device plot itself because just as exaggerated and obviously trope-driven as any of the stories, centring around a globally infamous false translator and fraudster who fills the world with false and insincere stories for the sake of getting back at his lost love (the woman the narrator had quite coincidentally become infatuated with). Though I suppose that’s just a preference on my part for the framing device to be more mundane than the fictional excerpts – and in any event the more grounded comedy was usually funnier than the Austin Powers-esque farce it ended up at.

Some allowances have to be made for this being written 50 years ago. But also, oof does the writing of women in this feel like genre fiction written 50 years ago. No screeds or anything, but when the story stops to lampshade and poke fun at itself for every single female character (in both framing narrative and pieces of fiction) seemingly existing mostly to sleep with the protagonist, the bit of self-awareness ruins all possible charity I might feel towards the text. The most significant woman in the book by some margin is Ludmilla – ostensibly positioned for a bit as the book’s deuteragonist, quickly left behind afterwards and only really of significance to the plot insofar as all these different men are obsessed with her.

Speaking of being written 50 years ago – truthfully I did not realize that ‘postmodernism’ as a movement was quite so old. Always thought of it as more of a ‘90s thing than a ‘70s one. But there’s really no possible other way to describe this book. It’s somewhat amusing how the portrayal of academic life could be inserted into a work published any time up to today without raising anyone’s eyebrows, though.

This is fundamentally (and very explicitly) a book about books – about writing and reading, really, the relationship between author and audience and the nature of truth in literature. As a rule, I find this sort of thing insufferably masturbatory and self-congratulatory, but Calvino really does almost pull it off. An impressive feat which is basically entirely down to the quality of the prose and the translation. It really is very beautiful at points, and legitimately funny at others. Not, I think, enough to really sustain it for the entire length of the book, but it comes quite close.

I can’t say I recommend this without reservations, but it was certainly an interesting and fascinating read. If you suffer some fundamental damage like I do and get a consistent kinks of reading authors imitating dramatically different styles and voices n the same work. Just be prepared to roll your eyes a bit.

[dat-town]

mine for the summer

Characters: Leehan & female reader

Setting & genre: coming of age, summer romance, angst and fluff (it has a happy end!)

Summary: Busan is your hideout, your runaway place, your freedom bought on stolen time. Leehan is your first love, your safe place, your everything. At least, for the summer.

Warnings: stage name used, OC is coming out of a burnout in the beginning and she has a relapse, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, past hospitalization, emotionally distant parents, parental pressure on academics

Words: 9.4k

Author’s note: title from One Direction’s Summer Love. here is the Romeo + Juliet movie scene that gets mentioned

turns out i cannot not write an at least bit of an angsty story for your bday but i do sincerely hope you have a very happy one, @restlessmaknae <3 also of course you would start singing this song in july to give me a heart attack right before i accidentally told you i’m writing about Leehan

The humidity of air sticks to you like second skin, sweat glistening on your nape where your hair gets tangled in the summer heat. With closed eyes and the tickling feeling of sand under your bare feet, you listen to the ocean waves washing up the beach and children giggling. You take a deep breath of air filled with salt and fish and oil, something so uniquely Busan that you feel like fourteen again.

It’s been years since you had come to visit. Excuses were easy to find: too busy, too far; reasons were much harder.

But now you’re here and you realize that you missed it. The quiet serenity of being hidden away in the part of town that’s far from the busy skyscraper downtown and the overwhelming tourist traps. You remember spending summers running down these sandy beaches and playing in the water, mouth sticky with fruit and palms scratched with falls and youth. Then you turned older and got bored of the quiet neighborhood, the ocean losing its significance after seeing it too many times, eventually you stopped coming altogether. Now you are even older but still young, barely out of school, the CSAT exams still haunting your dreams. You’re just twenty but sometimes that age feels like it bears the weight of the world. Your world at least.

You open your eyes and squint right away at the brightness of the Sun and feel its burning heat on your bare shoulders only cooled by some nice breeze. The air might smell like salt, fish and oil but it tastes like freedom.

You take one more deep breath, willing yourself not to think of your mother’s disappointed words about your behavior nor her disapproval of you coming here, and push yourself up. You grab your discarded sandals and head back. Your grandparents must be worried already. In their eyes you are still fourteen, forever a child.

And they might be right because not even halfway down the beach, you abruptly halt and hiss, pain shooting into your feet and your carmine blood drips onto the golden sand. Balancing yourself on one leg, you check on the wound, a cut on the softest flesh part of your feet and the culprit, a broken shell in the sand. Clumsily you take your water bottle from your bag to clean the blood off, your skin still sensitive around the fresh wound. You debate whether you should tiptoe the rest of the way or clean your footwear off sand and dirt as much as you can but before you could decide, a stranger approaches you with worriedly furrowed brows.

“Are you okay?” He asks in a deep voice but you don’t pay too much attention to him, too busy to figure out what to do with your injury.

“Yeah, it’s just a small cut,” you brush his worry off, expecting him to walk away or maybe to give you directions to the closest pharmacy but he does neither.

“Here. Hold onto me,” the stranger offers his arm which you reluctantly but take because your balancing skills honestly aren’t the best. Then you can do nothing but stare as the boy around your age suddenly pulls out a plaster from his shorts’ pocket and leans down to inspect your wound. It’s a bit awkward, having a stranger look at your feet, so your fingers curl inside themselves around his arm. The boy is gentle, barely touching your skin as he applies the plaster and once he’s done, he straightens, looking down at you with sparkling, shiny eyes.

The first thing you notice about him other than his height and the low register of voice is actually his eyes, how pretty and expressive they are. The second thing is the way the wind blows his longer, almond colored fringe into his eyes. Your fingers twitch to brush it away just to find out if they are as soft as they look.

Then you realize that you’re staring, so you quickly look away, down at your feet that now has a cute seahorse patterned plaster on it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, a bit dumbfounded but amused at the same time. “Do you just carry around plasters everywhere?” You blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind as you lower your leg, still feeling a bit sensitive but much better.

“I can be a bit clumsy at times. And too curious for my own good or so I have been told,” the boy shrugs with a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m Leehan by the way.”

“I’m…”

“Y/N-ah! There you are,” your grandmother’s voice cuts off your introduction and like a kid caught doing something you shouldn’t have, you take a step backwards, away from the boy, on instinct.

“I have to go,” you look at the stranger, Leehan, one last time apologetically. “Thanks again.”

“Take care,” the boy smiles warmly and waves, the movement cute just like the animal print plaster he had on him.

You limp all the way towards your grandma who stands there with her hands on her hips, ready to scold but you hush her and tell her it’s nothing serious, that you are okay. Still you listen to her tsk-ing and nagging as you walk back inside the house but once she seems to run out of everything she could have said about it, she changes the topic swiftly.

“You barely got here and you are already snatching boys?”

“If by snatching you mean embarrassing myself in front of them, then sure,” you try to softly tone down your grandma’s enthusiasm but she keeps chattering despite the sarcasm in your answer.

“Leehan is a sweet boy, always helping when he sees me with lots of groceries. He lives in the neighborhood with his family and I think he graduated high school last year, so you must be the same age.”

You hate how hopeful she sounds because you didn’t come here to befriend people. When you called asking if you could spend the summer here like you used to, except this time you would help them out, your grandma was happy to take you in but worried too that you would be lonely or bored alone with ‘only them old folks’ but honestly, you craved a little peace and alone time. That’s why you needed to get out of Seoul too, away from its people. From all its memories.

So you just make a noncommittal hum and escape to the kitchen to help your grandpa with the scallion pancakes for dinner.

“What’s your grandmother fussing about?” He asks, pushing the glasses further up his nose.

“Nothing, I just stepped on a broken shell,” you shrug and get three plates from the shelves and kimchi from the fridge.

“Typical. I heard about it for weeks when I accidentally cut my finger one time,” he recited and you smiled, feeling loved and cared for. At home.

The market is stuffy, different smells of sea animals, fried food, fresh fruit and detergent mixing with the sounds of vendors arguing and negotiating over the static sound of music coming from an old radio. It’s busy but different type of busy compared to the crowded metro coaches. It’s lively here and while you had studied your ass off for the promise of a future corporate job, here you are packaging tteokbokki for takeaway, always adding extra because that’s a given for regulars. Not that you think it’s below you, you love the food stall aunties and uncles very much, but you would have never imagined yourself sweating next to a spicy boiling broth in the heat of summer. Maybe it had something to do with the way your mother talked about her parents’ job so derogatorily, always telling you that you’re only somebody if you’re well educated and a career woman. Maybe that’s why she was so against you coming here. Because it was a place she had run  away from.

You’re in the middle of chopping scallions in the back when you hear a cheerful call of Ahjumma! and your grandma perks up more than usual.

“Leehan-ah, are you going down to the beach?” She asks and you feel the back of your neck heat up but you blame it on the Sun. It has been days since the shell incident but the embarrassment still creeps on you. You hope the boy won’t notice you or at least not say anything about it.

“Later. First I have some errands to run,” Leehan says and your granny coos, probably patting his cheek too, calling him a good boy. Then casually while she is stirring the tteok in the pot, she suddenly changes the topic.

“If you have some free time, could you show our Y/N around? She doesn't really go out on her own.”

“Grandma!” You turn around, sulky at the callout. A mistake because you can clearly see the boy failing to hide his amused smile.

“Sure. If she can keep up,” he raises a brow elegantly at you which immediately makes you defensive.

“Are you calling me short?” You straighten up without meaning to because come on, you aren’t that much shorter!

“I’m asking if your foot is alright.” Leehan corrects your assumption with a know-it-all smile plastered on his face but he still manages to pull it off in a genuine way with a hint of worry. It makes you feel flustered for a moment.

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” you clear your throat and clean your hands in a rag cloth nearby.

“I’m just going to the post office, I’m free after that,” the boy says, looking straight at you from under his longer fringe, over your grandma’s shoulder.

“Great. Go have fun!” The old lady exclaims, turning and walking up to you, untying your apron faster than you would expect from somebody her age.

“Grandma, I’m not leaving you alone,” you protest but it’s no use. She tsks and shakes her head as if she couldn’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Please, we were doing fine before too. I can just get your grandpa to stop playing mahjong with the neighbors if more people come,” she brushes off your worries easily and basically pushes you out of the food stall’s kitchen area. You’re just about to complain about your bag when she shoves it towards your chest and all you can do is stare at her, shocked but you can’t really say anything when she smiles so sweetly and wishes that you have a good time.

Eventually, you’re the one to give up. It’s not like you could make her let you work against her wishes and she seems very keen on making sure that you go out and get friends while you’re here. It was difficult to convince her to let you help out at the shop at all to pay back in a way for their hospitality no matter how much they told you that they would be happy just to have you over the summer.

It’s only when you’re a little further as you follow Leehan through the market, when you speak up.

“You know, you don’t have to do what my grandmother asks you. I can be on my own just fine,” you mutter, not wanting him to think you’re some child that needs a babysitter. Just because you like to stay in your room, it doesn’t mean you would get lost if you set a foot outside.

“I’m sure, don’t worry. But it’s no bother. I like to be an advocate for the city,” the boy grins at you and as if on cue, an auntie greets him and insists on giving him a bag of peaches. Leehan asks about her grandchildren and compliments her harvest. He charms everybody effortlessly, a real sweet talker but he doesn’t seem fake about it at all and it’s kind of lovely, just like his fish themed plasters.

With people constantly greeting him, it takes way longer to get to the post office than it should have but at least you can laugh when he loses paper, rock, scissors against a nine year old kid and is bullied into trying something really spicy. You try to hide your smile while the little kid is unabashed about his reaction when Leehan grimaces at the hot spices, finding his disgusted nose scrunch hilarious. In apology, you buy him iced green tea at the next stall you see and he smiles at you brightly like the Sun.

Once Leehan is done at the post office, you expect it to get awkward but it’s him who breaks the silence as you stand in the shade, sweat dripping down your back in the moonsoon season’s humidity.

“So… you’re here for the summer?”

“Hm. I missed the sea,” you hum quietly, keeping your eyes on the bright horizon and the shimmering line of water in the distance.

It isn’t entirely a lie but not the whole truth either. Being so burned out after high school that you got a panic attack at the thought of going to university, so you had to postpone a semester and the disappointment it caused to your parents certainly isn’t something you want to dump on a practically stranger. But even if Leehan has a feeling that you’re not 100% sincere, he doesn’t push, which is something you appreciate.

“Well, then you came to the right place. Not to be biased but Busan has the prettiest beaches.”

“Prettier than Jeju?” You tease just for the sake of it and it makes the boy chuckle.

“Of course! Come on, I will show you my favorite place,” he tilts his head, a clear invitation and you give in because you don’t have anything better to do anyway.

The Sun is still high up on the sky, white clouds clear against the blue of it. You’re fanning yourself but it doesn’t help much. Leehan however doesn’t seem bothered by the heat, so you find yourself asking:

“Did you grow up here?”

“Born and raised,” he nods with a proud smile which isn’t that surprising because he has that more laidback way of talking that locals around here have. At least he’s not talking as fast as the neighbor ahjussi whom you have trouble understanding. “You have a Seoul dialect though.”

“That’s the standard way of speaking, just saying,” you roll your eyes at him calling the way you speak a dialect which makes him laugh. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

It’s silly arguing over something like this but it’s actually fun, you find yourself smiling without meaning to. Something that has come harder lately. So you end up answering the boy’s unasked question about your upbringing. You tell him about growing up among metal skyscrapers, the Han River and Seoul Forest being your escape, only spending your summers in Busan, your mother’s hometown until you were fourteen. Leehan listens and asks random questions like whether you have ever been to the COEX Aquarium or if you ever wanted to be a mermaid as a little girl. It’s surprisingly easy to talk with him, to open up. Maybe it’s because you know he doesn’t know you well enough to judge or even if he did, it doesn’t matter much because you would leave at the end of the summer anyways.

In the meantime you reach the sea and walk along the shore farther from the crowded beach and bay areas. When you come across a bunch of larger rocks, Leehan climbs onto the top easily and holds out a hand for you to help you up too. Tentatively but you take up on his offer and let him pull you up on the slightly slippery rock. He doesn’t let go until you land on stable ground on the other side. There are smaller rocks and pebble stones splattered across the sand there stretching from the clean turquoise blue waters to a cave overshadowed by greenery. It’s beautiful and you can’t believe you’re the only ones here.

“How did you find this place?” You ask in awe, wandering farther ahead. Even the sand is cooler here from the trees’ shade.

“Honestly, I don’t go out a lot either. I just like to go down to the beach and be, you know. So I have been looking for a place where I can chill and well, I had years,” the boy says with a hidden smile in the corner of his mouth as your grandmother’s words about your hermit behavior echoes in your ears.

Of course, you know that she means well and that she’s a social butterfly, so it’s weird for her that you are not that outgoing at your age. Or maybe she has heard from your mother of those weeks where you refused to leave your room let alone the house. Things had been bad then, now you’re getting better. You have come all the way to Busan after all. Was it to run away from your problems? Maybe, but also you hoped that not being in an environment that reminded you of your failures would help.

“Do you always bring girls here?” You ask, more playful than anything as you balance between two rocks, looking back at Leehan over your shoulder. You can hear him snort and catch the way he scratches the back of his neck.

“Not really,” he admits sheepishly. “Just the special ones,” he adds with a mischievous smirk on his face. Tsk, what a flirt, you shake your head in disbelief but amused.

“Aren’t you afraid that I will ruin your chill time here?” You ask as you settle onto a place in the shades, closing your eyes as you enjoy the cool breeze against your sweaty shoulders.

“Not really,” comes the answer closer than you expected as Leehan settles on the ground not far from you. You squint your eyes open to see his expression but he’s only looking at the sea fondly.

You don’t talk much afterwards, just sharing bits and bobs of your lives, little anecdotes. Leehan eventually offers to walk you home when it gets close to dinner time. You could easily find your way with Naver Maps but you let him anyway and try to keep up with his recommendations of Busan places to check out; you probably forget half of them though. You don’t exchange contacts, it somehow doesn’t even occur to you because you’re pretty sure you will run into each other one way or another. It’s all nice and cozy. Something you could get used to.

Even though you expected to meet Leehan, you didn’t think it would be so soon. But trust your grandma to play the matchmaker despite your firm reminder that you didn’t come to stay with them over the summer to get a boyfriend.

Still, you should have known better when you agreed to get cat food at the local pet store in lieu of one of your grandmother’s friends. You feared she would have gone herself and carried it all if you weren’t going and at that point you were just happy if she let you do anything yourself because you felt like a spoiled guest at her house. But of course, she had ulterior motives, you realize when behind the store’s counter, there’s none other than Leehan with his pretty smile and soft-looking hair.

“Are you stalking me?” He grins when he spots you after the jingling sound of the door chime signals your arrival, one side of his mouth curling more upwards then the other, the asymmetry of it making him even more handsome.

“Blame my grandma. She sent me here on an errand.”

You are quick to give him your excuse but it only makes the boy pout slightly and you can’t tell whether he’s faking it or he’s actually disappointed.

“I thought you missed my wonderful company,” he puts a hand over his heart and ah, that’s definitely over exaggerated.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” you deadpan as you walk up to the counter and pull out your phone to get the list of things you should buy.

You show the pet food brands and quantities to the boy and while he’s off to get them from the back, you look around in the shop. There are all sorts of cat and dog supplies but further in the back you see tanks and you swear you see movement in some, so your curiosity brings the worst out of you and you wander closer, smiling upon seeing the blue and golden fish in various prettily decorated glass boxes. You’re so busy looking inside the tanks that you get startled when Leehan speaks up from behind you.

“Do you like fish?”

“Oh… actually, I have wanted a fish tank at home ever since I saw Romeo + Juliet,” you admit as you turn to face the boy. He furrows his brows in confusion and you somehow feel urged to explain it in more detail. “It’s an adaptation from the 90s. In this version, Romeo and Juliet saw each other first through a fish tank at the ball. I just thought it’s… romantic,” you cut yourself off when you realise your’re rambling about embarrassing girly things and clear your throat. “Anyways, my parents obviously didn’t let me have one.”

“That’s cute,” Leehan says, his smile half-teasing, half-sincere and you feel heat coloring your cheeks. How can he just say things like that? “I have one at home.”

He adds casually but you immediately perk up.

“Really? Do you have pictures of it?” You can’t help but inquire and luckily the boy doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he seems pretty excited that he’s able to talk about his fish. He keeps showing you pictures of different states of the fish tank and what kind of fish he had before and what else he wants to get one day. He also tells you that this is his go-to place when it comes to buying fish supplies and it’s pretty cool that the owner lets him work here part-time over the summer. You are so distracted that the next customer has to come to the back looking for the cashier which is a bit awkward but you both laugh about it.

You shuffle around in the back while the customer gets the new leash for his dog and when he leaves, you go to the checkout counter too to pay for the cat food. You already stayed longer than you intended to do, so you do a little ‘hwaiting’ gesture at Leehan as a goodbye but his words stop you before you could leave.

“Would you like to go to the aquarium this weekend?” He asks and you swear you can hear the nervousness in his tone despite the smooth, casual delivery or his confident front.

“Sure, why not?” You try to play it cool too and eventually you agree to meet in front of the place on Saturday, so you leave the pet shop not only with cat food but weekend plans too and a smile on your face.

It’s an understatement to say that your grandma is over the moon when you tell them that you will be out Saturday because you made plans with Leehan. Your grandpa asks though if he needs to talk with ‘this young man about his intentions’ and you protest vehemently. It’s not even a date after all, because it isn’t, right? You’re just hanging out. Your granny waves her hand and chuckles at the interaction.

“Let them be. We were young once too,” she says in that voice she always has when she gets nostalgic. You listen to her stories about her youth even if you have heard them dozens of times before because your grandma had such an eventful life. No wonder she always encourages you to ‘live a little’ and follow your heart. That’s how you don’t regret life looking back, she says.

So that’s what you are doing when Saturday comes and you get ready to go out. The loose-fitting white dress feels light against your skin and with a sudden wave of enthusiasm, you reach for your barely used eyeshadow palette. Today you feel like doing something special, like putting on silver, glittery makeup. You feel good when you look into the mirror but then you start second guessing it. Isn’t it too much for a simple hangout?

Too late, you realize because you’re already short on time to make it to the aquarium by the agreed time, so you brush off your worries. By some miracle you manage to catch the bus, trying not to think about your outfit or makeup being too much, too… date-y.

When you arrive at the entrance, Leehan is already there, his tall figure striking even from a distance, especially in the jeans and tucked-in, light blue shirt combo he wears. He stands by one of the pillars, scrolling through his phone but pockets it right away when he sees you.

“Hey… You look pretty,” he blurts out, faint rosiness coloring his cheeks and it makes you feel shy too. Your previous thoughts about taking this dressing up too far cease to exist.

“Thanks. You look good too,” you say because it’s true, but he always looks nice. Even in the bermuda shorts he wears to the beach or the pet store uniform t-shirt. Maybe it’s because of his slender figure or his prince-like features or just overall the casual confidence he holds himself with.

“Thanks,” Leehan mutters and looks away. It’s quite a different reaction from what he shows when ahjummas on the market pinch his cheeks and call him handsome. “Let’s go in.”

Inside it’s like a hidden Atlantis. You are surrounded by lovey-dovey couples walking hand-in-hand and families with kids running around. The blue hue of water is casted over everything and Leehan’s eyes sparkle in the dim light as he tells you about things he learned from documentaries about the deep sea or at university. It turns out he’s studying oceanology at Korean Maritime and Ocean University there in Busan which is pretty cool, something that suits him. When he asks about your side, unknowing to the turmoil inside you when it comes to your studies, you don’t tell him about the stress you have been under just to get into a SKY university. You don’t tell him about your messed up sleeping and eating schedules, the IV drops at hospitals, the anxiety and panic attacks nor the result of it all. You just shrug and tell him that you got into a good uni with a business management major, but it’s not really what you want to do. He doesn’t ask why you did it then or why you don’t change it. Instead he looks at you with a smile under the penguins’ majestic aquarium and asks:

“If nothing else mattered, what would you want to do then?”

You give it a thought because you didn’t quite have the luxury to think about what you really wanted before. It was always about what your parents wanted you to do. Until you decided to pack your things and come down to this beach town.

“Staying here forever,” you eventually respond and it sounds like an exaggeration, so you chuckle to soften the confession’s rough edges. Even if Leehan doesn’t know you well enough (yet) to understand the longing in those words, your yearning for the taste of freedom and the warmth of a home where you are waited for,che seems to understand. He just smiles wider and proceeds to tell about the crazy lifespan of some turtle species. It’s good, your tensed shoulders relax again as you follow him to the next section.

After you have thoroughly seen everything at the aquarium, you find a place nearby to eat at, then walk down the closeby popular Haeundae beach. It’s not as pretty as the one next to the lagoon Leehan showed you the other day and there are more people here than you would have preferred but it’s okay. You never seem to run out of topics, lighthearted ones, yet even silence is comfortable with Leehan.

“See you tomorrow at the beach?” You ask in lieu of saying goodbye on your way back. Your fingers are intertwined behind your back just to do something with them because they are sweaty and soiled with sand from the impromptu sand castle building you came up with under the last unforgiving rays of the Sun.

“Don’t miss me too much until then,” Leehan says with a corny smile playing on his lips instead of saying yes but you just laugh and let him be.

You ignore your grandma’s knowing glare from the living room as you run up the stairs two at a time, your white dress floating behind you like flower petals in the wind.

On Sunday you meet on the beach and stay out until the Sun disappears behind the horizon. Next week you help Leehan choose a new decoration for his fish tank and spend two hours in the pet store listening to him talk about the difference between algae types and the importance of filters and sub-filters. On Friday your grandparents are at the hospital for their usual check up, so you’re on your own in the food stall. Leehan comes around to keep you entertained but he ends up helping out when a bigger group appears. Sweet of him but you find out the hard way that he has shitty sense when it comes to spice, especially salt, measurements.

The week after, you run into each other in your local Olive Young while you’re getting a new nail polish color and he has a bottle of shampoo in his basket. You end up leaving with a new glittery eyeshadow palette too because the boy drops a comment that it would look pretty on you. You put it on together with the baby pink nail polish you just bought when you go to the outdoor screening of a Korean classic on the beach. Under fairy lights and the fluorescent reflections of the movie in Leehan’s sparkling eyes, you feel a rush of something selfish, a longing so deep it cuts and you have to look away before it becomes obvious.

You don’t talk about it, whether these are dates or not. Because talking about it would make it real. It would make it scary, because then you would have something to lose when the summer ends. It’s fragile but it’s yours and it’s enough, you tell yourself.

One of these days it rains. The kind of sudden summer downpour that feels way too nice on your heated skin in the humid, hot weather. It catches you in the middle of eating ice cream with Leehan and you can’t help but yelp when the first cold raindrops touch your bare shoulder. You both get up quickly and run for cover ice cream long forgotten but the rain just pours and pours and both of you are drenched by the time you reach the nearby cave.

You look up at Leehan from under your wet eyelashes, shivering slightly and burst out laughing at the sight of his hair sticking to his face weirdly like a soaked puppy. You know you don’t look any better because you feel your hair weight over your shoulders like a rag. You try your best to tie it up, out of your eyes but Leehan is still staring.

“What?” You ask, self-conscious and shy under his intense stare. Then you are holding your breath because the boy lifts his right hand and touches your face. His touch burns and leaves goosebumps in its wake as he brushes another lock of hair behind your ear.

The rain is loud around you but it all sounds saturated right there, at the entrance of the small cave just by the beach. You tremble, not from the cold but something akin to anticipation.

Leehan’s gaze meets your eyes. There’s softness and wonder in the depth of his brown orbs. You take a shaky breath as he runs his fingers down the expanse of your bare arm until he finds your hand and then he chuckles and pulls you out into the pouring rain.

“Yah!” You scream at him but you laugh too, a childish feeling bubbling up in your chest.

You chase each other around on the beach. The sand is wet under your feet and the sea is cold when you end up knees deep, splashing water at each other as if you could be even more soaked. Your laughters echo in the cave and you feel the most alive in a while.

You still laugh about it when the next day you wake up with a cold and sore throat.

The push and pull between you is like the waves washing up the shore. There has to be a breaking point when it spills over. It happens in Leehan’s room when he finally shows you his fish family in person after chatting your ears off about them. The tank is bigger than you expected and it’s really nicely decorated, it’s clear that the boy put a lot of effort into it and you appreciate all the details. You’re too busy watching in awe as the tetras and shrimps swim around to notice the boy on the other side of the water wall until you catch his eyes on you. You blink in surprise and think that it’s unfair how handsome he looks even through two layers of glass and filtered water. Bashful, you straighten up at once and Leehan does the same on the other side.

“Was it like this? In the movie?” He asks, curiosity coloring his deep voice and your breath hitches because he remembers! It was something small you mentioned to him the second time you met and yet, he didn’t forget.

“Something like this,” you nod, still bewildered and breathing shallowly as the boy edges closer, leaning over the fish tank.

“What happens after?” Leehan’s voice is barely above a whisper as his gaze searches your face. Your fingers tremble, so you press them against the countertop for balance.

“Why do I have a feeling that you know?” You lower your voice too as if it was a secret and the thought of him looking up the movie just because you told him about it makes you feel mushy inside.

Leehan giggles and it's music to your ears, a beautiful sound. 

Your eyes flutter closed when his lips graze against yours. It’s chaste and clumsy but his kiss tastes sweet like cherry lip balm and summer. You never want to forget this feeling.

What starts with a kiss between four walls ends up spilling all over the pages of your summer. It’s in the way you share looks and secret smiles over your grandmother’s shoulder, the way he holds your hand as you walk down the beach or the way every accidental touch sets your skin on fire. The way you talk on the phone until late on days when you can’t meet or how he notices the faintest burn mark on your fingertip from cooking and presses a kiss on it to ‘help it heal’. It's shared packs of gummies, sea-washed hearts drawn into sand, blush on cheeks and a secret held close to your heart. You still don’t talk about the future, about what it means even though you know you should. You should tell Leehan that it’s bound to end in heartbreak because you will leave eventually but for once you let yourself be selfish and pretend that you have all the time in the world. Or at least pretend that you have him.

It’s been almost two months since you have been in Busan and you have felt better than ever. No pressure on your chest anymore when you wake up, no breaking out in sweat when you see the calendar counting down days, no lack of motivation to go outside. However, one thing is enough to crash it all down. One simple thing.

You stare at your ringing, buzzing phone as if you could will it to stop just by looking at it hard enough. Your mother’s name on the screen is enough to make your stomach twist uncomfortably and you bite into your inside cheek so hard you taste iron as you swipe the call towards the green direction.

“Y/N,” your mother calls your name like a greeting. You hold your breath back, wondering if she will tell you that they missed you since you haven’t talked with them since you have left but you should have known not to get your hopes up.

“Did you decide on the next semester?” She asks, straight to the point as if that’s the only thing they care about. Maybe it is.

“No,” you mumble and you want to make yourself smaller when you hear your mother’s disappointed sigh. It’s bringing back ugly memories. The realization that their love is conditional hits you hard again.

“When are you coming back then? It’s been enough of a vacation already,” she says dismissively and you know too well that she doesn’t ask because she wants you back out of caring but because then she would have more leverage over you.

“I’m staying for the rest of summer,” you force yourself to remind her because no matter how guilty and ungrateful she makes you feel, you remember how hard it was to leave, to go against her in the first place, so you don’t want to go back, not until you are sure she cannot emotionally manipulate you into doing something you don’t want.

“What a waste of time. You should at least sign up for a language course–”

“I have to go. Sorry,” you hang up the call and only when you drop the phone onto the bed’s mattress you realize that you’re trembling. It’s when the tears are starting to sting your eyes. Your phone rings again, your mother’s contact haunting you like a ghost, so you switch the phone off entirely. You refuse to cry but the ugly sobs bubble up nevertheless and it’s all coming back.

It’s day three of shutting yourself in your room and not talking with everybody. You feel useless and stuck, just like the disappointment your mother thinks you are. When there’s a knock on your door, you think it’s your grandmother coming for the breakfast tray, so unsuspecting, you open it. You immediately wish you didn’t because in front of you stands Leehan with worry clear on his face. Or is it pity? In this mindset, it’s hard to tell.

“Your grandmother let me in. I couldn’t reach you,” The boy rushes to speak up, his voice stained with something heavy. “Are you… What’s wrong?” He corrects himself probably realizing that asking if you are okay would be a stupid question when you clearly aren’t.

“You should leave,” you croak out, your voice hoarse from disuse.

“Y/N, don’t,” Leehan pleads with sad eyes that beg to don’t push me away, don’t shut me out but you’re too used to dealing with things alone. “You don’t have to tell me but let me be here for you.”

It’s the gentleness in his request that makes you stall. He doesn’t force you to do anything, he just asks like he wants to be there. Like he doesn’t care that you look shitty and ignored him for days. You don’t deserve his kindness.

“Let me shower first,” you look away before opening your door wider to your curtained and stuffy room.

You open the window and grab some homey clothes from the gardrobe because you don’t want to stay in your pajamas next to the boy. Then you close yourself inside the bathroom, taking a too cold shower but by the end of it you actually feel a bit more like yourself. You walk back to your room in the new, clean clothes and wet hair, not ready to look Leehan in the eye, so you’re relieved when he doesn’t make you do that either. He just gently takes the towel from your hands and sits down behind you on the bed, massaging the soft material into your head. You let out a little choked up sound at the feeling of being cared for. You close your eyes to will yourself not to cry and Leehan doesn’t say anything, he just keeps drying your hair gently.

“My mother called,” you speak up after what feels like forever and yet not long enough. The boy hums quietly, showing that he’s listening but he lets you go on at your own pace. So you tell him about the pressure to do well at the CSAT exams and to get into a SKY uni, about falling out with your best friend because of competitive studying, about starting to hate it and how it ruined your relationship with your parents.

You speak and Leehan listens, then when there are no words and your heart feels like an empty shell, he holds you close. It feels like he holds all your broken, ugly pieces together.

It doesn’t happen from one day to another but things get better. You get better again. It’s the kind of progress that you have to do yourself but having your supportive grandparents and Leehan by your side definitely helps.

The boy comes over often in the beginning because you don’t yet feel like going out and being seen by people. Your grandfather mentions something about keeping your door open at all times but after realizing that all you do is watching documentaries on your laptop, reading books with your head in Leehan’s lap while he is on his phone or braiding each others’ hair, he doesn’t say anything anymore.

It takes a while to gather courage to tell everything to your grandparents too because it’s one thing opening up to Leehan but it’s about their daughter and you’re afraid that despite letting you stay here and not caring much about your education, they would take your mother’s side. Luckily, they understand.

“You could stay, you know. Your grandfather and I would be happy to have you here,” your granny reassures you with a hand on yours, soothing.

“It’s not that simple,” you let out a quiet sob because which ungrateful child doesn’t do what their parents want after the fortune they had spent on her education? It’s just university, you can bear it for a few years, says the little voice in your head, even if you hate it, even if your perfectionist tendencies will ruin the experience for you.

“It can be that simple. I will talk with your mother,” your grandpa exclaims and you know he would do so if you don’t stop him.

“Please don’t. It’s something I have to do myself,” you say because you can’t let others fight your battles for you, because it’s a step you need to take for the freedom you crave.

It’s scary still, preparing to tell your parents something you know they won’t like nor will they hesitate to try and change your mind. 

Leehan squeezes your hand before leaving you alone to make the phone call. He doesn’t go far, you know that the farthest is the kitchen where your grandma will convince him to taste her cooking. You pace around in the room, giving yourself a pep talk, rehearsing your prepared speech a few times before hitting the call button.

It takes three rings for your mother to answer. Her voice is leveled and disinterested when she asks how you are. She doesn’t care, she only cares about what people will say about her if their A+ student daughter won’t go to university. But you won’t take her burdens on your shoulders anymore.

“I decided. I won’t start uni next semester. In fact, I will drop out,” you blurt out as quickly as possible, like ripping off a bandaid. You don’t let your voice waver no matter how nervous you feel. “Maybe one day I will attend a university but if I do, I will study something I would like to, something I'm actually interested in, not business,” you continue before your mother could interrupt you. “Thank you for supporting me through school but I’m old enough now to make my decisions, so I would rather pay you back for all that.”

Your parents are stunned to say the least. There comes a nicely wrapped threat about ‘their house, their rules’ but when that doesn’t work, they try to negotiate. They tell you that you will regret it, to think of all your wasted efforts and how lucky you are, then they want to talk in person. You say it wouldn’t change anything and telling them actually feels like a huge rock being lifted off your chest and you can finally breathe.

It becomes easier after that. The countdown stops and you can sleep properly. Summer ends and you start packing your bag. Going back to Seoul doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

You ask Leehan to meet you at the beach, your usual place, because he deserves to know. He brings fruits and jellies, an entire picnic. Your heart aches because he doesn’t know it’s goodbye. Or maybe he has a feeling since he has always had good intuitions and because this idyll was never meant to last longer than summer.

You eat and you talk while watching the waves and the clouds chase each other. Leehan tells you about the classes he has in the upcoming semester and his fish family updates. You tell him the latest anecdote about your grandparents because the atmosphere is too good to bring up you leaving so soon.

You watch the sunset together with his head on your thigh and your fingers raking through his soft hair, grazing across his reddened ears and the earring he wears. He’s illuminated by the oranges and goldens of the dying Sun and your heart shatters at the sight. He is so beautiful and you want to remember this moment forever.

When darkness settles, you take out sparklers, set them in the sand and cuddle until the last speck of light burns out, until you can see the constellations you cannot name clearly in the night sky.

“I go back to Seoul next week,” you whisper as you lie on the picnic blanket and watch the stars together. Leehan doesn’t say anything immediately and you don’t dare to turn to him. Not before you tell him why. “We will go to family therapy. It was mom’s idea but maybe it will do us good. I owe them at least this. They are trying.”

They might not be the best parents but you know that they mean well in their own way even if it’s not something you want. It’s already a big thing that they also realized that you need help to mend family ties. But that’s not the only reason why you’re leaving.

“I also need to figure out what I want to do for myself and not for others,” you admit in a small voice, barely audible.

You spent your teens working towards a goal your parents set for you and it made you miserable. You’re afraid of it happening again and that’s why you can’t stay in Busan no matter how at home you feel here. Because you know this is what your grandparents would want, because Leehan is here and it scares you that one day you will blame them for staying because you are too weak to make your own choices. So you need to decide on your own. You need to be sure you aren’t just running away from your problems.

Moments pass and the boy’s silence is unnerving. You wonder if he’s angry or if he’s sad. If anybody, you would think he understands but you cannot be sure and it’s killing you. When you turn to him, he moves too and suddenly you’re paper thin distance apart. When he pulls you against his chest, you can feel the rapid rhythm of his heart. When he speaks up, his melodic voice is shaky with unsaid emotions.

“I hope you can find what makes you happy,” he says as he strokes your back gently and it’s an i will miss you, i get it, i wish you the best all in one and tears pool up in your eyes, feeling touched and understood. You nuzzle closer, taking a deep breath full of Leehan’s signature scent of sea salt and sand and something sweet.

“I will miss you,” you whisper under the stars and they witness it as the closest thing you can manage to the confession you can’t say out loud. But it’s in your heartbeat and all your memories.

You and Leehan had all summer and it was golden. It was love even if you never said it out loud.

3 MONTHS LATER

Winter in Busan is kinder. It’s still cutting cold but not unforgiving like in Seoul. It's a roasted sweet potato smell and a stranger helping you with your big suitcase as you get off the train. One of the stores plays Christmas music while you are checking your phone to see if your driver has already arrived.

“Y/N!” A familiar voice calls for you and a smile blooms on your face, whipping your head towards the source of it. There he is in all his beauty, a fluffy scarf around his neck, a beanie on top of his head and his nose red.

You want to rush up to him but your suitcase is heavy and its wheel gets trapped in something, so you manage to trip and lose your balance. Luckily, Leehan is there to catch you and it’s déja vu, a reminder from the summer when you held onto him, another beginning.

“Careful,” the boy warns you with a chuckle as he lets go and looks down at you with a tender smile. You mimic his reaction, your heart getting wild in your chest that you finally see him again. “You are smiling. It’s pretty,” Leehan says in awe and you beam at him wider.

“I’m happy,” you tell him, honestly because he’s part of the reason why.

A lot has happened in the last three months since you left Busan. Family therapy wasn’t a piece of cake because admitting mistakes wasn’t your parents’ forte but it did help to salvage your relationship as a family. They stopped pushing you to choose a higher education and let you make your decisions yourself. First of those was to start tutoring high schoolers who wanted to get into a SKY university like you did. Even though you didn’t actually attend one, the admission letter was proof enough for many people and you realized you liked helping others. You also developed a teaching style that’s more compliment and reward-based than the strict hakwon style. Out of all subjects, you enjoyed teaching English the most, so when you not so accidentally came across an opening position in a language center in Busan, you applied right away.

The truth is you missed Busan. The freedom, the independence, the happiness you found here. And you missed your grandparents and Leehan the most. This time it’s not just a hideout where you come running away from your issues. This time, you come because you want to be here. It’s a home to return to.

Leehan takes your suitcase from you and walks you to the parking lot to his dad’s car. He got his license this fall for which you cheered him on all the way via texts the same way as he supported your teaching journey. You listen to the cheerful songs on the radio as he drives you to your grandparents’ house while talking about the train ride as if you haven’t been texting throughout it. It’s almost like nothing changed and yet, everything did.

“Leehan-ah,” your grandmother coos when you arrive, welcoming the boy with a warm hug.

“Hey,” you pout pseudo-sulky because shouldn’t she greet you first? Her one and only granddaughter? She should take notes from your grandpa.

“Don’t be jealous, sweetheart,” your grandma singsongs before wrapping you in her embrace too, all warm and loving. Immediately after she starts listing down your favorites that she has been cooking since morning but you shush her because you should at least pack your stuff in your room. Leehan offers to help with your luggage and the two of you go up the stairs while you hear your grandparents ‘whisper’ about when to bring out the cake. It makes you chuckle. It makes you happy.

“Actually, I bought you something, too,” Leehan speaks up, his ears as red as his nose but you aren’t sure it’s from the cold outside.

“Oh, what is it?” You ask, surprised but curious and when he nods towards your room’s door. You give him a quizzical look before pushing down the handle.

At first nothing stands out, it’s almost like how you left it months ago but then in a flash of gold you notice one striking difference. There it is, unmistakable, a fish bowl with a single goldfish and some rocks and coral decoration in it on your desk.

“It’s not exactly a fish tank you must have wanted but it’s better to start small,” Leehan explains with a smile in the corner of his mouth and you realize once again just how much he sees and understands you, he always has.

“Thank you! I love it so much!” You exclaim, throwing your arms around the boy, giggling into his chest.

You fussing over your new pet fish is interrupted by your grandma inviting you down for lunch and suddenly it’s like nothing has changed since summer. Leehan is welcomed at your table as if it’s the most natural thing and your grandpa is still teasing your grandma about making way too much food. They keep asking you about your job too as if you knew anything more than what you told them on the phone.

After lunch, you help clean the table while your grandpa keeps Leehan busy by asking him about something he saw on the internet. When your grandma sees you stealing glances, she nudges you in the side and tells you to walk him out with a knowing look which makes you roll your eyes as if you didn’t yearn for more alone time with the boy.

So here you are right at the gate, knowing full well that your grandparents are watching through the window, fidgeting with your scarf, not knowing how to say goodbye even though you will probably see him tomorrow after work. Eventually it’s Leehan who speaks up.

“Y/N,” he calls your name and it sounds so sweet from his mouth, you feel degrees warmer in the cold of winter.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to call your name. I still can’t believe you’re here,” the boy chuckles sheepishly and you realize it’s not only you who’s nervous. But maybe there’s no reason to. Now you know what you want.

“I’m here and I’m staying,” you promise and when Leehan smiles, the mole on his left cheek moves upwards and you tiptoe to peck him right on it. He has a hand on your arm as you descend down flat to your feet and his gaze is stuck on you. You’re mesmerized as you watch all his moles and acne spots and his boyish beauty that makes your heart flutter. You stand so close that you can see the snowflakes melting over his eyelashes and that’s when you notice it.

“Oh, look, it’s snowing!” You squeal with childlike wonder as you look up at the sky and try to catch the floating snowflakes on your palm.

Leehan hums quietly but his voice is playful when he asks:

“Do you know what they say about the first snow?”

You blink at his sudden question, cheeks growing pink and hot as the boy leans closer.

“You’re as smooth as ever,” you mumble, shy, because of course you know the saying about couples’ love being long-lasting if they witness the first snow together.

Your first kiss tasted sweet like cherry jellies but this one tastes like forever locked in a touch. You had the summer together but now you have all the seasons ahead of you and you can’t wait to walk them through together with Leehan.

[literatureloverx]

Just use this blog! I would love to get your thoughts in Chuuya since you do such an amazing job with Fyodor. Would be awesome to know your ideal types for the other bsd guys (..well chuuya mainly)

Such a cutie patootie request 🥹 I love it, and I’ve been wanting to write about this for a while now!

I’m a bit nervous about writing a character who isn’t Fyodor, but I really hope I can meet your expectations. ❤️ I would hate to disappoint. 🥺

Just a heads-up: I’m also planning to write about Dazai’s, Nikolai’s, and maybe even Akutagawa’s ideal types at some point. ❤️

Chuuya x fem!reader, Chuuya x ideal type!reader.🧡

Chuuya’s ideal type

In my character analysis post for Fyodor, I mentioned that Fyodor is not a "darling-neutral" character, which suggests that he has a very clear and non-negotiable ideal type.

However, this is certainly not the case with our beloved Chuuya.

Chuuya is genuinely "darling-neutral," but I’d like to depict an ideal type nonetheless, as I believe he has some aspects he would greatly admire in a woman.

Although I can’t recall where I read it, it was mentioned somewhere that Chuuya appreciates elegant people with a good sense of fashion.

When I think of such a person, I immediately picture an elegant woman who knows how to carry herself effectively and gracefully.

A good sense of fashion often indicates high self-esteem and self-worth.

This leads me to believe that Chuuya’s ideal type would definitely be someone confident.

It’s important to clarify that confidence doesn’t mean being loud or mean.

Imagine someone who is elegant, feminine (but not hyper-feminine), and confident.

This person would not be gracefully meek or silent but would act, look, behave, and move with class and confidence.

Given Chuuya’s own pride in his male strength, his keen sense of fashion, and his confidence brimming with pride, I believe he would fall for such a person almost immediately.

However, his ideal partner should not challenge him in a way that disrupts his sense of harmony.

This is precisely why he says he hates Dazai; it’s not that he hates Dazai himself, but rather the constant challenges Dazai presents that unsettle him.

Chuuya is a proud man in every possible way, and he wouldn’t easily tolerate disrespect or undue challenge.

In terms of physical appearance, I don’t think that attributes like hair or skin color, height (even though he is 5'3"/160 cm), or weight would be of significant importance to him.

However, I don’t believe he would be attracted to someone who is obese. Don’t get me wrong—he is strong enough to carry someone regardless of their weight, but it’s simply not his vibe.

“If a person’s body is prominent, it should be due to athleticism.”—Chuuya, probably.

Still, I don’t see him caring much about your fitness level either.

When I said he is "darling-neutral," I genuinely meant it.

I believe that Chuuya could easily fall in love with a shy, more masculine, sincere, or careful partner.

He has a beautiful and deeply humane heart, which allows him to see the best in his partner, no matter their characteristics.

However, this is not in a naive way—he would guide his partner to the right path if he sensed something might be off.

On the emotional side, Chuuya loves challenges, but his life is already filled with them. He might seek rest in his partner’s arms rather than being constantly challenged.

He would likely get bored with someone who is only loving but not truly engaging, as he is not a passive person himself.

Chuuya is active in whatever he does.

Chuuya is active in everything he does, so he needs a partner who can at least keep up with his lifestyle.

As a feared man and a valuable part of the Port Mafia—an executive, no less—his position should not intimidate his partner.

This is why I believe he wouldn’t keep his situation a secret.

He wants a true partner, someone loyal to him who also has a life of her own with meaningful activities, so she doesn’t feel alone or isolated when he’s not around.

His ideal partner should be independent and capable of taking care of herself, but also willing to let him take care of her—not because she needs it, but because she wants it.

This is how Chuuya expresses his love, through grand gestures and physical affection.

His partner should accept this wholeheartedly.

Loyalty is one of the most important aspects of Chuuya's relationship with his partner. He is loyal until the end of time, and he expects the same in return.

Then there’s his expensive wine collection—he’s not a heavy drinker, but he enjoys a good glass of wine now and then, especially when celebrating or unwinding after a long day.

He would expect his partner to share these peaceful moments with him. His vulnerable state when he drinks and relaxes gives him a sense of domestic warmth.

I’m not sure if this is a common interpretation of Chuuya’s character, but I see him as a somewhat possessive lover—perhaps not possessive in the typical sense, but definitely territorial.

Sexually, he may be very possessive, but in other aspects, he’s more about asserting his territory.

Because he won’t take it lightly if someone flirts with you or eyes you, you’ll need to be someone who can maintain a certain distance from others when necessary.

This is why I envisioned an ideal type for Chuuya who is classy, carrying herself with elegance and confidence, rather than someone who is chatty or bubbly.

Chuuya is territorial, and while you’re free to do as you please—go shopping with friends (he would even give you his black card), meet them anywhere, or engage in any activities you like—he barely has time for himself.

So, when he does have time for the two of you, he would expect you to set everything else aside to spend that time together.

That is why he needs someone who is ready to make sacrifices when needed.

Edit: I practically forgot to mention any real sexual content about his potential darling, so here they are:

I don’t think he would care whether his partner is a virgin or not, but if you are, he’d be very proud to be your first and would strive to make your first experience as beautiful and sensually unforgettable as possible.

However, I can’t see him being attracted to someone who is "too open" with sexual encounters, like someone who sleeps around.

This simply doesn’t align with the image of a woman who carries herself with confidence and grace.

[tornoleander]

Finally Ironed out some ninja designs! I Usually don’t share references but with the behind the scenes stuff I’m doing on my Skybound project I don’t have much else I can share yet.

There is a few headcanon/ Fic stuff in references and powers and the all ninja shot is for first part of Skybound project.

I can share Skybound project Updates! I’m making lots of progress! Trying to focus on p1 stuff so I can put full force into the p2 stuff!

|

V

P1 may be ready Summer? 2025

My Skybound talk Video:

* God I have so much to ramble about just when I think I covered something a new angle gets me

* How TF am I supposed to sanely transition from the wholesome reasons I love this season into the horribly problem stuff. Sigh*

* Actually studying videos covering serious topics to navigate how to word things.

* I have to stop drawing so much art for everything or no one will ever see this video.

* The desire to animate my character lipsinking to me is an evolutionary disadvantage I will resist.

Cannon compliant Animatic:

* Song is Ironed out fought a while adding voice lines and I’m way more excited than I thought I’d be for this animatic because I thought it would be overshadowed by how strongly I feel about the other 2. But damn.

* I’m storyboarding after like my life depends on it rn

* Really trying to capture Nya’s character Ark which sent me right back to the video script because I remembered that one reddit post calling her a bitch and rage wrote for 2 hours.

* I am determined to make people see how good her character arc actually is.

* Throwing Jay shade in this one lol he was kinda awful even with being manipulated.

* Trying to convey clear Ideas and story through art is pain but also addicting.

* This is meant as a leading to both part two animatics, but bbnb Kai is shorter than wytyaa Kai. The difference is significant everything else pre dinner with Nadakhan is the same. The other head cannons are almost aligned as far as I know. It’s JUST Kai. What do I do with him?!? Lmao Might just distance him from the other ninja so you can’t tell how tall he is. Thank goodness he is the most gullible and first to wish it all away

P2 out like December if I’M lucky TT

Even though I should focus on first things first, I can’t help myself. these fics have lived rent free in my brain for like 2 years and despite plans shifting the excitement of drawing the story I read and put to music in my head is a force of nature. Thanks Adhd

Wytyaa:

* I storyboarded about half the scenes I want to. Songs are decided but a few parts I’m waiting for the rest of the story for.

* I think I’m going to mess with color palette. I really want to capture the emotion and intensity. I’m learning the full potential of my art and

* I need Final ch released for maping out the second half.

* BUT I AM NOT READY TO READ IT @mondothebombo And from what you told me I don’t think I’ll be able to finish P1 by then. cries*

* I wanna capture the feeling reading wytyaa.

* May make my wytyaa specific refs so I can make animatic art I can post early.

Bbnb

* It’s all storyboarded and half animated

* Thinking about redoing most the earlier stuff, consistency has been a problem

* Also was to mess with colors, dark backgrounds and intense colors.

* I fought with my ref forever to find good enough lightning scar colors cause figuring out the right amount of contrast is pain.

* So now I want to redraw my bbnb scar references a third time.

* May draw other bbnb specific refs so I can make some art for the animatic I can post here early or on on my old A03 book

If you have Any questions feel free to leave an ask! I answer all eventually sometimes I do save em up though so if I didn’t answer something yet, Sorry I will get to you.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

The current Arknights global server event is such a weird mixed bag. I only started reading it out of morbid curiosity. And I haven’t finished reading it yet (I’m a little over halfway through) but I can already say that is has some of the most explicit lesbianism of any Arknights event. And the plot with Narantuya and her goons has such a specific reoccurring minor villain Jessie James and Meowth type vibe that is very fun to read. It’s also got a significant amount of night at the museum stuff going on in the plot which is kinda fun. But all that good stuff is kinda hard to enjoy because of the problems.

We knew going into it that it was going to be uncomfortably orientalist with its “Egypt” theming and the fact that they’ve never really handled Sargon well in any events. And everyone saw when it dropped on CN how they made almost all the characters have light skin. For the most part it’s just been rehashing tropes that we’ve all seen used time and time again which is disappointing but not particularly surprising. But then you get to the absolutely baffling reverse racism type decision to have a side plot about a woman from Minos (Arknights Greece) traveling to an area of Sargon that is clearly supposed to be Egypt, and going to Egyptian museums to try and reclaim stolen Minoan artifacts. To depict fucking Egypt of all countries as the one to have stolen artifacts from a European country is absolutely bizarre. Egypt?! Is there a single other country that had as much of their history stolen to be displayed in European and American museums? The place where mummified corpses laid to rest were not only stolen but are now in short supply because the English ate them? That’s the place you want to depict as having raided and stolen priceless artifacts from other countries in your gacha game event?

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Hotel Sketchbook 2: Part 9

Masterpost

Spider fam

At this point, I'd done most of the main cast and started branching out, because I like doing character design. So I took a crack at the Spider Family. Notes will be under the cut.

At the very end, I was doing some 1920s flapper girl research. You only get one guess why.

Overview: So the whole family is spiders because the mob is a whole family-wide web of crime. But the more deeply involved, the more spider traits they have.

More notes under the cut

Arackniss: the heir

As the heir to the family business, Arackniss was highly involved. It's made him pretty tired and grumpy and no-nonsense. He functions on coffee, usually black because he's just after the caffeine. He's also a smoker. He's gotta have his cigarettes.

He has three sets of arms, and is unable to retract any of them. He usually has an overcoat and sticks his extra arms in pockets, which hides them pretty well. He's able to climb walls and jump well.

Design-wise, I wanted to differentiate his head shape from Angel's by slightly changing his hairstyle. And his eyebrows are actually a pair of eyes. (Jumping spiders have 4 pairs of eyes, 8 eyes total)

Angie: the wild child

Anthony had always been pretty wishy washy in his desire to participate in the family business. He enjoyed some aspects, but not others. Overall, he just enjoyed partying and shooting up (in more ways than one). Their father was Catholic and consequently pretty homophobic. Anthony's siblings knew (Molly was very supportive, Arackniss was too tired to care), but he never came out to their parents in life. It caused a significant rift in their afterlife, leading their parents to disowning him. Which Angel was fine with, he was more interested in serving himself anyway, and he eventually turned to Valentino for affection.

Angel has three sets of arms, but can retract his third set. He can jump decently, but can't climb walls. His hair is fluffier than Arackniss's because Angel cares more about his appearance and has a whole beauty routine.

Molly: the spoiled daughter. Guilty by association.

In canon, Molly is in heaven. But I think she knew what the family business was and benefited from it. She didn't participate herself(she's a spoiled daddy's girl), but didn't care that her family did bad things like murder. So I'm putting her in hell with the rest of them. Ma and Pa still spoil her.

I tried to wrap my head around the anatomy of her four legs, but just couldn't get it to work in a way that I liked. So, she also has three sets of arms, but can retract the two extras(because her involvement with the business was very hands off, at most she would do something in the business front). She can't climb walls or jump well.

Ma: the mob wife

I guess she is technically an OC. But I honestly just wanted to play with character design. She's a classic femme fatale. She has two sets of retractable legs that come out from her back. The symbolism is that she seems harmless at first, but she's deceptively dangerous. She can jump well, climb walls, and has venom. I know jumping spiders aren't venomous, but this is fictional and it works thematically.

Pops: the mob boss. Despite how he looks, he was not inspired by Waternoose from Monsters Inc. I realized that afterwards. I also didn't know until after that Viv had designed him. I've looked at it since, and am not particularly impressed. But it's pretty old at this point, and was for Zoophobia rather than Hazbin Hotel. SO...

Because he was the boss, he's the most visually transformed. Worst of the lot. He smokes cigars and is a coffee snob.

He has three sets of legs, and his mustache is made of spider fangs. His eyebrows are a pair of eyes, like Arackniss. He's got a venomous touch, sort of like Thrax from Osmosis Jones.

20s flapper fashion studies that I used the extra paper space for.

[mai-komagata]

Screentime in Rings of Power

So, I keep hearing comments on which characters were sidelined, or what storylines were cut from season 1 to season 2, so i figured, hey, why don't I actually write this down?

So i spent all day making a rough spreadsheet:

My main analysis was seeing how the role of Galadriel changed in comparison to Sauron. But there is data on scenes with a main cast woman, how all the main cast screentime was affected, and how the hobbit storyline has changed. Feel free to disagree with my buckets. I just did this for my own curiosity, it is not the only way to break up the data, and it is not 100% accurate.

Conclusions from last tab:

I excluded the Galadriel and Sauron Backstories from the screentime count because I initially was just comparing those two characters. It is such a significant amount of time that the rest of the story analysis is very skewed with it.

My main conclusion is that Season 2 moved Sauron from "part of the cast" to Principal Antagonist. As such, he has equal screentime to Galadriel and has been given an equivalent length backstory

Galadriel is still the character with the most screentime in the show, and it isn't particularly close. Unless you count Sauron's backstory, but then season 1 is Incredibly skewed in her favor if you count hers.

As it is, Galadriel had double Sauron's screentime in season 1 -- her screentime was not just "being with Sauron".

Of the other characters, Celebrimbor gained the most significant share, and Elrond lost the most, so it is a wash for the two male main characters in my view.

They also replaced one main character, Bronwyn, with two female characters of roughly equivalent screentime. Hopefully they will beef up Estrid in later seasons to fill Bronwyn's original role, since Mirdania is gone.

Disa was also greatly expanded as a character, as was Earien

Miriel lost some screentime, but i think part of this is the battle caveat.

My battle caveat is that I wasn't chopping up each individual frames characters were in a battle. Any characters in battles have lots of screentime in the analysis. Maybe I'll fix this another day. So the analysis is a bit skewed b/c of this. Gil Galad i think mostly gained so much screentime b/c of this, not b/c he is suddenly in a ton more scenes.

I think the claims that the Harfoot storyline was *significantly* cut are a bit exagerated. It was cut, certainly. It is still a big chunk of the show. The Harfoot women are the women with consistently the most screentime after Galadriel.

And if you don't like it, make your own spreadsheet. I think i have some errors (I initially was only counting "nori+poppy time" so some nori only scenes might be miscounted), but it's close enough for a rough outline.