#words cannot express my hatred for french

[my-deer-history]

Francis Kinloch in the Müller-Bonstetten letters: Part 1

Here is the first batch of translated instances where Francis Kinloch is mentioned in letters written to Karl Viktor von Bonstetten by Johannes von Müller, a gay Swiss historian who Kinloch lived with while studying in Geneva. Throughout this period (early 1775 onwards), Müller is attempting to write his history of Switzerland, and the American colonies are starting to actively rebel against England.

The original letters were mostly written in German (source), with some translated later into French (source). I have transcribed and translated most of the mentions, but there's quite a lot, so I'm going to divide this into several posts. (@john-laurens - enjoy!)

My translations below, with the German and/or French transcripts under the cut. As always, corrections and improvements are greatly appreciated!

10 March 1775

I advance in the sciences; you love me, because I do you; Kinloch, who gives away his heart so sparingly, addresses his letters to the beloved of my heart,* and we see each other daily [...] When I am by Kinloch’s side at Bonnet’s, and spend an hour talking with him, I am happy and cheerful; thus, says the Quran, does a lightning bolt suddenly illuminate the darkest of nights, but the shadow becomes darker after him.

*This follows a mention in an earlier undated 1775 letter that Kinloch asserted he needed at least one year before he could call anyone "friend". Clearly it happened in a matter of weeks here.

18 Aug 1775

…and Kinloch’s questions made me more aware of many points of our constitutions, especially our lack of political arithmeticians. […] Keep well. Kinloch will write to you soon.

21 Aug 1775

If cruel fate separates Kinloch from me, I will hope to have 25 to 30 louis more per year, with which I will be able to carry out this plan of study by spending the summer months in some of the cantons.

23 Aug 1775

I also do not have time [in this letter] to continue my observations along the mark, the Zurich lake, into the drawing rooms of Füsslin, Heidegger, Gessner, Hirzel, Bodmer, etc., nor to assure you sufficiently of Gessner’s friendship; nor to tell you how much I augment my knowledge of Helvetia [Switzerland], and with what pleasure I read Livius with Kinloch; nor to paint Kinloch’s enthusiasm* for you, and his anger with me because it has been so long since I wrote to you; nor my irreconcilable hatred for you, B. To declare to you in very thunderous and defeating expressions that, contrary to your word and honour, despite my repeated requests in the name of the holiest friendship, you have committed the atrocious crime of not writing me any letters to this day. Write to me today, therefore!

*The archaic meaning of the German Enthusiasmus is more along the lines of fervour, inspiration, or passionate feeling than the modern “enthusiasm” suggests.

“Thursday” [1775]*

We are waiting at present for a letter from Mr Boone, which will inform us whether we, Kinloch and I, may travel together in France, or if I must stay where I am. In the latter case, I will quietly await some opportunity to travel with an Englishman, which would let me see Europe and fix me some income. If Mr Boone and other friends do not find anyone, I will go to England with K at around the end of next year and I will not leave him even if he goes to America.

*The exact dating of this letter is unclear, but it is placed here in the source. 

Wednesday, Dec 1775

At this very moment, Kinloch is writing a letter to Mr Boone, which might influence my future destination. If I cannot live as I had hoped, according to what I have told you, I would hope that in the case that I must spend my life in solitude, that I may share yours; but that is the way to live!

26 Dec 1775

I find myself in the midst of great doubts. Kinloch cannot stay here past the end of March; we are waiting for letters from England to inform us whether we have enough money to travel together. The American matters make it very uncertain. And even when this journey is over, this unrest will hinder us from carrying out many projects. And now also comes the newly confirmed expedition against Carolina. In this land, so say the letters, is everything in such disarray, that reason has completely lost its power, all courts have decided that no law shall be enforced anymore, all the stations have mixed together, and the clergy preach nothing but rebellion. And the rebellious faction is so powerful that they have decided to send all women and children into the interior of the country, to burn the whole city of Charlestown to ash, and to fight the English over its ruins. Imagine Kinloch’s heart, and his noble mother in this horrid land, fleeing, exposed to all the malice of the soldiers, all the bouts of depredation, hunger and shortages of all kinds. It is very possible that Kinloch himself will lose everything, that his plantations will be laid waste. Imagine for yourself what we must think and feel about all of this. 

9 Jan 1776

We have letters from England that confirm the degree to which the entire coast of the North American sea is given to flames and devastation; they also state that the fleet against Carolina has already sailed. Kinloch and I have developed a project for our destination, which will, in all likelihood, be carried out for our shared benefit. At the beginning of April, my friend will go to France to a provincial town; I will go to Genthod to the wise men (these we, i.e. those from Genthod and I, are still keeping a secret at this time on account of certain people). Towards autumn, I will go to Marseille or Lyon, find Kinloch there, go with him to Rome and from there through Tyrol and Bavaria down into the Netherlands, right to the sea. In this way, I will be able to complete most of my material collecting in the summer and have an educational and enjoyable winter. And beyond that? you will ask me. Within one year, it will become clear if America is still inhabitable, if Lord North is still prime minister, if Kinloch will settle in England or America. We will decide accordingly.

19 Feb 1776

Your letters always bring me great pleasure, but it has been a long time since any letter or occurrence has caused me as much pleasure as your second-to-last one did. Your eloquence is Demosthenic when friendship has inspired you, but your heart is full of the greatest and noblest virtues. Bonnet and Kinloch felt a real enthusiasm for you. I however am more determined than ever to follow your advice. [Lists several of his good fortunes.] Mr Bonnet, Mrs Bonnet and Kinloch and all my best friends, besides philosophy and politics - to whom do I owe all of these? Ask yourself!

10 March 1775

In den Wissenschaften schreite ich fort; Sie lieben mich, wie ich Sie; Kinloch, der so karg sein Herz versschenkt, addressirt seine Billets to the beloved of my heart, und wir sehen uns täglich [...]  An der Seite Kinlochs bei Bonnet, und nun ich eine Stunde mich mit Ihnen unterhalten, bin ich glücklich und heiter; so, sagt der Koran, erleuchtet ein Blitzstrahl plötzlich die dickste der Nächte, aber die Finsfterniß wird dicker nach ihm.

18 Aug 1775

Les questions de Kinloch ont fixé plus particulièrement mon attention sur plusieurs points de nos constitutions, et m'ont fait sentir surtout combien nous manquons d'habiles calculateurs politiques. […] Adieu, mon ami: Kinloch vous écrira bientôt.

…auch haben Kinlochs Fragen mich auf eine Menge Punkte unserer Verfassungen, besonders auf unsre Armuth an politischen Arithmetikern aufmerksamer gemacht [...]  Gehab dich wohl. Kinloch 

21 Aug 1775

Si mon mauvais sort me sépare de Kinloch, je souhaiterais avoir par an 25 à 30 louis de plus pour me mettre à portée de réaliser ce plan d'étude en passant l'été dans quelques Cantons.

Wenn das harte Schicksal Kinloch von mir trennt, so wünsche ich mir jährlich 25—30 Louis d'ors, mit denselben würde ich in einigen Kantonen in den Sommermonaten diesen Plan ausführen können

23 Aug 1775

Je n'ai pas le temps non plus dé vous mener avec moi le long du lac de Zurich, dans les cabinets de Füsslin, de Heidegger, de Gessner, de Hirzel, de Bodmer, etc, ni de vous assurer tout au long de l'amitié de Gessner; ni de vous dire combien j'augmente mes connaissances sur l'Helvétie, et avec quel plaisir je lis Tite-Live avec Kinloch; ni de vous peindre l'enthousiasme de Kinloch pour vous, et sa colère contre moi parce que j'ai été si longtemps sans vous écrire; ni enfin de vous déclarer dans les termes les plus foudroyants une haîne irréconciliable, parce qu'au mépris de votre parole d'honneur, de mes prières et de notre amitié, vous ne m'avez point encore écrit. Ecrivez-moi donc aujourd'hui même!

Aber die Zeit erlaubt mir nicht, meine Observationen durch die Mark, den Zürichersee hinunter, durch Füßlins, Heideggers, Geßners, Hirzels, Bodmers &c. &c. Zimmer fortzusetzen, noch Ihnen Geßners Freundschaft für Sie genug zu vermelden, oder meine Zunahme an helvetischen Kenntnissen oder mein Vergnügen über meine Lectur des Livius mit Kinloch, und Kinlochs Enthusiasmus für Sie und Zorn über mich, der ich Ihnen so lang nicht geschrieben, noch meinen unversöhnlichen Haß gegen Euch, B. Euch in recht donnernden und niederschlagenden Ausdrücken anzukündigen, da` Sie wider Wort und Ehre ungeachtet meiner wiederholten Bitten gegen die allerheiligste Freundschaft das gräuliche Verbrechen begangen haben, bis auf diesen Tag mir keinen Brief zu schreiben. So schreiben Sie mir dann heut noch!

“Thursday” [1775]

Nous attendons à présent une lettre de Mr. Boone qui nous apprendra si nous pouvons, Kinloch et moi, voyager ensemble en France, ou si je dois rester où je suis. Dans ce dernier cas j'attendrai paisiblement quelque occasion de voyager avec un Anglois, qui me feroit voir l'Europe et qui me fixeroit quelque rente. Si Mr. Boone et d'autres amis n'en trouvent point, j'irai en Angleterre avec K. sur la fin de l'année prochaine et je ne le quitterai pas même, quand it va en Amérique.

*written in French

Wednesday, Dec 1775

Dans ce moment même Kinloch écrit à Mr. Boone une lettre, qui influera peut-être sur ma destination future. Si je ne peux pas vivre comme je le souhaiterois, d'après ce que je Vous ai dit, je souhaiterois, que dans le cas, qu'il me fallut passer ma vie dans la solitude, je puisse partager la votre; mais le moyen de vivre!

26 Dec 1775

Gegenwärtig befinde ich mich in sehr großen Zweifeln. Länger als bis im Märzen kann Kinloch nicht hier bleiben; wir erwarten aus England Briefe, ob wir Geldes genug haben, mit einander zu reisen. Die amerikanischen Sachen machen es sehr ungewiß. Und wenn auch diese Reisen zu Ende find, so werden diese Unruhen uns an der Ausführung vieler Projekte hindern. Nun kommt noch die neulich beschlossene Expedition gegen Karolina. In diesem Land, wir haben Briefe, ist alles in solcher Unordnung, daß der Rath vollkommen seine Gewalt verloren, alle Gerichte beschlossen sind, kein Gesetz mehr vollstreckt wird, alle Stände sich vermengt haben, und die Geistlichen nichts als Aufruhr predigen. Auch ist die rebellische Faction so muthig, daß sie beschlossen haben, alle Weiber und Kinder ins innere Land zu versenden, die ganze Stadt Karlstown in Asche zu verwandeln, und über den Ruinen derselben sich mit den Engländern zu schlagen. Stellen Sie sich Kinlochs Herz vor, und seine edle Mutter in diesem fürchterlichen Land, in der Flucht, ausgesetzt allem Muthwillen der Soldaten, allen Anfällen der Verwüstung, dem Hunger und dem Mangel. Es ist sehr möglich, daß Kinloch selbst alles verliert, daß seine Pflanzungen verwüstet werden. Stellen Sie sich vor, was wir bei alledem denken und fühlen müssen.

9 Jan 1776

 Aus England haben wir Briefe, welche bestätigen, wasmaßen das ganze Ufer der nordamerikanischen See den Flammen und der Verwüstung gewidmet sey; auch sagen Sie, die Flotte gegen Karolina sey bereits abgesegelt. Kinloch und ich haben über unsre Bestimmung ein Project entworfen, welches allem Ansehen nach zu unserm gemeinschaftlichen Nutzen ausgeführt werden wird. Anfangs Aprillens geht mein Freund nach Frankreich in eine Provinzialstadt; ich nach Genthod zu den Weisen (dieses halten wir, d. i. die von Genthod und ich gewisser Leute wegen noch zur Zeit geheim). Gegen den Herbst gehe ich nach Marseille oder Lyon, finde daselbst Kinloch, gehe mit ihm nach Rom und von da durchs Tirol und Bayern hinunter in die Niederlande bis ans Meer. So werde ich diesen Sommer meine meisten Materialiensammlungen vollenden können und einen lehrreichen und `vergnügten Winter haben. Und was ferner? werden Sie mich fragen. In Jahresfrist wird es sich zeigen, ob Amerika noch wohnbar, ob Lord North noch Staatsminister sey, ob Kinloch sich in England oder in Amerika niederlassen werde. Accordingly werden wir uns entschließen.

19 Feb 1776

Vos lettres me font toujours grand plaisir mais aucune d'elles et en général, aucun événement ne m'a causé, depuis longtemps, un plaisir aussi vif que votre avant-dernière. Vous avez l'éloquence de Demosthène quand l'amitié vous inspire, et votre cœur est ce qu'il y a au monde de plus noble et de meilleur. Bonnet et Kinloch vous aiment avec enthousiasme, et moi, je suis plus déterminé que jamais à suivré en tout vos conseils. […] Mais, et Bonnet, et Mad. Bonnet, et Kinloch, et mes meilleurs amis, et les lumières que j'ai acquises en philosophie et en politique, à qui dois-je tout cela, mon ami? vous le savez.

Ihre Briefe machen mir immer sehr viel Vergnügen, aber seit langer Zeit hat kein Brief und keine Begebenheit mir so viel Freude verschafft, als Ihr vorletzter. Ihre Beredsamkeit ist Demosthenisch, wenn Sie von der Freundschaft begeistert sind, Ihr Herz aber der größten und edelsten Tugenden voll. Bonnet und Kinloch haben einen wahren Enthusiasmus für Sie gefühlt. Ich aber bin entschlossener, als noch Ihrem Rath zu folgen. [...] Hrn. Bonnet, Md. Bonnet und Kinloch und alle meine besten Freunde, nebst der Philosophie und Politik, wem bin ich alles schuldig? fragen Sie sich!

[sissa-arrows]

Note here so people see it: If you send me an ask and I don’t reply it means tumblr deleted it before I got to answer. It keeps happening I’m sorry I’m not ignoring you. Unless it’s a racist ask then I’m totally ignoring you.

Pinned post with a presentation and the meaning of some words and expression I might use.

Starting with posts I suggest you.

List of some of the victims of police violence in France (not updated since I posted it)

Ressources about Western Sahara

Ressources about French colonialism in Algeria

Algerian movies and movies about Algeria or Algerians (the original post and the first reblog has Algerian movies only, the third one has French movies too as well as documentaries and I cannot vouch for all of them some are… well they are what they are)

Things for which the French blame Muslims

Me:

Siham/Sissa, 29, Algerian and very proud of it (born and raised in France also have the French citizenship but France keep telling me I’m not French and Algeria keep telling me I’m a daughter of our land so the choice was made for me).

Firm believer of the right to self determination and the right to resist colonialism in any way. So if you don’t stand with Palestine and Western Sahara you’re not my ally.

I don’t want you to pretend to support us under my posts if you’re not willing to give that same support to Palestinians and Sahrawi people. Your fake support meant to make yourself look and feel good is not needed and certainly not wanted.

There’s no such thing as a neutral or innocent colonizer/settler. If you believe they exist you’re not my ally.

You can ask questions I will try to answer the best I can that being said I’m not here to coddle you if I feel like insulting you because you’re being a racist piece of shit I will insult you. I don’t believe in “being mean with racists only prove them right” bitches already refuse to see us as humans my fuck you won’t change anything.

I’m also a feminist (screw white feminism).

Homophobes and transphobes can go choke on their own hatred their “ally ship” is not wanted either under my posts.

Some definitions:

Shahid (plural shouhada): it’s supposed to mean martyr in a religious sense BUT in Algeria we use it for freedom fighters who were killed as well as those who fought and died during the war because they were sick or wounded regardless of their religion. Frantz Fanon for example is considered to be a Shahid and as such is buried in the Shouhada square of the cemetery.

Moudjahid (plural moudjahidine): again it’s supposed to be a religious term to designate people who fight to protect Islam but in Algeria we use it for all freedom fighters who fought for the independence. Maurice Audin was not Muslim but he is considered to be a Moudjahid.

Allah yarham *…*: It means “May God have mercy on *…*. It’s the proper thing to say when talking about a Muslim who died. I will use it mostly when talking about the Shouhada here but that’s something you’re supposed to say for all Muslims who died.

Tahiya Al djazair (horra): Long live to (a free) Algeria. The horra is optional.

Pied noir: A European settler in Algeria and ONLY in Algeria

[amikye]

Following up on my previous post, I feel like I should clarify my feelings on French.

I don’t hate French people. They have an interesting culture and history, with many things to be admired. What I absolutely cannot stand, is the French language.

Am I aware that this is irrational? Yes. Do I care? No.

I don’t know when my hatred of French began. Perhaps I was English in a past life or was killed in the Revolution/ Reign of Terror (if so it was definitely in Paris). Regardless, everything I have learned of this language has been against my will and if I could, I would delete it from my brain.

The problem is that on paper, it looks very similar to Italian and Spanish. More Italian, which I’m fluent in, than Spanish, at least grammatically. So in theory, I should be able to understand someone speaking French to me, based on my knowledge of two other Romance languages. But no. It had to be obnoxious.

I’ve been to Montreal, where they speak Québécois. And I could at least get the gist of what they were saying. But the stupid French Academy (I refuse to use it’s proper name) that decides what is French and what isn’t, doesn’t consider Québécois official. Cause it’s a different dialect. So it doesn’t count.

(Side note: I do find it fascinating how both American English and Québécois are technically older forms of British English and French, with some of the accents going back to the Middle Ages (Appalachian) but both evolved separately and changed in different ways. That’s not the point of this post though).

I have been to France as well. I was in Paris for about 32 hours and spent pretty much all of it angry. Mostly because I had to deal with Parisians, who I knew were snobs, but none of the people I was with believed me until our waiter at dinner was rude to their faces. So yeah, maybe I do have something against Parisians,* but generally I don’t hate French people.

While in Paris, I ended up ordering a coffee in Italian, which worked because again, the languages are similar enough that the barista could understand me. That was the nicest interaction I had there. Possibly because I started with Italian instead of English.

I felt better once we left Paris and went to Versailles. I really do believe that something happened to me there in a past life, as there’s no reason for me to just be constantly on edge/ angry simply because I was in a city. It didn’t do anything to endear French to me though.

That’s more/ less my vendetta against French. It’s a bastard language that doesn’t make sense.

I know there are rules to French pronunciation, I however absolutely refuse to learn them. It’s one of the only things of which I am willfully ignorant.

I also agree that English is a bastard language, but in a different flavor. However, I can’t really have that much of an opinion on it as it’s my native language, so I’ve always been biased towards it.

*I know this is wrong and prejudiced. That’s kinda the whole point. I don’t have any good reasons for this dislike other than that French makes no sense & I hate Paris/ interacting with people there, which are not good reasons.

[g-perla]

From “Nessian Shipper!!” to “Nessian…Shipper??”

This...is going to be a long one so strap in.

Years ago when ACOMAF came out and the kind people of tumblr posted screenshots of the Wings and Embers short, I found myself looking at Nesta and Cassian, considering the idea of them being romantically and physically involved, and found myself with the following thought; that’s my SHIP. These feelings were reinforced throughout the smattering of brief interactions between the two we got in ACOWAR, probably until the very end where it was unclear if Cassian had gone to see Nesta before or after she headed up the stairs seeming distinctly not ok. That wasn’t a very big deal though. For all I know he did, and she pushed him away, or maybe they did have a talk. Feyre’s perspective is very limited after all. This didn’t really stop my Nessian shipper heart at all.

My Nessian shipper heart became compromised in ACOFAS and in the teaser to ACOSF. I still haven’t re-read ACOFAS so I just want to make it clear that I’m still dealing with 2+ years of accumulated messy, largely unexplored feelings about this ship. That being said, I wasn’t very impressed by Cassian’s behaviour towards Nesta. The interactions between them we were shown left me questioning the stability of a ship I had previously loved with reckless abandon. I questioned Cassian, I questioned Nesta, I questioned their independent trajectories, and them as a couple in the context we were given. My conclusion was that I could no longer really ship them as eagerly in good conscience.

A week or so ago I wrote in a post that Cassian seems, to me, ashamed of Nesta. This idea came to me after considering his behaviour mostly in ACOFAS and to a lesser degree in the previous books. A post by @inyourmindeye, where they put forth their arguments about why Cassian isn’t ashamed of Nesta made me reconsider, however. I read their post carefully and took some time to gather my thoughts after taking in this other perspective. I will share them now.

First, I will say that the word “ashamed” perhaps isn’t the most exact word to express how I feel about Cassian’s complex emotions when it comes to Nesta. I think a more apt word would be conflicted. Second, I want to clarify that when I wrote “ashamed” I didn’t mean to imply that he didn’t care about Nesta. Feeling ashamed of something or someone because of the feelings of attraction or care one might have is certainly possible. Additionally, these emotions aren’t necessarily contradictory, nor do they necessarily depend on each other. They do, however, complicate each other and create conflict.

But what exactly is the source of Cassian’s possibly conflicted feelings?

In the most simplistic sense, I suggest the source is Nesta and the Inner Circle. Or rather, Nesta v. the Inner Circle.

Many in the fandom and some of my own posts have discussed the inherent incompatibilities between Nesta and the IC (as depicted in the canon texts we have access to as of 21/10/20). These incompatibilities are largely ideological such as different definitions of “free will” and agency. Nesta simply does not tolerate the messy dynamics of the IC and the tacit acknowledgement that Rhys has the most authority. For Nesta to fit into this world, she would have to abandon the elements of her character that constitute her core self and which make her subversive within the narrative and without: a disdain towards authority, a resolute mind that isn’t easily moved, quick to anger and abrasive and hostile in her expressions of this anger, but capable of making concessions if the situation gnaws at her strict moral code, morally grey, not nurturing, generally unpleasant to those she doesn’t trust, judgemental, unapologetic in her sexuality or in her femininity, lacking in patience when it comes to idiots and sycophants, critical to a fault, not immune to enacting cruelty, etc. See, if this were a man and if this book had been written during the Romantic period and we were reading it now we would just say “well, I’ll be! What a text-book example of a compelling Byronic hero! We love to see it.”

Note how the men (sorry, males) in SJM novels tend to have many of these same characteristics. They are also pretty good examples of Byronic heroes. The main difference is the energy most people bring when they criticise women. One of the characteristics of a Byronic hero is his refusal to be confined. This confinement can be moral, ideological, epistemological, or physical. Basically, people in the world of such a hero (or even in ours) can’t compute when they encounter him and are unable to put him in easy categories. This often manifests as irrational hatred towards this character because it offends our sensibilities about what is known and what is unknown.

It’s attractive to think that we are immune to this as people existing in the 21st century, but we are not. We still rely on the “Other” to define our identity by both creating it and violently rejecting it. I suppose it’s as good a time as any to share the thesis of my overarching analysis project; basically, Nesta is the ultimate representation of the Other. She is Other in her womanhood (or I guess femaleness), she was Other even as a human, now that she is high fae she is Other to humans but tragically she is also Other to the high fae because she was Made. She is Other as a magical being, she is Other to the IC, she was and is Other to her bio family. She is Other to many of us because we simply cannot comprehend her actions in ACOTAR (how could she have been so cruel????). As of now, there is not a single place where Nesta can exist without offending the very core of what a lot of people value.

One framework for the Other was proposed by the French psychoanalyst Jaques Lacan. He basically said that the Other is that which we must reject when we start forming a concept of the Self. The Self is the known therefore safe; the Other is the unknown therefore dangerous and disruptive. The Self creates the symbolic order which is essentially the blueprint of accepted life to which the Other is antithetical. I can go on and on about the intricacies of this, and Lacan himself certainly did, but I’m working on a review of different conceptualisations of the Other so I will stop here. What I want to establish while bringing this up is that Nesta is essentially the Other to the IC’s symbolic order, i.e. fundamentally incompatible and an epistemological threat. This is a very theoretical way to explain the IC’s hostility and dislike towards her, but I find it compelling enough to pursue (and I am a nerd).

We can’t forget that Cassian is a known element of the IC’s symbolic order, thus one of the Selves let’s say. The Self should seek to annihilate the Other (as it usually does)…not love it, desire it, care for it. To do so is to enter a profound state of existential precarity. To pursue his feelings for Nesta, Cassian would have to question the fundamental assumptions that are at the core of his known world. There is nothing simple about such a task and I can’t really blame him for struggling. 

Still, understanding something isn’t necessarily synonymous with liking it. I wish that the distance between these two characters were not so great. I wish both could just sit and talk with the respect I know them to have for one another. The constant insults and underhanded jabs made by both parties are messy and not in a fun way. As the ship stands, I don’t feel comfortable liking it with the same reckless abandon as before. I think their hostility is too raw, even if their actions contradict them most of the time. Is it unreasonable to want them to interact without reservations in situations other than those between life and death? I hope ACOSF can provide the development they both deserve. Maybe then I can stop having one leg in the ship and the other overboard.

[mildwipes]

Death on the Nile - Reviews by Mild Wipes

I have always loved the writings of the iconic Agatha Christie (always been a big fan of mystery novels!). but watching the words being made into a motion picture is a whole different experience.

When I heard that another novel written by her is made into a movie, I can't help but quickly made my way to the cinema. The first adaptation, Murder on the Orient Express (2017) was a gem and I cannot wait to see more of Detective Hercule Poirot's (Kenneth Branagh) vacation hijacked by another tragedy.

Synopsis

Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot's Egyptian vacation aboard a glamorous river steamer turns into a terrifying search for a murderer when a picture-perfect couple's idyllic honeymoon is tragically cut short. Set against an epic landscape of sweeping desert vistas and the majestic Giza pyramids, this tale of unbridled passion and incapacitating jealousy features a cosmopolitan group of impeccably dressed travelers, and enough wicked twists and turns to leave audiences guessing until the final, shocking denouement. (RottenTomatoes 2022)

Director: Kenneth Branagh

Writer: Michael Green (screenplay by), Agatha Christie (based upon the novel by)

Starring: Tom Bateman, Annette Bening, Kenneth Branagh, Russell Brand, Ali Fazal, Dawn French, Gal Gadot, Armie Hammer, Rose Leslie, Emma Mackey, Sophie Okonedo, Jennifer Saunders, Letitia Wright

Runtime: 2 hours 7 minutes

IMDb Ratings: 6.6/10

Average Tomatometer: 65%

Average Audience Score: 83%

Premier: February 11, 2022

*****

SPOILERS ALERT

You've been warned. Read at your own risk!

The movie started with scenes from Poirot's time in the military during the first world war. From the opening, it was implied that Poirot's been a bright and genius man since his youth, didn't he only have sharp instinct, he also used his skills in general knowledge + keen observation in analyzing the right time to attack the enemy across the demarcation land. However, by the end of the opening clip, the other side of Poirot was revealed. After whatever greatness people thought of him, he was just a human who can make mistakes.

The scene after the opening credit showed Poirot entering a Live Music. When I watched this scene, I started noticing very interesting details (it's a mystery film, everything could be a clue to what happens next), such as (1) Poirot's unusual attention to Rosalie Otterbourne (Letitia Wright), (2) the camera focused on Simon Doyle (Armie Hammer) and Jacqueline de Bellefort (Emma Mackey) dancing for almost the whole time (as if the movie was about them, which we'll find later that it actually was about them), and (3) the super suspicious final part where Linnet Ridgeway (Gal Gadot) entered the crowd, danced with Simon, and Jacqueline seemed to have mixed and unidentified emotions (question marks on my head).

After the scandalous night, there comes a scene where Poirot was having a cup of tea with a Sphinx in Egypt, where he met his old friend, Bouc (Tom Bateman), who was introduced to us in the previous film, Murder on the Orient Express. Honestly, I didn't think that the meeting was intentional until 3/4 of the film when it was admitted by the detective himself that he was working for Bouc's mother, Euphemia Bouc (Annette Bening), to investigate Rosalie and Bouc's hidden affair.

The story continued on Poirot's journey during Linnet Ridgeway's luxurious honeymoon (yes, Simon and Linnet got married following that bizarre meeting), after Bouc invited him over to come to the wedding in Aswan, Egypt. Jacqueline intruded on the wedding and the honeymoon from time to time (her presence on screen added a dramatic feature to the story), thus making Linnet uncomfortable.

It got interesting as the team (Linnet's relatives were part of the honeymoon) hopped onto the ship, heading to the Abu Simbel temple. On this occasion, everyone seemed to have their own agenda, their own personal hatred and sentiment towards Linnet, the primary victim of this narrative. Being the only stranger on the ship, Poirot never expected to lead the investigation surrounding Linnet's mysterious death until several nights later, someone pulled a trigger to Linnet's temple, the same night Simon got shot in the knee after getting into a "fake argument" with Jacqueline.

Classic Poirot, he started asking questions to everyone on the ship and discovered so much, but very little, about their character, motive, interest and relationship with Linnet. The actual story, though, lied under Poirot's investigation, in which he found everyone was only taking advantage of Linnet's wealth to get to their ambitions, and her feeling unsafe was reasonable.

The investigation started with Simon, who could successfully avoid suspicion from Poirot. He put up with such a convincing act, made everyone thought that he actually loved Linnet and was no longer under any affair with Jacqueline. The second suspect questioned by Poirot was Louise Bourget (Rose Leslie), Linnet's maid. Louise's testimony was super suspicious for me, I wouldn't think that she would be the second victim (especially for someone that hasn't read the book, like me). I honestly thought that she and Simon had an affair behind Linnet, in which the wife found out, got into an argument with the mistress, then the mistress killed the wife. It would look like a soap opera. And yes, I am that shallow sometimes.

But after Louise got killed, I went to square one. I did not know about anything anymore. The sequences were quite bland afterwards, the only things helping were the beauty of Abu Simbel and the river Nile. Thank God they shot this film in actual places, it helps with the lack of realness from CGI that most Hollywood films use to portray Egypt.

There were some unnecessary conversations between Poirot and the suspects. I know I haven't read the book, but maybe there are some more important lines from the book that can be used in the film. I get that this film wanted to make Poirot something more than a genius detective, something more humane that he had a heart too, and he was once in love. Now he longed to fall in love again. But it felt forceful and out of place. I think this is the weakness of making a live adaptation of a novel, the limited runtime makes it hard to incorporate the character's complexity that is uncovered in the novel.

After the long, boring conversation, we finally got into the last suspect, Bouc. Poirot investigated him with Simon, I still don't understand why Bouc resisted telling Poirot Louise's killer (Backstory, Bouc was the one to help Simon after he got shot. He also witnessed Louise's murder and knew who killed her). At this moment, I was pretty sure that Simon was the primary suspect, that he killed Linnet and Louise, all for money. But things turned around when Bouc was shot by someone else, I went to square one once again (I kind of hated how this film made me feel).

I felt like the end was near now that everyone was questioned. I had so many questions, as many as the other suspects on that ship (haha!). The revelation scene where the remaining suspects were locked at the main dock was super cool. It was such a Poirot-ish style of revelation (goosebumps!). You should watch this iconic last scene by yourself ;)

Ending

Poirot revealed who the killers were, Simon Doyle and Jacqueline de Bellefort. They had everything planned perfectly since Simon first met Linnet at the Live Music some months before. If it wasn't for Poirot's surprise advent to their honeymoon, nobody would have suspected the couple to kill Linnet.

Personal Ratings

The landscape of Egypt, which was captured beautifully, successfully hooked me. The narrative is not that great (I'd choose another novel by Agatha Christie with more intriguing story), but overall, I'd give much appreciation to the casts and crews for making this magical novel alive. My personal score is 6.8 out of 10.

Plot-Wise: The main narrative is crime for passion, crime led by love. There were also some important details that you won't want to miss. Although, it was not how I thought it would be, it is still pretty much soap opera-ish. Unfortunately, it's not the mystery plot that I am fond of.

Visual: Beautiful and breath-taking, as always.

Music: Supported the narrative very well, but hardly the most outstanding thing from the film.

Would I recommend this film?

50/50

This is a good movie if you are in the mood for watching an easy and light mystery film. The ending is quite predictable, especially if you have watched many mystery films. However, it is not a great mystery movie with super thoughtful details.

[arcticdementor]

Other possible Holocausts: why pro-lifers are lying to us, and why thats a good thing

…

Ive had a running argument over the past few years that the raw lack of anti-abortion terrorist action proves no one really thinks abortion is murder, ie. intentional 1st degree murder of a life equal to yours or mine.

Ive always gotten pushback to quote WillyWang:

The "revealed preference" of those that oppose abortion but don't firebomb clinics and kill doctors? It won't help, you'll be made an example of in the negative sense, and civilized norms are more important than a useless symbolic point. One clinic destroyed won't end abortion, after all.

From which this Effort-post got its Genesis:

Would you say the same about those who participated in the french resistance or Warsaw Ghetto rising to Nazi Germany?

Everyone of those claims applies there: they were likely to be made examples of, they were damaging civilized norms, and any given action had relatively little to no impact.

Yet the same people who insist abortion is murder, and thus that America is committing a holocaust, yet denounce any of the people who employed violence against abortion doctors or clinics, and can’t distance themselves fast enough from any call for violence... none of those people apply the same logic to the first holocaust. None of them say the frenchmen who bombed german police stations where dangerous terrorists who deserved their executions, none of them denounce the Warsaw ghetto rising as an attack on civilization.

…

If anti-abortion advocated genuinely believed a fetus was a equivalent human life to yours or mine or the little kids they see walk to school, and that this was an ongoing holocaust of American Children at a scale possibly 10x or more what was done to the jews... they wouldn’t need to come up with ad hoc reasons why they don’t resort to violence, their mind would be screaming at them to take bloody vengeance 24/7 in righteous outrage, demanding that oceans of blood and fire be unleashed that it might wash clean the horror, that nuclear fire would be be an acceptable emergency shut off to end such wanton and cruel slaughter... and if thinking through all the logic they concluded that no violence wouldn’t help and they must pursue some peaceful negotiation to stop the slaughter, then their minds recoil and call themselves cowards and the moment of coming to that conclusion would be an ongoing trauma they’d carry with them for the rest of their life, even if they knew they were 100% right. They would meet the “pro-choice” and barely be able to conceal their desire to see them dead or imprisoned... they would meet women who had had abortions and scream bloody murder at them and tell them they deserve the death penalty, the way many of the same people react when presented with women who’d murdered their children, but after their children had left the womb.

The people who were jailed for assassinating abortionists, or fire-bombing clinics would be folk heroes lionized in songs and crowd funded hagiographic documentaries and folk traditions, like John Brown, or John Wilkes Booth, or Louis Reil, or Saco and Vancety, or Huey Newton, or Malcolm X, or David Koresh, or Levoy Finecolm... or hell even just Jesse James, or Killdozer.

Americans abort on average 1 million plus babies a year... that means if abortion is murder and those are human lives, then the 50 years since Roe vs.Wade has been a worse crime than the holocaust, slavery, or the crimes of Stalin, and we’d have to consult a historian to see if they were worse than Mao (on a per capita basis, certainly)...

This would be the worse crime ever commited, the greatest mass slaughter ever perpetrated in human history, and 50 years later our society would remain committed to repeating it in the next 50 years.

If that does not demand violence, then nothing in human history ever has, no even defensive war has ever been justified, and only Jainists and Jehovah’s witnesses are morally acceptable actors. An extreme unexceedable pascifism we know the vast majority of anti-abortion advocates do not endorse, since they overwhelming supported or at-least did not conspicuously oppose the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan (over a mere 3000 Americans dead, and a less than a years abortions worth of Iraqis killed by Saddam) and continue to conspicuously “Support our troops” troops that exist to carry out violence, despite their moral commitments saying they can apparently never in human history be justified.

.

When i say this proves “Pro-lifers” clearly do not believe a fetus is an equal human life, thats me being incredibly charitable. That is me extending a overwhelming large olive branch, that is me expressing a stupendous care and concern and sympathy and brotherly love to rival the best 19th century dinner host, the dearest of friends, a benevolent older sibling, a lover, a parent, a mother who on hearing the taped confession of her son to serial murder, doesn’t hesitate once before screaming “you monsters you’ve drugged and tortured him! What threats have you made to my grandchild! He would only say such things to save his daughter’s life!”

My claiming they are full of shit and lying to themselves, to you, and to me, is an expression of love and faith in my fellow man which until now I did not realized I possessed nor was capable of...

Because if I merely took them at their word? If I believed that they believed what they say they believe? They would be monsters.

.

Lets play a game called “Other Possible Holocausts”. Approximately 800,000 babies where aborted this year.

Lets imagine the US government has just announced that crime has gotten to cumbersome and that over the next 3 years it plans to execute every single one of the 2.4 million people in US prisons jails and Jeuvenile detention centres.

Lets imagine that to reform education, the US resolves to kill the bottom 1% of all 80 million students in the country based on an age adjusted standardized test every year.

Lets imagine hatred of the obese takes off, and a policy is passed to resolve America’s 30% obesity rate by the mass instituting of bounties on hunting and killing the obese... that every year 800,000 to 1.5 million tags will be issued for a fee to allow the hunting of the obese in return for monetary rewards on successful hunts and getting to keep the carcasses for meat base animal foods and the manufacture of fuel, or fat based household products. These bounty hunters become known a “whalers”.

Lets imagine the US announces its done with African Americans... if the problem hasn’t been solved since 1619, its not going to be... and so they’re going to genocide all 40 million African Americans at a rate of 2% a year, for the next 50 years.

Lets imagine opposing extremists get in charge and decide the racists rednecks have to go, and so they’ll be forming death squads to roam the South, Appalachia, and the rust belt, with the objective of killing 800,000 poor whites a year, “until the problem is solved”... with many happily stating 50 years of this would be acceptable, while others state it’d be perfectly fine to renew it another 50 years after that.

…

These are all American lives, and according to pro-lifers of equal moral value to the babies aborted every day, no better, no worse.

By saying this and by saying violence is not and cannot be justified to resist it, they are saying that their reactions to any one of the above eventualities would be to continue to live their lives as they have lived the past 50 years.

I do not know how to respond to that. Even if Abortion is truly murder of an ensouled equal human life... The Pro-choicers committing the murders don’t think it is... hell the Nazis murdered 6 million jews and a further 5 million undesirables, but they didn’t think of them as human, they thought they were monstrous and “life unworthy of life”, like a burning man begging you to shoot him so he doesn’t suffer or hurt his fellows... a mercy in a way.

Pro-lifers on the other hand claim these are equal viable human lives of equal status to yours or mine or perhaps even greater.... They’re Children.

And their reaction to the greatest mass slaughter in human history, the reaction of almost half the electorate, who regularly talk about the need to resist tyrrany and defend the weak (as both left and right in the US do, in their way), their reaction is to vote every 4 years, and have it perhaps not even be the #1 issue if the economy seems bad, they have the opportunity to vote for the first black president, or the Orangeman says something crude about Mexicans... they won’t be single issue voters even when it comes to the greatest crime ever committed in human history?

.

I refuse to believe it. Even I, cynical as I am, have to believe we are not that far gone, and the age of men has not come crashing down... i would believe the US capable of such a crime, but to believe that a double digit percentage of Americans could look at that, recognize the victims as their fellow humans,recognize their state and society as committing mass murder of their neighbours, future friends, and relatives...to recognize that they have a moral imperative to act on this... and then just go “welp them’s the breaks, gotta be civilized” because 9 people in black robes said it wasn’t murder?

Holy fuck. No that is not how people work, that is not how humans behave, I cannot accept that, and leftists who spent the summer rioting in response to fewer than a thousand police killings of black men a year, who remember the civil rights and anti-war movements, who kinda vaguely recall that they’re supposed to remember Huey Newton, or Saco and Vanseti, or those Rossen...something people... who like to imagine they’d have been abolitionists in the 19th century. They’re right to call bullshit.

They’re right to call the pro-lifers liars who don’t believe their own messaging, and instead just want to control women’s bodies, after a lie like that to their face, they’re right to treat them with scorn.

…

Pro-life is rescuable as a sentiment and an activist movement...

But not while it claims a Holocaust is going on and somehow magically no violence could ever be justified to resist it, thus lining up all the arguments that will allow the next holocaust to be committed without resistance.

There have been a double digit, perhaps even a triple digit number of mass murders and genocides in the hundreds of thousands or millions of people, since the 20th century. America is enabling its ally Saudi Arabia to commit one against the Yemenis right fucking now.

We need to be very fucking clear about what it is justified to do to members of a regime that commits such a crime, and what it is definitely justified to do to the immediate perpetrators of the murder. And That we will back violent resistance to such a horrible crime by the state even if it serves only to make the resister a martyr we’ll praise, or it degrades “civilization” (what civilization could remain in such a regime?), or it ultimately has no effect (it is on the survivor to try harder)... The major members of the House of Saud deserve the Gallows under international law for what they’re doing in Yemen , as do their American attaches and core enablers... and if that comes from a Judge in the Hauge or from a convoy of irregulars in pickup trucks, or from lone assassins who manage to get through to them, It is justice, and i will praise it.

What we cannot do is pretend that genocides and mass slaughter on unconscionable scales are occurring and then come up with excuses for why we should do nothing and anyone who does resist is a criminal. Or else those excuses will be the ones that allow the next real genocide in the west or on US soil to actually happen.

If there is a genocide or democide or whatever you want to call mass slaughter. You must recognize the justice the violent resistance to it, even if you personally do not participate, or you must admit you were lying about there being such a crime... to say otherwise, to say a state can commit such a crime and still retain its right to your loyalty, to say a people up to and including its victims must obey such a thing, a creature made of bureaucracy that has set its sights on massacring humans by the thousands if not millions... it is to side against the human race in a war of extermination.

And as someone whose pro-choice as they come, I’d much rather, if the pro-lifers really believe its murder, I’d much rather they start a bloody civil war, than for it to become the norm that that is ethically acceptable.

[waywardfacegarden]

burning embers

Modern Au: Zuko centric + The Gaang + Zukka + Friendship/Family feels + Angst and Fluff.

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

But Zuko wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love with someone is, he doesn’t know what it feels like. Love is a concept so alien to him; he can’t even grasp the root of it. He just knows a broken home, the remaining ashes of a devastating, blazing fire that was supposed to be his father’s love.

He doesn’t know what love is. And yet, he understands: the underlying and heart-wrenching agony that comes with loving. The sorrow that comes with it; it is just there, intrinsically linked. It’s something that the small kid—full of unknown love and golden warmth, but also deep, bitter pain—comprehends at the tender age of 11.

It’s just common knowledge for him, the same way he knows the sky is blue and the sun hides at night.

Family. Love. Father.

Those words don’t have meaning, Zuko thinks, lying on his bed one night, still hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice echoing in his ears in the quiet darkness of his room. They’re there, of course. And he knows them. He can say them. But they feel far away, slipping through the space between his fingers, becoming dust that blows away with the chilly wind of an autumn midnight, escaping him before he can place what was there in the first place.

They don’t hold weight. They don’t mean anything. They’re shallow; they just exist, like a couple of letters strewn together, like when you say your name so many times in a row it doesn’t even feel right anymore; but, he supposes only a few people are blessed with their significance, with tasting them in their mouth with something not akin to hate or bitterness or emptiness.

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

Those have meaning. Those have weight, despite being such empty words.

(But they very much taste like something akin to hate, too—and that’s the thing.

Maybe Zuko just doesn’t know anything aside from [self-]hate.)

.

.

Family, love, father. They are concepts that come alive to him the same way a phoenix is born.

They rise, awakening from the ashes that the fire within themselves has burned to death; so beautiful, so mystical, so mesmeric and so incredibly fragile and precious and wondrous, like a mythological creature coming back to life after having known its own death.

He learns the words and their meaning the same way his brain starts learning new things and concepts by reading a book; but he doesn’t learn with his mind—even though a part of him knows that this is where knowledge is stored—Zuko learns with his heart (he has always learned things best with his heart; after all, Zuko wears it on his sleeve; he’s emotional, visceral, volatile—his feelings are way too intense, too much that they burn his chest open; he’s always aflame), with his eyes, with his hands. He learns it in every little gesture that’s given to him, in every little crack (that keeps filling and filling and filling) of the time that goes on, in every little drop of ink that is spilled on the parchment where his life is being written.

He learns the words in the way he begins learning his uncle's tea recipes, in the satisfaction and pride he feels when his uncle congratulates him for a job well-done on a warm, quiet Saturday afternoon as he finishes helping cleaning and serving the tables around the teashop, in the way his favorite cup sits next to his uncle's on the kitchen counter in the mornings, full of Zuko’s favorite bubble tea; he learns them in the ugly, endearing, oversized sweater hanging at the back of his closet, the one his uncle gave him in his last birthday; he learns about love in the gentle smiles of weekends, in the singing of the birds outside his room’s window, in the blanket that rests around his shoulders when he is sitting on the comfy couch on a calm Thursday night, dozing off while trying to study for an English test, in the way the nightmares that used to haunt him are tormenting him less and less every time; he learns the meaning of father in his uncle's ridiculous pajamas, full of tiny drawings of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, in his uncle’s obsession with Pai Sho, and in the wise phrases he keeps throwing at Zuko even when he cannot fully understand them.

He learns, little by little, step by step, like a slow fire burning inside his guts.

And it's a weird, strange thing. Zuko learned that fire hurts you, the same way he learned that love does, but somehow, after years of building his new life, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

His uncle is patient with him. Patient as someone who would teach someone else origami or as someone who’s slowly writing a book. He teaches him, sees him fall, stumble and trip over his feet (both, metaphorically and literally speaking) and he’s there when Zuko gets up again.

It’s a nice feeling. Knowing that someone is going to be there, even if you fall. Even when you fail.

His uncle teaches him, the same way he creates a new tea receipt for the menu; carefully, gently, ever so softly. He takes Zuko, the broken child who looks at him through his pain and hatred, and makes him open his eyes. He points out, over and over and over again, that failing is not a bad thing, that love exists and that it doesn't have to hurt, and that if it does, you can heal from it; he teaches him that Zuko is full of it, full of love, he says that he’s always been.

Somehow, it feels a bit like healing. Of course, Zuko is still broken. Probably, a part of him always will be; but, somehow, he doesn't think that being a bit broken is so wrong now.

.

.

Friendship was a foreign concept to him, too. Or maybe not, but Zuko never wanted to get involved with it.

Too much trouble.

(Or maybe fear—fear of what it carries, what it holds in its nature; fear of failing, of not being enough, of being left out, of getting too attached.)

But just as Zuko was wrong about so many things in his life, this is not the exception.

He comes to learn that, too.

It’s a different process than with his uncle. Maybe because it’s slower, or maybe because it’s, rather, faster. Maybe because he wasn’t aware he was learning at all.

Zuko doesn’t know exactly when it starts. Can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started getting involved. Not that he cares much about that at this point, but he would like to know.

They kind of adopt him in their group (or, er, gang, as they call it), without Zuko noticing. But to be fair, Zuko doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Toph is a friend of his Uncle, and she lives near the teashop, so she’s around more time than she’s not; she’s loud and kinda rude, and always calls Zuko a dork or a nerd or an idiot, but Zuko realizes he likes when she’s there. Aang comes along sometimes, with his scarily bright smile. There’s also Katara and her big brother, Sokka.

He likes all of them, to his extreme surprise. They’re all good people. Aang is way too kind, Katara may be scary but she’s pretty cool, and Sokka is just a combination of a very, weirdly endearing, smart dumbass, which is, uh, new.

He honestly doesn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly he’s tucked under a soft fuzzy blanket in winter, sandwiched in the middle of the three-spot sofa, with Aang almost laying over his lap. He’s almost sitting on Sokka’s right leg, pressing him against the arm sofa, his side overlapping with Sokka’s. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s sitting there, cross-legged, with his right arm fully extended on the back of the sofa, almost like he’s hugging Zuko’s shoulders; he’s practically leaning on Zuko.

His arm and his side are really warm, though. Not as much as Zuko generally is, but it’s… kind of nice.

“Katara, Titanic is a classic, dude. What the hell.”

Zuko takes a sip from his hot chocolate, blowing off the clouds of steam gathering over the cup—the warmth of it is pretty welcomed in his throat, to be honest, while Katara rolls her eyes at her brother.

“I’m not watching that for the fifth time in a month and seeing you and Aang both cry for an hour later after the already three long hours of the movie.”

Sokka looks pretty indignant about Katara’s attitude towards his (probably) favorite movie, which is pretty amusing.

“You’re just a monster,” Sokka says, dramatically, “that’s why you don’t cry.”

Katara rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, from the couch closer to the TV, sprawled all comfortably over it. “It’s actually a really funny movie,” she points out, and then draws out her voice. “‘Jack, draw me like one of your French girls’.”

Aang laughs pretty loud, and Zuko smiles at the bad impersonation despite himself.

“Well, My Heart Will Go On is my anthem.” Sokka says, puffing out his chest.

Zuko actually snorts into his cup and Sokka shoots him a look. He remembers the time Aang and Sokka recreated that iconic scene, with Toph singing at the top of her lungs in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. He actually laughed at that.

Sokka seems to read his mind, because after a few moments of staring at Zuko’s face, his entire expression lights up. He grins, eyes sparkling, and starts singing really loud and purposely out of tune. Aang starts laughing and Toph doesn’t waste time on joining Sokka in singing. Even Katara smiles.

A few minutes later of terrible singing, they’re all laughing. Toph is cackling so hard she’s on the floor, and Sokka keeps leaning over him, laughing in his ear. He believes it should be annoying, but instead of that, it’s actually infectious and Zuko laughs a bit harder.

After they calm down, Toph is clutching at her sides and Sokka is wiping tears out of his eyes.

Aang smiles, then, softly and content, and raises a hand in the air, like asking for permission to talk.

“I have an idea.” He says, and turns around to look at him. “Why don’t we just let Zuko decide? He hasn’t chosen anything yet for our Friday movie nights.” 

All eyes turn to look at him at that. He stops his movements, mouth hanging open, hot cup halfway to his lips.

“Uh,” he frowns. “Thank you, but, um. Why would I choose? It’s your thing.”

Everyone stares at him like he has two heads, which, okay fair but why.

“What?”

Aang gives him a soft smile, all kind eyes and gentle features, like he’s about to talk to a baby, but before he can say anything, Sokka is putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning all his weight on him, as if they weren’t already close enough.

“This is your thing as much as it is ours, dude.” He says, grinning, “You’re one of us.” He vaunts, proudly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair.

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

Aang chuckles. “Yes, you’re our friend, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s… 

There’s… 

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

Friend.

Huh? What? How? When did that happen? Huh? Did he miss something in the past few months?

Sokka, completely oblivious to his emotional turmoil, insistently points to the TV while squeezing him. "So, buddy? Don't you think we should watch Titanic to cry and share a couple of very male tears?"

"You only want to watch it because you have a crush on both Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio." Katara accuses.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes, you do! You even still keep that poster of them behind your…"

"Katara!!!!"

.

.

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

It tastes like hot chocolate in his mouth on a cold night, it sounds like Sokka’s laugh and Toph’s jokes, and it looks like Aang’s kind eyes and Katara’s nice smile.

It feels like something. It holds meaning. It’s not an empty word. At all.

Sokka’s hand ruffling his hair or over his shoulders, Toph’s nicknames for him, Aang’s offer of help in times he feels like Zuko needs it, Katara’s help with homework and advice on his recipes doesn’t let him forget that. ‘Friend’ is never going to be an empty word.

Friend tastes like hope, like warm food and bear-hugs.

Friend is such a nice word.

.

.

The thing with Zuko being generally—and strangely—warm all the time is that summer is a complete nightmare for him.

He's sitting directly in front of the fan at full power, barefoot in just jeans and a light T-shirt, and yet he still feels like he's going to explode. The weather forecast in the morning heralded a heat wave in midsummer, and it's exactly the worst thing in the world that could happen to Zuko's already overheated body. Toph groans beside him, lying with her arms and legs spread like a starfish on the cold ground. It is no comfort to her, however, and Zuko can understand that well.

Katara is looking at something on her phone, fanning herself with a magazine, and Aang remains practically unaffected, just as energetic as ever as he eats the remaining watermelon slices from the bowl they recently filled.

Zuko is wondering if he should go, or if he should fall asleep on the freezing ground that doesn't seem to be freezing at all, when Sokka walks into the living room in his baseball uniform. He has just returned from his morning summer practice; sweat is running down the side of his face, and his shirt is partly sticking to his body from the moisture. He smiles at everyone in greeting before gulping down all that's left of the water on the bottle of his hand. Zuko stares at his Adam's apple bob while he's drinking, and then his eyes trail the trickle of water that slides down his jaw over his desperation to drink all the water so fast. The drop goes down, down, down, dripping over his collarbone and sinking into his neck until it eventually gets lost somewhere inside his shirt. Sokka throws the bottle over the trash can and uses his shirt collar to wipe the water and some of his sweat off his face. Zuko's eyes unconsciously move downward; he can see a line of skin on Sokka's abdomen and stomach.

He swallows. Uh. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He's probably dehydrated. Is he dehydrated? He's starting to feel a little dizzy.

"So? Beloved friends, beloved little sister? Did you miss me? Obviously, you did."

Katara rolls her eyes, but still asks, "How was practice, dumbass?"

"It was cool! I hit twelve curve-balls in a row and sixteen of that weird fastball Suki pitches. Oh! And I'm finally getting the thing about that forkball. Also... woah, Zuko, are you okay?!"

Zuko blinks from where he was staring at Sokka's hair. It's kind of wet. Is that sweat? Shouldn't that be gross? Why is Zuko staring? Does he find it gross? He doesn't think so, but he also can't quite explain why...

"Woah, bud," Sokka says, kneeling in front of him and getting dangerously close to his face. "You're so red, are you having heatstroke or something? Do you feel dizzy?" He leans on his knees and presses a hand to his forehead, pulling up the bangs hanging over it. It feels nice, actually. Sokka's soft hand on his boiling skin feels like fresh water. He kind of wants to lean into it.

He probably does, because Sokka frowns. "Maybe you have a fever..." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Don't you want to take a shower to cool off? I can lend you some clothes, we're about the same height, they'll fit."

Zuko blinks. Huh?

"Here, let me help you." Sokka says, helping him up.

Around an hour later, Zuko feels a lot better, laying with his back on the floor in Sokka's baggy shorts and blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of The Pink Panther. Zuko smiles involuntarily when he looks at it. It smells a bit like Sokka, or at least the detergent he uses. That makes his stomach do weird flips. He's not feeling that hot anymore, but maybe he is getting sick...

"Hey," Sokka tells him, looking at him from above, standing just behind Zuko's head. His toes are barely avoiding touching Zuko's sprawled hair on the floor.

"Hey," Zuko answers back, looking up at Sokka's soft face. His hair is down and still wet from the shower, and a few drops fall on the bridge of Zuko's nose when Sokka hovers over him. Zuko's face scrunches up, more out of involuntary reaction than out of bother, but Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He uses the towel around his neck to messily dry his hair. "You look a lot better, now."

"Yes," Zuko muses, still a bit mesmerized by Sokka's wet hair. And Sokka's face. "Thanks."

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can say anything, Toph groans just a few feet away, sitting now on the couch. "Stop flirting and get a room already; it’s gross. We're here, too."

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

"Hey! I was just worried!" Sokka excuses himself. "Weren't you all? His face was as red as a tomato."

Katara looks up from her magazine and gives him a pointed look, with one elegantly arched brow. Apparently, she doesn't even need to say anything else, because it's enough to make Sokka blush.

Oh.

He's cute, Zuko thinks. And then, oh, I think Sokka is cute. And then Sokka stomps over the kitchen muttering unintelligible things, still a faint blush over his cheeks.

Zuko smiles to himself watching his childish behavior. He is, though. He is cute.

.

.

.

It's raining heavily outside, drops pouring loudly against the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Zuko side-glances at Sokka. Maybe it's because after the course of a year, Zuko has learned to recognize many of Sokka's little gestures, or maybe it's the fact that the boy has been so much into his own mind lately, but Zuko recognizes that way he scrunches up his nose, that wrinkle between his eyebrows, that way his eyes twitch.

“Are you okay?” 

He’s asking mostly just to be polite, to be honest; he already knows he’s not. He knows something’s up.

Sokka turns to look at him, and then stares at the rain hitting the glass window of the lonely teashop.

“I’m…” He says, and looks at his hand. Then he presses his mouth into a thin line.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zuko says, awkwardly, because as much as he cares, he’s still a mess when it comes to social cues. He’s never going to stop being a mess. And terrible at comforting people.

Sokka sees right through him, though, like he always does, and smiles softly at him. His whole face mellows. It kind of makes Zuko’s heart flutter in his chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I’m…” Sokka tries again, looking at Zuko’s face. At his eyes, at his scar, at his neck. He feels weirdly exposed, but at the same time… He doesn’t. It’s just Sokka. Which means it’s okay. “Scared, I guess.”

Zuko blinks and tilts his head to the side. He’s not sure if he should ask, but…

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

“Of failing? Of disappointing my dad? Of not being enough? I don’t know, I can’t quite pick a single one.”

Sokka’s voice is not quite bitter, but it feels like that, in the air around them. Zuko knows the feeling pretty well.

“You are enough.” Zuko affirms, without a single trace of hesitation in his voice. Because Sokka is enough, in every single aspect, and he shouldn’t feel like any less than that. Zuko’s also aware of what he’s worrying about, and for Zuko, it’s just absurd—Sokka is one the very few people that shouldn’t worry about passing the entrance exam of college at all, he’s crazy smart. He should know that. But, to be fair, Zuko can’t judge him nor scold him for self-doubt when it used to be all that he was, along with his self-hate. So he says it out loud, looking into Sokka’s wide, surprised eyes. “You’re also really smart, Sokka, I’m sure you’re going to ace the entrance exam. You shouldn’t worry.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but he also adopts that playful-kinda-flirty side of him. It’s painful because Zuko can see the sadness underlying in his voice and body language so clearly. Can see the lack of confidence in every single motion.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I really believe so. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re very capable of doing whatever you want, so have faith in yourself just like I have faith in you.”

Once he says it, and Sokka blinks once, twice, thrice at him, Zuko feels painfully aware (and painfully embarrassed) of what he just said.

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

“Ah,” Sokka says, and makes a face that Zuko can’t name. “You’re blushing.”

Zuko covers his cheeks with both hands. Sokka is probably right, they’re so warm, but still.

“I’m not.” Still.

Sokka laughs, and raises both eyebrows. “You sure?” He asks, staring pointedly at his face, which only makes him blush harder.

Stupid Sokka.

He must know the effect he’s having on him, because he laughs again, lightheartedly. Well, at least he’s not upset anymore…

“I’m not,” he uselessly and pathetically insists, even when it’s tragically obvious he is. But he has some pride, okay.

Sokka grins, but it’s all devilish. It makes Zuko’s hair stand on end. A chill runs down his spine.

“It’s just hot.”

Sokka smirks. “Sure, you’re always hot.”

“Shut up,” Zuko complains and groans, facing away from him so that he can’t see his blatant embarrassment. Sokka’s natural flirty personality wasn’t that much of a problem back then, but it’s only gotten worse, and Zuko just can’t handle it sometimes. It feels like way too much.

“Ah, but you blush when you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” Sokka points out, a wide grin on his face. “Imagine being both cute and hot, what a crime.” 

He sighs theatrically, and Zuko is very tempted to answer, “shut up, look who’s talking,” but he knows he will just get more embarrassed after saying that. He needs to calm down. So he just grumbles while Sokka laughs.

Then, when Sokka has already calmed down and Zuko can feel his face like normal again, they look quietly at the rain, steadily keeping its pace.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, after some time, and Zuko quirks an eyebrow in reply. 

Sokka smiles. “Thank you. For believing me. It means a lot.”

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

.

.

Zuko notices it one night. (Though, looking back, it’s weird he didn’t notice it before.)

Well, more like, Aang notices and points it out, and then Zuko realizes that what he said is pathetically true, lying in bed at night because he still mulls things over sometimes before going to sleep.

“You know,” Aang had casually said, holding a can of orange juice, sitting next to Zuko on the bleachers at one of Sokka’s practice games. “You stare at Sokka a lot.”

Zuko frowned. “It’s his game, after all. We’re here to watch him,” he had retorted, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes, but I don’t mean only now. You stare at him all the time.”

Zuko didn’t feel like he liked where this conversation was going. Something about his expression must had given him away, or maybe Aang was just too good at reading him now, because he said:

“Wait.” He actually had sounded surprised. “You mean you’re not aware you have a crush on him?”

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “What? I don’t have a crush on him.”

Aang quirked up an eyebrow. Sure, he didn’t need to say.

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

Aang hadn’t looked any more convinced of what he had said. If anything, he looked more convinced on what he himself had said. Aang had looked at him for a very long period of 1 minute before lightly chuckling and nudging him in the arm with his elbow, smiling brightly at him.

It was weird, but Zuko has gotten better at reading them, maybe just as much as Aang has with him. Maybe that’s why he knows what Aang means with all of that. Admit it when you’re ready.

It’s not like he was trying to deny or hide it. It’s not like he was trying to lie. He just didn’t think Aang was actually right.

But he is. Zuko can’t stop looking at Sokka, all the time. Thinking about him. About the way he smiles, with his hair up, with his hair down, with that denim jacket that fits him in all the right angles, with his baseball cap, ecstatic after he scored a run in the 8th inning. 

Sokka, practicing on the field. Grinning widely and openly and hugging him tightly when he aced the entrance exam. Leaning in to taste Zuko’s ice-cream into his own mouth. Ruffling his own messy hair. Wearing those silly cartoon t-shirts. Serenading Zuko with Electric Love and the most ridiculous voice ever on his birthday as a joke. Messy eating. Scrunching up his nose while drinking green tea. Reciting 80% of the Star Wars dialogues by heart. Being obsessed with boomerangs and swords (though not as much as Zuko is with that last one). Biting into the end of his pencil when he’s focused on writing an English essay.

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

When did that happen? Why did that happen? He doesn’t know. Was it because of his warm eyes? His pretty smile? His pretty lips? Was it because he opened up to Zuko, let himself be vulnerable around him, bled his heart out so Zuko could piece it back together? Was it because he’s funny? Charming? Cool? Smart? Astonishingly cute? Was it because he made Zuko feel made out of thin air, sometimes, so raw and exposed but yet so safe, so comfortable in his own skin? ...That is, the others don’t necessarily make him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable. He just feels like he can be all open and vulnerable with Sokka better. Maybe because he opened up to him first, about something so personal like his mom (and Zuko knew about losing a mom, too).

Well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly matter, does it? He’s already in deep.

Zuko rolls over his stomach and sighs, groaning loud into his pillow. Why, why, why, why. It’s not like he even has a chance, so why did he have to…

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

And the way he falls asleep thinking about Sokka’s laugh is even stupider.

.

.

The thing is, because Zuko notices all the little details in Sokka’s gestures and behavior, he also notices the way he acts differently towards… Certain people.

“Me and Yue?” Sokka laughs, and Zuko blinks. He didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. Now, he would just hear the confirmation of what he already knew from Sokka’s lips. How is that any better? Good job, Zuko. 

“Nah, man, Suki would kill me if she sees me wooing her girlfriend. Or at least kick me pretty damn hard.” Huh? Zuko blinks again. Huh? So they’re… Sokka and Yue… They’re not… 

“And believe me, she’s super strong. She kicked me once and I’ve always regretted eating that last cupcake on the fridge.” Sokka makes a face and shudders, like the mere flashback is enough to make him fear. But then he smiles, in that soft way of his that makes Zuko’s knees go really weak. “And I’m pretty sure Yue is immensely happy with her, too.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, so he just oh-so-eloquently utters:

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

“Didn’t you know they were a thing? The PDA is so strong when they’re together, you have to have seen it.”

Well, that was… Zuko just thought they were touchy with each other? Sokka is pretty much touchy with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re a thing.

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

Zuko frowns. He tilts his head in confusion. “Because you are… Romantically attracted to her? It must be rough.”

Sokka blinks once, twice, three times. Stares. Then, he throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach.

“Dude, what the hell.” He wheezes. “Just say the word crush like normal people.” 

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

“Wait, what?” He says, serious all of a sudden. Or at least, surprised. “Do you really think that?” At Zuko’s lack of response, Sokka looks at him, then at his hands, then at the TV, where the video game they were playing is still on pause. Then, back at Zuko’s face. “No, I don’t have a crush on her. Or on Suki, for that matter.”

Zuko frowns. Sokka must know he doesn’t believe him, because he continues.

“I mean, I did.” He admits. “Back when I met her, when I was, like, 14. But I’m over it, now—Not that she’s not great; she’s awesome and I love her, just… Not in that way. It was just a silly teen-crush, anyway. And Suki is my best friend. We had a thing for a few months like two years ago, but we hit it off so much better as friends. She’s my bi icon, though. And bestest friend.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sokka adds, and eyes him pointedly, “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

So he does have someone he’s interested in anyway. God, Zuko really doesn’t stand a chance. Why even bothering trying? And it’s not like he knows how to try something, anyway…

From the other corner of the room, Aang shoots him a very cryptic look. Zuko can’t describe what he’s thinking, but he guesses he’s taking pity on him. After all, he knows.

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

.

.

His mind is a cruel thing. It’s what keeps him up at night, what reminds him of all his insecurities, what makes him feel undeserving of love, what keeps throwing image after image into his head of his broken childhood on bad days. It’s what, as much as his heart, knows about his deepest desires, his longing, his yearning and thinks it’s amusing to play with Zuko for a bit.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, with a fragile smile on his face, his voice going ridiculously soft, his eyes warming up, and Zuko’s heart pounds on his chest like big waves crashing on the shore of a lonely beach. “Zuko, I love you.”

It’s kind of—very—criminal the way Sokka makes him feel. The way he makes Zuko’s heart seem like it’s going to burst out of his chest with how fast it beats after hearing just those three words, the way he makes Zuko’s entire soul ache and want, the way he makes him feel so grounded, so him, yet so tiny and delicate, like he’s made out of thin sheets of ice.

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love is. He just knows a broken home, the destructive, neon-like, toxic obsession with power his dad had, instead of any tender form of anything else that can be called love that his dad should have had for his mom, but never did.

Falling in love is made to hurt. Falling in love is destined to make you feel sad, and alone, and unsafe.

Falling in love is a cruel thing. It’s not cut out for weak people, and Zuko is weak. He’s destined to break. He has always been made out of fragile, easy-to-destroy things.

That’s why his mind plays with him all the time.

He wakes up in his bed, opens his eyes to the dark quiet of his room, feels the way his heart beats so hard that he can almost feel it on his throat. And he feels lost. And sad.

He doesn’t even scream. He just lies there, feeling the world becoming smaller, feeling himself becoming smaller.

Lord, he’s royally fucked. Screwed. He knows. He’s destined to break.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

.

.

He’s sitting with Toph leaning back on his right side, on the fluffy couch in Katara and Sokka’s living room, cutting up squares out of colorful paper.

They are both terrible in the kitchen. Something coming from being rich kids, Sokka playfully teased earlier. And he guesses it’s true. Either way, they are terrible—Zuko even burned his own kitchen once while making scrambled eggs (and that was. Not a very good day). Sure, he has tried to help Uncle Iroh a couple of times, and he knows a bit of the basics, but besides preparing tea, he’s lost. He can’t cook to save his life. So when Zuko almost lights a fire to bake cookies and mixes up the recipe for the second time, Katara kicks them out and bans them from the kitchen for the next 4 hours. Toph protests just to be annoying—she doesn’t like cooking at all, she has told him, but she loves annoying Katara, it’s her favorite idle activity. Zuko would be offended, but it’s the smartest choice if they want to finish baking Aang’s birthday cake without setting the kitchen on fire, so it’s fine.

Besides, this way he can steal a few glances at Sokka, as he hangs up the decorations he and Toph are making. The muscles under his shirt flex when he raises his arms above his head, his messy hair down from its ponytail, falling over his face when he moves a bit to the left, a line of the smooth skin of his back making its way to Zuko's curious, avid eyes.

Zuko swallows.

Toph sighs heavily and throws her head back. “So, are you planning to make a move any time this century or are you a loser?”

Zuko eyes her, coming out of his stupor, confused. “What?”

Toph smirks. “Right, you’re always a loser, my bad.”

Zuko blinks. Not because of Toph calling him a loser, but because, for a second, he really doesn’t get what she means.

Then, when he does, he buries his face into his hands and groans.

“Even you know?”

Toph laughs. "Yes, idiot, it's stupidly obvious.” She pats his arm. “I can see it and I'm blind, you know." 

Zuko groans again. He’s in physical pain right now. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know. Maybe the way you say his name. Or talk about him."

Zuko feels a bit of panic. 

What? Is he that obvious? How does he say Sokka’s name?

"His name?"

"Yeah,” Toph confirms, nodding exaggeratedly, “stupidly sappy. It's gross."

"Oh my god."

She laughs again, loudly, because his suffering is apparently amusing. "You also talk about him a lot," she chuckles, "and sigh every time you see him. At least that’s what I assume, given that he’s in the room and you keep sighing like a 12-year-old girl in love. Pinning all the way.”

Zuko wants to die. He seriously wants to die. Maybe he should just tell Sokka he likes him, so when he rejects him, Zuko can just die a quick, albeit painful, death.

Toph nudges at his arm, with her typical abnormal strength for someone her age, but she doesn’t mean any harm. “So?” She asks, again. “Are you planning to make a move or not?"

Zuko sighs, "I can't do anything, he likes someone else."

Toph kind of stops where she’s fumbling with a couple of paper sheets. She then turns around and makes this face, where she’s scrunching up her nose and frowning like she just smelled something sour, or like when she’s deeply confused. "Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

Zuko’s confused at Toph’s relentless insistence. "...Yes?"

Toph’s face goes back to normal, but there’s something about the way she continues to hum that makes it seem like she still thinks Zuko is an alien, or something.

"You must have misunderstood him—which wouldn’t be a surprise, to be honest." She says the last part in a whisper, but he still hears her. That’s probably what she wanted anyway, but it’s not like he gets it. What does that mean? Zuko gets Sokka. That’s one of the few things he’s really proud of. Did he just think that he got Sokka while, all this time, he actually didn’t?

No. He understands Sokka. Sokka himself has told him that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't have a chance if he likes someone else, so I might as well not even try."

Toph looks mad. "You're super pessimistic, dumbass."

"Hmm."

She sighs, looking deeply tired and frustrated, like Zuko has completely worn her out. Then, she raises her fist and punches him. Hard.

Ouch.

Zuko yelps, and rubs at his sore arm. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

She frowns. “To punch some sense into you, big oblivious idiot!" Toph hums a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat, like she’s a feral dog trying to threaten a pedestrian. “Just try, at least. Everyone is kind of getting tired of your pinning, too."

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

“Even Katara. The only reason she hasn’t intervened yet is because she says it’s not her business to push you, but I don’t think her reasoning is gonna last long.”

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

.

.

Eventually, things go on. 

Zuko’s “crush” doesn’t go away. If anything, it just grows and grows and grows until it becomes almost unbearable. But he still can’t say anything.

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“You know,” Sokka says, looking at him with feign innocence, sitting with his hands upwards behind him in Zuko’s room, “that looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

Zuko frowns. He looks up from his work to give Sokka a confused look. “What is, my pen?”

Sokka gives him that little, playful smile—the one that is so incredibly hot for some reason Zuko can’t understand. His eyes gleam, even more than they do all the time.

“Nope,” he says, and his smile grows an inch, “your hand.”

Zuko blinks. Sokka flirting with him is nothing new, that’s why he manages to hold back his blush a bit and remain calm, even when he’s a bit dying inside.

He is just trapped between telling him, “god, I wish you were flirting with me for real,” and, “please stop doing it, it’s not good for my heart,” and, “If only you knew how much I really want to hold your hand”, but neither of those options are actually. Something viable.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks instead, knowing the answer already.

Sokka would laugh, brush it off, and say something like, “ah, but you didn’t blush this time,” and let it go.

He doesn’t, though.

What he does, instead, is shrug and look at Zuko’s textbook, like he’s completely uninterested in the conversation.

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

“Have been for the past year and a half or so, but thanks for noticing.” He answers.

Zuko blinks. He’s tempted to answer, “yeah, I know, which is a cruel, cruel thing to do, by the way, given how my heart just wants to escape out of my chest and go with you every time you do it,” or something equally playful to play it down like they always tend to do, but… for some reason, this time it feels… Real.

Maybe he should just laugh.

He doesn’t, though, and, “What?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Sokka looks up. “I said that I’ve been doing it for a year and a half or so, thank you for finally noticing.”

Zuko doesn’t understand. He’s not following the conversation at all. “Wait.”

“Ahh,” Sokka sighs, “honestly, if you didn’t notice by the end of the month, I would have felt deeply embarrassed. I was starting to think I lost my charm and I didn’t know how to flirt.”

“Well, that was a terrible pick-up line,” Zuko can’t help but retort, and like he wasn’t mildly-insulted, Sokka grins at him.

“But it worked for you, didn’t it?” He teases, leaning on Zuko’s personal space, “it made you feel something.”

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

Zuko covers his mouth, frowning. He can feel his own heart race.

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko says, blinking. “That means—are you—are you flirting with me? For real?”

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

“Zuko, I don’t know where you got the idea, but I don’t flirt with anyone aside from you—at least, I haven’t done it in a long time. So yes, I am actually flirting with you.”

Zuko feels like he just got hit in the head. “Why?”

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

Sokka shoots him a look. “Zuko,” he says, slowly, “I like you. I thought that was obvious already.”

Zuko blinks. “You have… romantic feelings for me?”

Sokka laughs, amused. “Yeah, Zuko, I have ‘romantic feelings’ for you.”

Zuko blinks again. He’s blinking too much. “So all this time… it was real… when you said… and that time you also said… and… oh.”

Sokka smiles, softly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair. It makes him blush. His heart might also not even work at this point, if it wasn’t for the fact that he can clearly hear it thundering in his ears.

Why is Sokka so calm? Zuko’s about to pass out.

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

“Fair,” Sokka answers; he’s still grinning so wide. God, Sokka is so pretty. “Though I think she only calls us dumb, not that she means it.”

“Mmm.”

He’s so unfairly distracting, too. Zuko can’t stop looking at him.

“Wait,” He says, suddenly realizing something, “so you knew that I—that I—had feelings for you, too?”

Sokka looks at his lips when he talks, and Zuko has to concentrate hard to not straight up pass out from shock and his heart racing so fast it might give him an attack. Has he done that before? He would have noticed, right? Sure, Zuko looks at Sokka’s lips a lot instead than at his eyes, but he would have noticed if Sokka did it, too.

… Right?

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Is he dreaming? Is any of this real at all?

“Noticed it a while ago, yeah. That’s why I’m not freaking out that you noticed my flirting 100 years later.”

For a moment, Zuko is able to set aside  his internal emotional turmoil and state of panic, if only to complain.

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

“Wait,” Zuko repeats, just to be annoying, “if you… liked me, and knew that I liked you back, why didn’t you… make a move?”

“Like asking you out? I tried to, but you’re too oblivious.”

“Huh?” Zuko utters. What does that even mean? He’s not—well, he is, maybe, just a bit, but. “Well, if you knew that, you could have been more straightforward, you know!”

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

Zuko feels his lips curling up, not able to contain all his happiness anymore, his brain catching up with the last 20 minutes of his life.

Holy shit, Sokka likes him. Sokka likes him. Him. Zuko. As in, romantically speaking.

Oh.

Oh.

“I like you, Zuko.” Sokka says, as if Zuko’s brain didn’t shut down already. He reaches out and slides his hand on the table Zuko was previously working, the tip of his fingers touching Zuko’s. “So can I finally, please hold your hand?”

Zuko might pass out for real, but before that, he finally, finally, finally takes Sokka’s hand into his own.

It feels even better than in his dreams.

He feels like burning up, like all of his body is setting itself on fire.

Sokka’s hand is warm, so warm, and soft, so soft, and makes Zuko’s heart flutter like delicate flower’s petals in the wind.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over his knuckles; Sokka’s lips turn into a bright smile, like he’s been wanting to do that since forever.

It feels like home.

.

.

When they tell their friends they’re dating, Yue is the first one to say something.

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

“Shocking, right,” Katara deadpans, but then she smiles, genuine. “I’m happy for both of you.” 

(Although remembering that minutes later doesn’t make her any less scary, when she decides to corner him out of the bathroom and put a steady hand on his shoulder, feign-sweet smile on her face, and say with a weirdly off-calm voice that, if he ever dared to hurt Sokka on purpose, she was going to break all the 206 bones on his body.)

Toph grins brightly and kicks him enthusiastically on the side with a loud “Well-done, loser!” while Aang jumps on Zuko’s back and clings to him like a koala.

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

“Finally, I won’t have to hear Sokka’s pinning all the time,” Suki quips, like she’s tired and utterly uninterested, but even the happiness is evident in her voice.

Sokka still complains. “Hey! I had to hear you be head-over-heels for Yue for months, too.”

“It wasn’t months for you, though.” Suki deadpans, but then her face goes all soft, “I’m kidding, So, I’m really happy for you two.”

Sokka smiles, and she gets up from where she’s cuddling Yue on the sofa to hug Sokka tightly, grinning wide, and then look at Zuko (stumbling with a happily laughing Aang on his back and Toph annoyingly ruffling his hair like a proud little sister) and whispers something in Sokka’s ear.

Zuko is glad that he’s still looking at Sokka from the corner of his eye, because he catches him blushing after that.

He’s cute.

Suki laughs. Sokka frowns, still blushing, and when he catches Zuko watching, he blushes harder.

He’s really cute.

Zuko smiles softly, and Sokka blinks, once, twice, before smiling back.

The cutest.

.

.

“Zuko.”

Zuko hums, but doesn’t look up from his work.

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

Zuko is used to it by now. To Sokka calling him pet-names like those. Of hearing Sokka say he’s cute, or hot, or smart, or witty, or pretty. It still makes his heart flutter, though. Just as Sokka’s laugh does. It still makes him blush sometimes.

(It’s funny because Sokka is the same way—or mostly the same. Zuko said he looked really hot after a baseball game once and Sokka almost died on the spot. He blushed like mad, but after he calmed down, he couldn’t stop bragging about Zuko calling him ‘hot’.

“Look at you, flirting shamelessly with me! You’re all grown up!” and, “I shouldn’t be near Zuko if I’m wearing my baseball uniform, he’ll get a boner,” and a lot of more phrases.)

“Hm?”

“You are—” Sokka sing-songs, and crosses his arms over Zuko’s textbook. He puts his chin over his forearms and looks up at Zuko’s face, grinning, and Zuko would probably be a bit annoyed that he’s not letting him finish his essay if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Sokka. His, ahem, boyfriend. 

“I am…?”

“You are,” he repeats, and his smile grows bigger. Zuko thinks about kissing him; Zuko thinks about kissing him all the time. But, to be fair, he used to dream about that, just as much as he used to dream about them holding hands. And just as if he read Zuko’s mind, Sokka reaches out and holds his right hand; gently, like all of Sokka’s touches. It feels so nice, Zuko never wants to let go. “You are pulchritudinous.”

Eh?

Zuko tries to smile, but Sokka looks at him like he’s looking at a cute baby and throws his head back, still close and still holding his hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“What…?” Zuko is sure he looks as puzzled as he feels; he once caught his reflection in the mirror while playing Scrabble with Sokka and therefore knows how he must look. For some reason, Sokka finds it extremely cute. “What does that mean?”

Sokka laughs again.

Zuko narrows his eyes into slits. Or, maybe Sokka’s just making fun of him. (Not in a bad way, of course, Zuko knows. Sokka never means any harm, but he sure as hell loves teasing Zuko all the time.)

“Are you insulting me?”

Sokka wipes tears from his eyes and looks at Zuko with such a sweet face that it kinda makes Zuko stumble, even when he’s sitting.

His heart flutters alive, his face grows warm. He wants to kiss Sokka.

Sokka does, though, pulling gently at his hand and softly pressing his lips into Zuko’s wrist. He grins up at him.

“You’re adorable.”

(Later, when he’s waiting for a toast on Uncle Iroh’s kitchen, still barefoot, decked out in his pajamas and half-asleep, he finally finds what he thinks is the correct word using the search function of his phone—after 20 lame attempts of trying and failing at remembering—and pronouncing correctly—the right word.

He clicks on the dictionary tab, reads over the meaning, stumbles over, slips and falls flat on his ass.

He almost sets his kitchen on fire for the second time.)

.

.

Zuko is bad at flirting. He knows. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, hard, and sometimes, sometimes, he succeeds (conscious and unconsciously).

Or maybe Sokka is just too easy to fluster (even when Sokka says it’s the other way around; even when that’s actually, probably, just a bit, true.)

Either way, Zuko basks happily in seeing Sokka get all flustered. It makes him even cuter than he already is.

(Whipped, Toph would draw out, mockingly sing-song.

And, well, maybe he is.)

.

.

Kissing Sokka is like setting himself on fire. Like burning up alive, but not in the bad sense. Not in the way he was burned as a little kid.

Kissing Sokka is like sitting near a campfire when you’re feeling cold; like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling your chest contract; like tucking yourself in a warm blanket, with fuzzy socks and drinking your favorite drink, while hearing your favorite song. It’s like waking up on a good day, like basking in the sun at twilight, like taking a warm shower after a long day.

He feels too much, way too overwhelmed, even with just a brush of lips.

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

There’s something that comes alive in his chest at the same time their lips touch. It blossoms under his ribcage, spreads over his chest, warms up all the way up to his throat. Beating, growing, marveling in every fiber of his being. Maybe that’s what love is—maybe that’s what Zuko has been searching for all this time; this connection, this overwhelming feeling, this deep, raw, unfiltered emotion, coming off him through waves of desperation for more.

He can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t something he has looked out for, the discovery of it still feels like a sacred thing.

It’s like watching cherry blossoms falling on the street for the first time, like falling asleep on the comfortable side of your bed after a tiring day, it’s coming back home—or to what home should feel like.

It’s something delicate, at first. Zuko doesn’t have any experience, so he just lets himself feel as Sokka presses his lips softly into his own, carding his long fingers into Zuko’s hair.

Zuko feels an electric chill run down his spine, where Sokka’s fingertips—from the hand that’s not on his hair—make a slow path down. He can feel them burning, even through his clothes, even when Sokka’s hand is not that warm.

But it feels like that.

Zuko breathes shakily, moves his lips experimentally, feeling Sokka’s smile against his mouth.

He wants to do something, so he leans in, feeling Sokka’s eyelashes tickling his cheekbones, feeling Sokka’s thumb under his jaw, angling his head in a better position, feeling himself become aflame. He wants to touch Sokka. He really wants to touch Sokka.

So he does.

He uses one hand to gently touch Sokka’s wrist—the one Sokka’s using to keep Zuko’s head up—and, carefully, tentatively, he wraps his fingers around it, caresses the skin like he wants to print a topographic map of it into his mind.

Sokka makes a low, appreciative sound, and Zuko feels so happy it should be embarrassing.

Sokka has his hair down, and Zuko wants to touch it so much because he loves Sokka’s hair. Sokka’s hair is so pretty—Sokka is so pretty—so he goes for it. He brushes his fingers on Sokka’s shoulder, touches the strands of brown hair that lie there, moves his fingers to the nape of his neck. Zuko does this slowly, he wants to feel everything and he’s not going to rush, not after how long he’s wanted this.

He cradles his head with his hand, touches and touches and touches. He pulls at his hair, lightly, and his hand goes down just a bit; the skin of Sokka’s neck under his fingertips is warm, and so soft. He can feel the gentle echo of his heartbeat thundering in the tender curve of his jaw.

Just then, Sokka’s thumb brushes on his bare clavicle, and Zuko hisses, feeling like he’s on fire. Feeling like he’s become burning embers.

It’s just—too much, and at the same time, not enough—he wants more.

He has always been sensitive, but it’s different now. It’s like all his senses are turned on—he’s hyper-aware of everything around him—of Sokka’s hands, of Sokka’s steady, fast heartbeat under his open palm, of Sokka’s smell, of Sokka’s warm mouth, of Sokka’s soft skin, of the way Sokka keeps mumbling his name, softly against his lips or when he breaks apart to breath. He touches Sokka’s face, Sokka’s arms, Sokka’s neck; breathes his name into his own mouth, makes sure Sokka knows how much he wants this, how much he’s dreamed of this: of kissing him, of him kissing him back.

It feels too good to be even real—just as Sokka always makes him feel, even when they’re not kissing.

He might as well die there.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, though.

Linked, bare soul to bare soul, with the prettiest, smartest, kindest boy he’s ever met.

.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say. But as he sees Sokka laughing in front of him because of some ridiculous joke Toph made, holding Zuko’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world, he can’t help but think that falling in love is anything but painful.

Sokka turns around, catches him staring and grins, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Zuko smiles, thinking just how much he loves Sokka, how much he loves his life, how much he loves his uncle, how much he loves his friends, how much he loves being alive, being there, curled up with Sokka on his couch, watching a stupid rom-com movie on Sokka’s cell-phone screen, sharing earphones with his boyfriend. Being there, in the house that he shares with his uncle—his real dad—in the house that he has come to call home. Being there, feeling safe in Sokka’s arms, with Toph hearing music on the TV, while Aang and Katara and Suki and Yue sleep, sprawled there and there all over his living-room.

“I love you,” Zuko tells Sokka, like he just revealed the biggest secret of the universe.

Love.

He feels the word on his tongue, and it tastes sweet. It tastes like the color of Sokka’s eyes, like the tone of Sokka’s laugh, like all of Sokka’s smiles—the gentle one, the soft one, the playful and flirty one, the wide one—all of them. Love tastes like Sokka holding his hand while they go for a walk, like Sokka’s voice when he talks about what he likes, like Sokka’s proud eyes after scoring a run, after Zuko shows him his grades. It tastes like a lot of things he can’t name, like the way Sokka says his name, like the way Sokka makes him feel, like that little mole under Sokka’s jaw, like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles with the setting sun of the beach, like the way his fingertips feel against Zuko’s neck. Like the way he looks at Zuko like he’s not broken, like he’s the best thing that ever existed, like his scar is beautiful and all of Zuko’s failures don’t matter to him because he’s him, and that is enough. Like Zuko is more than enough, and how he loves that he’s more than enough to Zuko, too.  

“I love you,” Zuko says again, in a low voice, and it feels real. It has meaning. It’s not an empty word at all.

For some reason, he feels like tearing up a bit.

Sokka’s face mellows, softens; he brushes his thumb under Zuko’s left eye, just at the edge of his scar, and his eyes become impossibly warm. Zuko wants to kiss all of his face; he wants to taste all of Sokka’s softness on his own lips.

There, in the quiet of Zuko’s living-room, Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks he’s the most bewitching, stunning, ineffably beautiful being.

It feels like something ethereal. Sokka smiles and Zuko feels blessed to exist.

“I love you, too,” Sokka answers, like he’s sharing one of the secrets of the universe, too, like he’s never told anyone anything more true, and ever so gentle.

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

[cerberus253]

Demon Deep Dive (JCA)

Someone asked if I could do headcanons for the Eight Demon Sorcerers from Jackie Chan Adventures, so here it is, and more! Much more oh God...

Canon Stuff

All seven Demon Sorcerers HATE Shendu for his conniving nature and deceptive past towards/with them (Drago just hates him because father issues)

The Demon Sorcerers do not need external objects to perform spells, for it simply comes from their physical being

They are all old fucks

There are plenty more demon sorcerers, but these eight/nine are all those that were ever mentioned

All want to rule the world

Everyone, aside from Shendu, actually somewhat care about each other and agree to rule the world together. Why is that even though they shouldn’t have “social urges“ because of their biology? We’ll discuss that later

Looking back on the very first episode they were all in together, they are fucking in sync as all Hell! They were finishing each others’ sentences, they knew what each one was thinking. Damn, son, they be tight AF; family goals, amiright?

How to start a Demon Sorcerer meeting: Step 1) Find Po Kong, Step 2) Call everyone else over because it would take too long moving her at all

About the individual demons themselves (Most of this is reworded from the Wiki, but confirmed through watching their episodes):

Hsi Wu

Guerilla tactics for the win

Oddly patient, ya know, for someone so kind of childish

Becomes bored easily, so he has the knack to pick on his siblings and humans, with the latter being in more vicious and cruel ways

Aside from Shendu, Hsi Wu is the most bullied by his siblings (it’s because he’s small, isn’t it??)

Although he hates Shendu like the rest of his siblings, he is more “cold and apathetic“ towards him, with occasionally getting along, albeit extremely slight

High pitched noises hurts his ears

“His wings are sharp enough to cut through concrete“

Playful, although in a sadistic way

Simply flies to get where he needs to be

Likes to pester and make fun of Po Kong specifically

He just. Constantly smiles or has this big wide, toothy grin on his face all the time

*gremlin noises* *cat hisses*

Best/Worst Actor Award goes to...

Tso Lan

Sophisticated and more-or-less monotone sounding, he is always on alert with his senses. Despite this, his reaction timing is awful

Seemingly emotionless, his relaxed demeanor breaks when something doesn’t go his way. He does display some sarcasm, though

According to the wiki, he is very hard to please and never compliments anyone. What a stuck-up asshole

Along with Bai Tza and Xiao Fung, he is one of the more authoritative demon figures of the family

He apparently is one of the elder siblings

He is one of the most powerful sibling because he can bring the fucking Moon out of fucking orbit like it is nothing

He is Shantae He can control his hair, as well as float and glide gracefully

He can survive in space

He does indeed have legs, for he has been seen walking ONCE and we get to see his boots (Demon World (Part 2))

Shendu (My apologies, but not my regret, about if you are upset with me and my loathing for Shendu)

Selfish asshole who doesn’t like sharing, even with his family

Everybody Hates Shendu and Shendu Hates Everybody, and they all want each other dead, including Drago

Legit, he made a truce with Uncle, the mortal enemy, so he could horribly punish Drago. What a good father, amiright???

Can hold a grudge for, like, ever and hardly ever keep his promises. He also willingly admits he’s a traitorous bastard

Greedy and sophisticated asshole

Like, Jesus Christ, I wanted to give Shendu some slack because I did not want myself to be blinded by hatred for the guy, but my God is he the worst

“Shendu is not only devoid of compassion and sympathy for mortals, but also cares little to nothing for his family-members - this is displayed most markedly by how he left his siblings to rot in the Netherworld so he could rule the Earth himself.“

“Father and son's relationship was so toxic that Shendu even declared when Drago was being sucked into an interdimensional rift that his son deserved no less than to be trapped on the other side for his disloyalty.“

“Despite this, in response to Drago's apology and profuse pleading, Shendu visibly contemplated for a moment and hesitantly decided to try saving Drago from his fate (with a warning that his son must remember he is second to Shendu while they're on Earth), suggesting Shendu might genuinely care about his son to some extent (or at the very least, as close to caring about another being as Shendu is capable of).“ Um, not sure if I agree on the “genuinely care“ part, but totes on board with the “just wants him for a playing chip“ thought

Although he may be one of the most powerful demons of the family, that does not stop his siblings from actively going against him, which surprisingly makes Shendu submissive to them. Hmm...

He legit cares about no one but himself and that is no overstatement. I’m sorry to all those fangirls out there :V

Once ruled all of China

Shendu gets all whiny and high pitched, often stuttering, when expressing fear (which is every single time he gets a family reunion, which reminds me...)

He can be such a cheeky charmer

Although Shendu only cares about himself, he does seem pretty observant with recognizing what others do want, and of course uses that to his advantage. Hm, observant guy; no wonder he has fangirls

Tchang Zu

Not that talkative, even during fights, and rather only speaks when he feels the need to. However, when he does speak, it is rather loud and/or commanding

Hates when he isn’t respected, especially out of fear. He hates it so much he verbally explodes with anger when something personal to him is disrespected

Is willing to get down and dirty when reaching his (and his siblings’) goals

Is most likely the most colorful with his wording and admiring architecture

Really only attacks those he deems worthy (apparently there was a crowd of humans he only bothered scaring away and not attacking, even though they only saw him as entertainment?)

Become Goku Flies on a cloud to get where he needs to be

Oh my God he sits criss-cross-applesauce

Dai Gui

A little under average intelligence, but his brutality and strength make up for it, being an absolute bulldozer with anything that stands in his way

I must reinforce the “a little under average“ part because he does use the word “ludicrous,“ which is no caveman word

Violent and macabre imagery is his verbal forte

A big bully, since he loves throwing his authority around to those under him

Similar to Tchang Zu, Dai Gui is also willing to do dirty work, but mainly for himself than for others

Absolutely LOATHES “pretty“ things, like flowers

Sometimes talks in third person

Seems to prefer using his raw strength than his magical powers

Laughs at his own jokes

Persistent and dedicated. Nice!

Po Kong

Hungry Hungry Hippo; food is always on the mind, I wouldn’t be surprised if her want to rule the world was second on her list

Although she can and would eat anything, she is still picky

Her favorite flavor is human and salt

She knows French (ah yes, one of the “Love Languages”)

She snores

Po Kong likes to torment Hsi Wu

She can walk on her own

Favorite food: Human

Bai Tza

Hates Shendu the most

Most outspoken and dominating out of all the demons (”verged on superiority complex”)

Tends to deal with situations more realistically, as well as learning from past mistakes

Despite her intelligence, her hubris still gets the best of her

Along with Tso Lan and Xiao Fung, she is one of the more authoritative demon figures of the family

Apparently didn’t have humans living in her palace, which was Atlantis

Can levitate

Bunch of banshee screeches. Yeesh

Xiao Fung

Talkative and slimey diplomat that prefers debating with his siblings rather than arguing and fighting

Enjoys fights to the death between his underlings

Has an interest in drama and being a part of it

Seems to be the most cooperative and decent when working with humans. Cool!

Absolutely despises the Netherworld so much that a human prison is “paradise“ to him

Along with Bai Tza and Tso Lan, he is one of the more authoritative demon figures of the family

Need to get somewhere? No problem, just jettison your way with wind bellows from your lungs through your mouth

Although he does care for his siblings, it’s apparently not enough to “carry the burden“ of freeing them. Maybe it’s out of pure laziness? He does seem against doing active things (other than blowing wind, which only he can do)

Headcanon Stuff

Why do the Demon Sorcerers (besides Shendu) actually care for one another and agree to share the Earth between each other? I did say they do not possess the inherent-to-parent instinct, but I never said they were not social animals. The demons may not have the need to reproduce or want sexual anything, but they do posses the need/want to have company, which is kind of supported by the fact that canonically and in real life, Chinese demons mainly want to be praised and treated like gods. One cannot be considered a god, nor be praised in general, if one does not have beings beneath or beside them for confirmation

So, in a way, you could say they all desire some sort of reassurance of their importance.

Their relationship with humans is understandable, given from with what I just said, but the relationship between one another is a little more... deep? They obviously consider each other legit family, so they do care about one another (with some rough-play rivalry), but I think it’s less on the biological factor and more of the “fitting in“ factor.

Here’s my theory: Yes they are biologically family, but they did not view each other as such originally. After a while of being with one another, experiencing similarities, they became family-close in the metaphorical sense (in addition to the literal sense). This would explain how Shendu could have lost touch with them intimately while the others did not with each other, all the while still considering each other as family.

So, despite my whole push on the demons having little compassion, they do still harbor it; expressing it through family feelings. However, just like humans, there are always those who posses less compassion than the average person, and that would be Shendu. Shendu is the psychopath of the family-- the Black Sheep, if you will

In addition, theoretically, for all those fangirls and guys out there, they could love you like a precious pet. Just sayin’ (so, like, imagine the Demon Sorcerers having human pets and treating them like we do our own “Look how much of a chonkster my human is!” “Oh yeah? Well mine started getting ready for winter early; look at this massive boy-o!” I call my cats “stupid, stinky babies who I love” and then proceed to cuddle them all the time :V)

Fuck it, they have family movie/theatre nights because I find it endearing even though it may be Out of Character

To begin this next section, I want to state that the Demon Sorcerers are based on The Bagua. However, it is merely their elements that are the inspiration, not anything with the philosophy behind Bagua. However however, I will be looking into it and seeing what the Bagua has that still can reflect on the sorcerers. In other words, instead of basing the demons on the Bagua, I’ll be “basing“ the Bagua on the demons, if that makes sense.

Smol

Hsi Wu’s kingdom was probably located on the eastern coast of the USA

Judging by that teacher’s transformation with some of his chi, he may have “avian tendencies” with flying south for the winter and building nest-like structures

Probably the most convincing one to “befriend“ a human. Not because of his past friendship with Jade, but because people could relate to him of being picked on from size and lack of abilities, in addition to being more approachable because of his size and playfulness

His demeanor is mostly childlike, especially with how cruel children can be

Probably dislikes orchestral music, especially violins, flutes, the triangle, etc

Would most likely become a memester. Maybe.

“How do ya do, fellow kids?“

Likes to listen to music/singing while doing things and stuff. So, maybe he has to be distracted to some degree to be content, or he will be grumpy? (AD(H)D)

Real Talk: At one point in Tale of the Demon Tail (where Jade “befriends” Hsi Wu, or really his persona), Hsi Wu’s persona of being Jade’s friend actually disintegrates. Meaning, that “mask“ he put on to befriend Jade, at one point dissolved into an actual aspect of himself. So, when he answered Jade’s question of ‘are you going to the dance‘ or whatever, his initial response was that of an actual human-child Hsi Wu friend. While yes he was still acting, his initial response was almost unconscious, and then he realized what he was saying and said the other thing. I mean, it could have easily been “Nah, that’s stupid-- oh wait, that’s a good idea to get inside the house, actually,“ but that still follows the unconscious response action. What am I getting at here? Well, the interaction the two had proves that a clump of Hsi Wu’s personality does click with Jade. I’m not saying “I ship it“ or anything, what I’m saying is their personalities attract one another in general and could work between two different characters. As much as they seem to get along, there are other characteristics the two have that oppose one another and definitely shatters that friendship. So, Jade and Hsi Wu Being Friends? No; Some Personality Traits They Have Connect to One Another in General and Could Work Between? Yes.

The ye olde game of Chase is probably his favorite. Ya know, the game where you chase people around? Yeah, any game where he gets to chase/hunt his pray would be his favorite

Very similar to Shendu, Hsi Wu is one of the craftier folk of the family. However, unlike Shendu, creativity is his primary weapon which is, of course, used to make up for his size. 

Similar to Xiao Fung, Hsi Wu is also one of the siblings that listens and pays attention the most. Their difference being is the information he learns is more for his selfish advantage than a “getting along” way. 

Despite his dishonesty towards Jade, he is the most integral to himself. What I mean is, while yes all the demons follow their demon ethos, I believe Hsi Wu is the most true to himself and wouldn’t back down or reject something he is honestly interested in. However, probably because he knows how others know him, he can use this integrity to fool others into believing him with ease.

Hsi Wu is also probably the most inclined to have faith in others, but this DOES NOT mean he easily trusts people. What I’m saying is he may not easily trust others, but when he does, that faith in them is near unwavering

“The Beauty of Mischief”

“Lord High Lord of the Sky,” or “Lord High Lord of Firmament”

Vamps

Tso Lan’s “kingdom“ was probably located on the Moon

Like all sophisticated assholes, he probably enjoys reading, but only books that deal with the fall of humanity and apocalypse stuff. Maybe even some space stuff, like the movie Interstellar? (Star Wars can kiss his ass, though)

Can posses dark matter? Because of his dark magic bolts and his affinity with gravity?

Doesn’t like being around people. His siblings are fine, but he rather not have company, judging by how he most likely spends his time on the Moon and rarely visits Earth. Antisocial personality disorder much??

Like we have stated earlier, Tso Lan never gives out compliments, for he is oh so difficult to please. He watches intently and is careful with his neutral wording, always sounding cold and cruel. However, despite his emotionless disposition, he does have some ugly colors. For example, he does get angry, especially when he is interrupted. Example two, he does take pleasure in tormenting his enemies. However, the good color of natural tranquility explains his seemingly “lack of emotion.”

If he can ever “give respect” to anyone, it’s probably so difficult to achieve it should be considered impossible. But hey, if you do somehow get his compliments, consider yourself special, home slice! In addition, it’s probably also highly unlikely to get him to laugh. Like, not even a chuckle. Maybe a sarcastic and flat “Ha,“ but nothing too intense.

He may not think of himself as king or an emperor, but he does view himself as some sort of higher metaphysical power, like a pontiff. In addition, he probably sees his position being the highest because of his throne on the Moon and his power over gravity (and maybe dark matter). Being used to this placement, he has distanced himself from just about every living thing, being untainted with normal, petty desires. Oh but being a demon has its drawbacks, for wanting is in the blood. Meaning, there are most likely some things out there that he may desire (Fanfic Writers, assemble!)

You want him him to talk dirty to you? Why yes, you should keep good hygiene and not be smelly. Real Talk, though, because of his lack of emotion words, he probably would have difficulty conveying emotion verbally. But hey, his voice and tones are enough to get anyone aroused :V

Might secretly like dancing, but only simple ones. Like, The Waltz would be the most active he’d like

Might also hum tunes every so often. Despite that, he still prefers silence over noise of any kind.

“The Beauty of Isolation”

“Lord High Lord of the Moon,” or “Lord High Lord of Satellites”

Shit Dad

Probably studies magic the most and has a huge library filled to the brim with spell books and whatnot

Drago may be on his mind a lot, but probably not for any positive reason

Probably had Drago made for that thing in Taoism where two beings can connect one another metaphysically, and if one is in trouble (like they died or something), the other can help out (and resurrect if need be). Or, he wanted someone that wasn’t human on his side because he’s sure as Hell his siblings won’t side with him

While Drago is way more hotheaded than his Dad, it seems Shendu is more likely to let a petty grudge get in the way of his goals

Shendu hates family reunions

Dude’s a mad scientist

Probably regrets having Drago

Oh God, oh fuq, it’s the Big Bad Dragon that wants everything for himself. He must know what his name translates to because oh boy does he feel entitled to his mighty sovereignty. Like, he lusts for power so much that no amount of trickery could mask his clarity of greed, ya know, like a “true” dragon. What he wants, he will obtain, with let nothing obstruct his path… other than a petty grudge. He’s so full of passion and thermal rage he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst his brethren. He would even sink to deep lows to get what he desires, even if it is heavily depending on humans, lying, cheating, and stealing from his own family, doing forbidden things with humans to have a “son” he only wants to use as a playing piece, and even bend reality to his liking.

However, I must say it is impressive and admirable how adaptive he is with every situation he finds himself in. He is rather courageous and would try anything to reach his goal, even if it is siding with the enemy. Shendu speaks in sophistication and eloquence, to which the latter trait he shares with Xiang Zu, despite his childlike outbursts of rage.

He may not be the most elementally powerful sibling, but he is The Best with knowledge about other magics like spells and potions.

He does perform the stereotype of “dragons are beasts of greed” exceptionally well, which, I can admit, is pretty hot, being a monster lover myself

Something I’ve noticed with his face is that he lacks lips, which are replaced with external tooth-like structures. This actually forces the creators to make him expressive through other means, like his eyes. So, he’s expressive, and he fits the draconic poem I read in a book somewhere “Beware the glint in a dragons’ eye/ It is cold as ice to the liar/ It is sharp as a knife to the knave/ It is hard as iron to the greedy/ It is a burning flame to the brave.”

“The Beauty of Wrath”

“Lord High Lord of Fire,” or “Lord High Lord of The Thermal”

Sparky

Tchang Zu’s kingdom was probably located on the western coast of the USA

Would request for extravagant buildings and structures, as well as being a big fan of theatre (Beowulf, anyone?)

I can imagine him having a deep, boisterous laugh that is an award to trigger

Probably the best war strategist, everyone would hate playing Axis and Allies with him (He’d either play Russia for the size, or Germany because, well, you know)

(I’m just repeating what I’ve already stated, but whatever.) Similar to Tso Lan, Tchang Zu is careful with his words. However, what the latter does is speak only when he deems it appropriate, and sometimes with eloquence. When he does share his thoughts, it is in an assertive tone, making everyone stop and listen.

Tchang Zu is rarely ever caught off guard and surely plants himself where he stands, literally and figuratively. Despite his assertiveness, he does not come off as one of the most “authoritative” figures of the family. Instead, he’s more of an overseer and commander, making sure everything is falling in line under his, and his siblings’, iron-fist.

He is one of the few that would take the initiative when confronting a problem, which must be pretty terrifying for the opposition, seeing as how intimidating he is. Oof. Although he is on the shorter side, it does not bother him, for he knows his power is just as great as his siblings’.

Unlike his siblings, he wouldn’t be one of the “crafty” folk. What I mean is he isn’t a trickstery cuck like Hsi Wu and Shendu, but actually follows demon code and honor. I mean, not that “demon honor” is anything greater or equal to “human honor,” but the point still stands. What is “Demon Code and Honor” you ask? I dunno, watch Jackie Chan Adventures and observe demon culture yourself.

His demeanor may be slow and steady, but when he fights and flashes lightning, so much power and energy erupts from within. Majestic

Knows how to use semicolons properly

“The Beauty of Imperiality”

“Lord High Lord of Thunder,” or “Lord High Lord of Electricity”

Dai Guinguini

Dai Gui’s Kingdom was probably located on the western coast of Europe, maybe more specifically Spain

Let’s take that “hates pretty things“ even further beyond. The words “delicate and innocent“ usually come to mind when the words “pretty“ and “flower“ are shown. So, I headcanon he hates weak and fragile looking things, as well as cute. The more petite and dainty something looks, the more of an urge to destroy rises up

Probably needs to hold down a vomit when seeing romance in any medium (lava vomit?)

Also probably iffy on crystals and gems. Like, they are shiny and pretty and are sometimes delicate, but man, the massive structures these things can form into is crazy.

Dai Gui reminds me of the colossi in Shadow of the Colossus when viewed just wandering around. We know he acts like a brute and hates petite things, and is quite aggressive when he fights, but there’s something about him that makes me think of some majestic creature that likes to walk around all alone in a wide open space. There is some beauty to his “monstrosity” and I feel like that’s overlooked by him always being described as, well, a brute. 

Although not as intense as Shendu’s, rage can also be a common sight with Dai Gui, but it’s mostly from his non preferred environments. Also, similar to Tchang Zu, Dai Gui appreciates his structural surroundings, but has a more keen interest in its earthly variety. Mountains, canyons, plains, plateaus, mesas, volcanos, deserts, etc. would be his ideal territory. Like I have mentioned before, I feel like he’d often roam around his landscape, constantly fixing and changing anything he desired. 

Even though he doesn’t like flowers and such, I do not think he hates nature in general. Maybe most of it, but not all. He may like huge ass trees for their size and might, grasslands (like savannas) because, although grass is all over, it still gives a vast emptiness of calmness, which deserts give a vast emptiness of despair.

Quick note, I’m not saying he’s artistic and elegant. What I am saying he isn’t just a dumb idiot caveman that just lusts for destruction, but rather actually has a hobby of shaping the earth. Yes, he might find the terrestrial variety of the earth interesting, but he isn’t all, like, “Hmm yes, insert fancy art words here;” he’s more like “Hm yes, me like; I shall do more over there” and then just… does it without any pre planning or anything.

Not only does he like creating earthly structures, but also destroying them. Have you ever built something so cool (or have just seen something so cool) with Legos or whatever, and for some reason want to destroy it just because ‘ha ha destruction fun’? Yeah, that’s him sometimes.

I’d also like to add he likes bugs. Not only eating them, but also admiring their earth shaping tendencies. Their structures won’t stop him from eating them all, but he does like to see what they make before the big snack

I bet he likes to sunbathe sometimes. Mmmmm, warm rocks always feel good. Cool rocks, too! (This also made me think of belly rubs… hmm)

“The Beauty of Incessance”

“Lord High Lord of Earth,” or “Lord High Lord of Formation“

Mount Vesuvius

Po Kong’s kingdom was probably located in Japan, and/or Japan itself

Most likely the one to zone out on meetings with just thoughts on food (ADD maybe?)

Although she’d eat anything, Po Kong probably appreciates and remembers excellent meals. In addition, she probably could describe in detail of various tastes

Or, alternatively, since she eats so much all the food just blends together

Apparently, humans taste like chicken. So maybe, genetically create giant ass chickens, like in Skyrim, and feed her that if humans become scarce and/or too small for satisfaction

Probably the most difficult demon to satisfy, but not just because of hefty demands, but because she is practically the personification of gluttony. Like, I’m sure she can and will eat anything she wants, even inorganic things. She likes it? Nom. She hates it? Nom. She will never be fulfilled until she has consumed all… or until she explodes or whatever. I’m being dramatic. 

Luckily, she is not picky. Unluckily, she is also picky. I guess it just depends on her hunger mood. One day, she may want just a bunch of salty snacks, likes chips and fries, and on another day she may want a giant bundt cake filled with gooey human flesh and blood. 

Legit though, her kingdom/empire would be the number one food place in the entire world, with having the largest kitchen and all the best cooks (ha ha, like a collection. You could say she would have Too Many Cooks, but “too many” doesn’t exist in Po Kong World!). She would have food critics to make sure the meals she really wants to enjoy taste wonderful. Dude, like, imagine Gordon Ramsay and Guy Fieri at her command. She’d laugh her ass off with Ramsay yelling at people and Fieri with all of his antics; they’d be her favorite little humans. Funny, they’d both still be practically doing the job they do now, just being ordered around by a tyrannical demon who also likes food.

Has no interest in video games and picture shows, but does have the interest in the unique food that appears in them and of course demands them to be made for her.

To get on her “good side” is to be absolutely loyal to her and her eating habits. Ya gotta make the best meals, serve them in delightful ways (she actually doesn’t care about any fancy stuff, but appreciates the effort if done right).

I bet she likes getting spoiled. I mean, yeah, all the demons would want gifts rained down upon them, but they wouldn’t express as much glee as Po Kong would. She’d probably sound condescending half the time, but hey, at least she’s happy and smiles. Gotta give her big gifts though. Go big or go home, folks.

Just like us folk, she prefers Maximum Comfort when eating. That means sitting in her favorite chair, eating from her favorite dish, and watching her favorite entertainment pieces.

Ya into vore? She’s your woman *finger guns*

“The Beauty of Indulgence”

“Lord High Lady of the Mountains,” or “Lord High Lady of Beasts“

What do you call a fish without eyes? A Fsh

Bai Tza’s kingdom is factually Atlantis, but in the JCA universe, Atlantis might be close to the southern coast of Europe in the Mediterranean Sea

She’d be the one initially planning family get-togethers  

Do I dare say I could imagine her being a dominatrix? Yeah sure

Similar to Tso Lan, she has/had an isolated kingdom away from humanity, but unlike her brother she most likely had subjects, which lived coastal in southern and south-east Europe, Northern Africa, and the Middle-East. Every civilization took a part in building her castle and its decor, but soon after it was complete, she sank it to the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea, never to be gazed upon with mortal eyes ever again.

Although she can survive in either, Bai Tza prefers warm and salty waters over cool and fresh waters. 

Because of her unique bond with water, which literally has her able to morph to and fro between a liquid and solid state, she probably traveled and oversought numerous locations around the world, with any place being close to warm and salty seas. Did she hold dominion over them? Maybe, seeing as how just the Mediterranean Sea and most of its surrounding land is quite small for a kingdom when compared to her siblings’ territories. 

Bai Tza may not be one of the most powerful siblings, but she is the most feared. She’s able to restrain herself when angry, she thinks outside the box when confronting obstacles, and her dynamism makes her tricky to confront. She is straightforward, blunt, and has a wicked and sharp tongue. Like stated before, she is one of the more outspoken relatives, being very dominant in every activity she takes part in. Wouldn’t surprise me if she was a control freak. However, enjoying her power so much leads her to be arrogant, making her hubris the number one weakness.

Bai Tza is probably the most cruel because she actively thinks about the damage she can cause instead of just doing it. Despite her cruelty, she isn’t heartless; she may in fact be the one that cares about her family the most, with having the most hatred for Shendu because of his betrayal to said family. On a side note with Drago, she probably rejects him mostly for his differences than his relation with Shendu, but of course the latter still counts. So, welcoming those into her tight personal circle would be a ‘no.’ 

Despite her evilness, she can and will compliment things that amuse her, and being super protective of them like personal property.

Would drown ships with anti-demon supporting humans on them, as well as anyone who enters her territory without permission. Probably could be convinced with gifts, but they better be good. 

Theoretically could forgive past mistakes, but they must be made up with something equal or greater amount to said mistake. 

Likes to wear jewelry, especially gold.

“The Beauty of Absolution“

“Lord High Lady of Water,“ or “Lord High Lady of the Abyss“

Froggy

Xiao Fung’s kingdom was probably located in Latin America

One of the smarter siblings, Xiao Fung prefers to discuss and debate over physically fighting. Not sure why, but maybe because he doesn’t view physical fighting as something “high ups” do; all of the dirty work is for the peasants beneath them. However, if forced and there being no other way, he would partake.

Knows the art of conversation quite well and usually dishes out the best conversations. He may not be eloquent like Tchang Zu, or very particular with his words like Tso Lan, but damn can he keep a conversation going if need be. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d yak with others if he’s bored. Maybe try talking some existential stuff with him; that’d be neat. Or keep asking ‘why’ like an annoying child, and he’d probably be tricked into answering each one, with getting annoyed more and more the longer it all goes on.

Despite his laziness, he still would do activities that require his assistance, as long as it’s something only he can do. If there is someone else available, he’ll leave it to them.

Xiao Fung is probably one of the more “approachable” demons, being how he doesn’t immediately give off  “fear and respect me or die” vibes. He’s still intimidating, but to those with any amount of courage could muster up to confront him. Ya know, if it isn’t anything personal to him, then in that case you’d be the one telling everyone how terrifying he is, also, ya know, if he lets you go back to your village. 

It wouldn’t surprise me if he had decision making issues when it comes to something he likes vs something useful/”right” 

If a human went up to him and made a deal, he most likely would take it as long as he gets something in return that he wants, as well as the odds being in his favor. 

Human antics are strange and insignificant, but they are still intriguing to him and would converse about it. Just don’t think you’d make him change his opinion on us; that won’t happen, fo sho. 

The most forgiving and patient of the family, although it may not be by much. It most likely stems from his diplomatic character, being willing to discuss situations, even thoughts he leans more against. It’s really the subjects she is 100% not on board with he will not discuss, but something around 70%-60% he’d be more willing to listen to. Whether he actually agrees with you and is not just listening for amusement is another story. 

Really enjoys music, favoring well put together orchestral.

Could hold some serious long notes, and probably sing in all sorts of keys (Dude. Singing bass)

Dude probably loves board games like chess.

Tchang Zu and him probably get along well because of shared interests in theatre and strategy games.

Would be the one to bring up topics to get everyone arguing if things got boring, like politics. In addition, he would also bring up playing the “Friendship Ender” games we all know and love, like Uno and Monopoly.

While Hsi Wu carries the “shit eating smile,” Xiao Fung has the “smug cat” face.

“The Beauty of Disruption“

“Lord High Lord of Wind,“ or “Lord High Lord of Currents“

Bonus Factoids Upon my Research

Theoretically, because it is stated that the Twelves Talismans are physical manifestations/vessels of Shendu’s powers, the other eight sorcerers (this includes Drago) could have their own Twelves Talismans

Apparently, killing/destroying a demon causes the disruption of balance within the universe, causing a “stronger evil“ to manifest and fill that “wound.“ So, again, theoretically, could a “stronger good“ happen as well if a situation summons/calls for it??

Sadly, according to Shendu, the all chi-absorption thing Drago did at the end of Season 5 is irreversible. So, canonically, Drago is technically forever stuck as a Cthulhu abomination. I am forever sad. Like, yeah I’m a terato lover, but I really prefer Drago as normal :’( However, Shendu answered to a human using a man-made chi spell. What if the actual Demon Sorcerers did a chi spell, to which apparently is conductible without external means? Could they be powerful enough to reverse it if all of them worked together???

[Chinese and English Name/Japanese Name- Chinese Translation/Japanese Translation]

Hsi Wu/Tokage- Evil Lizard/Small Lizard

Tso Lan/Kyuketsuki- Flood maker/ Vampire

Shendu/Kiryu- God of All (oof)/Spirit Dragon

Tchang Zu/Oni- Soldier of Madness/Ogre

Dai Gui/Shishi- Great Ogre/Stone Lion

Po Kong/Daikaiju- Feared Cliff/Giant Monster

Bai Tza/Nisei- Force of Defeat/Second Generation

Xiao Fung/Keroro- Little Wind/Frog

Early Christmas gift to y’all :V

God I hope this is good enough. I’ve been spending all my free time working on these guys just to get the original ask done. Don’t get me wrong, I did like doing this and forming at least some kind of unique character with each, but I am so exhausted from how long I’ve been working on it. It’s mainly my fault for being such a try hard, so don’t blame yourself, Anon who asked for this; you all good, bruv.

[saphyhowl]

Own Story

Ok so I finally got the courage to write my story. I was a bit afraid to post it but I still got through with it. I have no idea how to protect my writing so I hope I can figure out where to regularly post it and not be afraid that someone will take it. Although I doubt my story is that great. I just want to protect it because I am like a mother hen. 

Here it goes... Please tell me how you like it, leave a comment or a like, I will be forever grateful to you :3 Also please please please don’t pay attention to my bad spelling. It’s a story I wrote by hand in french and translated it here. I am no translator so there will be mistakes. It’s not a final version, it’s an ongoing work. If you feel like stuff is missing that’s normal I am still working on lots of aspects, but don’t hesitate to let me know what you think might be crucial to you to understand the story.

I have a very low self esteem when it comes to my own work. It took me a very long time to get where I am today. I am not trying to get pity or anything, I am just putting you in a context so you understant that all this is historical for me and I hope we can celebrate that historic moment together.

*****************************************************

He should have felt it during the morning, when he woke up. The crispy air from the night still hung in his bedroom, rendering it impossible for him to fall back asleep. Nothing pleased him today. No urgent letters for him. Everything was calm. Although Cynan enjoyed the calm routine that had settled in his life, he could not help to feel as if he should act to prevent what seemed to him an upcoming storm.

After seven years of conquest and negotiation, his friend  Meanas could ascend the throne officially. He could finally hold a coronation ceremony without any fear of revolution. Cynan had organized everything with the help of the other members of the counsel. The invitations were sent and had been answered. The preparation had already begun, all was well. After seven years of constant uproar, Cynan almost worshipped the calm and order that had finally settled in and so did Meanas.

As he sat at his desk, basking it this holy stillness, he read utterly slowly the law document he needed to approve. This was part of the many tasks Cynan, advisor of the future king. He should have sensed it in this moment as well, when the sun finally can warm one enough, hinting that the season of spring was approaching. He should have known that as the sweetest and mild season of the year was nearing, his life would enter a season of bitter regret.

***

“If my heart could run, then it would have already passed the coach that was meant to bring me to him. 

I am of an impatient nature.

I play the scene out in my mind, like an actress before her performance. 

How delectable it is just to imagine their faces when I finally reveal myself in front of them.

I could appear here and there. I could keep him as the last person I meet.

I could hide until the very end and wait until the coronation. Then, I would make the most vibrant of appearances.

Oh no, even better! I could visit him first. That would stir the glowing embers of our past and hint towards a possible story for us. Whatever that story would hold, that I would decide depending on my mood.

So many possibilities lie out there and only a few can be chose as I have only one life.

However, my emotions should not lead me astray and distract me from my true goal.

I did not return to revive past passions. I came here to set this place on fire, to start a new era.

Seven years of preparation and now everything will play out. 

But to open the festivities, I must first get my hands on an invitation,”

The coach came to a halt in front of a mansion. Zelina descended and took in the view of the garden before walking towards the entrance, where a quite surprised butler awaited her.

***

Her arrival could not be compared to a thunderstorm. The situation occurred way too fast for Cynan to be overwhelmed. His butler announced her and when she entered his office her aura invaded the room like a rising tide. Cynan had been too dulled out from his peaceful day to prepare himself mentally to face the young woman in front of him.

Two old friends meeting again for the first time.

“You still have an awful taste. Your curtains are a disgrace,” Zelina said as she scanned the room visibly bored.

Silence.

“After all this time, I would have thought you had developed a more luxurious taste,” she added.

 Zelina took one step forward and then another. She walked idly in the room with a candid expression.

“What is the reason for your visit... Madam?” Cynan asked.

Zelina suddenly turned her head towards Cynan and her golden eyes squinted with hatred.

“Madam…” she repeated.

Cynan did not react.

“Meanas’ coronation. Would that be a pleasing enough reason for you, Sir?” Zelina finally answered.

“King Meanas,” Cynan corrected.

“My apologies,” Zelina said as she bowed down excessively.

Zelina refused to refer to Meanas as a king.

“Lady Zelina, you are not invited to this joyous event,” Cynan stated.

Zelina smiles causing Cynan to doubt his capacity to stay unfazed for long.

“Oh but I do know that,” she said.

Zelina sat in the chair in front of Cynan’s desk and started playing with her fan. Cynan examined her and slowly he shifted into contemplation. That smile of her, her voice, her gesture, they were all familiar to him. Thousand memories rise again in his mind. He is tempted to dive into them and daydream. As he battled against the temptation of reminiscence, he did not notice Zelina looking at him as well. However, she was not reminiscing, she was waiting for the right timing.

“I simply came as a friend.. An old friend. One cannot forget a friend who did so much,” she added.

Zelina placed her hand on the table in an attempt to draw closer to Cynan. He stared at her hands. She was still wearing her many bracelets.

“And I mean, you know…” Zelina hesitated.

Cynan raised an eyebrow as he noticed her false bashfulness.

“Say, was it intentional to choose only one emissary for the South?” she asked.

Zelina had found the right moment and had struck with her words. She knew his weakness, Cynan was a skilled warrior and noble but not a tactician.

“Lady Zelina, this should not be of concern for you,” Cynan answered.

“Many southern families were quite shocked and felt offended,” Zelina added.

“I thought you came as a friend Zelina,” 

“And it is as a friend, Cynan, that I inquire about this issue!”

Cynan sighed and Zelina took it as a sign to continue.

“You know much the merchants' families take pride in their origins. I tried to explain to them that there must have been a reason to send only one emissary. And that you, Cynan, would have chosen the emissary as impartially as possible,”

Cynan remained silent. Her way with words had gotten more skilled after all those years. Sadly for him, there was no impartiality coming from him. Meanas had wished to choose one emissary to demonstrate that under his reign the South was meant to be one unified province. Despite all the tribes in the South, only one person would represent the South. The emissary, chosen from one of the most influential families, would then be promoted to Governor of the South. This would allow Meanas to have one sole correspondent in political and economic matters regarding the South. However, Cynan had no intention in sharing this intention with Zelina, who was herself from an affluent family from the South. However, her family belonged to another tribe. Cynan never investigated further the intrications between the southern tribes. Now that Zelina had returned, he realized how foolish that had been.

Zelina stood up to leave Cynan to his thoughts.

“Why did he not invite me, Cynan?” she asked.

Cynan did not answer nor did he accompany her. The question floated in the air unanswered.

Through his office windows, he caught a glimpse of her crossing the gardens. She passed by a lilac bush. She stopped in her tracks, turned and contemplated the bare branches, noticing the growing flower buds. Cynan continued to observe her as she took off again. His gaze returned towards the lilac bush. With the mild season approaching the bush would bloom again.

***7 years ago***

  “Gardening really?” Zelina asked as she had stopped on the path leading towards the mansion. She made her umbrella twirl as she thought about what Cynan had just shared with her.

Cynan carressed the lilacs and smiled lost in his thoughts.

“There is nothing more beautiful than helping mother nature in her creations,” he explained.

Zelina shrugged her shoulders unimpressed by his wise words.

“If I weren’t a noble then I would have become a farmer. However since I am a noble, I have to satisfy myself with mere gardening,” Cynan continued explaining.

Zelina twirled her umbrella once more and peered at him through the laces. 

“If I were not a noble, I would not exist as I am before you. I have used over and over again all the privileges that have come with my status to build myself. I clung myself to anything a noble like me could get their hands on. Wishing to escape this world that created me would be idiotic and would turn my life into something insignificant, where I could not be the fully fledge me,”

Cynan listened to her attentively and did not respond immediately.

“I did not know you had such strong opinions about your title. Our aspirations vary a lot,” He finally said.

“And yet we somehow get along,” Zelina added.

A smirk appeared on her face. 

“If I ever find myself in dire need of a gardener, I know to whom I can turn to. I’ll make sure to order my lilacs with you,” Zelina said as she made her way back towards the mansion twirling her umbrella.

Cynan bowed excessively. “You are too kind Madam,” he whispered.

***Back to the present. In Zelina’s coach***

“He called me Madam. How monstrous! Poor soul, he does not know what awaits him. Ugh, now I must wait for all of this to stir and boil. Let my words sink in. I must get under his skin. If only Cynan would have more spark then I would not have to wait so much. The day Cynan bursts will be one to remember. I must ensure to be the one to wake the dragon sleeping in him. But that would be only a collateral benefit from what I truly intend to achieve.

[fanatiquee]

@deromanum​ sent for a  💌  𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 [ 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 ] 

Marius, I write to you, knowing that nothing I write will adequately express the feeling that has overcome me since you departed. How empty this room. How empty the chair at my desk which became yours the moment you fell into it. How empty this bed, which is at once too small with you in it and much too large for me alone. Is this some purposeful attempt on your part to bewitch me? If it is a game of yours, I beg you to release me. I beg that you not read the subsequent lines of this letter as I take you, as Virgil did Dante who loved him, through each level of hell as I have known it since you took your leave of me.

 I am afraid to touch the things that you have touched, I seek to evince from these mundane articles the remnant of your nearness. I am unsatisfied. And I am a difficult man, all told. You have not noticed this, or perhaps you’ve been too polite to mention it, but I know that pride is chief among my sins. I should have asked you to linger, if not that evening under the canopy, at my desk, or in the doorway. I refused to savour what was mine for hope that you would return. But you have not returned. I require you for my own purely selfish reasons, but I worry for you, too. You are not made of stone. I beg that you open yourself once more to that most essential feeling that we uncovered, together, and that you trust me again to bear witness to it. 

Until then, my agony reaches a fever pitch that so resembles that same ecstasy. I walk in waking dreams of you that are half memory, half fabrication of my embittered imagination which wills me to hate you though I cannot hate you. I will never hate you. I will long for you with something akin to the burning of hatred, but know that it could never be. That I could never hate you, Marius. I could not hate you, even as you hide yourself from me. 

What I feel for you is anything but hatred. My care for you touches the calcified heart in me. I fear to use the stronger word, but you must know it. We French learned of it from your tongue. 

I must have tasted it there.

Yours, Louis.

[chibimyumi]

Hi I have a question if you don't mind I would like to know what your thoughts are on the musical Marie Antoinette and what the story about and what for character Axel von Fersen is and what he does in the story? Thank you for answering my question

Dear Anon,

TOHO’s ‘M.A.’ is either my favourite or second favourite musical EVER. The story and script are SO well written, and the characters feel so real, I have never seen anything like it in the stage media form.

The story focuses on two women with the initials M.A. (Marie Antoinette and Margrid Arnaud). These two women are legit the titular characters and never get their spotlights stolen by others. They are both equally strong and flawed characters in their own rights, no bullshit like ‘she is strong because of GIRL POWER’ or ‘she is strong for the sake of romance’. The writers had the guts to make Marie stupid and Margrid a vicious snake, but also had the skill of never dehumanising either.

I really hope that more people could watch this musical (I offer free English subtitles for A-Version in exchange for proof of legal ownership), so I without spoiling anything essential:

Prologue

This show starts with Fersen receiving news of Marie’s execution. He is well aware that the revolutionaries have grossly dirtied her name for the sake of propaganda, and mourns how the slanders about the Queen will be passed down as canon history. Indeed, the infamous phrases ‘let them eat cake’ or ‘madam deficit’ are what most of us get taught about her, but recent historic research has found that Marie Antoinette was in fact innocent of most claims against her name.

In the prologue, Fersen reminisces about Marie as he knew her, and serves as some kind of narrator of the opening scene. As Fersen sings he brings the audience back in time to meet Marie Antoinette and the events before the revolution broke out.

Main Story

The main story opens on one evening in Paris. Margrid storms into a party organised by Duke d’Orléans where the Queen is also at. Margrid communicates the dire situation the common people are in, hoping that the people with the power to make a difference would open their eyes. The nobility however, seemed most unconcerned, and that event becomes a catalyst of the French Revolution.

Conflict

One of the most amazing things about this musical is the antagonist who wishes to remove the King and Queen, Duke d’Orléans. He has his own view on politics, and just like the people, he can no longer bear to watch France perishing under the incompetence of Louis XVI. This person is the man who would later be known as Philippe Égalité.

He is played by Yoshihara Mitsuo, and the only single actor I have seen in ALL versions that managed to make this ‘villain’ a character so three-dimensional he could be the hero of his own story. In an interview Yoshihara said in accordance with his own performance:

“Can you imagine being the person who has the potential to provide for the French people, but having to witness the country suffer while doing nothing? From d’Orléans’ point of view, if he had not stood up to fight for the legal power to make a difference, he would have been the bad guy here.”

Margrid and d’Orléans decide to cooperate. With intelligence, ambitions and fierce hatred combined, their growing team manage to use the people’s bias against the foreign Queen to turn her into the scapegoat of the toxic monarchy.

Hans Axel von Furusen

Anon, since you asked, I shall do a mini-deep section on Count von Fersen played by Furukawa Yuta. (I only watched the version with Tashiro Fersen once, so I only have an ‘impression’ of him. If you are interested in Tashiro’s Fersen, I trust @wildandwhirlingwords would fill you in on him ^^)

⚠️ If you don’t want to spoiled then stop here! ⚠️

Role

Many would think that Fersen is the love interest of Marie Antoinette, and would therefore fulfill a main role in the musical, perhaps the tragic hero to whom the two M.A.s are the fuel of his heroism. But no, just like I said above, the two M.A.s are the legit titular characters of this production, and Fersen is support cast. Though a phenomenally important role, he never even threatens to take over the main spotlights.

The script for him is relatively minor in comparison to the two leads, but Furukawa’s amazing eye for detail has managed to flesh him out so thoroughly you still know exactly what type of person Furusen is. This ‘fleshed out result’ is something that I have yet to see in any other version of him, even in other musicals, mangas and movies.

Background and Personality

Fersen played by Furukawa is calm, fiercely intelligent, and a jaded war veteran. Having seen the American revolution first hand, he understands the   mechanisms behind mass dissatisfaction and the power of people’s anger. Furusen rushed back to Marie from whom he has separated for years to warn her against the dangers he foresees. As isolated as she is however, Marie cannot manage to understand what the war veteran is warning her against.

“I have witnessed a revolution with my own eyes. I learned that much more than any cannon or rifle, it is thoughts and words that are powerful.”

Except worldly savviness, Furusen is likewise characterised by restraint. As Furukawa himself puts it:

“I tried to approach this role from a platonic perspective. He loves Marie deeply, and he realises very well that only by loving her platonically can she remain safe. Rather than proximity, the more sustainable way of love for them is restraint.”

Indeed, Furusen's love is not a fiery romance, instead it is more akin to courtly love. He constantly tries to maintain a safe distance from the Queen.

Finally Marie and Fersen manage to reunite after many years, and she eagerly grabs for his hand. Furusen’s expression however communicates clear concern, and he respectfully takes a step back.

Furusen is not aloof towards Marie because he doesn’t love her anymore. In a later scene it becomes clear that his restraint is his ultimate display of love; he knows too well how Marie’s reputation can’t afford any more blemishes.

After they sing “because my love for you will never disappear,” Marie attempts to kiss him on his lips, but Furusen quickly dodges, silently reminding the Queen of their respective statuses as Lady and vassal. This is a very noteworthy detail that can only be seen between Furukawa’s Fersen and Sasamoto’s Marie. #HyperDetailedActing

Frustration

Another characteristic of Furusen is his immense frustration. Furusen is constantly desperately trying to find a way to save Marie. But with the ever-growing rumours of Marie whoring around, he finds himself bound hand and foot. If he takes action to help her Marie will be hurt; if he does nothing Marie will also be hurt.

Instead, this famed strategist finds his chances reduced to... being passive-aggressive... After d’Orléans had his first clear victory and the Royal entourage take their leaves, Furusen makes a show out of going up to his foe to warn him. They don’t exchange a single word, but the tension and history between these foes are clear as day.

Furukawa and Yoshihara were very passionate about their roles, and they shared in a talk-show how both of them spent hours together discussing their histories. The amazing chemistry between them cannot be described in words, but the result of their character-building are self-evident in the musical. (Click here for an in-joke between these actors.)

Masculinity and Aura

Furusen displays a very gentle, non-toxic kind of masculinity. As discussed above, he knows when to restrain himself, and he knows when to admit wrong. He is also not shy to show vulnerability, COMMUNICATE, and shed some genuine tears.

Generally he just displays a very elegant type of masculinity, never taking up more space than anybody else. It is very pleasant to watch!

Sass

Furusen is not just elegant though! He also displays a very sassy and sarcastic side that are evidence of his highly critical mind.

In this post I expanded on Furusen’s sass, but to put it very short; Furusen is REALLY funny too. In the race against the clock to evacuate the King and Queen, the King steps out of the carriage and suggests they go for a leisurely picnic, and dismisses Fersen. Unable to defy the King’s command, Furusen then makes a cross while ROLLING his eyes.

So yes, I can’t tell you why exactly M.A. is one of my all time favourite musicals without spoiling the critical things, so I highly, HIGHLY recommend you buy the musical for yourself.

I know this DVD is very expensive, and normally I would not dare suggest anybody just spend this amount of money based on my word. But please, this one will surely NOT disappoint you!

If you really are unsure, @wildandwhirlingwords hosts live-streams from time to time, and she told me she is also willing to take requests if she has the time/capacity. She hosts the streams without subtitles out of respect for me (thank you, dear), but she does give live commentary to explain the essentials. Her blog is absolutely great and contains lots of interesting info about Japanese musicals, and M.A. specifically ^^

Here is the purchase link of Version A (Furukawa x Sasamoto x Sonim) from TOHO Mall.

MASTERPOST How to buy DVDs/BDs, and get Free English subtitles from me.

[ifyouwantyaoi]

@hetaliamondaychallenge July 6: “No matter where I go, my heart will always be yours”

Category: Fanfic. 

Pair: SpAus/AuSpa 

Words: 2.619.

Genre: Historical, Shounen-ai. 

Note(s): this occurs just before the Spanish Sucession War (1701-1714) started, in which France and Austria were the main oponents. 

1700

- What!? Some Frenchmen in the border of Castile don’t allow us to enter!?  

Austria yelled to the informer that had just arrived from a few meters in front. The poor boy lowered his head as his master continued yelling and calling him “fool”. 

That had actually been happening lately. The Austrian nation had been in a quite a bitter mood since the latest Spanish king had passed away and the fresh news from Versailles had arrived to Vienne.  

Everyone in the imperial palace of Hofburg had heard the wrathful yell of the country when he read that France was trying to take over the newly vacant Spanish throne.  A moments later, the most ominous and choleric piano melody had filled the palace, just as Austria’s mood became worse.

How could that dirty French try to take the place that was obviously a Habsburg property!? Austria immediately hastened the preparation for the travel to Spain that has been preparing for weeks –he obviously had thought about visiting his husband after such a loss-, and immediately departed with a bunch of his henchman.

He had took a ship from the Habsburg lands of Toscana and had landed in Barcelona, and now was willing to pass from the Spanish Aragonese provinces to the Castillian ones, in order to reach to Madrid. He had expected getting into Madrid in a couple of days at most, but suddenly the found out that some Frenchmen blocked the way. He frowned just by imagining the reason behind that.

Getting out of the carriage, he proudly stepped in the direction of the previously said Frenchmen while his henchmen tried to suffocate his wrath telling him to relax. He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

- Who in the hell are you, you shameless gits!? We are in a royal amendment, and this is a direct offense to the Austrian crown!

The French looked at each other’s eyes a little bit intimidated by this aristocrat with German accent, but they didn’t freed the way. One of them, anyway, looked at Austria and replied–. We are just following the orders, sir. We aren’t allowed to let any suspicious foreigner group get in.

Austria struggled. – Oh, gosh! This is ridiculous! –he complained. After a moment of saying some unintelligible things in German, he turned back and, even if he already knew the answer, questioned-.  Okay, well. Who has issued the order? –and a moment later, one of them said it.

- It has been directly commanded from son eminence la France.

It was only for a moment, but Austria could have sworn that he noticed how the lenses of his glasses cracked. His eye trembled from the rising stream of pent-up anger and he gritted his teeth.

How dare he!

- I, as the sovereign country of the Austrian Empire, command to have an audience with him right now! Tell him that I’m waiting for him to come or directly get me there now.

After knowing about his true identity the men went white and one of the immediately offered Austria a horse, implying that he would be the only one that could pass. Austria didn’t mind it at all.

In the end that was only between him and France.

{ . . . }

A three or four hours later he found himself entering in a powerful castle well defended and guarded. Even if he was all exhausted from the travel, he did still maintain his distinctive attitude and typical high chin when he entered the castle. He listened at how his presence was released to someone –even if he could easily know to who- a few moments before breaking into the main room.

He had never hated so much that presumptuous Frenchie face before this time. France’s eyes had an ironic sparkle, as if he were mocking him with his eyes.

- What an unexpected visit, mon ami. What could I do for you?

- Don’t give me that shit, you fool! –he couldn’t do anything but explode-. What do you think you’re doing in Spanish territory? –France’s eyes twinkled.

- You know pretty well the reason why, little one.

Austria wandered, snorting. – Rubbish. The reasons that defend the putting of a French king on the Spanish throne are only the ravings of a dying man; they don’t make any real justification.

- A dying man that happened to be the latest king. –whispered, with a victorious grin-. Get over it, Austria. Charles preferred Philip and the Bourbons over your old fashioned Habsburgs. And I bet Spain will corroborate it when I am accepted in his court and his be-

- Don’t you dare to say another obscenity like that about my spouse! I swear to God I’m not going to go easy on you if you start a war over him.

Right after hearing that, France stopped at stared at the fire of the hearth. Austria stopped too, confused.

France suddenly looked very strong, very serious and very threatening. He remained quiet for a long moment, scratching the surface of the wooden table next to him.

Then, he spoke.

- I was willing to speak about that with you, my old friend. –he said, and suddenly he directed his blue eyed serious gaze to him-. I was wondering if you could consider giving up on him without a war, Austria.

And then the time froze.

- ... What?

France didn’t look surprised about the obvious shock on the other’s face. he went on speaking. – I’m asking you to not declare war against me or Spain when the change of dynasty becomes official. –he said, suddenly looking even more dark and dangerous-.  Spain has always been one of my objectives, plus now he is much more attractive as a country, you know? He has the complete monopoly of the silver and gold trade, and he has extended his influence and power all over the Indies. Just think about it. Spain has always been my target just by being himself, he currently has the most powerful empire of the world and, now, the throne, the place that has been occupied by you for nearly 200 years, is reachable. I cannot let this divine situation scape, and I'm more than willing to sacrifice anything to get it. What’s more, I’m eager to do it.

The other was in complete amazement, completely gone even if he continued hearing the ominous talk of this son of disgrace that apparently was willing to die in order of stealing his husband. He couldn’t think a response. He had gone blank.

Say no to war? Let the affair pass and only look when another country –and another man- takes which has been their belonging, Habsburg’s, since the beginning?

He couldn’t find a way of expressing his emerging anger and hatred that didn’t imply him strangulating the blonde. – You bastard!! –he cried, facing him with the hellfire in his eyes-. You can’t be serious.

France did not react. He just sighed and moved to take a coup of Jerez that was on the table. He looked so relaxed Austria couldn’t help but hate him more and more.

But when he was going to go and insult him more, the sound of the great entry doors opening broke the atmosphere. A servant appeared, looking between the direction of the door and France with a jittery look on his face. France didn’t understand immediately, just like him, but was all cleared up when a cozy voice sounded:

- France, are you there? I’ve been told you’ve come to Spain but I didn’t expec-

And suddenly the brunette head of the host country appeared, stopping his way as shocked as them when he saw them.

He needed from a few seconds to understand the situation before laughing in a friendly way.

- Oh, isn’t this Austria? What a nice surprise! I didn’t know you two were this close. –he smiled, getting close to his best friend since childhood and his husband.

Austria came out of his stupor just to worthily say. – I don’t recall having any kind of relation with such a vulgar man. –while crossing his arms. France came back right after, uncomfortably laughing while smiling at his beloved friend.

- Oh, Spain. I didn’t expect you too…

- Of course I had to come! I’m the host here and I didn’t even know you were here till a few hours ago…! 

Austria palmed his face. His idiotic mate didn’t even know that this coming from a rival country was supposed to be considered something as an invasion. Only someone as oblivious as Spain could still consider himself a simple host after this. 

Anyway, Spain continued rambling. - ... It’s been so sudden that I’ve come right after knowing it. Just imagine: Romano has started insulting and shouting to me calling me untrue and bastard for leaving him alone so suddenly! He was simply sooo cute…!

Then he carelessly sat next to both of them, like if he didn’t notice the tense situation. France looked like if he were having a hard time and Austria felt complicated. He suddenly couldn’t think right, and he thought that this might have been due to the handsome young man that sat right there in front of him.

He hadn’t seen Spain since months, maybe a complete year ago. This moment, anyway, had caught him off guard. He hadn’t been emotionally ready to face him this early, in this situation, with the unwanted French presence as a plus.

They had been married exactly for 184 years.

Still, Austria managed to fell in love with him more and more every time they met. His heart still exploded like a maiden’s. 

A few moments later, the friendly chat carried by the Spaniard died and Spain looked at them, suddenly quite serious. 

He looked concerned. – What’s wrong?

France was going to say something, but Austria didn’t want to hear more of his poisonous talk. He felt sick just standing there, in front of the supposed enemy, pretending that the phantom of the incoming war wasn’t there. So he just spoke faster. – I just feel a little bit tired this night. –he said, looking right to the blue eyed man-. I would like to retire to my rooms, if it is not a nuisance, of course.

France maintained a neutral gesture, as if he didn't want anyone to read him. – Of course it isn’t a nuisance, you’re my invité after all. I’ll ask my servants to prepare two room-

- Oh! Don’t bother, France. It’ll be only one room. –interrupted Spain, with a lovely smile. Both, Austria and France froze a little, even if the following was just natural-. We’re married after all.

The Austrian’s cheeks painted in pale pink and the French’s face got tense. It was a brief silence before the French said. - D’accord, I’ll get it ready in a moment. –and commanded it to his servants.

A few moments later, when the other two were being lead to his rooms, France sat and drank again. He was burning with jealously, but couldn’t do anything yet. 

- Just a little more, France... -he said to himself.

{ . . . }

Like that, Austria and Spain end up preparing to sleep in the same room. They were evolved in a rough silence, something floating in the air that they weren’t ready to reach. Austria knew that Spain wasn’t actually an idiot. He had known the worst part of him too. So he knew he wasn’t completely oblivious right now either.

At first, the marriage was just a simple political alliance and didn’t meant anything but security to them. Austria knew since the beginning that Spain was going to be loyal to their dynasty, because that was the kind of guy he was –just the opposite of men like France or Scotland-. So Austria had taken their marriage as something not particularly bad; he had also been in a good relationship with him, too.

As told before, Austria still managed to fell in love with this guy over and over again, because even if dangerous, he was the loveliest and most charming person he had had the pleasure to meet before.

But eventually, knowing each other, playing music together, protecting each other’s back during the wars with France, England or the United Provinces of the Netherlands… Eventually the mutual care became stronger and they end up falling for each other and making love. Like a couple. Like mates. 

The ring on their fingers had never meant so much before.

- Austria, talk to me.

He raised his head in the direction of the sweet voice calling his name. The green eyes greeting him were clearly tired till the deepest of his soul. Austria couldn’t handle it.

- What are you going to do?

The sudden question didn’t surprise Spain. They stared at each other for a long moment before he formed an answer.

- Now, for the first time in my life, I’m not going to do anything as an individual. –he sentenced.

Austria blinked. – What do you mean? –and the brunette sighed, passing a hand through his own hair.

He sounded restless. – I mean that my person, the personification of Spain, is going to stay aside this time.

The Austrian held his breath, feeling the sensation of betrayal running through his veins. – I can’t believe it. Are you demented!? He’s trying to destroy our dynasty and our…!

- It’s just much complicated than that! –the sudden explosion of voice came out like a thunder. Austria stared impressed at his husband, who was holding to his ring while staring at the fire of the candle. He seemed in pain-. This is not just going to be a war in Europe. Is also going to be a civil war for me. Castilians prefer the French and the people from Aragon and Catalonia want to defend the Habsburgs. Now the king has died my government is just a mess and I can’t afford to mind personal matters like my personal feelings. I can’t choose between my people so I can’t choose any of you either. That’s why I’m going to stay out of this.

The other listened to everything with a complicated look in his face.

He was seeing it coming, the departure. The Goodbye. He was having a hunch, or some kind of sensation that was so incredibly painful that was destroying him from the insides.  

But after focusing his violet eyes in the commonly cheerful face of his man, he knew it wasn’t the time for being a pathetic cry-baby. He was the Austrian Empire after all, and this was his all beloved companion in the top of the world. He smiled at the resolution.

He took out his glasses and took the Spanish hand.

- I understood. Don’t you worry anymore.

Green eyes looked back at him, with a soft smile.

- I didn’t even remember how beautiful you were, Austria. –he said reaching his hand and kissing the palm-. I suppose I haven’t been fulfilling my duty as your partner lately and nearly forgot that I’m entirely yours.

Austria’s heart puffed, while a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

- It’s okay if you understand it. –whispered, while taking the opportunity to return the previous display of affection in the other’s hand. Spain stroked his cheek in return, and Austria let it be.

They stayed like this for a long moment, and, then, Spain murmured something.

“No matter where I go, my heart will always be yours” –he had said.

After that, they made love countless times. Roughly, lovely, relaxed and passionately. They knew all about each other, and Austria hoped France could have heard the proof of their mutual love from somewhere in the castle.

When they finished, and Spain finally fell asleep, Austria still stayed awake trying to burn in his memory the scene in front of him. 

He undoubtedly knew this wasn’t probably happening again in a while. But he didn’t mind at all. Spain had said he would always be true. That gave him the strength of a full army.

Anyway, then, he had only one thing in mind when he was passing his fingers through his brown hair.

He was going to destroy that condemned Frenchman and take back what belonged to him.

[yumapii]

[Event Story] Chevalier of Rebellion - Another Story [1 / 2]

Parts 1 | 2

{ i just really liked this } 

???: NOOOOOOOOO! ! ! Just kill me nooooooooooow! ! ! 

[scene: minakasu room] 

Kasuka: Argh! ! ! ! ! (1) 

[scene: dorm corridor]

// Midnight on a certain day. 

With pitch black bags under my eyes, I barge over to the neighbours who haven’t learned to decrease their volume even once since the start of the school year. // 

Kasuka: Openupopenupopenup… Noisynoisynoisy… Perishperishperish… 

Senri: Uuu… Shibutani-senpai?! I thought some ghost had appeared… 

Senri: Ho-how may I help you? 

Kasuka: I have come to seal your noisy mouth which keeps disturbing my sleep. Have a seat. 

Senri: Wa--- I’m sorry! ! But I really have to practice right now… I must have raised my volume too high just because cold-hearted-maru isn’t around… 

Minato: Oh, Kasuka and Senri. What’s up~? 

Kasuka: ( ! Why is he only awake at times like this, how troublesome… ) 

Senri: Ah, listen to this Ushiwaka-senpai! Actually… 

[scene: takasen room] 

Minato: You’re casted as a chair? 

Senri: A nobleman who lived to the extremes of luxury finds himself murdered out of resentment, but when he regains consciousness, for some reason he has become a chair! Day after day, the commoners and other worthless people sit on him. And out of hatred, he puts a curse of unhappiness on all who sits on him. In the end, no one approaches him anymore, and he becomes isolated. 

Senri: Over a long time, he starts to think. Of how he dreamed of being a “knight”. Of how he had unknowingly forgotten his roots. Now, no one even dares to approach him, what a lonely existence. 

Kasuka: What work to hurt others even in death. I see a path where in his inability to bear the loneliness of the afterlife, he becomes an evil spirit. 

Minato: Does it have a happy end? 

Senri: Yes! Just before he was about to lose all hope, a brave knight sits on the chair, lifting the curse! That’s the summary of this play “13 Chairs”. 

Minato: It is happy~ ♪ (2)

Kasuka: ( …Absurd. ) 

Senri: I’m playing the important role of the chair. It’s difficult to express the inner emotions of the greedy protagonist without a line of dialogue. 

Senri: Regurgitating lines is actually my speciality so this is kind of the opposite… I’ve been told that I must understand “self-effacement” in order to act as inorganic objects but… 

Kasuka: Self-effacement… Someone like you who is chatty and opinionated cannot hope to attain such a thing. 

// After I said that, Ushiwaka, who had been holding the script book upside down, tilted his head. // 

Minato: What do you mean? 

Kasuka: Training as harsh as death is required in order to reach that mental state. Mere acting could never replicate it. 

// To throw away the earthly world, to throw away one self, to accept and entrust yourself to creation. When you reach that state, everything is “nothingness”. In other words, you can become a vessel. // 

Minato: Does this mean Kasuka can do the thing? 

Senri: Eh-- That’s super amazing! ! I didn’t realise there was a self-efficacy master so close to me! ! 

Senri: Please, Master! ! ! Instruct me in the ways! ! ! 

Kasuka: No. 

Senri: I’m begging! I did a lot to try and reach self-effacement like eating salt and meditating and bungee jumping! In the end I even bought a suspicious bracelet from a strange shop that was supposed to be able to “release the self”! …That was super expensive but doesn’t seem to have worked at all though.  

Kasuka: ( …Obviously. ) 

// How predictable. Cowardly and frivolous. The foolishness of his persistence and insolence. Without even a clue about the privation suffering needed to reach that state-- // 

Senri: …Yeah, I’m sure my words might be pretty shallow. But, see, senpai’s divinations have incredible accuracy and there’s just something about you that is different from other people. 

Kasuka: ( …I know this male is skilled in lying… ) 

Senri: I know it’s not something anyone can do, so even though I knew it was rude I still desperately… Sorry, I’m just being selfish. 

Kasuka: ….. 

Minato: Kasuka. Why don’t you teach him. Senri’s looks pitiful. 

Kasuka: ….. 

Kasuka: I see that your resolve is not superficial. 

Senri: ! Eh… 

Kasuka: We depart tomorrow morning. Until then, make your preparations. 

[scene: mountains] 

//  In order to test Nito’s “desperation” I brought him deep into the mountains where spiritual energy manifests and started him on sitting meditation. It’s been a few days since then. // 

Kasuka: Clear the mind. Conscience is infinite. All things are one… 

Senri: Clear the mind… Conscience is infinite… All things are one… 

Kasuka: ( Still quite far from serenity… ) 

// To disperse the evil thoughts, I hit his back over and over with a Zen stick. Eventually, his posture starts to slip. // 

Senri: Uuu, my back hwurts… And my legs have gone nwumb… 

Kasuka: Are you giving up? 

Senri: Giving up… 

Senri: I won’t! ! ! 

Kasuka: ! 

Senri: Because, if I give up here, I won’t be able to play the chair. And then, I might lose my place in the world… 

Kasuka: ….. 

Senri: Truthfully, I said it pretty lightly at the time, that Shibutani-senpai was amazing. But now, having experienced it myself, I truly know, that Shibutani-senpai is seriously amazing. 

Kasuka: Is that so… 

Kasuka: ( In fact is it I-- ) 

Senri: Alright! I think I got back some energy from the short break! Senpai, let’s continue! I’m going to be such an amazing chair that I’ll be in the cafeteria and people will sit on me without knowing the difference~! 

Kasuka: Then from the start. Clear the mind. 

Senri: Clear the mind! Conscience is infinite! All things are one! 

Kasuka: ( This is… ) 

// Like a dew drop sliding off a leaf, he’s reached the path of not recognising his self. // 

Kasuka: ( Unexpectedly, he might be able to cross the line. )

--

(1)  かつ (katsu) has the nuance of being a scolding or a threat

(2) minato used french and i used google. cetait heureux~ 

[helshades]

French prompt! How does one look at être and arrive at fut? (I know "verbs of being" are notoriously unruly, but this was a mystery for me, even though my own language cobbles the tenses from two separate verbs, neither of which have all tenses.) Broader prompt: what used to be the point of passé simple and how did it become "the storybook tense"?

One of my mother’s favourite puns is the following: On ne peut pas naître et avoir été (’One cannot be born and have been’), a play on an old saying, On ne peut pas être et avoir été (’One cannot be and have been’) meaning that one simply cannot live at once in the past and in the present. Grammatically speaking, this isn’t entirely true, though: the French passé composé, like its equivalent the English present perfect, is trying very hard. When you think of it, ‘I have been doing this for the last five minutes’ is telling exactly that: one is performing a continuous action that began some time in the past and is still going at the moment. Every single French pupil learning English was subjected to the example of the vase that one has broken, and is consequently still broken at present. French has one time like this, known as the ‘compound past’, which technically works in the exact same way, except it has come to be used everywhere, replacing even the French equivalent to the preterite, or past simple, to the point that no one uses the French preterite anymore aside from the only people who may get away with reading as highly literary, which isn’t a lot of people nowadays. Children’s books rarely do contain verbs conjugated in the past simple anymore; in (junior) high school, students are only taught the third person of the singular and of the plural for ‘important’ verbs, and a number of people have been pushing for the complete eradication of a tense which they deemed ‘elitist’ for being more complicated than the compound past, which only requires one to know the present-simple forms of auxiliary verb avoir, ‘to have’, plus the past participle of the verb concerned by the action.

Of course, French students used to have no particular difficulty in learning conjugations, no matter how detailed; only, for a few decades now people deeming themselves progressists have imposed new teaching methods based on a supposedly ‘intuitive’ approach to knowledge as well as a downright utilitarian idea of the language itself—what isn’t useful in everyday life will never be of use, and can therefore be dropped altogether. French isn’t taught systemically in French school anymore, grammar rules are generally glossed over and since learning by heart is strongly frowned upon conjugations are more than imperfectly mastered, not to say anything about the basic principles of syntax. Today, it is estimated (by international tests also) that about one third of students enter junior high school (at age 11) without knowing how to read, or write, their own language. Parents usually riot if teachers seek to correct children’s spelling or enunciation, and after each national exam now students take to Twitter to complain about the difficulty of the exceedingly simple tests. In this context, it is very hard to know whether or not the passé simple is meant to fall out of usage definitely—but I suspect it won’t before long, as a matter of fact, as it already serves, along with other grammatical notions, to separate those who do master their own idiom from those who don’t.

In any case, concerning the structure of the simple past and its meaning, I’m reminded of a remark that famous French linguist Émile Benveniste made about the simple past: like narration, in which it is almost exclusively employed, the simple past is non-deictic, whereas discourse as well as the tenses used in it are deictic, meaning they are anchored in the ‘situation of enunciation’, the frame of the dialogue. Being outside the deixis, the simple past operates somewhat remotely from the event which it describes, inducing an impression of temporal and/or spatial distance with it. Quite frankly, it’s hard not to make a parallel here with the postmodern obsession with immediacy and its deep-rooted hatred of the long term...

Speaking of long-term things!

How does one look at être and arrive at fut? Well, that is a splendid question, reaching far into the history of the French language, and in truth all Indo-European languages since they all have the quirky habit of mashing up the conjugations for several verbs expressing slightly different aspects of an action and deciding that they are to be only one verb now—usually, an auxiliary, and the results are just wild. But let’s get a closer look at the conjugation we’re dealing with, here:

You’ll note that I didn’t include (amongst other things) the four tenses of the subjunctive mode, to avoid being too long as I only aim to draw a few explanatory comparisons with Latin, but just in case, I’ll remind you that the present goes que je sois (sois, soit, soyons, soyez, soient) while subjunctive imperfect goes que je fusse (fusses, fût, fussions, fussiez, fussent). And now, hoping you didn’t run away screaming and flailing, I propose a little comparison with the equivalent Latin tenses:

Please fawn over my pedagogical abilities. Once that is over, please note how the conjugation of être was mostly constituted in Old French (from the 9th century onwards), bar a few interesting exceptions, such as the concurrent forms in the future: the older stem, er- or ier-, directly evolved from Latin. Linguists theorised that the stem that ended up in modern French, in ser-, is actually a syntagmatic construction taken from the Latin infinitive (es)sere to which were added special endings borrowed from the conjugation of auxiliary avoir, to have. Romance languages all form their future synthetically. For instance, ‘we will love’, nous aimerons, is literally nous aimer-(av)ons. (Compare to Spanish cantaré, ‘I will sing’, which is cantar + hé.) Where être is concerned, the ser- stem replaced the original infinitive after too many speakers dropped the beginning of infinitive essere, especially in the first person, and a full tense ended up being constituted from that model (hence the ‘syntagmatic construction’ I was mentioning earlier: it didn’t evolve so much as it was reshaped to accommodate usage).

If you know a bit of Latin, you might have frowned upon the infinitive essere, since the classical verb is esse. Esse was a pretty archaic form to begin with, although it was actually conjugated regularly; the -s had mutated to an -r between two vowels in most other verbs pretty early in the evolution of the language, and that is where the French infinitives (-er, -ir, -re) come from. But esse remained unchanged, probably because of its particular role as an auxiliary. On the other hand, in Vulgar Latin, which was Latin as it was spoken by regular people, the strange infinitive got hypercorrected, ‘regularised’, into essere, after getting mistaken for a stem. And since Romance languages are mostly stemming from popular, late-era Latin, rather than the literary language... In Italian, the infinitive is still essere. In Spanish, it evolved into ser. In Occitan, into èser. The t of estre is, as you can see, a French particularity; it’s purely epenthetic, meaning it was only added to ease the pronunciation of the word, in this case after one of the vowels dropped: esre > estre.

The participles of être, however, both in the present (étant) and the past (été, ayant été) don’t come from any version of esse, any more than the imperfect tense, since its Latin equivalent was eram. They come, instead, from an entirely different verb: stare, which evolved into Vulgar Latin estare, which in turn became Old French ester, and which meant ‘to stand, to stay’. Well, it’s actually the origin of verb ‘stay’ in English, which was borrowed from the Old French. In modern French, you’ll find its descendant as rester, ‘to stay, to remain’.

And this is where we come to our strange Latin stem in fui-, and its French equivalence in the simple past. Now where does that come from?! Well, my dear Tatty, it is the last remnant on an archaic verb issued from an Indo-European root °bheu- meaning ‘to grow’, ‘to become’. It’s why the auxiliary in English is ‘to be’, actually! (Proto-Germanic °beuną > Old English bēon > Middle English been). In most languages this Indo-European root gave words beginning in b-. The exceptions are Sanskrit (bh-, with a strong aspiration), Hellenic languages (Ancient Greek φύω, phúô) and Italic languages, where it ended up being pronounced as an f, hence fui. In passing, the original meaning of the Indo-European root, ‘to grow’, has been preserved only in Greek φύσις, phúsis, ‘nature’—hence ‘physics’. Morphologically, though, the root is present everywhere in Indo-European languages, starting with the word ‘future’ itself.

A major difference between Latin (and Greek) and Germanic languages, however, is that fu- in Latin possessed in its meaning the idea of veering towards the completion of an action, but that was expressed differently in the future (participle) and in past-tense narration; eventually, the future aspect was dropped from the language altogether, and all that remained was the stem’s perfective value (the idea of accomplishment, of a done and over thing), which serves to explain how the fu- root came to be specialised in Romance languages as a form destined for the simple past/preterite/perfect tense. (In Germanic languages, the past is defined by the idea of staying in one place, whereas the enunciation is characterised by a general idea of ‘aiming towards’.)

In guise of a conclusion, I heartily recommend the Wikipedia article on the Indo-European copula, which is long and bountiful and makes a few salient points on the topic of this fixture in all Indo-European languages that is a weird, weird little verb corresponding to the English to be, and it tells a lot on the way languages get shaped.

[unsqeakable]

The Black Heir

Regulus Black: A pureblood wizard. The Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. A husband. A teenager. A Death Eater. Desire for revenge leads him right into the Dark Lord's arms, and allows him to cross the boundaries that once crossed cannot be undone. All actions have consequencs and now it's time for him to pay for his sins in order to achieve absolution.

Regulus Arcturus Black was everything – and so much more – an aristocratic, pureblood family could expect from its future Head of House. He was a charming young man of extraordinary beauty, an incomparably accomplished wizard, but most importantly – Regulus wholeheartedly cherished the belief of supremacy of pureblood wizards over anyone else. His deep-rooted prejudice resulted in him joining the ranks of Lord Voldemort and receiving his Dark Mark. That included accepting as much of the responsibilities as he could take without raising the suspicions of his Hogwarts’ professors. Regulus was barely sixteen years old when he was recruited, but he contented to everything with the greatest dignity. He wanted to protect his people from the threat the Muggles and Muggle-borns caused. No matter the cost.

His parents – and, naturally, his eldest cousin Bellatrix Lestrange who was already, despite her young age, the Dark Lord’s lieutenant and who took pride in introducing him to her Master – were so proud when he announced to them that he was welcomed among the wizard’s followers. His cousin told them many incredible and fascinating stories about Lord Voldemort, so the idea that their beloved heir was fighting for the right cause filled their hearts with immense pride. Especially since their other child was the cause of great sorrow.

Regulus used to have an older brother. Sirius, who was an exceptionally talented wizard in his own right and who was even more handsome than he was, was still very much alive. To Regulus though, he was already dead. The older Black boy was disowned by their mother as soon as he ran away from their family home. Sirius dared to disgrace their noble name by associating himself with Mudbloods as he believed that they were equal with purebloods and that blood purity was good for nothing. He had no reasons to be listed among the proper members of their family anymore. Regulus was also furious and regretted deeply that the older wizard was able to dodge his curse. A blood traitor like him simply didn’t deserve to live.

“You’re nothing but a bloody fool,” he recalled himself hissing the words as soon as his mother excused herself from the hall, watching with deep satisfaction and hatred as the teenager's name slowly disappeared from the tapestry. The woman was so mad and heartbroken that she went to grab a bottle of Firewhiskey and drown her sorrows into it, not even being able to observe the process of disownment of her first-born child. “Are you proud of yourself that you’ve managed to break Mother’s heart? How could you choose the blood traitors over your own family! You better pray the Potters treat you well because I’m going to make you pay for your betrayal!”

“And pay he indeed will,” agreed a familiar, albeit unexpected, female voice. He immediately turned his head and saw a beautiful young woman in her early twenties who was leaning against the door frame. She had messy black hair and her dark eyes were full of contempt. “If that makes you happy, I will personally deliver his head to Aunt Walburga.”

“No,” he snapped suddenly, and his pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment when his cousin raised her perfect eyebrow at him. Regulus averted his gaze as he was aware that Bellatrix didn’t approve of being spoken to in such a tone. “Sorry. I appreciate your offer as I want to see him dead. But… this blood traitor is mine. I want to be the one who’s going to end his life, though, I want to make him suffer before this happens. A pathetic piece of scum like him doesn’t deserve any mercy.”

“That’s the spirit, Reggie,” the witch chuckled darkly and closed the distance between them. Then she hugged him warmly from behind, put her chin on his right shoulder and looked at his ex-brother’s name with disgust before she focused on yet another burned face. Her younger sister Andromeda was disowned a few years ago because she married a Mudblood. “I know some very deliciously forbidden curses that we can use on these blood traitors to teach them a lesson. Trust me, dear cousin, that the Cruciatus Curse, albeit utterly incredible, is like the Tickling Charm in comparison to them.”

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Regulus shivered with excitement at Bellatrix’s husky voice. She had always been his favourite cousin. She was the eldest among their generation of the Blacks – she was ten years his senior – and the other children always looked up to her. She was a model daughter. She always held herself with grace. She was the best student in her year. She was an accomplished duellist and her wand movement was a pure art. The youngest Black adored watching her cast spells and curses as she reminded him of an artist creating their greatest masterpiece. He aspired to be just like her.

“Will you teach me, please?” he whispered and turned to face her, momentarily focusing his eyes on her left forearm. Bellatrix wore a black dress with long sleeves but they both knew what was hidden beneath it: the Dark Mark. The witch joined the man known as Lord Voldemort soon after her graduation from Hogwarts and he took her under his wings. He opened the doors that had previously been closed even to the dark families like theirs. “Teach me every dark curse and spell you know, and I promise you that when I’m old enough, I will join your Master and help him to get rid of all Mudbloods from our world.”

A small smirk began to form on his cousin’s full, red lips and Regulus held his breath when flames of madness made and appearance in her eyes. Besides, she bent over and almost pressed her mouth to his ear.

“I will teach you, baby cousin of mine, as long as you promise to be a good boy and do as I say without any complaints,” she started in a musical voice. He swallowed as such a tone never meant anything good. “Disobey me and there will be severe punishment. I’m not going to waste my time if you’re not serious about this. Understood?”

“Yes,” he responded hastily. He wanted her to be proud of him. “I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

And so, she taught him.

He had spent the rest of the summer holiday training under Bellatrix’s firm hand. She was a tyrant and a perfectionist. She forced him to train day and night improving his skills, allowing him to take only three short breaks to grab something to eat. He once dared to complain that he was exhausted and she, in accordance with her promise, disciplined him for that. She put him under the Cruciatus Curse and didn’t release him until she became bored of his screams. He learned his lesson, though, and since then he was a perfect student.

When he returned to Hogwarts to begin his fourth year, he was a changed boy. He was more withdrawn and barely spoke with his friends. Everyone assumed that it was because of what happened between Sirius and his family and he didn’t bother to correct them, even though the truth was different. He spent every single moment in an abandoned classroom in the dungeons where he practiced what his cousin taught him. His traitor brother was still at school with him, so he imagined that he was using the curses on him.

When he turned sixteen, Bellatrix took him to her Master who welcomed him in his ranks with open arms. Lestrange was his most faithful and devoted Death Eater, so it was assumed that he would follow in her footsteps. That day Regulus had a feeling that all of his dreams had come true. Lord Voldemort was… he was unable to find the right words to describe him. The man was everything. He was incredibly powerful – the young Black dared to say that the man was even more powerful than Dumbledore himself – and he was handsome. He was inspiring. He was… Lord Voldemort simply was and that was enough for him. Even breathing seemed to be much simpler when he was in the presence of the wizard.

However, a few things have changed since he became a Death Eater.

During the summer holiday before his last year at Hogwarts, at the age of seventeen, he got married to a French pureblood witch. Charlotte Delacour was a member of a very influential French family and the union between their houses would be highly beneficial for both parties. The girl was born the same year as he was, but she had never attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic as she was home-schooled her entire life.

His wife was an extremely intelligent and beautiful young woman, and he was aware that many wizards were jealous of him and considered him a lucky man. He, on the other hand, thought something else. For him, the marriage was a punishment for some crimes he had no idea he had ever committed.

Regulus had known Charlotte for years before they tied the knot and there was even a time when he was enchanted by her but… everything changed when Sirius was disowned. His wife was supposed to marry the first-born son of Orion Black – his father – and that would be his brother. He was required to take his place to honour the contract.

He was furious when he was informed what was expected from him. He bluntly expressed his disagreement and agreed on the marriage only because his grandfather Arcturus Black, Duke of Lancaster, who at that time was the Head of their family, took him aside and threatened to disown him if he dared to disobey his orders.  

Disown him!

He had always been a model son and a member of their noble family. He had never dared to do anything against his Patriarch’s wishes. And yet, he was threatened with disownment only because his traitor of a brother neglected his responsibilities and chose the Mudbloods over his flesh and blood. He wanted to scream into oblivion and curse everyone around him. Fortunately, he was approached by Bellatrix who shared with him her words of wisdom.

“You must show her who’s the boss in the relationship,” she informed him matter-of-factly as soon as he had finished his tirade and she then took a sip of her Firewhiskey. “You must set certain boundaries and let her know what she can and cannot do.”

“And how am I supposed to do this?” he asked with a scorn and grabbed his own glass. “Put her under the Imperius Curse? Grandfather would definitely notice it and then he would disown me for sure. He really cares about the union between the families.”

“Putting the daughter of a respected Lord of a foreign country under the Imperious Curse would indeed be a stupid move, yes,” the witch agreed, and a cruel smirk made an appearance on her lips. “However, what I meant was intimidation. You must show her your strength. You must let her know that she’s nobody without you. Dominate her mentally, physically and, of course – sexually.”

“Did you… do the same with Rodolphus?” he hesitantly asked. His cousin’s husband was a very formidable wizard, but when he was in the presence of his wife, he always reminded him of a harmless puppy.

“What else did you expect, Reggie?” she asked with amusement and gently patted his hand. “The House of Black is the most powerful house in Britain. Did you really think that I would allow such a weak man to control my life?”

He unconsciously shook his head. Bellatrix was absolutely right. She must have been a fool to let her husband tell her what to do. The Blacks were the elite of the elite and everyone was aware of that. While in some other noble families – the Malfoys and the Lestranges immediately came to his mind due to his cousins’ marriages – the Head of Houses were titled as Earls, commonly referred to as “Lords,” then the Head of the House of Black was known as the Duke of Lancaster. The Muggles lived under a false assumption that the title of the Duke of Lancaster was always held by the current ruler of the British Monarchy (especially since it was merged with the Crown in the 14th century) but it wasn’t true. The Duchy of Lancaster, since the dawn of times, belonged to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The Black bloodline had always been present in the British Royal family, as when wizards were forced into hiding the family married their Squibs into royalty to protect their families assets. Serving the family was a sacred thing to the House of Black, therefore, to erase their stain on their honour, the Squibs provided the family with security against the Muggles. Of course, all security measures were taken to make sure that the unmagical blood wouldn’t affect the continuality of their pure blood – magical and social disownment among them.

Regulus rubbed his forehead. Even the Dark Lord seemed to know that the Blacks are untouchable. The wizard had no problems with punishing his followers whenever they annoyed him, but he had never done anything to his cousin. What else, he respected her opinions and confided in her!

“Do as I told you, dear baby cousin of mine, and I promise you that the chit won’t even breathe without your explicit permission,” she continued and emptied her glass. “But if you’re not able to do this, then I’ll gladly take care of her.”

Regulus cringed at that. He wasn’t exactly sure what Bellatrix was doing – even though he had his suspicions – but when the Dark Lord needed to extract information from an exceptionally uncooperative opponent, he would call his cousin and she would take the person with her, and a few minutes later she would have all of the information he wanted.

“I appreciate your offer but…” He took a deep breath and looked at his interlocutor. “I know she used to be in contact with Sirius – and I think that she still is – and most likely still has some feelings for him but… I want her to be obedient, not traumatized for life.”

The woman simply shrugged and looked at her well-groomed nails.

“Do as you please. Just remember that I’m more than willing to put her in her place if you’re unable to do it.”

The youngest Black listened to his cousin and did as she advised him. He never dared to hit his wife, but he let her know from the very beginning that in his eyes she was inferior. During the wedding night, since the marriage required consummation, Regulus claimed what was lawfully his and didn’t even bother to ask Charlotte if she was all right afterwards. He was everything but gentle and loving back then, but he didn’t even care that he had ruined her first time.

Or any other for that matter, as they were sharing the bed only when he wanted to relieve himself. He made it obvious that she knew that now she belonged to him and not to his traitorous brother as she was supposed to.

When the summer holiday came to an end, Regulus was pleased. It was his last year at school and he awaited graduation because it would mean that he could commit himself fully to the Dark Lord’s services. He was the youngest Death Eater in the ranks – his school friend Severus Snape was a year older than him and already graduated – so he was unable to do much as most of the time he was at Hogwarts. Also, because he recently got married, he was asked to spend as much of his free time with his wife so he could provide the next follower. Regulus had no clue what he did to offend his Master to be punished in such a cruel way, but he was truly sorry for whatever it was.

However, by the time he was ready to accomplish his education, Regulus’ life turned upside down.

Arcturus Black had perished unexpectedly in early October and his father became the new Head of House and the Duke of Lancaster, which meant that Regulus was next in line for the titles. Obviously, he was aware that sooner or later he would become the heir apparent – especially since Sirius was out of the picture – but he had never thought that it would happen so suddenly. His grandfather was a man of good health, so his death took everyone by surprise.

Nonetheless, the biggest change happened in December – he finally realised what kind of idiot he really was.

Lord Voldemort summoned his followers for a meeting. A Christmas celebration. The Black Heir was eager to attend the assembly because he desperately craved his Master's presence. He noticed during his Hogwarts days that the longer he was away from the wizard, the more he thought about him and about the many ways in which he could impress him. His wife, of course, wasn’t thrilled by such a turn of events but she knew more than well that it was pointless to say anything. He made it clear to her that she should never question his choices.

At the beginning of the meeting, the wizard asked for a house-elf, so he, unsurprisingly, offered his beloved one – Kreacher – without hesitation. He was as proud as a peacock when his Master decided to take his servant, especially when he noticed that other owners of the house-elves looked at him with envy. Still, the boy’s satisfaction was short-lived because a moment later the Dark Lord announced the other reason of their summon, he wanted to award his faithful Death Eaters by giving them something special.

This “something” turned out to be a person. A young pureblood witch by the name of Annabelle Shafiq. A Ravenclaw girl in his year at school. The Black Heir was flabbergasted when his cheerful cousin brought her inside the room because he had no idea what was going on. But one thing was certain: he was terrified to see the girl beaten and tied up.

“Thank you for your help, Bellatrix,” said Lord Voldemort and turned towards the rest of his followers as soon as his cousin approached him and threw the girl at his feet. “Gentlemen… let me introduce you to Miss Annabelle Shafiq. Her father recently refused to support our goal, so this young lady is going to pay for his insubordination… I hope you’re going to enjoy yourself with her. Regulus, my dear boy, you stay away from it. I have a different task for you this evening. Bella will explain it to you shortly.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” he answered and bowed slightly.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but he was relieved when he heard the order. Annabelle was his Herbology partner and even though she was a pretty witch, he had no desire to sleep with her. Especially since he didn't have the right to do that. Moreover, watching as the others decided amongst themselves who was going to take her first was something he would rather avoid.

Lucius Malfoy, the husband of his other cousin, Narcissa, was the one who won the inglorious lottery. Regulus was aware that it wasn’t the right moment to think about it, but he wondered if his wife was aware what her husband was doing when she wasn’t around. He glanced at Bellatrix who stood next to the Dark Lord’s throne and watched with an unpleasant smile as her brother-in-law forced himself on the already naked girl. Apparently, when the Malfoy man was unbuttoning his robes, his fellow companions took care of Annabelle’s clothes.

“You know what’s the most amusing part of it?” Regulus unexpectedly heard Bellatrix’s voice next to his ear and he almost had a heart attack when it happened. He had no idea when she approached him, as he was observing his cousin’s husband. “Lucius actually believes that he is the first one to be inside the girl.”

“What do you mean?” He used the chance that his eldest cousin talked with him to look away – he didn’t want to watch what the others were doing but he was too afraid to show weakness in their presence – and hoped that he sounded confident.

“Our Lord believes, and I, naturally, agree, that I deserve the best, so he allowed me to have some girl-to-girl fun with the brat when we were waiting for your arrival. Virgins are so prude, don’t you think, dear? Though, your wife's French so maybe you're luckier in that department than the rest of us,” she informed him with a chuckle and put her hands on his shoulders. “Now, Reggie, dear baby cousin of mine… our Master is merciful and wishes to spare the girl more suffering. You can only imagine how traumatised she would be if we released her after the meeting… that’s why, once the boys are done with the whore, you’re expected to end her misery.”

His immediate thought was to defy the Dark Lord’s order which was to kill his Herbology partner, as Annabelle was a proper pureblood witch and didn’t deserve to be punished for her father’s decision, but upon quick reflection he decided that to disobey the order of the most powerful Dark wizard in history would be very foolish indeed.

“I serve to please our Lord,” he responded instead and forced himself to smile. “I’m honoured.”

He knew he was a coward. He had chosen his life over Annabelle’s and he felt ashamed because of the choice he made. But he was aware that the Ravenclaw would die today anyway, so he saw no reason in risking his own neck. He was not a foolish Gryffindor. He had dreams to accomplish and dying at such a young age would intervene with them. He also tried to justify his horrendous actions by thinking that he was saving Bellatrix’s life as well, as she would be forced to protect him if anyone – Lord Voldemort included – dared to raise their wand at him.

There was a hierarchy in pureblood families. The most important person in the family was, obviously, the Head of House. The Head was responsible for representing the family in the Wizengamot and the Head’s decision considering any matters in the family was law. Other members were obligated to fulfil whatever the Head wanted: that was one of the reasons why he accepted Charlotte as his wife. Furthermore, the Head of House had the power to disown or bring back members of the family as they pleased. The current Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was his father.

The second most important person was the Heir (or the Heiress) apparent. The Heir was the future Head of the family and, after the Head, it was the person the other members were required to protect the most. If something happened to the Head, the Heir would become the leader of the family no matter their age. Currently, Regulus was the Heir, even though it was Sirius’ role before he was disowned. His disownment was crucial because if Orion died before his first-born child was disowned, Sirius would be untouchable and could change the family politics.

His cousin was a Lestrange now but since she has been a Black by blood, she was still obligated to protect him and his father.

“Regulus.” His Master’s voice unexpectedly brought him back down to earth. “It’s time.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he answered immediately, afraid that he could be punished for delay, and bowed slightly before he took his wand out of his sleeve and marched towards the deflowered witch. He cringed when his cousin offered him a wicked smile, imitating what she had done to his schoolmate.

He forced himself to return the gesture. He had no clue how much time had passed since Annabelle was brought to the room, as he was lost in his thoughts most of the time, but she looked terrible. Her body was covered in bruises, blood was running down her head, and she was curled up in the foetal position. She was crying, though no sounds dared to escape her bloodied mouth. Regulus assumed that she had previously been silenced.

The young Black Heir swallowed hard at the sight and anxiously licked his dry lips.

He was going to put her out of her misery. Soon, her unnecessary suffering would come to an end. She would be in a much better place. She would finally be safe. He was going to bring her salvation. He was the one who would save her.

Or so Regulus was trying to convince himself in order to silence his conscience.

He pointed his wand at his schoolmate. As soon as he did that, he could hear the excitement among his companions. He decided to ignore them.

He bit his bottom lip when he saw his hand shaking slightly. There was no time for weakness. Lord Voldemort could not see that he was scared! He was only bringing freedom. He should be confident!

He straightened up and took a deep breath to calm down his nerves, as he could hear his heart beating fast in his ears. He could do this. He would do this. He knew that failure was equal with severe punishment, or worse – death. He was too scared to die!

The incantation was easy to pronounce. He also knew how to properly cast the spell because his cousin made him practice it on the animals she had conjured up during their magic lessons. There would be no pain. He was not going to cause her any harm. He was going to stop the pain. The end would be quick. Faster than falling asleep.

He just had to say the curse aloud. Then everything would be over.

Annabelle, as if knowing that her death was near, lifted her bloodied head with difficulty. His grey eyes met her brown ones. Regulus’ heart stopped when he noticed that only emptiness was visible in them. Had she recognised him? He doubted it.

He closed his eyes. He was not able to look at her. But he had to finish it. Annabelle had suffered enough. It was time to release her from her misery. He re-opened his eyes.

“Avada Kedavra.”

The green light instantly escaped his wand and hit the girl’s body.

Regulus turned his gaze, as he was unable to look at his already dead friend. His companions, however, started cheering loudly the moment their Lord laughed cruelly. He stood quiet. He was shaking. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to disappear.

“I’m so proud of you, Reggie,” he heard Bellatrix’s joyful voice in his ear and a moment later her hands wrapped him in a familiar hug. But this time, he felt nothing. “You’re a good boy. You managed to pass your test. Our Lord is so proud of you.”

“Test?” he asked with confusion. Test? What test? He had no idea what was going on.

“Our Lord wished to find out if you’re ready to become a full member,” she informed him with a sincere smile. “Our Lord and I were aware that you knew the girl the moment she was taken. Everyone, but you, knew what was going to happen tonight, although the others had no clue who’s going to be present here this evening. They only knew that it’s someone you know. Lucius and some other guys thought that you would be too soft to kill your acquaintance. But I knew you were better than this. You won me a thousand galleons.”

Regulus inhaled sharply. He could refuse to kill and… he could live? They set him up? Did Annabelle’s father really reject Lord Voldemort's offer, or did they take her only because they knew each other? He had no idea what to think about it. He was still unable to comprehend what had just happened. He felt dizzy. He thought he was going to be sick.

He vomited as soon as he found himself at home. He didn’t even make it to the toilet. He just emptied his stomach in the living room the moment he left the fireplace. How he managed to stop himself from throwing up in front of everyone would forever stay an unsolved mystery.

Regulus went to the bathroom, paying attention to the fact that nobody else was at home. He wanted to take a shower as he felt dirty, but water didn't take his dirty feeling away. When he finally realised what he had gotten himself into, he couldn’t even look at himself. In absolute fury, he smashed the mirror in the bathroom because it reminded him of what kind of scum he was.

A murderer.

Ever since Sirius ran away from their family home, he used to think that he wanted to see him dead. That was a lie and he realised it just now. Sirius was his brother. He used to be his best friend. He wanted him to suffer as much as he did because he dared to abandon him. But now… when he finally killed his first victim… no. That was wrong. It felt wrong. He was wrong. He was not a murderer.

Unfortunately, he was. He murdered his Herbology partner. But he doubted he would be able to take another life. The problem was… being a Death Eater was a lifetime service. He simply couldn't hand over his resignation. Desertion meant death.

Regulus lowered his eyes. His hands were cut, and blood poured profusely from the wounds, but he did nothing to fix the damage. Instead, he turned on his heel and excused himself from the bathroom; broken glass was scattered on the ceramic tiles.

The next thing he did was to grab a bottle of Firewhiskey – for some reason, they had a lot of it in the house – and drown his sorrows into it. He naively believed that he would be able to forget what he did. But forget he could not.

The young Heir drank and drank and drank. The moment the current bottle was empty, he summoned another one and repeated the action every time there was nothing else at the bottom of it. He didn’t care that it was making him sick. He cared not that he and the sofa were covered in his vomit and blood. His capacity to care about himself was thoroughly exhausted.

One sip. Then another. His hand was raising at a steady pace, allowing him to empty the bottle. One sip after another, the Firewhiskey cascaded down his throat. Each sip an attempt to numb himself from the inside out. He wanted to forget. Maybe the next sip would make him feel better? Maybe the sip after that would allow him to forget his heinous crime?

Damn it.

It wasn’t working.

He was still a murderer.

Why was he denied the right to forget?

The dishevelled Heir yawned. He was tired. So very tired. He closed his eyes. Just for a brief moment.

And then there was only darkness.

[leviosarpg]

Congratulations, BAB! You have been accepted for the role of GISELLE ROSIER! Bab, you have no idea how thrilled I was to receive an app for Giselle, and boy did your app deliver. “You just gotta stop choking on who you are, and if you do, you’re allowed that - you gotta stop doing it so damn politely.” I swear that line hit me like a train...or a bag of bricks, because goddamn if that isn’t Giselle in a single line! Bab, this app was so flawless, I’m still reeling from reading it-- you managed to craft this vision of Giselle in her full beautiful, hypocritical glory but you made me sympathize with her. Your Giselle is an old soul who feels the weight of the world upon her shoulders--elegant, refined, but a little lost nonetheless, and you have me rooting for her, more so than I ever could have imaged. Thank you for bestowing this app upon me, Bab, I can’t wait to see your Giselle be brought to life!

Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: bab, 24, she/her, gmt+1

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Giselle Rosier

Giselle - Derived from the Germanic word gisil meaning “hostage, pledge“

Rosier - Rosier is French for "rose tree” or “rose bush“

Giselle immediately took my fancy because I love playing high and mighty characters with an impending fall. Her push and pull between the two sides who both advocate their respective truths plus her crumbling friendships that had kept the flame of fanatism alive for so long make her question everything and I feel like those are the perfect foundation for some juicy, dramatic threads which I love lmao time to mess her up big time!

gender/pronouns: female, she/her

extracurriculars: Slytherin prefect. Giselle was bestowed with the honor of prefect in her fifth year alongside Tom Riddle. Initially she was known to be especially strict towards muggleborns, as of lately her stern attitude has softened for unknown reasons.

The Harbingers. The role of prefect introduced her to Tom Riddle, her fellow male prefect for the house of Slytherin. They quickly grew closer, Tom fueled her fancy for long, intricate conversations throughout their walks through the halls of Hogwarts and thus he saw a highly worthy member for his group.

Dueling Club. Perhaps this isn’t the best reason to join a club that could possibly cause serious damage upon others, but dueling is an outlet for Giselle. The thrill of not knowing what her dueling partner’s next step will bring and how her counter-curse will impact them is a rollercoaster ride she wants to experience again and again. This rather adventurous side is reserved for her fellow club member’s only, outsiders certainly have troubles believing her out-going enthusiasm when it comes to club activities.

para sample:

first. diary, prologue.

If you’re reading this, there is an ebb and flow to your life.

Things becoming, art created, transformed; conversations organically layering onto other bruises, and right now, you are in the thick of it, but I promise you that rock bottom can be the strongest foundation for a stronger life. I promise you, the biggest revolution is ahead of you. The truth is, we never quite know the craters we left on someone else’s heart, not until it is too late anyhow. If you are reading this, you’re going to be okay. I promise you.

You just gotta stop choking on who you are, and if you do, you’re allowed that - you gotta stop doing it so damn politely.

- Giselle Rosier, September 1, 1945

second. echo.

seven.

Mid July and her smile is wide and effortless. The dry heat of the summer lays heavy and she has been going at it for days - a weary traveler, a foolish and gentle spy. A young Giselle lurks through life like it is an old house, teasing the wallpaper until it falls down. Layer by layer, story by story. Motions to people with the edge of her voice, with a change of her expression. They say her talents overflow, walking hand in hand with her never-ending curiosity. Outside the cityscape of London, she is sitting on the curb, wearing dried up loafers, a sweaty brow and the guilt of giftedness on her shoulders as she yet again slowly reads a book way ahead of her age. Sometimes reading out loud drowns the low hum of her family, so heavy with expectations whether or not she is listening. Her mother is there, the hummed secrets fading into light tunes when Giselle is around. Her brother is there, the huffs and puffs of him practicing potions in the kitchen still echo in her ear. Her father is there and she is supposed to think that she is exceptional. All her interests come so natural to her, the eagerness she displays is extraordinary to others but a mere flow of nature to her.

twelve.

Mid October and the sky is greying. She doesn’t say much and by now people know better than to light all the dark rooms in her house. And she can feel it, the tide of the past July. It’s like this one morning she looks across the dinner table and everything that has ever been left unspoken was being said. No one ever had to tell Giselle anything, she always managed to overhear snippets of her family’s whispers, the sight of her mother’s plastic smile became too familiar. Giselle can see it now, the way her parents speak in dim lit words, the way they mention her estranged brother’s name with little feeling and even more disgust. Summer returns with a vengeance, to collect its debts. How often do we wear smiles that hurt, smiles that tell us we have burned too long? Giselle feels heavy and the worst thing is, she knows the weather of leaving; the stale air, the dry summer heart.

When Giselle grows old enough to understand the poisonous hatred carefully cultivated between purebloods and muggleborns, her whole body tells a story of pain, like a sickness she refuses to treat. This is why she dislikes summer. The smell of warm summer rain hitting the dark pavement brings her back and it carries a memory she never wants to encounter again. At times it is difficult to continue to be radically soft in a world that sometimes gives more vinegar than honey.

fifteen.

Lately she has been trying to dream of something more, but how could it be any different? She negotiates with her quiet, she wanders, she bleeds. But no matter where Giselle goes, she returns to the Thames. And tries to dream again. Her mother once told her she is like a song played on loop. Enjoyable for a few listens until it bothers you and blends into the background. Funnily enough, Giselle always seeks to be present. Like, really present. Feeling every chill crisp morning running through her spine and the sore movement of her legs carrying her forward after another long day of school. The prickly nights lost in libraries as she drags herself through the endless pit that school is at the age of fifteen. Cold fingers reaching for a scarf that smells like that place she used to call home. Maybe this point was the closest she had ever come to the truth - souls laid bare. The whole wavelength set in an azure heat, the vibrations of her thoughts she did not dare to speak in the seemingly endless halls of her family’s home. This - the checked clocks and borrowed time, the heavy and relentless rock on her heart. Maybe that was the truth in its rawest form. Undeniable and without place. After all this, maybe she didn’t belong to anyone anyhow. Just to herself, in secret.

eighteen.

By now, her heart lies behind iron bars. She lets only few people probe her wounds, even less trickle deep within the tiny empire she had built within her chest. Oddly enough, it takes little for the foundation to shake, little for her to give them her country; and yet no one dares. She goes through life with a terrible intensity. Nights ago, numbness consumed her and she wished to be swallowed up by the dark earth. Too many vowels in her mouth, too many crumpled up receipts in her pockets. Her mouth twisted into rivers, pouring into too many oceans at once. At times, she says quite a lot and nothing at all. She always takes too much and gives too little. Reaches for people and finds salvation in the gaps of their words, only to wreck havoc again. Pushes and destructs, disappears like mist rising in the sky. It is always the same. They come for her storm and flee for calmer waters. No one writes a song about hurricanes.

third. diary, epilogue.

You’re 18 and you’ve had your heart broken. And it isn’t anything like the first time but nothing like the last time. You have exactly 15 sickles until winter break and crushing anxiety about tomorrow.

Outside the blue is heavy over the castle and the buildings blur to look like something out of another century. Majestic and grotesque. But all you can think about is the eternal void that is life. Sometimes you think believing in some kind of manufactured god would be better because you wouldn’t put so much stock in people’s words, in their alleged worth.

You tell yourself these things, you haven’t written home in a month. You feel you’ve lived a lifetime and there are unread letters in your nightstand’s drawer from family and foreign friends who love you but all you can think about is the ways you could disappoint them, like your brother did. And it is overwhelming and yet underwhelming because you constantly remind yourself this happens everyday and better you anyway because art.

You cannot be 80 when you are feeling 18.

— Giselle Rosier, November 18th 1944

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

Headcanons

Despite her parents’ utmost efforts to pretend like this isn’t the case, Giselle has an older brother called Matthieu. Hailed as an ace in school and envisioned as a potential candidate for ministry of magic in the distant future, he was their parents’ entire pride for the longest time. The tides turned quickly when he fell in love with a muggle girl the summer after this graduation and decided that his infatuation was more important than everything else. He is now estranged from the family and Giselle has neither seen nor spoken to him in six years and couldn’t possibly fathom the consequences if she did attempt to contact him.

Now considered an only child, the pressure to continue the successful Rosier line lies heavily on Giselle’s shoulders. It caused her to cast a wall around herself, one that she has to climb herself to reach people and turns her judgemental, condescending, looking down at others. She knows the slightest penetration, the tiniest doubt sown into her mind could make the entire purpose of her existence thus far crumble, years of her family’s efforts dissolved into nothingness.

Enormous are the attempts to hide the fact that she likes muggle-made things. Muggle fashion, muggle music, muggle art. But the epitome of her hypocrisy was the liking she found in Olive Hornby, a muggleborn Gryffindor with a glow so bright, the moon would subdue to her. Although Giselle had her valid share of dates and experiences with other peers, she cannot deny that her mind still wanders off to the brazen muggleborn who had dared to make their lips meet.

Aesthetics/vibes/moods: loosely tied up hair, gold, dainty earrings and necklaces, being first at breakfast, white blouses, black loafers, reading glasses, last warm days of autumn, brown leather bags, caramel, twilight, sun rays shining through tree tops, brown sugar, cinnamon, pearls, last to leave the common room

You can find a moodboard here!

Magic

Education Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

House Slytherin

Best core class Potions, charms

Worst core class Herbology

Wand Rosewood and dragon hearstring, 12 inches

Patronus White swan

Boggart Herself as an outcast of society, accepted by neither side

Amortentia red bean paste, fabric softener, chimney fire

Quotes

„I was interested in everything and committed to nothing.“ Gregory David Roberts.

„I don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.“ Allen Ginsberg.

„A star-shower of blossom, of dew-like pearls, fruitfulness, beauty, life, rapture and fragrance.“ Victor Hugo.

„Life happened. In all its banality, brutality, cruelty, unfairness. But also in its beauty, pleasures, and delights. Life happened.“ Thirty Umrigar.

Personality

MBTI INTP - The Logician. Logicians view the world as a big, complex machine and have the ability to recognize how all parts are interrelated. Their endless ideas may seem counter-intuitive at a glance, and many never see the light of day, but they will always prove remarkable innovations. They are a reserved personality type, but if another person shares an interest, t hey can be downright excited about discussing it. Oftentimes Logician personalities get so caught up in their logic that they forget any kind of emotional consideration and sometimes dismiss subjectivity as irrational. They tend to become forgetful, missing even the obvious if it’s unrelated to their current infatuation.

Western zodiac Scorpio. A scorpio is a water sign, which live to experience and express emotions. Although emotions are very important for scorpios, they manifest them differently than other water signs. In any case, you can be sure that a scorpio will keep your secrets, whatever they may be. Scorpios are known by their calm, cool behavior and their mysterious appearance. Scorpios hate dishonesty and they can be very jealous and suspicious, so they need to learn how to adapt more easily to different human behaviors.

Chinese zodiac Fire tiger. People born in a year of the tiger are brave, competitive, unpredictable and confident. They are very charming but are also likely to be impetuous, irritable and overindulged. Moreover, fire tigers are optimistic and independent but possess poor self-control.

Temperament Choleric. People with choleric temperament tend to be goal-oriented and prove themselves to be logical and straightforward. They dislike smalltalk and enjoy deep, meaningful conversations. Choleric types would rather spend their time in solitude than in the company of shallow, superficial people.

Alignment True Neutral. A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition or personal code directs them. They may believe in personal order and live by a code or strandard, or they may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government. Being a lawful neutral can mean one is a truly reliable and honorable person or it could pose as a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all freedom, choice, and diversity in society. It is the view of this alignment that law and order give purpose and meaning to everything. Therefore, whether a low is good or evil is of no importance as long as it brings order and meaning.