#I do really like the pinwheel as well and they did give her a similar style in the late 80s/early 90s!

[sisaloofafump]

The 1962 Superman's Girl Friend, Lois Lane Annual 1 had a competition for Lois's new hairstyle (which they waiting another 5 years before integrating). This came after decades of her wearing her hair the same way in basically every issue since her conception (occasionally changed for fancy in-story events, and gradually shortening through the golden/silver age transition). After years of constant letters to editor complaining about her "old fashioned" and "stagnant" look, they put it to a vote...

The one they went with back then (after 5 more years of her classic look):

This was the first page of her new look in Superman's Girl Friend, Lois Lane #75 (July 1967), and some other examples from Kurt Schaffenburger (resident Lois artist):

And here are some other artist's interpretations of her base style in the years that followed!

[sunnysviolin]

Omotober Day Three- Picnics

If you want to read it on ao3 (now as one singular fic because I am a dum dum) you can do that here

When Hero suggested that the five of them get together and have a picnic, Basil was nervous, but excited. There was a part of him that would always be afraid, but more than anything he wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. A picnic could be the start of that.

But Basil should have known that things could never go back to the way they used to be.

“Forgiveness, reader, is, I think, something very much like hope and love - a powerful, wonderful thing.

And a ridiculous thing, too.”- Kate DiCamillo

Basil wasn’t really sure what to expect when their group decided to get together for a picnic again like they used to, but his first inclination wouldn’t have been that there would be a fist fight about to break out.

After the fight, and the hospital, and everything that came after, things had gotten surprisingly calm and quiet. The guilt that had eaten his insides for all those years was gone, and in its place was peace. Yes, he still felt awful about what they had done, but the secret was over, and he no longer had to hold all of that pain by himself.

Their friends had accepted the truth at varied rates, and Basil was sure it would take a long time before they ever even came close to forgiving him or Sunny. Aubrey was still quick to anger, Hero was still avoidant of the pain, but things had changed. Something about those last few days Sunny had spent with them in Faraway had changed them all, made everyone more open to trying with each other again. Even after they learned everything.

It felt good to be friends again, to be able to look at their faces without the self loathing threatening to crush him. He would take whatever halted measures of friendship they would give, if it only meant not being alone again. So when Hero suggested a picnic, Basil eagerly agreed without thinking twice.

He should have thought twice.

The planning had gone perfectly fine. Kel was a hundred percent on board, and he had even offered to help with making the food. The other boy seemed most pleased that it was Hero specifically who was extending the branch out. Basil knew that, of all of them, Hero was probably going to have the most mixed emotions about what he and Sunny had done. Still, Hero was Hero. Even if he hated them both, he would never reveal it.

Aubrey had seemed unsure, but Kel’s enthusiasm and the promise of getting Sunny back to join them had her agreeing. Basil knew she and Sunny talked on the phone pretty often, maybe even more than Sunny and himself. Aubrey was trying hard to make up for the last four years, and she spent most of her time with Basil or by herself. She said it was to ‘figure things out’ and he didn’t pry. He knew how hard it was to accept things in your past that you didn’t want to think about or the parts of yourself that you didn’t like all that much.

Then there was Sunny. They had all crowded together around Kel’s home phone to talk to Sunny about their idea. He had agreed to come and made plans to sleep at Kel and Hero’s house the night of their picnic. Logically it would have made more sense for him to stay with Basil, there was more room at Basil’s house, but it went unspoken between them why Kel and Hero had extended the offer instead. He would catch the train in and out and be back by dinner the next day, it wasn’t a far journey. None of them had seen Sunny since the hospital, at least not in person, and Basil wondered what it might be like to lay eyes on the other boy now.

The day came and they had split into natural groups. Most of the preparations were already done, but there were a few things to finish up on the morning of. Hero would take care of finishing the food, Aubrey would set up in their spot in the park, and Basil and Kel were going to go pick up Sunny from the train station.

Everything was good. The day was bright and warm with not a single cloud in the sky, Sunny’s train had arrived right on time, and Sunny had even greeted them both with quick but tight hugs and a small smile. He was still wearing an eyepatch (and apparently would always be from now on) but he looked a lot better. The bags under his eyes were gone, and the greying pallor of his skin had vanished. He held himself a little straighter, spoke a little more, and the air of fear that seemed to surround Sunny had dissipated into nothing.

Kel had grabbed both of their hands and swung them through the air as they walked towards the park, chattering about what he and Hero had planned for that day. Basil was content to let Kel do most of the talking and shared a secret amused look behind his back with Sunny. This was something that had happened all the time when they were kids, and the nostalgia of it was easy to fall into.

When they got to the park and saw Aubrey, things were awkward for all of two seconds before she punched Sunny gently on the arm and ruffled his hair, bringing them over to the set up she had created. The picnic blanket was a checkered blue, not red, but it was soft. There was the scent of flowers in the air from the bushes nearby in bloom, and a breeze twirled the pinwheels clustered in the distance. It felt so blissfully...normal. Like they could just fall right back into step where they left off all those years ago.

Basil should have hit himself over the head for thinking that.

It started so innocently. They were waiting for Hero to arrive and sighing about how nice their little corner of the world was, when Aubrey made an offhand comment about her friends potentially joining them next time. Before Basil could even really process what her words, Kel had said no. He hadn’t said it in a joking way or to tease her. Kel had snapped, and the tension in his shoulder and the hardness of his eyes told them all that he was deadly serious.

It was jarring. Of all of them, Kel had always been the friendliest. Hero may have been the most popular, but Kel wasn’t far behind his brother in natural charm. He was sweet and sincere, and almost always willing to get to know people. It wasn’t like him to shut down so quickly or with such force. Kel’s face was stormy and he was avoiding eye contact with all of them, keeping those hard eyes locked with the ground. Aubrey seemed livid, but she sat stony and silent, waiting for more of an explanation. The one that came only made things worse.

“I just don’t see why you would even wanna be around them anymore,”

Aubrey, loyal beyond words, had swooped in to defend the rest of her gang, claiming that they were good people who were great friends. This had only made Kel scoff, which infuriated her even more. Basil was used to Aubrey and Kel getting into arguments, he was even okay with the escalated fight that had happened at the dock (seeing as he blamed himself for causing it), but this was unlike any of those.

Normally it was Kel who kept fairly cool during these things, and Aubrey that went ballistic. Yes, Kel fought right back with her and gave as good as he got, but he had always seemed calm and collected, mostly joking around and poking fun at how red Aubrey’s face would get.

Now it was his cheeks that were tinged, and his throat that was raw from screaming, in a way that Basil had never seen before. He stayed silent and tried to keep himself small, hands clasping together over his chest as he tried to remember the deep breathing techniques Polly had been teaching him. They didn’t seem to be working. A quick glance to the side showed Sunny in a similar state of distress, watching their friends argue with a wide eye and clear panic etched into his features.

Aubrey and Kel’s argument devolved fast, going from something that held worth to just being insults hurled back and forth. They began to advance on each other, clearly done with words and moving past to blows, but a voice cut through, breaking the intensity that had caught them all firmly in its grip.

“What’s going on?”

The four of them turned around simultaneously, varying stages of guilt evident on everyone’s faces. Hero emerged from the brush, carrying a large wooden picnic basket on one arm, his mouth turned downwards.

He surveyed the moment and sighed, a tired sound that betrayed a weight that they all knew Hero carried but refused to let them bear with him. The eldest walked over and gently placed the basket down on the blanket, glancing at each of them in turn.

“You okay, Sunny?” Hero asked, and Sunny nodded. He seemed calmer now that someone was intervening, but fear was still there. Hero patted him once on the top of his head and peered around the youngest. “Basil?”

Basil nodded too, his own words caught in his throat. It wasn’t the same as when Something had been squeezing him too tight to breathe, it wasn’t that bad yet, but it was still pretty bad. Nothing he couldn’t handle though, and Basil knew that Hero needed to be focusing on the other two right now. With both of them checked on, Hero stood at his full height and stared at the others.

“Explain,”

Both teens burst into words, voices raising as they tried to shout over each other and interject to disprove what the other had just claimed. Hero listened to the cacophony for a moment and then raised his hands, yelling over them to quiet down. Once it was settled again, Hero turned to Aubrey.

“Aubrey, you go first. You can talk with no interruptions. Then Kel is going to talk with no interruptions, and we’re all going to listen to each other. I want each of you to explain to me why you’re fighting, okay?” Both teens nodded, and Hero sat down, gesturing for the other two to sit back down as well. They did, and then Aubrey began to talk.

“Out of nowhere Kel starts going off about my friends and talking bad about them for no reason,” Kel made a noise here and Hero looked at him. The younger brother rolled his eyes but stayed silent, and Hero waved a hand at Aubrey to continue, “I don’t get why he’s so angry, but I don’t care. He had no right to say all of those things. That’s why they don’t like you, you just assume the worst of them.”

Kel shot a harsh glare towards the girl, something fiery and fueled with a deep rage that was completely out of character for him. Then when he spoke, the oddities only continued.

“I didn’t start ‘out of nowhere’. You started this by saying you wanted us all to hang out with them. Like we’re all pals. Did you forget that the only thing you did when you spent time with them was bully people and act like none of us mattered to you? You keep talking about how you wanna change, but you don’t. You just want to act like nothing you did mattered. They bullied m- Basil for years! If you’re really our- his friend I don’t know why you don’t want to protect Basil from those guys,” Kel finished his speech with a huff, crossing his arms and curling in on himself.

“I apologized to Basil plenty already!” Aubrey replied, a glance to Hero when she began. When he didn’t interrupt her, she kept going, “He forgave me, and now we’re trying to get past it. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Maybe we should listen to what Basil thinks?” Hero suggested, trying to keep the conversation from riding off the rails as it had before, “If you’re both so worried about him, it seems like his opinion would be the most important thing here,”

Then all eyes were on him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Basil twisted his fingers in his lap and laughed nervously, his mouth filling with cotton as both sides of the argument clearly looked for his backing.

“I-I don’t know?” He finally replied, the words sounding small and useless, only making everyone madder, “I wouldn’t mind trying I guess. Seeing if if it works out, ya know?”

Hero perked up here, shooting Basil a grateful smile. Aubrey seemed vindicated and her anger began to melt. The tension eased out of the air, and Basil breathed out. It was all going to be okay now. It was just a regular Kel and Aubrey fight. They would hug the way Hero always forced them to at the end of their arguments, and then the five of them could enjoy the afternoon together.

“Kel, if Basil is okay with it then it’s fine. Why don’t you two hug and make up and then-”

“What if I’m not okay with it, Hero?!” Kel exploded, cutting his brother off, “What about that?!”

Stunned silence coupled with an even stronger tension surrounding the group. Kel and Aubrey fighting he could understand, even Kel and Aubrey dragging Hero in to play referee he could understand, but never before had Basil seen Kel yell at Hero. Kel worshipped the ground Hero walked on, his big brother could do no wrong, and Basil had never seen any evidence that he ever had.

But Kel wasn’t done yet, and he continued his yelling. It was like something had cut into him with those words, and now that something, dark and black, was finally getting a chance to leak out of Kel. Basil knew all about Somethings. About how painful it was to live with them, about how they always eventually burst out and demanded to be seen. He just had never thought Kel might have a Something too.

“It isn’t fair that they get to spend years being terrible people. and then just act like they never did any of it. It isn’t fair that I have to just pretend like they weren’t awful to me. Like I didn’t spend most afternoons crying on my walk home because of them. Like I didn’t have to second guess everything single thing I did because they made me think that I was a bully.”

Basil had remembered hearing them calling Kel that before, and it had confused him then too. Kel had never done anything like bullying to anyone, but Basil had dismissed it. It seemed so ridiculous to him, he thought Kel would have just let it go too. Apparently not

“All I’ve ever done is try to help. I smiled and laughed and pretended like nothing bothered me because that’s what everyone else needed. And what did that get me? A bat to the face and being told by my own bullies that I was the one messing with them. They’re the bullies. Mean, angry bullies who I never did anything to. Except try to be friends with you.” Kel finally pulled his eyes to Aubrey with this final word, cutting his furious ranting off with a half laugh half sob. He brought his knees up to his chest and put his arms on top of them. He wasn’t crying, but the pain in his eyes was enough to make Basil’s own chest ache in sympathy.

“And then you let them call me a bully. When I didn’t do anything except try to help.”

Kel dropped his head against his knees, hiding and breathing harshly. His shoulders rose and fell. Up and down and up and down as he panted with exertion from his outburst of emotion. None of them made a sound. Basil wouldn’t have known what to say after that, and he was sure no one else did either. They also couldn’t have been prepared for the final blow that was about to be dealt.

“You all just wanna pretend like none of it ever happened...like all that time didn’t matter.” Kel’s voice was muffled, but the words hit all of them like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t just about this one fight, it wasn’t even just about Aubrey’s friends. It was bigger, stretching out for years and years of suffering that had never been addressed. Basil’s breath caught in his throat, and he could see the others were in a similar state of shock. He looked down at his interlocked fingers, his stomach twisting up in knots.

It was so easy to forget with Kel. It was so simple to just get lost in his happy go lucky personality and his endless bounds of optimism. He always had time for them all, always willing to go that extra mile to help out his friends when they needed him.

He hadn’t given up on them. He hadn’t stopped knocking on Sunny’s door, even when he never answered. He hadn’t stopped saying hi to Basil, even when he didn’t say hi back. He hadn’t stopped encouraging Hero, even when Hero had no encouragement left to offer in return. He had even still looked for the good in Aubrey, when she had nothing good to say about him. That was just who Kel was, someone who kept trying.

But Basil knew better than any of them that a person could only be pushed so far before there was a part of them that was cracked and bleeding and needed others to heal it. Kel was a nice person, a happy person, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his moments of doubt. The times where he needed to rely on them instead of the other way around. He never pushed, so no one ever was forced to notice all the bad thoughts and emotions piling up under that sweet sunshine smile. It was just easy to forget that those things existed behind his joy and his upbeat attitude.

They were the people who should have remembered to look. They were the ones who should have known. They had all wanted things to go back to the way they were, but the truth was they couldn’t.

There was no way to erase four years, no way to let go of what had happened to Mari. It existed, it was real, and all of them had tried to ignore it. All except for Kel, who had done everything he could to hold them all together without so much as a complaint. He was right, instead of acknowledging his sacrifices, they had acted like none of it had ever happened. That was what was unchallenging, that was what took no effort. But that was also what was killing Kel inside.

He didn’t know what they could say that would even start to mend four years of their friend trying and failing and continuing to try against all hope. What could a person say to that kind of dedication? What kind of thanks could be given to someone who took on that burden without a word until it had nearly crushed him?

It turned out that Basil didn’t need to know the answer. There was someone else who did.

Aubrey rose up from her spot across from Kel on the picnic blanket and plopped down next to him, turning her head away from the other boy. Her hand moved to his, settling on his elbow and grabbing his attention. Kel raised his head, staring silently at her as she looked at him from the side.

Basil didn’t know what conversation the two of them had without words, but he suspected he would never know. Things like that were only ever meant for two people, and even asking about it was treading on something sacred. Whatever it was, it was enough for Kel to uncurl from the position he had put himself in. He sat on his knees facing Aubrey, and she turned to do the same. She took a deep breath and raised her head, meeting his gaze fully.

“I’m sorry,”

It wasn’t much, when it came down to it. It wasn’t a long speech filled with tears and impassioned pleas. Aubrey wasn’t on her knees begging for forgiveness, or making promises to be better. She hadn’t even said it in a special tone or in a whisper meant just for the two of them. It was an apology, nothing more, nothing less.

It wasn't really much, but it felt so big. They were all touched by her words, all impacted by the enormity of such a small but profound statement. Sunny edged closer and leaned against Basil, and the weight against his side was warm and grounding. He looked down at the top of Sunny’s head, and the vines looping around his spine eased away once more.

When he turned back, Aubrey and Kel were hugging, sitting up on their knees and clutching hard to one another. He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but it wasn’t something he had ever seen. Basil has only ever seen them giving each other quick little hugs, or the awkward side squeezes Hero demanded after their fights. But this wasn’t either of those. It was genuine and real, and they both seemed a little reluctant when they pulled apart.

Hero, ever the older brother, beamed and pulled the basket to the center of their group, changing the subject to the food that he and Kel made. To anyone outside of their group, it might have seemed like a callous way to change the subject, but the other four were grateful for something to switch their minds to.

With the moment over, Aubrey went back to her usual brusque, digging into the basket and pulling out a sandwich and bottle of water. She grabbed the food and Sunny’s hand, dragging him over to one of the corners and demanding to hear about his new house. Sunny obliged her, talking about his room and the renovation plans his mother had begun.

Kel drifted over to Hero, falling against his brother’s side and leaning his head against Hero’s shoulder. Basil didn’t interrupt, but he watched Hero wrap Kel in his arms and whisper in his ear, something that had to be comforting given how Kel nodded and snuggled closer to his brother. Hero squeezed Kel and turned to Basil.

“How’s the new garden coming along?”

[chenoehi]

Thoughts on Kirinmaru, Setsuna’s “death,” and Sesshomaru’s Rite of Courage and Cowardice (sp? I’m tired)

Working together:

First of all, we STILL need to know how Setsuna came to repeat those very words Sesshomaru has uttered now twice, but that lingering mystery aside,

It seems obvious to me that Kirinmaru and Sesshomaru are working together for some goal, perhaps to push the Yashahimes to their limits to see them grow. One thing that needs to be cleared up (among many things) is why Sesshomaru gave the girls pearls in the first place, especially now that Kirinmaru mentioned they had relied on them too much (relied how? how did they even work exactly?). Clearly we’re not done with the pearls storyline since they’ve been scattered gain so I’m at least hopeful we’ll eventually get some answers.

In this episode, Sesshomaru and Kirinmaru never once fight and they only seem to disagree on what to do about Zero. Kirinmaru clearly has disdain for Zero and doesn’t like what she’s doing, and it seems he doesn’t actually WANT to kill the girls. But, he does want to test their limits and he does that by bringing them to the edge. He laments that Setsuna cannot be brought back now that Tenseiga is broken and he lets the other two live. He has always been depicted to have honor, and he ends the fight by praising them (as he did the whole way through). Kirinmaru clearly acts like a teacher of sorts by explaining their powers to them and what to call them, and if we tie this back to Osamu Kirin’s role as Towa’s teacher and how he lets her off easy for being late to class, it draws a clear picture that Kirinmaru is not the actual villain of the series.

While Kirinmaru does not want his sister to die, Sesshomaru is finished with her games and is now pursuing her openly. Kirinmaru doesn’t want his sister to die supposedly so he tries to stop Sesshomaru, but otherwise they seem to be on the same page about other things. Specifically, we have the pinwheel issue which we still don’t know much about yet, and then we have this rite of courage and cowardice.

I think Sesshomaru is saying to Kirinmaru that he considers their battle to be something necessary for them to grow. We know that Tōga also wished for Sesshomaru to grow into a more powerful being but that he also wanted him to learn compassion; this was his struggle and only when he overcame it did he gain the power he sought. Sesshomaru clearly sees these events as necessary for their growth, or so it seems. Kirinmaru still does not feel like a big bad even though he axed Setsuna, and it’s really hard to tell whether she’s actually dead or just sleeping in stasis.

Setsuna’s death:

Setsuna “dying” is misleading, I believe, because we see the Dream Butterfly dissipate and give her the ability to dream back.

I think this clearly means that Setsuna had to “die” in order for the chord to be cut, meaning that she too was tied to Zero like Rin is which means that if Zero died Setsuna would be in danger too. That part could be debunked by ep.23, but, Rin didn’t actually die yet when Zero died. She was still in stasis and was only declared to be in danger. That doesn’t mean Setsuna could not also be tied as well. Only, Rin cannot be brought back with Tenseiga. We even got the callback with the line about how Tenseiga can only revive a person once. Tenseiga has never been used on Setsuna so she can still be saved. This appears to be where we are going with Season 2 and this new heavenly Yuwari sword.

So I think Setsuna had to die in order for the chord to be cut, meaning Setsuna was tied to Zero either like Rin or that she would have to die for the Dream Butterfly curse to be lifted (more likely). We still don’t know how Kirinmaru and the Dream Butterfly are connected or Zero even, but obviously it was used on Setsuna to remove her ability to dream FOR SOME REASON and we now see that when she “died” it looks like her ability to dream again was restored. So I don’t actually think she’s dead dead just like Rin isn’t dead, she’s in stasis. But, she may appear dead to others. I’m sure Rin would appear dead to others if she wasn’t secured in the tree. I’ll be curious to see if they perform a burial for Setsuna or not, I wouldn’t think so because I have no belief whatsoever that she’s gone forever and not coming back.

Her return seems to be clearly tied to Towa’s mysterious “heavenly” abilities she displayed early on, which will tie in nicely with this new sword coming into play.

This new heavenly sword:

The sword that Sesshomaru gives Towa could be the broken Tenseiga, and since Towa can wield a broken sword already using her energy maybe there’s a way she can still wield it. Or, the sword she’s being given is this new Yuwari (sp?) sword. We can speculate it’s the sword she’s holding in the Season 2 promo, but I think it’s just Tenseiga and that we haven’t seen Yuwari yet, but I could be wrong.

The Yuwari sword looks eerily similar to Kirinmaru’s sword, which btw harkens back to his comment to Sesshomaru about how the heavens and earth resound when their blades clash. This Yuwari sword is referred to as a Heavenly sword by Totosai, and of the three Yashahimes it would be the clear choice for Towa to be the wielder of that kind of sword. We’ve already seen her purify/release souls/whatever it is exactly she’s done in the past with people like Tokotsu which is similar to what Sesshomaru did for those souls in the Underworld in FA, when he sent them to heaven I believe.

It may be that Setsuna’s soul has left her body after all (dying for good to lift the curse) and by the time Tenseiga is reforged or Towa finds a way to wield it Setsuna may be unable to return. This could usher in Towa’s training with the new heavenly sword soon to be created or forged. Totosai says he is coming to see it’s birth (I can’t remember his exact words) so it seems like it could have been born from the clash between the Yashahimes and Kirinmaru or specifically from Towa’s body maybe ala Bakusaiga style.

Kirinmaru brought them to space somehow. Maybe that was necessary to bring about the conditions for the birth of this heavenly sword. We know from the past with both Tessaiga, Tenseiga, and Bakusaiga, certain conditions must be met in order for the wielders of those swords to either create them, wield them, or learn unlock new techniques. Maybe this sword had to born from a clash in the heavens sort of thing, literally.

Tdlr; if Towa learning how to wield a broken Tenseiga is one plot thread, and the other is her learning how to use her spiritual powers to wield the new Yuwari sword, then she could bring Rin back too if Rin also dies to cut the chord and lift the curse, because then it won’t matter if Tenseiga can’t bring her back. Towa won’t need it.

So many things are up in the air, but I think a few things are definite:

Zero is related to Moe, based on several things.

Towa’s Yuwari sword will allow her to get Setsuna (her soul?) back.

Sesshomaru gave Towa Tenseiga.

Towa will be able to wield a broken Tenseiga.

Kirinmaru is not the bad guy.

Sesshomaru and Kirinmaru are not and have never been enemies but have been on the same page from the start.

Sesshomaru was always trying to help Inuyasha (obviously) by whisking him away and Kirinmaru may not actually have wanted to kill him (that whole thing with Sesshomaru showing up and saying “hey you wanna kill Inuyasha” then saving him was too odd to just be what it appears to be on the surface, we never see what happens after the twins birth for a reason).

EVENTUALLY we will find out what the hell happened after the girl’s birth (and maybe before) that set this shitstorm in motion. Season 2 has got to start focusing on more of the personal drama and unraveling events than exposition and monster of the week shit. We’ve got to be past that come next season because too much is still unclear to have more fillers and BS. Which means S2 could be meatier, a good thing. Yashahime has to start giving us the goods, it’s only given us a nibble.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

3. Upon Further Research

Simon was fine. That’s what he kept having to tell himself. It wasn’t like he truly wanted to date Grace St. Catherine. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He had far too many habits and personal ways that made others uncomfortable or annoyed. 

The last woman he attempted to date didn’t like the fact that Samantha had her own room and that she was only allowed to enter it if Samantha had approached her to be friends. If Samantha was uncomfortable, she would mewl about it and he didn’t want that type of upset over someone who didn’t have to live with her adjusting to something she didn’t like. 

The last man he dated had an irrational hatred of the fact that Simon purchased multiple types of milk for different times of the day or different kinds of enjoyment. He never thought he would see someone have such a reaction to the fact that he wanted whole milk for cereal and to warm up at the end of the night before bed, low fat milk for milkshakes and accompanying a grilled cheese or a cheese and egg sandwich, and skim milk for drink mixes and casual throughout the day enjoyment. “Just buy one kind of milk and stick with it!” Truth be told, sometimes, Simon also bought 2% milk whenever he wasn’t feeling that great and nut milk for cooking. He just… couldn’t explain that it made a difference to his consumption and couldn’t understand why it made someone else so frustrated. 

But, it reminded him that he had unique quirks that people found basically unacceptable. Grace seemed like a cool person, but she probably would be irritated to open his fridge and see 6 different types of milk too. Or to have Samantha refuse to acknowledge her and therefore not be able to enter Sam’s Sanctuary… or even just be annoyed that there was a room with cat trees, a little playground, cat toys, waterer, feeder, etc, and a cat that spent most of her time in the windowsill instead of acknowledging all of the luxury that had been collected for her.

Then again, it was unfair to assume what people might not like about you or your life. He couldn’t know for sure. All that he knew was that she wasn’t interested in going out with him. 

That should have been the end of it, but he was very curious about that comment that her coworker made about “another hot date.” Did she have a lot of hot dates? What exactly constitutes a hot date?

Going through her photos didn’t help with that. If she regularly dated, she certainly didn’t like anyone enough to put them on her social media. Though, she did see in one of her comments she said something about VDay “my hands will be full. Worry ‘bout yourself," she’d told somebody who asked if she was trying to get “wifed up for VDay,” as a response to a photo of her in a stunning red dress, captioned with “Beneficiary Gathering #GraceLoveTheKids” She didn’t have a location, so he searched “beneficiary gathering” and came up with SO MANY things. He sighed and went back to her hashtag, wondering if it was common for her. 

She used it pretty frequently! There were photos of her at a children’s hospital, photos of numerous kids, some at some center, some at parks and stuff… She really didn’t put a lot of information into her captions. Most people loved to tell you location and event and every single detail. The fact that she didn’t made her more appealing to Simon. She liked her space. He liked his too. He could relate… but also… he needed to know more. 

It’s not a violation of her privacy if I don’t use anything against her. I'm just intrigued...

.

A few days after the date debacle, Simon found his way back into the coffee shop, this time with Samantha with him. Grace noticed him come in and sit down, but she was at the cash register, helping a customer out. When she finished, she waved to him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was petting his cat and scrolling something. She let out a disappointed sigh. Of course, Simon had noticed her. Every single detail, including that sigh. That made him a little hopeful that perhaps she would come over and engage. Maybe meet Samantha, even. She didn’t, though. She worked as usual and didn't seem to even glance his way again.

Grace went across the street for lunch. The little deli had a small selection, but they had something that she couldn’t get anywhere else in town - chicken taco pinwheels - and she was hooked on them. She’d order a dozen of them with two pickle spears, homemade potato chips with cracked pepper and sea salt, and ginger ale with cherries. It was one of the highlights of her day to get that very same lunch any time that she worked. When she was leaving today, she almost ran into Simon. She gasped and hugged her lunch to herself. “Mr. Laurent. Sorry. I’m usually pretty aware of my surroundings. You didn’t sneak up on me, did you?” she teased and winked an eye at him.

“You know… People usually call me Simon,” he said, smiling.

“People call you?” she asked. He blushed and laughed. “Of course I’m kidding. It’s just easier to call you that because of the policy and stuff.”

“The policy?”

“At the bookstore. Normally, they don’t care if you get familiar with regulars and they share their names, but since it’s you, we’re not supposed to bother you and were told that we were to refer to you as Mr. Laurent. It’s part of orientation. I remember very vividly saying, “Well excuse me, Mr. Laurent!” She exaggerated the Frenchness of his name and he chuckled at it, then stopped and looked serious. “Because, I’m kind of a goofball. Didn’t mean anything by it..”

“No, no. It’s fine. I just think it’s weird that they do that. I don’t mind being spoken to like a normal person.” That wasn’t completely true. He hated being interrupted if he was working or doing something with a hobby…

“Okay… Simon, then,” she said with a smile. He could only give her one back in return. “And who is our little pristine friend?” She asked. Samantha was on a leash, and standing, staring, almost as though she were waiting to be introduced to this strange new person. 

“This is Samantha.”

Grace stooped down and Simon tensed up. She smiled and said, “Hi, Samantha. I’m Grace. I work at your daddy’s favorite bookstore. I’ve seen a lot of photos of you, and might I say, you are radiant! Exuding opulence! You own EVERYTHING!” Samantha stepped forward and rubbed herself against Grace’s knee. “Oh, you are so adorable, but I can’t pet you right now! I’m holding stuff.” Grace stood up, looking sad as Samantha continued to rub against her shoes until Simon gathered her up. 

“She never does that. Sorry..”

“No, she’s majestic. Maybe Daddy will bring you around to see me again some time, sweetie!” She blew kisses at Samantha, nodded her head to Simon, called out, “See you tomorrow, Chief!” (to which the deli owner waved). 

Simon came up to the counter and noticed the man staring at Samantha. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her inside of here. “I’m going to have whatever she just ordered, to go, please?” He waited out of the way, just in case having an animal in their eating space might bother someone. 

Her deli order was better than her coffee order, that was for sure, though that wasn’t hard to beat. He shivered thinking about it. He ate in his car and pulled up to a trash bin to discard things. Samantha was sleeping very comfortably in her safety carrier. 

Grace got off of work and danced out of the door, holding her perfume laced coffee. She looked up at the sky for a moment, checked her phone. He looked up too. It might rain. She didn’t seem too bothered, merely curious. She walked through the neighborhood, the wind was blowing her sweater and she was drinking her coffee, speaking to various people as she passed them. How did she DO that? Simon barely liked speaking to the people that he knew. She couldn’t have possibly known most of these people, though maybe she saw them everyday, but that meant nothing. Was she cordial and warm all of the time?

She stopped at a florist and he watched through the window as she seemed to know the guy in the flower shop too. They chatted for a while until someone came from the back with what looked like a package. It was one of those big yellow mailing envelopes and the woman who gave it to her walked her over, away from the counter to speak with her before handing it to her and hugging her. As Grace came out, she said, “Thanks! See you next time…” The guy behind the counter rushed to hand her a flower and she hugged him too. Simon… didn’t like it, even though it seemed perfectly friendly and she seemed like one of those people who probably hugged her friends and stuff. Maybe. He didn’t know enough yet. Hadn’t collected enough information. 

She slipped her package into her bag, handed her presumably empty cup to the guy and he went inside and threw it away for her as she left. Simon lost her once she went into the train station. But, he felt like he collected enough information for the day. He wondered if this was daily, or if she deviated what she did after work. He continued driving past the station and headed home to work on all of his notes and more research. 

One thing that he noted was that aside from her social media, he couldn’t find much about Grace St. Catherine. And, that wasn’t even much to go by, because aside from everything being private, what she shared was still limited. 

But. The guy at the florist shop followed her. Simon checked his page. Heath Farmer *152 Simon didn't think much of it whenever he read the generic name, just scrolled through photos. None of them had Grace in them, but she was in his comments a lot and vice versa. It led to nothing.

He clicked on someone else's page who was speaking with them in the comments. Jalicia Barrett * 227 "Huh." He went to find others that he saw speaking in similar circles and several had no numbers there, but there were quite a few others that did have a number listed, and some were kids or teenagers. Maybe something to do with some of Grace's child benefits? He couldn't find what tied them together… But then he saw someone's page and Grace was actually in photos ON it. "Xander Helstrom *747…" 

His profile pic was a younger photo of himself with pink hair, wearing a chin guard on his face and a bandana on his arm. 

But, all of his current photos indicated he was older now, probably early 20s or late teens. He and Grace seemed close. There was a photo of him with her pet turtle and sliding through the set, it was the day that she bought it. So… they were most likely really good friends, or something else… Simon found himself looking at every interaction between them that he could find. They spoke like they had known each other a long time and from what he could see, this was the only person who had photos of her in her space. Maybe they were in something complicated? He searched Xander's other accounts. His Tweets were mostly about child welfare and social justice. His Facebook seemed similar, but also had memes and photos of himself and memorials for children. One caught his attention. The drawing looked similar to Grace's art style and it was of a little girl with the caption, "In honor of Hazel. She was never a number and she changed us for the better." 

There were several people who commented. "To Hazel, never a number." But, then Simon saw Grace's comment.

"Hazel taught me not to worry and not to rush. She helped give me empathy and a reason to fight. I never would have made it without her. To Hazel, never a number. Always a friend."

Simon looked at the time on his phone. "Crap." It was 2 am. 

He finished compiling all of his notes and went to bed. He was very curious what those numbers meant, but he couldn't dwell on it at the moment. He'd have to sleep well into the day to make up for staying up tonight. Tomorrow, he'd have to leave his car behind. He needed to know what happened when Grace got on the train. 

04. Date Night

[creepercraftguy]

TenMiko isn’t canon dumbass. Himiko’s feelings were out of regret on treating Tenko terribly. Not because she’s in with her. Not to mention Himiko’s canonical straight, she fantasizes herself being surrounded by men, blushes when Kokichi flirts with her and flirts with Shuichi. She shows no reaction when a girl compliments her. If you want Tenko to be happy, ship her with someone who she naturally develops a relationship, not forced herself. Don’t treat survivor’s guilt as romantic feelings.

Now it’s pretty rare that I get comments like this. I was honest to god a little confused when this arrived in my message box out of nowhere, but while I really would rather just ignore this, I cannot let this comment stand. At no point did I ever say that Himiko’s feelings were survivors guilt. At no point did I say the two of them were canonically in love. All I did was talk about what it would be like if they WERE romatically involved. However, this anon here seems to think shipping Tenmiko is completely impossible, and that you’re only allowed to ship a ship that is canon. Is that true? Far from it, obviously. About 95% of Danganronpa ships aren’t canon. About 95% of ships from any series aren’t canon. However, it seems you don’t understand my reasonings for enjoying a ship such as this one that really deserves to be enjoyed. So while I wouldn’t want to do this, you’ve forced my hand, so let me tell you

Why Tenmiko is a valid ship

To start off with, let’s get one thing out of the way. I can totally understand not shipping these two. Tenko’s strong feelings to Himiko are mostly one-sided, and she gets way too attached to the point where she’s a creep. Also, for a large chunk of the game, Himiko seems to like Angie a little more. However, Tenko’s obsessiveness is all just to make Himiko impressed, because she admires her and wants her to notice, and Himiko is VERY obviously upset when Tenko dies. Also, while some may say that Himiko hated Tenko, I don’t believe that for one second. I think Himiko really DID care for Tenko. I know it seems a little weird that she only realised how much happiness Tenko gave her AFTER she died, but personally, I get the feeling that Himiko always valued Tenko's company and simply didn't realise it. In fact, I've been through something similar in my life. I have a close friend, who initially tried to insert himself into my friend group on his own, and at the beginning, he annoyed us and most of us rejected him. I look back and realise that that person was about 80% of the happiness in my life by that point, and somehow he's still one of my best friends today. I can never forgive myself for treating him the way I did, and I'm pretty sure Himiko felt the same. What I'm saying is, on a spiritual level, I understand Himiko's complex emotions in this chapter, and I feel that she is redeemable, which I will stand by. This does not mean I’m translating it as a romantic attraction. Don’t you dare say I’m treating someone’s death as a romantic subplot, because that’s not the case. Also, Himiko’s canonically straight and Tenko...I think is Bi at least? But tell me this anon? Give me one good reason why I should give a fuck? Hajime Hinata seems to be canonically straight, particularly during Chiaki’s FTE’s, when she falls on him, he specifically states that his heart starts beating really loud. But is Hinanami the biggest ship involving Hajime? No! Komahina is! Shuichi and Kaede have a lot of romantic chemistry during the first few chapters. Are they a huge ship? No! Not as big as Oumasai! A ship and a character’s sexuality doesn’t have to come into play AT ALL when it comes to shipping. If you seriously think that, then you’re clearly new to how ships work. The very idea of shipping is that you take two (or more) characters, that can be of any gender, age, race, or even franchise (Nagito X Sans) as an example and pair them together romantically. THAT’S how ships work!

Also, I know they don’t outright say it, but the Anon who sent this to me specifically says that “Himiko blushes when Kokichi compliments her” or something, so in a way, are you trying to say that Oumeno is a more wholesome ship than Tenmiko? I’m sorry but...there’s literally only one way I can describe that. Complete and utter bullshit! To start off with, the only reason that happened is because they needed a bit of comedy, and Himiko is kind of the one comedic character that makes it this far. In general, and I’m not here to knock on Oumeno or anything, but Kokichi and Himiko’s relationship is probably the MOST toxic relationship Himiko has. There are only two big moments these two have together that could mean anything. One is the one I just mentioned, with that stupid “Maybe you like me?” joke in Chapter 5, and the other is how he tells her not to lie to herself and let her emotions out at the end of the Third Case. Generally though, Himiko dislikes Kokichi, like most of the other killing game participants do. Not only that, but in the very least, Tenko never bullied Himiko. There’s a point where Kokichi insults Himiko for having a flat chest, which is an insult I think that is SO dated, but this is not the setup for a healthy relationship. Tenmiko is genuinely a much more healthy relationship, even if it’s not romantic. On top of that, it is never ever confirmed if Kokichi actually said that. It was KAITO in the exisal at the time, so HE’S the one who said that. Whether it was part of Kokichi’s script or if he adlibbed it, since he states he had to adlib some parts, it is never known.

The big issue many people focus on is Tenko’s obsession with Himiko, but when it comes to knocking on this ship, that is literally all people focus on, because they don’t want to admit that is literally the only major thing that is anything close to wrong with it. I honestly think this is just biased. Himiko and Tenko actually have a pretty strong, solid and healthy relationship for the most part, and most people just don’t seem to understand that. In Kaede’s FTE’s with Tenko in the first chapter, she states her attraction towards Himiko is because she admires how she’s a showperson as well as how she has a thing for magical girls. Alongside that, she says that she loves small cute things, and that is exactly what Himiko is. Tenko does not obsess over Himiko, more than she obsesses over how small and cute she finds her. I guess you could say she’s a lolicon in a way, but let’s just...not talk about that. People say that Tenko’s obsession becomes borderline creepy and stalkerish, and while I understand that, I think I should remind everyone what “obsession” actually means. “An obsession” is to be in the state of being obsessed with someone or something. I could say this much that most people love the people in their family, and they have pretty happy and healthy relationships with them and spend a lot of time with them. This. THIS is an obsession. If you think obsessions to people are unhealthy, then that means your relationship with your whole family is unhealthy, in spite of how happy you are. Before anyone outright says that obsessions and love are different, I KNOW! Tenko isn’t a fucking yandere! People think obsessions to people are bad because of yandere tropes, but it can actually come in many different forms, and genuine care and affection is one of them, which is exactly what Tenko tries to show Himiko.

When Tenko and Himiko first met, I don’t doubt Himiko was scared and a bit weirded out by her, but Tenko was nice and encouraged her, and I think Himiko took it the wrong way. Himiko isn’t the type of person to avoid girls so much as she’s the type of person to avoid people in general. She was bullied in her old school, and I think the immense encouragement and support of Tenko would be a bit of new ground for her. As of such, she probably just thought Tenko was strange, because all of this were strange things to her. Himiko pushes Tenko away frustratingly because she thinks she’s simply trying to manipulate her, but the irony is that in the process of trying to avoid being manipulated by Tenko, she basically gets brainwashed by Angie. When ANGIE dies though, Himiko seems to realise what’s actually happened since then, and she realizes that because of all that happened, Tenko didn’t get any of the affection that she was genuinely trying to put on Himiko. When Tenko dies immediately after, Himiko is the first to lift the cage and calls out her name in panic, realizing that Tenko’s affection was not only genuine, but also returned, and she never ever got a chance to thank her for trying to make her a better person. And I genuinely believe that Himiko and Tenko make each other better people for sure!

As for any other reasons why I ship these two, I think their parallels are really interesting. To start off with, their general colorization is a frequently used parallels for duos. Himiko has a red skirt and red hair, as well as a red underside to her cape in her promo art, and Tenko’s outfit has a particularly outstanding blue theme to it. Another parallel, and I actually found this out while browsing, is that Hat’s and Headbands are parallels of each other, and each of them wear one (Himiko’s wizard hat and Tenko’s pinwheel headband) Lastly, there’s the contrast in personality, and this is the main reason why I ship these two. I love it when two people can have romantic attraction despite being almost opposite in nature, because their two personalities can collide, and it makes each of them better people. This is not only the case for Tenmiko, but also the case for Shuichi and Kaede, and also Kaito and Maki, AKA two ships that are basically canon (for the most part) so I really don’t see why Tenmiko’s lack on canonicity makes it a bad ship anymore, when it’s basically the same dynamic as these two. Tenko is quick, energetic and aggressive, while Himiko is slow, lazy and weak willed for a big part of the game, and I think these two counteract each other pretty well. It’s not the greatest group of parallels, but in this case, I think the opposites certainly do attract.

Tenmiko is a healthy, strong, fun and valid ship, and there is nothing you can do to change my mind. I will be supportive of this ship for a very long time from now.

[kristarantsandmuses]

Quaranthings: Korean Dramas

It’s been a while, Tumblr. LOL I haven’t posted in a while – but we are living in a time of pandemic. I have never thought such day would come but here we are.

It has been 41 days since Enhanced Community Quarantine (ECQ) was implemented in Manila – and I have managed to catch up on my Korean drama backlog.

Thanks to streaming sites like Viu and Netflix, I have spent countless hours just catching up on the latest dramas (The King: Eternal Monarch, Itaewon Class) and the ones I have not finished watching (Mr. Sunshine, Reply 1997, Go Back Couple, Kill Me, Heal Me, My Love from the Stars). I also found time to rewatch my favorites (Secret Garden, Innocent Man).

The last one I watched was Mr. Sunshine. The writer, Kim Eun Sook, tells the story of a Joseon slave-turned-American soldier named Eugene Choi and a noble named Go Ae Sin – and the people around them: the mysterious samurai Go Dong Mae; the rich playboy Kim Hee Seong; and the beautiful, rich heiress/double agent named Hina Kudo. Set in the early years of the Korean Empire (led by Emperor Gojong), the drama depicted the political turbulence of the time: the traditional Joseon ways clashing with that of imperialists as well as the personal struggles of each character. Then there’s storge, eros, philia, and agape - I’ll probably write another review of that because in terms of writing, I think this is the best Kim Eun Sook drama. 

 I have been meaning to write something like this, but I guess I was inspired to share with the world why I love Korean dramas – like it really is a hill I would die on anytime.

Some weeks ago, a Filipino director openly tweeted his disdain for Korean dramas. In his words, he said that Filipino movies and tv are “doomed” because of “K-drama galore: faux Cinderella stories with belofied whiter than white actors. And it’s all about love in the midst of pandemic.”

 LMFAO. I had to laugh.

It came from a director with reputable filmography – I mean I loved two (2) of his films for their social commentary but I have to ask.

How many Korean dramas have you watched – LOL don’t tell me you only watched Crash Landing on You.

HELLO, ITAEWON CLASS WAS IN THE TOP 10. DID YOU WATCH THAT? Did you watch the rags-to-riches story of Park Saeroyi and his quest for justice to defeat the biggest food company, Janga Corporation?

Have you watched Sky Castle? The compelling story of rich families and their schemes to get their children into the best universities?

 How about the Reply series? A nostalgic drama that tells the story of families, youth, and the times they lived in – 1994, 1997, 1988 – the nostalgia was fucking rich. I especially enjoyed 1994 and 1997.

Did you check out Another Oh Hae Young: a woman struggling to come into terms with her personal insecurities? Or have you picked up on It’s Okay, That’s Love: a romantic drama that properly tackled mental illness (the lead had schizophrenia).

From personal experience and the vast filmography of Korean dramas I have seen, let me point out why Korean dramas are the best – and why they’re so fucking addicting. I would have to say that this is not a research paper but rather a lengthy analysis based on my 12-year experience as a Korean drama enthusiast.

 1.      Creative value

Every drama starts with a great plot.

Sure, many Korean dramas are romantic. In fact, most of the Korean dramas I have seen in the early 2000s are romantic: Autumn in my Heart; Stairway to Heaven; Winter Sonata; Full House; My Name is Kim Sam Soon; and Princess Hours. There’s also Memories of Bali; I’m Sorry I Love You; and Coffee Prince. These dramas actually launched the Hallyu (Korean wave) that we know today – and their plots have the typical Korean drama romantic equation: guy meets girl – they don’t get along at first – then they fall in love – misunderstandings (or separation) ensues – reunited – fall in love again – they get married or end up together (or a lead dies). Then there are the non-romantic ones (historical): Jewel in the Palace and Jumong.

But as time went on, you see that the genres become varied – we started seeing action dramas (one of my favorites was Time Between Dog and Wolf) and medical dramas. Then there were dramas that also featured how Korean dramas were made (The World We Live In).

Korean dramas have varying plots that get recycled in many instances but with great plots also come characterization. The characters we see in dramas remind us of real people – we always relate to a character and we all get frustrated when they make stupid decisions (the Noble Idiot Syndrome) that really do not make sense. At the end of the day, we want happy endings for those who deserve happiness – we want justice served, we want closures, etc. because that’s how humans are.

In many romantic dramas, plots are reused but no character is the same. They would have similar traumas but never the same, carbon-copied character. There are villains you want to kill and then there are villains you sympathize with – because you realize that humans are multilayered, complicated creatures.

 2.      Production value

Another observation I have with Korean dramas is their careful attention to details. When writers create the script, they somewhat have actors in mind to play the character. In Korean dramas, they don’t really care about love teams. In the Philippines, we produce dramas based on the hottest pairs. In Korea, they don’t give a shit about that. Dramas are produced with the intention of creating a meaningful production so actors are chosen based on whether the writers and producers think they can bring their characters to life, not because they are the hottest commodity. In some dramas, actors have to audition, but in many instances, scripts are sent to actors with potential to perfectly portray the character.

Prior to filming, writers, actors, and production staff would spend a day or two in story conferences – actors would have the opportunity to discuss with everyone how he or she thinks his/her character is like. The directors and writers would provide their input on how the characters should talk, act, etc. Actors would also take the extra mile to learn a skill or two for the characters they played. They would have dialect coaches, language instructors, etc. Writers would consult with professionals – for instance, in many medical or legal dramas, they would hire doctors or lawyers on board to verify accuracy of terms. During broadcast, you would even see the jargon on screen to simplify them for the audience. In historical dramas, you would also see the terms used (in Chinese characters) and explain them in hangul.

During filming, you’d see how the staff has placed much attention on details – from the wardrobe to the set. You would also see themes, symbols, etc. The production aspect is really like how movies are: vivid, deliberate, beautiful. Who would’ve thought red pinwheels would make me tear up? 

Each drama has a particular soundtrack – can I just say that Korean dramas have the best soundtrack. Each song played in a specific scene perfectly conveys the mood and feelings of the character. I have cried so many times listening to Park Hyo Shin’s “Snow Flower” (I’m Sorry I Love You) or Ji Sun’s ”Goodbye Without Saying Goodbye) (My Name is Kim Sam Soon). On my Spotify account you would see I have played Goblin, DOTS, and CLOY OSTs countless times.

In the past, dramas are not really pre-produced (meaning script came a week or two before filming). There are dramas wherein halfway through the broadcast, they had to switch writers because the earlier writer had a falling out with the production – so you’d see that the quality suffers (story plots would go crazy lol). There are dramas wherein they had to replace the actors because of scandals or accidents. In the last 5 years however, Korean dramas have become pre-produced: meaning the dramas will be filmed 6 months-2 years before being broadcasted. I guess this aspect has contributed to the fact that many Korean dramas are already available on streaming sites.

 3.      Cultural value

Each drama gives us a slice of the Korean culture – food, drink, skincare, attraction, and history. And noraebang (karaoke). Every romcom Korean drama has to have a scene at the noraebang...or jimjilbang (sauna). 

Modern and traditional Korean dramas have to feature food: Korean barbecue, stew, side dishes. LOL you name it. There’s also soju, beer, and makgeoli. BEER AND CHICKEN. 

In most modern Korean dramas, makeovers are a must. You would see product placements of known Korean products: Laneige, Etude House, Nature Republic, etc. The characters would go shopping in a particular shop like The North Face. Their coffee dates would be in one of these (Caffe Bene, Dal.Komm, HOLLYS, Zoo Café, Mango Six). They would buy their cakes or bread from Paris Baguette or Tous Les Jours.

Then there are road trips – many Korean dramas would feature a particular attraction, province, or city. Who can forget Nami Island (thanks Winter Sonata) or Namsan Seoul Tower (Boys Over Flower) or Petite France (Secret Garden, My Love from the Stars)? Of course, you can’t forget Busan (Reply 1997) or Jeju (Warm and Cozy) or Gangwon-do. It is definitely a K-drama fangirl’s dream to be able to visit in one of these places so we can relive our favorite Korean drama moments.

All of Korean dramas I have seen put emphasis on family – the importance of filial piety is always highlighted. The characters are often portrayed as dutiful daughters or sons. Conflicts often ensue when the character is challenged to choose between the parents or the love of his/her life (well in most Korean dramas that’s the case lol). Many dramas portray characters who try to be the good daughter-in-law and yet nothing is ever good enough. Then there are subtle flexes on Korea as an emerging superpower as seen by drama characters (chaebols) who head conglomerates. There is always a character who is filthy rich and can afford a billionaire lifestyle. Product placements include big companies like Samsung, Hyundai, etc.

Slice-of-life dramas also depict the realities in Korean society. Because This is My First Life and Something in the Rain aptly depicted the realities of harassment in the workplace from a woman’s experience. Many Korean dramas also relay harsh realities: meritocracy in the workplace; young adults juggling multiple jobs to make ends meet, etc.; even real estate situations are featured. Often you would find characters renting a small room because that’s all they can afford. From the dramas you would also notice that Koreans are not very kind towards single mothers or orphans. Then of course, there’s the North and South Korea situation: Crash Landing on You, Doctor Stranger, Spy Myeong-Wol, Descendants of the Sun are a few dramas that discussed this theme. The Reply series is a nostalgia drama featuring families that lived through some of important events in South Korea like the Seoul Olympics (1988), Asian financial crisis (1997), Sampoong Department Store collapse (1995), and the historic World Cup (2002).

Korean historical dramas are also interesting on their own – I guess until now, the Japanese occupation of Korea is still a sensitive matter for Koreans. Many of the dramas that feature such themes always depict the resilience and resolve of Koreans as they try to fight off the enemy. Yes, the scenes are depicted artistically, and the thought lingers long after the episode is over.

In terms of marketing, the government has also been proactive. With the Korean Wave (Hallyu), Korean dramas, as well as films, music, food, etc. have become an important commodity overseas. In 2016, Korean Culture Center wrote that Descendants of the Sun was sold to 27 countries, posting a profit of over KRW 10 billion (Php 412 million). The government acknowledges the important contribution of Korean dramas in tourism. Numerous papers have already been published showing the effect of hallyu in the South Korea tourism industry.

 To make the long story short:

Korean dramas have gone beyond “faux Cinderella stories with belofied whiter than white actors”.  I mean, if you want to produce a quality drama, it takes time and effort. Personally it has become a great escape from the realities I face. I do not welcome opinions that clearly spring out of snobbery and disdain for another person’s craft. Perhaps the director can look beyond the Top 10 (since that’s what he mentioned) and check out the wide selection on Netflix. Viu is also a great platform (I’ll start on World of the Married – been hearing and reading about it lol)

Hallyu did not flourish overnight, and the Korean drama industry – while a great model to cite – is also not perfect. There have been numerous cases and instances when staff are overworked or not paid long after the production is over. The #MeToo movement has also exposed some actors who have harassed fellow actors. If we want Filipino dramas to enjoy the same spotlight as that of the Korean dramas, we should be frank about the outputs we have had. We have potential, but it really is up to the decision-makers (at least from the network perspective since it’s all about profits and star value rather than quality production in the Philippines) to come up with a formula that would revitalize Filipino dramas. I can’t say the same for Filipino films because we have great films – the dramas need much work to be profitable. I mean, are we really satisfied with a few dramas being sold overseas? When will we produce dramas that are at par with our Korean chingus? If you want Filipino dramas to be streamed on Netflix or Hulu or Apple TV – maybe we can look at genres beyond police brutality or infidelity or hacienderos harboring a secret child somewhere.

 Anyway, Korean dramas are awesome – and that’s the tea.

[josjournal]

Sterek Valentine Week - Day 6 - Secret Admirer

Derek could smell Stiles’ mood long before he’d reached the door. A tinge of sadness, as well as his usual overthinking, was overlaid by something else he couldn’t identify. Pulling the door open before Stiles could knock, Derek barked out a laugh as the boy startled, arms pinwheeling. Derek managed to grab him and pull him upright before he fell backwards off the porch.

His laughter died when he got a good look at his friend’s face, a large bruise covered his cheekbone and a spot of blood dotted his lower lip. He realized the third emotion he’d smelled was identified as pain. Derek lifted a hand to Stiles’ chin. Under the guise of taking a better look, he pulled some of the pain, thankful he’d worn his thumbhole sweater that morning as it hid the black lines travelling up his arm. Stiles was aware of him being a werewolf, of his entire family being werewolves, but he hated when Derek used his powers on him without permission and Derek might have felt guilty about it if he wasn’t so worried.

“What happened?” he ground out. “Is this why you had to stay after school?” he continued, not letting stiles answered as he dropped his hand to his arm and dragged him inside. It was a sign of just how out of it Stiles was when he didn’t put up even a token protest.

Derek’s mother stood in the living room when he pulled Stiles over to the sofa and pushed him to sit. She held out an ice pack to Derek who took it and applied it to the side of Stiles’ face. He lowered his eyebrows, flaring his nostrils trying to discover who had done this damage.

When Stiles lifted his hand to take control of the ice pack, Derek noticed the bruising on his knuckles and felt a flare of pride. He wondered what the other guy looked like. He started to lift a hand to brush over the knuckles, but Stiles scooted away from him on the sofa, face flushing and eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m fine,” he snapped but held the ice pack in place belying his statement. After a moment of Derek holding eye contact, Stiles looked away with a sigh. “Alright, I’m not fine, but I’ll live.” He let out an even louder sigh before throwing himself back against the sofa cushions. “I’ll live and I’ll die alone because I am unlovable!”

Derek could hear his mother laughing from where she’d escaped to the kitchen as he shook his head. “Don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?” Stiles glared at him. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I asked Lydia to the Valentine’s Day Dance,” he said, running a hand over his mouth muffling the sound, but Derek heard it anyway.

“So did she do that or Jackson?” Derek asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Not that point,” Stiles said. “Why doesn’t anybody love me, Derek?” His friend’s voice was serious and slightly wet, the scent of salt filling the air and filling Derek’s throat.

“I love you,” Derek told him, keeping his voice light and thankful when it brought a quirk to Stiles’ lips and a low chuckle.

“I love you, too, but not what I meant,” Stiles told him.

Derek made a noise of agreement despite disagreeing because what Stiles didn’t know was that Derek did love Stiles in just the way that he had meant.

***

The next morning, Stiles was bouncing on his heels next to Derek’s Camaro when he’d opened the front door balancing two travel mugs of coffees in his hand and holding a paper bag of homemade cinnamon rolls between his teeth. “Man, Mama Hale is the best!” Stiles squealed, grabbing the bag and one of the mugs. “Thanks, Mama!” he shouted into the house and Derek heard his mother laughing again.

Once they were settled into the car and heading towards school, Derek had enough of Stiles’ fidgeting. “Who put extra sugar in your toothpaste this morning?”

“I think Lydia loves me,” Stiles said, his smile growing. “Or maybe Jackson.” He wrinkled his nose and Derek felt sick.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, hands tightening on his wheel until he felt it creak beneath his hands.

Digging into his bag, he pulled out a red gift bag, sparkling pink filler paper spilling out of the top. “I found this on the porch this morning!” He reached in and pulled out a can of Red Bull and a bottle of Motrin along with a heart shaped sucker with a piece of paper that said, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” He shook the Mortin at Derek, giving him an expectant look.

“What does that have to do with Lydia?” Derek asked.

“There’s only a few people who know that I got hurt yesterday. So, it’s either Lydia, Jackson, or the school principal.” Stiles tapped a finger as he named each person. “Lydia is really the most logical choice, but I suppose it could be Jackson.” He looked thoughtful.

“Or your father. Or my mom,” Derek suggested as he pulled into the school parking lot.

“Or you,” Stiles said, laughing and then protesting when Derek grabbed the Red Bull. “Hey!”

“You can have this or the coffee, not both,” Derek told him. “Remember the last time; you didn’t sleep for three days.”

Stiles conceded the point and chose the coffee, claiming it went better with the cinnamon rolls. “I’m going to thank Lydia,” he said as he got out of the car and smiling at Derek over the roof.

***

“She laughed in my face!” Stiles shouted as he arrived at the car at the end of the day.

Derek shook his head. “At least she didn’t punch you in the face,” he muttered. He’d seen Jackson earlier in the day, a slightly smaller bruise to match Stiles on his own face, so he’d been right in assuming that Stiles had fought back the day before.

Stiles climbed in the car, sulking and spent the ride to the house complaining again about his unlovability. By the time they said goodbye and Stiles had gone into his own house and slammed the door, Derek was reading to claw his own ears just so he could stop hearing until they’d healed.

***

Derek was surprised that Stiles wasn’t standing next to his car in the morning, as he had every morning since Derek had gotten his license. Unlocking the car, he threw his bag in the backseat while checking his phone to see if there were any messages about him not going to school, but there was nothing. Heading next door, he stepped onto the porch, but the door was pulled open before he could knock revealing the Sheriff already dressed for work.

“Morning, Derek,” he said. “Stiles is running a little late. You can wait in the kitchen if you like.”

“Have a good day, sir,” Derek called after him before going into the house and nearly running into Stiles or at least someone who looked like Stiles but muted. “You ready?”

The Stiles-like person just shrugged and grabbed his bag, following Derek out the door before locking it behind himself. They made their way to the car. Derek was climbing inside as Stiles opened his door and let out a shout. Glancing over, Derek spotted a bag similar to the one from the day before sitting on the passenger seat, a tag with Stiles’ name hanging off of it. “Did you leave your car unlocked, dude?”

“Don't’ call me ‘dude’,” Derek muttered as he watched Stiles dig through the bag out of the corner of his eye.

Stiles pulled out a heart-shaped sugar cookie on a stick. It was dipped in red chocolate and had, “You are loved,” scrawled messily on it.

“Wow,” Stiles said, smiling as he stared at the cookie before digging in the bag some more, but coming up empty. “Wish I knew who was doing this,” he said, voice sound happy despite the confused tones of his scent.

“Does it matter?” Derek asked. “Can’t you just enjoy knowing someone admires you without knowing who they are?”

Stiles gaped at him, spluttering and waving his arms before crossing them over his chest in a pout. “Just drive,” he finally said, the happiness of his tone lost in something else.

Derek listened, pulling away from the house and heading towards school, allowing Stiles to sulk in silence. It was the first time since he’d started driving them to school that the trip was completely silent the entire way, but when Derek went to get out of the car, Stiles stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What if it’s a joke?” he asked, voice quiet. “I mean, Lydia already laughed when I tried to thank her for yesterday's gift. What if Jackson or someone is waiting for me to make a fool of myself over this. I need to know who it is so I know it’s real.” His tone was pleading.

“I get it,” Derek said. “I’m pretty sure it’s not a joke, though,” he reassured him.

“Why? Can you smell who left it?” Stiles asked, eyes wide. “I was going to ask you to sniff the bag yesterday, but didn’t want to be rude.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t smell anyone that shouldn’t have been in the car. Sorry,” he told him, climbing out of the car and ignoring Stiles’ pout.

***

The next morning was Saturday, so there was no need for Derek to get up early and yet he had risen with the sun and gone for a run. He was just returning when he spotted Stiles sitting on the Hale front porch, a familiar looking red bag in his hand, a smile on his face as he spotted Derek.

“Another one?” Stiles nodded. “What is it today?”

“Don’t know. I was waiting for you to open it,” Stiles told him as he followed Derek into his house, settling at the kitchen table as Derek tossed him a bottle of water, which he immediately dropped.

Derek drained one bottle before grabbing another and sitting across from Stiles at the table. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, stopping when Stiles’ scent took on a strong scent of arousal. When he dropped his shirt to check on him, he was digging in the bag and Derek wondered what in the bag could possibly have garnered that reaction.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, getting an embarrassed laugh from Stiles as he laid the items from the bag on the table between them.

There was a book about astronomy that Derek knew Stiles had on his Amazon wishlist, along with a box of glow-in-the-dark stars. A note taped to the top said, “If you be my stars, I’ll be your sky.” There was also a gift card for the coffee shop that he and Stiles frequented.

“Wow, your secret admirer really seems to know you,” Derek said, reaching out a finger to run over the edge of the book.

“If a person is ugly, they’re a stalker. If they’re good looking, they’re a secret admirer,” Stiles muttered as his scent turned metallic with anxiety.

Horror ran through Derek as he processed Stiles’ words. He fumbled the water he’d been sipping and it spilt across the table, thankfully Derek recovered in time to rescue Stiles’ gifts. “I’m sure it’s the latter, even if they aren’t terribly good-looking.”

Stiles studied Derek, eyes focused until they both began to squirm. “Der, do you know who my secret admirer is?”

“If I did, wouldn’t be much of a secret if I told you,” he responded, pushing to stand from the table. He tilted his head, ignoring Stiles’ dog comment from behind him. “Mom needs me to run to the store. I’ll talk to you later,” he said before disappearing out the front door, ignoring Stiles’ call of, “Dude, your mom isn’t even home!”

***

Derek didn’t talk to Stiles on Sunday, but he sat beneath his cracked bedroom window which was right across from Stiles and listened to him moving about his own bedroom. Stiles did a lot of pacing and he kept skipping songs on his iPod, never listening to any of them for more than thirty seconds before giving up and turning on his laptop.

It was around eleven o’clock at night and Derek was dozing off underneath the window when his mother came to check on him, bringing him something to eat. “You should just tell him how you feel.”

“I’ve tried and he doesn’t get it,” Derek told her, knowing he was whining but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to temper his tone. “He wants to be in love so bad and yet he believes he’s unloveable.”

“We know he’s not,” his mom responded. “Now you need to get him to see that.”

“I’m trying, but everything keeps backfiring,” Derek huffed.

“Use your words, son,” she told him before rising to her feet. “And get some sleep.”

She left the room, turning off the light she’d turned on when she’d entered. Derek was pushing himself to his feet, suddenly grateful that he’d kept the blinds closed all day when he heard Stiles’ voice. “Derek? Are you there?” He froze in place, voice caught in his throat, like the coward he was. It was a fortunate thing that Stiles as not a werewolf or he would be able to hear his heartbeat even across the yard.

The silence dragged on and just when Derek thought Stiles wasn’t going to speak again, he heard him. His voice was low, even by normal standards and Derek actually had to strain his ears to hear him. “...it were you,” was all that he heard, but before he could question, Stiles continued. “It’s so stupid, I know, but I wish it were you. I wish you were the person who loved me like that.”

Derek dropped quietly to his bed, burying his face into his pillow and allowing himself to cry as he ran Stiles’ words over and over in his head until he fell into a fitful sleep.

***

Derek didn’t want to get out of bed Monday morning, so he asked his mom to drive Stiles to school, which she did before returning home and telling Derek that Stiles had smelled sad and wouldn’t talk to her the entire ride other than a greeting and a thanks when he got out of the car. “Talk to him,” she encouraged Derek, although it sounded more like an Alpha order, so Derek got up and moving.

He arrived at school at lunchtime, checking the items he had sitting in the passenger seat. He walked to the cafeteria and spotted Stiles sitting at their usual table, stabbing his fork violently at whatever atrocity the cafeteria was serving that day. Smiling, he weaved through the crowd of students, returning greetings but never taking his eyes of Stiles.

Arriving at the table, he set down the bag and drink carrier from Stiles’ favourite diner, smiling when his head whipped up. “Curly fries?” he asked, excitedly as Derek sat down.

“Dig in,” Derek told him, waiting until his hands and face were buried in the bag before setting down the last item.

When Stiles looked up, he froze at the red bag sitting in the center of the table. As she continued to stare, Derek nudged the bag towards him. “What?”

“I heard you last night,” Derek whispered.

Stiles had been reaching for the bag but froze at Derek’s words and his gaze hardened. “If this is some kind of joke -”

Derek growled. “Never. I heard what you said and it was what I needed to hear to come forward,” he explained. “When I walk into a crowd, I’m always looking for you first. It’s been that way since my family first moved next door to you and you fell over the fence trying to get a look.”

“Derek-”

“Stop. Just please open the bag, I can’t keep talking,” he choked out.

Stiles reached into the bag, pulling out a book on werewolves that he’d seen at Deaton’s office that had gotten him a smack to the hands when he’d tried to touch it. The next item was a construction paper heart covered with glitter glue that was tacky enough to stick to his fingers and photo stuck to the center. The photo had been taken the day they’d met, the two of them covered in red kool-aid. Derek was looking at Stiles who had his head thrown back and laughing. “From this moment, I loved you,” was written beneath the photo in gel pen.

Stiles gaped at the words, his heart beating faster as his scent warmed and grew until it surrounded Derek in a feeling of safety and home and love. When their eyes met, they both broke into wide grins before Stiles was leaning over the table to press a kiss to the middle of Derek’s forehead and laughing at the way he scrunched up his nose.

“I love you, too,” Stiles responded. “Like really do.” There was no skip in his heartbeat, no lie on his lips. Just honest emotion and Derek had to get closer so he moved to sit next to Stiles instead of across from him. “And just so you know, you’re definitely not a stalker.”

Derek loved the feeling of the laughter that flowed between them as they shared their first real, yet still completely disastrous and perfectly them, kiss.

[disgraced-doctor-junkenstein]

Response to Like/reblog for a nightmare with our muses @thejunkersupport Title: It’s The Final Countdown!

A needle is dropped onto an ebony record. At first the only noise is a soft scratch but soon a melody begins to pour out from the tarnished antique bell. It’s a song without any words but the feeling it gives off is soothing in nature. A rare treat in Junkertown given how everyone tended to act on edge, lashing out, puffing their chest to seem intimidating. Relaxing is generally thought of just sitting in the bar with a lukewarm beer surrounded by bogans. But that’s nothing compared to actually just sitting down, away from the chaos, just trying to think without it being laced with the constant bombardment of fight or flight buzzing in the background. “Lust zu tanzen?” A voice asks from behind. Bombette turns to see a man she’s never meet before but shares a striking resemblance to another junker, Junkrat. A metallic hand held out and while she did not understand what was said exactly it was apparent the man wanted to dance. Without thinking, Bombette took the offer and was soon pulled in close. The stranger’s gloved hand finding it’s way to her waist. Together they start to dance.  Everything is slow and sweet. The music, the dancing, the moment cozy in of itself even as the junker tries to place just who it is that is leading her around the room. There is something familiar about him. Yes, there is the resemblance but there is something else. While she personally does not know him, she feels as if they have crossed paths before. Never formally introduced but it’s a strong feeling she just can’t shake. “You dance beautifully,” he praises. He raises his arm and twirls Bombette around, three rotations, but the two times she glimpses the scientist (What else could he possibly be?) she swears his smile is warped with malice. His eyes glowing like a predator in the night. It is with the last rotation that he pulls her back in and they pick up where they left off. His eyes aren’t glowing like she though but they are unusual. Amber with red pupils but he disarms her with a broad smile and kind words. “I’ve seen some of your work. It’s impressive.” There is a moment of quiet. The tempo is starting to pick up and the only noise in the area as the waltz continues.  The background suddenly snaps from the warm hues of once sun baked metal marbled with light rust to that of a deep plum hue streaked with black. They are still dancing even as the floor falls away, caught in a drift like a leaf in a crisp autumn breeze.  “You’re wasting it here though.” The man’s hold on her tightens seconds before Bombette attempts to pull away. “These people don’t appreciate you like they should. You help them and all for what? For them to squander it so callously,” he spits. “You can do so much more. Be so much more.” The hold on her is too tight, bruising in it’s rough nature. Junkers, the ones that made it this far, however, are quick to act on impulse when a situation like this would arise. A heavy boot stomping down though struck nothing. It is then she realizes that like his counterpart, this man is also missing his right foot. Immediately she goes for the other- Everything goes black as ink. Bombette is free falling into the void. There is nothing but the vast expanse all around but gravity is still in play. She is plummeting, nearly drowning in the immeasurable barren landscape, arms pinwheeling while she tumbles downward. It’s getting colder, freezing really, to the point it starts to burn. Her breath is caught, lungs unable to draw in air when at last there is color.  Gasping, Bombette is clawing herself onward to find that she is in a grave. Damp soil expelling from her mouth in a coughing fit. It’s all over her form as she pulls herself halfway out.  “All that hard work only to end up paying the price. Was hardly worth it, right?” With one hand the scientist adjusts his goggles. His other is grabbing Bombette’s wrist but when she goes to pull away she freezes. Her arms are wrapped with linen and areas were the wrappings are sparse, she can tell her skin is tinted blue. It is in her confusion and horror that she is pulled free from her plot. “But that won’t matter any more.” A thousand questions begin to bubble up all at once, the words themselves never being uttered, as if they were just overlapping and drowning one another out. Instead there is a sickening gasp. “Shhh... Save your questions for the daytime, my dear. We really must get you home.” The strange man chuckles as if it’s all a joke. Soon his flesh starts to crackle like porcelain. Pale flesh now white as a sheet as it begins to fall off in chunks leaving behind muscle and sinew, all of which rapidly rot. Vibrant pinks scaling to a sickly peach then black. It curls in on itself, shriveling up and falling away with the ceramic flesh now leaving nothing but ivory bones and lidless eyes.  Just behind the gruesome sight appears another figure. The royal hued smoke rolling away as the form became more clear. A woman dressed as a witch but beautiful unlike the hags often portrayed in fairy tales. It is with a sweet smile that the witch looks Bombette over, everything about her inviting except for the look behind those piercing blue eyes.  “Are you certain she is the one?” “Oh yes.” Glowing eyes rolled around behind the blue tinted goggles. Perhaps they were the only thing keeping them from falling out and rolling away. “The similarities are uncanny!”  “Show me, Junkenstein.” The witch ordered in a purr.  It was with that command that the man, this Junkenstein, reached into his side bag and pulled out a canning jar. Within the clear glass bounced and hummed a vibrant ball of neon purple light. “Her soul is nearly identical to this one. This has to be her sister!” Bombette couldn’t move. The sense of dread overwhelming as things began to click in some places but eluded her in others. Was that- Where they suggesting- That light was a soul? Not just any soul but her missing sister’s? “Then I propose a trade.” Slider fingers moved to carefully turn Bombette’s attention to herself, away form the jittery trapped soul. “Serve me and I will restore to you your precious Samantha. Deny me and well...” “I’ll feed it to the Reaper,” Junkenstein finished with a titter. His teeth nearly chattering without the flesh to give them any cushion.  “It’s really not so bad,” Junkenstein decided to tack on suddenly. “Once you get used to the pain, being undying is really for the best if you think about it. All that extra time and the people you could help who actually deserve it.” “You have three seconds.” The humming in the jar grew in volume. The soul striking against the glass trying to get free.  “Three,” the countdown from the witch began.  Junkenstein moved one hand over the top of the lid to insure it stayed sealed. The container rattling violently in his grasp.  “...Two...” The hum melting into an intense pitch like florescent lighting about to give out. Samantha’s soul practically screaming though Bombette had not idea if it was a warning or plea.  “Take the deal,” Junkenstein insisted. “You’ll be reunited! Do it!” “...One.” The witch’s smile morphing into a scowl. Thick clouds rolling in out of the dark and lightning crackled in the dark silvery blanket above.  “I see.” With a snap of her fingers, the linen cloth wrapped around the junker’s form tightened, constricting all around her, choking the air from her lungs once more and nullifying her movement. “Feed my servant.” “But-” “Now,” the witch cutoff. The skeletal man stepping back with a grunt as lightning crashed down, filling the area with a blinding light that took time to fade. In the middle of everyone now stood another with a pumpkin where his head should be. Eyes and mouth aglow with candlelight.  Desperate pleas bubbling up as thick green vines erupted from the soil, weaving their way up Bombette’s legs, still climbing and tightening on top of the mummy like wrappings,yanking downward and sinking the junker slowly into the ground. The Reaper snatching the jar from the other man, twisting the lid and fishing out the angry soul now holding it up like a delicate treat.  The ground was claiming her again, Bombette struggling with no avail, sinking deeper in as vines still crept higher, tighter. Eye wide in horror as the neon light was engulfed, snuffed out like a flame with a sickening squish of a swallow. Bombette’s vision fading by the second but before all was lost, stepping forward to be the last sight was the one the witch called Junkenstein. His exposed skull now starting to spill with blackened blood.  “Such a waste...”

[gffa]

What do you think about Chuck Wendig's comments that when he came up with the original idea for the nurse plot that he was going to use a guy for a statement on idolizing toxic masculinity instead of... what we got.

It’s complicated and kind of a boring answer, because I don’t think we can really know too much.  Wendig’s idea of having someone obsessed with Vader, but instead being a male morgue attendant (did he himself say it was about idolizing toxic masculinity or did fandom assume that, I can’t remember now?) paralleling Hallum’s story, but Wendig himself also says, “Brief update to this: I see some news indicating I’m gently suggesting this copied my plotline. No suggestion like that from me – I’m assuming it was just similar thinking and narrative extrapolation from that point forward. I was just noting the idea for the issue I’d written.“ and that’s what I assume, too.The thing about Dark Visions is that it’s a series about extreme reactions by people in universe to Darth Vader.  If you had to come up with five types of people having extreme reactions to Darth Vader in universe, people he would directly interact with but that aren’t established characters already, all of them different from each other, wouldn’t it be a really easy step to assume you’re going to write someone in love/obsessed with him?There’s also somewhere (forgive me for not having a link to this part) where Wendig listed some of his other summaries for Shadow of Vader (his original series) and none of them matched up with the stories we’ve gotten from Dark Visions as far as I can tell.  My gut feeling is that this is a coincidence, one that’s a logical step for each of them.  And I don’t think Wendig is saying that Hallum copied him, my guess is that he’s more interested in pointing out how two similar stories–which evolve separately into similar extrapolations from the same basic premise of “a series about how other people see Vader”–can come across very differently and that’s something more writers should be aware of.Wendig’s definitely the kind of guy who thinks a lot more about that kind of stuff, about how different kinds of stories can come across and why it’s hurtful to some people when you don’t think about how you write queer people and how you write women and how you write people of color.  I think it makes sense to assume his story would have been much more pointed and socially aware, about how idolizing toxic masculinity is awful, while Hallum says that he was writing a story about a person using fantasies as escapism from the fascist regime she’s trapped in (apologies for not having that link on Twitter either, but I do have the one where he says he sees her as the heroine), there is absolutely nothing of that within the actual story.I believe him that he didn’t get how it would come across to others, that he intended the nurse to be sympathetic, but I also believe that he didn’t have the skill to pull it off and the best thing this series can be is a hilarious shitpost.  (I base a lot of this on how issue #2 tried to be a little more serious and it just utterly fell flat for me, because it wasn’t well-written enough to be taken seriously, but it tried to be more serious in some scenes and I couldn’t buy it, but couldn’t lose myself in the Star Destroyer being rammed down the Exogorth’s throat, either, not like I could with Vader literally being haloed in light and pinwheeling through the sky to kill the dinosaur shark kaijuu in issue #1 while the kid watched him like he was an avenging angel.)I’m not frustrated about the outrage re: #3 here, because even if I think it’s leaving a lot of context out, if this shows straight, white, male authors just how their work can come across even when not intended, that, yes, you do need to become aware of things outside of your own experience?  Then I will snatch that up and grind it into their faces along with everyone, because THAT IS A THING THAT NEEDS TO HAPPEN MORE, that male writers need to get that sometimes intention isn’t magical and you have to step out of your own experience to go, “How will this come across, regardless of intent?”  (At the same time, I still find the issue funny and it’s okay that others do, too.)I don’t know how Wendig’s comic would have come out.  I’ve enjoyed his books so much (even if I had a hell of a time trying to parse the narrative intention on some of the stuff and never really did figure that part out!), but I haven’t read more than one or two of his comic issues (I read his Vader annual and it was fine enough), so I don’t know how good he is or isn’t at writing comics, since they can be very different than novels.It certainly would have been interesting to see Wendig’s version, you guys know how much I live for a narrative roasting Vader and his fuck-awful choices, that there is nothing approved about that garbage bag (I say, when you guys also know how much I love him), and I think Wendig’s version had the potential for being a lot more useful in the times we live in, there’s potential for something with real meat to it, whereas Hallum’s version is total junk food that’s giving a lot of people food allergies.I suspect that’s what Wendig is getting at, that there’s something to be looked at when you compare how these two stories affected their audiences, how awareness of these issues plays out, how two different stories that (probably) came from two different places achieve (potentially) such different results. And why is that?  (Answer:  Because various contexts can matter a lot.)

[ghostbustermelanieking]

the fountain chapter six

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

s6 fic: post milagro, tithonus and detour casefile, immortal scully, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

warning for kidnapping and some violence

chapter six

may, 1999

He blinked in surprise when Samuel Barclay said that the Fountain didn't exist. He'd been expecting this a little, from someone, but it was a bit of a surprise coming from these people, for some reason. He didn't know why, but it was. “What, you don't believe?” he asked, shrugging it off.

“I don't believe. My brother has the good sense not to believe,” Samuel said, turning half-towards the river. He seemed almost bored. “As for my father, he gives it the benefit of the doubt.”

Peter shrugged, running a hand over his silvery head. “I suppose I have something of a romantic in me.”

“So you've never come across anything that looks a little suspicious?” Mulder asked. “Anything to make you believe?”

Andrew laughed, as if Mulder was an amusing child. “I've come across several tourists looking for exactly what you were,” he said. “And I've all told them the same thing: you're probably looking for St. Augustine.”

Mulder laughed too, a little irritably, said, “Well, I suppose if you can't help me, I should probably be on my way.” He bent over and hoisted the heavy backpack off of the ground. His shoulders groaned in protest, but he ignored them.

“Well, good luck with your fruitless pursuit, Mr. Mueller,” Andrew said, eyes towards the river like his brother.

“It's Mulder, actually,” Mulder said shortly.

“Good luck, Mr. Mulder,” Peter said, deadly serious. “Sometimes you find things where you least expect them.”

He reached out to shake Mulder's hand, and Mulder accepted, watching the man carefully. He couldn't read Peter’s expression. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to leave.

Something else occurred to him after he took a few steps. Barclay. Virginia Barclay, who had no records.

There had to be more than one set of Barclays in the Tallahassee area, but it was worth a try. He turned around and said, “Hey, do you guys have a relative named Virginia? Virginia Barclay?”

Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise, like he couldn't believe Mulder was asking. Samuel snorted, turning back to the river. “I'm afraid not,” Peter said. “Do you know a Virginia Barclay?”

Mulder shrugged. Reading over her file didn't seem like a synonym for knowing her. “Once,” he said. He wiped his dirty hands on his jeans and added, “Good talking to you gentlemen.” And then he turned and left.

---

He walked as the sun sunk low in the sky, as blue-black touched the edges of the horizon. The ache in his back from the weight started to become routine. The boredom almost became a bit routine. He considered turning back around and going the way he came, but the truth was that he had no idea where he'd come from. What was it Michele had used to mark their path through the forest last time? Pebbles or something. Like Hansel and Gretel. He should've remembered that before coming in here. Or maybe he should've waited and talked to Scully, explained what was going on after she'd cooled down a bit and waited to see if she wanted to come with him. Definitely shouldn't have tramped into the woods by himself. It wasn't dark, not yet, but as the day gave way to dusk, the jumpiness came back. He couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't fall asleep. If he did and the mothmen came, he really would be helpless. He tonelessly whistled Joy to the World to break the silence.

It happened all of a sudden: he was walking, and then he was falling. The ground gave way beneath him and he plunged into darkness. He let out a pained grunt as he picked himself up off the dirt. What was it Scully had said a couple of years ago? Soft dirt, kind of? It was not soft at all. He groaned, picking himself up off the ground and shifting on the hard dirt. The backpack scraped against his spine. He sat back on his haunches and looked around. He was in some dirt cavern, dark and dank. It seemed to be a tunnel, an underground tunnel.

He'd found it. The caverns he and Scully had fallen into. Maybe it wasn't the same one, but a similar one. And definitely worth checking out, seeing as how he'd fallen at least seven feet and, looking above him, he could see no easy way out.

Smiling a little to himself, Mulder stood on stiff legs and unzipped his backpack, took out a flashlight and one of his water bottles and chugged half of it before tucking it back inside. The least he could do was keep going. He turned on the flashlight and started walking.

There were bones in the tunnel. He wasn't surprised, considering what he'd seen of the mothmen a couple of years ago, but it still came as a bit of a fear-inducer. He was relieved to notice that none of the remains looked very recent, but it still spooked him. If the mothmen were still there…

He fumbled anxiously for his gun and held it in his free hand as he walked through the tunnel. Not for the first time, he wished Scully was there.

After at least another hour of walking in the dark, occasionally under holes to the above that were way too high to reach, Mulder got to the end of the tunnel. It was styled like some sort of rotunda, with other tunnels spiraling out like a pinwheel. And at the center was a tree.

Somewhere between a sapling and a full-grown, it was set up in the middle of the rotunda, directly underneath a circle that let in sunlight. It was about as high as Mulder, a thick and round trunk. It looked young, near new, but he noticed a carving that looked older in the bark. At least as old as the Ad Noctum post they'd found in the tunnels two years ago.

Mulder drew closer, shedding the backpack on the ground, and the words became more visible to him: Fuente de la juventud. His high school Spanish was a tad rusty, but he guessed that meant Fountain of Youth. He reached out and touched the carvings: they were deep, engraved into the wood. Definitely old.

I always thought if it was real that it wouldn't be made of water, Peter Barclay had said of the Fountain.

Was this is? Had he known? Was this sad little tree what Mulder had been looking for all this time? He traced the letters absently with one finger, looking up and down the tree. It was possible, he thought. This could be the key to Scully never being alone. All he'd need to do was show her where it was, and she could do whatever she wanted.

But what if it didn't work? What if he was wrong? If he was going to offer Scully a solution, then he had to be certain it was one, and it seemed that the only way to do that was to test it.

The deciding factor was what Andrew had said about the Fountain being temporary. If he tried something from this tree, and if it worked, he wouldn't be trapped in immortality forever if Scully didn't want him to be. But he might as well make sure it worked. He could just slice his hand open or something and see if it healed. If it didn't, Scully never had to know his intentions. If it did, well.

Mulder debated for several minutes how, exactly, the Fountain-tree-whatever worked. He considered boring a hole in the tree and drinking the sap, but that seemed too complicated and he didn't have anything to do that with, anyway. He considered the bark for a moment before finally giving up and grabbing a handful of leaves from the trees. He inserted a couple in his mouth and chewed, wincing at the bitter taste. It tasted horrible. “One must really want immortality to eat this shit on a regular basis,” he cracked, in an attempt to lighten his own mood. It didn't work. It was a heavy thing, what he was doing. If this worked, for some indeterminate amount of time, he wouldn't be able to age or die.

And if it didn't? His hand was really gonna fucking hurt.

Mulder chewed every one of the leaves, only retching a couple of times. He hoped to God they weren't poisonous. It would be ironic if he was poisoned by the Fountain of Youth. His joints groaned in relief as he sat down beside his backpack, leaning against the dirt wall behind him. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and drank the last of a water bottle to rid his mouth of the bitter taste. He leaned his head back, wiped sweat out of his eyes, and rummaged for the pocket knife in his pack. And then his phone rang.

His phone, shoved somewhere deep inside his backpack. “I didn't even know I had a signal,” he said out loud, blinking in surprise. He abandoned the pocket knife pursuit and searched for his phone, whipped it out and managed to press Answer just before it went to voicemail. “Mulder,” he said, shoving the phone into the sweaty space between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Mulder, it's me,” Scully said. She sounded tired and pissy. “I got your note.”

The note. He'd almost forgotten the note. His mouth still bitter from the leaves, he swallowed, said, “Yeah, Scully, I…”

“Obviously there's a lot for us to discuss, but I wanted to call and ask where it is you went.” The tension was audible in her voice, tight and sharp. “I know I kicked you out, and I'm sorry for that, but Mulder, I need to know that you did not run off to that forest and out yourself in danger…”

He caught a glimpse of the Fountain-tree out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help grinning. He'd found it, he'd actually found it. He didn't know if she'd be happy about it, but he wanted to tell Scully that he found it. “I actually did, Scully, uh,” he said, laughing a little to himself. “I found it. I found the fucking Fountain of Youth. I'm looking at it right now.”

Silence on the other end. “Scully?” Mulder finally ventured gingerly. He probably should have lead with an apology.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she said in a weary exhale. “You went into those woods alone? After we almost died last time? What the hell?”

He rubbed at his forehead. “Scully, I've been careful,” he sighed. “I haven't even seen those things…”

“Why did you ditch me?” she demanded. “Why the hell did you ditch me? Why would you come to Florida and pretend to help me for a stupid case like this?”

“Scully, I didn't ditch you. You kicked me out,” he said, a little irritated now.

“Yes, because I was angry, and I didn't really think you'd leave, and if you did, I thought you'd go home. I didn't think you'd run off to chase the very thing we'd just fought about!”

“You don't understand,” he tried, “if you'd just let me explain…”

“How selfish can you be, Mulder, that you absolutely ignore everything I said this morning? Ignore the important case in favor of this, this stupid, nonexistent legend? Why does it matter so much, Mulder? What do you care?” He grimaced, closing his eyes; he didn't make any effort to answer, his hands leaving sweaty prints on the back of his phone. He didn't know what to say. She just kept going, plowing through him like a freight train. “What the hell is so important about tracking down something that had supposedly been around for thousands of years, if it even exists? Why do you have to look right this very second? Why can't it wait?"

“It's because of you,” he said softly, on an impulse. He hadn't planned on doing this, not like this, but he needed her to know. To understand. “I'm doing this for you. So you won't have to be alone.”

There was a silence on the other end, one that indicated Scully's surprise. For a minute, he thought maybe she was furious, raging at his presumption. He was about to apologize when she said, “Oh,” in a voice that was soft and almost near tearful. “Oh, Mulder,” she said.

He softened a little, ready to explain further, to apologize as many times as he needed to, when he heard a thunk on the other end, and then a clattering sound.  “Scully?” he called, a little nervous. “Scully, are you there? What happened?” Nothing on the end but a faint moaning sound. What may have been scratching. “Scully!” he shouted, truly frightened now, stumbling to his feet.

He heard Scully's voice, wobbly and faint through the speakers. “Mulder,” she rasped weakly. And then another smacking sound. She went quiet.

“Scully?” He clutched the phone hard in his hand, some part of him chanting frantically, Not again, not again, not again. It hadn't even been that long since fucking Padgett. “Scully!” he shouted. Why the hell did he leave her? He never should've left her side, never should've yelled at her, should've apologized right away… “Scully, are there? Can you hear me? Scully, answer me, please…”

The phone clattered as someone picked it up. “Scully?” he asked, eagerly. Please please please be okay.

“I'm afraid not,” said a strange woman's voice on the other end.

Fury boiled up inside of him. “What did you do to her?” he snarled, pressing a hand hard against the dirt wall so he wouldn't punch something. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing much yet,” the woman said pleasantly, like they were just making conversation. “Is this Mulder? Special Agent Fox Mulder? Agent Scully's partner?”

“Fuck you,” he hissed, hitting the wall with his hand. Chunks of dirt fell to the floor. “Leave her alone! Let her go right now, or so help me God..."

“I don't think I can,” said the woman. “Very sorry about that. I've been watching the both of you, and I've noted how close you two are. Very close. It's almost intriguing.”

Fury bubbled up inside him, and he was about to say more, hiss furious things into the phone, bargain for her life, but something happened before he could. Someone grabbed him from behind, an arm around his neck, and a sweet-smelling cloth came down over his nose and mouth. He struggled, grabbed for the arm that had him in a chokehold, gasped for air, but a sense of drowsiness came over him like a descending fog. He had no idea who was attacking him, or why. He hadn't even heard them coming. How could he not have heard them coming?

He thrashed, but he was growing weaker. The phone dropped from his hand. The arms released him, and he fell facedown into the dirt. Scully, he thought, but he couldn't speak. His lips were stuck together. He tried to reach for the phone, but he couldn't move. His eyelids drooped.

Just before he drifted off, he heard a familiar voice: “Well, then. This is an interesting turn of events.” It was the voice of Peter Barclay.

---

october, 1999

Scully's palms pressed hard into the bark. It bit into her hands, but she ignored the sting, zeroing in on the man. He locked the door behind him, shrugging under his jacket and walking towards the house. She fumbled for her gun, curling her hand around the butt of it as she watched him, fury building. She had found the man who tried to kill her, who had taken Mulder. He could have Mulder inside. She held her breath, watching the man carefully. Considering him. She could go up and arrest him now, but that didn't seem to be a wise idea. What if he had more weapons on him? What if there was someone inside the house with Mulder, who would kill him as soon as she had the man in her custody? She couldn't risk it.

The man went slowly up the front walk, unlock and open the door and enter the house. Scully let out a breath of relief. She clenched her teeth and pulled her gun out of her holster.

She followed the line of trees around the house in an attempt to stay out of sight. When she reached the side of the house, she ran towards the most windowless spot in a crouch. When the flat of her palm hit the bricks, she crouched, pressing her shoulder against the wall. Keep breathing, she instructed. The adrenaline was so high that it pounded in her ears, and she couldn't tell if it was excitement or fear. Likely both. She could find Mulder in there, but she was terrified of what she'd find. Maybe she'd get the chance to see him again, or maybe she'd find out that he'd been dead for months, ever since that night in the woods. Or worse, maybe worse: that he'd started out alive, had survived that night in the woods and had died sometime in the six month period where she hadn't found him. Maybe she couldn't save him anymore because she hadn't looked hard enough before. Or maybe she'd been wrong all along, maybe he hadn't survived and she was an idiot for doubting what she'd seen, for believing in something as trivial as immortality and the Fountain of Youth.

Scully's breaths were coming more rapidly now; she wiped her forehead, pulled her hair back away from her face. You don't know what you're going to find in there, she told herself. But this was the closest she'd ever been. She had to go inside and find out.

She reached into her pocket where she had slipped the photo, touched its glossy front. Took a deep slow breath and rounded the side of the house.

She found a back door and tried it gingerly. It swung open, creaking a little, and she grabbed it to stop it before it could creak too much. She stepped inside, winced as a floorboard creaked under her foot. She curled her hands around the butt of her gun, holding it out in front of her. She started through the house.

It was nearly empty, she was surprised to find. Outside of a dusty, ripped, old fashioned couch, she found no furniture in the house, no pictures. There was a layer of dust over everything: thin, not a layer that indicated that it'd been left standing untouched for years, but she estimated that no one had been to the house in a couple of months, at least. No signs of life. No Mulder.

She cleared the first floor, gun held out in front of her. No sign of the man, either. She nudged the closets open with one finger and found them empty, too. No cupboards. The basement had a lock on it; she'd have the man unlock it when she found him. She turned away and headed for the stairs.

She had crept over halfway up without attracting attention when a step creaked horribly under her foot. Scully stepped off immediately, but to her horror, she heard footsteps in the hall upstairs. She acted on instinct, holding her gun up with both hands and clumping the rest of the way up the stairs. As soon as she rounded the bannister, she saw the man, and roared, “FBI, keep your hands where I can see them!”

The man raised his hands, an amused grin on his face, and if Scully hadn't already known that it was the man who tried to kill them, this confirmed it. The smugness. “I remember you,” he said. “The feisty FBI agent.”

Blood roared in her ears, and it took every ounce of her strength not to shoot him where he stood. “Shut the hell up,” she snapped, holding the gun on him with one hand while she reached for her handcuffs with the other. She pointed the barrel of the gun directly at his head as she rounded him, until she was behind him. Dutifully enough, the man didn't move. She kept the gun up as she grabbed one of his hands, pinning it behind his back. This is how it feels, you fucking bastard, she thought furiously, and was sliding her gun back into her holster so she could handcuff him when he threw his head backwards, directly into her nose. She swore, pain shooting through her face, and yanked his arm further up behind him. The man yelped in pain and tried to yank away, and he might’ve succeeded if she hadn't had such a hard grip on his wrist. She shoved him forward, spinning him around and pushing him so the bannister hit him in the ribs. He came terribly close to tumbling over. She wouldn't have minded one bit, except for the fact that he wouldn't be able to lead her to Mulder.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she said, pulling the man's other hand behind his back and securing them with the handcuffs. She sniffed back the blood dripping from her nose, but it still sounded like she was speaking through tissues, her words muffled. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Agent Scully?” the man asked, the same amusement in his voice.

She wiped the blood off of her face and yanked him away from the railing. “You deserve worse than that,” she hissed through clenched teeth. "But you will be going to prison. I'll make sure of that."

She could've questioned him right there, but she wanted to look him in the face. She pulled her gun out of her holster before dragging him towards one of the rooms by his elbow. She thought of the way he had dragged her around, like this, and she wanted to throw up. The man was still talking, saying things she wasn't listening to. She shoved him into the first room she saw and threw him down on a chair that was still left in there. Dust flew up from the cushion when he landed. She wiped the blood off her face again. “Looks like I gave you a little nosebleed, Agent,” the man said, in an almost polite way that reminded her of the fucking smoker and made her skin crawl.

She did the one thing she always wanted to do to the smoker and pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “Where's Mulder?” she hissed.

To her ever-growing fury, the man just smiled. “Go ahead and shoot me,” he said.

She cocked the gun and pressed it harder into his head. “I am not playing games with you,” she snapped. "You need to tell me, right now. Where the hell is Mulder?”

“Was Mulder your friend? The one whose throat I slit?” the man replied pleasantly. “My goodness, that was months ago.”

She hit him across the face with the heel of her hand. If anyone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell them why she did it, because she was the one who had asked for life for a serial killer who was going to bathe her and kill her, and she knew it was wrong to do this, to let personal grudges get in the way and harm a criminal she had in her custody, but the anger boiling inside her was too much. This man had stabbed her and laughed at her in the same breath; she'd felt the physical pain of what he'd done to her for months after. He still haunted her fucking dreams. This man had killed Mulder or taken Mulder, and she wanted to know why. She wanted to know what had happened to Mulder. She'd waited months without knowing, had nightmare after nightmare, people giving her pitying looks and his mother planning his funeral, and she'd watched this man order her partner's throat slit. He could very well be dead, and it would be this man's fault. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, her nose stinging like crazy. She blinked hard and spoke. “I'm not going to ask again,” she said evenly. She pressed the gun into the side of his face. “Where is he? Where is my partner? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I hardly know what to tell you, my dear,” the man said innocently. “You were there the night it happened. You know what we did to him; you watched it happen.”

She was close to hitting him again, but she forced herself to remain calm. She took a deep breath and said, “I was there. I survived. But when I woke up, he was gone. What did you do to him? Where did you take him?”

The man shrugged. “I'm sorry, Agent, but I'm afraid your partner is dead.”

Scully's breath caught unevenly in her throat. It was what she had feared all along, Mulder being dead, but something in her just wouldn't accept it. I would know, she told herself, that old cliché, as tears pricked her eyes. I would've known. He was her partner. She'd saved his life a million times. She'd helped him play dead once. She might have been in love with him. She would've known. She would have. Wouldn't she?

She felt like she was going to vomit.

The weight of the ocean roaring in her ears, she barely heard what the man said next. “We buried him in the woods that night, after he passed.” He cocked his head at her, disbelief. “You didn't know your partner was dead?”

[wavemasterryx]

Just been watching various speedruns of all the “Souls” games this weekend (multiples of each game, yes), because i don’t feel like i have anything better to do with my life.  But i figured i’d take a small break and try to actually be productive, it went about as well as expected.

First picture...  There’s this artist a long time ago who did an /amazing/ vertical map of Dark Souls, and for whatever reason i thought “why not try to do something similar for my Pokemon region?”  i started with trying to get a basic landform down so i could build the buildings up over it... but i underestimated just how bad i am at drawing architecture, even over-simplified, and the angle is all wrong, so nothing fit in at all.  i may try again later though, if i can come up with a better plan.  Actually maybe i did this one Friday?  i don’t remember now...  i did give some buildings another try today, but they still didn’t work.

Second group... still kinda wanted to draw, but wasn’t really feeling up to it at all... so i just very hurriedly sketched out a pony-ish version of Pinwheel, and Littlepip of Astora, because i’m sure no one has ever made that joke before.  Not like you could even tell it’s supposed to be her.

[peccolias]

A close-knit team, if only for a while

Naruto

1,830 words

Rated T for mild language

Feel-good Team Seven quick fic, pre-Shippuden

Please forgive any OOCness, I don’t write canon-verse fic often. Based on a super cute idea discussed with @ysmirel. 

Also on AO3

It’s a strange…phenomenon (for lack of a better word) that Team Seven has noticed only occurs around the cold season in Konoha.

Well, actually seeing it isn’t the strange part, because it’s quite an ordinary thing to see—it’s the who part of it that piques their interest.

And mainly the fact that said who doesn’t seem to bat an eyelash at the strangeness of it all.

Kakashi-sensei doesn’t seem to mind that a knee-high bundle of knitted yarn waddles along behind him, with tiny paws and ears and a tail—and just a bit of snout—poking out in roughly the same places where a dog’s tiny paws and ears and tail and snout would be. Of course, it could be because he’s too immersed in the small book held open in one hand, because when he’s reading that Icha Icha series he doesn’t seem to outwardly notice much of anything (though they’re sure he’s always on his guard).

But—no. That can’t be it. Because also in his wake are seven others wrapped (to a lesser degree) in colorfully-knit plush scarves sporting various blocky designs of paw prints, dog biscuits, and Konoha leaves. These others are clearly his ninken. And the small one is, without a doubt, Pakkun—the only one whose name they really know. Even if they can’t exactly see him.

What’s strange about it is, of slightly less importance, that they’ve recently seen a certain Might Gai sporting a bold scarf of a similar fashion, dotted with Konoha-green leaves on red—at least, that’s what they thought they saw as he sped past them during a morning run. It was hard to tell when it all blurred together in his haste.

And, of considerable importance, is that they’ve each received a scarf of their own, wrapped and left quietly on each of their doorsteps, without a name, without a message, with only the item itself left as a clue of where it came from.

They’re wearing them now, in fact—Naruto’s is a garish blue sporting clunky Uzumaki spirals found in his favorite ramen; Sakura’s is pink, with lighter pink cherry blossom petals that looked to have been attempted delicately but ended up just as blocky; and Sasuke’s, a soft cream color to offset his usually dark and serious persona, with gray shuriken at the ends. Each personalized, with no small amount of thought put into their creation.

The only conclusion they can draw from this is that someone in Konoha is a serial scarf-knitter.

…Yet, he doesn’t seem to wear one himself, no matter how cold it gets.

“Why do you think that is?” Sakura asks, as they tail their teacher to the Memorial Stone, where he drops off two more of the same items as offerings. One, a bold orange not unlike Naruto’s outfit, and the other attempted delicately, the same as Sakura’s, but in much the same colors as Sasuke’s. They sit beside two others that remain from another visit, but are too difficult to see from where they crouch, hidden, in the treetops.

“Dunno, maybe it’d be too hot with all those layers he already wears?” Naruto tries as he rubs at his reddened nose. “I know I’d be, ‘ttebayo.” He sneezes, then, much to their chagrin—for Sakura, because it totally just blows their cover, and for Sasuke, because the blockhead sneezed in his general direction, and was just too close when he did so.

Even so, when they look to see if Kakashi or his ninken are alerted to their presence, the man is nowhere in sight. All in the span of a few seconds, they’d lost track of him.

Not surprising, but disappointing all the same.

“Jeez, Naruto, you couldn’t just keep that in, could you?” Sakura chides with a tic in her brow, trying not to get too upset because it looks like the boy had caught something, with the sniffle and red nose.

Sasuke rolls his eyes. “And here I thought idiots couldn’t catch colds.”

“Hey—” Naruto shoots back, still fiery despite the cold, despite the sick, then gives pause. “Did you just…not call me an idiot?”

“No. I just—”

“Got proven wrong?” he cuts in, grinning victoriously, not realizing what he’d just said about himself.

There’s no way Sasuke will just let him have that—but he can’t exactly pull himself out of that contradiction, either. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. There are plenty of other reasons you’re an idiot.”

“You jerk—”

Sakura’s arm snaps out to catch Naruto in the chest before he can lunge and he falls back, winded, as she squeezes her way between them. “Oh, stop it already! Keep in mind why we’re here. We still don’t know why Kakashi-sensei doesn’t have a scarf.”

“Does it even matter?” Sasuke asks, crossing his arms and doing everything in his power to ignore the bristling blond on the other side of a smiling Sakura.

Her smile falls. “Well…not really, but he went through all that trouble to make these for us.”

“Yeah, and I don’t see you not wearin’ yours. Admit it, you’re just as curious.”

Sasuke touches the scarf wrapped around his neck and grumbles a bit, but doesn’t try to refute it.

Naruto looks down at his own scarf and plucks at the edge with a goofy grin. “I think it’s great, ‘ttebayo! I haven’t had a scarf since…” He trails off. Squints. Really tries to think. Fails, and shrugs. “Never, I guess.”

“We’re all in agreement it’s great, then. And we know that Kakashi-sensei made them—so no matter what he says, no matter how hard he trains us, he does care. So…” she trails off, too. Crosses her arms and taps her foot against the branch as she considers the information at hand. “Maybe…we should make him one!”

At this, they both turn to look at Sakura like she’d just proposed murder instead of a cute crafting hobby. But for them, it may as well have been.

Because none of them really know how to knit.

“Uh…Sakura-chan…” Naruto tries to break the news to her, but it’s harder than it sounds. Because it really is a good idea, a great idea, even, and he would if he could.

“I know none of us can knit.” She’s quick to acknowledge it. Then, turns to Sasuke curiously, lips pursed in silent question.

He shrugs in response. “I can’t.”

“But I’m so sure you’d be great at if you learned!” she encourages, with a blush fresh on her face.

“H-hey, I can learn, too! And I’ll be so damn good at it!” Naruto says loudly, before interrupting himself with another sneeze.

Both Sakura and Sasuke step slightly away with a grimace, seeing the snot dripping from his nose.

He gives a thumbs-up before sneezing again, so hard it throws him off balance—he struggles, arms pinwheeling, before toppling backwards from the tree and landing in the shrubs below with a loud rustle and a heavy thump.

“…Alright, there’s no way he can do it on his own. This is going to have to be a team activity.”

For once, Sasuke agrees.

The cold season winds slowly down—soon, in a week, perhaps, it will be unforgivably hot, even in the supposedly-cool spring months. That the Land of Fire even has a winter at all is a miracle, at times.

Lately, Kakashi’s noticed Team Seven has been working together rather well—and at times, they squabble just a bit too much. But, overall, their teamwork has improved. They smile a little more—chat a little more. Even Sasuke. Grudgingly. But the progress is still apparent.

He isn’t really sure what brought about the change (although he’s not complaining, either) until, one day, he sees a lumpy, wrapped package sitting on his doorstep. 

Strange—it brings about an acute sense of déjà vu.

Beneath the wrapping, it’s soft to the touch—maybe a bit too soft, but also a bit too lumpy in some areas. It’s a mystery and, in all honesty, he’s flabbergasted, because he can’t for the life of him figure out what it may be.

Even if its front is scrawled with the all-too-familiar handwriting of one of his students, boldly stating: “FOR KAKASHI-SENSEI.”

A smile pulls at the fabric of his mask as he sets it on his kitchen counter and carefully tears the crinkled brown packaging away. But the smile falls away in time with the bundle of knit yarn that falls out of the package and spills across the countertop.

Again, he’s stunned, because he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at even as he takes the item in his hands (and it is soft to the touch) and turns it over, running his thumb against the bumpy, tri-colored, patchwork scarf of orange, red, and blue. The rows are inconsistent at best, clunky, clumsy, in some places too loose, in some, too tight—the red section in the center is the best of all, but still not perfect. And they’re all sewn together with obvious, wide stitches.

But what floors him the most is that each painstakingly knitted section isn’t just a specific color—there are also three unique designs displayed on one side. On the Orange, a scarecrow face. On the red, the kanji for “seven.” On the blue, the Konoha leaf symbol. All in black. And, somehow, it unifies the mishmash all together.

“Well...would you look at that.”

Kakashi doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until he blinks and feels the moisture catch on his eyelashes.

He looks to the old, faded green scarf sitting on his dresser, worn at the edges and torn in some places, never taken outside to prevent wear and tear, these days—the first scarf he’d ever been given.

Now, in his hands, is the second.

“It’s too hot…isn’t it too hot out? We took way too long to finish that thing—do you think he’ll even wear it?”

Neither Naruto not Sasuke have the heart to ease Sakura’s worries. Because they’re just as concerned—and it feels a bit like failure, even though they tried their best.

But today simply isn’t scarf weather. They aren’t even wearing theirs, because training works up enough of a sweat already—though they did wear them all throughout the winter months, and studied them especially close when knitting each section of the one they’d given to their teacher.

“He…he totally will, ‘ttebayo!” Naruto finally says, if only to quell the doubt he, too, feels.

Sasuke opens his mouth to agree with the hope, but quickly changes his mind as something in the distance catches his eye. “Look. Here he comes.”

Late as always, but today a bit less so. Kakashi-sensei approaches the training field looking tired, much the same as usual, but the unusual thing they notice about him is…he has a familiar tri-colored scarf wrapped and bundled up around his neck, despite the weather.

There it remains, throughout the day, throughout the week—through the entire spring season, until the sun just bears down too incredibly hot for any one person to bear the heat of knitted yarn so close to their skin.

But the phenomenon will surely continue when the winter months arrive again. 

And this time, he’ll be a part of it.

[peekono]

shrine kitties!

theres also a small fic of these down in read more! Also on AO3!

rip tumblr mobile users tho

Chabashira Tenko volunteers at a shrine as a shrine maiden and Hoshi Ryoma visits the shrine to take care of some kittens The two of them take care of kittens

sweep sweep sweep

Chabashira sweeps up the remaining leaves into a big pile, and lets out a triumphant grin-

-only for the cold winter breeze to blow some away again and Tenko shivers and brings her hands to her arms and rubs them for warmth.

During the New Year holidays, Chabashira would volunteer as a shrine maiden at a nearby shrine. After all, there’s only so much you could do with Neo Akido.

Chabashira sighs and begins sweeping again, only to hear a soft meow nearby. She stops and decides to investigate.

____

Hoshi occasionally visits the nearby shrine, to pray for good luck or something similar, but the main reason he visits is to check out a group of kittens he’d recently discovered.

They were hidden in a bush with a makeshift shelter consisting of 3 old blankets and a box along with a food and water dish. The group of kittens were of the Tabby kinds, and approximately 9 weeks.

Hoshi would’ve taken them back to the dorms, but only students whose talents were related to animals could keep pets and his household wouldn’t allow pets so this was the best he could do.

Today, Hoshi had come back with a brand new package of treats. He slowly brings out his hand with the treat and waits for the kittens to get a treat, and gives them a soft pat on the head.

rustle rustle

The kittens (and Hoshi) get startled by the noise and retreats back to their shelter and Hoshi turns his head back

“Chabashira?”

“Hoshi-san?”

___

The two of them stay silent until Hoshi breaks the silence, “Huh, didn’t know you worked as a shrine maiden here, you look pretty nice..”

Chabashira dead-eyed stares at Hoshi, “Tenko doesn’t really want to hear that from a male.”

Hoshi hums and brings his attention back to the box. He did think she looked quite nice, considering her usual (loopy?) pigtails were now in a low pigtails (similarly to Harukawa) and her signature pinwheel ribbon was gone.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Chabashira bends down and shuffles over to the box (and has at least a meter distance away from Hoshi).

“Taking care of some kittens. The mother’s probably out looking for food right now.”

“Tenko didn’t realize there were kittens here- Well Tenko knew there is a cat that frequently visits the shrine…how many are there?”

Hoshi stays quiet and brings out his hand to the shelter (box) and motions Chabashira to come closer.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Chabashira slowly shuffles closer to the box and shortly after, an orange tabby comes out and rubs its scent onto Hoshi, she can hear his whispers of “Good boy.” and sees a small smile in his face.

Hoshi turns to face Chabashira, “Wanna pet him?” She nods slowly and Hoshi gently lifts the kitten to her direction, “Let him smell your scent first, and stay calm or else you’ll scare the lil’ one.”

She wipes her hand onto her clothes (because they sweat), and slowly brings her hand out to the kitten. The kitten steps back from her hand (and she feels a bit offended), and then steps a bit closer and rubs itself onto her hand.

Hoshi could see that she was practically beaming, grin so wide and eyes twinkling, it  was almost a scene from an anime and Hoshi couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Ahh~ Hoshi-san do you see this? Tenko’s petting a kitten!” Chabashira now had the kitten on her lap (and was slightly drooling.)

“You better wipe some of your saliva off, don’t want it on the lil’ one.” Chabashira quickly got a free hand and wiped the drool off.

“I’m amazed you haven’t run off from a men ace like me,” More of the kittens come out and surround Hoshi, pinning him to the ground and Chabashira managed to pick up a black kitten.

“Tenko…doesn’t think all men are men aces…” The black kitten joins the orange tabby onto her lap and she pets both, “…well Tenko supposes Hoshi-san isn’t a menace, after all you treat these kittens with great care!”

Hoshi didn’t know what to say, he felt a blush creeping on his face so he turned his head and pulled down his hat and muttered a “Thanks…”

Chabashira almost missed what Hoshi had said (since it was so quiet-), opting to stay quiet, she instead gave a small smile and the both of them continued to care for the kittens.

“…Maybe Tenko should volunteer more…” She starts but trails off and Hoshi gives a grunt.

“For what reason?”

“So Tenko can look after these cute kittens more!” She slowly brings her hands near her chest and does a ‘I can do it’ pose.

Hoshi lets out a loud chuckle, mostly because her reasoning sounds a bit childish.

“Tenko might let Hoshi-san know if she decides to volunteer again, and then we could play with the kittens again.”

Tenko gave a big grin and Hoshi lets out a small smile, “I wouldn’t mind that at all, but you should do your duties too.”

“Tenko does and will do her duties, she doesn’t need a menace telling her that!” The two of them stay silent, and then they both chuckle.

It wouldn’t be such a bad idea getting together like this once in a while, Hoshi thinks.