#But it’s not like a unanimous courtesy people give me there

[lemonmatronics]

I genuinely love and adore how you can have a post that leads to an entire thread and chains of replies where people in depth talk about Metal Sonic and literally everyone is using she/her on that mf

And like nobody bats and eye like “oh it’s a girl Metal post that’s cool” it’s genuinely so cute to me

[pyroshrooms]

A little drabble I just wrote and thought I should share :))

Not sure how to format this but I’m just gonna put it all under the cut and hope for the best lol. Enjoy <3

------------------------

“Why am I here?” he would ask. 

The eyes would stare, rapt attention never once leaving him. 

“We missed you.” They whispered, words unanimous and demanding. “Your story hasn’t ended yet.”

He glared from where he sat, painfully aware of the way the store looked uncanny to a set. The register felt fake, manufactured. The lines of cigarettes behind him looked like a poster. Isles of shitty artificial snacks faded into the darkness of the unlit audience. 

Soon the house lights would flicker back on and the audience would filter out of the far doors. He knew they would, he’s watched them do it before. He watched the emotions that had previously consumed them all fade into insignificance. Apathy bled from the empty seats as he stood on the stage, frozen in his act, waiting for them to return so he may live. 

For now, the audience sat in anticipation. 

He’s disappointed them before, what’s a second time?

“It is over. I ended it,” he snapped out. “Go home.”

They didn’t speak, they simply watched. 

And oh if that wasn’t the worst part. The silent, unending attention. Once he loved it, he had basked in the eyes that would follow his every move. Once it made him feel important. The silence had begun to unnerve him though. He began to question them. Was he still entertaining? Was he doing it right? Were they real?

Because if they had nothing to say, then why, pray tell, were they here? Were they ever actually here? No one else seemed to think so. His brother had looked at him with worried judgment, his friends had given him the courtesy of looking around, asking “Who are you talking to?”, his father had looked at him knowingly for all the wrong reasons. They thought he was simply paranoid, maybe a tad egotistical, fantastical for ever thinking of himself as a performer. He could point to the crowd, have them yell in outrage at his actions, he could have them jump from their seats with a flick of his hand and nothing would happen. 

Nothing would happen.

When the story’s climax came, he had stared at the bright stage lights and listened to the intake of breath from the crowd. The music had crescendoed until it screeched to a stop. The symphony around him paused for his last breath, only to continue in an enthusiastic frenzy. Because it was never truly his, the symphony, he was theirs. 

The creeping and sharp notes of the violin had been a welcome sound when he breathed again. For a moment he hadn’t seen the eyes, only his brother and the sun. 

But it wasn’t the sun, only the lights swinging up so he was back in the spotlight, center stage. And his narrative of thirteen years had barely been eleven months to them. Because none of it was truly his own to remember. He had been nothing but a doll made to dance under the eyes of thousands. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. He had left. The sun was his own for once and his movements went unwatched. Or, they did. 

“Go home,” he repeated. 

They watched. 

“Go. Get out.”

He was standing now, hands pressed to the (fake fake fake) counter. He didn’t dare meet their gaze, as if not seeing them would make them disappear.

They never did. Even when the desolate walls of a ravine had made it impossible for him to see them. 

“I’m not giving you what you want. It’s over, let me go.”

They whined at that, finally giving him a response. 

“But we don’t want to. We miss you.”

“No,” he shook his head, “You don’t miss me. You’re just bored.”

Because that’s all he was ever good for isn’t it? He was just some easy entertainment to them. A shiny toy they could watch destroy itself. Maybe that’s what they all were to these people. Or had it just been him?

They didn’t say anything this time, still gripping their seats and waiting, as if to say “Are you going to do it again? Will you break for us? Will you preach on your little soapbox to an audience of deaf ears?”

And he wouldn’t, not again. After everything he gave them, he wouldn’t give them this. This home, this solace, this respite that he crafted for himself, he would never give it to them. He had written the final line of his story and he refused to continue it. There would be no part 2 (don’t you mean part 3? Didn’t you already get your intermission? Your Act 2?) because the story was over. 

So he sat again, picked back up his book, and took a breath. The air was stale. 

They muttered amongst themselves, confused. It made him smile. 

Maybe they won’t leave, maybe they would find him no matter the narrative he spun or ran from. But it truly didn’t matter anymore; because he wouldn’t ever give them what they wanted. He would never again monologue as a white light blinded him. Never again would he plead for a response, or play a part. This was his. 

So there was no symphony, not even a sunrise. There was just a store and a man. No one in particular. 

[teawaffles]

Forbidden Games: Chapter 4

Alan led the way as the two men proceeded down the corridor to another room. While he walked alone in front, the pair noticed the footsteps of several people following them from behind.

They seemed to be travelling to the back of the building, and apart from the people who were currently moving, there was no sign of life. Apparently, ‘normal’ participants could only play in that large hall from before.

“It’s gotten quite chilly, hasn’t it? As I recall, Mr Holmes, you’re not fond of the cold. Are you alright?” William murmured, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Sherlock himself wasn’t particularly sensitive to the cold, but he kept his expression static as he pondered the intention behind that statement.

In the next moment, William twitched the corner of his mouth upwards in a gesture that only Sherlock would understand. Recognising this, Sherlock understood everything, and promptly played along.

“That’s right. It does seem chilly. ——Liam, could you lend me your coat?”

“No problem, here you go.”

“Thanks.”

William held out the coat he had been carrying under his arm. Sherlock took it and immediately put it on. Then, he straightened the coat as he carefully checked how it felt on him.

“If you’re feeling cold, may I suggest we have a warm drink in one of these rooms before proceeding?”

Alan posed the question with a seemingly concerned tone. It appeared that he had taken William’s words at face value.

“No worries. Anyway, I’m also excited to see what kind of game you have for us. It’s almost like the shivers before a battle.”

At Sherlock’s words, Alan nodded happily.

“Is that the case? As the one introducing you to it, I’m pleased to hear that.”

At last, they reached their destination. Alan quietly opened the door and bid the duo enter. The two men shared a look, and went in silently.

The room was dimly lit, and roughly a quarter the size of the hall they were previously in. In the centre was a finely crafted round table, and surrounding it was a group of gentlemen standing in silence, staring at the new entrants.

It was an ominous sight, as if it were a secret ritual. The men’s expressions were unanimously mild, but there was also a keen sense of malice hidden underneath. Even so, having witnessed countless bloody battles and come out standing, William and Sherlock remained unperturbed amidst the disquieting atmosphere.

Sherlock looked at a corner of the room, and flashed a big grin.

“Yo, fancy meeting you here.”

Standing there was the noble’s son whom Sherlock had been tasked to find. Just like the other gentlemen, he was dressed sharply. Yet he lacked a trace of the dignity befitting a noble, instead glancing around his surroundings in sheer terror.

Having observed the young man’s appearance, William murmured a question to Sherlock.

“Is he the young man you were searching for?”

“Yep. It looks like he’s alive for now, but judging from his behaviour, it’s not hard to imagine how he was treated by these guys.”

After deducing the situation, they heard the click of a lock behind them.

Turning around, they saw Alan standing with his back to the door, a smile plastered on his face.

“As expected, you’re quick on the uptake. I sincerely admire your excellent deductive abilities.”

Sherlock snorted at his feigned courtesy.

“What’re you talking about? You’re the one who brought us here.”

“I thought it’d be pointless to keep this place a secret once you’d sniffed it out. Anyway, I reckoned I’d make sure to give him a proper welcome too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Still, what reason could you possibly have for locking up some noble brat? Are all these guys your accomplices too?”

Alan made a show of being astonished.

“We don’t do such perverse things as locking people up. All we pursue is the pure delight of a game, and the comrades gathered here today share in this goal. It is only when pleasure is kept secret that it ascends to a higher realm.”

“——So just like what you did to us earlier, you invited this man here, coerced him into playing some ‘thrilling game’ which he lost, then locked him in this room until he pays off his debt. Is that right?”

“…………”

William’s harsh words stripped away the veneer of Alan’s so-called lofty pleasures, revealing them to be but deceitful tricks. The man raised no retort, and Sherlock clicked his tongue.

“So, are you holding this noble’s son hostage for ransom? Or are you thinking of threatening him so that he’ll make arrangements for you when he inherits his estate? In any case, deceiving and threatening kids makes you no different from a stingy crook.”

Having been bluntly maligned, Alan finally shook his head in sadness.

“It’s utterly regrettable to be misunderstood in such a way. This man consented to play the game of his own free will. However, because he refused to pay up despite his defeat, I’ve had to keep persuading him ardently like this.”

“Persuasion…… so you say,” William retorted.

Having taught students of the same age, he did not hide his displeasure.

Then Sherlock pressed on, openly revealing his irritation.

“Well? Our goal here’s to bring him home safely, but as for you, you’re not going to let things go that easily, are you?”

Alan held out both arms, as if to express his admiration.

“Both of you have been a big help advancing the conversation so smoothly. But there’s no need to be afraid. We have no intention of committing barbaric acts. As I conveyed from the start, all I want to do is play a game with you, with all my heart and soul.”

“Damn you, if this was really just a game then there’d be no need to bet.”

“Doesn’t the risk of defeat just add to the excitement?”

“……Only your ability to make sophisms is first-class, huh.”

They seemed to be getting nowhere trading arguments with this man. Sherlock sighed, as if rendered speechless.

Taking over from the exhausted detective, William spoke up.

“In that case, would you release this man if we win your game?”

Alan nodded in enthusiasm.

“Precisely, since our motto is that all’s fair and square when it comes to games.”

However, Sherlock nudged William with his elbow.

“Liam, you don’t have to go out of your way to play along with them. If you leave it to me, I’ll beat these wimps to a pulp in seconds.”

Hearing Sherlock’s statement, Alan took a step back.

“Ooh, how frightening. In that case……”

He raised his hand. Taking that as a signal, one of Alan’s accomplices brandished a knife and held it to the young noble’s throat. Unable to even make a sound, the young man went white with shock.

“We have no choice but to respond appropriately.”

Alan’s friendly smile had morphed into a brutal one. Having seen the gentleman reveal his true nature, William finally looked at him with disgust.

“In other words, no matter how much we struggle to avoid it, we’ll be drawn into a game…… and although it wouldn’t be outright impossible, it would be difficult to call it ‘fair and square’.”

“This is all simply because we love games,” Alan said brazenly, with no regard for the hostility directed at him.

At that instant, the pair decided to crush this man.

“——Excellent.”

Sherlock spoke up. Even though it wasn’t said particularly loudly, his statement rang out across the room.

William continued in an exceedingly polite tone.

“The extent to which you wish to play games, that I have understood completely. Therefore, regardless of the outcome, I hope you will not regret your decision.”

“……Ooh.”

The pressure exerted by the pair’s fighting spirit had started to make Alan’s entire body tense up.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re in the mood now. By the way, what would you both like to wager on this match?”

At his question, the pair looked at each other.

“We demand that this man be set free. As for the price of our defeat…… Well, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything I want?” Alan doubted.

Immediately, William chimed in.

“Then it would be the same for me. In the event that we lose, be it money, my position as a noble, or the fruits of my academic research, please feel free to lay claim to any of them.”

Alan’s eye twitched at their careless manner of speaking.

“……I don’t suppose you both take me for a fool?” he uttered, in a deeply uncomfortable tone.

“That would be outrageous. It’s simply because I have conviction.”

“When Liam and I team up, no one can stand up to us.”

They were outnumbered in the enemy’s hideout. On top of that, the enemy had taken a hostage.

But even though it would seem to anyone that they were at a disadvantage, the duo’s voices were filled with confidence. Any listener would soon realise that it was not an act of bravado. The two of them had complete trust that their intellectual capacity and force of will far exceeded that of these petty villains.

“…………”

Having been struck head-on by William and Sherlock’s unshakeable conviction, an intense, hot hatred welled up in the pit of Alan’s stomach.

——In the past, Alan had been an influential noble with a vast plot of land in the vicinity of Durham. However, he had fallen into economic ruin with the Industrial Revolution and the current of the times. Simply put, he had begun to walk the path of his downfall.

He’d blindly believed his days of prosperity would continue for all eternity. Watching them fade away, Alan had sunk into the depths of despair, and desperately sought a way to assuage this sense of defeat.

To that end, he became absorbed in games. Whenever he and his opponent had agreed upon the rules and engaged in an earnest match, with him coming out the victor, Alan found that those indescribable highs were finally able to satisfy him.

Having grown aware of his appetite, upon finding out that there was a club established with the purpose of playing ‘games’, Alan immediately sought out his old friends in the nobility to gain admission. He then gathered like-minded people from within the club. Among the club members, he then would pick a target, covertly invite them to a game, and use brute force to achieve victory after victory.

Day after day they would rob nobles of their rights, with demands for payment which were unmistakably threats. His accomplices appeared to be satisfied by the profits, but Alan was different. He wanted to look down upon his opponent and use any means necessary to make them surrender.

Therefore, even now, as he held a noble’s son as a hostage, Alan refused to negotiate. He only desired to win the game. No matter what absurd sequence of events was taking place.

However, these young men were different. Even in the midst of danger, they were calm and composed, with no expectation at all that they would be defeated.

Faced with a type of person he had never met up till now, Alan not only remembered what it felt like to be irritated, but also chuckled inwardly to himself: it would surely be a pleasant experience to tear them down.

Once again, he put on a boastful smirk.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll be the one to decide the price of your defeat.”

“Fine by me. Well then, what game shall we play?”

[fictionkinfessions]

Please pardon the coming rant.

I have some very strong feelings on this topic that suddenly surfaced yesterday and I feel the need to get them out.

One of the things in my source that wasn't exaggerated was how the Captains treated me. Most of them (I am glaring at Ukitake, Kyoraku and Ichimaru specifically) just would not stop treating me like a child, like I was in over my head. I fucking hated it. It happened for a while in the academy until I beat all my classmates' asses in zanjutsu (sword) class. It happened for a while in the 9th division after I graduated until people figured out I was really goddamn reliable on a mission, and missions with me had a much higher survival rate for all party members (not bragging, I was actually awarded for it when I directly saved the then-9th seat's life) and I was someone who you could generally trust not to fuck up the mission report in some way. It happened in the 10th division too, until I did the same + figured out how to use Hyourinmaru as an AC unit. People only treated me like a child until I showed them I wasn't one, and then they stopped.

But not with the Captains. Oh noo, I was so young, the youngest Captain ever, I must be so overwhelmed and confused - they treated me like a kiddie playing pretend instead of, you know, literally the youngest Captain ever, like I didn't work damn hard to make it that far. I only became a Captain because Captain Shiba went MIA after I had already achieved bankai, and I was literally the first to be nominated for that open spot. Me, a 3rd seat (with bankai and a very fucking hefty number of successful missions under my belt - but still). Nearly all the Lieutenants unanimously vouched for me just to get me that promotion, and I swear I never felt so supported.

And even then, some Captains never stopped treating me like a child. Ukitake would constantly give me bags and baskets of sweets, as if I hadn't told him repeatedly that sugar made me feel sick and I didn't want them, stop fucking giving them to me. Ichimaru was generally infuriating with his comments, and I had to make sure I was never alone with him because he could come out with some truly nasty words. Kyoraku would ham on me about his paperwork while I was trying to do my own, and then claim I'm too young to worry about such things and I'd see how bd it was as an adult eventually. Like I wasn't literally doing my work in front of him. Lazy ass.

Maybe one of the reasons I felt such betrayal at Aizen's betrayal is because he was one of the Captains that didn't treat me like that. He was one of those people who see you for what you are, and treat you accordingly. Even at the height of the Winter War he never treated me as anything less than a smart, competent, dangerously powerful enemy; never like a child.

I wish some of the Captains who were my allies had the same courtesy as the man who was literally trying to kill us all.

- Hitsugaya Toushiro (#❄️🐉)

[yoificfinder]

Hey love, hope you are doing well ✨ I was wondering if you have any recommendations regarding side characters (personality analysis, friendship etc.) I absolutely adore all the side characters in the YOIverse however there are not many fics revolving around them so if you know any good ones, it'd be great!! Thank you so much in advance 💟

Hey dear nonnie! This took a long time, I hope you're still here. I combed through ao3 to find fics I remember that fit your request and discovered new gems along the way! Many of these are not popular/underrated but I guarantee that they're good reads so I hope you (and anyone else who finds this) enjoy! If only for that reason alone, I really hope this rec list becomes one of the most popular posts in this blog (I would really appreciate a reblog!) so these fics/authors can receive more love! Plus this is the most exhaustive and time-consuming rec list I've made so far (but I still feel that I missed a lot so other recs are welcome!).

Without further ado, here are some great YOI side-characters' stories in canonverse:

(Don't) Give A Damn by @forochel [T, 9K]

Mari, through the years.

an open door by tripcyclone [G, 8K]

Lilia never wanted children of her own, but caring for Victor gives her a glimpse into the life she chose to pass by.

Beautiful In Knowing by @val-creative [T, 1K]

Sara knew she was a girl, even if nobody else did or believed her.

She ordered Michele to call her "Lady Sara" from now on. He would roll his eyes and grumble, but never attempt to misgender her. She liked "Sara" — it meant "lady, princess, noblewoman". And she would never go back to her deadname.

by any other name by iguanastevens [T, 2K]

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Yuri's life as told by the names he's given; or, how Yuri's names direct his life.

Feathers on the Ice by Kiranokira / @kyashin [E, 79K]

After dinner and a bath and quality hamster time, snuggled in bed cocooned within his eight entirely necessary pillows, Phichit indulges himself and investigates Seung-gil's hashtag. There isn’t much from Seung-gil himself, but Seung-gil's fans are many and dedicated. Amid the photos of Seung-gil at competitions or practicing and the few candid shots of Seung-gil in airports or out on the streets of Seoul, there’s a very recent professional video uploaded by user andjoy_studio.

Phichit clicks on it, and his life changes.

fermata by perbe [T, 3K]

When one is patchwork of growth plates and bruises, it is inevitable that one must admire boys with words a size too big, as if they know down to their bones that they are meant for something greater.

I used to burn for you, Otabek thinks.

(A character study on Otabek's reaction to his placement at the Grand Prix Finals.)

Go On Ahead by @kiaronna [G, 2K]

Sour, grouchy Yakov didn’t understand sparkly purple skate outfits or wanting to eat your weight in sweets or having crushes on boys.

But Viktor did.

Gossips, Chinese whispers and misunderstandings by womanroaring [M, 8K]

Series of short stories relating to how certain (often perfectly innocent) scenes in Yuri On Ice would have looked from the outside. And just the gossip and stuff that would have surrounded them.

I am Yuri Plisetsky by rinsled05 / @dreaming-fireflies [M, 1K]

Who is Yuri Plisetsky?

He's not Agape.

Not a “prima donna” ballerina.

And definitely no Russian fairy.

No, Yuri Plisetsky is an angry, loud, in-your-face, Russian tiger who will take to the ice and give you a brilliant gold-worthy performance you will never forget.

... a piece on Yuri's rationale for skating to "Welcome to the Madness". Rated for the actual foul-mouthed language in the story itself, courtesy of one Yuri Plisetsky.

if friends were flowers i'd pick you by windupbirdgirl / @tanpopori [G, 4K]

Yuuko thinks of Yuuri’s skating, beautiful and flawed. She thinks of Yuuri sitting with the girls instead of the other boys at practice. She thinks of Yuuri and Viktor, the posters of him he asks her to buy him for birthdays. The posters he wouldn't ask anyone else to buy.

“Oh, Yuuri.” She bites her nails, ruining the carefully applied polish. She doesn’t care at all.

Sitting in that tiny bedroom, she makes a big decision.

if love is king, who wears the crown by @crollalanzaa [G, 1K]

“Second is seen as nothing,” Christophe had derided.

“But that moment you glide onto the ice, that hush of the audience, and that expectation, isn’t that worth something?”

“You speak as if you know. You used to skate?"

Past tense. It still stung, even if it was expected.

Minako knows exactly what it's like to be at the top of your game, and she remembers the descent just as clearly.

if she wants me by renaissance [G, 6K]

Hiroko and Minako, then and now.

kagura by night by seventhstar / @pencilwalla [T, 1K]

The world around her is like the mountains.

A mortal lifespan is narrow; mortals watch the mountain’s unchanging faces, unravaged by the same measure of time that takes a human from dust to dust, and think them immortal in comparison. But stone erodes, just as flesh decays. It just takes longer.

If she watches long enough, everything changes. Languages drift until all the words she learned before are meaningless. Technology changes until she ceases to believe in magic because human ingenuity is more infinite than the stars. What is beautiful, what is polite, what is wrong, what is right—time, given its way, reshapes all.

But Minako’s body remains as it has always been. That’s why she loves to dance, she supposes; it’s the one thing time cannot take from her.

Katsudon by @azriona [G, 8K]

Hiroko doesn’t need to see to coat pork cutlets in egg and panko. She has made this dish for her family for over thirty years; she’ll make it another thirty, if she’s lucky.

Now she makes it for Yuuri and Victor as they fly home from Barcelona, with silver around their necks and gold around their fingers.

keep me steady as we go by strikinglight [G, 3K]

When Isabella stood and crossed the room to where he sat she saw her notebook open in his lap, turned to the last page of their to-do list, all but three items crossed off with less than a month to the wedding date. License. Ceremony. Everything after. She saw the angle of his gaze, too, not on the words but straight ahead, staring blank and glassy and brittle into some invisible place she still wasn’t sure she could follow him to, yet. And yet she had been the one who’d promised to try—and to keep promising, forever and forever.

Kooks by BoxWineConfessions [G, 3K]

Mari clasps her right hand across her left hand and rests them both atop her growing stomach. “I guess you’re just lucky that your father, I mean your other father, my brother-“ Mari giggles. “God, it all sounds so weird, doesn’t it? Do you care? Do you care that we’re all so fucked up and we don’t care at all?” Mari laughs again. It’s all she can do when she hurts this much, and wants a cigarette this much, but can’t stop smiling despite the fact that her body seems to hate her so much. “Well he means the world to me. That’s why I have you.”

Living in the Maybe by @adrianners [T, 6K]

It wasn’t hard to spot a 180cm platinum blond in Fukuoka International Airport. Especially when he was the only person wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night.

Mari picks Viktor up at the airport when he returns from Moscow. Without Yuuri there to play his usual role of interpreter, they learn to communicate around their linguistic, cultural, and personal barriers.

post tenebras lux by @alykapediaaa [T, 1K]

“Which skater would you say has inspired your skating the most?”

The question catches him unaware, so much so that he’s rendered speechless. It’s only when he sees Yakov lean towards the microphone to answer in his stead that Yuri blurts out the first name that comes to mind.

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

The Best Men by @kiaronna [Not Rated, 5K]

Just as Viktor lives to surprise, Christophe Giacometti lives to scandalize, to sensationalize. But innocent little Phichit Chulanont is proving to be an impossible victim.

OR: where Christophe tries very hard to get under one Thai skater’s skin, and instead finds himself all over the younger skater’s Instagram feed and wrapped around his finger.

the city of bridges by @stammiviktor [T, 5K]

After three flights, a train ride, and dinner at the Katsukis' table, Yakov finally sees Hasetsu through Viktor's eyes.

The First Cut by BoxWineConfessions [E, 27K]

People made divorce seem like this long drawn out and ugly process, but it really wasn’t. He bought the town home for Isabella as a gift, and so it was hers. The flat down town would go to him, as it was closer to the rink. They paid off her medical school loans last fall, so that was done too. He had a few cars, which she unanimously agreed were his to keep, so long as she could keep her Corvette. She changed her vanity plate from Dr. Leroy to Dr. Yang. He saw it parked out front of the courthouse.

trials of Coach Yakov series by @naraht [T and M, 40K]

Summaries of fics in the series:

1. Forced to share a bed with Victor at the Sochi Grand Prix Final, Yakov learns more than he wants to know.

2. Yakov attempts to prepare Yuri for his transition to Seniors. Yuri doesn't care to listen.

3. No sex while you're competing – this is Yakov's rule. His athletes often have other ideas.

4. In 1980, Yakov Feltsman is the USSR's skating hero. At a dull official reception, he defends his loyalty to the motherland – and makes the acquaintance of a beautiful young dancer from the Bolshoi.

5. In which both Victor and Yakov have to remake themselves – Victor after his first Olympic gold and Yakov after his divorce.

Tz'ror by athoroughlybakedpotato [T, 3K]

Yakov changes much slower than the times do, but steadiness is not always a bad thing.

---

ETA - Other people's rec:

curtain of lies by @mandolinearts

JJ's Bizarre Adventure by Falahime

Landscapes of Spring and Summer by @myyoitrashblog

The Melancholy of Georgi Popovich by Falahime

+ a lot more recs on this reblog!!

Thanks for the rec, @vilchen, @genuine-firefly, @adrianners, and @kaleidodreams! ❤

[unpeumacabre]

my kingdom for a horse: chapter 8

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 1k

<-- previous next -->

“This is my father,” Lee Chang says, with finality. “He was once one of the greatest kings Joseon ever knew, but now he has been reduced to something less than human – a treacherous feat carried out by none other than the woman you see standing before you!”

The monster thrashes in its bindings, spittle flying and its jaw – dislocated by its overenthusiastic struggles – hanging grotesquely and rattling with every violent movement it makes. Blood drips from its blackened skin and its eyes, unseeing, roll and dart from side to side.

It makes for a truly unnerving sight, and again Lee Chang feels his heart clench at the sight of his regal father reduced to such a pitiful figure.

“Arrest the queen!” cries one of the ministers from behind him. Lee Chang turns at the familiar voice, and nods in approval as he catches the eye of the Minister of War - a man who had been kind to him in his youth, and who had been tacitly in support of his initial plans to stage a coup for the throne.

The Commander moves forward to take her into custody, but immediately she springs into action, drawing a sword from behind her and hefting it aloft. Although Lee Chang has never before seen her don a weapon, she holds it with a reckless confidence that speaks of her desperation and fury. Instinctually he starts forward as the baby begins to fall from her other arm, but she catches herself and manages to return the bundle of cloth back to her hip. The baby, jostled awake, begins to howl its anger and dissatisfaction.

“Step back!” she shrieks. “Step back! Or I will kill this child!”

Commander Min continues forward, but Lee Chang makes a slicing motion with his hand, and with a side glance at him, the man stops.

“It is not a child of the royal line!” protests one of the officials. “What does its life matter?”

“What do you mean by that!” thunders Lee Chang. “Every life is a life worth saving. It means nothing that it is not of the royal line. It is still a living child!”

The queen laughs, a chilling sound that is dissonant with the sound of the baby’s infuriated cries.

“My father said it would be easy to kill you,” she says, “and he was right. You’re nothing more than a spineless fool caught up in your conceptions of morality. You should’ve just died at the hands of the monsters.”

“Let the child go,” Lee Chang calls desperately, but at the same time, his hand closes over Yeong-shin’s wrist.

Yeong-shin does not say anything, but a small sigh escapes through his teeth.

Lee Chang continues to talk, his eyes trained on the baby in her arms. “He is an innocent child,” he says. “He has no part in our fight. Let him go.”

“You are truly a fool if you think your words can sway me,” she laughs coldly, and takes another step back. She is almost to the door at the back of the audience chamber. “The child’s life matters not to me. It is not even my child. And even if it were - ”

She never gets to finish her sentence, for at that moment, Yeong-shin’s sword slashes through the bindings holding the monster-who-was-king, and he gives a mighty shove to its back, throwing it halfway across the room towards the queen. Instantly, Lee Chang leaps forward. His blade sings as it leaves its sheath.

The queen shrieks as the monster descends on her. She makes a pass at its neck with her sword, but the blow glances off the many metal accessories adorning its clothes, and she howls in pain as she twists her wrist.

Lee Chang rips the baby from her hands and brings his sword down decisively on the monster’s neck. It severs his head, and both parts of its body fall onto the ground with a soft thud.

Blood drips from his sword and stains the pristine soles of the queen’s socks. She is covered in it, covered in the blood and offal of her former husband, and Lee Chang thinks it is poetic in a way.

The monster had bitten into her leg before he had managed to kill it, numerous large merciless bites which had torn flesh from her waif-like legs and left white bone gleaming in the muted lamplight. It will be a painful death, he knows, even if she is treated, for the wounds will fester and spread infection to the rest of her body. His hand tightens on the handle of his sword.

“This is the last favour I grant to you,” he says quietly. “On the basis that you once were my father’s bride, and once my supposed mother.” And he lifts his blade once more.

***

Later, days later, when the bodies have been disposed of and the surroundings thoroughly scrubbed over by the palace maids, Lee Chang stands before the throne.

“It is yours, Your Highness,” says the Minister of War, his voice respectful.

“Thank you,” Lee Chang answers, but still he hesitates.

Somehow he had always imagined that he would ascend to the throne in rather a different way. Had always thought that, when the time came for him to take his rightful seat, it would have been to fanfare and the enthusiastic cheers of his new subjects. But now – he stands only recently exonerated from murder, covered in the blood of his father and false-mother, and the deaths of a hundred others on his hands.

Then again – no one could have predicted this turn of events, could they?

He has never doubted that he would make a good king. Not until today, this moment in time. It is ironic, he supposes, that it was only in his overconfident youth that he had thought himself on top of the world, and now that he has been baptised through blood and fire, he has lost that confidence in himself.

Suddenly he feels warmth at his back, and Yeong-shin is there behind him. He does not say a word, and he does not touch Lee Chang, but his very presence calms him. Lee Chang turns, only slightly, so that he can see Yeong-shin’s face out of the corner of his eye.

Yeong-shin’s gaze is intent on his, and in his eyes there is only Lee Chang’s reflection.

“You give me courage,” Lee Chang says softly, so softly that none other but Yeong-shin would be able to hear. “You are willing to die for me, to follow me to the ends of the earth, and somehow that does not bring me fear – but courage.”

Yeong-shin’s eyes gentle infinitesimally, and the corner of his mouth tips upwards. It is the first time that Lee Chang has seen him smile.

He turns back to the throne, and squares his shoulders. It is his responsibility, his birth-right, and it is a role that he will not shirk – indeed, he will embrace it, as the duty he has dedicated his entire life towards fulfilling. And so he ascends the steps to the throne, and seats himself on the seat he has watched his father take, his entire life.

There is a heaviness that he had not realised his father carried, that descends upon him as he takes the throne. The weight of responsibility is a difficult one to bear indeed, he realises, as he looks out upon the assembled ministers, bowing and awaiting his next command. Yeong-shin, Mu-yeong and Seo-bi are the only ones still standing, for he has ordered them to refrain from kowtowing.

“Today, I take the throne as King Seonjo, from my father King Gongheon Heoneui Somun Gwangsuk Gyeonghyo the Great,” he says calmly. It is my honour to serve my people.”

“Long live the king,” the ministers chorus, and they bow, once, twice, thrice, four times. The sonorous, synchronous rustle of their clothes as they move echoes through the hall, and it is a solemn sound. Lee Chang inclines his head in acknowledgement of their gestures of fealty.

He is not properly king yet, he knows – that will have to wait for the official coronation, when he bids goodbye to his father’s tomb and makes his pledge to rule fairly and generously; but it is enough. Enough for him to begin to bring together the pieces of their broken country. Enough for him to thread his needle, and begin the arduous task of patching the seams back together.

The meeting passes quickly. First the Minister for Rites speaks of the need for a coronation, to unite the people behind the crowning of a new monarch and hopefully hide the disgraces of the Haewon Cho clan’s plots, behind a veneer of celebration. It is unanimously agreed upon that the event should be staged as soon as possible, to reduce potential uprisings in the absence of a king, and before rumours begin to spread about the happenings in the palace.

Then the Minister for Taxation raises the issue of the lost taxes from the south, given that their crops have been largely destroyed by rogue monsters from the plague trampling all over the fields, and livestock decimated by starving peasants. He openly suggests for taxes to be increased in the rest of the empire, to make up for lost income.

To that, Lee Chang does not even pay him the courtesy of his attention.

“Minister Han,” he says instead, coldly, icily, “taxes will not be raised, and that is the end of the matter.” He turns to the Minister for War.

“Minister Seong, we must send men to the south to eliminate the rest of the monsters, and safeguard what remaining food and resources the south has,” he continues. “How many men can we spare?”

Summarily dismissed, the Minister for Taxation shrinks into himself and withdraws. He will be someone to keep an eye on.

And so the meeting continues, in much the same manner. Many of Lord Cho’s cronies – and, indeed, many officials who had been loyal to his father as well – make frivolous suggestions about matters of little import, until Lee Chang feels like banging his head on the nearest pillar and committing suicide. Is this the glorious role he had envisioned himself taking on, his whole life? He had known kingship to be a tiresome job, oftentimes, from the strict words of his tutors, but in his memories his father had always ruled supreme over his officials.

It is only now that he realises that that control had been hard-won, and the officials’ respect well-earned.

It will be a long battle ahead of him, just to fight for recognition from the ministers, when most of them have not seen his achievements in the south, and think of him still as the spoiled man-child he had been when he had left Hanyang.

But, he thinks to himself, it is a battle that deserves fighting, and indeed, one he knows he will win.

The Minister for Rites steps forward, and prepares to raise one last issue. Lee Chang readies himself for another tedious spiel, possibly about building a statue of himself in the middle of Hanyang or remodelling the curtains in the East Wing of the palace or some other trivial matter like so, but he finds himself surprised.

“There is one last matter, Your Highness,” says the man gravely, with a facetious bow. “You must take a wife.”

Lee Chang turns his head, very slowly, and looks upon the Minister. He does not speak, and so the man takes it as his cue to continue.

“There must be a new heir to the throne, Your Highness. You are childless – if you don’t mind me saying – but the royal line must go on. May I offer – if my humble self could perhaps give a suggestion – I have a daughter, nine years your junior, and she is known to be one of the beauties of the capital. If Your Highness so pleases, it would be an honour to arrange a matchmaking session between your esteemed self and my humble daughter.”

“Your Highness!” calls another minister, and he comes forward with an equally pompous bow. “My daughter is twenty-two years this year, and therefore in the prime of her youth – it would be an honour for me to arrange the meeting between yourself and my humble daughter!”

“Your Highness - ”

“I do have an heir,” Lee Chang says quietly. Immediately, a wall of silence descends on the room, and the jaws of all the assembled officials drop. It would be a comical sight, if Lee Chang felt like laughing. But he does not.

Slowly, he rises from his seat, and surveys his audience.

“I have an heir,” he says again, solemnly. “It will be the child who was cruelly stolen from his mother’s breast by the former queen. The child has no mother, no father, and so I will take him to be mine.”

This decision he has made with no one else’s knowledge but Mu-yeong’s, and his wife’s. The boy will be in danger without his protection, for any former ally of the Haewon Cho clan could potentially use him to replace Lee Chang on the throne, by claiming his heritage as that of the queen’s. The proof they had provided of the queen’s misdeeds was, after all, largely circumstantial, and based mainly on the confessions derived from the residents of Naesonjae.

Furthermore, Lee Chang has vowed that never again will a clan other than the Lees control his kingdom. His father had eventually lost autonomy and his precious control over his power through his marriage to the Haewon Cho daughter. Marriage to a daughter from another powerful house is the last thing Lee Chang wants.

And so the three of them had agreed upon this plan. The child would never know who his true parents were, but Mu-yeong and his wife would care for the baby, and therefore be his family in all but name. In doing so, the child would have all the luxuries afforded to a prince of his station, and he would have a good life – far better than the one Mu-yeong and his wife could have given him, in their previous incarnations.

It is a good, solid plan. There are logical reasons behind it, and Lee Chang had deliberated extensively over it in the days leading up to today, before he had taken the throne. There is no reason why anyone would object.

Yet still he knows Yeong-shin will not agree to his plan, and therefore he had not asked him. Lee Chang knows this, sure as day, knows that his objection will be for the same reason why he had even thought of such an outlandish idea in the first place – for the real reason why he does not wish to marry.

He cannot stop himself from darting a glance towards Yeong-shin, to gauge his reaction, and indeed, it does not disappoint. There is a dark anger in Yeong-shin’s eyes, and a rosy flush suffusing his neck and cheeks. They will have words later, Lee Chang knows, but still, he will not change his mind – and he makes sure that the ministers realise this.

***

The outrage of the ministers when they had finally realised that Lee Chang would not budge on his decision is nothing compared to the fury of Yeong-shin, later when they are quietly in their quarters.

“What were you thinking?!” Yeong-shin cries. “Why would you decide such a thing?!” He paces up and down the room, agitation making his movements jerky and robbed of their usual grace. Lee Chang thinks of a tiger in a cage, champing at the bars of its prison, and yet unable to escape. Yeong-shin has a tiger living under his skin, and somehow, Lee Chang finds in himself the mad desire to unlock the cage and let the tiger free.

“Mu-yeong,” he says quietly, and the guard darts a worried glance over at him, from where he stands by the door, hand on the hilt of his sword, his body tense and ready for battle. “Please. Leave us alone.”

Mu-yeong opens his mouth to protest, but then he must see something in Lee Chang’s eyes, for he clamps his mouth shut. His eyes are burning with concern – not for Lee Chang’s life, for he knows Yeong-shin will not touch a hair on Lee Chang’s head – but for something else entirely. And it is that something else that makes him leave the room at last.

They are alone in the room, now, and the candle is burning low on its wick. The incense burner suffuses the room with a thick, heady fragrance, and perhaps it is its influence that is making Lee Chang giddy – or perhaps not. He does not know.

“Yeong-shin,” he murmurs, and Yeong-shin stops abruptly in his movements. He turns to look at Lee Chang over his shoulder, and there is a hunted gaze in his eyes.

“I do not understand,” he begins, his voice trembling with controlled rage, “why you would choose to do such a thing. You could have any woman, any person of honourable blood as your bride, and yet you throw it all away.”

“I have my reasons,” Lee Chang answers steadily. He explains his line of thinking, his discussions with Mu-yeong and his wife, but still Yeong-shin’s ferocity does not calm. His anger is like a hurricane, overwhelming in its intensity and frightening in its violence, but somehow, it cools and calms Lee Chang, like the storm-rain that washes through the streets after.

“There could have been other ways,” Yeong-shin says bitterly, casting his head away and breaking eye contact like he has been burned. “You could have taken a foreign bride, or one from one of the lesser houses. Instead, now you have sworn not to marry. I do not understand your thoughts. You are not telling me everything.”

“You are right,” Lee Chang hums in agreement. He steps closer, and Yeong-shin does not move. Now they are toe to toe, and Lee Chang no longer smells the fragrance of the incense burner; the only scent that fills his mind is the heady musk of Yeong-shin’s body.

Yeong-shin’s skin is scarred and rough under his hands as he lifts the fingers of his right hand to cradle Yeong-shin’s face. Yeong-shin lifts his face, and now the look in his eyes is plaintive, pleading.

“I will kiss you now,” Lee Chang whispers. “Tell me if you do not want it.”

Yeong-shin’s lips are chapped from the cold, but they part beautifully the movement Lee Chang kisses him. It is a soft, chaste kiss, quickly over, but still Lee Chang feels a warmth bloom in his chest, and sparks dance across his skin. It will leave a mark, he thinks dazedly; the place where Yeong-shin grips his elbow and burns through the thin fabric of his clothes.

Gently – although he feels something in his chest wither and die – he removes his hand from Yeong-shin’s cheek, and steps back. Yeong-shin’s arm falls and lays limply at his side.

He had been mistaken, Lee Chang realises. It was not under Yeong-shin’s skin that the tiger lay. Yeong-shin himself was the caged beast, the palace his cage, and in Lee Chang’s hands lay the key.

He finds that suddenly he must sit down.

Slowly, painfully, he makes his way to the window, and looks out. Snowflakes are falling on the courtyards of the palace, and people walking through the snow leave footprints in the whiteness that are quickly replaced by fresh snowfall. He wonders if his presence in Yeong-shin’s life will be just so – there for barely a second, and quickly erased.

The silence becomes too stifling, and he must break it. “I do not expect you to return my affections,” he manages, and he cannot look at Yeong-shin. He must make a tragic figure, he knows, with the candlelight too weak to illuminate his face, and the faint glow from the yard outside barely enough to highlight the lines of his profile.

But he would not have it any other way. If it is, truly, to be the last time he sees Yeong-shin, he would rather have his last memory of Lee Chang like so – as the man, not the king, and with all his barriers down. It is the last gift he can give to the man to whom he owes so much, and to whom he has unequivocally given his heart and soul.

At last, Yeong-shin speaks, and they are words Lee Chang has come to expect.

“I must think on it,” he says, and the emotion in his voice, Lee Chang cannot recognise. “You hold my respect, and where you command, I will gladly go. You are the only one I would so freely pledge my allegiance to.”

“But,” Lee Chang prompts softly, and he hears rather than sees the flush that rises again on Yeong-shin’s face, when next he speaks.

“But,” he repeats, “I have… I have never thought of you as anything more than my lord. I have never dared think of you as anything more. You are the prince – the king now, but you were the prince – and so it has never even crossed my mind to look upon you as something more.”

“You need not give me hope,” Lee Chang says, and he cannot stop a small wistful smile forming on his face. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” Yeong-shin says quietly. He leaves the room, and only then  - only then, does Lee Chang turn around. He burns the sight of Yeong-shin’s broad, upright back into his memory.

And then he looks back out the window, and sighs.

It is a new day, he thinks, as he watches the sun rise. A new day, and he is still alive, and that is all that matters, now.

[a-crimson-lion]

Parallels, Parallels, Parallels

[We got a double hitter, fellas. For the sake of courtesy, you may want to leave if you don't like Bakugo bashing. Just a fair warning.]

Part 1: Kacchan and Deku

Like it or not, Horikoshi made it his mission to make sure that his protagonist Izuku and Katsuki had heaps of parallels.

For the most part, it's really prominent.

Katsuki acts as a foil for Izuku. He was born with a powerful quirk, Izuku was quirkless. He's loudmouthed and abrasive, Izuku's softspoken and understanding. He has no inate will to help people by default, Izuku will leap to the defense of an innocent person before he can think. The list goes on.

The best way it's highlighted is during the U.A. Entrance Exam: Katsuki gets in on only Villain Points. Izuku gets in on only Rescue Points.

On another note, Izuku and Katsuki both represent various aspects of luck and work. All Might once said something along the lines of "There are those who gain power through luck, and those who work to earn power. Know the difference." This fits some of the more prominent characteristics of Izuku and Katsuki.

Katsuki's Explosion quirk is essentially a very big play of luck. That's not to say he doesn't work hard, but the work he does accomplish is more for maintaining his high position, and less about going further beyond. Izuku is different. Getting One for All was incredibly lucky, but the work Izuku had to put in to obtain and control the quirk was definitely not just luck. He cleaned and entire beach just to get the quirk, and as of now, he only recently learned to control 8% of OFA, as well as 20% in short bursts and 100% without reprocussions when a small child is connected to him and actively reversing the damage. And said small child's quirk is a freak mutation, so someone has to stop her quirk to make sure Izuku isn't erased from existance when he isn't actively on the bone hurting juice.

Which brings me to my next point: going beyond.

There are only three major instances where we see Katsuki seriously push his limits (no, Howitzer Impact doesn't count because:

It's a super move.

By itself, it doesn't really result in major reprocussions.)

The first time we ever see something close to Katsuki reaching his limit is during the infamous Katsuki vs Ochako fight at the Sports Festival. Katsuki manages to pull off a gigantic explosion seemingly out of his ass, defeating Ochako and her well thought out plan at the cost of his arms starting to experience strain. The second instance is during the final exams, where Katsuki is trying (and failing) to take down All Might, even blasting past his gauntlets' safety precautions and going so far as to try and bite All Might's hand when he's out of stamina. The third notable occasion is at I-Island, where he pushes past his already reached limits in order to help take down the powered up Wolfram.

With the potential exception of the third example, there's nothing all that special about him pushing past his limits.

His motivation is just that he wants to win, end of story. He wanted to beat Ochako? BOOM, big explosion. He wanted to beat All Might? BOOM, big explosions, but he still fails (remember that the only reason he passed is because Izuku is selfless and came back for his sorry behind). I-Island is more of the same, but in that instance he's working towards a team goal, AND he's rooting for All Might, so admittably the circumstances are different.

So how does Izuku going beyond differ from Katsuki?

Well, unlike most shonen anime, when Izuku goes beyond, there are actual consequences. Izuku tries to save Katsuki from the sludge villain? Izuku gets scolded for being reckless (even though the Pros were just standing there, using quirks as an excuse while Katsuki was going trigger happy trying to free himself, and yet he gets praise). Izuku saves Ochako from the Zero Pointer? He breaks his legs and an arm, though he thankfully avoids being turned into a bloody pulp. Izuku tries to save Shoto from himself? He ends up permanently disfiguring his hand after he decides to go all out against Shoto, and eventually gets the incentive to learn what would later become Full Cowl. He wants to save Kota from Muscular? He screws his arms up so bad that he can no longer use them at full power unless he wants them to stop working altogether. The thing about Izuku going beyond is, aside from gaining consequences, he also gains something from the experience.

He got All Might's attention during the Sludge Villain Incident. Ochako saved him after saving her from the Zero Pointer, allowing both of them to pass and eventually leading up to Ochako becoming a close friend of Izuku. Shoto accepted his fire side, and Izuku eventually learned Full Cowl in order to stop breaking his bones as frequently. Kota stops hating heroes, and Izuku eventually teaches himself Shoot Style.

What does Katsuki get from his experiences? "Be stronger."

Which is terrible advice for someone in his position; the proper advice would be to "Be smarter." He should have lost his fight with Ochako and realized that big explosions won't always fix his problems. He should have fought All Might and realized halfway that defeating him would have been impossible, and thus (even reluctantly) decide to cooperate with Izuku. The I-Island incident is the only exception I'll give him, simply because his reasons for going beyond were slightly more noble than normal. And before you bring up Katsuki's quirk's limitations, remember that we didn't see those again until he was fighting ALL MIGHT, WITH HIS GEAR ON. He would have been toast sooner if he didn't have his gauntlets.

But hey, that's my personal opinion. What do I know?

Part 2: King Explosion Murder and Endeavor

Stop me if you've heard this one before: If Izuku equals All Might, then Katsuki equals Endeavor.

Unfortunately, that comparison isn't too far off.

Both of them are egotistical manics looking to surpass All Might (and in Katsuki's case, also Izuku) with powerful quirks and prominent positions of power. They also both have a tendency to use people to meet their own ends. Katsuki didn't give a crap about his fellow teammates during the Cavalry Battle, going off on his own multiple times and not even bothering to recall their names. In the manga, Mina even stated that Katsuki only picked her to counter Shoto's ice when the Cavalry Battle is over, and its been stated that Eijiro only got aboard Katsuki's team because he brought up "taking down Midoriya." This sounds awfully similar to Endeavor (or Enji Todoroki) using his wife Rei in order to "create" a perfect heir (Shoto) in order to surpass All Might.

They're also both sore winners. Shoto lost to Katsuki in the final round of the Sports Festival, and Katsuki has to be chained up because he refuses to accept the victory. Meanwhile, later in the series, Endeavor rages when he's given the position of Number One Hero because he's seen All Might's true form, and suddenly everything he's worked for is for naught, at least in his eyes. Katsuki and Enjialso tendend to be assholes to certain people in particular. Katsuki was (and still is) an asshole to Izuku because he was quirkless and therefore useless (and maybe to some extent, Katsuki feared Izuku's innate heroic nature, so he tried knocking him down to avoid future competition, even if, by Katsuki's words, Izuku wouldn't be competition because he didn't even have a crappy quirk). Endeavor was an asshole to Shoto, sending him through brutal training that no four year old should be subjected to, isolating him from the rest of his family, and driving his mother to insanity, leading to his iconic burn mark on his left side.

What really gets me infuriated about the both of them is how Horikoshi tries to parallel them with actually decent human beings, usually through their redemption arcs.

Katsuki has been compared to Izuku by All Might himself, stating that the two of them are both sides to the same coin: the saving hero, and the winning hero. This comparison would be fair IF Izuku wasn't already learning to be a winning hero (and being a saving hero by default) while Katsuki has yet to show a desire to save beyond his desire to win.

Meanwhile, Endeavor gets parallels to Shoto. "Earlyroki," as Shoto was often referred to by his peers after he opened up, was an ironic reflection of his father, only relying on his ice power in a nearly condescending manner, and also adopting his father's lone wolf attitude. Then there's the whole deal with Endeavor getting a scar on his left side to match Shoto. There's no being subtle with the symbolism.

Although, and this is an unpopular opinion, I do like some aspects of Katsuki and Enji's redemption arcs. For Enji, we're shown that even if he's seemingly willing to change his ways, not every person has to accept his attempt at reconnection. A bad person can turn a new leaf and people are allowed to still not trust them. We don't see this in Katsuki's redemption arc, since everyone is somehow in unanimous agreement that Katsuki didn't do anything seriously wrong. Even though he did. And that's infuriating, specifically for me. What Katsuki's arc IS doing right, is that he actually has the potential to change. He may have abused Izuku for well over a decade, but he's still a kid; he still has time to change, and the changes are starting to form, however subtle they may be. I wish they were less flip floppy in progress and that people in the fandom and in the series weren't exaggerating it so much, but we can't have everything. At least he's better than episode one Katsuki by a notable margin. Meanwhile, Endeavor's been stuck in his ways since he married Rei. He can still change, but his habits will be harder to remove since he didn't learn early on enough that his actions weren't exactly moral.

Well, that's my two cents. If you read it, hope you enjoyed.

-Crimson Lion (13 August 2019)

[incorrectsdkquotes]

Happy 500 posts!

As promised, here’s the relatively short-ish fanfic I promised. It’s not my best since I’m used to 5000+ words in multi-chapter fics instead of 1,545 words in a one shot, but I think it’s okay. Written largely while listening to the Achievement Hunter song Good At Being Bad (this fits everyone so well, why didn’t I think of it before?)

Here’s the fic, enjoy! ^_^

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” Yuya sighed. She’d been talking to the police officer for the past twenty minutes and that was twenty minutes she could have used earning more money. Yeah, technically she was paid a flat wage per hour but as a waitress she made her tips by talking and interacting with people. It was annoying that she was missing that for something the officer knew she wasn’t going to help them with. “Sometimes they come in here, sometimes they don’t.” She leveled the officer with a Look. “Sometimes the police come in here, sometimes the Five Stars do. I just serve the customers.”

The officer frowned. “Well, if you see any member of the Four Emperors—any member—it’s your civic duty to inform the police. They’re wanted criminals, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the spiel,” Yuya said. Finally, the officer left. Yuya sighed and looked over her shoulder towards the counter with the register on it. “They’re gone, you can come out now.”

Like a clown car one by one the members of the infamous Four Emperors gang came out of hiding. Yuya was mostly just impressed that they’d managed to hide Bontenmaru’s large frame. And that the others had kept their bickering to a fairly quiet level this time.

“Thanks Yuya-chan,” Akari said with a wave of her hand. The other patrons of the restaurant were used to these antics by now. “You’re a life saver.”

Bontenmaru scratched his head and sat down heavily in his usual seat at their usual table. “The police seem…enthusiastic this time.”

Yuya’s eye twitched. Enthusiastic? That was one hell of an understatement. There’d been sirens sounding all over the city and there’d been at least two cop cars parked outside her restaurant for the past few hours. That wasn’t including any undercover vehicles that were surely around. “What did you do?!” she practically screeched. She really, really didn’t need this kind of police scrutiny in her life.

The one reason she tolerated Kyo and his stupid friends coming around instead of handing them over for any bounties was that she appreciated their ethics. By and large the Four Emperors and Kyo especially didn’t really have ‘ethics’ or ‘morals’ but there were some things they just didn’t do—they killed and stole but they never dragged in civilians or unrelated people into their stupid schemes. They’d kill rival gangs or anyone who challenged them with a laugh and a smile on their face but they at least had some restraint. Sort of. Kind of.

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, Yuya-san,” Akira said with a calm smile on his face. Yuya supposed he was trying to go for reassuring—considering she just spent the last twenty minutes getting chewed out by the police on the dangers of harboring known criminals she wasn’t feeling very reassured.

It didn’t help that through this whole exchange Hotaru had been carefully stroking a chinchilla he had for some reason. Like usual the man was off in his own head, his eyes only coming into focus to ask Yuya for a cup of tea. Like lemmings the others followed suit, pretending like this was just like any other day.

To them it probably was. Yuya, on the other hand, could feel her blood pressure rising.

“No one is getting anything until you tell me what happened!” she snapped. “And where the hell is Kyo in all this mess?”

The Four Emperors exchanged glances, shrugged, and began to explain.

~.~

The day started out pretty ordinary. A coffee run.

“Why are we getting coffee for your brother?” Akari griped, sighing heavily in boredom. She played idly on her phone while they waited in line at the local coffee shop. They were less likely to kick them out than one of the bigger named businesses and by now they knew the baristas by name.

Hotaru snorted and smirked. “I said Shinrei asked me to get coffee for the Five Stars. I didn’t say I was going to actually bring it to him.”

Bontenmaru raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t he give you the company card for the coffee?” His only answer was another smirk. He shrugged. “I’m fine with coffee paid for by the Mibu. They can certainly afford it.”

“I’m just surprised Shinrei actually thought you’d do what he asked,” Akira smirked, his hand like usual raised to his chin.

“He’s optimistic.”

~.~

Yuya gave them a flat look. “And where was Kyo?”

~.~

After grabbing coffee the Four made their way across the city towards their ‘hideout,’ an old arcade building that had been gutted out and filled with various odds and ends picked out at garage sales and the occasional curb drop.

Kyo was just waking up. Akira, who’d won the game of rock-paper-scissors for who could bring Kyo his coffee, swept over to the most revered man of the gang, and presented him with his straight black coffee.

“Courtesy of the Mibu,” Bontenmaru announced, waving the company card around in his hand. Kyo’s smirk is savage—like the others, he holds no particularly fond feelings for the Mibu. At the very least he enjoys inconveniencing them as much as the others do.

With nothing better to do that day and with a Mibu company credit card at their disposal they unanimously decide to see how far they can go before the thing’s finally cancelled. At about noon Hotaru received a phone call.

“I ask one thing of you. Just one thing.”

“Oh. Shinrei.” Hotaru answered like he doesn’t have caller ID.

“Why can’t you just do as you’re told?!”

“Because I don’t like you,” he answered, promptly hanging up the phone.

“Shinrei called,” he announced.

“So we gathered,” Bontenmaru said dryly. He turned to Kyo. “Well? What now?”

Kyo grinned. “Now we do what we want.”

~.~

Yuya groaned. She wasn’t sure what she expected, really.

“After that it got kind of…chaotic,” Akira said diplomatically.

A fire truck drove by outside, sirens blaring with an ambulance following shortly after.

“Clearly.”

~.~

As these things tend to do, news of the Four Emperors moving around the city spread quickly, attracting the kind of attention that they normally tried to avoid—or at the very least, not actively seek out.

“Come out, Emperors!” Bikara shouted from across the alley. “You have nowhere to run!”

“Who the fuck would be running from you?” Akari shouted back from behind cover. She and the others were sat leaning against a makeshift barricade of a rusted out old truck that Bon had managed to move around to fit all four of them. Kyo, having been called out by Nobunaga himself, had already moved on with his fight. His followers weren’t worried, though. Kyo wouldn’t lose against anyone.

“Should we just wait until Shindara gets here?” Akira asked, bored. This standoff would have been a lot more fun—or at least interesting—if anyone involved was actually interested in fighting seriously. As it was, there was just a lot of throwing around of insults, rocks, bottles, and anything else they could get their hands on. Makora had joined Bikara and it was unclear if he was trying to help the man or just annoy the Emperors. He, at least, had better aim than Bikara so there was at least that element of danger there. Other than that, this whole thing was boring. Santera had been taken out earlier by Akari telling her to go home and Basara was around somewhere which was annoying to deal with.

“Screw that,” Akari declared. “Hotaru, gimme one of your lighters.” Hotaru did so without complaint and instead seemed content with protecting the chinchilla in his arms from the occasional projectile from a hidden Basara. Akari lit the end of a piece of cloth she found and threw a Molotov cocktail over the truck towards Bikara. Like she thought Basara couldn’t help but attack the projectile, causing the bottle to break and fire to spread throughout the alley. “Let’s just go, Kyo’s not coming back and I don’t want to be here if Kyo’s not here.”

“I second that,” Akira agreed. Bontenmaru sighed and drug Hotaru to his feet so they could make their escape. Hotaru wouldn’t have left if he hadn’t, he didn’t have nearly the same concern about fire that everyone else had.

“Hotaru, where the hell did you get a chinchilla from?”

“What?”

~.~

Yuya sighed in despair. “Should I expect the Twelve Gods to come around, then? Is that what’s happening now?” She kind of wished Tora was around right now instead of off visiting family. He at least would have overreacted with her about this whole thing, even if he would have found it cool and probably would have wanted to join in on the chaos.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Akari dismissed easily.

“Considering the police presence outside I’d say they wouldn’t bother trying to show their faces around here,” Akira said.

Well, that was something.

The bell above the door rang as Shinrei burst through the door, throwing a look of barely concealed fury and irritation at the Emperors.

“You!” he shouted.

Yuya groaned. She just hoped they took this fight outside before any more of her patrons were scared off.

[hypomanicsatanicpanic]

you ever feel like a space that used to be a respite for you is now just...not? I don’t necessarily mean it’s not safe, just that going to a place which was once really productive and comfortable and energizing for you now feels stressful and uneasy? I (likely temporarily) stepped out of an organizing space that I’ve built up over the last year in order to deal with the intense workload around thesis/defense which is happening this upcoming Monday. Anyway, we started at three people and now we have a pretty robust core of about 20. What we’re trying to do is organize grad students into a union at the university where we all work, which is pretty fucking horrendous about how it treats us. This basically meant spending ~20hrs / week finding new students who wanted to organize, meeting with them, agitating, meeting with other unionizing grad students at other schools, managing personality conflicts in the group, etc as well as working on whatever campaigns/ social media stuff we were doing. All while doing grad school full time. It was energizing. We accomplished shit with only very few of us. While it’s explicitly in our bylaws that there is no “group leader,” a lot of things that would usually be directed to a president end up coming to me just because I’m the common person that everyone knows. Most folks in the group have zero other organizing experience; one has quite a lot, and two or three have basically been in the periphery of this one far left org (let’s call it WTF, for Women’s Task Force) in our very conservative small city. Most of us are quite left, though there are a decent number of centrists.   About WTF: basically there’s this one really...problematic? person who is employed by our university who leads WTF (which isn’t affiliated with the university). She, a white cis woman, collects people she can use as symbolic tokens (usually women of color, visibly disabled women, lesbians, and fat women) to use them in promo material, and get them to do errands for, and doesn’t help them gain more power or skills within the group. She consciously excludes transwomen and only allows AFAB nonbinary folxs, and not even those who have a more masc presentation much of the time. WTF is also massively outspoken about Palestine, which is usually a signal that a group may be pretty antiSemitic as well.  She uses her identity markers to shut down others who (legitimately) question her tactics.  WTF, in the 10ish years they’ve existed, has never made any actual policy or political changes in this town. They’ve never actually run a campaign. They basically just show up “in solidarity” with actions other people organize, and host fundraisers for themselves. So having to deal with them is pretty ick, because the people in that organization. WTF is basically bad news. The people from WTF--three women of color and two queer white women--are consistently bad about things which seem to be just fine for literally everyone else in the group. We understand that shit’s stressful as a grad student and that there are a lot of other things we could/ should all be doing in addition to organizing. But the few rules we have are freaking common sense/common courtesy, and not that hard to follow.  When people need to drop off the map for a while, they let others know that they’ll be out for a bit, and then get back in contact when their schedules free up again, so they can be caught up to speed at the next meeting. There’s also meeting notes which you can read to get back in the loop if you thought you’ve missed something: If you think you’re not going to be able to do something, you’re not supposed to commit to it.  If you can’t do something you committed to doing, give others a heads up so they can cover it. Last, since we’re trying to be a space that works for people across the political spectrum (not just like the total of 30 dedicated leftists here), we’re explicitly against callout culture. Meaning that if you have an issue with something someone says in meeting, you’re either supposed to hold it until the group evaluation (where there’s dedicated space for that), OR you’re supposed to have a conversation with the person about the situation, OR you’re supposed to talk to another neutral-party group member so they can have the conversation for you.  The WTF people have committed to following all of these rules and have been consistently bad at actually doing that, as per rules. They’ve consistently just not done the things they committed to, without actually telling anyone, leaving folks in the lurch. They consistently call people out in meetings in a way that alienates newcomers. They’ve consistently misgendered me, despite my asking them to not to, and speaking to them about it after meetings.   About five weeks ago, this started to become a really big problem as we planned a big public recruitment event. I had a few conversations with the people who’d primarily been affected by one of the WTF folks’ failure to follow through on commitments. They asked me to speak to her. So I took several days to plan and rehearse a conversation. She was extremely defensive (ok, that’s fine, whatever), and committed to a whole lot of other shit. My follow up with her was to meet on a regular basis, so we could check in and readjust. We met the week after that, shit seemed fine. The week after that, the day of the big event. she came to the 1:1 meeting we’d set up and basically yelled at me for an hour for promoting white supremacy in the group. I tried to ask her some questions but really it just was her telling me how I’m a white supremacist and by holding women of color accountable to rules which they too had voted for, in a UNANIMOUS VOTE, I’m promoting white supremacy. She suggested I go to WTF subgroup meetings called SURJ (showing up for racial justice), which is basically a reading circle for white people only to “deconstruct their complicitness in white supremacy.” One of my partners went once to learn more about antiblack racism, but was turned away because he’s South Asian, not white. So, nope. Not fucking happening--it’s a completely performative thing IMO. Also the WTF leader person consistently is there and I’m not comfortable around her. They are also definitely under the opinion that “Jews are white and benefit more from oppressing PoCs than other white people.” So not a good/safe place for me.  Maybe I wasn’t supposed to take it as a personal attack, but about halfway through the conversation she said it was specifically about me. So, yeah, a personal attack. She quit the organization and left, leaving us in the lurch for that night. The other thing that really bothered me about this conversation was that she was using her identity as a way to evade any and all accountability for repeatedly committing to things and disappearing. I would have been really happy to talk with her about how to make the space more accessible to her. In fact, we’d had multiple conversations about this. We’d implemented multiple things to help with the issues she’d mentioned...and she’d engaged with literally zero of them. Around that time, before the big event at a group meeting, another WTF member (also a WoC) was on the agenda to talk about “accountability.” Vague agendas are generally fine, so it was like, Of course! We should talk about that. That piece wasn’t really about accountability, it was literally just accusing the group of being a space for white supremacy, telling white people in the group to go to SURJ. Then she also left the group (though she waited until after the big event), though without the “Fuck y’all, I quit” meeting.  I’ve spoken to most other group members outside of WTF about this (both PoC and white folks), they agree that I’m not a white supremacist. Still, it’s probably a good idea to address the issue in more depth in the group. As a white person I really can’t say anything about how WTF members, unlike literally all other people in the group, were using callout culture and accusations of white supremacy to derail conversations, and to block any attempt at getting them to follow the same rules they not only expect others to follow but also that they themselves committed to following. We’ve had like 3 followup conversations in general meetings since then. So far, we’ve scared off 5 people that I’d recruited, as well as 3-4 others had recruited. Multiple opportunities to choose, plan, and launch campaigns have passed while we have these conversations. I can’t point any of this out because when I do, I’m just the white person who doesn’t want to talk about white supremacy.  Basically even though there are supportive people in the group that I absolutely love, I feel like the space has been emotionally polluted for me. I can’t deal with this fucking shit anymore, as much as I think unionizing is important to deal with the fucking bullshit from the university. This has become more of a stress for me than the shitty paychecks that come at unpredictable times; the shitty issues with my old PI/advisor; the really terrible benefits and leave policies; the expensive term fees.  I almost don’t want to go back. Is that terrible of me?

[metamercury]

see because that’s just the thing. As an author, here’s my take:

The fairly explicit tagging of fic is something we all kind of unanimously adopted when Ao3 provided us with the ability to (and maybe back in the lj days? I didn’t write then though). And we did it, mostly, so that people would read our fics because they would know what they’re getting. That’s why even with a tagging system as robust as Ao3′s that’s supposed to be sterile, you still have silly tags where the authors ramble. We’re just giving you more information of what’s in the fic so that you can decide if this is the good shit or not.  The built in addition of the archive warnings isn’t something I’ve ever thought that hard about. If there’s rape, i’ll tag for rape. If there’s gore, i’ll tag for gore. And if I’m in that kind of vague grey area where there’s definitely some unsavoury business but it doesn’t quite fall into those categories -- then I’ll go for choose not to use. It’s actually never out of laziness or malicious intent, despite what the eternal victims assume. 

But here’s the things also, I usually don’t tag for other people. I don’t really think about it. There’s some things I’ll do as a courtesy after the fact. But usually if I’m using tags like torture or abuse or cannibalism or whathaveyou, i’m doing it so that other people who are into what i’m into can find my fic. It just so happens that this is also a benefit for people who want to avoid them. 

And I wouldn’t really ask an author to do anything more than that. The major archive warnings are the only ones that you Have to have. Technically speaking, you could have a fic with dub-con, stockholm, and medical experimentation and choose “no archive warnings apply” because technically in such a case they do not. Most authors I know don’t do this though, they opt for “choose not to use” when their fics are outside the realm of the hard and fast big warnings. Given with rating of the fic, you should be able to figure out how Mature or Explicit things get. That’s right. That rating isn’t just for sex. 

And overall, my thought is this. When anti’s want us to label and tag every aspect of our fics, they’re asking for us to make our fics easier for them to find and corral. And call me a person who’s studied patterns of dehumanization, but that’s one of the first parts of it. Labelling. Then Explicit Labelling for identification. And what comes next? You start ordering us to put all the icky parts of our fics behind a readmore so that your poor innocent mind can read our work without being corrupted? So that you can take more and more from the creator, alienating the original work every step of the way? Or would you just opt for another strikethrough instead once you have everyone rounded up? This isn’t about “a vague warning isn’t a warning” (yes it is. a caution sign is a warning.) And this isn’t even about your inability to take responsibility for your own experiences online and in fandom. This is about your need for control over local homespun media.

That’s censorship Babey.

[soundofseventeen]

Seventeen When They Find Out You’re a Princess

Hey everybody! Bee here!! Here’s another edition of the drabbles, courtesy of @noona-clock for supplying! Thank you, as always! You can find their original idea here! And so I won’t keep you waiting, I present to you Hong Jisoo! This one may also be a little longer than the others, oops.

Joshua: Servant

“And where are you headed so early in the morning Highness?” The innocent question from the stagecoach nearly had you jumping out of your skin. Did they know? Of course not! Right?

“Oh, um...I got an invitation from Prince Jeonghan. He and Soonyoung are having their bimonthly croquet game and I was invited to attend.” Not a lie, but also not the whole truth. You stashed a few bottles of the boys’ favorite bubbly in case you might have needed it later. “Please tell Jihoon to meet us there too. I know they like hearing him play.”

“Yes Your Highness. Shall I send for Seokmin and Seungcheol as well?”

“Send one to me, and leave the other for Jihoon.”

“Who shall I leave?”

“The one that Jihoon most likely won’t murder...” And then unanimously, “Seungcheol.”

“Yes Your Highness,” he bowed. “Have a safe and wonderful trip.”

“Will do, thanks!”

*

Jihoon’s notes might’ve been high, your spirits higher, but the tension between the two princes playing on the grass were the highest you’ve seen. Despite the quiet needed, you could hear the profanities they were hurling at each other. You and Chan were used to it, but you still couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that your faithful boys could hear them. They wouldn’t care, obviously, but it was probably just a royalty thing.

“Man, Jeonghan hyung looks pissed,” Chan chuckled.

“Soonyoung wasn’t kidding when he said he was practicing.” Your raised your glass of bubbly in a toast. “To Jeonghan losing.”

The glasses clinked just as Soonyoung yelled, “I TOLD YOU I’D WIN.” followed by Jeonghan gracefully chasing him with his mallet and accusing him of cheating. Didn’t you just love being friends with someone who took losing so nicely?

“Should we call someone?”

“Nah, hyung wouldn’t hurt him on purpose. That and Soonyoung hyung owes me a horse from that bet we made.” Chan snickered as Jeonghan gave up and made his way to the table, letting the other prince live to see another day. Chan poured two more glasses which Soonyoung took happily and the other downed it pretty quickly.

“Aww hyung, don’t be a sore loser. It’s not everyday I kick your ass at this.” Soonyoung gave his famous smirk of a smile, very much like the one he had given you when you had met.

You raised your bubbly in agreement.“I’ll drink to that.” You loved Jeonghan, but you loved messing with him more. “Soonyoung, just for that, next time you show up to the castle, remind me to send you off with more of these bottles.”

“No respect in my home,” he grumbled. “What ever happened to that?”

“It’s a game,” Chan rolled his eyes. “You can always do a rematch. Good job hyung.”

“This is treason,” the eldest grumbled. “Even my own prince turned against me. I’ll have your heads for this.”

“You truly are something,” you shook your head. “Maybe I should stop visiting.”

“Oh please, you started visiting on your own accord and not because someone forced you to be social.”

“Maybe I had a change of heart.”

“Aww, did you finally decide to accept my marriage proposal?”

“The fact that you still have hope for that impresses me.”

“I’m nothing if not persistent.”

“Don’t you think she’d rather marry a winner?” Soonyoung butted in and Jeonghan sent him a glower that sent him into a giggling frenzy.

Well,” you stood up, “while you sulk in your loser-ness, I’ll be in the bathroom.”

“Of course you’re leaving so soon.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Every time you’ve come for a visit, you stay for a bit and then you disappear.”

“I stayed for two hours watching your stupid game.”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s it.”

“What is going on in your head Yoon Jeonghan? Never mind, I don’t wanna know. Seungcheol, Do you have my other dress?”

“Another dress? Aren’t you comfortable in that one? Why so interested in changing?”

“And you care why? I am a guest here. My actions should not be questioned Goblin.”

“Okay, okay, Y/N. Go on up and change. Just be back so I can take down Soonyoung this next round.”

“No promises.”

*

After quickly dressing into your comfy clothes, you took the liberty of roaming the Yoon palace until you found what, or rather, who you were looking for. “Good afternoon Joshua,” you greeted the servant who was currently balancing a tea set.

“Oh good afternoon, Y/N. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Always. Here, let me give you a hand with that. Are we taking it to anyone in particular?”

“Just back to the kitchen. The King and Queen had just finished their lunch and Prince Jeonghan did’t want to be bothered today since he had a rematch of some sort, so I’m keeping busy.”

“Anything I can help you with? The heat out there is getting pretty bad and I don’t wanna go back, at least not until it’s cooled down.”

“You’re always so kind, thank you.” His praise sent your cheeks aflame and he left you speechless, but he continued on. “Actually, I need to grab a few things from the cellar and I could use the company. Would you mind joining me?”

“Of course not!”

*

“Careful, careful. Watch your head there,” Joshua’s soft voice warned you. You felt him grab your hands as he gently guided down to the cellar.

“I feel like I should be the one telling you.” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you. Casual as his touch was, it left you giddy. Here you were alone with a boy you may have had a crush on, and it was going so smoothly.

“Nonsense, I know this place like the back of my hand-ouch.” He had bumped his head on something, but you couldn’t tell what from how dark it was.

“Are you okay?”

“Perfect; a little bump on the head never hurt anyone,” Though you couldn’t see it, he smiled at you and you could hear your heart thumping harder than the horses clobbering through the the stone paths. “Okay, let me just grab some things for the kitchen and for the maid and we’ll be out of here. Oh and I can’t forget the prince’s gloves or his shoes.”

“Why does Jeonghan keep his stuff down here?”

“I’d like to think it’s because he has no room in his room, but I think he enjoys giving me a hard time.”

“Yoon Jeonghan? Making people’s lives hard? I wouldn’t have believed it.” The sarcasm falling from your lips came naturally, but you couldn’t help it. You loved him, you really did; this was just part of the relationship and if Joshua noticed it, he didn’t comment on. 

You were aware that you were still holding hands even after you had left the cellar, and you also saw the lump on the boy’s forehead. “Uh Joshua?”

“Yes m’lady?”

“What exactly did you hit your head on?”

“It was probably something wooden. Why?”

“Well, you have a bump. So, let’s take you to the kitchen or somewhere so we can take care of that.”

“Okay. But I’m still holding your hand, you know, in case it still hurts.” He made the daring move to kiss your cheek just as-

“Well, well, well. Look at who we have here.”

“Your Highness,” Joshua immediately bowed and motioned for you to do the same, and almost panicked when you didn’t.

Busted. And by that devil like smile forming on his face, you knew he was up to no good. “Well, this explains so much,” he cackled.

“Your Highness?”

“Whoo, well this just made my day. And here I was thinking you had left and left poor Seokmin to go back home with Jihoon. And the dress Y/N, it finally makes sense.”

“Not right now Jeonghan. I’ll explain everything later.”

“Am I missing something?”

“Well, Y/N, do you wanna tell him or should I?”

“The bubbly has made you squirrel-ly Yoon,” you chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell Chan not to serve you anymore while I’m here.”

“Joshua, my most loyal servant...do you want to know a secret?”

“Jeonghan, unless you want me to send Jihoon over with a mallet, don’t tell him.”

“Your Highness, is everything okay?” Joshua stepped closer to the prince who was merely staring at you with an evil like glee. He took a whiff and furrowed his eyebrows. “You haven’t been drinking excessively.”

“Of course I haven’t! It’s too early for such a thing!”

“Then what is going on here? Am I missing something. Y/N?”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened. “Oh man; you’re on a first name basis with each other.”

“Shut it Goblin.”

He looked so amused; he just couldn’t let it go. “Joshua, Y/N here is really a princess and at this very moment, I have figured out why she’s been visiting and disappearing.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, I will end you,” you promised with your fakest smile and sugary voice. Why wasn’t there anything in your line of reach that you could throw?

“I’m sorry...did he just call you a princess?”

“At your service,” you curtsied sheepishly. “And you, I’ll teach you a lesson about not meddling in other people’s affairs.”

“Ohhh, this is rich though. Wait until the guys hear about this.”

Ignoring the prince, you explained what you could. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just that, I really really like you and I enjoyed having you around-“

“I sense a but here.”

“Jeonghan, get out of here you insufferable-“

“That better end nicely Your Highness,” he sneered.

You took one of the shoes Joshua was carrying and threw it at him. “Go away. I’ll deal with you later.”

“Have fun kids. Ow! Keep it up and I’ll make sure we go to war Princess Brat.”

“I look forward to it,” you winked. He left mumbling some more nonsense about no respect in his home and where he went wrong with his decisions. And now to to face the other one. “Hi.”

“H-hi. Oh man. What should I do now? Should I bow because I swear I-I didn’t have a clue about who you were-“

“That was kinda the plan, actually.”

“But… er, Y/N… really?!” he stared at you in amazement because you’d come to him in servant clothes. He shook his head, still in awe.

“I didn’t tell you because I was having fun with you the way we were.”

“You we’re having fun helping me do my duties?”

“The boys over there are fun, but they’re loud and I liked knowing that I could be myself without the other royals. I really am sorry.”

“I just...can’t believe it.” He laughed abruptly. “And to think, I was ordering you around! Oh my god! Please don’t tell Their Majesties and have them throw me in the dungeon.” As if that couldn’t be comical enough, he fell to his knees, clasping his hands.

“Joshua get up. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Y/N, I mean Your Highness, you’re the best.” Without thinking, he kissed the top of your head and skipped merrily away. “Aren’t you coming?”

You smiled to yourself. This boy really was something else.

[laconservancy]

First Baptist Church of Venice: Making a Path to Preservation An interview with Naomi Nightingale

Local advocates of First Baptist Church of Venice. Photo courtesy Mike Bravo

Interview by M. Rosalind Sagara

The First Baptist Church of Venice and adjacent parking lots located at 671-685 and 686-688 East Westminster Avenue are among the last remaining significant historic resources associated with the history and development of Oakwood, an early African American neighborhood in Los Angeles. These properties tell the story of pioneering African Americans who financed and built an important center of spiritual, cultural, and social life in Venice.

In 2018, the Cultural Heritage Commission denied the Historic-Cultural Monument nomination of the church property. The community persisted and with newfound support from Councilmember Mike Bonin, a new application for landmark designation was considered by the Cultural Heritage Commission on June 3, 2021. The Commission unanimously recommended listing and the nomination now heads to the City Council’s Planning and Land Use Management (PLUM) Committee and then to the City Council for final approval.

Naomi Nightingale, Venice resident, community organizer, and recent graduate of the Conservancy’s Community Leadership Boot Camp, helped gather new information for the nomination. In addition, she has had a front-row seat to the nearly four-year journey the community has been on to landmark the church property. Naomi spoke to Neighborhood Outreach Manager M. Rosalind Sagara in June about what she’s learned about the landmarking process and her community through her work on this preservation issue.

RS: When did you get involved in preserving the First Baptist Church of Venice?

NN: In 2017 when I saw Laddie Williams sitting in front of the church. I stopped and asked her why she was there. I learned the church had been sold and it shocked me. I also learned there were some people who were members of the church who had filed a lawsuit to prevent the sale and to keep the church, but they were not successful. The judge ruled that the sale of church was legitimate; the court would not rescind the sale. So, at that point, the community decided we were going to fight to preserve it. Then owner Jay Penske had filed a permit for an adaptive reuse with the intent of making the church his personal home and the community was affronted and appalled by that.

RS: How did you secure support for the nomination from the Council District and others?

NN: I think Councilmember Bonin saw that the community was adamant, that we were relentless, and that our efforts for the church were coming from a place of history, significance, bonding, and ties, for our grandparents and other people that we knew. While we are talking about the church, we’re seeing the erasure of our history through the destruction of buildings and the removal, or the exodus of people and families. I think he thought we were not going to go away. We pressed our Councilmember, “What support have you given us? What recognition and acknowledgement of the contributions and the culture of this [African American] community have you given us?” I think from that point forward, there was a shift. He saw us as a formidable force in reference to the church and what we said made sense in terms of the historical significance of the church and the community.

We felt that not only the Councilmember, but developers, and other people in other parts of the community didn’t have an understanding about what the church meant to the African American community. To them, it was like “What’s the big deal?” These were people who actually lived here in the community, Caucasian people, who may not have really paid attention, or had no connection with what was going on. The more that we were able to put the word out, spread the news so to speak, and engage people about what the church meant and who Arthur Reese was, the more we found support. There had not been a lot of information out there about him except for he was the guy who did the amusement parks, or was the guy who helped with the decorations, but being a homeowner, a land owner, civically engaged, that was not information about Reese that people knew.

RS: In your research for the nomination of the church was there a story that stood out to you?

NN: I was ecstatic to learn about the church’s architect George Williams. It seemed that so much hung on who the builder or architect of the church was. It seemed that because people were not able to name him previously, there was less importance or significance to the church because Paul Williams, the architect of the congregation’s previous church, was so huge. When I discovered information about George Williams from the AIA and newspaper clippings, that brought absolute joy to my heart!

RS: What has kept people motivated to stay involved over the years?

NN: The real desire to not allow our history to be erased. That was at the top of the list. To take the church away and to make it into someone’s personal living room, bedroom, or living quarters was just sacrilegious. We just could not allow that to happen. To lose the church would be to lose so much more in terms of our history, the personalities of our community, the hard work that we knew, the stories that were told about our family members who lived on that street, people who went to that church, and people that we still know today. To us, even though the church was sold it was still a living, breathing, important piece of our lives. And there just wasn’t the will to let it go.

RS: What activities did you organize to help keep people engaged?

NN: We met on those church steps every single Sunday for almost four years. We passed out fliers and engaged people as they passed by. We invited other people. We had radio and T.V. appearances. This was early on when we were going before the Westside Commission and I think I was asked at the time what will you do, what’s next? “We’re not giving up.” I was raised with the idea that if you had the fire in your spirit, that meant you were still supposed to go. As long as there is any spark of possibility, then you don’t accept no. I didn’t know just like a lot of us did not know what the outcome was going to be, what the next step was going to be, but we all knew that whatever it was going to be, we were not going to stop.

RS: Could you talk about how the Black Lives Matter Mural in front of the church came to be and how it’s related to the community’s effort to preserve the church?

NN: When we met with Councilmember Bonin, we said we needed to not only preserve the church, but we needed to also have an imprint within the Oakwood community that also acknowledged the significance of the community. And we thought the Black Lives Matter mural would do that. We had a big rally there following George Floyd’s death and we had probably at least 400 people, or more out there. We held a march and that raised the importance of the church to the community and to lots of other people, White, Black, Brown. Not just in the Venice community, or the Oakwood community, but from outside, people from the beach, from Santa Monica, students from USC, and other parts of the city. The church was on the map of the Oakwood community as being the first African American church in the community and its longevity was known, but it helped us get widespread acknowledgment. People from Alabama were writing and inviting me to other meetings about rural communities in the South! I was able to get information about how other people are going about trying to save or resurrect their communities.

RS: At the June 3rdCultural Heritage Commission meeting, Councilmember Bonin requested that the parking lots adjacent to the church and those across the street where the earlier church building had stood be included in the Historic-Cultural Monument nomination. Can you tell us more?

NN: The City staff findings recommended the church for designation, but the parking lots were excluded because they believed they had no significance to the structure itself. We were not in agreement with that recommendation. From the beginning, we wanted the lots to be included. I was prepared to make a case for including both the adjacent lots and those across the street on the day of the hearing. Arthur Reese owned the lot where the previous church stood. The land was deeded to him. He donated the lot to the church and was a deacon there. The church was built on the land. And then across the street, that used to be a boat yard. The community purchased that land, some of them giving up their deeds or monies to help build collateral for the purchase of the land, and then the church was built. So how anyone could say there’s no connection or historical significance? To me it’s just a land grab and we’re not going to accept that, and I told them why. The people that established the Oakwood community, that worked it, made it what it is, that gave to the land, that brought their families here, all of that is part of the richness of the Oakwood community and land is wealth. And, so as the erasure of the community continues it means that the wealth that was built here is also being erased. For the community, there was never a separation between the seven lots. We always spoke in terms of the seven lot ties to the church’s history.

RS: What’s next?

NN: I’m in the process of writing a plan for the future use of the church. I know the property is still owned by a private party, but I’m writing it anyway. It’s based on ideas that the community has talked about. I will present it to the community and we’ll see how it goes.

[livinginlandmarketing]

Like several issues before it, a new Temecula panel on diversity is prompting fierce debate.

Created in summer 2020, the Race, Equity, Diversity and Inclusion Commission consists of seven appointed residents who discuss these topics in the city. The panel, which began meeting in January, was blasted by many who spoke at the April 27 livestreamed Temecula City Council meeting. Some supported the commission, but others called it unnecessary, a waste of resources and argued the city already is diverse, equal and inclusive.

Black Lives Matter protesters raise their fists to support a speaker during a rally on the steps of Temecula City Hall in June. The Temecula City Council later created a commission to address diversity and inclusion in the city. Some now question the need for the commission. (File photo by Terry Pierson, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

“Do away with the expense of the commission and eliminate it,” resident Denise Taylor said. “The citizens of Temecula do not want this and did not vote for the commission.”

But others at the meeting, and in the community, defend the commission, calling it an opportunity to have more voices at the table.

Pastor Willie Oliver, president of the Southwest Riverside NAACP chapter, said Temecula has many “longtime residents who are blinded by racial inequalities.”

“Without the commission, minorities wouldn’t have a voice, or be recognized when it comes to city matters … someone who can speak for the people, that is the backbone,” Oliver said.

Commission members could not be reached for comment over the past week.

In summer, after calls for social justice reform and a Black Lives Matter protest on the steps of City Hall that drew hundreds, the council unanimously approved its Race, Equity, Diversity and Inclusion Initiative, which included creation of the panel. Members cannot create official policy, but the advisory group has met monthly to “review and make recommendations (to the council) on topics of diversity and inclusion within events, services, programs, policies and enhanced community relations,” according to Temecula’s website.

The renewed debate stemmed from recent controversy around newly-elected Councilmember Jessica Alexander, who became the subject of public backlash after her comments at an April 13 council meeting. Alexander said she “cannot” and “will not” wear a mask during the coronavirus pandemic, and compared her fight against wearing masks to the struggle of civil rights activist Rosa Parks. She made local and national headlines, including a segment that mocked her on “The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.”

Alexander on Tuesday, May 11, was scolded by a council colleague for her May 4 email in which she called the coronavirus the “China Virus.”

Alexander has not publicly addressed the Parks remark, but said after the email was discussed Tuesday that she was not racist. She has not responded to numerous requests for comment.

Alexander was not present at the voluntary diversity training for councilmembers on April 6, according to City Clerk Randi Johl. Temecula’s four other councilmembers attended. When asked, Johl did not explain Alexander’s absence, and the councilmember has not publicly addressed it.

Some residents found Alexander’s recent and past remarks to be racially insensitive and urged her to attend diversity training. They also demanded the training be mandatory for city councilmembers and staff, after this and a series of racially charged incidents in the city — including the 2016 fatal shooting of 18-year-old Black man Matthew Tucker, racist graffiti targeting a Black Temecula Valley High School student in November 2019, and the June 2020 incident in which Councilman and ex-Mayor James “Stew” Stewart stepped down after saying he accidentally dictated a contentious comment about minorities and police into an email.

Related links

Temecula councilmember compares fight against coronavirus mask rules to Rosa Parks’ struggle

Temecula City Council takes stand against racism

Temecula police’s 2016 fatal shooting of Black man stirs protesters years later

Residents defend, blast Temecula councilmember’s Rosa Parks remark — but she doesn’t address it

Stephen Colbert mocks Temecula councilmember’s Rosa Parks comments

‘Enough is enough,’ anti-masking councilwoman tells Temecula crowd

Temecula’s wannabe Rosa Parks is in the hot seat, not the bus seat

Compared to Riverside County as a whole, Temecula, a city of roughly 114,000, is less diverse, according to 2019 census data. About 52% of city residents are White, compared to 34% for the entire county, while Black residents make up 4.6% of Temecula residents. Countywide, Black residents account for 7.3% of the population.

Temecula also is more conservative politically. While Democrats make up a plurality of Riverside County registered voters, Republicans hold a 9-percentage-point edge in Temecula’s voter registration and Donald Trump won the city in 2016 and 2020. On May 1, conservatives gathered for a Freedom Rally at Temecula City Hall, at which Alexander spoke.

In a Zoom interview, Temecula resident and teacher Reynisha Day called the diversity panel a step toward inclusivity and safety.

“Temecula hasn’t always felt like the safest for people of color, she said by phone.  “You can feel the racism in the town. If you’re a person of color, you know that this is not new… I wouldn’t wear ‘Black Lives Matter’ in certain places, even though I believe it with my whole heart.”

Resident Tim McDonald agreed that the commission is necessary.

Temecula City Councilmember Jessica Alexander, left, is seen Saturday, May 1, 2021, at the Back to Freedom Rally with Bret Mileski, Ackland Media Frames founder and pastor, at Temecula City Hall. During an April 13 council meeting, Alexander compared her refusal to wear a mask with Rosa Parks’ refusal to give up her bus seat. (File photo by Cindy Yamanaka, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

“It’s clear that there is a certain vibe in this town, and a certain type of person that has felt comfortable here for far too long,” he said. “It has festered hate and nastiness, and makes (Temecula) not a safe place for a lot of my friends.”

Temecula councilmembers Zak Schwank, Stewart and Mayor Maryann Edwards did not respond to several requests for comment on the commission. Councilmember Matt Rahn did not comment.

At an April 27 livestreamed council meeting, Edwards reminded viewers that, despite opposition from residents, the commission — and the diversity trainings that followed — was unanimously approved by the council in July 2020.

“(It) doesn’t brainwash anyone,” Edwards said. “Its intent is to make us aware of how people feel, based on their past and history. At this point in time, we need to try and be kind, not look for the worst in people. This is not a race issue — it’s an inclusion initiative.”

According to a city report, the commission ensures that “important conversations and hard work around race, equity, diversity, and inclusion will continue well into the future in a sustainable and meaningful manner.” The interactive diversity trainings, led by the National League of Cities, were created in 2015 for local government officials in the wake of social unrest in Ferguson, Missouri.

Interest in the city’s race commission was massive.

Temecula has not had a larger number of applicants for any commission, City Clerk Johl said by email.

Sonia Perez, a business owner and ex-Temecula City Council candidate, said she has not seen or experienced racism in her town.

“To me, if you’re being hired to this (commission), then you can’t be neutral,” Perez said by phone. “For us to be divided into different races and colors, that’s just wrong — we all bleed red.”

The first Unity in the Community event was hosted by social justice group Temecula Unity in Temecula on June 17, 2020. From left are: Bryan Giardinelli, Riverside County Sheriff’s Deputy Tom McDonald, Julie Geary, Melissa Bahou, Travis Lyon, Ivory Tina Spann, Christen Alarcon, Gia Rueda, Ashley Clingingsmith, Jay Alarcon, Rainey Day, Temecula Councilmember James “Stew” Stewart, Murrieta Police Chief Tony Conrad, Lisa Stewart, Robert Bryant, Temecula Police Chief Zachary Hall and Brandon Mosely.(Courtesy of Julie Geary)

Meanwhile, Eva Smith wrote in her public comments to the council that, over the past two months she has “seen a lot of growth” in city leaders since the diversity initiative and commission was formed. Smith reminded the council that the city “made a commitment to raise awareness and educate themselves on the intersection of race, equity and systemic racism.”

Julie Geary, a founding member of the social justice group Temecula Unity, defended the panel’s diversity training as a valuable tool that should be taken by any public servant.

“A lot of people who were against the training never watched it,” Geary said. “It was not about White guilt. A lot of it was based on Temecula history, starting with the history of the indigenous peoples of the area, so it’s about learning history that was left out — that is American history.”

Day, also an active member of Temecula Unity, said the city council “looks a certain way.”

“They have not had the same lived experiences that is representative of all of Temecula,” Day said. “So we believe the (commission) gives a voice to those of us who don’t have voices, and helping councilmembers see things they would not have never seen.”

Staff writer Jeff Horseman contributed to this report.

DIVERSITY SESSION

What: Temecula’s Race, Equity, Diversity and Inclusion Commission meeting

When: Thursday, May 13, 6 p.m.

Details: The meeting will be livestreamed at: https://temeculaca.legistar.com/MeetingDetail.aspx?ID=859681&GUID=34800F9C-4FDA-4023-A217-10236E7A061D&Options=info|&Search=

Comment: Those wishing to make public comments to be read aloud during the meeting must email them to: erika.ramirez@temeculaca.gov.

-on May 12, 2021 at 11:26AM by Allyson Escobar

[pink-ink-goblin]

Mirror, Mirror Ch. 2

(I figured out that one of my huger mistakes in the first chapter was not actually stating who was being tormented. This should clear that up right quick. Also, a grand thank you to Mark for making it absolutely impossible to concentrate. There are flames everywhere and people are screaming, and I'm just staring a blank doc on my computer, watching the type line blink. Did you know it keeps perfect 4/4 time? No, this is not fine.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 3 

Chapter 2

Ethan remembered being the first to pound on Mark’s door that morning, just a few half asleep couple of knocks after Amy had commented how she hadn’t yet seen him downstairs. Strange, since he was usually the earliest riser, but not particularly concerning, so when he received no answer, he shrugged, assumed Mark was still sleeping, and made his way back down to have some instant breakfast. His stomach had been acting up since they got there and it was the most he found he could get down lately. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything.  

An hour later, however, found Amy pounding on the door loudly enough to be faintly heard downstairs. Ethan watched Kathryn get up and disappear first, and with a shared glance with Tyler, they both made their way up after, just in in time to see Amy let go of the handle of the still closed door.

Locked. None of them ever locked their doors.

After tugging and pulling and pounding and still receiving no kind of answer, they resolved to split up and search. Amy confirmed that she’d caught Mark sleepwalking once or twice, and it mixed awfully with his tendency to blindly flee half-asleep when his night terrors flared up badly enough, so it was easy to believe that if he wasn’t inside, he could have moved and passed out just about anywhere.

Ethan could sympathize. He was pretty sure he was tired enough to up and pass out just about anywhere too.

And after searching every nook and cranny - bathrooms, bedrooms, living room couches, pool chairs, the terrace outside, even the roof - they all slowly made their way back to the kitchen to discuss their options, only to find the man himself leaning casually against the sink, halfway into a bowl of cereal.

Chaos erupted immediately and reigned for a good minute or two, a cacophony of voices yelling irritable words of both concern and accusation before Mark himself managed to calm them down enough to speak. He had just been in his room. He had been sound asleep. He really didn’t hear a thing. Honest.

His arguments were naturally met with skepticism - after all, who could have slept through that racket? - but Mark seemed wholly convinced of his own words that it begrudgingly became accepted in the terms that they were all far too tired to argue and just wanted to let things go to get on with their respective days. It was unanimously agreed that they should take the day off to let feelings settle and tensions ease away, and Ethan found that the freedom was actually helping, if only a little.

Until now of course.

Ethan paused in the doorway, half hidden behind it as he watched Mark from where the man perched, fiddling with his guitar idly. He sat back with the large instrument resting against his chest, looking for all the world like he was simply relaxing while he practiced, but everything about it was wrong. The man’s gaze was far away, not even looking at the instrument as his fingers pulled harshly at the strings, the notes coming off in a terrible series of twanging sharp and flat sounds that sent the blue haired boy’s skin crawling.

It sent alarm bells buzzing in his mind, screaming that he should just walk away and leave him be, but Mark was his friend and if something was bothering him, surely he deserved to be heard out just as much as Mark listened to Ethan’s own problems. Even if the entire thing rubbed Ethan the wrong way.

“Mark?” Ethan called, wincing when hesitation wavered his voice as he stepped into the room fully; refusing to enter any further until prompted. Mark’s movements were lazy as he looked to Ethan, head turning just a bit too slowly as an overly calm smile spread across his features that would have certainly been welcome any other time. Now all it did was set Ethan’s teeth on edge.

“Hey Ethan,” Mark greeted, lying the guitar down in his lap. His voice was still the same at least, and Ethan took as much normalcy from that as he could. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…” Ethan hesitated, realizing there was no way he could casually slip into asking him about the entire thing, so he simply settled with being blunt. “Are you okay?”

This seemed to throw Mark, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as if either the concern or the meaning of the very words couldn’t be placed in his mind. He cocked his head ever so slightly, like a curious dog, and replied with an overly soft, “Of course.”

It was wrong, everything was wrong, everything FELT wrong, but why the heck did it feel so wrong? Ethan’s hands found themselves coming together against his chest, his nervous energy unable to be completely hidden anymore. Especially not when all instincts were screaming at him to leave. But he took a steadying breath and pressed on.

“Oh, it’s just that… y’know, this morning... I mean, it was so loud-”

“I told you guys, I was just sleeping.” Mark countered easily, and there was a spark of something behind his eyes that Ethan could only interpret as amusement at his concern. It sparked a small flame of irritation inside of him, especially as the man began to play again, exacerbating the feeling in those same terrible plucked notes.

“That’s the thing though,” Ethan pressed, swallowing his nervousness and embracing that little flame. “I mean, nobody could sleep through that. Nobody’s been able to sleep at all since we got here. And you never lock your door. And fucking look at you. The way you’ve been acting. You look like you’ve been possessed by a de-”

TWANG!

The loud sound echoed throughout the room, striking painfully against Ethan’s eardrums and making him jump back in fright. He watched Mark with wide eyes as the vibrating sound slowly faded back into the body of the guitar, the man’s face unnaturally neutral against Ethan’s surprise.

There was silence between them for a few moments after, long enough for Ethan to contemplate bolting, but too short for him to do so.

“Ethan,” The name came ever so gently and with such a bizarre sense of paternalism that Ethan couldn’t help but listen. As Mark set the guitar aside to stand, he spoke Ethan’s name a few more times like a parent chiding a child for being silly. His tone was strangely melodic and, for some reason, Ethan actually found himself calming a little. “What can I do to prove it to you? Would you like to see it from my side?”

Ethan blinked at this, shaking his head a little to refocus. What had they been talking about again? Oh, right. “O-oh. No. No - y’know what? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come at you like that. I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Mark replied laconically, the smile that had bothered Ethan earlier now seemed to fit just a little bit better than before. Maybe he had been worried for nothing. Maybe Mark was suffering from everything just as much as Ethan and couldn’t help being a little odd. Lord knew Ethan had been off his own game lately too.

He watched as Mark insistently moved past him, stopping in the doorway to wait for Ethan to follow. His stance was a little overly lax, but it really only added to the casual aura he was giving off. But there was still something stirring in the back of Ethan’s mind, something that had been stifled, but still managed to let out one single peep of warning.

Ethan put his hands into his pockets, looking away embarrassedly. “You really don’t have to. I didn’t mean it.”

“Of course you did,” Mark countered, but his words weren’t bitter. “Those words had to come from someplace, and honestly I’m appreciative of the concern. At least let me return the favor by assuaging yours.”

Ethan hesitated and he wasn’t sure why. What was he fighting with? He was getting the outcome he wanted, wasn’t he? His stomach was starting to hurt again.

After a moment longer, Ethan looked up at Mark just in time to see him turn away. There was that something in Mark’s eyes again that this time he found he couldn’t place, but instead of taking the time to wonder, he found himself unwittingly trotting to catch up.

The mansion was a maze of grand halls and narrow stairs that Ethan had had difficulty keeping track of since day one, but Mark was navigating with such ease it was almost like he had been living there his whole life. The man’s movements were smooth, almost like a dance and Ethan found himself getting lost in it all until, before he knew it, he was standing in front of the damning door. The same one that he was slowly finding more blame for the current situation than of Mark himself.

Mark stood off to the left of it, holding the door open in mock courtesy, making a light bowing gesture with his hand to let Ethan know to go ahead. And yet, there it was again, that little noise in the back of his brain that had him hesitating once more. Why was it getting so quiet and easy to ignore? He let out a soft breath that was almost a sigh.

“Are you sure?” Ethan asked, feeling like this was somehow a betrayal of trust more than a simple demonstration. Or something else, his brain supplied, but it went unheard.

“Ethan,” There was his name again, spoken in that playfully chiding tone, and it left a swirling, minty hole in the bottom of his stomach. “It’s just a door.”

“I know, I know, but I mean, I didn’t want to come across as like ignoring your side of the story or something, and I really didn’t mean for it to go this far and just everything is so-”

“Ethan.” The playful tone was gone, the command behind it shocking him into silence. He felt there was more to that word, like it hadn’t only been spoken by Mark, and something in the back of his mind screamed at him to run, but before he could even begin to make a decision, Mark pushed him in and tugged the heavy wooden door shut.

There was a moment where Ethan wanted to panic, his throat tightening as it geared up to start yelling, but he took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. This was what he wanted right? If Mark was willing to give him a demonstration, he ought to accept what he should have known the outcome would be.

So he waited.

And he waited.

And he waited a little more, before finally giving a few little taps of his own. Nothing responded, neither voice nor wooden noise, and he felt a strange uneasiness starting to fill the pit in his aching stomach. Maybe Mark was right?

“Are you even knocking on the door?” Ethan called, reaching out to open the door to speak to Mark face to face only to find that the handle would only turn so far. Confused, he tried again, only to be met with the same result. Locked? Impossible, he was on the inside. He fiddled with the latch on the door and found that it twisted in a complete circle without catching.

It wasn’t locked, it was broken.

“Mark? Hey, I think…” He trailed off when it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t just a coincidence or accident. “Mark, open the door! Mark!”

He slammed a fist against the wood and drew it back in pain. That door really was sturdy. As he was jiggling the handle some more, he heard it. A knock, or a series of.

Knock, knock, knock.

One, two, three. It was a pattern, looping in rapid threes.

Knock, knock, knock.

He stilled in confusion. He could hear that despite how gentle it sounded. Did that mean Mark hadn’t been lying? No, he listened closer, and realized with slowly dawning horror that the knocking wasn’t coming from the door in front of him.

He turned partially to look behind himself and was met with the closet door, open just a hair, and definitely the source of the noise that grew just a little bit louder when his attention shifted.

“Tyler?” He asked warily, hoping beyond hope that it was a terribly timed prank. He couldn’t see anything through that crack to tell for sure, but he got terrible, hair-raising feeling that whatever lurked in that closet definitely wasn’t one of his friends. After another series of knocks, he found himself pounding on the bedroom door with increasing urgency.

“Mark please!” He pleaded, tugging at the handle and kicking the bottom of the door in desperation.

A creak. Soft and slow, the groaning scream of hinges warning of impending doom. Ethan turned to face it, back pressed into the door as hard as he could manage, as though he could somehow phase his way through by pushing hard enough.

The door was slowly swinging open, but as it yawned wider, there was no hand on the inside that could be pushing it. Darkness licked at the edges, further out than the cast light should allow.

His breaths turned into quick and rapid hyperventilating, unable to look away as he scanned the same area over and over for the monster he knew was there. But he couldn’t see anything except the blackness inside, swirling and flowing like wind-caressed water.

He was frozen, fear paralyzing him, unable to do a thing as the lights in the room began to dim; even the sun that still gave a dull glow through the drawn curtains seeming to fade. The darkness began to seep out, spreading like spilled liquid, but it was slow and methodic.

And heading straight for him.

He had no where he could run. No where he could hide. He gave one last futile  pound on the door before, with the lightning quickness of a striking snake, the darkness grabbed his legs and pulled him down.

He screamed, calling for someone, anyone, everyone’s names in desperation, even that of the man who pushed him into this trap; but it was all for naught as the darkness, in one last act of sentient cruelty, paused in its pulling to allow for the begging, and struggling, and clawing until Ethan’s voice was hoarse from effort.

That was when, in a blink, it dragged him in, the door slamming closed behind them, leaving Ethan’s scream to fade like an echo in a cave...

Until silence settled in once more.

Three left...

[singingwordwright]

Gorgeous cover art courtesy of @beyondthehunt Originally betaed by @roseglass with some final (eventual) copy-editing by @bonibaru

A Separate Peace (sequel to One Easy Answer) a Malec AU by @maleccrazedauthor

(Also on AO3)

Chapters: 22/28 Word Count: 104,900 Rating: Mature Premise: Arranged Marriage AU, Canon Divergent starting at Ep 1x12

(Please See Chapter List for Notes and Summary)

Magnus had only the vaguest recollection of Cleophas Graymark. He could picture her beside a much younger Lucian in one of his encounters with the Circle twenty years ago, resolute even as he wavered.

This older Cleophas who stood before them now had the fierce poise of the Iron Sisters. Her face gave the impression of wisdom, guilt, and sorrow all in equal measure, and her bearing yielded no notice of the runed manacles on her wrists.

“Valentine lives,” she announced without preamble.

Magnus closed his eyes and sighed. “He escaped Dot’s trap?” he asked, just because he’d hoped so hard that Dot would triumph this one final time.

“Barely. He’s badly injured, and he would have died, if not for his son. Jonathan’s demonic nature made him partially immune to the vapor Dorothea unleashed. He was able to get Valentine out in time. The rest of Valentine’s people are dead.”

Raphael tapped his fingers on the conference table. “You saw this?”

Cleophas nodded once, a regal dip of her head. “I did. After Dorothea gave me the means to free myself, I did as she requested and inscribed locking runes on all the doors and windows. It took me long enough that I didn’t have a chance to get away before I heard Jonathan ramming down one of the doors. I went up to the roof to avoid being seen, and listened to their conversation.”

“What did they say?” Alec asked, his face stony. From the unwavering attention he paid to Cleophas, one might have thought him simply absorbed in what she was reporting, but the slight angling of his body and head away from Magnus seemed to speak volumes.

“Since Valentine’s escape from the Gard, he has been focused on trying to force me to repair the Soul Sword. The rune Clary used to deactivate it destroyed the properties that enabled it to be used as a weapon of mass destruction against the Downworld. It can never be turned to such purpose again.” A silent ripple of relief passed through the Council chamber. “Valentine’s next plan was to amass a new army of Shadowhunters to take on the Clave directly, but finding candidates that can survive Ascension by drinking from the Mortal Cup has taken too long. And thanks to Dorothea, the followers he had managed to pull together thus far are now dead.”

Cleophas bowed her head. “But when Jonathan pointed that out, Valentine said, ‘I don’t need an army. I just need an angel.’”

“So he is planning to summon Raziel,” Inquisitor Herondale murmured. “Does he know where the Mirror is, after all?”

“No. Valentine asked me once what I knew about the Mirror, while I was under the effects of his mind-control serum. I told him what everyone knows: that its location has been lost to the Clave, and that few believe it even exists any longer.”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “That only passes for an answer if you’re a Seelie.”

Cleophas gave them the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smile. “I am an Iron Sister. Valentine’s serum never worked as well on me as I let him believe it did. I could not lie to him, so I told him nothing less than the truth. However, I also told him nothing more.”

Alec leaned forward, folding his hands together on the table. “You know where it is.”

“The Fair Folk call it the Mirror of Dreams,” Cleophas announced. “We’ve become too literal to imagine the Mirror might not be something we can hold and possess. The Mirror is the waters Raziel first rose from when summoned by Jonathan Shadowhunter.”

“Lake Lyn,” Jace murmured, awe softening his voice. “It’s been under our noses for centuries and no one knew it.”

Cleophas tipped her head in a slight shrug. “The Clave’s ignorance was deliberately fostered by the early Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters. Summoning Raziel again was meant to be a step taken only in dire need. It is a dangerous undertaking, and we Nephilim would do well not to court the wrath of the Angel.”

“We need to get guards on the lake,” Alec said to the Inquisitor. “If Valentine doesn’t know what the Mirror is yet, he’ll be hell-bent on finding out.”

She nodded, pushing back from the conference table. “I’ll return to Alicante immediately and inform the Consul.”

“Is that such a good idea?” Jace asked, frowning. “If Valentine has any more operatives inside the Clave…”

Herondale laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll meet with Malachi personally to arrange the transfer of guards to the shores of the lake. No one else will be informed why.”

She gestured to her guards to bring Cleophas, and Luke shot to his feet, holding out a hand to stop her. “Cleo—”

“I murdered Magdalena, Lucian,” she said serenely. “I betrayed my oaths as an Iron Sister. I will accept my punishment.”

He bowed his head but said nothing more. Though there was no question of Cleophas’s guilt, in that moment it was difficult not to let Luke’s loss stoke the smoldering embers of Magnus’s resentment of the Clave.

Once Herondale and her people were gone, Raphael said, “I’m not reassured by the Inquisitor’s confidence that this information about Lake Lyn won’t go any further than the Consul’s office.”

The resounding unanimity with which that sentiment was met would have been hilarious, had it not highlighted precisely how precarious the whole situation was.

“Agreed,” Alec said grimly. He looked at each of them one by one, finally stopping with Jace. “Until Valentine is captured or killed, I think we need to consider anyone within the Clave a potential leak. Even the Consul and Inquisitor,” he added with an apologetic look at Jace.

“Then we need more guards on that lake.” Luke drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I used to run with the Brocelind pack, when I was first Turned. They’re feral, so they’re as disconnected from shadow world politics as anyone can get without being mundane. But they know about Valentine and the threat he poses to all of us.”

“You think they’ll be willing to patrol the lake?” Alec asked skeptically.

“Worst they can do is refuse. I’ll send Maia to negotiate with them, if you can get her permission to enter Idris.”

“What?” Maia stared at him incredulously. “I’ve never been to Idris!”

“I’d go myself, but I’m going to be needed here, searching for Valentine,” Luke said.

“I’ll portal with you,” Jace volunteered. “I’ll get you started in the right direction to the forest, then return.”

Luke gave him a nod of gratitude. “Once you hit the forest, follow your nose and the howls. You’ll find the pack.”

“I’ll work on getting approval for the portal,” Alec said. “Best option, though, is to stop Jonathan and Valentine from getting that far.”

“I’ll pull together the local warlocks. We may be able to put up wards to prevent them from leaving the city,” Magnus offered. “It will make portaling out of New York impossible for any Shadowhunter, however, so if Maia and Jace are going to Idris, they need to do it sooner rather than later.”

Alec nodded an acknowledgment, his gaze passing right by Magnus without even stopping. Which hurt more than Magnus cared to acknowledge right now.

“Until the sun goes down, I’ll get my people searching the underground tunnels and sewers,” Raphael offered.

“Thank you,” Alec murmured. They all rose, and Magnus couldn’t help but be impressed with the ease with which they had all integrated their efforts.

They were all working together, these disparate groups, some of whom had hated each other for centuries. It was a testament to Alec’s effort and approach that he hadn’t attempted to issue a single order to any of the Downworlders present. He’d simply identified the problems and made a space where contributing to the solution felt more important than whatever differences lay between them all.

A wave of love so powerful it nearly buckled Magnus’s knees surged through him. He reached for Alec’s arm as everyone began to file out of the room. Alec stopped, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed ahead of him rather than turning to Magnus.

“Alexander. I can’t apologize for what Dot and I did. I had to honor her choice, and if I had to do it over, I’d make the same decision. But I’m deeply sorry that I hurt you.”

“We can’t do this right now, Magnus,” Alec said, a soft edge of desperate pleading to his tone.

“I know. Just promise me that when we get a moment—”

“Why?” Alec finally turned his wounded gaze to Magnus. “Look, I don’t blame you for not trusting Shadowhunters. You’ve got centuries of history with the Clave that I can never grasp, I know. And I’m not going to argue that I should be some special exception to the rule, because the fact is that less than a year ago, I sounded just like the Inquisitor every time I opened my mouth about Downworlders. But I am trying, and I’m going to keep trying, whether or not you and I are together. So don’t—don’t take this as an ultimatum, because it’s not. I’m just saying—I don’t know if I can be married to someone who truly believes he can never trust me.”

“Not never. Alec—” The ache of knowing he might have broken this new, blossoming, fragile thing between them forever was more than Magnus could handle now. He let his hand fall away from Alec’s arm and stepped back. “I don’t think this is a good day for either of us to make any lasting resolutions. Please don’t—don’t give up on us before we’ve had a chance to really talk.”

“Right.” Alec grimaced and looked away. Magnus would have given anything to see the conviction that so often lit Alec’s eyes, but they were just hollow. “We’ll talk.”

He walked away without meeting Magnus’s eyes again.

“What have you found?” Alec demanded, refusing to look back even though he could sense Magnus walking in the other direction, walking away from Alec and out of the Institute. He had to put Magnus out of his mind for now.

“Just this.” Izzy held out a book, her lips pale and pressed into a tense line.

“The Art of War,” Alec said, glancing at the cover. “I’ve seen Aldertree reading this.”

“It’s the only thing that offers a tracking signature, but he’s blocking,” she explained. “I’m guessing everything else we have in storage belonged to the real Victor Aldertree, who’s probably dead.”

“That wasn’t on the recommended reading list when I was growing up,” Jace remarked, folding his arms over his chest. “Valentine was never a big fan of eastern philosophy. He preferred the Greeks and Romans.”

Alec frowned. “So why this book?”

“It’s the book Izzy quoted from to tell me how to get around Aldertree when he first arrived,” Clary said. “We talked about it right under his nose.”

“Apparently he was paying closer attention that we thought.” Izzy closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “To know your enemy, you must become your enemy. Everything about Sebastian was tailored for us to find him as relatable as possible. We took him right in.”

“We can all beat ourselves up over that later,” Alec said, pointing at the book. “That particular weapon fits both hands. We’re learning what his fixations are; now we need to figure out how to turn them against him. Keep that in mind, if the opportunity arises. For now, get out there and check the address Jonathan gave us when he first arrived. With any luck, it’s not fake. And be cautious. Valentine is injured, but that’s only going to make him more desperate and dangerous.”

“We’re on it,” Jace acknowledged, and turned to find Izzy was already halfway out the door, her stride quick and purposeful. “Some of us faster than others.”

Alec wished he could be out there with them. Instead, he hunched over the map of the city and watched his mother arming herself.

“You’re heading out with the werewolves?” he asked after a moment, approaching the weapons rack. She had a seraph dagger strapped to her thigh, a broadsword down her back, and a crossbow in her hands. Her hair was scraped back in a severe bun, her face devoid of makeup.

“I’m sure they’re only tolerating me because Lucian spoke on my behalf. Still, apprehending your father is the least I can do,” she said grimly.

Alec nodded, watching her inspect the crossbow meticulously. “Look, Mom…you realize he couldn’t have known what would happen to Max, right? That was Jonathan’s doing.”

“If he hadn’t helped orchestrate Valentine’s escape, Max might still be with us now.” She met his gaze with flinty eyes and a clenched jaw. “But you’re right. He couldn’t have known. Which is why, despite everything, I merely intend to apprehend him.”

“Understood.” Alec stepped back and nodded. “Good hunting.”

She met his nod with her own and strode to the door where Luke awaited. Then she turned back, her spine rigid and her chin held high. “Alec. When you find Valentine’s son, you make him pay. For all of us.”

After everything that had happened since yesterday, Izzy didn’t think anything else could give her pause, but somehow the sight of Sebastian—the real Sebastian—Verlac’s ravaged body did so.

It wasn’t the death that got to her. It was the desecration. Letting a demon possess the body, leaving it behind like a booby trap. It was obscene. Sebastian Verlac had been a Shadowhunter once, and a good one from what Aline had told Alec. He hadn’t deserved this.

“Ave atque vale,” Jace said softly.

Izzy closed her eyes and let herself be comforted by the familiar ritual. It wasn’t a religious observance, but it was still deeply grounding, a call-and-response so traditional that it pulled to something deep inside her, brought her back to who she was. She hadn’t managed to say those words yet for Max, couldn’t bear to bring herself to bid him farewell, but she could do it here.

“Hail and farewell,” she whispered devoutly, dimly aware of Clary echoing her.

After that, they turned their attention to searching through the meagre belongings in the dingy studio apartment.

“Do you think any of this stuff belonged to Jonathan?” Clary asked.

Izzy rifled through the closet, past the nondescript, oversized sweaters that had given Jonathan such a disarmingly humble look. “I doubt it.”

“He was trained by Valentine,” Jace added with a shake of his head. “He knows better than to leave anything behind, even if he is blocking tracking.”

Yet they continued searching. As she handled everything she could hold to see if it would offer a tracking signature, she wondered about this man they were hunting now, the utterly amoral killer described in Valentine’s journals, the hideous monstrosity Clary and Jace had encountered the night before.

To know your enemy, you must become your enemy.

Who was Jonathan Morgenstern? And how true had his recounting of ‘Sebastian’s’ history been? Fairly, no doubt, because the best lies were always buried in a field of truth. They’d never really know exactly how all the pieces fit together, but Izzy thought she had a good idea.

Most likely, the real Aldertree actually had gotten the real Sebastian addicted to yin fen to further his own political ambitions, and then tried to kill Sebastian to hide the evidence. Had Sebastian Verlac ever recovered? They’d never know, would they?

Victor Aldertree, bigot that he was, probably had tried to ally himself with Valentine; his torture of Raphael and efforts to estrange their Downworld allies reeked of Valentine’s schemes.

But during Valentine’s attack on the City of Bones—or perhaps even earlier than that—Jonathan Morgenstern had killed Aldertree and taken his identity, as well as borrowing a few tricks from his book. From that vantage, he’d have access to the Clave and he’d be close enough to keep an eye on his sister. He’d also have enough authority to nullify the resistance of the family who had run the Institute before him.

It hadn’t worked out the way he’d intended, though; he’d fractured the Lightwoods’ unified front but not shattered it, and he’d never managed to make the connection he sought with Clary. So he’d ditched his stolen identity in favor of Aldertree’s only surviving victim, and tried again. He’d accurately assessed that the Lightwoods wouldn’t yield before heavy-handed authority. No, their weakness was their willingness to take in the lost and wounded.

“This is useless,” Clary declared, slamming a dresser drawer shut. “Jace, it’s time for Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?” Izzy glanced back and forth between them, Clary at one end of the apartment with her stubborn face on, and Jace at the other end looking skeptical.

“Clary thinks she can use her Morgenstern blood to track Jonathan,” Jace said, shaking his head. He led the way out the door, giving Sebastian Verlac’s body one last look. They had no way to take the remains back to the Institute with them now; they would have to call the Silent Brothers to come collect them. “Problem is, she can’t track worth a damn.”

Clary gave him a narrow look as she followed him down the stairs, and Jace shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“It really is,” Izzy agreed.

Clary rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, fine. It is. Which is why I need Jace.”

“So, he’ll use your blood to track Jonathan.” Izzy asked as they filed through the door and out onto the street. “It’s a long shot.”

“I wasn’t thinking he’d use my blood so much as he’d use…me. Or, we would. We know he can sort of channel his rune abilities into me, if we’re close to each other—”

“Wait, what? Since—how—?” Clary and Jace exchanged a look and Izzy quickly shut her mouth. “Ah. That’s how. So…?”

“So, Jace could use his tracking skills to enhance mine. Sort of like parabatai tracking, but calling on the angel-blood connection,” Clary explained.

“I don’t really buy it.” Jace shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe it we were still—together like that—but not now.”

“What, it requires sex?” Izzy asked in confusion.

“No,” Clary said decisively, overriding Jace’s much less emphatic, “Maybe.”

“We discovered it when we were having sex,” Clary continued, ignoring him. “But we’ve done it under other circumstances since then. Jace healed me by activating his own iratze when I took a bad fall during training a couple months back.”

“Yeah, but we were still together,” Jace said. “We’re not anymore.”

“Wait.” Izzy held up a hand. “Clary may be onto something.”

Jace shot an irritated glance her way. “Seriously, Iz?”

“Hear me out. Clary isn’t wrong, comparing it to the parabatai bond. It’s not the same, but this connection the two of you share is angelic in nature. And angels don’t necessarily…commune…with each other the way we do,” she said, looking back and forth between them. “The reason your relationship didn’t work is because you were trying to force that connection into a human template. Some context you could comprehend; romantic, sexual, fraternal, whatever. But it’s not any of those things. It’s beyond that. Just because it requires physical and emotional closeness doesn’t mean it’s going to take the shape of a connection we as humans understand.”

“So really you think this could work?” Jace asked dubiously.

Izzy nodded. “I think if you’re willing to let go of human expectations and allow the connection to just be what it is—power and love, in a form we can never comprehend—then it stands a chance of success. And Valentine and Jonathan will never see it coming.”

Jace gave her a perplexed look. “What makes you so sure?”

“What’s the first lesson Valentine ever taught you?”

“To love is to destroy.”

“Exactly.” The savage satisfaction of being on the brink of triumph began to build inside her chest, and she grinned fiercely. “They don’t comprehend love, not really. They only know how to use it as a weapon. The whole time Jonathan was among us, both as Aldertree and as Sebastian, he kept trying to understand it, but he just couldn’t. To know your enemy you must become your enemy. But he can’t become this.” She swept her hand back and forth between Jace and Clary. “He can’t.”

“Fine. I’m sold.” Jace nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Let’s just get back to the Institute before we try it. If we’re going to be unleashing undefined angelic power, I want to be somewhere people can deal with it if we call down something we weren’t expecting.”

On to Chapter 23!

Please, if you’ve enjoyed this fanfic, consider buying some of my books, or buying me a cup of coffee!

[jeanineitsme]

I had the unique opportunity to sample a new product with my friends this past week courtesy of Tryazon.  I was sent a sampling of Hempfusion Twist to try out. I had a gathering where we tried out some flavors and talked about the benefits of using CBD products.

Hempfusion Twist comes in three flavors: Citrus Ginger, Lime Twist, and Mango. Each flavor is delicious in a drink or they can even be mixed together to create a new flavor combination. For my group, we tried the Citrus Ginger flavor combined with a lemon lime soda, orange juice and ice for a refresher, and then we tried the Mango Peach flavor with vanilla almond milk, peaches, honey, and lemon juice for a milk shake type drink. Most of the group actually preferred the Citrus Ginger drink to the shake, although when tasting the CBD liquid on its own they almost unanimously chose the Mango. I explained what I had read about using the CBD liquid with a fat such as milk rather than just water to help it absorb and that was why I tried making a shake.

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We talked about the ways pain relief is viewed now and how many advances have been made. Mostly the fact that CBD is now legal and many people are using it because it’s been showing positive results in helping with pain and inflammation. I gave some information on a few different conditions, such as fibromyalgia and migraines, that CBD can help.

I’ve tried using Hempfusion now for several days and I feel like it’s making a difference. I recently woke up to very severe back pain that has lasted for weeks. It was not letting up and I was unable to do much at all. I began to make very slow progress but still could not do much. Once I began to use the Hempfusion, I felt like my pain was reduced and I was able to move more freely. I can’t attest to it being only the Hempfusion, but it did occur when I began using the Hempfusion so I am leaning in that direction. I do know that there are a number of products out there that don’t work so if this one feels like it is, I’m going to keep trying it and see if it’s good for me. Can’t hurt, right?

Hempfusion was very generous in their samples. They gave me samples of their Hempfusion Twist to share with each guest.  There were some guests who did not make it to the party. I will be taking their samples to them. 

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I’d like to thank Tryazon for their participation in this promotion. If you are interested in finding out more information about hosting a Tryazon Sampling Party, contact them at https://www.tryazon.com/

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