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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

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Do you think that making Chinese food is cultural appropriation? I'm white and started making some of the foods I saw in the shows I've watched since the untamed, but now I'm worried I'm appropriating the culture.

Hi anon,

As a fellow white person, I am also someone who needs to critically reflect on how I engage with different cultures. I can't give you the definitive answer you seek, the clear absolution from any potential wrongdoings; in its stead, I can only offer to share my current thought process on this topic. I’d still encourage you to seek other perspectives, and many people have written or spoken on this topic.

I believe we must first acknowledge that, on the terrain of the internet, discussions regarding cultural appropriation have reached a certain... extreme where some people view all forms of cultural exchanges as inherently suspect. They purport that so long as you stay within the bounds of ‘your’ culture, you will problematic behaviours. That perspective is inherent flawed. That is, it relies on a vision of culture as ‘bounded entities’ that exist in themselves. In reality, the ‘stuff’ that makes culture is emergent, existing only relationally, dialectically--it is a not a ‘thing’ that moves through time but an idea which is constantly negotiated and reproduced in relation to power and changing material realities to remain relevant and intelligible. The boundaries of cultural and ethnic groups are fuzzy, overlapping, and constantly being reworked and made meaningful. As an illustration, many of the food I grew up eating was influenced by ingredients and recipes immigrants brought in the 19th and 20th centuries, yet these dishes were understood as 'typically ours’. And it needs to be acknowledged that most of what is currently considered ‘white people food’ relies on ingredients that were introduced to our diet through colonialism and the violent dispossession of indigenous peoples (and, often, the current day exploitation of workers in the South and of migrant workers). No food can be truly ‘traditionally ours’, whatever the purported ‘we’ ends up being brought into the equation, and no eating behaviours can avoid the historical legacy and continuity of violence and power.

Of course, as people who exist in the world, we know that there are cultural differences. Bakhtin’s insights on language through the tensions between centripedal (ie towards uniformity, a common meaning) and centrifugal (toward diversity and change) forces can be expanded to help us conceptualise how we make sense of the way a ‘culture’ is perpetuated through time as something meaningful in our daily lives. Uniformity allows intelligibility, sense-making, but diversity and change are inescapable by-products of individuals and groups repeatedly going through life, meeting and trying to create intelligibility and sense together in a world that cannot stay the same. It is at the intersection of these two conflicting forces that something can be different yet considered the same--that we can create continuity out of change. But something perhaps less emphasized in Bakhtin’s discussions is how much power and material realities work on these forces. Power influences both centripedal and centrifugal forces, if only in orchestrating circumstances that shape how one encounters ‘different cultures’ or reproduces their 'own' culture.

We live at a moment where the world seems to have reached an apex of connectivity--where goods, people, ideas (and viruses) move across distance and borders at speeds that defy comprehension. Yet the way goods, people and ideas move (through which canals and systems? in which direction? to the benefits of whom? at the expense of whom? to what reception or use? in the service of which institutions and ideologies?) or are, inversely, incapable or unwilling to move, is influenced by power and material realities. It is inescapable.

In a roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is that it's useless to try to live life in 'your lane' by turning to a baseline 'culture' because we simply do not have a baseline culture to return to that is 'safe' from the influences of other cultures or the taint of the historical legacy and continuity of violence. So how do I personally reconcile that with how I engage with content that is produced from different cultural contexts, and how I engage with cooking food that is influenced by different cultural contexts? For me the guidelines I take into consideration are respect, attribution and avoiding forms of dehumanisation. These emerged out of witnessing how other white people have acted as well as critically reflecting on how I have acted in the past, and trying to do better (including of course, by listening to different perspectives on the topic). [just in case, warning for examples of racism/micro-agressions] I've been in China with white people who would praise the cooking we were eating in the same breath they were making jokes about dog meat. I've witnessed in Japan a dude decide not to come to an izakaya with Japanese colleagues, fucking off on his own to Akihabara instead, because he was disappointed he couldn’t talk about anime with them--too obsessed with the idealised version of Japan he’d created in his head to treat the Japanese people he met as people. The internet is full of white people telling you how to cook food from places they've never been and taking credit for 'popularising' that dish or 'making it better'. That's not even talking about the tendency for food to become a mark of a cosmopolitan, metropolitan identity in the West--the open-minded, the liberal, the traveler, the hip white person up with the times and beyond the mainstream. Hell, I've even seen people who act as if eating ‘ethnic’ food prepared by immigrants is the singular proof that they were people who cared about immigrants' well-being.

Food is rarely just about food, even when consumed at home. At the same time, we’d be remiss in all these discussions of power to dismiss how food is also one of oldest things we, as humans, want to share with others--including strangers. Feeding is nourishing and giving, eating is accepting into ourselves something made by others. Most people appreciate it when the value of a dish that holds importance for them is recognised by others--although, of course, many might understandably also resent that they have been discriminated against or mocked for eating that same food. Every time I’ve been invited in an immigrant household or at events with mostly immigrants, I’ve felt this sense of almost trepidation emanating from them, waiting for my reaction, and satisfaction once I was seen eating and appreciating the food they had served me--as if the acceptance of the food that was tied to their identity was a form of acceptance of who they were. Of course this can’t be disentangled from past experiences where other people might have been disrespectful, dismissive or outright racist: but the excitement they had in sharing food that had meaning to them and seeing others appreciate it was genuine.

Beyond situations of clear cultural sharing, where we get closer to what appears to be ‘cultural appropriation’, I believe that we cannot act as if there is something inherently sacrilegious in the idea of adapting recipes or using a specific ingredients in new ways--that’s centrifugal forces at play, and they have provided us with many dishes we love today: from immigrant creations like butter chicken to things like spicy kimchi. We cannot work with the assumption that people will only react with hostility at the idea of other people cooking the food they grew with, even in ways that are different from how they’re traditionally used and are thus “not authentic”. I still remember an interaction I had in a Korean grocery store, once upon a time when I lived in a metropolitan city. A man in front of me at the cash register who had been buying snacks and chatting with the employee in Korean looked at my stuff and suddenly asked me if I knew the name of the leafy green I was buying. I wasn’t necessarily surprised because I had overheard in the past customers and employees commenting in Korean about being surprised about the ingredients I, a white person, was purchasing, thinking I couldn’t understand them. I confirmed to him that I knew I was buying mustard greens. He then asked me what I was planning to do with them, and I explained that while I didn’t think it’s a traditional or common way of using it, I personally liked to add them to kimchi jjigae because it compliments their bitter/strong taste and I like leafy greens in my soups and stews. He said it was interesting, and that he was kind of impressed. The employee chimed to tell me I should be honoured at the compliment because the man was actually a chef who owned famous Korean fusion restaurants in the city. That was clearly someone who took Korean food very seriously and clearly had a certain degree of suspicion regarding how white people interacted with it, but he was also curious and interested in seeing how I approached ingredients without having grown up eating them.

Another point of contention is also that we cannot ignore that food is a sensual experience and that, while tastes are greatly influenced by our environment, they are not solely so. I grew up hating most of the food my parents would serve me, and started cooking in my early teens to avoid having to eat it. Before I started cooking, I would often just eat rice with (in hindsight horrible) western-brand soy sauce instead of the meal my mom had made. When I ate Indian food for the first time during a trip at the ripe age of 16, it blew my mind that food could taste like this. Of course I never wanted to look back, and with each years I discovered that a lot of Asian cuisines fit my palate better than what I grew up eating or other cuisines I had tried. When I was a teenager we visited my mom’s friend in France and I hated what she served us so much I’d simply choose to nibble on bread, prompting her to try to stage an intervention for my ‘obvious’ anorexia. Yet, being in China made me realise ingredients I thought I hated had just been cooked in ways I disliked. Do my taste buds absolve me from any need to think critically about how I interact with food? Of course not. But sometimes the reason we want to cook certain recipes and foods is just that it tastes great to us, and we want to reproduce the recipes we enjoyed with the ingredients and the skills we have. Or, really, sometimes we just want to try new tastes because we do a lot of eating throughout our lives, and it seems a waste to limit ourselves to a narrow number of dishes for decades to come.

So that’s where I currently am in my thinking about this topic, as a white person who cooks dishes influenced by a number of different places but who is also not trying to cook in a way that is necessarily authentic. Some things that I keep in mind that you can ask yourself now that cdramas and cnovels have made you interested in Chinese cooking is: are you taking this as an opportunity to support immigrant businesses when getting your ingredients? are you supporting white creators when looking for chinese recipes (some suggestion of youtube channels: Made with Lau, Chinese cooking Demystified, Family in Northwest China, 西北小强 Xibeixiaoqiang, 小高姐的 Magic Ingredients)? are you being respectful (not reproducing harmful stereotypes in how you talk about chinese food and the people who eat it)? do you use your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about China and Chinese people that denies them, in some way, of their complexity and humanity? are you using your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about yourself?

In conclusion I will leave you with a picture of some misshapen baozi I’ve made.

#anon ask #caution: word vomit ahead

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lightholme · 3 years

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That's a great way to describe the nature of human nature. A lot of our instincts stem from useful shortcuts like that.

Human brains didn't evolve to handle the vast interconnectivity, complexity, and nuance of the modern world. Hell, the brain can't even really handle more than ~150 meaningful personal connections.

We operate deeply by back-of-the-napkin heuristics that solve our early evolutionary problems, but they're not very accurate. It's easier to get it right 70% of the time in one second than it is to get it right 100% of the time in thirty seconds. When a snowball (or lion) is flying at your face, moving at all is better than sitting around while you verify the threat's trajectory precisely.

Unfortunately, our tendency to align with those around us (a convenient heuristic sometimes still) isn't the sole problem here.

Some of these heuristics/instincts are naturally buffered. For example, one might imagine that the tendency (or inevitability) for people to bifurcate and fracture larger groups into less-than-150 sized groups is enough to minimize the problem, but just because it feels fine doesn't mean the result is fine. We form tribes on the spot for all sorts of reasons. Team A, Team B. My group, your group. Soccer teams, military platoons. Clades of styles and habits bloom and wither like algae tides. As a species, we crave that aspect of tribalism so deeply that sometimes a well placed "us" and a weaseled in "them" is enough to draw the lines that become a riot. This tendency can be positive sometimes (sometimes), sure.

What about our tendency to over-value sugar in a world where calories are no longer worth storing? That is a known-and-visible problem, isn't it? And how about the fact that a single mouse-click can show you more naked ladies than one's ancestors saw in their entire life - multiples more, in fact? It seems obvious that distorting such critically important evolutionary impulses miiiiight muddy the waters a bit even if we allow ourselves to believe that we handle it fine, that all is well, or that it's even somehow ideal.

Even these examples of specific and "obvious" discrepancies between our bioevolutionary hardware and our socio-technological elevation is a small enough as an idea to share with a stranger over a beer. The Real Heavy Shit™ is so unwieldy that a scientist-philosopher would struggle to gaze at directly, let alone transmit to others in a format smaller than a series of structured TedTalks.

The reasons for the issues we're facing (and in a sense have always faced) are myriad, but in recent times I think a new dynamic has been born, magnified, then bootstrapped itself into life beneath our notice - all within a single human generation. Information has become a danger to us. Any information. It is an emergent property that rises from the quasi-computational substrate of human social interaction.

Problem: When the complexity of an idea rises above the level of one's ability to conceptualize the 'entire thing' at once, we have to take the parts we can't see on faith.

With the proper framework, foundation, and a well-trained instinct this isn't an entirely disruptive phenomenon - it's even obvious and expected, right? One cannot hold the entire subject of 'science' in their head at one time. One cannot even hold the entirety of 'geology'. And even if one could, you'd be unable to truly understand geologic mechanisms without understanding that the elements that make all those fancy rocks came from dynamics that stem from astrophysics.

These things cannot be held, but they can be traced and compared and tested (if someone cares to do so in the first place). Even then, misconceptions easily bloom like cancers in the absence of an effort to validate.

Now consider the idea of an informational construct that is not so easily proven by mere effort and time. Imagine one that isn't built specifically to avoid misconception like science is. (which - unfortunately - still results in vast misconceptions by layman and scientist alike). When we cannot hold an idea in our head from start-to-finish, we also cannot verify that it exists distinct from itself at all. One can't tell a snake from an ouroborous. And unless you have something to compare it to, reference it against, the difference between a cancer and an organ is negligible. It's only in the context of an organism that a cancer is even harmful, even deadly. A cancerous tumor, viewed in a vacuum, is - for lack of a better term - successful as fuck at what it's doing... Perpetuating itself at all costs, regardless of benefit, regardless of consequence.

Ideas are not just informational nuggets. They're active, living systems which 'compete' not unlike living creatures do through the rules of their unique brand of quasi-evolutionary pressures. Ideas are both organs and cancers. And when billions of thinking beings are unable to easily determine the difference between an organ and a cancer, well... It's not so difficult to imagine that problems might arise.

To the elucidated or aware, it's horrifying to see someone running around trying to share a poison with others, claiming it to be something it is not. It's confusing to imagine how such a delusion can not only exist at all, but to spread with a veracity greater - far greater - than Real Deal truths. I will admit that part of that is because these sort of ideas empower the thinker. Real truths are either boring or frightening (or both). Aliens and crystals, gods and secret societies are so much more comforting than acknowledging that nobody is really at the wheel, that society is a ship in a storm rocked by systems - hydrodynamics, meteorological - far too complex to grasp, far too large to be defeated by comparatively meek human drives.

There's certainly more than one reason that someone interested in particular subjects (flat earth, for example) tend to also be interested in toxic conservative politics, religion, ancient aliens, so on. Many of these sort of meme-laden ideas are fundamentally incompatible with each other, yet you commonly find them in the same place. I personally use invented terms like "psychological antivirus/firewalls" since the concept of common sense alone doesn't have the load-bearing capacity to address this level of metastasized information.

Again -- A cancer is successful in a vacuum. It is optimized for relentless growth in absence of both usefulness and sustainability. Modern pressures (namely a social density vastly greater than what our brains can handle and the fast-paced war-for-attention nature of the internet) are now selecting ideas not for value or consistency, but transmissability.

Close your eyes and apply this metaphor to the rest of the world. Taste the horror of this truth, then consider that the issue can barely be described at all, let alone compressed down and shared to the world like some sort of hotfix. Following the metaphor, it'd be like writing a well-worded essay to convince your immune system to recognize an autoimmune disorder. You can't "Hey, bud. We need to have a talk." to a virus.

Christ, we can't even convince people to vaccinate against an actual virus that can be seen and verified as both real and harmful. This informational plague of idea-viruses is not only not-visible, hidden by abstraction, too recent to be intuitive, too large to even be named - some are seen by its victims as positive, absolute, worthy of defending with one's life even as one denies it exists at all.

Unfortunately, even this is just one of the many reasons why/how the modern world is simply too much for the smart apes known as homo sapiens.

TL;DR - Modern pressures (namely a social density vastly greater than what our brains can handle and the fast-paced war-for-attention nature of the internet) are now selecting ideas not for value or consistency, but transmissability. Some people are more ideal as carriers and vectors than others, but most of us have felt the sensation of being drawn into something or slowly waking up from a stupor we were born into.

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penzyroamin · 4 years

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Food and sharing food continues to be a recurring motif in “tied together”. What was your thought process around that? How do you see that connecting to some of the central themes and concepts in the story as a whole? (And, if you would like to go into this, how do you see food and sharing food playing out in the messy au where David will also be cooking but in a completely different context/power dynamic?)

HAHAHAHA! I CAN FINALLY TALK ABT THIS WITHOUT SEEMING LIKE F SCOTT FITZGERALD BEGGING PEOPLE TO KNOW WHAT THE GREAT GATSBY WAS!!!!!

okay. im calm now.

so for a couple years now i have deeply and secretly loved the concept of food as a symbol for community. i didnt use it in fic for a long time for a variety of reasons. one, it just never really felt right. two, my love of this symbol is very much connected to my southern-ness, and while im sure many people have just as strong, if not stronger connections between food and community, i didnt really know if people reading my stuff would Get It or connect w it.

i finally decided to use it for tied together for two reasons. first, this is my most definitively southern fic. ive written other fics with Humid Small Town Energy but this is my first that i really let myself go “fuck it. crawfish boils. hurricanes. middle aged women with crushes on jim cantore.” as such, it felt like if i was going to go for this symbol at any point, it needed to be with this fic. the second is that due to Pandemic and also living across the country from the majority of the family i grew up with, i have been kind of starved of community experiences as of late. i wrote tied together entirely during a period when i havent spent time with anyone besides my immediate family, so i was really thinking about community and the nature of it and how fucking badly i wanna have a massive meal with people and hence... this symbol

with the background of my decision to include it covered, let’s get into how it appears in tied together!!

in chapter one, the majority of food’s appearances are... impersonal, if that makes sense? its all premade, whether its drive-through stuff, tv dinners, etc etc, and he doesnt know the person who made it. its also worth pointing out that around the time jack and his mom stop sharing meals is the point they become disconnected from each other. essentially, that’s the disconnect from community throughout jack’s early life

davey comes around and it. is pretty obvious from the start that, through this symbol, he is the Literal Embodiment Of Connection To The People Around Him. food was a really key way for me to show just how connected he is to his community-- he’s constantly cooking for other people, working for battalion, helping people get good food, contributing recipes to little cookbooks. the end chapter also nods to this in the scene w his family where esther mentions he made her teach him to cook for a group, and the conversation afterwards where he mentions that he wouldn’t be comfortable with people paying him to make them food or making food for strangers. cooking for other people is essentially davey’s way of nurturing the community around him and becoming closer with people, so to make food in an impersonal way goes against everything he knows about food and sharing it. the interactions he has through food represent the larger relationships and interactions he has within his community. juxtaposed to jack, he’s built this little world around him filled with people that he loves and cares for, even if that does lay a heavy burden on him at points. if i ever write something delving deeper into davey in this au, i’ll elaborate further-- but, essentially, davey’s role as The Provider of food for the people around him was a real stand-in for the way that he feels both within his family and his larger community.

think of it this way-- in all the scenes we see with davey cooking at a large event-- i.e., the crawfish boil-- he’s always pushed off to the side by that. there’s usually someone talking to him or checking in on the food, but he’s not able to be engaged in the larger hubbub and discussion of the party because he’s busy. it’s in providing food for people and sharing that with him that he gets fulfillment out of the experience. in his family, we see that davey is a little bit isolated. he was growing up at the exact time when mayer’s alcoholism was getting worse and hitting its peak, and he left before mayer ever really managed to get very far into recovery. his time in their house, essentially, was a lot of heavy lifting and few moments of solidarity and joy. he loves his family, of course, it’s just a very labor-intensive process. and then, of course, he has a similar experience to what a lot of southern marginalized people feel-- this intense need to care for and better your community when your community very frequently doesn’t care for you. davey has absolutely zero capacity for apathy in this au, and it definitely shines through with this whole dynamic. he works SO HARD to care for people, even if he isnt always able to fully enjoy being around them and being loved by them

and then, of course, you have the way davey and jack interact through this motif-- davey teaches jack how to cook, gives him a cookbook, invites him over for meals, etc etc. sharing that with him essentially represents welcoming jack into his community as a whole, and giving him a place there. jack mentions davey “clearing a spot at the table” for him, and that’s both literal and figurative.

additionally, while davey uses food as a way to bring jack into his community, jack also makes davey a little less isolated. in a lot of the scenes in chapter 5, theyre cooking together, in a very domestic, symbiotic sort of way. i wanted this to demonstrate how jack relieves some of the burden davey puts on himself and exists sort of Within davey’s bubble rather than just reaping the benefits

i also wanted to illustrate with this how jack repairing his relationship w food keys into this. obviously we have the disconnect that he has early on where his unfamiliarity w what he eats and who makes it represents a larger disconnect between him and the people around him, but jack does also absolutely use food as a coping mechanism and a crutch. not to get, again, TOTALLY gatsby here, but he’s chasing that sense of community and belonging and understanding in the wrong places. it’s once he begins to actually make food for himself and understand the process of it and be able to carry something through to completion that he’s able to actually Enjoy food, yknow? i wanted that to mirror the way throughout the earlier parts of his life that he tried to kind of slap up temporary relationships and make do with that.

side note about jack and food: jack has undiagnosed adhd (and some vague comorbidities rip) in this au, and his experiences with it i preeeetttty heavily lifted from my life and my special brand of fucked in the head. (for those of you who don’t know, carb and sugar cravings are a symptom of adhd, hence why food is often a coping mechanism for us fhskdhs). cooking and baking are processes that have REALLY helped me get a handle on myself-- it gives me an outlet for movement and stimulation, and its something that i can carry through till the end and get an actual end product that i can recognize and benefit from. plus, real time consequences if i let something do whatever for ten more minutes! so thats another element i added to the way that jack builds healthier coping mechanisms over time-- he moves away from food as a crutch and instead develops a new form of CREATING that gives him an outlet and a feeling of productivity

those are some Vague thoughts. i will probably elaborate in the future!

now, for the messy au, rather than food symbolizing community, i chose to have it represent vulnerability.

a quick review: jack married rich, and davey is jack’s new wife’s cook. on his wife, dorothy’s part, i wanted this to shine through in this squeaky clean, pristine image that a lot of rich people try to craft. she never cooks for herself, never pays much attention to davey, never draws attention to him. in essence, she is creating as few weak spots as possible-- she refuses to be vulnerable to the people and the society around her.

with davey, however, his and his family’s livelihood depends on him cooking for this woman, and later for her and her husband. he’s forced into this position of extreme vulnerability and weakness by his financial situation, and cant really regain his sense of privacy or self because of that. its also a point in this story that he has very little time or wherewithal to cook for his FAMILY. so, his job forces him into a vulnerable situation with complete strangers who hold an upper hand over him but denies him the opportunity to be vulnerable with his own family, only reinforcing this idea that he is the protector and the provider and as such cannot have weak spots and cannot, under any circumstances, break

it also really highlights the difference between jack’s relationship with his wife vs with davey and smalls-- all the scenes of he and dorothy eating together are in grand, fancy rooms, with a certain amount of pomp and circumstance and dignity attached. with davey and smalls, though, he’s usually in the kitchen, having conversation, enjoying their company, helping them with menial things. that’s an environment that he’s used to and comfortable with, the kind of relationships and interactions he grew up with, while the stuffiness of his life and interactions with dorothy are entirely less vulnerable and close

that’s just a brief overview, but its something to look for when i finally finish the fic! it definitely started as a very soapy sort of thing, but my damn instincts pushed me to delve deeper into the characters and their relationships and the fucked-up-ness of it all. so, here we are

i really hope this helped!!!! this is not organized AT ALL so please tell me if there’s anything else you wanted to know or any details you noticed

#holy FUCK is this long..#about writing #tied together #asks #thank u so much for giving me an excuse to positively SCREAM abt this

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imbellarosa · 4 years

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I'm likely the most anxious person alive. My anxiety is just terrible. I'm never not worrying and panicking and feeling so paranoid about things in my life. Except now it's reached a whole new level where I'm constantly plagued with anxious thoughts in this fandom. It's kind of fully taken over my life where my first thought when I wake up is about them, to the hours I'm lying awake (oh it's fun being an insomniac) waiting for sleep to finally grant me some serenity. It doesn't matter how many

, Atimes I tell myself I have no control over anything and I'm only ever seeing a tiny bit of the whole story so it's pointless. I try so hard to choose to not worry and not go insane thinking about everything but alas, anxiety is not a choice. This has manifested itself in a multitude of ways. Lyric analysis used to be something I savoured doing bc I have always connected so deeply with words and literature and I'm always someone who wants to dig deep beneath the surface, to see the parts of ppl

& lyrics that others gloss over, just delving into the core of things, seeing ppl for who they truly are. But now, I feel like I am losing it, that it's all become like this weird obsession. We all know BNFs are like DO NOT CHERRY PICK LYRICS and basically IGNORE THAT WEIRD GUT FEELING ABOUT ANY LYRICS THAT MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE SOMETHING'S NQR and they can sue me but I don't work like that. I've been obsessing over certain lyrics that I can't decipher or find an alternate meaning to the literal

one & obviously if it were to be taken literally it would be bad. And I just get so mad at myself for not understanding when words have always been my thing right? Like it was always where I excelled with flying colours and it came so naturally to me and then I get so exasperated with them (okay mainly H for his unfathomable lyrics) bc I want to understand more than anything (& I think deep down he craves being understood too) but he makes it so hard. But that's not the extent of it, I just

worry incessantly about everything. I just can't turn off my mind and it feels like it's on the verge of exploding. I wish I knew how to just take everything lightly & just revel in this fandom & have fun but instead I feel jaded and vexed all the time. And sometimes that infuriation is directed towards them & I feel guilty as I know that's unfair but I can't help it but it just gets on my nerves bc of the things they do & say (or rather don't do/say) haha so fun!! Apologies for this whole spiel

Hey anon <3! First of all, my inbox is always open, so jot that one right down. Second of all, I’m gonna say something that might sound out of line, but I think I have to say it: this sounds like your mental health might not be in a great place right now. And I don’t mean your “in fandom mental health”, I mean it sounds like your anxiety is giving you a really hard time overall, which, believe me, I know how much that sucks. Life is a lot right now. But what I am hearing you say is that this fandom has become a really tangible manifestation of those anxieties. Let me know if I’m way off base here, okay? But I’m going to ask some questions (that you totally don’t have to reply to me - you can absolutely just take inventory on your own if that’s how you feel most comfortable.

Are you safe? If you’re not safe, is there someone you can call? If not, here is the International Association for Suicide Prevention so that you can find resources in your area. If you are at all contemplating this, please stop reading right here and give them a call.

If you are safe, do you have someone you can talk to about how you feel? This can be someone that knows who you are in the fandom and can talk to you with immediate replies, or someone outside of fandom, like an irl friend or family member.

This question is primarily to do with a non-professional support system: do you have one you feel you can trust? If not, what are the things you could do to work towards that?

This question is about professional support: it sounds to me like you’re saying that your anxiety is really impairing your day to day functions. If this is the case, do you have a professional you can talk with about potential coping skills? It sounds like fandom used to be one, but as the environment here changed, so did your relationship with it, and so maybe reaching out to someone that can point you in other directions for coping skills is a good thing. Because I don't know where you live, my best advice would be to call your physician and explain the symptoms you’ve been having and ask if they have a list of therapists that you could see for little to no charge. If you don’t have a physician (and I often don’t) then google is your best friend here. There are some resources available, but none of them take the place of seeing a doctor. In the US, if you don’t have insurance, you can go to a local community clinic and ask to be put on a waiting list for a therapist, if you’d like.

I know that you’re saying that your anxiety is making it really difficult to disengage with BNFs and the discourse and all, but do you think that we could take it one step at a time? Like, for example, the lyric thing seems to really trigger your anxiety, so could you unfollow one blog (just one!) that makes you feel like that, and then see if you like your dash a bit better? It is TOTALLY okay to unfollow someone for your own mental health, and it isn’t a negative reflection on either of you!

Do you think that engaging with other media would help at all? For example, Supernatural has 15 whole seasons of absolute campy goodness which I really, really unironically adore. When this fandom gets too much, I turn on an episode and get lost in it for a hot second. Another thing I really enjoy is Good Omens! The book is AMAZING, and the TV show is HILARIOUS! And while we’re on recs, I SUPER SUPER recommend anything by Neil Gaiman, but “Stardust” in particular is a great, soothing read for me, and I LOVE the audiobook! Ah! Hot Tip! I pay for audible, and it is one of the BEST things for my anxiety, especially when I pick the right books. The voices are soothing, the stories are great, and I can just...tune everything else out.

If other media doesn’t help, would other hobbies? Would you be willing to go on a walk once a day to look for pretty stones or to ride your bike out with a book and stay for a minute or to start drawing at home or to write? Is there a way that you think you could healthily express these emotions which are a really normal response to an abnormal situation (the world is kinda a mess rn)

It sounds like you are feeling really badly that you don’t think you can get a grasp on the songs. Is there something you can do to rebuild your confidence here? Can you talk about it with a fandom friend, or write down all your theories and see which one sticks or start a brand new analysis with something that has nothing to do w H or L and then come back to the drawing board?

These are just questions that I would ask a friend that came to me with these issues, but honestly, I cannot stress #4 enough - if your anxiety is overwhelming (and it sounds like it is) then speaking to a professional is *so so so* important. I think it’s time to go take care of yourself, anon, and the boys will be here when you’re ready to interact with their content again. They’ll wait, you know? And I’ll be here the whole time if you want to do check-ins with me. I want to know that you’re okay, friend <3

#anon asks #i answer #i think that maybe some lyrics are literal and some are not #and that sometimes you get a mix in a song #i think often it's harry that has less literal lyrics #you're right #and i think that he often distances himself from the story #which he is very much a part of #but anyways #take care of yourself my friend and come back soon #long post for ts #tw suicide #tw anxiety #Anonymous

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cowandcalf · 4 years

Text

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No.14 - Metamorphosis Part III

Chapter 1 - 8

Chapter 9

Danny has not thought this through. He stormed out of the apartment with a single goal to clear the situation. He needs to know what Steve has told his little girl. He knows Steve wouldn't just promise such a big thing if he didn't mean to deliver his end of the bargain. Danny knows this like it's branded into his bones. Steve's a warm-hearted and sincere soul. Danny has watched him interact with Mary. God, this man has love to give and he gives.

However, Danny still hears Grace's pleading voice. The yearning behind the words to go and see dolphins at Steve's house tears into Danny's soul. What if this isn't something that's going to happen. What then? He wants nothing more than to make her wish come true. But it's out of his hands. He needs Steve to fulfill his baby girl's dream.

Also on AO3

Danny's concentration gets pulled back on the road when the car bumps hard over stones or a rotten branch. Shit. It is night, and stupidly dark, and he drives like a love-drunken lunatic through fucking dense jungle to get to Steve. He's a bit ashamed of his intentions. There is no sense in lying to himself. He wants to see Steve again. As if he hasn't had a good chunk of the man's time during lunch. But the more Danny spends time with this mysterious guy the thirstier he gets. Danny drives up to Steve's secret garden under the pretext to talk to him about Grace. That's a big reason to skid over the pathetic road at night, caking his Camaro with mud but there's more to it. He can't fool himself. He wants more. So much more it scares him. And he knows Steve only for a little more than over a week. The intensity of the emotions racing through his veins makes his hands shake.

The tires work hard to get through the soaked soil on the dirt road. The jungle looks spooky with the darkness only lit by the bright cons of light. The rain drops constantly on the roof. Danny curses. He doesn't even know if Steve's up there. What if he spends the night at the beach house? God knows where that is. Danny grabs his cell. Fuck, no reception. He is one fine, stupid detective is what he is.

The shape of Steve's huge truck appears in the light beam. Danny throttles the engine and rolls gently onto the wide-open place that spreads out in front of Steve's 'flowers hop'. That word's a joke for what it hides in the backyard. It's the gate to a secret garden with layers as deep as the universe.

Danny pushes the car door close. "Steve?" He shouts into the night. The windows of the house are sparsely lit. Danny has no idea in what condition he might find Steve. Last time, he sneaked up on him with a drawn weapon. "STEVE? Yo, are you home? It's me, Danny!" He looks around but the darkness is too dense. He can't see a damn thing over in the scrubs a few feet from where he's standing. He stares right into a pitch-black hole. The clouded, rainy night swallows all the remaining light. The first rumble of thunder adds a dangerous and audacious touch to the atmosphere. It's a wild beauty and makes Danny think of Steve. Untamed and mysterious.

And jungle nights aren't silent and peaceful. In fact, it's loud with all the rustling, swooshing noises all around, quite apart from the fact that a bunch of wild animals seems to have a meeting somewhere close. The air is filled with insects despite the rain. Gah, the whirring and chirping isn't particularly reassuring either. The things you do for love. Danny scrubs with one hand over his face.

"Steve, are you home? Don't throw grenades, okay?" He knocks on the door. "It's Danny! I keep shouting my name until I'm sure you've noticed my presence." He starts pounding on the door. "Steve?"

Okay, again with the heartbeat racing. Danny feels like a teenager but there is also the rising worry if Steve's on the floor frozen in memories unable to snap out of it.

A new wave of distinct thunder rolls through the thick clouds and swallows most of the sound.

Danny presses down the door handle and the heavy wooden door clicks open. "Whoa, at least, I don't have to shoot the lock open." He murmurs to himself. "Steve! I'm coming in! It's me, Danny, the guy from lunchtime. Grace's father. STEVE?" He reaches the state where he keeps calling Steve's name ongoing.

The apartment is empty, meaning, Steve's not there but he must be around because there are hints, he's close. The back door is wide open. The couch is a pull-out bed. The sheets are rumpled, and several cushions lie on the floor. Danny turns his back on the portrayed privacy right in front of his eyes. The image of a sleeping Steve, a naked sleeping Steve, all mused hair and hoarse voice, is now burned on the inside of his eyelids. He suppresses a moan of want that threatens to escape over his lips. Sweet hell.

The small lamp on the floor next to the bed is lit. Soft music fills the air from a radio Danny can't see. He counts three coffee mugs staying around. And dirt. There's so much dirt on the floor. Like an inside dirt road leading out to the garden. The big old wooden table is scattered with empty crates. Some are filled with seedlings, some are empty. It's an organized chaos but still. "Steve? Hey, where are you? I'm coming out, stepping through the door to your garden in three seconds, okay?" Danny gets anxious. No word from Steve. Not a tiny speck of his clothes or his tattoos under golden skin. "Steve, I'm getting worried! If you do not show yourself in three seconds, I'll pull my gun and come searching for you!" Danny snaps the holster safety off and is about the reach for his gun when Steve bursts into the room.

"Danny! Jesus Christ! I hear you shouting for five minutes already. Didn't you hear me answering? I even screamed your name!" Steve's eyes are comically wide, and he talks so fast Danny wants to laugh. But he can't. What happened to Steve? How can someone look like this?

The thunder moves closer and the dull, heavy rumble vibrates in Danny's chest. "Why do you wear a headlight?" He shouts over to where Steve stands holding on to a create. Danny shields his eyes with a hand. "I can't see shit, Steve, take the light out of my face." Steve is caked from head to toe, caked with mud and wet. Danny stares. "What happened to you? This time you cannot make me believe you haven't been crawling through the jungle, or through your garden." He blurts. "Who looks like that? You covered in mud like you had fun rolling around in it. Don't tell me you miss the freaking insane training you had in BUD/S. I read about that Hellweek stuff. How do they call the mud wrestling exercises? Mudflats? Did you need a bonding moment with dirt?"

Steve hauls the create onto the large worktop next to the back door. "What are you talking about? Mudflats? What – I, no. Nothing like that." He switches off the headlight. "It's nice to see you, too, Danny." Steve smiles over to him. "And sorry to disappoint you again. No crawling through dark jungle patches, just taking care of my seedlings."

Danny nods and escapes into banter. Banter means shallow and safe water. Because this wild, dauntless man who looks like he took a mud-bath makes Danny want to fuck him six ways from Sunday. "Yeah, nice to see you too, Steve. I didn't hear you shouting my name." He clips the holster safety close and leans against the nearest furniture. "What's with the mud, huh? Are all people who do garden work that dirty?" Danny waves his hand and takes Steve's appearance in. His stomach swoops and smoldering lust crawls south and starts to fill his cock.

Steve chuckles. "Why do you even bother how I look like? I'm passionate, is all. I love to feel the soil in my hands. I have to get my seedlings into the ground." Steve can't stop smiling.

"You have to get your flowers into the ground – at night with a headlight – when a big ass thunderstorm rolls in. What happened to gardening by day?" Danny makes wide eyes at Steve and carefully lets the tension turn into a mad swarm of butterflies behind his belly button.

"Hmm?"

"You heard me the first time."

Steve mimics Danny's posture and crosses the arms over his massive chest. Danny pushes every decent thought in the back of his mind. He gets harder with every second he watches Steve's dirt-covered skin. The guy wears a tank top and the same old, threadbare jeans. His feet are black from standing in the mud.

"I had stuff to do. Places to be. Haven't planned to be back that late. That's the boring explanation for the night work. No extraordinary SEAL explanation except that I like to use the rain to water the seedlings once they're in the ground. Because once out in the open the young plants must be covered with water and mud profusely to protect the gentle baby-roots, so they can grow. Rain is easier, saves time."

Danny is mildly impressed. "And you've learned all that from your mother?"

"Yes, that and much more. I grow vegetables too. And I cook."

"Do you want me to throw confetti?"

Steve's laugh is infectious. "You don't look so happy about the thunder, Danny."

Danny tries not to twitch but the roaring thunder creeps closer. "I don't like the lightning that comes with the thunder and mostly there's driving rain in the middle of the storm. I don't like that either."

Steve pushes his butt off the table and reaches for the last crate. He studies Danny over his shoulder, his dirt-covered muscular shoulder where ink peeks through. How can unwashed skin be so damn sexy? "You won't be struck by lightning if that's what worries you. Too many trees, Danny. But the fact that you are here and the fact that there is a thunderstorm gathering tells me you need something from me. So, uhm did you miss me, Danny? Is that the reason you drop by that late? Or what can I do for you?"

Danny performs a helpless motion with one hand. Grace! Dolphins! Wow. Did he forget about why he came here in the first place? No. he did not, did he? Steve's like a freaking black hole. He sucks Danny's entire attention right up on the spot. "Well, I came for a special reason but that can wait. The talk can wait. And what if I missed you?"

It takes a split second for Steve to shut Danny out. It's like a blind gets pulled down behind his eyes. Danny watches the not-visible emotions race over Steve's face. He might be a master in hiding feelings but some seep through. Danny can't see them but he senses them with every fiber of his body. It's like his body hair has turned into an insane hyper-sensitive seismograph.

"You wanna get dirty?" Steve lifts the create and walks closer.

"What are you even asking?" Danny can't balance fast enough. The hard, hot image of Steve's large, rough hand wrapped around his cock knocks the wind right out of him.

"Are you afraid of the dark, Danny? Ready for some funky gardening? Guerilla gardening might be the right word for that. Hmm? Up for that?" Steve's voice is black velvet on Danny's skin.

There's so much hidden meaning behind the questions Steve's asking. Danny is overwhelmed. The sudden heat that blazes behind his chest and between his legs makes it hard to focus. Why can nothing happen in a moderate pace with this guy? Danny pretends to be dense as concrete. If the dull fire in Steve's eyes is a harbinger of what lies beneath Danny will burn with a wild cry on his lips. Holy shit.

Steve challenges Danny. And Goddamnit, challenge's fucking accepted. Danny steps forward and holds Steve's heavy gaze. "You think I'm a damn pussy."

"I might," dark voiced words setting Danny on fire.

"You think I'm a freaking putz because I don't like thunderstorms." Danny tugs the shirt up and rushes through the buttons to pop them open.

Steve leans in with the create pressed to his abs. "What the fuck are you doing, D?"

"That's my best shirt. I don't need to roll around in the dirt with my best shirt on." He tosses the crumpled piece of fabric over to Steve's bed. He doesn't miss. Claim announced.

"Are you fucking with me here, Detective Williams?" Steve growls with his head turned to where Danny's shirt has landed on his bed.

"Does it look like I'm that kind of guy?"

Steve breathes heavily with parted lips. "Nope."

Danny's hard on pulses in his briefs. "Good." He unclips his service weapon and his badge and puts both on the chair next to him. "Got a second headlight, big guy?" His nipples pucker instantly with the way Steve's eyes touch his skin. He toes his shoes off and bends down to pull his socks off, too. He wiggles his toes. He stands the sensual pain with what Steve's eyes carve into his chest.

"Right behind you," Steve's breath fans over his skin. He's so close. "Your pants will get wet and dirty."

Danny unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the straps with a sharp move. The belt buckle clatters when he lets it drop on the floor. "I'm not putting your baby plants in the ground stark naked."

Steve's crooked smile is lewd. "Let's head out then."

Steve gets rid of his tank top outside. The heavy rain pelts down on their bare backs. Danny's pants are soaked in seconds. The wet fabric clings to his thighs. The wet, rain-soaked soil is downright luscious. It's soft and kneeling in it, digging the toes into it fills Danny with a light joy. The rain is cold, but his skin is hot and fiery. It's the craziest thing he has ever done. "When have you become so wild?" He shouts and laughs.

"I don't know what that even means." Steve answers with a lightness to his voice that makes Danny want to lean over to taste the rain on his shoulder.

Steve takes Danny's hands in his and shows him how to drill a small hole with a digit. "Do it like that," he doesn't let go, "you make the holes and I put the seedlings in." Steve's full voice drowns out the thunder easily.

Danny watches their mud-covered hands how they work side by side lit by the small beam of light attached to their foreheads. Danny loses the feeling for time. A thing that seems to happen when he's in Steve's garden. They become a part of nature with the wind tearing at their wet hair and the constant flickering of lightning followed by a sound as if heaven cracks open. The storm is right above them. Steve's body position is relaxed, his movements are floating and beautiful, skilled, and calming. "Okay, that's it."

"Already?"

"Yeah, already." Steve is suddenly in his personal space. He switches off the lamp first before he pulls Danny's headlight off his head.

The darkness isn't so dark. The flickering light of the sky reveals the hunger on Steve's face. Everything fades away. Nothing matters but Steve, kneeling in the dirt, with the rain streaming down his ripped, muscular chest. Danny's eyes dart over to watch how Steve shuffles closer. His knees bump into Danny's. Danny catches Steve's ardent look and the slow move of his arm. Danny groans and leans into the rough grip when Steve wraps his dirt-covered hand around his neck.

Danny cups Steve's face and waits with a racing heart. Steve presses his lips to Danny's for a searing kiss. It's wet and slick, loaded with desire and want. Steve tastes of rain and hope. He pushes his tongue hard into Danny's mouth. Danny groans like he has waited a lifetime for this to happen. He holds Steve's head with both hands, fingers spread wide, and falls backward. He pulls Steve on top of him. Danny opens his lips to get as much of Steve's eager tongue into his mouth as possible. He drinks rain from Steve's lips. The guttural moans Steve pours into his mouth go straight to his straining cock.

Steve's weight presses him down. The wet soil is a strange sensation on his bare skin. The little stones sting, and leaves, and tiny twigs scratch. Danny wants more. The wet fabric of his pants hinders him to spread his legs, but Steve's big hands grab his knees and press them apart. The tear of material only makes Danny want to bite Steve. It makes him wild.

"Wrap your legs around me," Steve says between kisses.

Danny can't hear with the ongoing wind and the rain still pouring down on them. He smears mud over Steve's chest and bucks up into Steve's crotch. Danny's head falls back when his hard on rubs against Steve's bulge. "Oh, fuck."

Steve shuts him up with wild, biting kisses. He licks and sucks at Danny's lips and simultaneously pushes Danny deeper into the dirt. Steve rocks his hips and grinds down on Danny's hard cock. He shows him what he wants. Danny clings to him, hooks his legs up his hip, and crosses his ankles behind his back. He grunts into Steve's open mouth when he gets lifted from the ground into Steve's lap. This crazy guy hauls him up to walk with him over to the lanai. Danny bites along Steve's jawline and tightens the grip of his legs around Steve's waist. He grabs at Steve's pecs, runs his hands over broad shoulders and fans all his fingers through dark, wet hair.

Danny doesn't feel the jet of the shower. It's the same temperature as the rain. Steve washes the dirt from his hair with gentle moves. The water washes away the mud on their skin. Danny peels his pants off and steps out of them. He watches Steve do the same. He wraps his fingers around Steve's hard member and sucks one of Steve's nipples between his lips. He gasps into another round of blinding hot kisses. Without another word Steve yanks him back up. Arms as strong as steel are wrapped around Danny's waist. Steve seals his lips with his and carries him inside.

Steve throws Danny onto the pull-out bed and crawls over to box him in. He towers over him on all four. Steve's cock is a heavy weight between his legs. His gaze is like a whole new universe. And Danny drowns.

"Make me come, babe," Danny whispers.

Steve's bruising kiss is most welcome.

The back door is still wide open.

TBC

#writersmonth2020 #h50 8.14 #mcdanno #fic rec #mcdanno fic rec #ongoing story #prompt fill #this includes smut #mild smut #thank you for reading guys

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lovelyirony · 5 years

Note

avengers B99 au, interactions with secondary characters :))

Bruce Banner doesn’t like doing his job. He really, really doesn’t. Usually Thor can make arrests or something, but no. They needed someone with scientific backgrounds, and Tony already said he would and could launch himself across the room and ruin society if it meant he would have to take a different shift.

There’s a mole somewhere. And Bruce? Well, he’s about the least-threatening person on the Avengers force.

(This is in fact a lie because if possible, Bruce would take over the government.)

This is why he’s at work on a Sunday at six p.m., which is horrible and awful.

He meets Reed Richards, who is perhaps the worst man ever and is very bad at science. Somehow, he’s gotten ten papers published.

“I’m Dr. Richards,” he says, extending his hand. “Are you new here?”

Bruce has passed Dr. Richards every day on his way home for the last six years.

“Um, no,” Bruce says, taking his hand in a shake. “Just switched shifts. I’m usually the day, week shift.”

“Oh, you were with those guys. Stark drive you crazy?”

“No,” Bruce says, gritting his teeth. “More of the others.”

“Well, glad you’ve joined our team. Better over here, right?”

“...remains to be seen.”

(It does not remain to be seen. This shift notoriously sucks.)

Bruce is in charge of observing the different people. He finds out that Susan Storm has horrible taste in men, her brother is an asshole who everyone says Tony would get along with--which means they don’t get Tony in any way--and he doesn’t know what Ben Grimm’s deal is or why people call him “Thing.”

“You’ll get it soon,” Susan says. “Just...wait.”

Bruce emails Fury.

Dear Captain Fury,

You owe me margarita mix and at least 10 gazillion dollars in emotional damage. I cannot believe that I have to socialize with Reed Richards. In my scientific opinion, I hate this. I am very very close to total anarchy and getting rid of Barbra. Consider this your threat.

Sincerely,

Bruce Banner

(Barbra is the Keurig. It is Tony’s prized possession and almost 48% of the reason he was still at the precinct.)

The mole in the department is hard to find. Everyone has a reason, except for Dr. Richards, who doesn’t have a reason on the basis that he is a horrible person who Bruce would not be surprised to know that he probably owns at least twenty different sponges since he wants to be so absorbed in himself. You’d probably just need to hold a mirror up to his face to distract him.

The arrests made are also different.

A lot of drunk and disorderly, which Bruce handles with efficiency although he gets embroiled in a conversation about different brands of shaving cream.

The only good thing about any of this is that Bruce gets to see Luke Cage in action. Luke is most likely the best human being in New York, and this isn’t just because he’s one of the few that can be partnered with Detective Jessica Jones and not die by the end of it.

“I have really thick skin,” Luke jokes.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Bruce announces. He’s on his seventh cup of coffee. “That’s the coffee talking.”

Luke doesn’t treat that awkwardly, because apparently “more than five people have said this to me.”

Bruce thinks it’s what he deserves.

Meanwhile on day shift during the weeks, it has gone to chaos. Bruce Banner is one of the main team members, and holds many people together due to a.) the fact that everyone on the team would kill for Bruce, b.) he makes good tea and knows the gossip, and c.) he’s perhaps the only one who can calm Thor down because Thor loves his husband more than life itself.

Things are not going well.

Plus, Dr. Richards keeps emailing Tony different stories about “how much better suited” Bruce is now.

This conflicts with Bruce’s emails about “wanting to severely injure certain members of this shift, which initials are the same and are ‘R.R.’

Thor is cranky and wants his husband back and knows that he will riot if he doesn’t get to sleep in the same bed as his husband at the same time soon.

Bruce is getting suspicious of a guy who goes by the name of Aldrich Killian. Just got hired by the precinct for tech support, but keeps weird hours and wears green polo shirts. Light green. This doesn’t necessarily mean a lot of things, but seriously. Who wears a light green polo shirt? To work? Get real.

So Bruce starts his investigation and sends information to Fury and Tony.

Killian then finds out that Bruce suspects, and traps him in the file room.

“I literally, quite honestly, hate you a lot,” Bruce says. “It’s not even ten p.m. yet and I’m stuck here.”

“And you will be unless you send your boss a message saying that I’m innocent,” Killian hisses. “And then you quit your job, or so help me I’m gonna kill you.”

“Go ahead, try it,” Bruce says. “Kill me, I bet that’ll be real fun for your court case. Especially when everyone knows I’m here. And when you skip town, and you will, they’ll hunt after you. Tell me, you want Natasha Romanoff standing over your bed? Not fun.”

“I’ll manage.”

Bruce does not think he will. Because while Bruce has been talking, he’s realized one thing: the shelves are not bolted down.

Then he remembers the time that Steve knocked one over because he was very angry about a case.

So Killian gets a whole row of unsolved 1970s cases dumped on top of him.

Bruce then doesn’t feel the need to do anything for the next ten minutes, because it is quite heavy.

So he gets a coffee, has a stimulating conversation with Clint about “whether or not deer could actually feel anything but hubris and greed,” and then decides to casually tell Fury he found the mole.

“When?”

“Um, ten minutes ago? I went to get coffee. Clint wanted to talk about scientific things.”

“Please tell me you did not leave the mole for your damn conversation about deer. Don’t.”

“Then I won’t tell you shit. Just let me have my shift back.”

Bruce comes back to the weekday shift. Thor decides to take his husband out to lunch and sweep him up into a hug.

“Never volunteer again. Ever.”

“I didn’t volunteer, Tony opted out. I missed you too, babe.”

“Now that you guys are being disgusting and I think it’s over, I want to take this opportunity to announce that I got published,” Clint says.

“What? No you didn’t,” Bucky says. “You don’t even do any research! Did you write your crime novel?”

“No, I gave up on that because I can’t spell handkerchief.”

“You used it that much?”

“Yes, it was important to the plot. But anyway, Bruce kept talking about deer and about our theory about greed and hubris so I published the paper.”

“Who published it?” Bruce demands.

“Um, I don’t know? I just know that it’s apparently ‘wildly new’ among ecologists.”

“This doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about scientific publishing to prove it,” Bucky says. “Congrats, Clint? I guess?”

Bruce grins.

He’s happy to be home.

Even if he just learned that they have to deal with some FBI chump about inspections. But that’s okay.

#b99 au #ANYWAYS. AMAZING.#lovelyirony writes #yes i will fucking roast reed richards within an inch of my life #fantastic four #avengers #bruce banner #thorbruce #thor #give thor his husband back!!!!!#also yes clint can't spell handkerchief i had to look it up for this

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forerunnerdiaries · 4 years

Text

christmas eve; leaving the past behind.

What do you know? Writing my first post just 7 minutes into Christmas Day 2020.

I itched to write personally for a while. I write privately in my journal for most part, but felt like there was a necessity to get a proper personal blog again.

I’ve had a personal blog for years, on and off, always changing domains (I really am a pilgrim who cannot sit still in one place!). But in the recent years, I found that blogging for the sake of expression and sheer love of writing was an activity that had disappeared from my life. Instead, I had become a content creator for the purpose of growing influence or a brand. So the only platforms I had were for public-facing purpose. And when that happens, you write like a brand, wanting to frame or curate your message according to how you want people to see you.

Well, I have discovered that it is no longer the time for acting like a brand/influencer, or for curating so I can build public perspective of me. This is something God has been instilling in me and reminding me about for a few months now. Not too long ago, He moved me to start leaving and shutting down all my public platforms, my various Instagram accounts.

All the while, exposing my efforts to build my own ministry platform or personal brand - something that looked like well-meaning Christian work, but was in actual fact all about me and my ego. In actual fact, I was hoping that I could make a name for myself, that people would know that I was worth my salt. I found myself needing to be known.

And that’s the cry of every heart, is it not? So much so that we give ourselves interesting, curated identities on social media so that people know us as the “so-and-so person who’s all about such-and-such topic”. And while there is a time and place to create strategic, curated messages on the Internet, it sometimes bleeds into our hearts so that we are no longer “authentic” like we always pride ourselves to be, because we feel the need to fit that mould that we had built for ourselves. That mould that people think we are. God forbid if were to deviate from it!

As 2020 entered its last quarter, I began to see that God has been bringing us back into a space of personal relationship, and unfiltered, uncurated living. The real “authentic”. Not about trying to show off selected parts of lives off on social media squares and 15-second stories, and letting those be the only way for people to learn about our lives. Instead, He is desiring true connection. True connection away from public eyes, with Him. And true connection with people, where we actually reach out to them for conversations, as opposed to stalking each other via Stories (a very lazy way, if you ask me).

So, what does this have to do with starting a personal blog, you ask? Let me explain.

I have always been a writer - a good enough writer gifted by God to craft beautiful messages inspired by a relationship with Him.

However, I feel like I’d given away my writing for the sake of profit and fame. And so much of my time as a storyteller was spent on trying to make a name for myself, up until He exposed my heart’s motivations for what they were.

Even after collapsing the tower of my self-ambition, and loving me into a place of repentance, He has been merciful enough to remind me that “my writing is worship” and to be stewarded carefully, not to be sold cheaply when I am desperate for provision or when I am starving for someone to validate me as a worthy successful adult.

My writing is worship, and counted as beautiful in His eyes, if only I would celebrate and align with Him in this way by writing in a way that expresses a full reliance and trust in Him.

And so here I am, writing in a humble, simple blog as a response to His encouragement over my life. He has also been merciful enough to tell me that I have a voice and a message, and it doesn’t come out of creating aesthetic content calendars or strategic content plans with acquisition tactics. Rather, the message is an overflow from our conversations in the secret place, in the throne room. It sometimes comes on a Monday, sometimes many days later, sometimes a few times a day, and in various interesting ways that might not ‘fit the look’ or get a bunch of social media likes.

There’s no more pressure to succeed.

This brings me to talk a little bit more about what I want to leave behind as I sail into the final week of 2020.

It’s been a really intense year. A year of acceleration for many, and very much so for me. I have reflected that God has worked on me a mighty lot this year, causing me to change in such drastic and quick ways that I know cannot be done based on human effort alone. And yet, I know that a part of me continues to hold on to my past ways. I have not crossed over fully into the place that He is calling me to be in; I am still resisting the full transition in some ways.

I see it in the way I still hold on to old friendships and old interactions, even though God has already told me to stop. Not to stop being friends with them, but to stop associating my identity with them and wanting to be ‘of’ them. I see His grace gradually departing this area of my life, and I know that I must choose.

I see it in the way I still cannot fully embrace my new assignment in my art studio. I continue to have one foot out the door, straggling, not wanting to give my all because I know I am afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of being used, afraid of hardship and afraid of humility. And yet, I know that this is where He is planting me for the time being.

I see it in the way I am constantly worrying about my physical looks because I am gradually becoming less of that “athletic chick” due to nearly two months away from the gym. I have allowed myself to boldly ask, “Who is it that you are still trying to impress?” and I know the answer - I am still trying to be a desirable young lady that the men I used to like will still pay attention to. I don’t want to be considered “no longer hot”. I don’t want to be unattractive. I worry about my external appearance more than I have let myself admit - from the size of my waistline to the kind of hairstyle I have to the clothes I wear and the bag I carry. And the funny thing is, all this while, God is not telling me to be ugly. He is in fact trying to show me what it looks like for me to be really beautiful. Yet, I am still stuck in the past.

These were the truth bombs I found myself confronted with on Christmas Eve, after departing from an overnight party that I had attended with aforementioned friends.

But I love God, I really do, He knows I do. And whatever He reveals to me in His grace, I take up the challenge to respond positively to. This is who I am - someone who will give all I can to stand aligned with Someone I love. So Lord, if it is Your desire for me to take a proper step across the line between my past and my future, I will do so, trusting that You will cause the ground to rise up to my feet as I take every step into the unknown.

And I am not afraid of the unknown, because You have always been with me, and more than enough.

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a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

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The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 16/?

FMA AU meets “The Wind Rises” AU : “I still remember every day”

[crazy idea #1: if you are familiar with FMA: Brotherhood (superior in every way) you probably are too young or too smart to remember the original 2003 FMA clusterfuck series but i’m neither young nor smart so here is my take on one of my favorite animated movies of all times “The Conqueror of Shamballa” BUT the story doesn’t start in 1923 Germany but somewhere around 1923 Japan. If you are familiar with this movie and the 2003 series you will know Ed Elric has moved from London to Munich and started living there frequently interacting with a family of rocket scientists (sounds crazy if you are only knowledgeable with FMA: B, but… trust me). So i thought, “what if our protagonist (in this case WWX) travels from China to Japan to work on some airplanes instead?”]

[crazy idea #2: “The Wind Rises” from Ghibli is set in that historical period right? so what if we make transmigrated WWX work his engineering magic on some aircrafts before any conflict can actually take place? precisely between the end of the Taisho period (1912-1926) and the beginning of the Showa period (1926-1989), when the desire for innovation and the new technological advancements could be implemented while at peace.]

[obviously, this is just a prompt, and I don’t feel particularly comfortable with creating fantasy storylines so intertwined with actual historical events, especially if these events caused the suffering of many and belong to a culture that is not mine to describe with the potential risk of offending its values and legacy. also, fandom should be fun and if you love angst maybe this is not the prompt for you. on the other hand I thought of how much i love movies like “Porco Rosso”, set somewhat really fucking close to where I live while describing a fun and lighthearted narrative even if it’s dealing with historical and political events that are still fresh and painful in our collective memory nowadays. Maybe it is possible to write something easy and fun while, at the same time, setting it in a time of great difficulties without hurting anyone. Maybe I’m not the person for that (after all, this is just a prompt), but if you want to explore a similar plot you are encouraged to tag me bc I would really like to know your take on the matter. and if I happen to offend anyone I will properly apologize and take responsibility.]

[the title is from L’Arc-en-Ciel’s song “Lost Heaven”, which still makes me cry to this day]

When Wei WuXian wakes up after the core transplant surgery, the first thing he realizes is that he should be awake. Wen Qing insisted on the fact that he had to keep himself awake and conscious for the entirety of the procedure, otherwise he would have suffered from extreme backlash and so would have Jiang Cheng. But here he is, waking up from slumber after who know how many days. In front of a figure in white he doesn’t recognize. Everything is blurry in his periphery, as if he’s inhabiting two bodies at the same time. His every move heavy and his speech sluggish.

The person in white turns the moment Wei WuXian realizes he’s standing in the middle of nowhere, in the space between realities.

“Where am I?”, he asks, trying to make out the features of the person in front of him, their long white hair, the silver lining of their robes.

“You’re here to pay a price.”, the other answers, their voice a mere whisper. Barely louder than the crisp little noises the pins and jewelry adorning their hair and neck are making as the person approaches him slowly.

“A price for what?”

“Before losing consciousness, you wished for your brother to be saved no matter what.”

“Is… is Jiang Cheng safe?”

“He’s dying because you fell asleep.”, the other announces, sending shivers down Wei WuXian’s spine, dread sitting in the middle of his chest, “You cannot wake up, the damage is done. But if you enter this door you will be able to save him. Your body in this world will die, the core will not share two owners at once and your brother will be the only one able to use it from now on.”

Wei WuXian doesn’t have time to feel pain, determination painting him in vibrant colors in that white realm of silence and void. He turns as the person in white gestures him to do so and he finds a door so big it could rival with one of the gates of Koi Tower. Engraved on its surface are myriads of characters reminding him of something ancient and forbidden. Something so dark and dangerous not even cultivators as knowledgeable as Lan QiRen would be able to understand, let alone encourage learning about.

“What will i find on the other side?”, he wonders, watching as the gates slowly open in front of him, a warm wind spiraling upwards and messing his hair.

A kiss from the underworld.

Is this the day I die, he doesn’t ask.

“Another world.”, the woman in white and silver answers honestly.

Wei WuXian doesn’t have time to recognize her that he is dragged inside by a thousands of spirits with eyes for mouths and teeth for hands.

Mere months have passed since he woke up in a body similar to his original one, but completely different from his own at the same time. He’s still seventeen, but cannot rely on cultivation anymore. The brand scar he received in the cave of the Tortoise of Slaughter is nowhere to be seen. His mother and father welcomed him back in their arms, crying over his bedridden body thanking the heavens for saving their only son from typhoid fever. He knew deep down those were not his true parents, that Cange Sanren had a different name on top of that and that their actual son’s soul was probably the sacrificial lamb paid on the altar of Wei WuXian’s greed to save his only brother. He knew this since day one, yet he was too tired to say anything at the time. He woke up in a small village in the Hubei Province under the Republic of China, established twelve years prior. A reality almost identical to his own, but stripped of any power of the cultivation world.

However, now things have changed and his parents have died a second time, the fever and starvation taking them in their sleep one at a time. But not before his mother could send a desperate letter to an old acquaintance of hers asking them to take their son “Wei Ying” out of the country and save him from harm. After accepting her proposition, the Chinese diplomat Jiang Fenmiang has invited Wei Ying to live with him and their family in Tokyo, where he’s working in order to strengthen and acquiesce the relations between the two countries after a period of tension and grievances.

As he travels on what he understands to be called a “train”, Wei WuXian takes notes over the many technological advancements this new era has brought to humanity. Such as the ferry he has taken to travel overseas and now the locomotive taking him to Tokyo. The pain of losing his parents for the second time is still fresh, as is the memory of the past few months living alone on the streets chased by rabid dogs. His body is still weak after surviving the fever and his lungs and digestive system are forever compromised, but he wants to meet Jiang Chen and YanLi a second time in this new world. Feeling guilty for leaving them in a world ruled by the Qishan Wen clan, the only thing he can do is to atone in this new life and protect them in this reality. He takes a brief moment to himself as he looks up from his notes and sees a man approaching from the first class carriage of the train.

Initially Wei WuXian doesn’t regard the stranger with anything but a polite nod, some of his notes flying away from his journal as he adjusts himself on the platform at the end of his car. He sprints up to try to catch them... before the stranger could grab them for him and give them back.

It’s then that Wei WuXian recognizes the man, an older version of Lan Zhan from the one he remembers, dressed in modern clothing and shorter hair. He’s just another double, a copy of the original he used to know. Just like his mother and father, just like the Jiang family he’s going to meet soon. No recognition comes from the other-Lan Zhan, yet Wei WuXian lets himself stare for longer than necessary as he thanks the man.

A single tear rolls down his cheek as an earthquake shakes the train and destroys everything around them in that day of September 1923.

[details down below]

1923:

(WWX is 17)

the train stops and all the passengers survive, but they are scared and don’t know how to reach Tokyo safely by foot. Some officers guide them to the nearest road and help them walk for a while before they have to leave for the capital in an attempt to contain the flames of the many fires caused by the earthquake.

Lan Zhan’s double has the same name and features, but is now twenty-five and was supposed to arrive in Tokyo to meet with his brother, Lan Huan’s double. He’s a little more cheerful than what WWX remembers and he also decides to stick with the younger man all the way to Tokyo. After glancing at WWX’s notes earlier, in fact, double!LanZhan recognizes him as someone from his same country and reasons they should feel safer traveling together for a little while more.

given that trying to explain his situation to double!LanZhan would be useless, WWX simply agrees and shoves down any temptation to tell him all about Gusu and the cave and how much he wishes he could go back to his original world. They walk all the way to Tokyo talking quietly: they are surrounded by strangers, WWX doesn’t know much Japanese to begin with and he doesn’t want to be recognized as a foreigner.

uncle Jiang, along with some clothes to travel more comfortably, has sent him enough money to travel and direction to reach his home. The only thing WWX hopes is that nobody was injured in the earthquake and that no more waves can reach them before he can join them. What an unfortunate time to arrive. Aunt Yu would probably hate him in this reality too just because of that.

but as he trails behind double!LanZhan and enters Tokyo, WWX feels as if hell has found its way into the world, flames everywhere and nowhere to go. In the midst of chaos, however, double!LanZhan tries to keep him from fainting or shaking, talking about all the things he and his brother wish to work on as architects working for the government. Yet, WWX senses how worried he is for his twin brother and pities him as he tries to calm down, marveling at how much this version of Lan Zhan can talk. They walk towards the Jiang household as double!LanZhan chats about the university he’s supposed to work for the following month, wondering if it’s still intact after the catastrophe.

they reach the elegant house without any more troubles, relief spreading through their hearts as they notice it has endured little to no damage. Uncle Jiang scurries over them and immediately recognizes WWX bc of how much he resembles his mother and the man dotes on him from then on. He thanks double!LanZhan profusely, ignoring the resentful glances coming from his wife and the curious ones from his daughter. A kid roughly the same age as WWX approaches and takes the other’s only suitcase: a scowl on his face and hurry in his steps, telling WWX to keep up because “the world is crashing down if he hadn’t noticed”.

WWX doesn’t have time to properly thank double!LanZhan that he is urged inside by his new family.

1927:

(WWX is 21)

given the connections the Jiang family has in both countries, WWX and his step siblings are able to enjoy benefits others may only dream of, but the government is wary of foreigners and they need to act as good guests. This angers and stresses Jiang Cheng, his temper even worse than what WWX remembers, and he is even more rebellious than his new stepbrother. It’s WWX who needs to tone down the other’s snark at times, reminding him they cannot do as they please and that, even if others are jealous of their grades in university and overall position, they are still living in difficult times.

WWX knows this Jiang Cheng is a double ant that everything feels like a dream and nothing matters anymore, but if he pretends hard energy maybe he can stop feeling guilty for leaving his dear ones behind. But acknowledging this Jiang Cheng as the real one feels wrong and sometimes WWX distances himself from him, keeping his secrets for himself.

however, double!JiangCheng has seen his brother scream in his dreams, even waking him up in the middle of the night just to shake him from his horrible nightmares. Sometimes Wei Ying watches him in his sleep, when he hasn’t yet realized double!JiangCheng is awake, as checks for his breath. Other times he pressed a hand to his abdomen, as if checking for scars or injuries. He doesn’t know what it means, but he is willing to wait for the other to come around and they’ll him himself.

their sister YanLi has figured a way to be useful in a country wary of foreigners by studying to become a doctor and save lives. Their father is currently struggling at work because of the increasing tensions between the two countries and their mother keeps to herself in spite of everything.

WWX’s health deteriorates after he starts working, their supervisor suggesting him and his brother to keep a low profile just not to attract any unwanted attention on their family. Their work as engineers can convince the higher-ups to keep them close in case war were to strike again. But Jiang Cheng feels bad for working for a country constantly threatening his parent’s home country over mining rights and land ownership. He may love working on new aircrafts and test his limits, but he’s against using his energy and drive for appease someone else’s greed.

WWX, for the first time in his life, feels second to his brother, admiring his ability to distinguish from right and wrong while he himself cannot even tell dreams and reality apart. With a weakened body and a mind filled with memories of a world that doesn’t even exists, WWX convinces himself he’s in hell and this life is the punishment for being too greedy himself.

1929:

(WWX is 23, double!LWJ is 30)

tension is too strong for them to live in Tokyo, with Uncle Jiang forced to work for the government and scramble for solutions in order to keep his family safe in a secluded location in the mountains, in a hotel in the middle of nowhere. There, the elites enjoys the last days of peaceful times they will not see again for years to come.

WWX feels drained, dreaming of people he will either never see again or see every single day in the faces of strangers. Jiang Cheng convinces him to talk, even if only to ease his pain, but WWX cannot bring himself to reveal the whole truth. The only thing he feels like to share is that he has visions of another world and that maybe reincarnation is not as far fetched as it seems.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t really believe him, but he supports him and together with YanLi they try to make Wei Ying relax during their vacation on the mountains.

there, out of nowhere, WWX meets double!LanZhan and his brother: they meet on top of a hill as the wind rises and some of the two brothers’ musical scores fly away. WWX and his stepbrother catch them and bring them back as YanLi approaches the two musicians.

this time, WWX notice immediately something is wrong. Double!LanZhan is far less cheerful than what he remembers from their first encounter, while his brother seems to have lost his vision, music being his only comfort. The group exchanges pleasantries with the twins on top of the hill, until rain forces them all to seek refuge under some trees. WWX watches double!LanZhan closely and realizes these years apart must have been tough on him. He asks if double!LanHuan has lost his sight after the earthquake and the only thing double!LanZhan is able to do is nod, his eyes filled with tears.

Would it be so bad to befriend this other-LanZhan? Is it right for WWX to start a new life in hell with someone so compassionate and kind? Maybe that would be okay in the end, maybe they can be good friends and survive this world that is wary of them simply because of the greed of human kind. Then why does it feel wrong to let himself be loved by these people? Why does it feel like he’s betraying the ones he has left behind?

during their vacation, the two families get closer and they enjoy each other’s company. They talk in Japanese to not be stared by the other patrons and WWX wonders what happened in his world. If the Wens have crumbled down. If their name is synonymous with hatred and greed. If this is how any refugee would feel, isolated from the rest of the country while desperately trying to hold onto any familiar face and memory at hand.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like to talk in another language and fear others might look down on him and seldom attracts attention by causing mayhem. But YanLi and even double!LanHuan help him come down from his stubborn antics and take him to long walks to calm down. This way, WWX and double!LanZhan are frequently left alone, because Wei Ying cannot walk for too long without feeling exhausted and so the other keeps him company.

since double!LanZhan is so under the weather and quiet, WWX takes it upon himself to entertain him and he spends their days chatting about the things he misses from home, what he would like to do if he were to live somewhere else, they airplanes he would like to make. He doesn’t talk about how much me misses flying on a sword, or how the wind fills under his clothes up in the air, or how much he would have loved to hold onto Lan Zhan among the stars at night.

WWX cries in front of double!LanZhan without noticing one day, missing the days at the Cloud Recesses when they were classmates and he used to pester the other boy. And only now, only now he understands what it was, what he wanted to convey with his antics. How much he wanted the other to notice him and pay attention to him. But the one rubbing a comforting hand up and down his spine now is not his Lan Zhan. Even if he’s just as kind and compassionate, just as quiet and brilliant, just as hurt and lonely.

they share a kiss under the trees of a meadow one afternoon and WWX feels like he’s either betraying the real Lan Zhan or this gentle young man who’s never done anything bad in his entire life. And he doesn’t know why double!LanZhan is crying as well as they kiss, but he’s too afraid to ask.

the following day Uncle Jiang calls the rest of his family back home and the Jiang siblings say their goodbyes to the twins hiding alone with their uncle on the mountain. Promising to meet each other again soon, even if WWX knows that’s most likely nothing but a well intentioned lie given the hardships they’re bound to face.

1930:

Lan Zhan:

(WWX is 24, double!LWJ is 31)

after meeting with the Jiang family, the twins try to retrieve their life as usual the moment they return in Tokyo for the winter. Their uncle notices double!LanZhan’s distress over departing from the young men he had met there, but his inquiry is fruitless since his nephew refuses to speak. The old man has noticed some changes in the younger twin over the course of a couple of years or so: his frequent migraines and tiredness, his laborious efforts to speak as if feverish and confused, his nights interrupted by nightmares more often than not.

even his brother has noticed the difference despite losing his vision in the fire at the imperial university seven years prior. His cheerful spirit is gone, his steps alternate different rhythms at times, and even his accent often doesn’t sound familiar to him. In his younger brother’s words “it’s almost as if two of me are residing in a single body”. But Lan Huan doesn’t know what to make of it, wishing he could look his brother in the eyes and see the truth for himself.

double!LanZhan, on the other hand, feels split in half ever since he has kissed Wei Ying. He remembers that day because his body has moved on its own, half of his mind lost in Wei Ying’s grey eyes while the other half (his own half) was trying to understand why the sudden urge to hold the boy tighter in his arms. He felt like someone had possessed him for those brief, stolen moments in time before leaving his body altogether the second Wei Ying has run away from him in the meadow.

unable to find an answer, feverish and tired with a migraine splitting his brain in half, double!LanZhan wanders around Tokyo trying to remember where the Jiang residence was. His feet walking him towards Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s room in the evening one day. Wei Ying is alone, sitting down by a table covered in drawings. Mesmerized, double!LanZhan watches from the window as Wei Ying traces the lines of faces and places, over an over again, as if he doesn’t want to forget what his imagination has shown him that night.

seeing what is depicted on the table, double!LanZhan’s migraine worsens and he collapses in the back garden, snow piling up on him. Wei Ying immediately notices and brings him inside, covering him in quilts to keep him warm. But Wei Ying is the warmest of all, his embrace like a balsam over double!LanZhan’s pulsing head as the younger tries to keep him warm by rubbing his arms over and over.

suddenly his head doesn’t hurt anymore and he can finally, finally let go. Let the other half take his place for now, just for a little while, as he takes a small nap in Wei Ying’s arms.

when he wakes up, Lan Zhan cries all of his tears.

he was finally able to reach Wei Ying, his Wei Ying, who was trapped in another world. The one Lan Zhan has been looking for ever since the end of the Sunshot Campaign, ever since Jiang Cheng himself told him of his demise. The one Lan Zhan was able to reach only after sacrificing his golden core to the immortal turned goddes BaoShan Sanren in front of a gate born from the efforts of some past demonic cultivator.

for two years he had tried to make his way through the veil between realities, his consciousness exhausted as if he had been swimming for far too long. The other-him, the man who shared his name and face, hosting his soul at the expenses of his own body for over two years. All because of Lan Zhan’s grief and greed, all because a goddess had promised him he could be reunited with the love of his life. But at what cost... at what cost indeed.

since two souls cannot reside in a single body, one of them had to die in order for Lan Zhan to meet his Wei Ying again. The moment WWX sees the other cry, he immediately recognizes him and tries to console him for the loss of his “other”. But LWJ cannot seem to feel any relief as he falls asleep once more in his arms.

Jiang Cheng:

Jiang Cheng enters the room and is baffled to find one of the twins in there, but seeing his brother crying over the man he decides to help them instead of calling the servants. Things are turning ugly in town for people like them and he doesn’t trust anyone anymore since YanLi got married and started working for the hospital, leaving the brothers alone.

in tears, Wei Ying tells him everything: of his dreams of another world, of the one he was destined to meet, of Lan Zhan finally remembering who he really was. He’s still fixated on this “past life” thing, uh? Jiang Cheng doesn’t really understand, but he knows the two man has grown fond of each other the previous summer and doesn’t really envy their fate.

he watches over them as they fall asleep in each other’s arms, having promised them to keep the servants from knowing about Lan Zhan’s presence in their house. That’s when he comes up with a plan and calls Lan Huan on the phone, briefly telling him that “his brother Lan Zhan has made a choice and that he cannot stay in Tokyo anymore”.

Lan Huan asks Jiang Cheng if his brother is there, to which the other only says “yes”. Is he with Wei Ying? Yes. Are they in love? Yes. Do they need to hide? “I can manage that for them.”

They meet the following morning at dawn, outside of Lan XiChen’s house to not attract the attention of the Jiang servants. Jiang Cheng will escort the two lovebirds to a cottage somewhere in the countryside, far away from society. When Lan Huan will succeed in convincing Lan QiRen to follow him there, they will receive them and arrange something.

Jiang Cheng May not believe his brother, but he knows things are getting dangerous in the country, especially for foreigners like them. Let alone someone like Wei Ying and his lover.

Wei WuXian:

While Lan Zhan is still feverish, Jiang Cheng and WWX take the train with the older man to the countryside. WWX feels bad for leaving, but Lan Zhan needs to rest away from the modern world for a while and he himself doesn’t feel well at all. Not with his lungs giving up on him any time he has to stiffen a cough and swallow his own blood with every breath. His weakened body may have caught something in the last few months, but he will not give up on Lan Zhan now.

They reach the cottage and Jiang Cheng immediately sends a letter to his sister, apologizing for what he’s about to do. They only have to wait a week for Lan Huan and Lan QiRen to arrive, but in the meantime Lan Zhan has regained enough energy to eat and stand up on his own. WWX asks him what is going on, and LWJ tells him that he’s currently trying to hold onto this body while simultaneously ruling over his original body in Gusu. He doesn’t want to fade away, but he fears slipping out of reach and leave WWX behind a second time.

when Lan QiRen sees them, he cannot deny what is in front of him: someone who is merely pretending to be his nephew greets him with a stoic face as he announces his intention to marry a man. Despite the initial shock, when Lan Huan has asked him to take him in the middle of nowhere in the countryside in winter, Lan QiRen has accepted to indulge him knowing Lan Zhan must have had something to do with it. But this in front of him is definitely not his nephew and this realization hurts more then knowing he is in love with a man.

Lan Huan, on the other hand, knows from his voice this is not his brother but cannot explain why. He’s filled with grief at the thought and not even his uncle can comfort him, the older man himself in pain for a loss he cannot comprehend.

WWX asks them to indulge them just this time, feeling like his life is getting closer and closer to its end, not knowing what else to do. Jiang Cheng comforts the two men as he tries to explain his reasons, that nobody will let them have even an ounce of joy in the world they’re forced to live in and that, if things will end up getting worse in the end, at least they’ll have this memory to look back to. He feels like a war is approaching, and no one can know what kind of world will greet them at the end of it.

Lan Zhan:

the day of his wedding he’s very nervous, having asked their hosts to simplify the traditional ceremony given the fact that Wei Ying and he are both men and there are no actual guest attending. They bow to the heavens and the earth, to their families, and then to each other. Their clothes are far less expensive or appropriate from the nuptial red they would have worn under different circumstances, yet Lan Zhan has never felt more adorned and rich, basking in Wei Ying’s love.

they spend their first night together whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, tired and happy as they have never been before.

Wei WuXian:

they stay at the cottage for months, receiving news from the outside world every now and then from Jiang Cheng and Lan Huan. He suspects his brother is keeping something to himself, ignoring his questions over the political situation altogether, but he doesn’t insist.

LWJ tells him stories of the Sunshot Campaign, of how he tried to save the weak, the women, the children and the innocent of the Wen Clan against the rest of the cultivation world. Of how he found a way to summon BaoShan Sanren through some scrolls he had found in Burial Mounds, where he thought WWX’s soul might have disappeared to. Of how he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to his brother and the people he had saved in Yiling before signing a contract with the immortal.

WWX’s lungs are giving up on him but he tries to keep LWJ from noticing. YanLi comes to meet them one day and makes sure to cry for her brother only when they are finally alone, sensing his intention to keep his husband from knowing the truth. He knows LWJ cannot possibly keep holding onto two bodies at the same time: waking up in Yiling the moment he falls asleep in the cottage; then waking up with Wei Ying every morning the moment he falls asleep in Burial Mounds where he has decided to hide. Without a golden core, for as strong as someone like LWJ can be, he would die if he keeps crossing the veil, the gate between the two worlds.

the day after YanLi has left them alone, WWX spends his last day with his husband, making sure everything is perfect. he also sends letters to his family and thanks them for loving him. he extends his best wishes to the people who worked alongside him, helping him bring to fruition his dream to fly in the sky once more... even if he has never flown in this lifetime.

he’s very happy with his husband and wants to commit every second they spend together to heart. They make love for the last time before they both fall asleep together and dream of home.

he whispers “I wish you good luck” before falling asleep.

Lan Zhan:

he wakes up the next day and Wei Ying is gone. His body cold in his arms.

mad with grief, unable to believe a life without WWX can or should exist, he cries over his husband’s body and wishes he could die.

Lan Huan and Lan QiRen happen to visit that day and find him crestfallen and asking to be left alone to die. But they help him bury the body instead and take care of him. Lan QiRen suddenly feels terrible at the thought of leaving this boy all alone, whether he’s actually his nephew or not. Lan Huan convinces his brother to eat and rest, holding him for as long as it takes for him to calm down.

the following day, as the younger twin wakes up, he asks Lan Huan why they’re in a cottage in the countryside and what happened while he was asleep.

the actual LWJ, by falling asleep, not willing to wake up in a world where WWX doesn’t exists anymore, has allowed double!LanZhan to regain complete control over the body in the cottage. The twin wasn’t dead, just dormant, waiting for LWJ to let go of his body on his own.

waking up in the Burial Mounds, however, with no golden core and no Wei Ying is worse than anything LWJ has ever experienced. Having to survive WWX’s death not one, but two times is too much to handle... but a small kid has found his place in his arms while LWJ was sleeping. His beloved A-Yuan, one of the few Wen children he was able to save from the Lanling Jin’s clutches after the Sunshot Campaign.

as he takes in the sight of the child he considers his own, peacefully sleeping in his bed, LWJ finds the strength to say “just another day”. And then another and another and another again.

13 years later:

Mo XuanYu sacrifices his body for WWX and the first thing Wei Ying does in his new body is to ask the Lan juniors to bring him to Hanguan Jun.

but Lan Zhan is already there, following the juniors around after managing to reforming a golden core in just a little over ten years all on his own. The first thing he says to Wei Ying is “I still remember every day.”

and they begin to travel together for the rest of their life.

Now I need a fucking tissue.

[as you can see very little “conquering another world” type of quest because I didn’t like to think too hard. This is more like “what if before transmigrating WWX and LWJ lived somewhere else and got married?” But then I had to make it sad, uh? Fuck.]

[also, demonic-cultivator!LWJ anyone?]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #mdzs/au: manga/anime inspired #mdzs/au: fma #mdzs/au: ghibli #mdzs/au: modern

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nightmarenoise · 5 years

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Just comparing two cartoons I love

I understand that nobody asked in any capacity, but here I go anyway:

It feels fair to compare Ducktales 2017 to Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2018), not only because they're only about a year apart and truly, what is a year, but also because they

1. Both use this style that looks like it jumped straight out of a comic book. Okay, it's mostly the solidly inked shadows, but it gives me, personally, comic-y vibes.

2. They have taken what's arguably the main characters (the triplets for DT, the Turtles for TMNT) and shaken the formula up a good bit. Were the triplets formerly indistinguishable and all had the exact same personality, interests and voice actor, they are now three entirely separate entities with different traits and appearances. And while the turtles had about one defining personality trait and looked basically the same, save for the color of their masks, Rise made them different species of turtle to justify giving them radically different designs and three-dimensional personalities. Both shows faced criticism for this decision from people who cannot deal with change. Despite this, in both cases, it just works and does so incredibly well.

3. The oldest bros wear red.

4. We have two middle bros associated with the color blue who are both voiced by Ben Schwartz.

5. Both shows have a focus on family, with Ducktales especially focusing on found family and Rise on brotherhood.

6. Anime references!

Ducktales has a larger cast overall, with a lot of different characters all interacting with each other and they all have the most pleasant voices I've ever heard in my entire life. It's all solidly animated, the style is consistent and the animation is fluid, the characters are diverse and they're all lovely in their own right, except for those who aren't. The writing is top notch. Everyone feels consistent despite the large cast and it's delightful to watch all those interesting people interact with each other in their own way. The show also handles its mystery elements and occasional action scenes incredibly well, building suspense and delivering laughs and gut punches without hesitation. They juggle different tones like a professional clown, except the true clown was us, the audience, all along, for ever having doubted them.

The overarching plot of Ducktales, for its first two seasons, was mostly to uncover the mystery of what had happened to the mother of the triplets and all that would entail. Mystery and mythical elements will likely continue to be afoot for season 3.

Rise works with less focal characters, we have the Turtles, Splinter and April as well as various bad guys, but more than makes up for it with a lot of animation. A lot a lot of animation and it's all high quality. There's usually so much going on on-screen that a watching it once isn't enough to catch it all. Despite that, it doesn't feel crowded or rushed. Lots of dynamic shots and incredibly-choreographed action scenes, but nothing the thoroughly solid writing has to hide behind. Even when the baddies aren't the main concern, they're still well-rounded, interesting characters with unique abilities and motivations. Although, most of the mutants are just really feral. Still a delightfully diverse cast.

The turtles on the other hand spent their first season trying to foil their various foes, from a yokai trying to mutate all of humanity, to his mutants, to dealing with random mythical stuff, to the nefarious Foot Clan trying to reassemble the Dark Armor in the shadows. It's generally a more action-driven show, but they still find the time for some heartfelt moments.

The triplets 2.0

Despite their conventiently color-coded caps, they were really mostly the same character possessing three different bodies at a time. Well, the times of eerie The Shining like-twins, except extended to triplets, are over!

We have Huey, the oldest brother, voiced by Danny Pudi. He's a gentle, intellectual soul who values red hats, science, scout badges and checklists. Huey is arguably the closest in characterization to the original triplets, with some additional neat freak sprinkled in for flavor. He tries to be the responsible older sibling and keep his brothers under control and out of trouble. He also seems to have the most fiery temper of the bunch and should clearly not be pressed to the breaking point. He's my personal favorite and I heard season 3 will bring more focus to him, which makes me elated to hear. 888/10.

Middle child Dewey, the blue one, voiced by Ben Schwartz, who will inevitably come for all the iconic blue characters. He's very clearly the middle one, because he craves attention and validation and occasionally dreams of being an only child. Dewey is the one who started the investigation into their mom's disappearance and kept it from his brothers, partially to save them from hurt, but also because he wanted to feel special. He's the most interested in going on adventures with their uncle, but can get reckless when doing so. He's a bit of a spotlight hog, who has his own talk show that nobody watches and sings his own theme song when he needs to get hyped up, or just to fill this silence. This may sound kind of negative, but rest assured, he's a good, sweet boy. The focal triplet for the first season. 500/10.

Louie, the evil triplet, a schemer and a conman. Voiced by Bobby Moynihan. The youngest of the bunch. While they call him evil, he's really far too lazy to cause serious harm, except for when it's his laziness that's causing him to take dangerous shortcuts, oops. He dreams of making a fortune, but without having to work for it and preferably without any responsibility either, thank you. He also occasionally dreams of being a spoiled fat cat. Despite his chill demeanor, he can be a bit of a crybaby and those tears are only fake 50% of the time. I feel like he likes getting babied, but mainly because that means there's less work for him to do. Season 2, which focuses more on him, reveals that he's actually quite brilliant, capable of seeing all the angles and giving him some chessmaster-like qualities. He needs to learn to use those abilities for good. 665/10.

Hi, she's Webbie! The honorary triplet, who also got a massive makeover, from annoying token girl tagalong to socially awkward, adorkable action girl. Be careful who you call ugly in middle school, indeed. Like a more ferocious Mabel Pines, she has a grappling hook and years of martial arts training under her belt. Webbie can absolutely decimate you, but won't, because she's a sweet girl. Voiced by Kate Micucci. She continues to like unicorns and the color pink, but assuredly in the most badass of ways. She helped Dewey with his quest to uncover the mystery of his missing mom, but works well with all of the triplets, with Huey taking her under his wing a bit and Louie trying to get her to chill out more. Webbie is a sweetheart and I would die for her, were it not completely unnecessary, since she's more than capable of taking care of herself. ∞/10.

A lot of the supporting cast also saw updates and changes, for instance Gyro being a genius without social skills and Fenton being an adorkable scientist, but again, they work really well. They're interesting new takes on beloved characters. Even the new additions to the cast are great. In short, I love me some birds and am excited for season 3, Disney, get your scheduling together.

The Turtles 2.14.2 - I upgraded my upgrade in the middle of the upgrade

Also, these guys have seen so many different iterations in their, what, 30+ years of existence. As someone with no prior attachment to the turtle brand, I don't have a lot to say here. Leo's not the leader in this one and Raph has more personality than being angry at Leo for being the leader. Donnie is not just a random nerd spouting technobabble and Mikey has more depth than yelling the catchphrase every now and again. Apparently, this made people upset. I don't know how to help you with that. The middle brothers exude some high chaotic energy and should not be left unsupervised, but the oldest and youngest seem fairly stable.

Raphael, the red-bandana'd alligator snapping turtle is an imposing figure. He's the oldest and therefore team leader by default. Raph has no reason to be upset at Leo, so he isn't. Despite his ferocious appearance, he's a soft guy, who likes teddies and doting on his brothers, but fears puppets. He's a bit of a knucklehead, most of his plans involve smashing things with his tonfa and he may refer to himself in the third person in the heat of the moment, but he possesses emotional intelligence, is open about his feelings and looks after his brothers. He is big and and strong, but his heart is bigger and stronger. He especially loves small animals animals, who don't usually return his feelings. RIP in F. This responsible guy is voiced by Omar Benson Miller. 300/10, very soft. Somehow both the heart and the big guy of the group.

Donatello has been upgraded from second-to-youngest to second-to-oldest, not that it makes much of a difference. His color of choice is purple and he continues in the character's tradition of being a nerd, although this time, with self-confidence. Donnie is very sure of himself and his abilities. As a spiny soft-shell turtle, he's less sure of his shell, but that's okay, he's made robotic battle shells to make up for it and his bō is the mother of all multitools. This guy can build you a tank out of a buggie and upgrade your animatronic into something to give the FNAF franchise a run for its money. He's the smartest of the four and when not focused on his phone, very focused on the mission. Due to having to deal with his bros, he can be exasperated a lot. Thinks of himself as an emotionally unavailable bad boy, even though he's just really sensitive and wants his dad or someone parent-aged to tell him they're proud of him. Theater kid. 999/10, give the middle child a hug and some coffee, you can't tell me he has a healthy sleep cycle. This sarcastic nerd is brought to you by Josh Brener.

Leonardo, Ben Schwartz's second blue character (Sonic (2020) being the third under his belt) and also his second ninja after Randy Cunningham. He's not the leader. He's still a good character. Leo has approximately 800 charisma and unwavering faith in both, his family and himself. Mostly himself though. Like Louie, season 2 revealed that he is a master of prediction and playing people like the cheap kazoo you can't tell me he doesn't have to play Darude's Sandstorm on. He dabs, he boards, he will pun you to death and back and he has an Odachi that can cut through space. Leo likes hogging the spotlight when given the chance and wants to be showered with attention and praise. Having four kids really only means twice the middle child nonsense. Leo is a red-eared slider, the original species of the TMNT, as I've been told. He's also the best at being a ninja, but usually too lazy to really apply himself. He's younger than Donnie, but tumblr suggested to read the two as twins, since they're approximately the same age, which sheds a whole new light on their dynamic and frankly, makes way too much sense. 420/10, for our memelord Leonardo.

Michelangelo, the eternally youngest of the bunch. An artiste, who puts stickers on himself, tags the lair, has a spiritual connection to his skateboard and the color orange. Mikey loves all things arts and craft, but he also tries his hands at cooking. He idolizes famous TV chefs and can do pretty much anything out of and into pizza. He's funny, without being annoying, like I feel a lot of other iterations of this character are. It's an easy pitfall for comic relief guys, but this one is more than that. If that's an issue, feel free to leave my house. Mikey is genuinely sweet and happy, optimistic and soft, but also the one brother who knows when it's time to take off the gloves and just get straight to the point. He's open about and in touch with his feelings. He's just baby. Don't treat him as one though. A lot of promo stuff says Leo has taken him under his wing, but he's had more episodes together with Donnie. Not that I'm complaining, they work very well together. Mikey and Raph are both the emotional centers of the group. Does not mind being yeeted after retracting into his shell, as box turtles may do. (Disclaimer, do not yeet actual box turtles!) His weapon of choice is a Kusari-Fundo that can turn into a fire-demon and is about as unpredictable as he is. Likes to jump and bounce around. Probably does parkour. Voiced by Brandon Mychal Smith who is audibly having a blast. 500/10, just an all around Kusari-fun guy.

For last, but certainly not least, April O'Neil, my girl, who saw an upgrade from flip-flopping love interest who was vaguely ninja-ing, but mostly damsel in distress-ing, to all-around spunky powerhouse and by God, she is glowing. Rise has her more as a big sister figure to the turtles, and I will not be told otherwise. She is independent and don't need no man, mutant or no. She has her teleporting pet, her faith in herself, her pinpoint baseball hitting skills and the a complete and utter lack of fear. Despite being a weirdness magnet, April is perfectly comfortable. She would like to be able to keep a job, maybe, but she has loving friends who respect and love her. Surprisingly good a ninja, fearless and fun. Occasionally thinks about being popular at school, but it's really not a big concern, she's not gonna throw a tantrum over it or anything. April is very chill. Not likely to be damseled. More likely to run after the turtles and clean up their messes or save them and everyone involved is fine with that.

The late 10's are really coming in to show us how dynamic and well-written female characters that aren't just "strong", but three-dimensional and relatable are done, huh?

An iconic performance by Kat Graham and ∞/10 for being the honorary better ninja non-mutant non-turtle and best big sister.

Here we have it, two older properties, having new life breathed into them to make them fresh and enjoyable. Have a new spin put on them, to better fit in with our current world. You can feel the love oozing out of every frame. At the end of the day, of course, it all boils down to taste and whether or not you like something. I gave Ducktales 2017 a go because a lot of the staff from Gravity Falls went to work on it and if you don't know me, I love me some Gravity Falls. It's a good show and I enjoy it. I recently got into Rise and while I don't know much about the people working on it, it is also a greatly enjoyable show, easily on the same level as Ducktales, if not above, yet with far less people speaking about it. Which is frankly saddening. I can only recommend the two of them wholeheartedly. If you love animation, yourself and occasionally feeling things, these are for you!

#ducktales 2017 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #webbie vanderquack #raphael #donatello #leonardo #michelangelo #april o'neil

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heartslogos · 4 years

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newfragile yellows [935]

“News on the baking front,” are the first words that come out of the Iron Bull’s mouth. And to Dorian’s great surprise and alarm, Evelyn immediately shoves her laptop into Dorian’s arms and gives her full attention to Bull, as well as thrusting out her open hands making gimme motions.

Bull hands her a very large, even in his hands, plastic container that isn’t even sealed, just covered in cling film.

“Tell me everything,” Evelyn says.

“This thing is going to tear this family apart,” Bull continues, moving into the room to sit and cover his face. “You have no idea how glad I am to be back on field duty. If it gets me out of that house and away from that whole mess of off the charts, up the wall, crazy. But on the other hand — “

Evelyn plops down next to Bull, peeling back the cling film and taking out a very thick looking cookie. “You’re missing the direct feed to the information and you aren’t caught up at all. You’re missing vital moments as they happen and trying to piece it back together after the fact later.”

“Yup.”

“I’m missing several key moments right now,” Dorian says. “I thought we were working.”

“That’s before Bull came in with news on the baking front,” Evelyn gestures for Dorian to sit also, holding out the plastic container to him. “Alright. Here’s what you need to know. Ellana and Mahanon have a relative who makes amazing cookies usually around a holiday or special occasion or large family gathering. But they’re getting on in years and not feeling well so they aren’t making cookies this year. But they aren’t sharing the recipe so no one else can make it for them. So the rest of the family has taken it upon themselves to reverse engineer the cookies from memory.”

Evelyn glances at Bull, tapping her cookie to her bottom lip as she thinks. “How long has it been now?”

“A month and a half,” Bull answers, “I don’t want to eat anything sweet for the next three months. Our house smells like a mix between a candle store and a sugar refinery. I’ve started to dream about it now. I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or awake when I’m in the house. A few nights ago I dreamed that they were arguing about how to make a chocolate chip. I asked Mahanon about what they finally decided the next day because I could’ve sworn it was something that really happened and he told me that they haven’t gotten to chocolate chips. That’s like, step seven or something, but I had brought up some valid points and he’d share it with the rest of the family.”

“Step seven? They’re not at step seven and it’s been a month and a half? What are they doing?” Dorian asks, carefully selecting a cookie. “And what are these?”

“Cinnamon something,” Bull says. “They got the smell right, or close to right, but the flavor and texture is off as well as the bake time. They’ve got, like, their science minded family members to calculate the time and temperature needed to bake these cookies by analyzing past interactions with their relative and doing experiments and calculations based on her oven. It was insane. They were talking about the model, the relative condition it was in, its average amount of use, the quality of her gas-line, the rack’s position inside, the exact type of cookie tray, the brand and composition of the wax paper — they are in this one. In it.”

“In it to win it, I cannot wait to taste the finished product if this is just a tester,” Evelyn says. “Dorian, these are delicious and I am craving a huge glass of milk right now. Aren’t you?”

“I haven’t had milk without coffee, tea, or some other addition in years, but yes. I am now. Tell me, this sounds like, if anything, this is rallying them together. Unifying them even further towards one singular cause.”

“No, there’s a division. They’ve formed factions and now they’re competing against each other to figure out the cookie recipe faster than the others,” Bull says. “They’re all still following the same general steps and using the same foundations, but there’s been disagreements. I can’t keep up with all of it because — like you said, now that I’m not in the house constantly I’m missing details — there’s just so much going on. I don’t regret that, though I kind of do, I mostly don’t. It’s just too much information with no filter. And the situation is changing so many times per day.”

“Tell me everything you know. Maybe we should tell Leliana, get her in on this.”

“I’m sure she already is. Someone would’ve noticed the astounding amount of phone calls and bandwidth being used by our house,” Bull says. “At one point Ellana’s cousins were trying to convince me to join their side as an inside agent. Ellana told me to say yes so I could be a double agent for her. Mahanon threatened to poison me if I ever thought about crossing them to be a double double agent. I reminded them that I’m not on bedrest anymore and I wouldn’t make a very good agent for either side because I’m in and out of the house too often.”

“Amazing.” Dorian doesn’t know if he’s talking about the cookie he’s just bitten into or the entire Lavellan family situation unfolding right now. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Ellana got so mad at one of her relatives during one of their conference calls that she had to lie down for four hours. She still had Mahanon on video call so she could see what he was doing in the kitchen. I think she was arguing with them about cookie batter arrangement on the tray.”

“Did she win?”

“I have no idea. If she did she wasn’t acting like it.” Bull grimaces, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “And that would be their mother asking me if they’ve made any progress with their theory that the dough absolutely cannot be mixed by a machine. I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell her. And there’s their dad throwing in. Oh and there’s the both of them. Their cousins. Shit. It’s just going off now, I think there’s a new argument starting.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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vixxscifiwritings · 4 years

Text

reflections in wisps

Length - 2457 words

Characters - Seokjin x Jaehwan, BTS Ensemble

Rating - Teen and Up

Summary - Seokjin knows he won’t have Jaehwan for long. The illusion of their love is a false reflection in the fading wisps of feelings they once harboured for each other.

Series

Tag List - @tomatoholmes @merlionmen @seraphistols @k-craze-97 @blossomtearsleo

“You’re smoking again”

“I was wondering when you would notice it and ask me to stop”

“I don’t think asking would have actually made you stop.”

“I guess not”

When Jaehwan returns, he apologises to Seokjin.

Jaehwan apologises but makes no excuses. It’s part of what Seokjin likes about Jaehwan. He has no lies or cover ups or excuses. He comes down to the fancy apartment they share in the ‘right side’ of town after disappearing for days and tells him he is sorry.

He doesn’t tell Seokjin what he is sorry for and Seokjin doesn’t ask because there are things he should be sorry for and he doesn’t tell Jaehwan about them either.

Instead they kiss. It’s easier to be lost in the way Jaehwan’s lips on his skin give him goosebumps and how the warmth of someone else feels just right when he has been deprived for so long. Sex doesn’t require thinking. Sex doesn’t even require feelings if you are doing it right.

And so he kisses Jaehwan back and let’s the thoughts in his head be drowned out behind white noise.

Seokjin grows up in a house in the posh suburbs to the east of the city. He grows up in a small two storeyed house with a flower bed in the front yard and a white picket fence all around. He even had a sugar glider briefly but he forgets the name.

His life changes drastically when his father decides to run for the local government body. Suddenly his family is thrust into the limelight and his father’s PR team decides to use the opportunity to broadcast how virtuous and well behaved they are.

His mother and brother fare better under the scrutiny. His mother is traditional and believes in supporting her husband and hence has no problem playing the part of the loving partner. His brother is ambitious. He studies business in a prestigious business school and starts his own business, riding on his father’s fame. He humbly attributes his success to the values his parents instilled in him at any public event and even marries the daughter of their father’s biggest sponsor for campaigns.

Seokjin does what any sensible young adult would when faced with life changing events out of their control.

Seokjin rebels.

He goes to the local art college to study filmmaking. Despite his gorgeous face, he becomes an assistant director with a non-profit organization that works to raise awareness about issues plaguing modern society through films. And as the last nail in the proverbial coffin of his good boy image, he starts to date Lee Jaehwan. A good for nothing who brings no addition to their family’s social status, his grandmother announces over a family dinner and Seokjin kisses Jaehwan in front of everyone to “console him”.

“Try not to give someone an aneurysm” Hoseok pleads, adjusting Seokjin’s wonky bow tie.

“I make no promises,” Seokjin says with a devilish smile.

“Okay. I’ll treat you to coffee for a month if you can wait till after the auction has concluded before offending someone with a witty remark” Hoseok says.

“Of course I am not gay, I am merely waiting for the right girl to make an honest man out of me. Of course my parents are doing well, I called them just the other day. Yes my brother’s business is doing great, I am very proud. If only I was more like him” Seokjin says in a shrill voice and Hoseok gives up on any hopes he has.

Seokjin follows his friend who navigates through the crowd and talks to the crowd attending the art exhibition he has curated. It has the most ostentatious, the creme de la creme of society in attendance and Hoseok has high hopes to earn the profits he needs to keep the museum running tonight. And Seokjin is many things but not a bad friend so he sticks to the flutes of champagne supplied helpfully by the servers and makes a polite comment here and there but says nothing more.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Hoseok asks, when he finds Seokjin looking at one of the modern art pieces on display. It’s a realist painting of a diner in a small town. The diner has large glass panels that lets the onlooker see inside and note the people sitting down by it and a waiter serving them from behind the counter.

“What’s the story behind this?” Seokjin asks. The diner is dreary to look at and inspires no strong emotions but that is how real life is. Nothing interesting ever happens and Seokjin can hardly blame the artist for depicting the truth of the world. It’s also surprisingly devoid of people and meaningful interaction, like it is an image of a lonely time, sliced out of the flow of time and captured on canvas. It’s how most of his nights look now but Seokjin quickly squashes the depressing reminder.

“Nighthawks by Edward Hopper. A classic modern art piece” Hoseok tells him. “It’s supposed to be a comment about loneliness in the urban lifestyle of the 1940s America.”

“Still holds,” Seokjin says, taking a sip of his champagne. His cheeks burn with warmth but he ignores it.

“Is it already bid for?”

“Not very high if you’re thinking about buying it. Everyone is going for the more well known modern art pieces or the fancier classics” Hoseok says. Seokjin takes a cheque book out of his jacket. He didn’t intend on using it tonight but life has never gone the way he intended it at any time.

“What do you think?” Seokjin asks once the crew from the museum installs the painting in the living room and leaves.

Jaehwan looks at the painting and says nothing. Seokjin knows he hates it. But it is magnanimous of him not to voice it immediately. The painting has grown on Seokjin and he can’t bring himself to regret the small fortune he has spent on it.

“I like it” Seokjin responds when Jaehwan doesn’t. He reaches out and adjusts the painting so that it is perfectly parallel to the edges of the wall.

“Why this specific painting?” Jaehwan asks.

“I liked the irony of a social place being used to depict loneliness. It spoke to me spiritually” Seokjin says. He goes on to add the analysis of the painting that Hoseok gave him about loneliness and despair and how the want of company and comfort is a thing that hasn't changed over decades and continents.

"You could add a funky neon sign with a few letters blinking or not lit up and it would be any themed diner here in South Korea" Seokjin jokes before admiring the way the painting looks on the light cream coloured walls of the apartment.

Jaehwan stares at the painting and never looks at it again for the remainder of the night.

Things almost go back to normal but they really don’t.

Jaehwan takes Seokjin on pretty dates to pretty places during the day and whispers dirty things into his ear as he kisses him at night. It’s almost like the days he disappeared and the fights they had didn’t exist.

But he also dazes out in the middle and never really pays attention to whatever Seokjin is talking about. He hums and responds at all the right places in a conversation but never really means any of it. Jaehwan also takes to his old habit of smoking in the balcony after every night they spend together. It’s like whatever happened in those days has changed everything between them.

Seokjin knows that the ground beneath his feet has shifted. He’s no stranger to that feeling of the world changing overnight. Only this time, it happens so quietly that Seokjin really doesn’t know how to deal with it.

How do you hold onto smoke that lies within your reach but cannot be held? It only shifts out of his grasp, just far enough to never truly be held and just near enough to suffocate him slowly.

“I have news for you” Jaehwan says, looking at Seokjin. “Taehyung liked the manuscript I sent in. He’s suggested minor changes and decided to forward it to Namjoon. If Namjoon likes it, I will get a publishing deal.”

“That’s amazing,” Seokjin says and finds that he really means it. “I didn’t even know you were planning on sending it in.”

Jaehwan and Taehyung have an awkward history. Taehyung is a book critic and editor for Namjoon’s publishing house and someone very familiar with Jaehwan’s writing from his newspaper columnist days. Taehyung always claims to have fallen in love with Jaehwan’s writing way back then. But Seokjin knows that Jaehwan wants nothing to do with his old life and so he usually diverts Taehyung's attention away from it.

“It’s nerve wrecking as fuck. I hope this becomes popular as hell so I never have to write ever again” Jaehwan swears. Seokjin laughs.

“Let’s open up a new wine bottle. Yoongi recommended this new brand of red wine that I got a bottle of and you can tell me what your new book is about” Seokjin says. It’s a little too early to celebrate anything but a little cheer will be good for them.

“It’s just a story about… people. Places and things. Nothing and everything” Jaehwan says vaguely as he gestures to the air around him.

“What a thrilling description. I’ll ask Namjoon to put it on the book cover” Seokjin says wryly. For the first time in a very long time, Jaehwan laughs and Seokjin laughs with him.

What Seokjin does ask of Namjoon is a copy of the finalized manuscript that is approved for printing.

Namjoon loves the book and gives it a raving review. The publishing deal is finalized quickly because Taehyung does not want to give Jaehwan the chance to change his mind. Before Seokjin knows it, a thick bundle of papers tied together with a large gaudy paper clip and sealed in tacky brown packaging arrives at his doorstep.

Seokjin keeps the manuscript a secret. He wants to let Jaehwan offer a signed personal copy for keepsake. But he is also a curious soul and this trait always gets the best of him.

Jaehwan is out for the night. (He is always out for some reason or the other.) So Seokjin pours himself a glass of cheap store bought red wine and puts the manuscript on his lap and begins to read.

It's a story of a lost man. A man who feels lost even though he is loved by all and a man who doesn't know himself though everyone around him is quick to label their relationship with him and by extension to label him. The protagonist spends half the novel wandering and pitying himself till he meets someone and falls in love. It's a forbidden sort of love and sucks both men in till their feelings overwhelm them. The protagonist leaves by the end because the protagonist always does but he leaves his heart in the tiny dingy motel they met in and even that admission is a guilty confession to the wide vacuum of an uncaring world and not to the object of his affection.

Seokjin reads through the manuscript in one setting. Jaehwan is just that good with his words and Seokjin knows this is a rare glimpse into his mind that no one else is afforded just yet. Jaehwan will make it big. No wonder Taehyung is anxious to have the deal under his publishing house. Jaehwan writes about true love and heartbreak in a magnificent way that anyone can understand but can only hope to experience in their lifetime. At once the grandeur of heartbreak is within your grasp and just out of your reach.

When he finishes the manuscript, he looks at the painting hanging in the gallery and understands Jaehwan's surprise. He rereads the last confession and understands Jaehwan's disdain too.

"I don't have excuses" Jaehwan says, when Seokjin finds him smoking on their bedroom's balcony.

"You never do" Seokjin says, sitting down next to him.

"I'm a shit liar for a writer" Jaehwan admits. Seokjin scoffs and rubs his nose. He is resigned to the situation but he doesn't find the smell pleasant. Nothing will endear him to smoking, he thinks. Not even the oncoming heartbreak.

"You're much better than you think you are" Seokjin says. Jaehwan gives him a searching look. How much does Seokjin already know, Jaehwan wonders. The painting from the living room is gone and Jaehwan has seen the copy of his book on Seokjin's nightstand.

"How much did you read?" he ventures to ask. Some band-aids are better ripped off as soon as the wound stops bleeding.

"All of it" Seokjin replies honestly.

"I didn't mean to break your heart" Jaehwan tells him.

"You don't get to decide what hurts me and what doesn't" Seokjin says sharply. He doesn't like the way Jaehwan genuinely sounds apologetic and guilty. He hates how it isn't motivated by love and merely by concern over a relationship that should have died much earlier.

"Why did you come back if you thought you really loved the one you left behind?" Seokjin asks.

"Because that ending is… a white lie. A romantic ending to make the book sellable. I didn't fall in love when I was at the motel. I didn't fall in love with someone else" Jaehwan explains.

"You only fell out of love with me" Seokjin summarizes breezily. Jaehwan draws a deep breath of his cigarette and turns away to let the smoke out. This hurts more than Seokjin thought it would.

The two men sit in the balcony and avoid looking at each other. The air between them is thick with tension, stuffy from the remains of what once was and will never be again.

Seokjin watches the tendrils of smoke rise from the last of Jaehwan's cigarette through its reflection in the window glass. The ember glows till it dims and fades out, leaving only smoke in its wake.

He wonders if the disappearance of the carbon means he can pretend that the smoke never existed once sufficient time has passed. Or if the smell will taint his memories forever like heartbreak threatens to taint the rose hued past blue. He wonders if he can lean forward and catch the smoke as it twists in and out of the air current to rise up and disappear into nothingness. He wonders if the smoke was always meant to escape and if the paper was always meant to burn to give it the freedom it so runs after.

In the end, all the smoke does is suffocate him and make his eyes water.

#kenjin #vixx fanfiction #vixx ken #bts fanfiction #bts seokjin #angst #series: small town faded dreams

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sophrosinn · 4 years

Text

the (un)lucky ones

story description:

“the story’s great, but I think it would be better if the story ended like this”

Affronted at the audacity of the comment, she furiously replies, “then write your own story, asshole!”

word count: 2,048

a/n: happiest solar anniversary to one of my best girls @vanaera! thank you for being the bestest friend a girl could ever ask for. this short story, which is loosely based irl, serves as my gift to you. i hope you’ll like it!

shout-out to @senfleurs for being the best gal and helping me out with this. she even stepped up and edited this omg, and i cannot stress how much I’m thankful, lol especially she made sure that I get to finish this on time

—

In retrospect, she knows better than to let some dumb comment, especially from someone on the Internet, rile her up this much. Even her followers tell her as much: it’s unwarranted, insensitive even. One of her followers, hippopopo tries to take it a step further, justifying by saying, verbatim: It’s her story anyway!!! So only she knows how the story should end best, okay! 😤😠💢

(in actuality, she has qualms about that, mostly because she had read some books which she thought didn’t end well. but that would take time to unpack and this story isn’t about that, no. she’s flattered at the support, nonetheless.)

And yet, there she is at 8 in the morning, her fingers furiously gliding across her keyboard as she writes a spite-filled story in response. Oftentimes, her muse for writing comes from movies she watched with her family, or from songs she heard on Korean dramas, or those meet-cute scenarios she gushed about with her best friends. This time, however, spite’s her main gal.

She finishes at 10. Later at 4 in the afternoon, she posts it. About an hour later, she doesn’t even try to contain the smirk lighting up her face when a familiar notification pops up.

—

The story starts with an inconspicuous like from a user named agust-d five months ago. Back then, she thought nothing of it. A day later, agust-d comments on a story from her drabble series. Since then, every day without fail, agust-d leaves a small token of their appreciation for her works; brief, concise comments such as, “nice job on the flower descriptions,” or “i liked it.”

Belatedly, she wonders if agust-d is a person of few words, because why else would they leave comments with only six words or less, even on her works with over 30k words? Don’t get her wrong, of course she’s eternally grateful for all the support she receives from her affectionate dears. But sometimes, especially on days her self-confidence plummets and she’s in need of reassurance, she ponders if all her efforts are for naught. (of course not, never, she gently reminds herself.)

And each day, she resists the growing urge to reply: don’t you have anything more to say!!! (but alas, she isn’t a rude person—unless provoked—she can’t so she settles with letting her mind wander.)

Three months of this and she finally caves in. With her interest piqued, she browses through agust-d’s posts. After two hours, she learns that agust-d goes by suga online. Coincidentally, Suga is a male student at the same university she’s currently attending. For a moment, she briefly considers a possibility—what are the chances that they’ve met, have fallen into step alongside each other, have passed by him in the large hallways, or have shared her table with him at the library during exam season? The possibility of knowing someone without actually knowing them?

(that’s the funny thing about the online world, she supposes. you may know all that matters about someone: their likes, dislikes, kinks, fears, and horrid taste in music, absolutely everything except that one thing that matters the most: their names.)

Suga, she eventually learns, is not a man of few words. In truth, he’s got a few words too many to say about a diverse range of controversial topics. In his words, his passion burns bright and clear, but for her, he doesn’t shine any brighter than when he talks about music. It shows in his blog, which consists of a myriad of album reviews across different genres (fascinating, she notes, their music interests align as well).

Occasionally, he posts his renditions of some popular rap music, and as sporadic as this happens, she admits that his covers are her favorite part of his blog. And naturally, she refuses to acknowledge that it has everything to do with her fascination with deep, raspy voices, which, (un)fortunately for her, Suga undoubtedly has.

After some serious debating with herself, she decides to not follow him back. But she makes sure to check his profile every other day for no real reason, really, her soul wallowing in denial. In her defense, when did anyone need a reason to stalk someone?

And so, it begins, her fascination with this stranger on the other side of the screen. Never in her whole life did she imagine herself harboring a (teeny-tiny, infinitesimal) crush towards someone on the Internet. Certainly, she knows there’s always a one-in-a-thousand chance that it happens in real life, it’s just that out of all the 7 billion people in the world, she wasn’t expecting herself to be the (un)lucky one.

—

The fateful day begins like any other. She wakes up to a brand new day, at 7 am, and like clockwork, she begins to stretch atop her pink yoga mat. Halfway through her workout, her phone pings with a new notification. Immediately, her phone screen lights up: agust-d has left a comment on your work!

Her traitorous heart skips a beat in the utmost display of betrayal. It’s Suga!

Ever since she scrolled through his blog two months ago, she has been exchanging messages with Suga. Her covert mission to surreptitiously listen to his song covers ends miserably when she accidentally double-clicks on a post he made two years ago. A string of expletives followed as she stared agonizingly at the post. She attempts to remove her blunder, but soon accepts defeat as it doesn’t even take a full minute until she receives a message notification from Suga. The internal debate resumes as her finger clumsily hovers on the computer mouse and she hesitantly clicks. From thereon, the rest, as they say, is history.

She ends up following his account the day after.

Although, if she were being truthful, all they’ve been sending back and forth are pleasantries. Suga seems hellbent on keeping the conversations polite and distant. She doesn’t understand, it’s not like she’s flirting with him! All she just wants is a compelling conversation with someone (because the Lord knows how much she needs an intellectual to talk to; and suga seems like an intellectual, if his posts are anything to go by).

She unlocks her phone and throws herself onto her bed. Normally, her lips quirk up automatically in response to seeing his name pop on her notifications, but it is not the case for this time. Instead, a frown mars her forehead as she reads his comment.

agust-d: the story’s great, but I think it would be better if the story ended like this

For a moment, she can’t believe her eyes. She blinks a few more times in the hope that her eyes were just playing tricks on her. Nada, it remains the same.

If there’s one thing to know about her, it’s that she meticulously plans out every detail in her stories. She even spends weeks to outline a draft, and even then, it must be decent enough before she puts it in writing. Publishing her works online, for all the world to see, still intimidates her even after all this time. Not knowing how people will respond to her works frightens her, but what is life without a little fear?

In addition, she’s receptive to constructive criticisms, but criticisms that come from those she looks up to? It’s a bitter pill to swallow sometimes. Suga—he’s become one of those people, and seeing his comment really hurt. She turns her phone off and does her chores for the time being. The moment she logs back in, she is taken aback by the multitude of comments expressing the same sentiment.

bubbleboy: “Yeah, I agree, I think it would be best if the story ended in this manner.”

She can’t help but feel the bubble of anger gradually rising. Another even started with,

orange-gloss: “No offense, but the ending being suggested by others is kinda good.”

The audacity and the entitlement in this comment! Asking her to not be offended when it is within her right to take offense is absolutely laughable. Furthermore, who are you to even tell me how I should react?

When she reaches the 20th comment, she explodes. The next two hours find her furiously typing out a decent response disguised as a story, albeit with passive-aggressiveness, addressed to all of the comments, but primarily to the one left by Suga. She talks to the rude commenters with the sweet addition of a phrasing 101 lesson. In her contained rage, she ends with the note: remember, it doesn’t hurt to be nice, and if you have qualms about how I ended my own story, do me and yourself a favor and write your own story!

She makes up her mind to take some time off her blog for a while. But after a familiar notification pops up at 5 PM, she resists the urge to run away and instead, opts to open the messages he sent.

agust-d: i’ll admit, the way I said it was rude

agust-d: but I stand with what I said

agust-d: you should consider the possibility as well

seen

(In hindsight, she realizes that, for once, Suga’s comment surpasses 25 words.)

—

After the whole debacle with the barrage of rude comments and her consequent outburst, everything has never been the same. Understandably, some of her fans have left since then, but the majority stayed with her and for that, she’s eternally grateful. Although she still publishes her stories and interacts with her followers, a certain emptiness fills her at times.

A part of her thinks it has a lot to do with Suga, who she doesn’t talk to anymore. She… doesn’t know how to respond to him after her outburst. In a span of a moment, she manages to both defend her honor and drag agust-d through the mud, which was never her intention to begin with. Okay, well, maybe just a little bit. But she’s hurt, so it only makes sense to retaliate.

If only she could easily strike back in her current situation.

Unbeknownst to her, someone with the handle void-mayo tags her on a malicious post the night before, calling her out for being fake. Apparently, she’s a ‘copycat writer wanna-be with no real ideas of her own.’

She only discovers it when her followers start sending her messages of reassurance and appreciation. Of course, she checks the post at once, reading carefully and taking in everything that was written. (Shit, at least I have a better username, she muses). And not for the first time, she feels hurt, uneasy, and anxious at the same time. Void-mayo is already an established writer, with years of exposure under her belt and a large army of rabid fans at her disposal. Meanwhile, she’s just started her writing blog. And although she’s diligent, thorough, and ensures that each of her stories has its own personality and flavor, most of void-mayo’s fans wouldn’t care. She can’t risk losing her credibility over a baseless accusation such as this!

And with that, she feels anger bubbling from the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t get the purpose behind the destructive post. She gets humiliated, her reputation tarnished, and worse just because she had written a similar scene with an ice cream . It certainly doesn’t help that others are quick to join in calling her names and ‘cancelling her’ without even bothering to check the facts.

And as she contemplates on how to proceed with such a delicate situation, her dashboard refreshes. At the top, she notices that agust-d reblogs void-mayo’s post with the addition of his response and for once, the word count exceeds 100.

—

In a roundabout way of saying sorry and expressing her gratitude, she proceeds to write the ending Suga requested. And illuminated by the dim light of her laptop screen, she can begrudgingly admit that he does have a point; his version of the ending does make sense.

—

fin.

—

omake

agust-d: so am i forgiven yet?

you: i don’t know

you: maybe you’ll have to make it up to me

you: and get me some coffee first?

you: 😉

—

a/n pt. 2: happiest birthday to you again! i’m so grateful to have met you in this lifetime. truly, like you’re the best. even if your internet connection’s always shitty, you always find ways to join our chats and discord parties. just thank you, for all the countless laughs that i’ve had with (and because of) you, for the counsel with my writing, and for the stories and advice you’ve willingly shared with us. here’s to our three years of friendship and counting! i love you so much! enjoy this day and stay safe!

p.s. keep rocking and keep writing! we’ll always be here with you! muah! ❤️❤️❤️

p.p.s. hihi 🦆🍄

#birthday fic #for #vanaera #this is the first fic i've finished writing #my own fic #omg #also #all the uns in this fic are for comedic relief #esp void-mayo #from stardew valley #bts #min yoongi #fic

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lostsummerdayz · 5 years

Text

Persona 5 Scramble Japanese Demo Nintendo Switch Review

Is it a Last Surprise or is it “too fast for eyes?”

By: Nay Holland

The Persona series has come a long way in terms of its success. What was once a spinoff of a series that is currently three decades strong is now a franchise all on its own. The latest game in the series, Persona 5, proved to be a financial and critical success despite the infamous “Winter 2012” meme. Five years later and the Persona 5 van still has a lot left in the tank.

With an anime series, a manga spinoff, countless audio dramas, a handheld RPG spinoff, and a dancing game spinoff, Joker has been around the world and back. At the time of writing, the updated re-release, Persona 5 Royale, hit Japanese store shelves in December with a Western release at the end of March 2020.

There is one more game in the Persona 5 universe that has yet to be mentioned. Scramble.

When this game was first announced, it was met with a favorable, yet confused, response. Here was a Persona 5 title announced for the Switch; A game that was a Playstation exclusive. While many initially thought it was the highly requested Switch port, the Omega Force logo revealed otherwise. It was instead a Musou game. Or, a Warriors game for the Western audience. Several months later, a PS4 version was also announced, further nullifying the dreams of a Switch-port of Persona 5 for now.

Omega Force are the brains behind the long running Dynasty Warriors series. Can you believe that this series started back in ‘96? As a fighting game nonetheless? The climate was different in the mid-90s that’s for sure.

After countless, and I mean this quite literally, countless entries in the Warriors series, several spinoffs were released. This included Samurai Warriors, which featured Japanese historical figures substituting the Three Kingdoms characters, and Warriors Orochi, which combined both because why not?

It was due to the wild collision course between Oda Nobunaga and Lu Bu clashing swords that other possibilities began to bore fruit. Someone in the Bandai Namco office thought “What if we had Gundams engage in intergalactic battles vs hundreds of Zaku units?” Omega Force obliged.

Several years later, someone else, probably the same person as before, in the Bandai Namco office thought “What if we had Luffy fend off hundreds of pirates?” Omega Force went to work.

Long time partners, Koei Tecmo, pitched the idea of a Hokutou no Ken Musou game and OF was on the scene.

After a while, it did not matter what the source material was. Berserk? Fire Emblem? The Legend of Zelda? It didn’t matter. So long as Omega Force had a check to look forward to, nothing was impossible for them.

So to see the Omega Force brand assigned to the Persona series raised eyebrows, but those in the know nodded their head in approval. Fans such as myself were wondering how a game like Persona would incorporate their mechanics in a Musou game. With the Persona 5 Scramble public demo released on February 5th, our curiosities are finally sated. Or are they?

Turns out it’s not an English demo, but it’s a Japanese demo. Fortunately, it’s not awfully difficult to obtain nor play through the demo, but for the sake of convenience, I’m covering the Switch port. The main reason was that I already had a Japanese Nintendo account. The second reason was my curiosity. I wanted to know how the game played on a console with lesser specs.

I played the demo on the Switch Lite, so I exclusively played on handheld mode. That said, the game played really well. If there were any slowdowns, it wasn’t noticeable for me. Controls were responsive and everything I wanted Joker to do, I was able to do with no hindrance.

When you first boot the demo, you’re introduced to a sizzler of sorts as you fight several shadows in Shibuya until the game cuts away to several cutscenes.

Now, this is where we reach our main caveat. These are first world problems, but I cannot tell you much about the story. Not because of spoilers although there are certainly here, but because the voices and subtitles are in Japanese. I could deduce what’s going on based on the original story however so, I’ll try my best.

Judging the time of the game, July, the game takes place quite some time after the ending of Persona 5. Several key giveaways are the props within Cafe Leblanc, such as Yusuke’s painting. All of your comrades are present and accounted for, with new attire and the like.

Immediately something is amiss as another app is downloaded on the phone. It is here where you can name your character. Remember when I said this was a Japanese game? Japanese characters and alphanumeric characters only! With very limited space as well!

I went with this. It’s a demo. Don’t judge me.

So, you’re sent to investigate any abnormalities in Shibuya with your best bud Ryujii when an idol appears to have a concert. Almost immediately you’re placed in the Metaverse. A few seconds later you’re fighting hordes of shadows with your buds in Shibuya.

It is here that several mechanics are introduced, so, I’ll list the controls that are the most important.

X - Light Attack

Y in the middle of a combo - Heavy attack

Y by itself - Projectile

Just like in most Musou games, any combination of light attacks can be finished with a Heavy Attack to provide various results. If you use the Heavy attack by itself, Joker will use his gun.

ZR - Dodge

While walking and holding ZR - Run

R + Button = Spells

These are self explanatory. You can dodge and weave in between enemy attacks. Just like in Persona, he has access to skills. Each skill has a different effect within a different radius. The Eiha spell will hit enemies in a circle while Cleave will hit those in a cone.

X+A - Showtime

This is this game’s version of the Musou attack. In Warriors games, these are the cinematic attacks that deal massive damage to those around the user. Not only does it look badass, but you’re also invulnerable while using it. This can be used as a way to form wiggle room when overrun.

youtube

Halfway through the first palace, as you are introduced to the palace owner and are disposed of, you come across a giant cube. As Joker interacts with the cube, a girl emerges from the cube. The girl tags along with you until it is revealed that this girl is nowhere near defenseless. She can hold her own in combat quite well. The cube she emerged from seems to be her Persona of sorts.

A - Grants you access to the interactable environment around Joker

B - Jump, press again to double jump Environmental attacks let you interact with your surroundings, like the streetlamps in Shibuya. These allow you to stay perched, away from harm as you swoop down on your enemies like a hawk to his prey. Hitting this successfully chains into another wide-ranging attack for even more damage.

Utilizing the environment to your advantage can also provide a tactical advantage. There’s a moment in the demo where there are three powerful shadows. There’s an alternate path you could go to and sneak behind them. You could choose to fight the shadows head-on, but if you take the beaten path you’ll see a flimsy scaffold. If you use the environment attack on the scaffold, not only will the platform break, but you’ll also surprise the enemy.

youtube

Weaknesses, critical attacks, and technical bonuses from Persona 5 are also existent here. If you hit an enemy’s weakness, you’ll be able to hit them while they are staggered to torment their surrounding foes. Tech bonuses, like in Persona 5, activate when a combination of elemental skills are used in succession. I wasn’t able to activate the tech bonus, but a tutorial prompt explaining the bonus did appear.

In Persona 5, you can negotiate with shadows to coerce them into joining your party as a persona. This game works a little differently. Sometimes if you defeat a shadow, they have a chance to join you as one of your Personas. This is good to cover your strengths and weaknesses.

As in Persona 5, certain enemies are resistant, weak, or invulnerable to specific attacks. The more personae you have, the better equipped you’ll become.

Eventually you’ll face a powerful shadow. This serves as this demo’s boss. These boss fights work a bit different from the rest of the fights thus far. The more you hit a shadow’s weak spot, the more you’re able to attack as they are staggered. Exploit their weakness enough and you’ll be able to do an All Out Attack, much like in the original game.

youtube

It is here that the demo ends. If you skip through the cutscenes you can easily beat the demo in about an hour. First impressions, I’m honestly surprised how integral the story is to the game. I’m surprised that I’m surprised, considering the source material is a story intensive game.

I wasn’t able to understand the dialogue, but it was great to travel through Yongen-Jaya and Shibuya once again. It was also nice to see that the game’s story seems to be canon to the main story. The combination of Persona’s mechanics with the twitch-reaction of Musou is like chocolate and peanut butter.

By the way in case you were wondering. The menu animations make a return and they look just as beautiful now as they did in Persona 5.

youtube

With the game’s release right around the corner in Japan, Western fans are still starving for so much as a crumb of information relating to a release date. Heck, even a confirmation that the game is coming out to the States at all! While it may be up in the air when fans will be able to look forward to news, there’s still a demo that we can enjoy.

Persona 5 Scramble releases in Japan on February 20th

#persona 5 scramble #persona 5 #video game #game #review

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marythegizka · 5 years

Text

Bodyswap AU - Part 9 (links to parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)

Vader’s jaw went slack.

The old man stood agape, blinking at Aphra like she was growing another head, arms hanging at his sides.

Aphra waved at him.

“Hello? Sir?”

The man blinked again.

Aphra raised her middle finger.

“Sir, how many fingers am I holding up?”

The man kept staring, his face nearly turning green.

“Nope. Looks like you broke him.”

Vader’s face went red, heat rising to his ears.

“I?” he burst out. “I broke him? You could have told me he was your father before we landed at his doorstep!”

“I didn’t know you’d call him ‘sir’!”

“And what was I supposed to cell him?” he shouted. That was the most pathetic excuse he had ever heard, and he had experience in the department.

“Dad. That’s your dad. Come on, Doctor, you cannot possibly be that drunk.”

Vader shot her a death glare. How dare she?

“I. Am not. Drunk.”

Aphra elbowed him in the ribs.

“Of course you are.”

Vader held back a grunt. Bloody elbows.

“What on Malachor do you think you’re doing?”

“Improvising. Clearly, you’re in no condition to do the talking. Now if you would please…”

“What is going on?” the older man cut her off.

Aphra opened her arms in exasperation.

“Finally. We’re looking for the Fortress of Rur – or, well, anything pertaining to the Ordu Aspectu, really – and we thought someone might as well tag along and urgently join us on an urgent quest of the utmost urgency.”

The man knitted his brow.

“Chelli?” One blink. Two blinks. “Get out of the silly suit.”

“Yeaaah… I don’t think you want me to do that.”

“Chelli. Lona. Aphra. I am your father and I…”

“Will probably kill me if you take this thing off my face so the ‘silly suit’ stays on.” She paused, raising her index. “And what makes you think I am Chelli? That is awfully bold of you.” She turned towards Vader. “Isn’t that your first name, Doctor? My, my, what a family!”

Of course. Of course she had to say that. Well, for lack of academic credentials in archaeology, Aphra certainly had mastered the art of digging herself deeper.

“You think I wouldn’t know my daughter if she hid behind a mask? You could turn into a wookie and you’d still be my little Boop.”

Vader’s eyes went back and forth between the two.

“Boop?” he asked in a whisper.

“Don’t ask.”

“Besides,” the scholar continued, “few people are actually aware that the Ordu Aspectu…”

“Is your prime subject of interest?” she interrupted. “Oh, I’m pretty sure that’s the first thing you told every non-mummified sentient being you met in the past three decades.”

“I was going to say ‘had such a strong focus on out-of-body preservation of a being’s essence’ since it appears to be so relevant to your… case… And I do remember telling you about that.”

“Yes, well, you told me a lot of crazy stories. Doesn’t mean I remember them all.”

“All the same. Does that mean you’re going to help me?”

“Hm, let me see. No, Dad, I came all the way here to show you my brand new leather suit. I’m sure you must be scandalized. Yes, Dad, of course I’ll help you.”

A grin cracked the man’s face.

“I knew you’d come around some day.”

“Yes, yes, nothing like a good old out-of-body experience to reconnect with your loved ones.”

Before they knew it, Vader and the Doctor found themselves squeezed tight in the professor’s arms, staring at each other in awkward silence. A few seconds went on before Vader finally spoke.

“If he talks, he’s dead.”

The professor recoiled, casting his daughter a pleading look.

“Fine,” she said.

“WHAT?! The man all but choked. “Chelli… your own father…”

She shrugged.

“I try not to think about it.” There was a moment of silence. “But, if that’s any comfort: if you talk we’re all dead, Dad. All three of us. Or, well, you and me for sure, and Vader… probably. So don’t talk. Don’t talk and we’ll be fine. Oh, and no papers either.”

“But… what value is the quest for the Ordu Aspectu if its teachings remain secret? Shouldn’t we strive to make the Force for all a reality?”

Vader scoffed. ‘The Force for all’. Sweet buttery huttling. And there he thought Obi Wan had been delusional…

Aphra laid a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Not now. Maybe after the war’s over. If we live to see it end…. And if you still believe it’s worth it.”

“I… I don’t…”

His eyes had become wet, Vader noticed, and his breath was starting to catch.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

“All right, Chelli. I won’t.”

Aphra gave him a brief hug.

“It’ll be fine. Now go pack you things, because you’re getting out of this hole.”

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

Her nose wrinkled as the smell of burnt metal rushed into her air vents, and her eyes quickly settled on the blaster tracks that now adorned the bulkheads.

“Who the hell is burning holes in my ship?” she eructed, waiting for the culprit to come forth.

“It already had a few.”

Aphra pivoted on her heels, wagging her index at Vader.

“This is slander.”

A sharp beep came from the bedroom, and Triple-Zero appeared at the door.

“Well, we had to defend ourselves, Mistress!”

“No, no, no,” Ahsoka protested, coming out from behind him. “You stole my lightsaber.”

They did what now?

“You were not putting it to good use. Such a simple weapon, and yet the possibilities are a delight to my circuits…”

Oh. Of course.

“All right, Trip. Give it back.”

“But…”

“Give. It. Back.”

An outraged beep followed.

“Quite right, Beetee. Quite right. Ah… there you go, Jedi.”

If her father had only paid limited attention to the conversation, his excitement went through the roof at the mere sound of the word.

“You’re friends with a Jedi?!”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.”

She led him into the room.

“Dad, meet Ahsoka. Ahsoka, this is Dad.”

“Dad, as in… Dad? That’s your dad?”

“Why does everyone act so shocked? I was conceived in the most conventional way, by means of…”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture. Nice to meet you, Mister…”

“Aphra. Professor Korin Aphra.”

“Well, Professor, where do you suggest we begin?”

“Yavin 4. Several manuscripts suggest the Ordu interacted with the Massassi shortly before its decline, and there is one temple in particular that I’ve been meaning to explore. See, I may have part of the map,” he said, gesturing to a bag full of crystals, “but without the proper tool to decode it, I am in the dark. Now, all we have to do is figure out how to position these crystals, and pray the Great Massassi Temple delivers.”

“The former Rebel base is a restricted area,” Vader warned. “Consider yourself fortunate that I am at your side.”

“The Rebels set base on Yavin 4?”

“Oh, for kriff’s sake, Dad. The battle of Yavin 4? You know, when they blew up the Death Star? And did you also miss the memo about Alderaan?”

Her father titlted his head.

“The Death Star was real?”

This time, Aphra could swear the collar was the only thing keeping her lower jaw from falling off.

“I… You need to get the holonet.”

“Oh, Chelli, you know what I think of that rubbish.”

“Yes, well, there’s a rubbish screen in the kitchen, and you have some catching up to do.”

“But…”

“Do it. I’ll be in the cockpit. And stay seated during takeoff.”

Vader and Aphra took their seats, both a little stunned by the sheer absurdity of the day.

“You’ll need to request clearance before landing near the temple.” Vader switched on his datapad, quickly going through his files. “It appears the garrison is currently supervised by Captain Magna Tolvan, former head of security on Eadu. Commonly referred to as ‘quite the piece of work’.”

He handed her the datapad, displaying Tolvan’s file.

“Oooh, in that case… wouldn’t mind working the both of you.”

“You… WHAT?”

“You know what.”

“Take off.”

“Fine, fine, sorry. Although in all honesty…”

“Take. Off. Now.”

Aphra ignited the engines, putting full throttle on the repulsorlifts.

“Did I mention that my dad has hyperspace sickness?”

“Lovely.”

#vadaphra #bodyswap au #my fics #i doubt anyone is still reading this #but here have this #long post

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