#I was feeling a little unsatisfied?(if that's the correct term to use) with my oc Freddie.

[eldritchparasol]

[hawkewatching]

Dark Sun (Arthur Harrow x Reader)

Chapter 3: Dreamers in Midstride (5,172 words)

Previous Links: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 (Please check chapter 1 for any warnings and tags if you're interested, they are the same here)

Rated Mature for dark themes and some strong language.

Summary:

“There’s no need for these games.”

There are forces at play higher than your understanding. And perhaps, higher than his too.

A/N: I'm so bad at using this site I keep forgetting and/or I'm too unreasonably nervous to post (go read it on AO3 if you have no patience there's a 15th chapter now), I'd like to extend my deepest apologies to anyone on here who is reading this exclusively on this platform please understand that I have severe social anxiety thanks <3 This chapter is wild because I absolutely do not write like this any more, this thing is like a year old, (and I caught at least one tense error that I corrected, I used to have a SERIOUS problem with keeping my tenses consistent that I don't think I have anymore, apologies if they're still out there) but hey I think it's probably okay, I'll try to be quick about posting chapter 4 to make up for it. I always wanted to space this out but never like this, my bad. Enjoy? :)

~~~

You had a dream that felt just a little too real.

This night was the perfect night for it. You never had a reason to doubt that what you saw was all fiction, you mind having painted a perfect portrait of the people you knew in your life. Yet still, you weren't able to shake it, clinging onto the memories of it even though you wanted to forget.

In this dream, you met the friends you had fallen out of contact with, the family members you barely saw anymore, but still wished otherwise, and the good people that you had wronged, all welcoming you back into their lives as if nothing had ever happened. This feeling was fantastic, everyone was happy, and you were all standing together. You were loved, and loving that.

You were in the middle of some dream conversation, the details of which were forgotten even from the moment you woke up. It was probably nonsense, but you felt happy.

You heard a voice ask: “Is everyone here?”

Before anyone can answer, your dream self felt (or the better term perhaps would be ‘acknowledged’) a hand grab you by the ankle, and with a scream, you were pulled through the floor into nothingness.

The shock woke you up, already in seconds you were in a cold sweat.

Sitting at the end of the bed, sideways to your feet was Harrow, already staring right at you. You noticed immediately that there was something behind his eyes this time. Concern. You didn’t know he had it in him. His mouth hung open a tiny bit, betraying that you had surprised him, for once.

The way he looked told you everything you needed to know. The scream was real.

“Are you alright?” For once, you welcome his soft questioning, and it brings you some comfort.

“Yeah. Just a bad dream.” You told half of the truth, unable to quite let go of the ideal world you’d been pulled out of, and still in shock. You were already recovering, though. You would be fine soon enough, with or without his help.

“What was it about?” He sounded curious when he asked, but his expression had returned to the same it always was, a little too distant to really be caring. Usually, he’d have nothing behind those eyes, but this time you swore you caught a glimpse of something.

He can’t hide it. He does care.

“Shouldn’t you already know? I’m waiting for your explanation.” You tiredly grumbled, deciding you’d rather not relieve the memory no matter how much he wanted you to.

You caught him smiling to himself as he looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting downwards. “Dreams are not representative of your soul. At least,” he finally looked your way, the smile all but gone, “not the sleeping kind.”

Your face furrowed, unsatisfied with that answer. “Okay, but can’t they still mean something? Dreams can be based in reality, can’t they? There were people in that dream that I knew, and they acted how I remembered them.” You surprised yourself with the passion you’d found disputing him. You already knew full well where this had come from, though. This was the first time he hadn’t given you a real answer.

He gave a defeated sigh. “The first rule of dreams is to never treat them as if they were real. I’ve learned that from experience.”

“What are your dreams like?”

Harrow can only give a warm smile, and he reached out his hand, brushing against your cheek. For a moment, you’re captured by the gesture, but you soon begin to notice that it’s his way of dodging the question.

The manipulative motherfucker.

He seemed to read your mind, and got his words in first. “I made you breakfast.” The smile he followed with cushioned his calculated blow.

“Breakfast?” Your confusion, unlike his emotions, was poorly hidden.

“It’s just toast.” He added modestly.

Only now did you remember to look away from his face, and sure enough, he had one hand still next to you, and the other further one grasping a plate with two slices of toast, which he brought towards you. They appeared to be spreaded with jam, but for your mind in a half-awake moment, they looked like blood.

“Oh, thank you.” You managed to slip out, tucking that morbid idea away back in your mind. Harrow gave you a grateful smile in return, carefully bringing himself to his feet. As always, he was accompanied by that sickly crunch that made you wince as if you’d heard it for the first time all over again.

Suddenly, perhaps brought back to reality by that horrible wake-up call, you were able to finally put your dreaming thoughts behind you and realise that he'd been watching you. Waiting for you. That made you feel uneasy. “How long have you been here?”

His answer was immediate, smooth and calming. “Don’t concern yourself with that.”

His delivery alone almost has the power to put your questions away, but you resist his efforts, raising an eyebrow. “I’m concerned anyway.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “As long as I wasn’t in your dreams, I was only here for a few moments.”

That doesn’t instil you with confidence, but when you finally touch your toast, it is still warm. Very warm, in fact. There must have been some truth to that statement.

When you look up from your plate, he’s standing by your door, ready to open but not quite ready to leave. For a moment, your eyes lock with one another, and he continues to linger, not daring to blink. You’re not sure what to give him, so you wait for his move.

But he never makes a move. He breaks the gaze and, looking conflicted, leaves without another word. You could tell he didn’t quite know what to do with you, wondering if, perhaps, you were the problem. You remembered what he had told you before: “If you give me nothing, I can’t give you anything either.” You had to give something to him.

He wasn’t in my dream. Unless he was the one that woke me up.

***

It had been a while since you had heard from Harrow, so much so that you were starting to get suspicious.

His absence was understandable, he was a busy man, since you had touched down the Alps you’d barely seen him at all, caught up in whatever he was working on.

And yes, you had now travelled halfway across Europe with him. This wasn’t special treatment, really. He had hand-picked a few of his most loyal followers to accompany him. People he trusted. You qualified for that, apparently, and when he had told you this, his gaze searing into your soul like a threat, there was no option to say no.

You knew for sure you were not the most loyal, and you didn’t quite know if he even trusted you, but what was clear was that he wanted you to be with him. You felt, almost, like his favourite, and the socially-starved attention seeker in you liked that.

But in light of that, you found it strange that he had left you to your own devices so quickly.

The cause comes first, I’d imagine.

He was too busy attending to the locals on his first night, which you also understood. Some of which appeared suspicious and… armed? You didn’t quite believe that, and chose not to. The rest were people like yourself, other, innocent cult members.

Goddamn, am I a cult member now? I don't know if I'm ready to accept that.

His presence to them was a rare occurrence, and a blessing. You remembered vividly how they had reacted to him, and from a distance during your evening soup you had watched those people listen to his every word as if they were his last.

All he did, it appeared, was be there. He was polite, but not much more. He was a part of their conversations, and he brought something to all of them. He was, to these people, their world.

So why isn’t he mine?

No! Don’t think that! You don’t need that.

You felt so embarrassed with your own thoughts. You only assumed it could be longing, something that you never expected to feel about him. He had promised to keep you close, made you feel special, and now it wasn’t so. You wanted him to keep that promise. You wanted him with you.

You remembered thinking something like that in the middle of your soup and nearly spitting it out at the idea. A couple of people gave you strange looks, but the only one that mattered didn’t see. That was probably for the best.

It was now morning, and quickly you were being faced with a problem. You were requested, no, required, to attend the ceremony, the very same one that had introduced you to all of this.

For a few reasons, you couldn’t bring yourself to go. One, you hadn’t bought into his beliefs. Not totally, anyway. There was a little bit too much implied murder for you liking. And speaking of which, two, you found the ceremony deeply uncomfortable on your first visit, and rathered you didn’t experience it again. You still didn’t know what happened to all those that failed judgement and at this point, you didn’t want to know. Blissful ignorance felt better than the truth in this world.

Lastly, you knew it wouldn’t further your goals in any way. If you wanted to see him again, it was best to catch him at another time. You doubted he’d notice if you weren’t there, attendance was supposed to be high. You were just one, in say, fifty. Your presence, or lack thereof, wouldn’t matter.

But a fear that Harrow wouldn’t understand any of those reasonings compelled you to at least consider still going. Even though every part of your mind was screaming not to. As it became more obvious that you were buying into all of this cult behaviour, you grasped at any last, desperate attempt to back out, even if you knew it was all futile.

You couldn’t help but pace around your room, the thoughts eating away at you. It was about half an hour until the ceremony started, and you supposed Harrow was probably gone by now. The location was not nearby, and he was one for preparation. In light of that, you felt a desire for some fresh, foreign air, and decided that a walk outside would clear your head.

With a sigh, you opened the door to leave, but you stopped mid-breath at the sight across from you.

Son of a bitch!

No, you couldn’t conceal the words in your mind.

“Son of a bitch! You scared the crap out of me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Harrow replied. The way he leaned forwards on the cane, looking at you with watery eyes, certainly screamed apologetic, but the playful little smile he gave seemed to suggest that wasn’t quite true.

You began to recover from your scare, and after observing his lack of seriousness, you played along. “You could have knocked.”

His smile began to fade. “I wasn’t sure if you were in. If you were going to the ceremony, you would have left by now.” He had the energy of a scolding parent, and you imagined he got some kind of inner satisfaction from calling you out.

“Same goes for you.” You answered back.

He smirked, looking down for a moment as his fingers rubbed the cane. “I will be on time regardless of what happens.” His head suddenly bolted back up, gaze staring straight through. “What about you?”

You scoffed. “I’ll be there.”

His head tilted. “Will you?” His questioning is soft, and doesn’t pressure you.

“Of course.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t lie to me.” He added your name, slowly and deliberately, sending a shiver down your spine.

He knows. Of course he knows.

You weren’t lying to him. At least not intentionally. You decided to lean into that latter fact, unsure of what to do other than continue to feign innocence. “What are you talking about?” You asked.

A smile formed on his face again, soft and comforting. “There’s no need for these games. If you’re scared to go today, the least you could do is tell me. Let me help you.” There’s no anger even after knowing of your lies, just a compassionate air to him that you liked to see.

Lost for words, you stuttered your way into a reply. “I don’t know what to say-”

He took a step forward, breaking his gaze for a moment to make sure he did so correctly. “You don’t have to say anything.” Soon, he is back to staring at you, but that, and his assurance, strangely puts you at ease. “Just listen to me. I would like you to be there today. I would like to be able to see you while all of this happens. You are the living reminder that no matter what happens, no matter what I have to do, everything will be alright. That is more important to me than you may possibly understand.”

You didn’t quite expect that. All this time he had felt so distant, so outside of your world, but the idea that you were even a part of his, let alone so important to it? You’d never been like that to anyone before. It was exactly what you needed to hear.

You were lost for words, but tried to find them anyway. “I understand. It’s just-”

“Just what?” He interrupted, head tilting again, seemingly with impatience.

“I’m scared, alright?” You snapped, but soon found yourself holding back tears, overwhelmed by everything.

You didn’t really know what exactly you were scared of, other than just, everything. Scared of the mandatory cult activity, scared of lying to him and scared of screwing everything up somehow. That was something you knew you had to keep to yourself, and now it was out there for him to use as he pleased. That scared you the most. You actually cried at that thought.

Almost immediately he responded by moving in for a hug, which you did not reject. His soft words next to your ear made all your thoughts stop. You wanted him to stay there. “There’s no need to be. You are under my protection, and Ammit’s. From this point onwards, we’re going to make sure you never feel like that again. Can you accept my help?”

You felt yourself hold him tighter, trying to find the breath for words without your tears. “I don’t know-”

He cut you off, perfectly calm in complete contrast. “We’ll figure this out together, okay?” He doesn’t even hesitate before his next words. “I love you.”

At those mere three words, your mind threw away all of its doubts, and butterflies swarmed your stomach. The thought of him feeling that way filled you with overwhelming feelings that you didn’t quite know what to do with.

Despite everything he had told you, you couldn’t help but have moments where you forgot that he cared. He seemed too far away to get that close, surely. He always found a way to surprise you. You hated that. What you would have given to have every detail of his being in your mind so that you’d know how to play around him. So that he couldn’t trip you up like this. So that he didn’t make you feel this way. He made you feel truly loved.

“I’ll see you later.” You could hear his smile and feel his breath on the side of your head. You were all too familiar with the way he spoke to you there. It was his promise, or his hidden threat. He already knew that you would be coming. You would not disappoint him.

He didn’t give you time to talk that out or think it through a little, because before you knew it he was walking away, and not a single thought could linger in your mind as the sound of crunching penetrated it. Irked by the noise, you selfishly wondered if everything he did was to hurt you in little ways, before realising something darker.

He does all this to hurt himself.

***

You’d been here before.

Not literally, but standing around with a group full of strangers, trying desperately to buy into their mindset and just… not quite getting here. This was familiar. You’d been there weeks ago, the only difference was that the first time was on a cold London evening and this was a sunny, but still cold, midday in the Alps.

Only when you considered that did you realise that everything had happened so quickly. One impulse trip for answers and suddenly you’re on an alpine holiday.

Could be worse.

One key distinction to be made this time was that you felt safe. Last time, you’d been so afraid of sticking out, and anxious over the fact that you didn’t know what was happening. But this time you were fairly certain of how things would go, and you were now armed with the experience to blend in. To everyone else, you would just be a face in the crowd.

But you knew full well that Harrow was not everyone else. If he noticed you the first time, before everything had happened between you, on the second run you could practically feel him staring into your soul when he wasn’t even there. He had requested that you’d be here and you obliged him.

You weren’t doing this for yourself, not at all. You were doing it for him.

This would have been around the time that alarm bells went off in your mind again, but this time was different. You didn’t mind doing something for him. He hadn’t given you much of a choice in the past but this time, you felt as if you truly chose to play by his rules, rather than being tricked into his games. You could have told him no, but you had decided against it. In a sense, that was freedom, and the thought of it felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of you.

In this situation, you weren’t scared, and you knew exactly what you were doing. That was why, for the first time, you didn’t feel nervous when you heard that crunching. Even when the air seemed to shift, you still didn’t quite understand how he was capable of having such a presence, you stood your ground. You knew what was coming.

The people around you lowered their heads a little. You didn’t feel pressured by their bizarre antics, and did not follow suit. I was not that you didn’t respect their revered leader, it’s just that you couldn’t see things the same way as them. You liked Harrow. In fact, you probably liked him a little too much, but not in the same way. You didn’t want to place him above you. You wanted him as your equal.

You were not quite sure if you wanted yourself equal to him or himself equal to you. There was quite the difference.

When Harrow stepped up in front of everyone, only a few feet from you, once again almost as if taking centre stage for a one-man show of strange happenings, you could have sworn you felt his stare pass over you for half a second. You didn’t doubt that he was watching for your response, because you knew he wasn’t going to be surprised by your presence. He’d made certain you’d be here. The only thing he couldn’t control was your feelings.

“Good morning. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Almost like we’re in heaven. Only it’s not heaven, is it? Can’t you feel it too? The darkness, everywhere. All around us, sometimes hiding in our very hearts.”

How many times has he had to say this nonsense?

You observed the way he spoke, convicted, absolutely, without a doubt, but that soft-spoken manner of his hides it so well. The intensity, the insanity, is hidden behind layers that no one else seemed to be aware of. You realised that you knowing this at all was a gift given to exclusively yourself.

You should be grateful. But you’re more confused by why he would allow you to know this, or if he even did so knowingly.

“We’re here to make the Earth as much like heaven as possible. But before we begin, one among us isn’t fully within our cause. That changes today.” You recognise the way he calls your name, the veiled threat always in his voice now barely hiding. “Come.”

You felt your stomach drop. It was bad enough that he stared at you with pressuring intensity, but even worse when the crowd all turned to face you, somehow even less behind their eyes than Harrow ever had. He had a hand extended in your direction and the wind picked up his hair slightly, amplifying his threatening aura.

Run. RUN!

How you wanted to. How you wished you could in this moment. It might have been a combination of factors, from the pressure to your own nervousness to the fact that this man had a hold on you that you could not escape; or perhaps just one of those things, but you were stuck, and you had to obey.

You took a few cautious steps forward, gingerly raising your hand to meet him. His touch was soft, but cold. On contact, he gave you a small, friendly smile. “You’ve been observing, learning. Now, you’re ready.”

You knew that none of that was necessarily true, and he more than likely knew the same, even with the total confidence that he spoke of you with. He’d outmanoeuvred you with his words, again.

This is a trap.

He turned his gaze away from you and towards his silent audience. “Ammit is ready to accept you as one of her own.”

What does he even mean?

Your mind frantically tried to put the pieces together, but he made that much more difficult for you when you felt him grab your wrists, the contact rushing in all sorts of different, less relevant ideas. You would have welcomed it if you didn’t know exactly what he was doing, the clearest indication coming when the cane slipped between the two of you once again.

You vividly remembered the first judging, and how long it had lasted. You occupied your mind knowing that it would all be over soon. After a few moments, you were ready to let yourself go when you felt him grip you tighter, and saw his soft smile drop. Expressionless, and practically holding you captive, you felt panic seep in. Something was wrong.

In your desire to distract the awkwardness, and desperate to make it go away, you glanced away. The moment you did so, you felt him hold tighter still, even feeling one of his nails dig into your skin, causing you to wince.

“Look at me.” His words escaped in a low growl, so quiet that you doubted anyone in the audience heard them. “Don’t stop looking at me.” He sounded strangely aggressive.

You felt a tingling sensation on your arm, but your eyes were prevented from trying to see what was happening there, if anything, by the power of his words. His stare burned into you, not past you like usual, but straight at you, so strong you felt it would cut straight through. Those eyes were the only indication of anything going on in his mind. This was different. He hadn’t even looked like this the last time he tested you. Something about him was truly menacing.

Sure, he’d told you the same thing last time, but not like this. Before, he had demanded this of you, this time, for the first time, the threat had come to the surface. If only you could read that unreadable mind in the way that he could crack yours, because this moment scared you, and you were desperate for some clarity.

After what feels like an eternity, the wait causing you to feel your heartbeat in your own head, he lets go. You see green on his arm, the same result. His smile returned as if nothing had happened.

“This is the face of a good woman.” He declares, placing a hand on your shoulder in assurance.

Confused and overloaded by everything that had happened, you don’t react, but your eyes finally find the courage to glance away from him. They drift below to your right arm, and you’re shocked by an unfamiliar sight. Those damned scales had made their mark on you. The same as Harrow’s, facing the reverse direction. His own sign was now a part of you.

I’m going to be sick.

Your legs felt weak. You were now in for real. You didn’t ask for this, and despite everything, you didn’t think you really wanted it.

How did you not see this coming, you idiot?

And all of those things that Harrow had told you, how important it was for you to be here today, did that really mean anything? You remembered how much he had insisted that he didn’t force this judgement on people. And yet, he had just done that with a second thought. Had he really been honest? Did he care about you in that way? You weren’t sure what to believe anymore.

Overwhelmed by how you were now officially, for better or for worse, all in on the insanity, and most importantly, what you perceived as a total betrayal on Harrow’s part, you felt your eyelids become heavy. Your ears were ringing, but you could have sworn you heard him speak your name, but the context was lost on you. Before you could even wonder what was going on, the world went to black.

He said all of that to get me here. This was more than just a trap. He sealed my fate.

***

Have you ever had a dream that felt too real? That was the question Harrow had to ask himself.

He doesn’t quite know where he is, standing in darkness. The nocturnal kind, which he knows well. But it may as well be a dark void, and he knows that the location does not truly matter.

In a gust of wind and the blink of an eye, a figure appears in front of him. Someone he hoped to never see again. Staring somehow with those empty sockets, that great beak far too close to his head, once again in his dreams he is forced to confront his great tormentor, Khonshu.

His first instinct is to step back, and when his foot goes back towards the ground, it touches something different. He already recognises the sensation before he looks. The ground is now layered with an inch of blood.

“It’s not enough.” A deep voice scolds him, always so vague, but he knows exactly what he means.

Khonshu’s skull tilted with a ghastly click, and stepped forward, blood rising around them.

Harrow finds his voice gone, his mouth opened to reject the abuser, but no sound came out. He can only stand helpless as the blood rises to his ankles, then his knees.

“It’s not enough.” The moon god repeats.

It goes past the waist. The chest. The shoulders. Soon only his head is above the rising liquid, almost fully consumed. In another blink, the end of that beak is about to touch his face.

“It’s not enough!” Now the god shouts out, his voice echoing in the void, and persisting even after he’s submerged. For far too long, he is forced to endure the sensation of drowning, and even though he knew it to be a dream, it still felt uncomfortably real. He hated it. He wished for it to end.

In a flash of light, it was all over. His eyes snap open, but they don’t see what they’re expecting. He awoke in a bright, white room. He’s not in a bed, but in a chair, and sitting at a desk across from him is a man that he does not instantly recognise.

While he comes to his senses, he can’t quite see clearly for a moment. His mind is distant and it shows when he can barely hear the words being said to him. “Arthur, you alright?” The man asks, and when he chuckles, he finally recognises the sound. It’s exactly how he sounds. “Thought I lost you there for a moment.”

Sitting across from Harrow was, for lack of a better description, himself. He is not exactly the same, though. It may have been himself, but he was presented completely differently. Short hair, thin glasses and a goofy little moustache. The way he was dressed was somehow both smart and dorky. Harrow was grateful he didn’t look like that.

“What?” At first, that was all he was able to get out. Shortly after, a quiet “Who are you?” followed.

“It’s alright, I’m your doctor.” The doctor was the complete opposite of his patient, assured in the absurd moment. He gave a polite smile. ”If you need a moment to process things, that’s alright. I won’t rush you. You did just wake up.”

A small amount of confusion overtook Harrow. The information he was being given didn’t make much sense. Such is the nature of dreams, he supposed. “Where am I?”

The doctor scoffed in shock. “You really don’t remember? I suppose this isn’t the right place, or the right time. It’s not making sense to you yet, is it? That’s alright. We can work towards that.”

“I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?” That was the only explanation that made sense to him. Certainly none of this was real, was it?

“Dreams can be based in reality, can’t they?” The doctor raised an eyebrow. “I know you’ve heard that one before.”

Harrow recognised that line, but didn’t pay it much mind. “But this doesn’t make any sense.”

The doctor leaned forward in his chair, head tilting a little. “Because I am you? Because you’re talking to yourself?” His questioning had suddenly become more serious.

“We’re not the same.” Harrow was unfazed, and refused to play along. He wasn’t quite sure of his endgame, but chose to still stand his ground, wherever this would take him.

“You’re right about that. We want different things.” The doctor only gave a warm smile at that defiant answer.

“What do you want?” He asked, seeing no choice but to oblige the too-familiar stranger.

The doctor chuckled again. “To help you.” His answer was condescending, as if obvious.

Harrow gave him a suspicious look. “I don’t need help.”

The doctor gave Harrow’s own half-smile in amusement. “You’ve spent so much time trying to help people, have you ever stopped to try help yourself?” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. ”We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

[ahagia-sophia]

Long post ahead

This is a rough draft of a document I'm putting together. I figured I'd put it on tumblr in case this, like many of my writing projects, becomes nothing more than a dusty file in a forgotten folder. At least this way it might reach someone who needs it.

These are my thoughts on being a butch transwoman. I got the idea for putting this together after I saw so many young (whether in body or in mind) girls going on to forums (see; Reddit and Tumblr) and asking the general queer community how to be queer. I was moved to write it after I saw other butch transgirls approach butch women and ask that same question. Often the answer was unsatisfying.

"Be who you are. That's all it takes to be butch. If you are, you are. If you aren't, you aren't."

This is correct. And really, it is the be all and end all answer to being queer. But this isn't really useful to girls who have gone through the painful journey of self-discovery only to find that they can't even be transfemme right.

They're too masculine. Dresses don't feel right. Make-up doesn't feel right. Pastels don't feel right. Looking at all the transgirls around you and realizing that you're a minority inside of a minority is alienating. So, that's the girl I'm talking to. The girl who has sat down and read book after book, article after article, and asked question after question in an attempt to find herself in someone else. To find the answers that she needs so that she can take that first step forward to realizing that all she needs to be is herself.

First, my credentials. I've only been out for a year, and I've only known I was butch for about 6 months. I'm not a queer elder, I'm not on the scene talking to queer women, I'm not in bars, and I'm not at events (covid is Fun). I will be, of that I'm certain. But I haven't yet. So all these ideas and thoughts and definitions that I'm going to lay out in this document are based purely on my own academic reading, introspection, and talking to other girls on tumblr.

Reading books like Stone Butch Blues and Dagger: On Butch Women (both free online) is a good place to start if you don't want to get all of you information from some chick on tumblr. But as you're reading them you may find yourself asking the question, "but where am I? Where are the butch transgirls in these books about butch women?"

The answer, so far, is that we're not there. When transwomen are discussed from the butch angle they're usually feminine. Or, like a shooting star, you see a single sentence about a muscular transwoman racing and playing and boasting with the other butches, but rarely is there more than that. And you may notice that when (for lack of a better term) cis-butches talk about their experiences being butch it's all rather ciswoman-centric, which makes sense.

From what I gather being Butch was something that was suppressed by second-wave(?) feminism and only in the 80s/90s were butches no longer demonized or thought of as backward. So they had a lot going on, and the groundwork still needed to be relaid. They're writing books for themselves about themselves. And that means that most butches that you'll read about are approaching masculinity from a very specific direction.

You and I. We've come all the way around. From a little boy playing with snakes and mud and rocks to a confused girl who knows she was never that little boy, but can't understand why she isn't feminine like the other girls. We're not rebelling in the same way they are, we didn't live the lives they led. And while I can always see who I am reflected in any given butch, it sure is nice to have another transbutch around to tell you that you're not alone.

Being a masculine woman who's saddled with a dick and a deep voice is a rough place to start. I like my voice, I like my boots, and I like being solid as a rock. And to anyone who didn't know, I probably look like just another man. And when I look at myself in the mirror, sometimes its hard for me not to see a man.

That's the real crux of it. Transwomen already tend to feel a lot of impostor syndrome, especially if you're a lesbian. And especially if you're a masculine lesbian. Because you and I are just about the easiest targets for TERFs and pricks this side of the Rockies. And that gets to your head.

It took me a long time to separate being masculine and being a man in my own head. I never had a problem seeing how butches are masculine and not men, but for me in my own head it was different. To me, being masculine is the gateway to feeling feminine.

I have never felt more feminine than when I'm being masculine.

I've never felt more like a woman than when I'm clomping down the street listening to my carabiner jingle.

I've never felt more feminine than when sweat blinds me after a good workout.

I've never felt more feminine than when I have to work on my car, or fix a drain, or tear up carpet, or just be a shoulder for my girlfriend to cry on.

I've never felt more feminine than when I have to be calm and level headed in a turbulent situation.

When I seek masculinity. And when I perform masculinity. It's different. This is hard to explain in my own mind, let alone put into words. So I'm going to talk some more about other things and try to approach it from a different angle.

One idea that I've seen thrown around a lot is that being butch is an inherent challenge to male masculinity. Being butch is another way, a different path, a different theory of masculinity that is predicated on being queer and being a woman. I am certainly both of those things. And if I wasn't the kind of person to overthink something to death that's where I would leave it. Done and Done.

And really, you won't get any push-back from anyone who's opinion you should care about. No decent butch is going to push you out of the community just because of an accident at your birth. And no girl worth knowing is going to exclude you because your shoulders are a little too broad.

But anyway, you're probably waiting on the answer to the question posed at the beginning of all of this.

"How can I be butch?"

Well, honestly, I couldn't say. I'll tell you what makes me feel butch though. For me the easiest way to feel butch is in my music. I like acoustic guitar and harmonica. I like off-key vocals and lyrics that I can barely understand. I like songs about love. I like sad songs with a quick bassline.

When I go out I like the weight of my carabiner on my waist.

I like denim. Lots and lots of denim.

I like to wear leather too. I like to write poetry. I like to be there for people. I like to be someone that everyone can rely on for help if they need it. I like pretty femmes that make me tongue-tied when we go out together. I prefer to top. I don't like to be penetrated. I like long midnight drives and smoking under the stars. I like to camp. I like to raise my voice and get in good natured arguments over meaningless things. That's what makes me feel butch.

If you're read this far, I'd really dig it if you added you're own thoughts about being butch (trans or otherwise). I'm probably going to expand on this, there are a lot of topics that I've only grazed here that I really want to go into.

[queencarolinemikaelson]

The Blood Bag

Klaroline Bingo as hosted by @klaroline-events Prompt // Blood Bag

This is chapter 3 in my fic The Other Side of Sacrifice, and fits nicely into one of my Klaroline bingo prompts! Hope you enjoy it! You can read the rest here!

/

Caroline passed out almost immediately after she stopped speaking. Klaus was pleased she wasn’t crying tonight, as she had been last night, but it pained him somewhat to see her so battered. For better or for worse, she was all he had for now. Maybe forever.

As she slept, Klaus decided he would explore the boundaries of the magic keeping him… wherever he was.

He’d never had to consider his own death before, or dying. He was arrogant enough to believe that was one night that would never come for him. But that didn’t mean his curiosity wasn’t piqued by the topic occasionally. Although, obviously the theories Klaus had collected over the years, were just that, theories.

He had always been an obscenely strong being, and as he said to Caroline, he knew a lot more about magic than he would ever be given credit for. He knew if he embraced the magic some more, pushed a little harder, concentrated deeply, he would likely be able to do something. Especially since he seemed to have regained control of his body.

He’d only had this form for the passed three days, as far as he could tell. Before that, he had his body, per se, but no control over it.

Klaus decided it was time to discover what would happen should he try and interact with the world around him.

He pushed himself up from where he was sitting on the table and tried to walk through the door of the cell. But he was stopped by the wall in the physical world.

Seemed he was not the walk-through-walls kind of ghost.  

Next he moved on to messing with the lock on the cell door. If he couldn’t walk through walls, maybe he could snap the lock off?

That was also no use, because even though he could grasp the lock, feel it in his hand, he was unable to physically interact with it. Apparently, while he had corporeal form on his side of the veil, he was merely an imprint on the physical world; bound to be constrained by the cause and effect rules of Caroline’s side, with an inability to interact with it.

Yet.

He would not be discouraged, because before a couple of days ago, Klaus would have sworn he would be stuck calling to Caroline in her dreams for eternity, until he wasn’t. So he would take all ‘rules’ he gleaned as about his situation as a dead man to be temporary.

That got him to thinking, why had he gone from her dreams to her waking hours?

And, hadn’t she outlined a similar progression of things to him?

She said she felt his presence, then his energy – though he was fuzzy on the difference just yet ­– then the dreams. Then on the day he had become a permanent fixture in her realm, she had seemingly heard some of his interactions with her, but not all. He had been talking to her for days without her being any the wiser. Why the sudden change?

But he benched those questions for the moment – Caroline would likely be able to shed some light on all that when she woke.

Klaus decided he would make it his mission to get the blood bag to Caroline. Bill had left the bag in the cell that night, to tease and tempt his daughter while he wasn’t there. And Klaus was determined, if there was a way for someone on the other side to interact with the physical world, he would find it. And help Caroline feed.

He walked up to it, and placed his hand on it. Much like the lock a few minutes earlier, he could feel the cool plastic beneath his hand, but was unable to squeeze it, move it, pierce it or do anything else with it for that matter.

Klaus caught himself wondering whether the bag could feel him, the way he could feel it, but quickly rolled his eyes at himself. It was a bag.

But this notion inspired him. When he’d touched Caroline the night before, she had recoiled from him. But not just him, from his touch specifically. She felt something but Klaus had been in too much of a rage at the time to discover what that something was.

But maybe the rage was part of the equation?

Testing a theory, Klaus placed his hand back on the blood bag, and began to feel.

He let every moment of displaced hatred toward Bill Forbes that had built in him over the past two days flow through his body. He channelled the wild anger felt watching the man continually torture his only daughter. Klaus imagined the hellfire he would rain upon the Bill for laying a hand on his daughter. He let the fury flow through his veins, tickle his skin.

And right as Klaus was quivering with unsatisfied ire, picturing his fist plunging into Bill’s chest for even considering injuring his daughter out of a skewed sense of loyalty, his fingers contracted around the blood bag, and the blood bag squashed inward.

With great effort, using the momentum built from his fury, and the sudden rush of delight about unravelling one secret of this realm, Klaus seized the bag and flung it toward Caroline. Lucky for the young woman, Klaus had particularly good aim, and even with the extra force for his throw, the blood bag landed square in her lap.

Caroline woke with a squeal and a start, nearly dislodging the bag in her lap.

“Careful,” he hissed, much more aggressively than he intended on being, still boiling with anger after all.

“What the hell, Klaus!” Caroline cried, indignantly. “I was trying to sleep!”

“Lap,” Klaus barked, as he took deep breaths, attempting to calm himself.

Caroline looked down, her eyes bugged out, then she looked back at him, then back at the blood bag.

“How did you…” she asked, disbelievingly.

Caroline had enough give in her restraints that she could grasp the bag in her hand, and bend her torso forward to take a drink. Luckily her father had already popped the top, so she wouldn’t have to. 

Klaus watched as Caroline desperately began to drink from the bag, and was pleased with his efforts. She would be healed and back to full strength in no time.

So imagine his surprise when after only three sips, Caroline fought off her urge to down the whole bag, and stopped drinking.

“Caroline, you have to drink,” he said, incredulously. “You need your strength.”

“I know, I know,” she said, heavily, her eyes still black, fighting her ravenous urge to finish her meal. “But we have to be smart about this, what’s dad going to do if he comes back in here in a few hours and this bag is empty? I’ve had enough to heal from the past couple of days, and shake Carol’s vervain. I will be stronger tomorrow. We have to take it day by day at the moment.”

All traces of his pent up anger evaporated as Klaus watched her, stunned.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” she said, grateful for anything to distract her. “Nearly eighteen.”

“How long have you been a vampire?”

“A few months, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “What’s it to you?”

Klaus shook his head and walked over to her, shaking his head, deeply impressed by her ability to control.

He placed his hand on the blood bag again, and using the sudden rush of emotion for Caroline, managed to pick up the bag, and place it back on the table.

“There,” he said, proudly. “Bill will be none the wiser.”

It required a lot less energy to move than the first time, and Klaus wondered whether it was an object-by-object thing? Maybe once you moved something once, had that physical connection with it, then it’s easier to get to? Like flattening a path through thick brush in a wood – it’s always easier to follow a path already made.

“Now, that’s exciting,” Caroline said, visibly intrigued by his work. “Two days ago you could barely whisper, now you’re moving things and influencing people.”

Caroline giggled at her own joke, feeling exceptionally grateful for the blood. She knew she wasn’t at full strength, but she felt well enough to regain her good humour, and no longer felt and pain or exhaustion from the days of torture.

“What’s impressive, love, is that you did not rip through that bag like an animal,” Klaus said, sitting down on the table again. “I don’t know if I’ve ever encountered control like that from one so young. It’s remarkable.”

Caroline felt quite chuffed with herself. Sure, getting praise from the devil was still getting praise from the devil – but it was still getting praise all the same. She knew she had good control, but never even considered maybe she was remarkable.

“Thank you,” she said, a pleased smile on her lips. “Wait, how did you do it?”

Klaus explained the thought journey he embarked on once she fell asleep, about things he supposed and thought could be possible.

“I also have some questions for you, if you’re up to it,” he said.

“Shoot.” 

“You talked yesterday about how you had a similar progressive of symptoms – for want of a better term – as I did. Presence, energy, dreams, whispers, then I was here, is this correct?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Caroline replied, trying to sit as gracefully as she could while her arms were tied to a chair.

“Do you have any theories as to why the progression?” he asked. “Because I had been talking to your during daylight hours for a lot longer than the first time you noticed me at the poky tavern with that wolf-boy.”

Caroline frowned, trying to think. Klaus couldn’t help but be a little charmed by the expression on her face, she was so focussed, it was adorable.

“I don’t know, I guess I was more worried about it,” she said, as though questioning herself. “That morning, when I woke with the creepy stalker in my dreams, thank you for that, by the way.”

“Not a problem, love,” he interjected.

“I resolved that I’d keep a firmer eye out for strange happenings, and then I would tell Bonnie if it got too much worse.”

Klaus nodded, mulling over her words in his head.

“And I was considering sharing what was happening with Tyler, because then at least I could talk about it with someone.”

“Yes, you and the wolf were getting quiet close,” Klaus said, disapprovingly. “Such a lap-dog, that one, always running around like you’d just stood on his tail.”

“Hey!” Caroline exclaimed. “He’s my friend.

“He’s more than your friend, love,” Klaus said, pompously. “I saw his attempts at ravishing you, don’t forget, disappointment to the wolf kind.”

Caroline balked.

“Oh my gosh, Klaus!” she shrieked, going bright red. “You watched us? Having… you know! How could you! Did you watch me in the shower!?”

Klaus couldn’t help but laugh at her indignation. It was rather amusing to him how much she’d taken all the supernatural happenings in her sleepy home town in her stride, but was still scandalised by the implication of immodesty.

“Calm down, love,” he chuckled. “I will have you know, I may be a murderous hybrid, but I was still raised a gentleman. I did not peak on you and the wolf, nor you in the shower, nor when your urges became too much and you needed to help yourself out. And I only peaked a little when you went swimming, and slept in those tiny pyjama shorts of yours.”

“Some gentleman!” Caroline blushed.

“Gentleman, yes, love, but still a man.”

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “What do you mean you didn’t ‘peak’?”

“I mean if you were in the shower, I faced the wall. When you were with the wolf, I was rolling my eyes too hard at his attempts to woo you, I couldn’t see anything anyway.”

Caroline rolled her own eyes at this, but couldn’t help but smile at his joke. Though she would never ever admit it to him, or anyone else for that matter, she felt a little bit sexy at the thought of him ogling her… even if it was creepy on so many levels.

“Let’s get back to the brainstorm,” Caroline said, still a twinge of pink in her cheeks. “The only the I can think is that the whole thing was on my mind more the last few days.”

“So the more you thought about it, the stronger the connection became,” Klaus mused.

“But why me?” Caroline said, a little distressed.

“I believe that will be the million-dollar question,” Klaus said.

“I guess also, at the party, when I saw you in the crowd, I was really wasted as well,” Caroline said. “Inebriation makes a girl an easy target.”

“Right you are, love,” Klaus said, thinking his way to the next logical conclusion. “So, when you were hit with that vervain dart, it seems reasonable to assume you were weak enough for me to come to this side through your weak grip on your consciousness.”

“Wow, that’s a lot,” Caroline said. “Adds up though, I was fighting you before then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was actively pushing you and the dreams from my mind whenever I could,” Caroline pondered. “I would think about it at night before bed, but didn’t let myself dwell too much, or else I scared myself.”

“Well a theory it may be, but it’s a solid one,” Klaus said, resolutely.

Caroline nodded, and the two of them fell into silence, though it wasn’t one of the tense silences they’d been tangled in before.

“Are you a hybrid over there?” Caroline asked, suddenly.

“What?” Klaus asked, sharply. It wasn’t something he had considered before that moment.

“Well you died after completing all the steps of the sacrifice,” Caroline said, a little wary of how aggressively he responded. “But you died during your first wolf transformation. I don’t know if that first transformation is essential to the sacrifice.”

“What has this got to do with anything?” Klaus said.

“I guess not much,” Caroline replied. “I was just interested. We’re stuck with each other for a while now, I think, I think that rates some interest in what’s going on with you. Plus, I think we need to be as honest as possible with each other, or it’s going to make existing real awkward.”

“I suppose,” he said. “But in answer to your question, I don’t know if I’m a hybrid. I can’t transform, but I also don’t need to feed, nor can I harm myself. I’m not hungry, or thirsty. I just exist.”

Caroline hummed in interest, filing the information away for contemplation at another time.

“Can you exist beyond me?” Caroline asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously dad can’t see you, and you still exist on this side while I’m asleep, but,” Caroline paused, trying to find what she wanted to say. “I guess I want to know how much your connection to this side is connected to me. If you weren’t hanging around here just because you can interact with me, could you, I don’t know, hang out in Italy, even if it is just to see the sights.”

Klaus was, once again, a bit impressed with Caroline. It was the second times in as many minutes that she had posited an idea he was yet to consider. Klaus had been so focussed on making his connection with Caroline for the past few months, he never tried exploring elsewhere on his side. 

“I’m not sure,” Klaus said. “Maybe I should give it a go today? When your father arrives I slip beyond this cell and see if I can traipse the outside world of Mystic Falls.”

“Oh, sure…”

Caroline looked nervously away from him, her fingers beginning to tap a soft, unsteady rhythm on the chair’s arm.

“What’s the matter?” Klaus asked.

“I don’t know, nothing,” Caroline said. “It’s nothing.”

“Caroline, it was you who implored some shared honesty.”

Caroline thought for a moment, searching for how to articulate best what she felt.

“I would feel more comfortable if you were here,” she said, tentatively, still not looking at him.

“What?” Klaus said.

“When my dad is… doing his thing…” she said, awkwardly. “I know you can’t do anything, and I know it’s so stupid, but having you there in the corner of my eye or whatever, makes me feel a bit more comfortable.”

Klaus gaped blankly at her for a good long while. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“I know, stupid. You’re like a million years old, and Elena’s murderer. And just a murderer. And my murderer, in fact. But I don’t know, you being here right now, makes me feel like someone is in my corner.”

Klaus still had not said a word, stunned by her admission.

“And obviously it wasn’t misplaced,” she said softly, smiling wanly at him. “You could have done anything with your experiments today. You could have used what you learned about the emotion channelling to hurt me, or get the door open and leave. But you used it to help me. I know I’m supposed to hate you, because of the murder, and the terrorising my town, and because you were a total jerk last night and the one before. But it’s not like any of your murders stuck, and like for real now there are other people doing just as much terrorising, and I was kind of a jerk too. So… Anyway, you helping me, I think that kind of makes us buddies now.”

Caroline knew she was rambling to fill to the silence, but she couldn’t help herself, it was such an old habit.

“I’m not a million,” Klaus said. “I’m just over a thousand.”

“Right,” Caroline drawled. “After everything I said, your takeaway was I exaggerated your age.”

But Caroline smiled as she finished her sentence, and she was pleased to find he smiled back.

“I think we can be buddies,” Klaus murmured, feeling possibly more vulnerable than he ever felt in his entire life.

“Buddies, or maybe I just have transferred my Stockholm syndrome from my dad to you,” she teased him, with a wink.

But before Klaus could answer, there was a squealing of an unoiled hinge opening, signalling the beginning of another agonising day for Caroline.

“Good morning, Caroline,” Bill said, as he unlocked the cell door. “Have you used your reprieve to think about what you can do better today?”

“Daddy, please,” Caroline said, immediately forgetting entirely about Klaus and their conversation. “You don’t have to do this, I don’t kill, I don’t even –”

But she was cut of by her instincts kicking in, as Bill opened the blood bag. Caroline’s fangs dropped, and eyes changed. She knew what that particular bag tasted like, and it was oh so sweet.

“Oh, Caroline,” Bill said, the picture of a father disappointed by a nothing more than a test score.

Without another word, Bill pulled the fateful chains, sunlight and his daughter’s screaming filling the room once more.  

[contre-qui]

Book 26 of 2020: Special Topics in Calamity Physics

Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl

**TRIGGER WARNING: This review contains non-graphic mentions of suicide.**

To be honest, I wasn't especially thrilled with all the grief. It felt artificial, as I'd they'd taken her away somehow, stolen her, replaced her with this frightening smiling stranger whose giant color faculty photo was laminated and propped up on the floor by a squat unlit candle. It didn't look like her.... No, the real Hannah, the cinematic one who sometimes got a little too drunk with her bra straps showing, she was being held against her will by all these limp carnations, wobbly signatures, humid sentiments of "Missing U." (371)

I'll just be blunt about this: I really disliked this book.

Where to even begin? This novel follows high-schooler Blue Van Meer as she travels with her flighty college professor father across the country. The large majority of the story takes place in a small, quiet mountain town, where Blue enrolls in a prestigious private school and quickly catches the attention of film teacher Hannah Schneider. By extension, Blue is pulled into the exclusive social group known as the Bluebloods, who are all close with Hannah and eat dinner with her every Sunday at her home. Blue grows close to Hannah and the Bluebloods, and finds herself tangled in the ongoing mystique surrounding Hannah's past and current life. While on a camping trip in the mountains with the group, Blue finds herself the only witness to Hannah's sudden death - ruled a suicide. Blue is haunted by what she's seen and isn't convinced by the official ruling. She has to comes to terms with Hannah's death and her close proximity to it.

First off, let's get one thing out of the way. High schoolers are visiting a teacher at their school in her home on a regular basis, where this teacher also drinks in front of them and discusses details of their personal lives. I'm all for suspension of disbelief, but I found it very difficult to believe nobody at the high school had noticed these little get-togethers. The Bluebloods even mention in the book that they need to keep it quiet because they know what they're doing won't look good if administration finds out. As someone that's been in high school, teachers know so much more gossip than everybody thinks. I know for a fact that if this had happened at my school, people would have known within the first two meetings - and we're expected to believe these students had been meeting with her for four years without anyone knowing or their parents objecting. That just struck me as odd, and I had a really hard time putting that one to the side.

Secondly, Hannah's death is proclaimed on the back cover of the book as part of the blurb. It's in every online blurb I've found for this book. Hannah doesn't die until page 336 of a 514 page book. That's insane. The entire basis of this book doesn't even happen until almost two thirds of the way in. That's insane to me. I understand that Pessl had to build up some background for a lot of the things that happen later, particularly Hannah's odd behaviors, but the book could have been structured so much better.

I also found this novel and the characters in it - particularly Blue and her father - to be unbearably classist, as well as racist. I thought, at first, that this would perhaps be a commentary on academia and the way it promotes these types of mindsets - and maybe that was Pessl's intention - but I couldn't find any commentary about racism and classism. The characters didn't learn anything. They started out with these mindsets and maintained them throughout the book with no change or challenge to their views. The level of entitlement the Van Meers and other families at Blue's private school demonstrate was insane to me, and it just made the characters unlikeable. Additionally, there were a few instances that smelt strongly of underhanded transphobia. Not once was "they/them" used as a singular pronoun - always "he/she." I know the author was going for 'traditional' grammatical correctness here, but it was annoying and clunky - not to mention exclusionary. I don't think it's a bad thing to have flawed protagonists, but I found Blue to be annoying and unlikeable. She consistently felt she was the smartest person in the room and was never disproven in this assumption, only furthering her classist and superior mindset.

The ending was also awful. Blue goes down a bit of a rabbit hole trying to figure out what happened to Hannah, and ends up in a conspiracy theory mess. I sort of figured that she would be disproven and learn some sort of valuable lesson about meddling in people's private lives and the confusing nature of death. None of that happens, and Blue continues to think she is the only intelligent person around her. The ending is ambiguous (and not in a good way), confusing, and unsatisfying. The entire book was just strange. It feels like it wants to be a thriller, but it's too slow for most of the book to really qualify. Instead, it ends up as strange realistic fiction. I was so disappointed in this book because the blurb sounded awesome and the prose really is amazing. I enjoyed reading the narrative style of Blue, but her superiority and not-like-other-girls mindset made her narration annoying and trite. The writing really is beautiful, and this book had so much potential, but the execution was extremely poor. Between the unlikeable characters, the terrible pacing and structure, and the supremely unsatisfying ending - this book sucked. I really wouldn't recommend it to anyone.

Trigger warnings for suicide mentions, character death, drowning, conspiracy theory, racist assumptions, mentions of sex, gaslighting, alcohol use, mentions of a car crash, inappropriate student/teacher relations, and classist academia.

My final opinion: Just because a book has a wild plot twist doesn't mean it's a good book. Massive let-down.

[katoninefandoms]

I wanna share something about Endgame, friends. This is what Quarantine is leaving for me to think about.

First, I need to tell you a li’l bit about me. My parents have done community theatre for years and even met because of our local community theatre, so I have been involved in theatre basically from birth. For a long time, I thought I wanted to be a professional actress. I worked hard in my theatre classes in high school to understand how to get into a character’s head and how to analyse a scene or a whole play. My senior year of high school, I got the chance to student direct and stage manage and TA for my theatre teacher. So as I got into college, I realized that maybe acting wasn’t the way I wanted to go. I did some soul-searching, and decided that, instead, I wanted to teach theatre. I’ve been taking classes that are all about analyzing plays, and I’ve been in acting and directing classes at the collegiate level.  All this is to say, I’m at a point where I cannot watch a play or movie or TV show without analyzing the piece as I watch. Sometimes it’s annoying, but sometimes I love it because I feel like I have a better understanding of what is going on. This has been especially fun the last couple of years watching Marvel movies. A couple of my friends in my university’s theatre program who are also nerds had a conversation with me about Infinity War. We talked about how a lot of the movie is just suspense and buildup until the final battle in Wakanda, and at the end, there is no pay off because we don’t win. The heroes don’t accomplish their goal. This is when my good friend, Nor, pointed out that sure, from the hero perspective, it’s a lot of buildup for no payoff and therefore unsatisfying, but from Thanos’ perspective, it’s a totally satisfying narrative. If you analyse the movie with Thanos as the protagonist, then there is a clear, complete narrative structure. We have a Stasis A where he is without the stones, an Inciting Incident where he collects the first couple stones, the Rising Actions are him collecting the rest of the stones, right before the climax there is the Crisis (the moment where the protagonist is at their absolute lowest) where Thanos has to sacrifice Gamora for the soul stone, he snaps his fingers as the Climax, and then the Resolution and payoff is that the snap works and Thanos can retire to “the Garden” satisfied. Bam! Full narrative structure.  So as you can see, I have a good time analyzing works that I love. I did this with Endgame, too. For the record, there were things I was unhappy with, but overall, I think the endings all made sense in some way. Were they perfect? No, but that’s always the case. Someone will always be unhappy and present reasons why something doesn’t make sense with franchises like the MCU. But my favorite scenes to analyse in Endgame were Tony giving Steve back the shield in conjunction with Tony ripping Steve a new one at the beginning and their discussion at Tony’s house. I thought I really had their little arc in this film together figured out. 

That is, until this week. Robert Downey Jr. did this live stream thing with Joe Russo, and said of the Endgame scene where he gives the shield back to Chris Evans, “it was about him [Steve] forgiving me [Tony] for not forgiving him... burying the hatchet and taking up the cross together.”

I had not considered this before. In the beginning, when Tony yells at Steve, Steve doesn’t argue with him much at all. He takes Tony’s frustration in stride and for the rest of the film doesn’t seem to begrudge it at all. He even shows up to Tony’s house years later to ask him for help, and he may not be happy with Tony’s answer, but he doesn’t bother him with it or push him too hard once Tony says no and changes the subject. I interpreted this as a sign that he had already forgiven Tony. Tony then investigates time travel of his own volition, and then arrives at the compound, telling Steve, “Turns out resentment is corrosive and I hate it.” I saw this as Tony letting Steve know, in true Tony fashion, that he had finally forgiven him. He gives back the shield, and they can move forward. 

RDJ was in the scene, he and Evans and the directors did their own analysis of the scene and filmed it with that analysis in mind. So while I, a viewer, might see something different, it doesn’t mean than either of us are right or wrong, it just means that I missed something that they were trying to show the audience. This piece of information really does change how I interpret this scene. 

As a character, Steve Rogers has an incredible capacity for forgiveness. This is reflected in every official piece of media I’ve seen his character in; movies, television, and the few comics I’ve had the chance to read. Still, just because someone has a the capacity to forgive and move one doesn’t mean that it’s automatic for them. RDJ made an interesting point in saying, “forgiving [Tony] for not forgiving [Steve].” While I may have been correct in interpreting Steve as having forgiven Tony for their disagreements in Civil War (and perhaps all those before that), he had no way of knowing if Tony would have the same forgiveness for him. 

As it turns out, Tony doesn’t. He accuses Steve, yells at him, tells him he doesn’t trust him, and labels him “Liar.” Steve looks incredibly pained by Tony’s outburst at the end of that scene, and he even begins to look a little... well, angry isn’t the right word, and neither is defensive. But he’s definitely upset. I’m looking at the scene now, I have is paused. Credit where credit it due, Chris Evans plays Steve very well, and keeps him consistent. In this moment, after Tony says, “Liar,” Steve'a expression is very close to that “eyebrows of disappointment” face that we see in previous films. He also looks guarded, like he’s putting up mental walls against Tony’s onslaught. When Tony thrusts the arc reactor into Steve’s hand, his fingers don’t close around it, and his arm tenses. Tony’s upset him, hurt him again. Somehow, I overlooked this as something new that Steve would have to forgive Tony for. 

It seems that they may be on a little better terms when Steve, Natasha, and Scott show up to Tony’s house to ask him for help. However, Tony looks apprehensive when Steve gets out of the car and only relaxes a little once he takes a cue from Natasha. Steve does ask him about helping, but then Tony spends most of their conversation talking to Scott and Natasha. Not that Steve really attempts to interject in the conversation until the end. He makes it clear that this isn’t a personal request (entirely), and that it could be helpful to a lot of people. Tony maintains that it is personal to him. He invites them to stay for lunch if they don’t “talk shop” and the next shot is of Steve, Nat, and Scott getting back in the car. We can’t know for sure they didn’t stay for lunch, but it seems obvious to assume so. Either they are very eager to find a time travel solution, or there are people in the group who are not yet comfortable being around the Starks in a friendly capacity yet. (Steve. I’m implying that it’s Steve.)

So then Tony does some of his own research about time travel. He figures it out in one night, and Pepper convinces him that he should use it to help people that are less fortunate than him. He drives up to the compound and sees Steve standing outside. He stops, a little past Steve. And Steve? Doesn’t bother to walk up level with the driver’s side door, something that I could otherwise imagine him doing. Tony has to back up to talk to him, and Steve asks, “What are you doing here?” He previously said he wasn’t going to help, and Steve doesn’t sound all to pleased to see Tony. Why is that? Well, in the next few lines, it seems to give us the answer. “Somebody could’ve cautioned you against it,” Tony says. Steve, having heard that kind of remark from Tony before, is apparently no longer willing to argue with him about it and says, “You did.” “I did? Oh, well, thank God I’m here.”

I had a director tell me once, as another actor and I were practicing an argument, that you don’t argue with someone unless you care. That’s where the passion in the argument comes from. So far in this scene, Steve doesn’t look too happy to see Tony, and I didn’t really pay attention to that before. He’s been let down by Tony before like this, and that pattern hasn’t changed yet. He has no reason to expect Tony to do anything but tell him he’s doing it wrong and then maybe take Natasha out to lunch (or something). That seems like a relatively Tony Stark think to do. 

But then Tony reveals that he fixed it. He figured it out. That makes Steve smile. Honestly, Steve looks relieved. His walls come down a little. He can let himself believe that Tony is there to help, as opposed to, “I got nothin’ for you Cap. I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options, zero, zip, nada. No trust. Liar!” In fact, this time, Tony admits, “Turns out, resentment is corrosive, and I hate it.” Tony’s forgiven Steve, and that’s his way of saying, in his own way. I find that a lot with Tony’s dialogue, which is cool, because RDJ plays him so well and you can always tell what he means. To that, Steve says, “Me, too.” 

However, the way he says it doesn’t sound like forgiveness just yet. I think it’s his inflection, or the way he says it with a blank face, still, but it sounds more like he’s letting Tony know that he’d already come to that conclusion. Remember, before, at the beginning of the movie, Steve is trying to work with Tony and gets upset when he goes off. He’d already forgiven Tony for things that Tony hadn’t yet. Steve had already let go of a lot of that resentment. He’s got a huge capacity for forgiveness. But even those of us who can forgive easily can also hold back when we’re hurt one too many times. Steve is still not quite ready, or not quite convinced. 

I notice that Steve doesn’t move at all during this scene. He’s planted. Tony is the one to bridge the gap and approach Steve as he agrees to join them, saying he needs to keep what he’s found. Steve shakes his hand, saying that is a “deal.” That’s business, not friendship. He’s still not smiling or relaxed with Tony, and simply shakes his hand. Tony is no idiot, he can tell he doesn’t fully have Steve’s confidence yet. He goes around to the back of the car, and Steve follows a little. He’s warming up, there’s at least some of the damage healed. 

Tony takes the shield out of the trunk and holds it out to Steve. “Tony, I don’t know.” His voice thins, breaks off a little at the end. This is more than just getting the shield back. The last time they spoke to each other before Endgame, Tony was screaming at Steve that he didn’t deserve the shield, that it didn’t belong to him. Steve, in Civil War, drops the shield, and, effectively, drops Tony. Taking the shield back will mean, symbolically, accepting Tony’s apology and forgiving him, taking him back as a friend. The shield is Tony’s olive branch, but Steve “[doesn’t] know” if he can accept it. 

“Why? He made it for you.” Tony holds out the olive branch a little further. Saying that, he’s taking back what he said before. He knows he was wrong, and he’s admitting that to Steve -- which is something he hardly ever seems to do. He turns it over so that he can fit it on Steve’s arm, and Steve lets him. “Thank you, Tony,” Steve says. His voice is still low, soft, but it’s warmer. He’s forgiven Tony again. He’s accepted the olive branch, the shield, and they are now on even ground once more. Tony asks if they’re getting the team together, and Steve immediately answers, starting to get Tony filled in on their progress. 

I didn’t think I could love this scene between the two of them more, but I do. It’s so easy to forget sometimes that Steve can be hurt by people, too. He forgives so easily and takes the high road so often that even when someone he obviously cares about, like Tony, hurts him in a way that isn’t physical, I think the viewers tend to miss it. We like to put Steve up on a pedestal and act like he would never hold something like that against a person, never not forgive them for it. Seeing this scene, Steve and Tony’s relationship like this, I think we can realize that Steve isn’t as perfect as people like to believe he is. He can be hurt and upset when people don’t treat him with respect and fairness. 

Anyways, if you stuck around long enough to get to the bottom of this: Thank you for taking the time to read this. I love being able to share analysis about these babies. <3 

[blasfumi]

I’m going home to Missouri in a few days so here’s some food recs from Seattle after a year here

Dough Zone - It’s a dumpling chain and frankly a nice one. They actually put the correct amount of umami into their pork soup dumplings and Q baos - this is one of the few places in America other than my mother’s dinner table where a soup dumpling has tasted the way it SHOULD. I grew up eating dumplings in Xi-An, and frankly it tastes like my childhood. It’s also a lot less expensive that Din Tai Fung, which I see as kind of a major plus. 

Piroshky Piroshky - Unlike what you may suspect, actually not a tourist trap! Actually kind of worth the money - it just happens to be located in a tourist trap location. Their salmon is absolutely delicious and it’s what got them famous. You can call and order some frozen pierogis to go - Larry has like 3 bags of them in our freezer right now hahahaha. Please eat warm - you should not enjoy this cold.

FOB Poke - They have just like. So many options for protein. They even give you a heaping helping of scallop? Everyone knows that’s my favorite go-to. It’s very very nice. Their rice is also made with like jasmine tea or something and I think it makes me feel healthier about eating a ton of carbs. It’s a long trip though so sometimes I just get my scallop poke from Uwajimaya instead but like it’s not the same.

Mama’s Kitchen - Get their rib bibimbap. They actually put like whole ribs in it it’s amazing. They also are one of the few places that actually give you quality vegetables in your bibimbap (kimchi, marinated mushrooms, roots, etc) instead of just like sliced cucumber and carrot sticks. 

Milkie Milkies - Bingsoo. Just. Bingsoo. 

Kochi Po-Cha - Arguably my favorite korean fried chicken place. The sauces are so good but even the regular flavored chicken gets my mouth watering, and that’s impressive because I usually feel very little towards plain fried chicken. 

Mommy’s Kitchen - Not to be confused with Mama’s Kitchen. Actually THE BEST butter chicken I’ve ever had in my life. I didn’t like Indian food until I had them and they have stunningly convinced me to eat EGGPLANT. If you know me, you know I’m not a picky eater but I absolutely HATE eggplant. THEIR EGGPLANT IS GOOD.

Yomies - Asian-style yogurt. I drove Damon there and ever since everyone in my friend group is obsessed with this place. We even considered making a “Yomies Fund” just to make sure we could buy Yomies at least once a week hahaha. I really suggest their Strawberry or Purple Rice with Red Bean flavor. This is a really popular brand from Taiwan and unlike Sharetea I think it deserves any attention it can get. 

Musashi - Get their Chirashi bowl. It’s $19 (they’re famous for the inexpensive cost of it) and honestly tastes so good. I hate that sushi costs so much everywhere in America except California and whenever I get a sushi itch I usually default to Musashi because it’s honestly the only sushi that’s worth your buck.

Hong Kong Dim Sum - Honestly it’s embarrassing how much money I spent Uber Eating this place, and the reason it’s on this list isn’t because it’s super delicious but moreso because I gotta acknowledge the restaurant that kept me going through quarantine. Many a lonely night was spent on my bed, eating their take out, listening to Youtube because I needed to hear human voices and eat warm food that I didn’t have to make myself. They got me through a lot of executive dysfunction. Their dim sum is hit or miss but some of the menu items are nice comfort food. Top Suggestions: Seabass Tofu Caly Pot, Baked BBQ Pork Bun, Baked Egg Custard Bun 

That’s all I can think of for now. I have a lot of favorite dishes of mine that I want to find in Seattle, and I’ll update this list as I go if I find anything impressive. In terms of my credibility I can say that I did grow up in China so I actually have quite high standards for Chinese cooking, and while I’m not a picky eater I definitely find food oftentimes more unsatisfying than not. I do believe though that an important factor in eating out is cost, so I don’t consider a lot of places that have amazing food but also exorbitant prices. I think that kind of culture is frankly an example of why capitalism fails us sometimes, so I like to keep all my suggestions under $20 if possible. I may make a LA version soon since I miss California!

List of favorite dishes I’ve yet to find quality versions of in Seattle:

Chocolate Souffle Po Mo Gyudon  Takoyaki Army Stew or honestly any Korean stew - I ask Esther to cook me those Potstickers - I ask Larry to cook me those lmao Wontons - I’d ask Michelle to cook me - you get the point hahaha Bun Bo Hue Chow Fun or honestly dim sum in general Pasta in general Pumpkin Tempura

[euphoria-vmin7]

Ineffable | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader 

genre/warnings: angst, sad ending, non idol! au, college! au

word count: 1,448 

-- summary:  your best friend Jeon Jeongguk has always been amazing and deserved the best, so you’ve hid your love for him. But unbeknowsnt to you, there may be feelings that could change everything between you two...

a/n: this is my first fic here on Tumblr and I’m always looking for advice, so if there’s anything I can improve on, I’d be happy to hear it!! I hope you all like this!

Ineffable

in·ef·fa·ble

adj. too great to be expressed in words

***

The first time you had met him, you had been convinced that there was nobody more perfect than him in the universe. He was too amazing for someone to describe. Yes, he was incredibly gifted in the looks department, with those chocolate eyes that shone with mischief, the dark hair that suited his face in any style, and when he smiled, you could just melt. But you fell for more than just his looks. It was that way he would challenge you at things and tease you when you lost, but pout when you won. It was the way he was so determined to do everything correctly, whether it be sports or dancing. It was the way his voice sounded so angelic when he sang. It was the selflessness to do things for others before himself and the compassion for those he cared for that drew you in further and further. And then you couldn’t get out.

When you had met him, you were in high school. And as the teacher was assigning seats, you were placed next to him. When you looked over, he was lazily doodling in his notebook, teeth bruising into his bottom lip. You faced forward and paid attention quickly. The rest of the class went by silently for you. It wasn’t until the end of class when he first said anything. Those words that started everything.

“Hey um excuse me? I’m sorry but do you know what the homework was?”

You were tempted to roll your eyes, knowing that it was his fault for not paying attention. But then you knew that you would also do the same thing as him from time to time. So you sighed and gave him the information he needed before he flashed you a bunny smile and thanked you before running off.

And from then on, your friendship with him only blossomed. Sitting next to him for a full year was enough to get you both on close friend terms. And that’s all the two of you were. Just friends.

Jeongguk was popular. Very popular. Especially going into your senior year. Why wouldn’t he be? He was handsome, fairly intelligent, except for math where he sometimes struggled, extremely talented, athletic, artistic, you could go on forever. And as he got a little older and a little more mature, of course he attracted the attention of many people around him. But he never went for anyone. He always rambled to you about that perfect person he was waiting to find. Yes, that one ideal person who someone like Jeongguk was destined to have. You thought he was adorably ridiculous. But you supported him because Jeongguk was just your friend.

You and he were lucky to stick together through college. Jeongguk matured greatly over the years. He looked much more masculine, though he still retained that childlike bunny side of him. And over time, seeing and experiencing both sides of him and being so close to him. You loved it. It was only when seeing him laugh made you feel happy, when he hugged you and smiled at you made your chest feel painfully light, was when you started thinking there was something different. It was enough for you to receive a slap to the face by your own brain.

You liked Jeongguk.

You admired everything about him. But you knew, that he would never feel that same way, since you were not that perfect person he was looking for. You and Jeongguk were just friends.

And that’s how it stayed to your painful misfortune. But of course, how could you ever ask for more? You didn’t need to be that person for him when you were already someone he cherished so much. You were his best friend.

You would not throw that relationship away for anything. Not even your own childish feelings. They didn’t matter.

And so you pushed away that fluttering feeling that came whenever he would lie next to you as you guys had a movie marathon. You didn’t acknowledge the butterflies that came when he shot you a wink as you cheered the loudest at his football games. You didn’t address the increased amount of care you gave him whenever he fell ill or overworked himself at practice.

Yes, Jeongguk was immensely grateful for your presence. You were his best friend. He needed you like he needed air. Without you, he felt like he was suffocating. You took care of him and he loved you for it.

Jeongguk couldn’t see past all those fake smiles of yours. To him, you were still the same. You were still the same cute and happy girl who was always at his side. But unbeknownst to him, you were suffering. Seeing him charming all those girls and watching them fall for it was painful. Seeing him admiring other girls was hurtful because that person would never be you.

But the day that Jeongguk came to you, wide-eyed and red-faced, his words forming out a stuttering confession of his love, you were proven wrong. You had stood frozen for a few seconds, the male in front of you taking it as a rejection before he muttered a dejected apology and turned to go. But you could only call out after him and confess your own feelings to him, watching as he turned around with wide shocked eyes. And it was there when you shared your first kiss was when you realized it. You and Jeongguk were not just friends, but lovers.

You could remember the happiness that radiated off of you for the next couple of months as you were now known as the girlfriend of Jeon Jeongguk. And he couldn’t be happier.

Yes, Jeongguk was in love with you. He hadn’t realized it at all. The entire time he was looking for a special person he was only looking for things that you possessed. It was only that one day, when he saw you admiringly looking at another male and he felt a burning anger in the pit of his stomach was when he figured out something was off.

After some thought, he figured out it was jealousy. And then he figured out why the jealousy formed. Jeongguk was scared. Scared because you were his best friend. How could you possess romantic feelings towards him?

Jeongguk made the correct decision to try.

Months stretched into years. 3 years. 3 full happy years.

You loved Jeongguk with your entire being and he loved you just as much. You knew it, and so did he.

So when you came home that day to see a note stuck to the fridge about how Jeongguk would be late at work, you only sighed before smiling and going into the cabinets to start preparing a meal for him. You should have said something about the slight change in smell on him when he came back. You should have said something about he averted his eyes and moved away when you leaned in to kiss him. You should have said something about how he’d leave early in the morning and start coming late at night.

You should have.

But you didn’t.

So now, as you watched him from across the room, waiting for her as she made her way down the aisle to join him, you wished that you had never fallen in love with him.

After all, you and Jeongguk used to be just friends.

And that’s how it should have stayed.

His eyes connected with yours for a second and in them you saw a thousand emotions run through. Regret was one that shone the brightest, and as much as you wanted to reach out for him and scream to stop this wedding, what good would it do you?

You could never be his because you could never be what he wanted. A perfect man like Jeongguk deserved the perfect girl he wanted. And even though he thought that you were that perfect girl, Jeongguk would always be unsatisfied. He would get bored. He wouldn’t have enough.

And that’s why when he finally tore his eyes away from yours to look at the woman he was about to marry, you didn’t feel any pain. No, instead, you felt relief. You felt content. You felt pride. Because you knew that you had just given Jeongguk the best life he could have. The life that you desperately wanted but could never possess. The life at his side. But that person was not you and could never be you.

You and Jeongguk were meant to be just friends.

And now, you both had lost that, too.

[omgjasminesimone]

Homecoming Part 3

Bryce x MC

Previous Part: Part 2

Next Part: Part 4

Summary: Bryce and Casey attend his sister’s bachelorette party

Word Count: ~3000

Author’s Note: As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next parts!

“Ughh.” Bryce mutters as he wakes up, head pounding from his hangover.

After leaving family brunch the day before, all he could think about was how badly he needed a drink. (Not a mimosa though, that would just remind him of his alcoholic mother.) But he had promised Casey he’d teach her how to surf, so they did that first. Later in the night, they met up with the high school friends he was still in contact with for drinks at his favorite Honolulu pub. Back in the day, they didn’t used to card so he’d spent plenty of time there during his teenage years.

Casey fit in seamlessly with his friends, and he enjoyed showing her off. They’d been out very late, had drank quite a lot, to the point where he could almost forget about the brunch disaster.

Bryce is quickly sobering now though. And already dreading the joint bachelorette-bachelor party that they’ll be attending tonight. His mother is hosting at the house, which means it will be an offensive display of wealth. The dress code is black tie, which informs him that it will also be boring.

Bryce rolls over to his side, wrapping at arm around Casey. He kisses the back of her neck, squeezing her gently. “Baby, wake up. Do you still want to go hiking?”

Casey groans, speaking into the pillow. “Too hungover. I feel like I’m dying, amor.”

“Amor?” Bryce repeats, his pronunciation of ‘love’ nowhere near as good as Casey’s.

Casey rolls over to face him. “Now that we’re using the L word, you finally get a term of endearment. All the good Spanish ones are so romantic that I couldn’t use them if you just liked me.”

“All I had to do was tell you that I loved you to finally get my endearment? Well damn, I should have done that months ago.”

Casey laughs, giving him a quick peck.

He’s unsatisfied with such a chaste kiss. He cups her cheeks, pulling her to him and kissing her again. He licks at her lips until she opens her mouth, his tongue sweeping inside.

“Say it again.” He mumbles against her lips when he pulls away. “Roll the r.”

“Amor.” She pronounces, exaggerating the rolled r at the end.

“I love you baby.”

“I love you too, mi amor.”

…

..

.

 Haku laughs as he surfaces, shaking the chlorinated pool water out of his dark hair.

“Again Uncle Bryce, again!” The boy cries out, swimming back to his uncle.

Bryce grips under Haku’s armpits, hoisting him far into the air once again.  He stretches as Haku hits the water with a large splash. His arms are starting to get tired. Haku really does have limitless energy. That’s why Abigail asked him to babysit. Their mother wanted him out of the house as she made preparations for the party, not running around under the hired help’s feet.

Haku smiles as he surfaces, swimming back once again. “Now let’s play Marco Polo!”

“I don’t know little man. The rest of the hotel guests might not like that.” The pool is fairly popular today, and Bryce narrowly dodges a small girl doggy paddling by him.

Haku pouts. “Ok, I’m taking a bathroom break and then we can have a holding our breath competition!”

Haku hurries out of the pool, tugging up his blue swim trunks. “Do you need me to go with you?” Bryce offers.

Haku looks at him incredulously. “No!” He says insistently. “I’m eight!”

Bryce smirks. “My bad, you’re right. You’re a big boy. But don’t run off! Come right back here!”

Haku rolls his eyes, but doesn’t retort.

Bryce’s gaze falls on Casey, who is watching with a smile from the in-pool bar. He swims to her, leaning against the stool next to her. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Casey sips on her non-alcoholic smoothie, returning his flirty gaze. “And what’s that?”  

“Something along the lines of…” He pitches his voice up in a mocking imitation of her’s. “Wow, Bryce is so good with him. He’s going to be an amazing dad. Definitely not one of those workaholic doctors who never plays with his kids. Wow, I really want him to father my children.” He leans in closer, delighting in the blush that spreads across her olive skin.

“Even if I had been thinking something like that, the arrogance with which you just said that immediately made my ovaries shrivel up.”

Bryce puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Don’t say that babe.” He drops the act, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her softly. “We’d make such pretty babies. And they’d be smart too.” He breathes against her lips.

Haku returns, cannonballing into the water. Bryce kisses her one more time before pulling away. Haku swims to Casey. “Want to do the breath holding competition with us Casey?” Haku asks.

“Why don’t I be the referee? We have to make sure your uncle doesn’t cheat.” Casey whispers the last part conspiratorially.

“I never cheat. When you’re as talented as I am, you don’t have to. I’ll show you who has the better lung capacity Haku. But after that we have to head back to the room and get ready for your mom’s party.”

…

..

.

Bryce takes a deep breath when he stops the car outside his family’s colossal mansion, composing himself. The valet appears, opening the door for him. He nods, handing over the keys. Haku and Casey step out of the car as their doors are opened as well.

“Haku, come here.” Bryce orders.

Haku approaches and Bryce crouches, fixing Haku’s tie since he’d been playing with it during the car ride. He claps his nephew’s shoulder, and Haku grins before running into the house. Bryce turns to Casey, placing a hand on her lower back. She turns to him, gripping his black tie. “This is crooked.” She straightens it, tugging on it to bring his lips down to her’s when she’s done.

The kiss is chaste, because she’s wearing deep red lipstick and doesn’t want to get it all over him. He admires how beautiful she is for a moment. Her black dress is long with a slit running up to her thigh. The deep v neckline exposes a tasteful amount of cleavage. He smirks when he sees she’s checking him out as well. She’s never seen him in a tux before. As good as he looks in his scrubs, he knows he really shines in a tux.

He offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

She grins, gripping his strong bicep. “Let’s.”

They enter the house, and Casey is clearly awed as soon as she glances around the ballroom he leads her to. Hawaii’s richest and most powerful are all in attendance, mingling and networking in the large open space.

“You guys have a ballroom in your house?” Casey asks with disbelief.

“My parents have a ballroom in their house.” He corrects, grabbing some champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.  

There is a live band playing, but it’s soft elevator music and no one is dancing. Bryce spots Haku sitting in a chair in the corner, playing a video game on a handheld console. “This is a pretty low key bachelorette party. I was hoping for debauchery. And strippers.” Casey comments.

Bryce smirks, resting his hand on her back, a little lower than is proper. “Is that what you’re into? I can strip for you.”

“Was that another one of your med school side hustles?” She jokes.

“Nah, the bartending and modeling were enough to get me through. But I think I’d be good at stripping. Probably one of my many talents. We can find out when we get back to the hotel tonight.”

Any response Casey might have had is interrupted when Mrs. Lahela spots them from across the room and approaches.

“Bryce, dearest.” She is wearing a black ballroom dress, encrusted with expensive stones. She kisses both of his cheeks in a European style greeting. “And Casey, darling, how wonderful to see you again.” She kisses Casey on both cheeks as well, grinning when she pulls away.

Casey is a little thrown off by the transformation. There is a wine glass in her hand, but Bryce’s mother is just sipping on it casually. Nothing like the lush she met at brunch. “Nice to see you again too.” Casey returns.

“You look wonderful.” Mrs. Lahela compliments.

“Thank you, so do you.” Casey replies.

Mrs. Lahela spots someone over Casey’s shoulder and turns back to her with an apologetic grin. “You must excuse me, I just saw the Governor. Hostess duties call, but do try the escargot! It was very expensive and it’s delicious.”

Bryce scoffs when his mother is out of earshot. “She never drinks heavily in front of other people. You’ll learn soon that nothing is more important to my family than appearances and reputation. She saves the alcoholic you met at brunch just for her immediate family.” He answers her silent question.

Casey squeezes his hand comfortingly. “Well, you heard your mother. Let’s find this escargot.”

They meander through the room, sampling the food the wait staff is carrying around.

“Bryce!” Abigail calls, dragging her fiancé behind her by the hand.

“Ryan.” Bryce greets shortly, nodding at the handsome blonde man.

“Hey Bryce. Good to see you again. It’s been years….I think the last time I saw you was prep school graduation.” Ryan responds.

Bryce doesn’t try to keep the conversation going.

“I’m Casey. This is quite the bachelor party.” Casey interjects to fill the awkward silence.

Ryan smiles at her, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you Casey. I can’t take any credit. Mrs. Lahela – I mean Kate, she insists that I call her Kate now – planned everything.”

As Ryan and Kate talk, Abigail leans in to talk in Bryce’s ear. “Dad wants you to join him in the cigar room.”

Bryce grimaces. The cigar room. That’s never good. ���I can’t just leave Casey.”

Abigail shoots him an annoyed look. “She’s a big girl Bryce. She can mingle. Would you just go talk to him so he doesn’t come out here and cause a scene in front of all of my guests?”

Bryce sighs, running a hand through his hair irritably. “Fine.” He turns to Casey, interrupting her conversation with Ryan somewhat rudely, but he really doesn’t like Ryan. Back in prep school, Ryan had been a womanizer, a bully, an elitist who treated the boarding school staff terribly, and just an all-around asshole.  

“Baby, I’ve got to go for a few minutes. Will you be okay out here?”

“Of course Bryce. I’m a big girl.”

Abigail smiles. “That’s what I said. Come on Casey, I’m going to introduce you to a few people.”

Bryce reluctantly walks through the hall to the cigar room. He knocks, and waits for his father to say “enter” before opening the door.

Aoloa sits in his favorite red plush chair, very expensive and reminiscent of a throne. Bryce’s older brother Francis sits in a smaller chair beside their father. In addition to his family, some close male family friends are also in the room. They’re all puffing on expensive cigars.

“Bryce, take a seat. Have a cigar.” Aoloa suggests, but it comes off as a demand.

Bryce sits on a couch beside his father’s lawyer, nodding at the older man. “I’ll pass on the cigar. It’s not good for you.” Bryce replies.

Aoloa shrugs. “Suit yourself. They’re Cuba’s finest though, so you’re really missing out.”  

“You won’t find a lot of physicians who smoke.” Bryce retorts.

Francis scoffs, and Bryce glares at him. “Something you want to say?”

Francis’ eyes narrow as he regards his little brother. “Yes actually. Ever since you became a doctor you think you’re so much better than us. That the family real estate business is beneath you. Frankly, I find it infuriating.”

“Francis, stop. This is between me and my son.” Aoloa insists.

Francis looks angry, but he defers to Aoloa. As always, playing the faithful little lap dog.

“Bryce, business is booming lately. With Ryan entering the fold, we’ll acquire an exclusive contract with his father, an important developer. We need all the Lahelas involved in the business.”

Bryce’s jaw clenches. They’ve had this conversation before. He’s never wanted in on the family business. He’s always been passionate about surgery. When he admitted this at his prep school graduation dinner, his father had become enraged. Ultimately, he refused to support Bryce financially through college. With his father’s income, Bryce qualified for no financial aid. He had been admitted to Stanford for undergrad, but he couldn’t afford it on his own so he’d taken a scholarship to the University of Hawaii.

He’d been looking forward to getting out of Hawaii. Looking forward to distancing himself from his toxic family. But he’d had to wait until medical school to finally go to Stanford, working his way through since his father still refused to help him.

“I’m about to be a senior resident. I’m the best surgical resident Edenbrook has. This is my dream, and I’ve worked hard for it.”

Aoloa’s eyes narrow. “Your dream? To be so poor that you have to ask your parents for money to buy a house?”

Bryce’s fist clenches. “I knew you would try to hold that over my head. I’m paying you back. I send you money every month. And let’s not forget you’re charging me interest, a much higher interest rate than any bank would charge.”

“No bank would ever give you a loan. You have no idea what it’s like to actually earn something on your own merit. To work hard. I came from nothing, and built all of this. You had every advantage, groomed for this work, and you’re throwing it all away.” Aoloa says with disappointment.

“Well so be it then. Invoice me for whatever I owe you for my upbringing. I’ll work on paying that back too.”

Francis leans back in his chair. “I told you this was a waste of time Dad.”  

“Seems like raising him in the first place was a waste of my time.” Aoloa responds cruelly.

Bryce stands, heading for the door. “I’m done here.” He slams the door behind him.

…

..

.

Casey and Abigail have migrated from the ballroom to the patio, where heat lamps and twinkling lights have been set up for ambiance.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re out here with me. Don’t you have a lot of friends in there?” Casey asks.

“Those are my parents’ friends. You’ve probably noticed, but my mom likes to throw parties seemingly for other people, but really just to show off her expensive house. Luckily, my actual friends planned a much better bachelorette party last week. There were strippers and penis decorations.”

Casey smiles. “Good. The bachelorette party you deserve.”

Abigail smiles, sipping on a cocktail and regarding Casey. “You know, I really like you. And I like you for Bryce. And this is a huge compliment coming from me because Bryce’s ex Tia is one of my best friends, one of my bridesmaids even. I kind of ship them, but man, you’re making me waiver.” Abigail seems to be a little drunk.  

“Thanks, I think.” Casey replies dubiously.

Abigail finishes her cocktail, gesturing for a passing waiter to bring her another.  “Bryce is just such a good guy, I always want the absolute best for him. Did he tell you that he let me live in his dorm room when I got pregnant?”

Casey shakes her head no, Bryce definitely didn’t tell her any of that.

“My parents were pissed. Unmarried teenage daughters don’t get pregnant very often in their circles. They said I was ruining the Lahela name. They wanted me to get an abortion.”

The waiter brings the cocktail, and Abigail downs it in one gulp before continuing. “But I loved Kahoni. And I wanted his baby. So they threw me out onto the streets. Kahoni is one of ten kids and lived in a three bedroom house with his whole family, so I couldn’t go to him. Francis had his own condo in Honolulu at the time, but he told me to get lost. He’s an asshole. But Bryce was living in a dorm at the University of Hawaii and he moved me in no questions asked. He even gave me his bed. He slept in a sleeping bag on his floor for the rest of the semester. I felt really bad about that, worried he was going to mess his grades up since he wasn’t getting a good night’s sleep.”

Abigail’s eyes well up with tears. “He’s just such a good guy Casey. He was the first one to hold Haku, you know. Kahoni had a car accident rushing to the hospital when I went into labor, so it was just me and Bryce. And he also helped me and Kahoni pay for our own place afterwards, for almost a year until Kahoni finally got a decent job.”

Casey takes Abigail’s hand, squeezing it to comfort the younger woman. “What happened with Kahoni?’ Casey asks.

“Love doesn’t pay the bills. I thought he was going to get it together eventually, be the man that I needed. But he never fully stepped up, not the way I wanted him to. Kahoni says I’m spoiled, that I expect too much. But my parents softened a little bit after Haku was born. They never liked Kahoni and told me I could come home if I left him. So two years ago I did.”

“Well, at least you’re happy now with Ryan.” Casey says.

Abigail smiles sadly. “Happy enough anyway.”

Bryce suddenly appears, making a beeline for her. “Casey, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Let’s get out of here. I can’t be here a second longer.”

He sounds so insistent she finds herself immediately getting to her feet.

Abigail laughs humorlessly. “That bad huh?” She asks softly. She stands as well. “Thanks for coming big brother.” She hugs him tightly. “See you tomorrow bright and early for the rehearsal!” She chimes when she releases him.

“Wait, rehearsal? Why? I’m not in the wedding party.” Bryce questions.

Abigail looks surprised. “Of course you are. I made Ryan make you a groomsman.”

…

..

.

Taglist:  @octobereighth @sibella-plays-choices @hazah @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @professorortegasstudent @regina-and-happiness @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lizeboredom  @desiree-0816 @hellooliviaolivia @dreaming-of-movies @friedherringclodthing @weaving-in-words @fairydustandsarcasm @goldenjellyfish12 @pessimystic-fangirl @mimikoasahina

[pekorosu]

no.6 novels thinky thoughts

--------

so… i ended up finishing all 9 vols in about a week haha.

my overall impression? it was… alright, i guess.

not that i didn’t enjoy it, in fact, the first half was great! by the time i reached the end though, i had mixed feelings. sat on it for a week or so but a lot of it remains a vague hhhmmmmmblah blob that i’m not done figuring out. 

i still wanna make a post as a form of closure for myself though, so i’m just gonna dump whatever comes to mind here. don’t mind me.

so... the ending. i guess it was supposed to be open-ended in a hopeful way, but it just came across as unsettling to me. the ~chosen one~ thing rubbed me the wrong way, because shion was entrusted with an enormous responsibility that no 16 year old should even be shouldering in the first place. (i mean yea okay he did willingly accept it, but still. why only him? why aren’t they all collectively responsible?) 

meanwhile the actual perpetrators get to escape all the consequences by just… dying. just like that. and the rest of them, especially the adults… they’re pretty much useless? even the ones that wanted to do something by staging a revolt ended up being unreliable either bc 1. they were drunk on revenge or 2. all that power was getting to their head. ironically, rou was like “it’s all on us, the adults” but in the end even he decided to just spend the rest of his life chilling out underground -_-

on top of that, shion had to let go of nezumi. idk about y’all but that ending, that “promise to meet again” kiss was like… i couldn’t help but wonder if nezumi only did that because shion was all “a world without you is meaningless” and he had to give him something to cling onto. followed by shion’s devoted “i’ll keep waiting” which… idk, something about it felt utterly depressing. to be fair, nezumi always keeps his promises and the epilogue was vaguely hopeful i guess, but it still didn’t give me the sense of closure that i needed. 

to clarify, i’m not saying it’s a bad ending. it’s realistic and the implication that there’s still a lot of work to be done is very much in line with the story’s themes. just that something about it didn’t work for me personally, plus the lead up to it felt rushed, so it left me feeling :/ when i was done.

the plot… well, it started out exciting but turned out to be rather anticlimactic? the shift from science to supernatural had a proper build up, but still felt like a letdown for some reason… 

i think... maybe it’s bc dystopian stories tend to culminate in a huge battle and stuff like that, while this one just… didn’t. there was no final showdown with the Big Bad. there was chaos, but it hadn’t descended into total devastation yet, with the ultimate message that maintaining peace is always more preferable in order to prevent any more senseless deaths. and i guess that threw me off a little? not in a bad way, it was just unexpected bc i’m so used to the whole “final boss” format.

speaking of which, the antagonists were very one-dimensional, and for dictators they were surprisingly… weak. i mean, i get that hubris was precisely the reason for their carelessness and subsequent destruction, but it felt too convenient, too simple.

and i was sorta expecting something more gruesome when they got to the top floor of the correctional facility. idk, i guess brains floating in tubes just couldn’t compare with that scene of them climbing a mountain of corpses+half-alive people, which i had the misfortune of reading right before dinner. that was straight up horror.

and for all its depiction of the horrors of a police state, of poverty, famine, genocide… i felt like it stopped short of something. this isn’t meant to be a proper critique ofc, just that i remember feeling like the writing came across as wishy-washy or superficial at times, even though i knew the author’s intention wasn’t to hand out answers, but to get the readers to think. something about the way it was handled left me feeling unsatisfied i guess. 

that said, there were stuff that i did like! eg. i liked how the story dealt with the “we’re all human beings” statement from shion. it started out as a simple, idealistic “all lives matter” kind of thing, only to be turned on its head when he comes face-to-face with the kind of atrocities no.6 has committed. then it becomes less about that and more “our shared humanity means that we too have the capability to become cruel and apathetic.” or at least, that was my takeaway. 

hmm… in hindsight, i think it does what it set out to do well enough. that is, to convey a certain message to a certain group of people (teenagers i guess. this is YA after all). to inspire them to think for themselves, to realise that apathy is dangerous and to take responsibility for their own learning, but also to know that doing the “right” thing is not just about good intentions; it is constant hard work but still important work... among others. all of which are solid themes and messages. god knows when i was younger and learning about all this for the first time, even the simplest things would leave me mindblown for days. if i’d read this back then i imagine it would’ve left a bigger impression too.

the main highlight for me though, was probably the character scenes. i was surprised to find out how introspective the story was, with the majority of it dedicated to the characters’ internal thoughts and conflicts. 

sadly though, the side charas’ POVs (like inukashi’s and karan’s) ended up becoming tediously repetitive and draggy despite starting out strong. and safu… poor safu, she pretty much got the shortest end of the shit stick being the Plot Device Damsel In Distress Who Is Eventually Fridged. i had higher hopes for her ):

as for the rest… i don’t really care about rikiga… and who else… oh right! small nezumi team! hamlet, cravat and tsukiyo. 10/10 love them, would never get tired of their cute little squeaks.

and the protags… shion started out kinda bland but ended up being the easiest to relate to haha. eg. his constant struggle to reconcile his personal ideals with practical reality. and it was interesting to see how he confronted and came to terms with some harsh truths. he always tries so hard. sometimes it hurt to read, but it made me want to root for him and in a way, it gave me strength too. 

also his apparent “lack of interest” in sex/women/etc... i know it’s generally played for laughs or to highlight his ~naivete~ or ~immaturity~, but whatever lol it’s something i can relate to it v strongly.

nezumi took a while for me to warm up to even when i understood why he is the way he is. the callousness, hostility, volatility… they’re all defense mechanisms rooted in his trauma, but still, knowing that didn’t make him any less irritating lol. he could be deeply hypocritical at times and his tendency to randomly explode at shion was grating. on the plus side, it’s always very satisfying whenever we do get a glimpse of his more vulnerable side.

them as a pair though… i’m not a huge fan of the “fate brought us together” trope so i was skeptical at first. nezumi being so prickly and moody at first didn’t help either, but shion. oh shion, he tried so hard to worm himself into nezumi’s heart, to prove himself worthy, that i couldn’t help but be charmed. to me, they started out more like “snarky senpai and curious kouhai” as opposed to “friends” or even “potential enemies” as nezumi liked to insist they were, which made for an amusing dynamic. 

and while they did grow on me over time, they don’t make me feel that INTENSE CHEST STABBING feeling that i get with other ships. idk why, i mean, their sarcastic exchanges were amusing, their brutally honest arguments were compelling, and the pining (which is my #1 weakness) was through the fucking roof with shion. but still, something was missing.

sidenote on something the author mentioned in the guidebook interview (my own rough t/l):

I like writing about relationships between people of the same sex, not just boys. When it comes to the opposite sex, the end result of being attracted to each other is always romantic love, or getting married…… To a certain extent, the “template” for that is already fixed, isn’t it? But when it comes to the same sex, there can exist a connection that can’t be expressed in the usual cliched words like friendship, camaraderie, love, hatred… I think there’s meaning in writing about relationships that can’t be clearly defined. What’s between Shion and Nezumi is a “one-of-a-kind connection” that’s born out of a certain situation, out of certain experiences that only they have gone through. I wanted to find out what exactly that connection is, which was why I wanted to try writing it. Of course, that “one-of-a-kind connection” would probably exist between people of the opposite sex as well. After all, the feelings that emerge from a chance meeting of two human beings can never be something that’s mass-produced. But still, I think the one thing that I really enjoy writing about has got to be the unique emotions that develop between people of the same sex.

i know she doesn’t mean anything negative here, but idk… it kinda reminds me of the way yoshida akimi discussed ash and eiji’s relationship in banana fish, and the way she discussed what she found so special about same-sex relationships that is lacking in m/f relationships. and something about it bugs me so much. i don’t even know why or how to explain it… 

it sounds like to them, there’s something fundamentally “different” about same-sex relationships. "different” doesn’t necessarily mean “bad” and in fact, it even sounds positive in this context because the implication is that that “difference” allows for more freedom and variety in relationship dynamics. but i guess, the closest thing that i can come up with is that it sounds… othering? i don’t know….......

speaking of which, i suppose shion/safu is a subversion of that typical m/f relationship. shion can never love her the way she wants him to, which is heartbreaking, but also refreshing in a way.

and you know what… it just occurred to me that maybe, maybe… it’s the same with shion and nezumi. and maybe that’s why something about them feels off to me. i mean, obviously the strength of their feelings for each other is indisputable, but idk if the essence of it is the same. 

shrugs. anyway, yeah.

the honest truth is that, while i enjoyed their interactions immensely, they just don’t ignite the same fire in me as all my other otps. that said, i still do have a lot of thoughts on them! maybe that’s a post for another day.

some other stray thoughts:

- was it ever explained how nezumi built his robo rats? or where tf he managed to gather so many gold coins? was this something the story just handwaved or did i just forget?

- nezumi wanting to leave on a journey at the end baffled me. even though him eventually leaving was foreshadowed a couple times, he never really struck me as a wanderer to begin with. but now that i think about it… i wonder if he’s leaving bc he wants to, or rather, needs to look out for any other remaining forests and natural environments. that’s what his people did, didn’t they? protect the forests. i wonder if he’s going to go look for others like himself. after all, he’s the only surviving indigenous person left in the area surrounding no.6, isn’t he? hmmm.

language-wise... this is my first proper japanese (light) novel so i’m feeling kinda accomplished rn! lol. it was surprisingly not as tough as i had expected. i think the most difficult part was actually reading the quotes at the beginning of each chapter bc it’s in a font that’s so hard to make out.

oh, and again, some parts felt really redundant. i kept wondering if it was a language thing or an author thing. either way, i felt like there were quite a few unnecessary rehashes that could’ve been omitted to improve the pacing. 

sequels, other adaptations...

i’ve not read “beyond” yet, which apparently has sequel-ish bits? i’ve ordered it, it’s on its way, but i have a feeling my impression won’t change that much even after i’ve read it. heck, it might get worse judging by all these lukewarm reviews. i’m definitely gonna see this through to the end, but i’m feeling kinda scared now lol.

i might check out the anime? based on the summaries on wiki, it sounds like quite a lot has been altered, but i’m still curious about the visuals. dunno if i’d wanna check out the manga. if it’s exactly the same as the novels or the anime then maybe not…

oh yeah, their anime/manga versions look quite different to how i imagined them! mine’s closer to the novel covers i guess. especially nezumi. i imagined him with short hair. maybe not all super saiyan like the one below, but yea.

lastly, i just had a good look at all the vol covers and i actually think they look pretty cool! i’m really glad i chose to get this version instead of the bunkobon. i mean, i don’t know if i will ever reread this again, but at least the covers are nice to look at haha.

[inbarfink]

Alrighty, here’s all of my Deltarune theories

1. Deltarune’s central theme\moral question will be something a long the lines of “The free will to do bad things versus the safety of not having the bad choices”. To put it in videogame terms (as Undertale was more concerned with meta-commentary about videogames than real-world implications) “Should a game give you the option to do the evil thing even though you should totally do the good thing?”. The world of Deltarune is... safer than Undertale’s, at least that’s how it looks like. You literally can’t do a Genocide run, you *have* to end your adventure in the Dark World as a ‘Hero’, you have to be good - no matter what you want. It’s safer, since there’s no chance of a Genocide-Timeline, but it’s... oppresively suffocating when you know you have no other option - and kinda creepy to think about the fact that even if you WANT to be a horrible human being, everyone is ignorant to it and thinks you’re a great hero anyway. The world of Deltarune is a world where *nobody* has a choice; the player is railroaded, Kris is controlled against their will, Ralsei argues we *have* to be heroes because of a prophecy, the Darkners were created for a ‘purpose’ so their Free Will might be kinda fucked. The “Pacifist” Ending to the Dark World segment feels like a rushed parody of an Undertale Pacifist Run, complete with going back and talking with all the monsters you befriended. But it feels... deeply unsatisfying because this “Happy Ending” was not caused by your hard choices, but because you just... did as you’re told. Plus, Kris and friends have caused no REAL change in the Dark World the way Frisk changed everything to the Monsters living in the Underground. Sure, there’s a new ruler in Card Kingdom - but the Darkners are still living hidden from Lightners without much hope of having “purpose” again. Meanwhile, in the Light World, the Monsters have lives that... fairly happy and safe - but not quite as happy as they could be in the Undertale True Pacifist Ending. There’s less relationships, less self-improvement, less people-choosing-who-they-want-to-be. No free will robs you of satisfaction and reaching your fullest potential, but on the other hand... is it worth it if it means someone (*eyes the Player*) will use that free will to do evil? Yeah, the Light World is not quite as happy as the True Pacfist Ending - but it is not the only ending Undertale has.

2. There are two main antagonist-forces in the story: The Angel’s Paradise, that force the Delta Warriors are destined to banish and whatever you wanna call the Queen and the Knight and ect. The Angel’s Paradise is responsible for ridding this word of choices, probably for that sort of ‘greater good’ of preventing people from making bad choices (Although, to be thematic, the Angel’s Paradise is also robbed of choice in some way). The Knight and the Queen and company wish to bring choices INTO this world, but like... in a bad way. By destroying and remaking it or something. They would be a metaphor for a frustrated-denied-Genocide-player. But they would also be potrayed sympathetically somewhat because, as mentioned - not having choices sucks.

3. Since the Angel seems to be the center of the religion of Hometown, I think Deltarune will be upping the JPRGness game of Undertale by having Kris literally fight against the God-Figure of their parent’s religion to restore free will to the universe.

4. The Angel’s Religion in the Light World would be very open about the fact that it’s all about personal choices being less important than safety. That’s why Toriel is so religious, valuing safety over freedom was always kinda her thing.

5. I do, at the very least, believe Toby Fox’s claims this is not a direct sequal to Undertale and it doesn’t effect the ending of Undertale that you got in any way. I espacially buy that last part. It’s VERY important to Undertale’s themes that all endings are equally “canon” and whatever one is real depends on the player’s choices and nothing else. I don’t think Toby wants to make either True Pacifist or Genocide or Post-Genocide Pacifist into the “Real Ending”. That hardly means it has to be a totally unrelated AU, however. My money right now is that we’re looking at a stealth prequal. The World of Deltarune is one without choices, by banishing the “Angel’s Paradise” and\or letting the Queen and the Knight destroy and remake the world - they create the world of Undertale, one where there are choices. Although the characters are fearful about existing their safe, railroaded world, they are hopeful this new world would be even better with choices. Although the ending is the “same”, it’s context would be different depending on what you did in Undertale. If you ended with True Pacifist ending, you have proven the hopes the Deltarune people had for the new world correct. If you did a Genocide run, then the Deltarune people just look like dupes and overidealistic fools and you have accidently proven the Angel’s Paradise totally correct about how nobody can be trusted with choices and you’re no better than the Queen whooops. 

6. Undertale tells us the original meaning of the Delta Rune symbol has been lost to time. I’m guessing that although the Underground interpeted as a prophecy of freedom - this was all just conjecture and coincidence on their part. The real meaning will be revealed in Delta Rune, it’s probably the Delta Warriors banishing the Angel’s Paradise (IE, the Undertale World’s creation myth, basically). Question is, why is one of the triangles upside down?

7. Not only do I think Sans might be originally from the Deltarune timeline (and aware of it), I think he might be a Darkner. Implications that Sans might not be originally from neither the Underground or the Surface, and that he might not be a proper Monster - are well-documented in the Undertale fandom (”You must really want to go home. Hey, I know the feeling, buddo.” “look. i gave up trying to go back a long time ago. and getting to the surface doesn't really appeal anymore, either.” The fact that he bleeds, can dodge attack and we don’t ACTUALLY see him turn to dust.) I just never took them super-seriously cause none of the purposed “solutions” made sense to me. Sans as a Darkner, though? Darkners are not originally from the Underground, Lancer’s dialouge implies they can bleed, and we don’t know what happens when *they* die. Not to mention, they can perfectly dodge attacks if they’re ‘On Guard’. ALSO, the most consistent difference between Monsters and Darkners? Monsters have Black-and-White dialouge icons, Darkners have them in full-color. But Sans (and Papyrus) have black-and-white faces. Darkners or Monsters, THEIR PROFILES WOULD LOOK THE SAME. That’s the sort of Hidden-in-Plain-Sight twist Toby Fox is into. Papyrus is almost certainly a Monster, he turns to dust when you kill him and everything. So that would mean Papyrus and Sans are not brothers by blood or something like that. Maybe Sans adopted that little Monster Skeleton Child as his “brother” to keep his Lightner disguise intact and ended up really honestly caring for the guy as his true bro.

8. Speaking of Papyrus? Something is very much up with him being one of the only Undertale Monsters you don’t get to meet. I support the speculation that he might have a radically different personality in that timeline, but also... Sans only mentions hanging out with his “Little Brother”, he never mentioned a name. Could it be that Sans’ brother is not Papyrus? At least not yet? I mean, we still don’t know where Gaster fits into this timeline.

9. I’m betting that Deltarune Asriel is... secretly a jerk. Mostly because: A. Ralsei is an obvious Flowey-Analogue and he’s as sweet as they come so what does that makes of the analoge for Flowey’s sweet alterego. B. Everyone is just so fucking praiseful of the guy some other shoe’s gotta drop C. Deltarune has some real ‘Monkey’s Paw’ vibes in regards to what people wanted out of Undertale 2 (Dark World = Just Undertale Again with Some Terms Switched and Upgraded Gameplay, Light World = Hanging Out with the Post-Pacifist Happy Ending Characters) it only make sense Toby Fox would want to fuck with our desire to see Asriel alive by making him such a radically different (and asshole) person. Kris’ gloomy and antisocial personality might be a result of being bullied by their big brother while nobody notices and assumes Asriel is Just Such a Nice Big Bro and Great and Hot. I’d be bitter too. They could have, like, a sequence that plays on our expecations of Asriel from Undertale. Where at first he comes in and seem as nice and sweet as that other Asriel and the player buys into it too (even though Kris was in a position where he would have recognized it as non-sincere) only for it to be NOOOPE he’s a jerk actually! Why did you fall for his trap Kris you’re the one person who knows how he REALLY is it’s almost like you’re mind-controlled or something? Thankfully, since Asriel was last in town, Kris aquired a new mean purple friend who likes eating faces and doesn’t like mean family members.

10. As for the OTHER Goatson, I don’t think Ralsei is like... secretly sinister or deciving Kris and Susie - but I also don’t think his worldview is as sweet and correct and right all the time. His issue is more... naivete, and being just a bit too comfortable with a lack of choice. (He honestly doesn’t seem to realize why Susie isn’t really into “Well, the prophecy says you’re a chosen one so you MUST be a hero and act nice and stuff). Although he means well, I think more will be called into question about his worldview other than the Pacifism. I am also... kinda expecting the twist that he might not be the Prince from the Dark. Again, not because he lied, but because he was... mistaken. (In the Legend of the Deltarune speia tone thing, the Monster and Human clearly look like Susie and Kris - but the Prince of the Dark only looks like Ralsei because he is wearing a cloak, which is not his default outfit. I feel like this might be relevant). He wanted it to be true cause then he’d get to go on an adventure and be a hero and have friends - so he just convinced himself it’s true. Would he be so okay with following prophecies when he finds out that, like, Lancer or whatever is who’s REALLY supposed to be a hero and friends with Susie and Kris?

11. Also that part about Darkners being made with a ‘purpose’, to ‘serve’ the Lightners... it REALLY creeps me out. Ralsei says Lancer feels good inside about being friends with Kris and Susie because he’s ‘fulfilling his purpose’... Is it possible that maybe all Darkners are just... a little too suggestible to friendship from Lightners? Like the friendship with Lancer seems pretty honest, but maybe all the ‘friendships’ we made with the Darkners we spared had less to do with us just being nice and more about us accidently overriding their free will??? Scary to think about, but it fits with the theme of Restrained for the Greater Good versus Free and Evil. It could also explain the King of Spades’ reaction to Lancer saying the Lightners are his friends, as far as the Spade King knew this was more Mind Control than actual friendship. Maybe the Spade King doesn’t think there’s any way to solve that dilemma but destory all the Lightners so that the Darkners won’t have to worry about that ‘purpose’ shit anymore? He thinks it might be the only way his people could have free will? (Also there’s a real theme here about rejecting railroading by becoming a villain; Spade King being a self-professed ‘Bad Guy’, Susie rejecting the role of the Hero to also become a Bad Guy, probably Kris at the end)

12. As for the ‘purpose’ for which Darkners were created. Well, to be meta, I think they were created to be NPCs for RPGames... sorta. I don’t think the game is gonna use the term outright, but they’ll word it like the Darkners were created to play villains and secondary roles in epic-fantasy-stories Lightners made happen inside their realm. That’s why the Dark World follows RPG Logic closer than the Underground (you can sell items in shops, for example), and why all the Darkners are themed after things like Chess and Checkers and Card Games and Plushies. They were made to be playthings, games. 

I think that’s it for my predictions to what’s gonna happen next in Deltarune, stay tuned to literally none of them being true in any way.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

The Lexicon Issue: A Retrospective

by Dan H

Tuesday, 15 March 2011Dan is up to date as ever~So a little while ago a concerned citizen popped up to say that they (I'd say she from the LJ handle but one doesn't like to presume) felt they should tell me that they had “laughed so hard at my cluelessness” in this article. She/he also kindly provided me with some links to discussions of the case, which I duly read and from which I was forced to conclude that, in the language of this commenter “cluelessness” means “being broadly correct about everything.”

What I objected to at the time was the fact that Rowling's objections were stupid and irrelevant, and people who have a better understanding of the law seemed to agree. There's a rather good list

here

of the various points people brought up at the trial, conveniently broken down into “stuff that is legally relavent” and “stuff that isn't”. You might notice that high up on the list of things that aren't relevant is “how lazy, sloppy or inaccurate JKR considers the Lexicon to be”.

Now this is mostly water under the bridge, the verdict is in – although it's possible there's appeals going on. A lot of people had good reasons to think that the court's rulings were a bit shonky in places (several people with actual law degrees were confused by the fact that the court ruled that the Lexicon wasn't a derivative work) but to be honest I think it all came out right in the wash – some decent analysis

here

sums up the key points pretty well and what it boils down to is “the Lexicon copied too much.”

Ironically, the Lexicon was – as the judge observed – a victim of its own enthusiasm. The basic concept was legitimate but it used too much original language (a good example from one blog is describing the sounds made by the “clankers” - the things that scare away the blind dragon in Deathly Hallows – as “like tiny hammers on anvils”). If Vander Ark had been more willing to mess with the Holy Writ, he'd probably have been absolutely fine.

But mostly, what I want to talk about here is copyright law, because I think it's kinda cool, and I'm kind of on a roll here with articles about stuff I know jack shit about.

Derivative Works

One of the most peculiar things about the Lexicon ruling was that it held that the lexicon was not a derivative work. The basis for this is rather obscure, but it seemed to be that a compilation of information about a work was considered sufficiently transformative that it was not considered a derivative work. This seems reasonable to me, but also seems to conflict with US legal precedent (specifically with

Castle Rock vs Carol Publishing

in which a Seinfeld trivia book was ruled to constitute a derivative work, and therefore to be in violation of copyright).

I suspect that this basically comes down to that old aphorism about laws and sausages. The definition of a derivative work is unclear (and the definition of fair use even more so). The strongest interpretation seems to be that even making reference to copyrighted material makes a work derivative – this seems peculiar to me, unless you're going to argue that “derivative” means “contingent upon the existence of”. This seems to be the logic that held sway in Castle Rock - the court ruled that the “fictional facts” of Seinfeld were protected by copyright. This is a peculiar idea in and of itself and one to which I will return shortly.

Of course the weakest definition of a derivative work – a direct adaptation to another medium – is also unsatisfying. Intuitively, it seems reasonable that fanfiction, for example, be considered derivative (in the legal as well as the literary sense), and certainly few people would dispute the fact that only JK Rowling has the right to produce an eighth Harry Potter book.

Where this becomes problematic is that “derivative work” is actually an extremely powerful term in copyright law. Authors are assumed to have an absolute monopoly on derivative works. This is a big deal – monopolies are generally a bad thing and it's relatively rare for them to be protected by law. Given the stakes, it's entirely predictable that while one court feels that Castle Rock Entertainment has the right to control the production of Seinfeld trivia books, another feels that JK Rowling does not have the general right to control books of information about her fictional world. It's a murky area of law and one with no clear right answers. Most people would – I think – accept that JK Rowling has the right to decide who can make movies out of her books (although Derek Bambauer argues

here

that she shouldn't – at least from an economic perspective) but I suspect most people would also accept that she has no right to decide what people write about her books.

Fictional Facts

One of the strangest aspects of US copyright law I dug up in my recent trawling through the intarwebs was the notion of “fictional facts” - this was a key element in the Castle Rock case, in which it was ruled that authors (or in this case entertainment companies) do retain copyright over matters of fact in their fictional worlds.

I have a policy when it comes to matters of law, which is to assume that if it looks like the law is made of stupid that it's probably covering up something else which is even more made of stupid.

Because on the face of it, the idea of “fictional facts” seems – well it seems pretty made of stupid.

We'll leave aside for now the fact that it's an oxymoron of the highest order, and focus on the weird implications. If I'm understanding the precedent correctly, the statement “Harry Potter is a Wizard” (or for that matter “Dumbledore is Gay”) is protected by copyright, due to its being a “fictional fact” created by JK Rowling. Now most uses of that statement will wind up being protected under fair use but it still seems to be based on the principle that authors (at least in theory) have the right to control information about the contents of their books, which seems perverse.

I don't want to go too far into slippery slope arguments here, but it does strike me that treating “facts” as copyrightable puts spoilers in a difficult legal position. I don't actually think that anybody will ever get sued for spoilering, or that any court in the land would uphold an anti-spoilering case on copyright grounds, but by a strict application of logic, spoilering looks a lot like it breaches copyright. A spoiler consists of the repetition of a fictional fact (which is copyrightable material), the act of spoilering cannot be said to have transformative value (indeed many argue that spoilers detract from the value of the original work), and a case can be made that spoilers directly compete with the author's original product (insofar as a person could, quite reasonably, decide not to read a book or see a film as a result of having been spoilered for it). A sign bearing the legend “Snape Kills Dumbledore” is, in essence, a derivative work which – since it consists only of copyrighted material repeated without commentary – may not be protected by fair use.

Again I should clarify that I don't necessarily think this is a problem. In America at least, a Snape-Kills-Dumbledore sign would be protected by freedom of expression, and the constitution trumps copyright last time I checked, but it does highlight some of the weirder implications of this idea of “fictional facts”. I also suspect that the distinction between a “fictional fact” and a – for want of a better term - “factual fact” is a narrow one. Part of the reason that the Castle Rock ruling went against the defendants seemed to be that their Trivia book had focused exclusively on episode content and not on questions about (for example) the cast or sets – such questions would clearly have been matters of factual fact and not protected by copyright. So perhaps what it boils down to is that while “Dumbledore is Gay” is a fictional fact protected by copyright, “JK Rowling declared in interview that Dumbledore was gay” is a factual fact and therefore fair game. This seems like a silly distinction, but it probably matters rather a lot.

For a start, people will in fact pay for fictional facts. One of the biggest points against the Lexicon back in 2008 was the fact that it had reproduced a lot of information from Quidditch Through the Ages and – that one about magical beasts the name of which I can't be bothered to look up – both of which were sold primarily as books of fictional information. The fact is that people do like to know More Stuff about fictional realities, and they will pony up real cash to find out More Stuff. The Harry Potter Lexicon does tell the reader a lot of Stuff about the Wizarding World, and much as I hate to admit it, some people really do read novels purely or primarily to acquire facts about a secondary reality (I think these people are culturally moribund, but they seem to exist) so from a certain point of view it does make sense to see the “fictional facts” of the Potterverse as having value and requiring protection.

On top of this, if “fictional facts” are not protected, then it becomes very difficult to see how the law protects authors from things like unauthorised sequels. If “Harry Potter is a Wizard” is not on some level protected by copyright, then it becomes difficult to see why I cannot write a book about a Wizard called Harry Potter with as much impunity as I could write a book about, say Napoleon Bonaparte or Abraham Lincoln. If we accept the (seemingly common sense) idea that the basic facts of fictional settings should be fair game for use and commentary we tacitly allow people to recreate other people's work from whole cloth. If I have unlimited license to refer to the facts of somebody else's creation, then in practice I have unlimited license to reproduce their work (since after all, any text is just information about the content of that text).

All of this leads to a rather difficult situation. Copyrighting facts seems dangerously close to copyrighting ideas (which would be a terrible, terrible precedent), but not copyrighting facts seems dangerously close to not copyrighting anything.

Who is Copyright For Anyway

Copyright is one of those areas of law that everybody thinks they understand but in fact nobody does. Intuitively we all get it. You create something, it's yours and you get to control it. A lot of people take this as a kind of moral axiom: these are the people who literally believe that JKR has the right to call the shots in all things Potter related, be it the production of reference guides, Dumbledore's sexuality, or whether or not Snape was redeemed. This is the “it's her world, we're just playing in it” doctrine.

The thing is that this is a naïve approach to the law. We can't just say “playing with other people's toys is naughty, so ban it”. Copyright exists for quite important economic reasons and, contrary to popular belief, those reasons have comparatively little to do with stopping people from bootlegging stuff.

Copyright is generally considered necessary because in a perfectly competitive marketplace, the price of any good tends towards its marginal cost of production, the price of creating one more unit. As long as you can sell a unit of a good for more than you spent to make it, you should and somebody will. This works great for bananas, coffee tables, bricks and door handles, but it doesn't work so great for books, music and video games. The marginal cost of producing a copy of a book is very small indeed (and the marginal cost of producing a copy of an ebook is effectively zero). If authors were not allowed a monopoly over their work, they wouldn't be able to sell it, because any price they could sell it for, somebody else could sell it cheaper.

Just to be clear here, this very much isn't about piracy. Piracy is a crime (well actually it's probably a tort, but let's not split hairs here) and crimes, sort of by definition aren't prevented by the law. Copyright doesn't stop people illegally reproducing copyrighted material because, well duh. FACT and its associated bodies would have you believe that Copyright Is Good because it Protects Authors from Bad People. This is stuff and nonsense. Copyright is good because it protects publishers from other, better funded publishers.

Consider: you are Bloomsbury, on the verge of bankruptcy you discover a promising children's author by the name of Rowling. These books get inexplicably popular. You celebrate.

Consider: You are every other publishing company in the world. You notice that Ms Rowling's books are getting extremely popular, you also notice that Bloomsbury, having paid the author an advance, paid the salaries of editors and proofreaders, hired cover artists and so on, has incurred a great many costs which you can avoid, simply by taking their product and reproducing it (using the resources which, as a large and established publishing company, you most certainly possess). The resulting competition drives down prices, which is fine for you but not so great for the company that has paid the substantial setup costs. Every other publisher in the world makes a tidy profit, Bloomsbury goes bust.

Worse, nobody wants to pick up the option on the next book in the series, because everybody knows that their competitors can sell flawless copies of the book more cheaply than they themselves can afford to sell them. Even if JK Rowling wanted to sell her next book, nobody would buy it, because everybody would know that whoever published first would incur large costs for little reward (this is true even given the substantial first-day sales for popular books, many ordinary customers would rather wait a couple of weeks and pay half the price).

Conventional publishing and distribution models are founded on the notion of copyright. The problem is not, as many assume, that people wouldn't write books if they weren't sure they'd make a lot of money from it. Thousands, probably millions of people are working on novels right now with no guarantee of financial reward. Thousands of people put their work online for free as a matter of course, and an awful lot of people actually pay vanity publishers for the pleasure of seeing their work in print. Copyright isn't there to reassure authors that they'll be paid, it's there to reassure publishers that they'll recoup their losses.

Now of course you can argue that the conventional distribution model for novels and the like is inherently broken because, well take your pick, information should be free, corporations shouldn't tell us what to like, whatever. Speaking personally, though, I actually have a lot of faith in the conventional models of publishing, at least for the mass market. Indie and self-publishing is great for niche materials (the indie-RPG industry, for example, works well because it services a small community and everything it puts out is effectively peer reviewed by the community it serves) but not so great for novels and the like. Anecdotal evidence

here at Ferretbrain

supports the observation that self-published books really are less good than those that are published conventionally.

The public interest is generally served by allowing authors, and by extension publishers, to control distribution of their work. This means that the commercial interests of publishing companies are served by seeking out high quality authors (allowing them exclusive control of a valuable resource) rather than by seeking out more efficient means of distribution (allowing them to better exploit the resources developed by others). It is not so easy to see how the public interest is served by allowing authors to control derivative works, particularly if the term is defined so broadly as to include things like reference guides. Put simply, I do not believe that one single person has ever been dissuaded from writing a novel by the fear that somebody might write a reference guide to it at some point in the future. Nor do I believe that any publisher has ever refused to publish a book on such grounds.

From this perspective, derivative works rights are a lot harder to justify. While it feels intuitively right that you shouldn't be able to make Harry Potter tie-in material without JKR's say-so, it's not immediately clear why: sure it might make her upset, but “it will upset people” is generally not a good reason for legislation. A hard economic argument would say that if there is a market for something, and the production of that thing will not be generally detrimental to the public good, then people should be allowed to make that thing. Ultimately, shouldn't it be up to the Invisible Hand to decide whether – say – a fan-made guide to a fictional setting is worth producing? This might lead to a market inundated with trashy cash-ins, but if there's a market for trashy cash-ins then those cash-ins have real economic value. Of course they might harm the value of the individual property but to my (admittedly limited) understanding, that becomes a trademark rather than a copyright issue (I can't go around putting the coca-cola logo on things, but that isn't because it's copyright, it's because it's a trademark which is a subtly different thing).

This article doesn't really have a conclusion beyond “good lord copyright law is complicated and unintuitive”. I shall end, therefore, by sharing the irrelevant tidbit that “uncopyrightables” is the longest word in the English language which uses all of its letters exactly once.Themes:

J.K. Rowling

,

Topical

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Arthur B

at 15:40 on 2011-03-15

One of the strangest aspects of US copyright law I dug up in my recent trawling through the intarwebs was the notion of “fictional facts” - this was a key element in the Castle Rock case, in which it was ruled that authors (or in this case entertainment companies) do retain copyright over matters of fact in their fictional worlds.

This is indeed an oddity, and to be honest I think it's something that could happily have been avoided. UK law has evaded this by and large by looking at the work done by the producer of a copyright work, and considering how much the person producing the allegedly infringing work is freeloading off that.* In the case of someone writing a book, the effort involved entails

does

entail cooking up a bunch of fictional facts if you're writing fiction or researching a bunch of actual facts if you're writing nonfiction, but the key isn't whether you've replicated the same facts so much as whether you're using someone else's brainstorming or research to make your own job easier.

Two cases which help illustrate the point are Ravenscroft v Herbert and the Da Vinci Code case. In Ravenscroft v Herbert, James Herbert lost because

The Spear

was found to have infringed the copyright on a pseudoscientific book of kook history by Trevor Ravenscroft about the Spear of Longinus, because he took the narrative presented by Ravenscroft in the book and used it as the basis for the background and prologue of his novel. How Ravenscroft came up with his facts (a mixture of conjecture and psychic mediumship, as it turned out) wasn't relevant: the fact was that Ravenscroft had put in all this effort to put together this narrative which he put forward as being nonfictional, and then Herbert had simply taken that narrative and copied it wholesale without attribution or permission to get the basis for his novel.

In the Da Vinci Code case, on the other hand, the guys who wrote

The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail

sued Dan Brown on a similar basis and lost because they didn't show that Brown was freeloading off their work - the court deciced that he wasn't simply taking their narrative and replicating it in the book, but was using those facts and combined them with others (from other sources and of his own invention) to come up with his own work.

The point is that the "fictional facts" - or nonfictional facts - aren't the issue, the issue at stake is the effort that authors put into obtaining/inventing those facts and stringing them together. The Castle Rock guys would have probably lost in the UK too because all they did to make their trivia book was to pick answers out of the scripts and they didn't really put in much in the way of original effort of their own. Rowling can't sue you for making a sign saying "Snape Kills Dumbledore" because the amount of effort it actually took her to come up with that fact is trivial. A sign with extensive quotes from the actual death scene? Now you're talking.**

* This is also relevant to derivative works. If Vander Ark was writing all the text in all the entries in the Lexicon from scratch then it would have been extremely unlikely that Rowling would have been able to make anything stick if she'd sued in the UK. If he directly copy-pasted great swathes of her text, he'd be obviously trying to make a quick buck when she in fact had put in almost all of the work in producing the text in the first place. Obviously there's a big grey area between those extremes, which is why these cases are decided by judges and not machines, but one of the considerations would be how heavily Vander Ark relied on the effort Rowling originally put in. If he wasn't very, very clear about where he was quoting from the original text and where he was making up his own stuff that'd probably also count against him.

** It's actually interesting whether you'd fall down on copyright if you wrote a book about a wizard who happened to be called Harry Potter but who didn't actually have that much in common with the actual Harry aside from the name. Also academic, since Rowling would have a much easier time suing you for "passing off" - because you wouldn't be freeriding on the effort she'd put into establishing her characters and setting so much as you'd be trying to freeride on the reputation she had established surrounding the Harry Potter name.

the constitution trumps copyright last time I checked

Actually, it doesn't.

The Constitution in article 1, section 8 empowers Congress to, amongst a whole lot of other things, "promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries". Granted, the First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech and of the press too, but both copyright and free speech are conceptually enshrined in the Constitution; neither can necessarily trump the other. (Also the "limited Times" bit is getting increasingly laughable...)

Copyright is one of those areas of law that everybody thinks they understand but in fact nobody does.

In my professional experience the better someone understands the copyright system, the more embarrassed they are by it. At the moment it is a complete shambles.

Also, bravo for coming up with the best explanation of copyright I've ever seen from a non-IP professional. I'll have to kill you to protect the Guild's aura of mystery but I'll keep it painless. :)

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http://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/

at 23:41 on 2011-03-15

While it feels intuitively right that you shouldn't be able to make Harry Potter tie-in material without JKR's say-so, it's not immediately clear why

Maybe this is a case where it's more similar to a trademark: too many fictional works set in the Potterverse by people other than Rowling could constitute "brand dilution" or however they explain that. Although I'm trying to remember how it works for fictional characters/locations - you can have a cartoon mouse, but you can't make your own Mickey Mouse movie even if you give him entirely different adventures from his Disney* original, because the totality of the character is copyrighted. Or possibly trademarked. I'm not sure which. *really should remember this since I know I learned it*

*Speaking of the limited times bit "getting increasingly laughable..." Disney really, really doesn't want any of their copyrights to expire. And what a coincidence - copyright duration keeps getting extended, and Mickey is still private domain! This makes it even funnier that someone has made an educational film about copyright and fair use entirely composed of Disney clips:

A Fair(y) Use Tale

.

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Dan H

at 18:21 on 2011-03-16@Arthur

Actually, it doesn't.

And the ironic thing is, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. I think it's just that "the constitution trumps copyright" sounded punchier than "the American judicial system is generally pretty strongly invested in the idea of free speech, such that it seems unlikely that they would uphold the precedent that spoilering constitutes a breach of copyright, even though it might be argued to under current legal precedents."

@sunnyskywalker

*Speaking of the limited times bit "getting increasingly laughable..." Disney really, really doesn't want any of their copyrights to expire.

Yeah, so I've observed. It's difficult because I can sort of see that even really old copyrights do definitely have a *value* for Disney - the question is whether it's in the public interest for Disney to retain those copyrights.

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Arthur B

at 18:38 on 2011-03-16

And the ironic thing is, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. I think it's just that "the constitution trumps copyright" sounded punchier than "the American judicial system is generally pretty strongly invested in the idea of free speech, such that it seems unlikely that they would uphold the precedent that spoilering constitutes a breach of copyright, even though it might be argued to under current legal precedents."

To be fair it is kind of an oddity because the First Amendment says that Congress absolutely isn't allowed to curtail freedom of the press, but then the powers it does invest Congress with to give authors copyright protection can't exactly be exercised or enforced without curtailing freedom of the press. It's almost like the Founding Fathers were fallible human beings who were kind of making it up as they were going along or something.

There is probably precedent law I'm not aware of which settles the contradiction.

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Dan H

at 23:09 on 2011-03-16Presumably a big part of it is that "freedom of the press" is quite hard to define. I mean you could argue that requiring journalists to have any kind of ethical standards at all goes against freedom of the press.

I suppose the thing about it is that "freedom of the press" is all about the government not being able to stop particular stories or ideas from being published, there's a big difference between that, and trying to stop them from being published by *specific people*. I mean it's not censorship for the law to prevent newspapers from publishing articles which have been copied directly from other newspapers.

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http://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/

at 17:54 on 2011-03-17I guess that goes back to the debate over whether stopping people from shouting "fire!" in a crowded theater is not really restricting freedom of speech in some technical sense, or whether it is but it's an okay kind of restriction. If one newspaper copies another's articles verbatim, then stopping them doesn't actually kill the articles - they're still out there in the original publication. And sense it wasn't the copier's speech in the first place, their speech isn't being restricted. Or something.

One of the complicating factors with Disney is the person vs. corporation issue. It's much easier to see how an author benefits from a copyright which lasts for a certain percentage of his or her lifetime (or, if it's "life plus x years," the family can pay funeral costs, I suppose). Since individuals have limited lifespans, it's easier to grasp what might be a reasonable limit for copyright. It's a lot less clear when the copyright holder is a corporation which could exist indefinitely, other than "well, it would be better for the public for it to expire... sometime..." Although if they're legally supposed to be treated much like people, then they'll just have to suck up losing their copyright after 120 years max.

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Robinson L

at 15:15 on 2011-06-01

Speaking personally, though, I actually have a lot of faith in the conventional models of publishing, at least for the mass market.

Fair enough Dan, but I don't think much of your reasoning, as evidenced by this article.

Anecdotal evidence here at Ferretbrain supports the observation that self-published books really are less good than those that are published conventionally.

For the purposes of argument, I'll agree self-publishing tends to foster terrible writing a lot more than professional publishing. On the other hand, we've had plenty of evidence here at Ferretbrain that professional publishing also tends to foster terrible writing (check the first theme handle on this article). Professional publishing is less prone to it, but surely we can do better than this.

I'll go one step further. In response to one negative review of “Deathly Hallows” (I think it might've been Mike Smith's recap) somebody posted a link to a guy relating a conversation about editing. Basically, Party A argued that Stephen King's writing has gone to shit in recent years (anecdotal evidence

here at Ferretbrain

supports this observation) and that a good editor could make it much better. Party B rejoins that a good editor isn't going to touch a big name author because they'll rake in the cash anyway, and an editor's meddling might make the author sell less (or might coincide with the author's loss of popularity), or might piss the author off and convince them to take their business elsewhere. So now we have an example of a situation where the professional publishing system as it stands now actively blocks improvement rather than just enabling mediocrity.

Self-publishing obviously is not an improvement, but surely there's another possible system which could do better?

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Dan H

at 15:59 on 2011-06-01

On the other hand, we've had plenty of evidence here at Ferretbrain that professional publishing also tends to foster terrible writing (check the first theme handle on this article). Professional publishing is less prone to it, but surely we can do better than this.

Except that there's actually a world of difference between bad professionally published literature, and bad self-published fiction. Very little professionally published fiction is *actually incompetent* in the way that self-published fiction so often is. J.K. Rowling actually *isn't* that bad a writer - she's written a great many books that I personally dislike, and her writing is often pedestrian, frequenly overwrought and on very rare occasions actively clunky, but it is still genuinely head and shoulders above the vast, vast majority of amateur fiction.

The fact that somebody once said that Steven King had gone downhill and that somebody else suggested that this was because he'd got too big to edit is not evidence of any flaws in the publishing industry.

Once again, I'm very, very leery of any argument which assumes that popular things are only popular because the people who buy them are stupid sheeple. The publishing industry is not broken just because things I don't like are sometimes more popular than things I do like.

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Arthur B

at 16:10 on 2011-06-01@Robinson: If you think another system would work better would you care to propose one? I'd argue that the number of authors who, like King and Rowling, could pretty much dictate terms to their publishers are in fact quite small. And the reason they got that way in the first place was that they gave the reading public what they wanted.

The problem isn't instituting a system which prevents crap books from being published, because you can't, not in a way which isn't totalitarian. The problem, as a reader, is in tracking down books which you personal would enjoy and want to read. The world of professional publication is actually quite good at helping you do that, because publishing houses want to target the books they publish at those sections of the public who'll pay money for them, and even if your particular niche isn't catered to by the major publishing houses there will be niche small press publishers who are more than happy to crank out the sort of book you want. And on top of that, the more widely distributed a book is, the more likely it is that you'll have reviews to use as a guide.

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Robinson L

at 00:00 on 2011-06-02Okay Dan,

that

strikes me as a more compelling argument. I'm not really interested in arguing the the merits of the current publishing industry versus a hypothetical alternative model – I just found your argument as presented in the article rather unconvincing. Thank you for clarifying.

[applekitty]

ive noticed that a LOT of fanfics that try to redeem dedede really dont try. like its not like the author is lazy but the way its executed is

i have never read a fic wherein dedede is given a satisfactory redemption arc, he’s usually just nice from the beginning and very flat with the same personality every other ‘game’ dedede has, basically just ‘i am loud, i’m not mean or cruel im just loud and also im very sassy and a dad dont mess with me im epic’ which seems at first like it might substitute for his evil nature but it doesn’t

or he’s just really outrageously stupid, which is more anime dedede. 

i do agree with you, though i think dedede in and of himself is a hard character to do perfectly ‘correctly’. because when it comes to game canon, there is no correct way to write him. because dedede has no personality. he has hints of personality. which is not replacement for a personality. you are left entirely to your own devices when it comes to dedede’s flaws and his entire mindset in general, because canon supports absolutely everything you could ever put onto his canvas. i could say dedede is a hostile matriarch with no care for anyone other than himself and his kingdom and it’d be supported, because the only times dedede has been forced to act out of good is to defend his planet from something (potentially, in magolor’s case) hostile. or i could say he’s just a cozy uwu dad who’s done some wrong but he’s fluffy and cute nao and canon would sort of shakingly support that.

i went out a LOT about this on the hnk discord server. i’ll leave the entire transcript below but it’s about how people write game canon / why i don’t read game canon fics / the intrinsic, EXTREME difficulty with writing game canon fics. had this convo with @sociallyunacceptableorb , @toon-kirby , and azuranaito

i’ll tl;dr it here but: the reason why game fics seem a little strange while going in is because the games themselves lack a solid personality for the characters. fanon personality exists for them, and usually when writers write for them, they step in such a way which may not align with you, the viewer’s expectations of the fanon personality. it may seem inherently unsatisfying, to you, but for others, it’s very satisfying. the status of game canon and fandom canon makes it harder for you to be satisfied by the fanfics you read unless they are very surface level, boring sorts of fanfics. 

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:40 PM

kitty’s opinion time

most writers cannot go without incorporating the anime in some regard to kirby content due to how much the anime had bled into the interpretations of the games. people will write spanish meta knight as a game thing, people will write kirby being babyish / saying poyo being a game thing, as well as dedede being southern a game thingthe writers who decry the anime as bad / only good ‘at the time’ yet use anime personalities / interpretations make me lul extremely.(edited)

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:44 PM

Galaxia was from the anime.

Girlaxia was from 4Kids.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:45 PM

kirby saying ‘poyo’ is an anime thing, galaxia is an anime thing, to pick and choose from the anime shows that the games and their lack of writing cannot stand on its own without having to take from the very franchise that’s being decryed to help a worse written franchise

(edited)

no writing / intrigue writing ≠ good writing

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:47 PM

To be fair, it’s probably for the best that anime bleeds into the games or else we’d be stuck with oceans of edgelordery KIRBY IS EVUL AND EATS INNOCENT LIVES… though that’s already on AO3.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:47 PM

looks at matpat

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:48 PM

He ignores all canon to make people mad on purpose.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:48 PM

honestly if removing anime canon / anime’s bleed into the video game’s interpretation = writers to go 'KIRBY EVUL’ then idk what to say other than lul

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:49 PM

I mean, I don’t think the games writing is shit, but I also don’t trust edgy people with Void Termina.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:50 PM

i think saying 'game writing > anime writing’ is just blatantly.. wrongbecause that’s just saying 'little to no writing so that way you can focus on gameplay > a literal 22 episode made for television with themes and lessons’

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:51 PM

Oh! Yeah, that I agree on.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:51 PM

i also dont trust edgelords with kirby or void honestly

or any kirby characters

i dont trust edelords period

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:51 PM

I thought you were saying that all game lore was trash.

It’s crumbs.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:51 PM

i used to be one and i made EVERYTHING baaad

it’s comparing crumbs to a loaf of bread

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:52 PM

“Well, I hate pumpernickel! So the entire loaf is bad!”

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:52 PM

uerGHERUG

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:53 PM

“But you haven’t even eaten it.”“IT’S BAD.”…this metaphor is getting lost.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:53 PM

honestly it’s why i just.. dont read game fics, because there’s little to no ground for writers to stand on and write stuff with

things get too wild and they feel just.. weird ig

i dont know how to put it into words, really

AzuraLast Wednesday at 12:54 PM

That kinda makes me mad with what happened with one of my friends. People got onto her for crossing the anime and games together, which, when she wrote it, it wasn’t bad at all, but because the anime was involved people wanted to bitch at her for it.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:54 PM

interps of game canon are based purely off the person who writes it and all the people reading said thing all have different interpretations which inherently makes reading a game fic unsatisfying and ooc for you personally because your hc filled in the void the game left differently than the authors did. but for the writer it is ic.(edited)

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 12:55 PM

Like gijinka fic?

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:56 PM

reading mirror fics also, inherently, can be unsatsifying i think

for the same reasons

people have so many different interps of how mirror world works that reading anything about it, just on its core basis that the author uses to define a 'mirror world’ can feel unsatisfactory

gijinka as well suffers from this

AzuraLast Wednesday at 12:57 PM

My friend didn’t write gijinka. But she self projected quite a bit onto Meta; her HC for him was that he was an engineer trained under Haltmann.Which also ended up writing out the actual irl problems her major has which is an aerospace engineering.Hoo boy, with the Mirror World, there’s no clear line with it but the majority is usually edgy.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 12:58 PM

people have different interps, and because of how the western world works, we all think our interpretation is the best we can possibly have. usually when we read things we suspend our disbelief, and when it comes to kirby fics, game fics, gijinka fics, i don’t think people can really.. deeply get involved in them.it’s a problem fics i suppose in general have. but it’s especially bad for game canon writers, or gijinka writers.people have hugely different adaptations of the same subject. with the anime there’s clearly written rules and characters defined over the course of 100 episodes. there’s a clear cut story with lots of dialogue and content there to be tackled. but even still, it can be interpreted differently by different people because thats how life works. only the existence of a canon episode cannot be refuted; a fic can be

game canon is harder to do because yes you have the games, and a lot of them, but there is no writing. it is all gameplay. which means that personalities and dialogue and whatever else is not the focus. people can have extremely varying interpretations of canon because of this, which is what intrinsically makes game canon harder to write for. with anime canon it’s easier to write closer to canon because there is a clear cut one. but with game canon, there is no clear cut canon.

AzuraLast Wednesday at 1:02 PM

That’s also why so many people also freak out about all the supposed lore the games have, right?

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:02 PM

the lore in games is very open ended is the thing, so it leads to people’s speculation and very different extrapolations of the lore and canon, yes

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:03 PM

Yup! It adds to their own things; it’s satisfying less for the confirmation and more for the new content to tinker with.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:03 PM

kirby is very, VERY dry in terms of story telling in the games, so any piece of lore given is EXTREMELY important for content creators / theorists(edited)

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:04 PM

I can’t really fault people who build off lore since it’s such a personal thing. Other people get huffy and whine about them “not really appreciating the game” but I find it is appreciation, just in a different fashion. It goes downhill once people get childish and argumentative, though.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:05 PM

the thing is people can also do that ^ for the anime too

remember that one server you were talking about in #newbie-chat

lol

in the end we are the people going 'you are not appreciating the anime right and the way you write for the games is going to intrinsically be unsatisfying unless you go onto the crutch of anime lore'i do anime/game fusion because i know the games can’t stand on their own

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:08 PM

Aheh. But of course.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:08 PM

[snobbish laughter]

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:08 PM

I actually don’t for the same reason. It feels cheap, like I’m forcing a square peg into a round hole.The barebones of the games doesn’t mesh with the backstory of the games that well for me.

StarRodPiplupLast Wednesday at 1:09 PM

So, like, if I wrote a fic with a sentient Galaxia, and then threw the rest of anime canon in the trash, it wouldn’t be cool?

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:09 PM

it’d be relying on the anime canon in some regard, showing that the game canon can’t hold its own

StarRodPiplupLast Wednesday at 1:09 PM

Too many plot holes

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:10 PM

it would be a tad bit jarring, at least in my opinion because im the local brutal 4kids anime stan

but for other people it wouldnt be, i’m just a person with too much time to complain about kirby

StarRodPiplupLast Wednesday at 1:11 PM

I’ve been really curious if “a nightmare of a galactic crisis” was just a coincidence or a deliberate lore inspired word choice, hence why I’ve steered away from capitalist idiot nightmare….it’s fun to write him like that though.

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:11 PM

Also, if it’s a prequel… where the hell does Tiff go? The Cappies? Cappy Town? Dedede just abandons everybody for no reason and there’s a fountain powered by something that Kirby had to create by eating?

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:11 PM

schrodingers cappytown

AzuraLast Wednesday at 1:12 PM

I would like to know my own headcanons give my own appreciation to both the anime and the games. Games can’t stand alone with their bare bones and the anime can always be expanded upon. Nothing wrong with having fun while writing, that’s all it is, isn’t it?

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:13 PM

honestly i think the best way to write kirby stuff is anime/game fusions

i wonder if it’s because thats what i write HMMMMMMEIUGUIERGHERG

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:13 PM

I fuse. I go by manga lore.

Novel, whatever.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:13 PM

novel lore or bust

AzuraLast Wednesday at 1:14 PM

I fuse because it feels the most natural for me.

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:14 PM

Because the novels actually build on it! They don’t pop backstory in everywhere! It’s just a Kirby game with more explanations for stuff in it!

StarRodPiplupLast Wednesday at 1:14 PM

I just wanna write about an evil vampiric wizard for some reason

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:14 PM

the games do need something to help them, i believe. when it comes to content creation of the purely fic type, anywayscourtesycalling does great one-shot comics and what not, they do game lore to the t because their comics are.. well.. oneshots. they’re satisfying by themselves

anyways i’ve got a lot of feelings on people decrying the anime as bad or cool to hate then taking things from the anime and putting it into game lore. that’s mostly what this is about

AzuraLast Wednesday at 1:17 PM

It seems kind of hypocritical in a sense too, doesn’t it?“Oh, I hate the anime but love the games but I’ll piss on the anime as I write my fic because even though I love the games I need to strong bones of the anime to hold me up as I write my fic.”

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:18 PM

yeah that’s sorta what im on about here thank you for summarizing it for me

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:18 PM

Yep! I joke about it a lot myself.Especially people using 4kids voices when they say 4Kids is trash.

AzuraLast Wednesday at 1:18 PM

Same, all it seems to be is a freaking joke.

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:18 PM

Sorry for turning this into a Steven Universe-esque debate thread.

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:19 PM

i instigated it

:v

Garlude Smoocher (Shirley)Last Wednesday at 1:19 PM

:v

chingkittycatLast Wednesday at 1:19 PM

it’s an interesting thread anyways so

[jastiss-blog]

Holiday Treat - older Ignis x fem!reader x Noctis NSFW

This was supposed to be a smol Christmas trash fic.  It’s not.  It sits around 6k words of some plot, some Ignis x fem!reader and Ignis x fem!reader x Noctis.

Threesome, sharing, oral, unprotected sex, competitive Noct and Iggy, I guess there’s an orgasm delay there too.  Happy holidays, y’all!

Fuck, I forgot a read more.  Edited because this is a beast.

@hypaalicious I think you might like this?  Hopefully. lol maybe @atarostarling, @sonsoflucis I don’t know who likes what anymore, I’m guessing.

Gods, rebuilding a city is rough.

Perhaps if you had been a ordinary civilian, you could focus on your own life, creating new memories to wash away the horrors of the Endless Night.  You wouldn’t be spending nigh twelve-hour days in meetings with folks just like you: exhausted, overworked, underfed and yet… determined.  Insomnia was your home, and you were all eager to see it restored to its former glory, a glittering gem at the heart of your beloved country.  It just… felt like you had to put it through a hell of a rock tumbler, one that was shaking up your brain enough to give you a concussion.

However, through your education and connections to the throne, you were all but required in the meetings held by the new council of Insomnia.  Another day finished, you decide to sneak down to see your love, perhaps convince him to find a place to eat tonight instead of taking time to prepare a meal.  

The problem isn’t that you don’t enjoy his meals, rather, it’s quite the opposite.  However, with all the efforts funneled into rebuilding, the two of you have been little more than passing ships for weeks, and it’s become rather tiresome.  You miss him.  You miss early morning cuddles before he rises to brew his first pot of Ebony, the languid kisses of dawn.  You miss sharing the morning news, competing to see who can finish the brain teasers the quickest.  

If you’re honest with yourself, you miss the intimacy the most.  Heat pools in your lower abdomen as your mind unhelpfully supplies a flash back to the last time he sunk himself into your willing heat and you clench your thighs, teeth gritting against the wave of arousal that spikes through you at the vivid memory.

“Not helpful,” you growl to your traitorous body, making for the door.  

His office is two floors down, and you take the journey to calm the heat rushing through your veins, focusing instead on the rumbling in your stomach.  Idly, you wonder if you even ate at all today…

Stealthily, you ease the heavy door open, intending to catch your man unawares for a change.  It’s a difficult thing, being that his career and life have literally revolved around being the single most observant man in all of Lucis.  To your surprise, he doesn’t call you out right away, a lilting smirk upon scarred lips signaling his amusement that you thought you could actually sneak up on him.  In fact, he doesn’t greet you at all.

Not with his face, at any rate.

Instead, you’re graced with the view of the backsides of the two most attractive men in Lucis, their owners hunched over documentation on the ebony desk before them, discussing the state of the world outside of the Lucian borders.

You’re torn between wanting to laugh at Noctis, all grown up and discussing matters of state as if he were deciding his lunch menu and flash of extreme arousal that surges through you at the sight of two perfectly sculpted, battle- toned asses on display for your viewing pleasure.  While Ignis’ was one you had the opportunity to ogle often (and you took that opportunity whenever possible), Noct was another story.

After committing the sight to memory, you cough delicately to announce your presence.

“Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty,” you apologize.  “Should I come back later?”

A dreamlike state blankets the room as they straighten slowly and gaze in your direction.  Ignis regards you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to associate with him; kindness, dancing mirth and something darker, carnal.  Something feels different about the quirk of his lips this day, and perhaps it’s because of the way the King's eyes land upon you.

Gooseflesh breaks out over your exposed skin as you note the hint of magenta madness in the Lucian monarch's sapphire eyes, a gorgon’s gaze casting you to stone.  It takes you a few moments too long to realize you left a few of your buttons undone to tease Ignis, a detail the King certainly doesn’t miss as his ardent eyes flick to your bosom and back.

“Not at all, Y/N,” he practically purrs, a devilish smirk about his lips for but a second before his face turns calm, welcoming.  “We're about finished for the day.  All of us are exhausted; no sense in beating a dead horse.  Right, Specs?”

“Astrals, Noct, had you but come up with such a novel idea hours ago before my brain reduced to flan ooze,” the advisor answered wryly.  “You are correct, though.  I feel at this point, rest would leave us far more productive than discussing this topic while running on empty.” Noct heaves a great sigh, leveling a smirk at his most trusted friend.  “If you wanted a day off, all you had to do is ask.  I guess I’ve no choice but to adjourn the meetings tomorrow morning.”

Ignis looks to you, deadpan.  “And so 20-year-old Noct decides to make an appearance.  Highness, we are not taking a day off because you somehow still hate mornings after ten years of rest.”

When Noct chuckles, slapping a hand on Ignis’ shoulder in mirth, the rich sound sends a jolt to your core.  You try your best to ignore your reaction, but Ignis' keen gaze is still upon you and you’re damn sure he’s noticed.  Cloudy vision hasn’t hindered his perception one iota, much to your chagrin.  You sigh; you’ve got enough problems in life without lusting after your partner's best friend.

“A joke, Iggy, relax,” Noct assures him.  “I’ve got matters to discuss with Camelia about the rebuild efforts in Accordo; she seems to think we owe her a great deal although I do not recall that being part of our terms.  Gladio’s accompanying me for that so that you can avoid any painful memories that may remain.

“Anyway!  Y/N, come here.  I have something that I need a woman’s opinion on.”

As you approach the desk to assist your liege, he gestures to a document upon it, drawing you in to have a look.  Neither man shifts to accommodate your presence, forcing you to wedge yourself between them.  You gulp, hoping your body doesn't make a fool of you this day.

“A Christmas party!” he explains, a boyish smile cracking his face.  It reminds you of the lazy prince that was before he entered the crystal all those years ago.  “Christmas is almost here and I thought I’d celebrate and open the Citadel to the public to relax.  Everyone has worked to the bone lately and deserves it.”

His enthusiasm has brought him practically on top of you.  He motions to the plans for the party, turning to you and taking your arm.

“What do you think?” he asks, and there it is again, something in his eyes and your knees wobble.  

His eyes shine, their depths showing the young boy Ignis describes having grown up with, so small and full of life.  Warring with the childish glee lurks the darkened desires of a world-weary man, the juxtaposition sending you reeling.

“Ah, I think it’s a lovely idea, Your Highness,” you remark, your voice breathy.  Was it getting warm in the room?

A subtle tug on your arm draws you back to your senses and you turn to face Ignis, a small scowl about his typically passive face.  You mentally berate yourself; you'd be mad as hell if you had just caught Ignis in the position you were in with another female.  The thought jars you enough to force you to control your baser needs.  After all, Ignis is the rock in your life and you aren't about to erode it away in a careless moment with the King.

"Well then, we'll be taking our leave," Ignis announces, giving Noct a small bow.  "I will see you when you return."

Though the Lucian King sighs dramatically, putting on a show for the blond's sake, his eyes remained fixed upon yours, intense, and did not break until forced.

~~~

"Darling, you seemed rather... ah, distracted earlier," Ignis comments over dinner.  

That's it.  You know you're in trouble at that point, for although the comment itself is innocent, aloof, his eyes belie the brevity of the situation.

"Indeed," you agree.  "Overworked, exhausted, just like anyone else.  You know how it is."

Emerald eyes meet yours, the milkiness of them unable to mask his suspicions.  A selfish part of you almost wished he didn't receive partial vision back upon destruction of the Ring of the Lucii that you may avoid the situation you've found yourself in.

"Ah, well, the King is a rather... pretty man, wouldn't you say?" you ask.  His lips purse, eyes narrowing.  "I mean, I wouldn't do anything about it but it's been a while for us and bodies are stupid creations, Ignis.  I'm sorry."

He is silent for so long, you wonder if he'll up and leave you at the restaurant, decorum be damned.  You squirm, but you're determined to say nothing while he works through whatever is going through his head.  

"If I have been inattentive to your needs-" he says as you're chewing a bite of food, causing you to immediately spit it out and shake your head frantically.

"Ignis, it isn't like that at all," you assure him, pausing to cough lightly over a bit of food stuck in your throat.  "Matters of state come first.  We've talked about this since... since before you left for Altissia, remember?  I get it.  I won't let it happen again, promise."

If he has more to say on the particular subject, he files it away for another time, gaze thoughtful as you finish your meals.

At home, you can tell he's exhausted: there are bags under his eyes bigger than a behemoth's backside, his blinking is slowed such that you think his eyes will just close...

Yet the moment you crawl under the sheets, he comes to life.

Ignis, to his credit, is always an extremely attentive lover, never one to leave you unsatisfied.  But tonight... it's different.

There's something under his fiery touch as he skims deft fingers over your body, pausing to tease your nipples until they're hardened, pebbled and begging for more.  Of course he grants it to you, his coiffed head lowering to lave them with more attention from the slick, firm glide of his devilish tongue.  You swallow hard, worry your bottom lip with your teeth before a gentle nip sends pleasure sparking through your veins and your mouth drops open to grace his ears with obscene moans.

"That's it, how I love hearing you sing for me," he murmurs against your slick skin, the sudden cool burst causing your sex to contract, a breathy sound crossing your lips.  "What other music will you make before I'm quite finished with you?"

"Oh, I see how it is," you manage.  "It's going to be a tease day, is it?"

He doesn't answer, simply pauses in his trek down your body to lift his visor from his face, neatly fold in, and set it down upon the bedside table with a purposely audible clack.  Something about the sound has your breath quickening, anticipation spiking your heart rate to soaring heights as he leans back down, trailing his lips down your temple and cheek to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

Before he can pull away, you lean in and lick at the scar on his lip, reveling in the hitch of his breath as you caress the still sensitive skin.

"You little minx," he smirks.  "I will not be deterred.  You'll simply have to be patient."

You let him have his way, though you swat at him when he pauses to tickle you on his quest to drive you mad with want.  His quick fingers ghost over your slit before dancing down your thighs, strong hands caressing your calves and quads as you pant, staccato notes of frustration being plucked from you.

"Ignis," you trill.  

"That's it, let me hear you," he praises, his breath suddenly a salacious glissade over your nether lips.  

Nature takes its course, your hips buck instinctively, seeking contact.  A dark chuckle reaches your ears just before long fingers finally make contact with your aching nub.  A sharp cry rips from your throat, your hips raising from the mattress, a silent plea for more.

"Yes, darling?" he asks, increasing the pressure only slightly, only serving to drive you further to madness.

His fingers trail down to your weeping entrance, one dipping inside briefly, massaging your fluttering walls as his tongue flicks against your clit.  You moan out your appreciation, although you know you need more.  

“Astrals,” he groans, “such a naughty girl, so wet with barely a touch.” "No more teasing," you pant out.  It's been so long, you're in no mood to drag this out.  "Please.  I’m ready, you don’t need to do all this."

He doesn't immediately acquiesce, instead choosing to add a second finger, pumping it languidly, dragging against your g-spot at every pass.  Your breaths shorten, fingers curling in the sheets as the coil within you threatens to shatter.  When his tongue dances over your clit with more pressure, you can't even begin to contain the broken cries falling from your lips as your back arches, head thrown back as you fall apart.  Your vision darkens slightly, the intensity of your completion such that your system shorts out for a moment.  Your orgasms are always intense, but that was something else.

"The most beautiful music," he sighs, and you feel a shudder run through him.

Ignis rides with you through the pulsing of your inner walls as you quiet, falling back to the mattress with a thwump.  The smirk on his face when he crawls up your form makes you breathe a laugh and shake your head, mind clouded by rushing endorphins.

"Yes, yes," you say, "you're very satisfied with yourself.  As you should be.  Now, dear, can you please just fuck me?"

The strategist surges forward, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, your tongues battling for dominance.  The taste of yourself on his tongue fuels your arousal once more.

"As my lady requests," Ignis whispers, his lips barely brushing yours.  

As he nestles himself between your legs, lining his rock-hard length up at your eagerly waiting entrance, he pauses.  More teasing, but your mind is so far gone in lust you simply aren't having it.  You grab his hips, taking a firm hold of his toned buttocks and drag him toward you. Your efforts reward you only slightly, the very tip of him sliding into you, parting your slick walls with ease.  It's your favorite part, the initial push, your nerves singing in pleasure and you allow your voice to do the same.  Ignis smiles sweetly down at you, leaning down to touch his cheek to yours for just a moment before slamming home.

"Gods!" you cry, the pleasure tinged with slight discomfort as you adjust.  "Ignis, move!"

His methodical pace overwhelms you; not brutal, but not slow, almost always angled perfectly for g-spot stimulation.  You allow your vocal chords to do what they will, cries matching the cadence of your hips snapping up to meet his in a desperate bid for release.  You instinctively hook your legs about his, and he adjusts his angle in return, still stimulating your pleasure spots, but deeper.

Somehow, although his hands seem to be everywhere (tweaking your nipple here, sliding along your curves there, applying just the right amount of pressure to your oversensitive nub), Ignis finds time to catch you in a grip strong enough to haul you into his lap.  Strong strokes shift to shorter grinding, your nerves overwrought yet calling for more.

The strategist's nose trails gently down your neck before soft lips close around the juncture of your neck and shoulder, suckling what is sure to be a large purple mark come morning.  None of that matters to you; the world can know you belong to Ignis Scientia for all you care.  When he bites down, the crash of pleasure causes you to clench around the cock buried womb deep in your silken heat, drawing a strained groan from Ignis.

"Keep that up and I'm afraid I must cut the activities short," he grinds out, voice devolved into hoarse rasps.  "Behave, darling."

You'll have nothing of the sort.  Armed with this knowledge, you rhythmically tighten your inner walls around him to drive him over the edge.  It doesn't take long before he leans back, flat on his back, driving up into you with such force your breasts bounce.  All you can do is go along for the ride, driving down to meet him, hands braced on his quads as your back arches with a building orgasm.

"Ah, darling, come with me," Ignis all but commands, his thumb dragging across your swollen nub as his pace becomes short of brutal.  

Long since has your body been attuned to this man’s particular brand of pleasure, and at his command, it launches itself off the cliff you’ve been toeing.  When you begin clench around him, a sinful moan escapes him, eyes screwing shut as the muscles beneath your hands tense.   Thunder courses through your veins, or perhaps lava… the volatile mix of elements something only Ignis can create.  A fresh high overtakes you as his cock jerks, the sensation of him releasing within you further extending the aftershocks of your rush.

No words are needed as you gently lift yourself off of his lithe body and flop down beside him, exhaustion dragging at you both.  Unsatisfied with the arrangements, Ignis wraps his arms about your naked frame to bring your head against his chest, and the sound of his calming heart (your heart) lulls you into a deep slumber.

~~~

Weeks pass in the blink of an eye as Noct decides to put you in charge of the Christmas party, much to Ignis' displeasure.  You’re not quite sure what’s left a sour taste in his mouth, but you feel as if you’re spending as much time with the King as he is, resulting in the two of you seeing each other more often.  It’s something you can’t really complain about, though; your sex life has taken a dramatic upswing and you’re definitely pleased.

Libido sated, your unclouded mind is able to pick up on the subtle flirtation the monarch is aiming in your direction, and you work to deter it.  A small part of your mind laments the fact that you’re unable to at least give the attractive man a test drive, but you’re happy with your arrangements and push those thoughts aside.

Ignis pointedly buries himself in his work whenever it happens, always being as loud as possible.  Noct only smirks, as if the entire situation is a game to him.

Finally, the grand day arrives.  Though Noct continues the tradition of black being the color most significant, he did give you leave to add accents of red and silver for the occasion.  Garland is strewn about the room, twinkling lights and as a special treat to Prompto, a specially trained group of warbling chocobros. You managed you get a hold of that dumb kissing plant that everyone raves about, too.  It was even snowing.

All but the sections of the Citadel requiring security clearance are open, citizens milling about, smiling… actually laughing.  Most folks had dragged their nicest clothing out, and of course you and the rest of the council are no exception.  Noct decreed it to be a suit day for the gentlemen and a formal dress for yourself and the few other women present.

You had decided on a sleek red number with a scoop neck sleeveless lace bodice and a form fitting skirt to be festive.  It's a dress you've been holding on to for years, obviously no occasion to wear it to during the Dark, but you'd intended to wear it to a special evening with Ignis.  It seemed like a good opportunity to see it in action.

You were chatting away with Monica over how good Cor looked in a suit, tittering away with a glass of wine in hand, when Noct and company entered.  The two of you turned, mouths immediately going try at the sight of four very well dressed, very attractive men absolutely owning the room. "...oh," was all Monica said, eyes wide.

"Six save us all," you add.  "I've died.  Or maybe I'm dreaming."

They break rank, Gladio staying with Noct (he had drawn the short straw) while Prompto and Ignis made their way into the crowd.  Emerald eyes find yours, and the living dream that is the strategist in a damn fine suit glides toward you.  He reaches your side, encircling you with a quick hug and gives you a peck on the cheek in greeting.

"Darling, close your mouth," Ignis smirks, raising his hand to gently place a finger under your chin.  "We're not here to catch flies."

As you glare and prepare for a retort, he leans in close and whispers directly in your ear at just that octave that really gets you going.  "You may wish to rest that pretty mouth of yours now.  It will be rather busy later."

As you sputter, he chuckles and announces he'll be back with drinks for you both.  Beside you, Monica giggles as well.

The early part of the night passes without incident, happy citizens mingling, enjoying the sights and the company of each other, nary a care in the world.

Then the dancing starts, and your entire world turns upside down.

Of course, Ignis approaches you for the first dance, your heart thudding at being in such close proximity to the god among men.  You're not sure you trust your body to not react violently to the situation.

"My dear," he says, holding his hand out to you.  

You're about to take it when a voice interrupts you.  

"Now, now, Ignis," says Noct, materializing out of nowhere.  "You get this stunning creature all to yourself every day.  Why not let me have this dance?"

He has that smirk on his face, the one he often wears when he's intentionally attempting to piss off his adviser.  You'd take that at face value if not for the way his ocean eyes roam your figure, the way his eyes darken as he studies you.  Suddenly, you feel like a fine cut of meat, cooked perfectly and begging to be devoured.

Though Ignis purses his lips, he won't deny his best friend a single thing.   "Of course, Highness," he agrees, his formality giving away his annoyance.  

"Also," the playful king continues, "I'll need you to run the perimeter with Cor, make sure everything's alright.  Poor Gladio looks bored.  Give the guy a break."

Ignis' expression tightens, but he gives a bow and looks to you.  "I shall see you in a short while, Y/N.  Do try to enjoy yourself."  

As Ignis proceeds to relieve Gladio of guard duty, Noct turns to you, eyes twinkling.  "Now, without Specs the Stuffy here, let's enjoy our dance.  Shall we?"

You simply nod, taking his war-calloused hand.  He dances much like Ignis, only a bit stiff, leading you to assume Ignis probably taught him as part of his royal prep.

To avoid thinking about how handsome and rugged Noct is, you decide to make small talk.  "Your people sure love you, Noct.  He may not say it, but Ignis is proud of the man you've grown to be." He chuckles.  "I know.  I'm awesome."

There's the boy you know and love.  "So, what's it like being king?"

"Basically, the same as before," he answers.  "Ignis still shouts at me to eat my vegetables.  Gladio still spars with me.  I just spend more time in one place, now.  I have to actually listen at council meetings instead of relying on Ignis to take notes for me.  Fewer naps, so I'm grumpier.  Gladio says it adds to my kingly image."

You laugh freely, tossing your head back.  "Never change, Noct."

He stares poignantly at you as the music ends, a peculiar look in his eye.  Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he looks up, your gaze following his to land upon that damned mistletoe you insisted upon hanging.

"Well, well," he murmurs, a wicked smirk upon his perfect lips.  "You know the tradition, Y/N.  A kiss for your king?"

Cheeks heating, you're left unsure of what to do.  Does he mean a lip kiss?  Surely, he can't mean that; he knows of your involvement with Ignis.  Would it be awkward to kiss his cheek?   "Darling, don't keep him waiting," Ignis suddenly purrs in your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck, raising the baby hairs there.  "He's been talking about this all day."

Bewildered, you turn your gaze to your boyfriend, all smoldering eyes and impish smiles.  He gives you a nod, nudging you toward his friend.  "It's quite alright, Y/N.  If it's your wish, go ahead."

Your brain short circuits and you're not quite sure what happened, but your lips suddenly touch Noct's in a tentative kiss, his waiting lips returning the gentle pressure with quiet enthusiasm. After a moment, Ignis coughs lightly, drawing your attention back to him.

"Noct, to avoid another public relations incident, permit me to suggest the three of us find somewhere a bit more private?" he offers, voice low.

The... three of you?  Your questioning eyes meet his.  "Ignis?"

"With your consent, of course, darling," he adds.  

They both turn their eyes to you, silently awaiting your permission.  It's at that point you decide you must be dreaming; you and Ignis do get adventurous in the bedroom from time to time, but... a threesome with the king?  Six, it was the stuff of every one of your fantasies, therefore, absolutely not real.

"I'm fairly certain this is actually a dream, but if I'm ultra lucky and I'm awake, I absolutely consent," you confirm, yet a question remains.  "But, Ignis, why?"

A naughty smile overtakes him and he chuckles quietly.  "A curiosity of mine that I've not had the chance to explore.  It seems that you were rather taken with dear Noct and there's no one I trust more so I thought... why not?"

"Sharing is caring!" Noct pipes up.  "Let's go.  We can head for the royal suite."

The elevator ride is intense.  Not a one of you dares speak, but the charged atmosphere makes you feel as if your hair should be standing on end.  Though the space is large, the two men stand very close to you, their bodies touching yours just enough to make you shiver in anticipation. Your mind blanks, bringing you up for air as the three of you settle in on Noct's massive canopy bed.  The black silken sheets are cool against your overheated skin when Ignis gently pushes you down upon them.  He gets to work removing your clothing, pressing a kiss to your brow as anxiety rises in you.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Ignis queries, concern drawing his eyebrows close.

You nod, lifting yourself slightly to aid him in unzipping your dress.  "I'm fine.  Go ahead."

"Come on, Specs," Noct husks, hungry eyes roving over your skin as Ignis bares it.  "She's not made of glass."

The strategist barely has your dress off and tossed on a nearby chair when Noct pounces upon you, dazzling you with the brilliance of his smile.  For all his bravado, his kiss is tentative, gentle, but by no means unsatisfying.  You decide to go all out (since this is most definitely a dream) and snake your tongue out to touch the seam of his lips, asking entry.

It's enough to light a fire in him as he grants your request, tongue darting out to grapple with yours, clearly not interested in letting you be the dominant party.  As your mouths war, his hands wander possessively down your form, pausing to dip into the cups of your lacy black bra to pinch your nipple roughly, swallowing the startled moan that bursts from you.

You're vaguely aware of the sensation of lace skimming over your legs, distracted as you are.  What you're keenly aware of is Ignis draping your limbs over his shoulders (heels still on, you note) and running his tongue up the length of your slit, teasing your clit at the end of his trek.

Your mouth rips from Nocts as you cry out, trying and failing to keep from bucking roughly into Ignis' face.  He's prepared, as he always is, holding you down so that you don't move much.

"As King, I feel I should get to claim you first," Noct declares.  "Specs, get her ready, will you?  And as for you, Y/N, I have a problem that requires your expert touch."

"I told you there would be benefits to being king," Ignis murmurs, mirth coloring his tone.

"Someone should have specified which," Noct returns, laughter bubbling from both of you.  "Would have made me a lot more receptive."

Your laughter is interrupted by Ignis slipping two fingers into your heat, your parched lips spilling more moans at his ministrations.  Noct removes your bra with slight effort (it's not like you're very much help, distracted as you are) and briefly disappears to undress.  When he returns, your vision fills with the sight of his rigid cock, standing proudly at attention and awaiting your talents.

Without hesitation, you lick a trail from base to tip, paying close attention to the bulging vein and underside of the head.  Noct isn't small by any means (you had wondered, what with Gladio and his puny jokes, but anyone is puny in comparison to the monster that is very likely Gladio) but he's shorter in length than Ignis, with more girth.  It makes it easy for you to take him all in one go, and if the sounds falling from his lips are any indication, he's impressed. It's damn hard to focus on pleasuring another person when you yourself are in the throes of passion, but you think you manage well enough.  Your muffled moans add to the sensations for Noct, his hand coming to rest upon your head innocently at first, but it isn't long before you surrender control, allowing him to effectively fuck your face.  Being used does something for you, and the pressure within you increases exponentially.

"Iggy, don't let her come until I fuck her," Noct commands, panting hard. Your jaw aches slightly and the corners of your mouth feel a bit stretched, but it's easy enough to ignore as Ignis adds a third finger and sucks hard on your clit, pressing hard on your g-spot.  You shake your head slightly, your muscles tensing in anticipation...

Obediently, Ignis slows, but doesn't stop.  It's enough for you to catch your bearings. Noct withdraws from the warm wet heat of your mouth with an abrupt pop, leaving you breathless, debauched.

"Ready for the main course?" he asks, desire blazing in eyes drowned black by blown pupils. "More food puns," you groan, chuckles leaving each of you as the men switch places.   Noct taps your leg in warning, rolling you over and placing you on your knees, lining up behind you, the head of him gliding teasingly over your dripping entrance.  Ignis sits back on his haunches for a moment, smiling at the question in your gaze.

"I'd like to watch for a moment," he explains, palming his rigid length, making your mouth water.  "Don’t worry, I'll make good use of those lovely lips soon enough."

There's no time to retort as Noct chooses that moment to slam into you to the hilt, forcing a scream from your abused mouth.  Ignis closes his eyes for a moment, idly stroking himself to the sound of your pleasure.  

The grip Noct has on your hips is rough, sure to leave marks, but you don't have the capacity to care because it feels so good.  The angle he has you at grazes your g-spot, slamming into your cervix for extra stimulation and it's all too much for your overstimulated self.

You hadn't noticed Ignis move, but his talented fingers land upon your clit, using the perfect amount of pressure and it all sends you flying over the edge into oblivion.  Stars explode behind your eyelids as another scream pushes forth from you.  Your head drops to the mattress, face burying in the still cool sheets as you come down from the clouds. The king is unconcerned, working your pulsing walls through your orgasm as if it wasn't happening.  A hand leaves your hip to give a quick slap to your ass and you whimper, inner walls fluttering in interest.

Ignis taps your cheek lightly and you draw yourself back up, reaching greedily for the cock you know and love.  A few moments of hanging in a delicate balance between the powerhouse that is Noct and the polar opposite gentleness of Ignis and you're right there at the edge again, your essence leaking out of you to make a slow trek down your thighs.

"I bet Ignis treats you like a delicate flower, Y/N," Noct growls.  "I can see how your body craves rougher treatment."

Noct lands a blow on the other cheek and you clench around him hard, drawing moans from all three of you.

"Of course you would be that way, Noct," Ignis pants. "Come on, Y/N, whose cock is better, now that you have me to compare?" Noct goads, knowing it'll get Ignis' blood boiling.

You can tell he's close, the muscle within you growing harder, twitching as you clench around him.  Idly, you wonder what his intentions are.  So far gone are you that you simply don't care, your own peak beginning to crest.

Ignis practically shoves you off of him in his haste to remove Noct from within you, but you whimper pathetically, because you're so damn close.

Sensing this, Noct slams into you a few more times, the thrusts and overall treatment enough to send you over the edge again, leaving you a moaning mess as he pulls out of you.

"Noo," you whine, but there's a scuffle in which Ignis shoulders Noct aside and fills you before you really feel the loss.

The monarch laughs darkly, returning to his place before you. "Specs is so easy to mess with, sometimes," he says, guiding your mouth to his cock again.  "I hope you don't mind swallowing.  That would be pretty hot."

It won't be long for him, you think, as he's still ultra hard and pulsing, so you get to work, wiggling your ass to get Ignis moving.  He obliges, his long strokes slightly more unhinged than usual.  The strategist pinches at your nipples before brutally attacking your clit, still hoping to bring you to orgasm despite his need to get off himself.  

Spit dribbles down your chin and now your jaw is really feeling the ache, but you're so full and practically every nerve in your body is alight with pleasure, so you resolve to hang in there a bit longer.  Heat pools once again at the apex of your thighs, threatening to burn through you and rend you to ash.  Hands fisting in the sheets, you give yourself over to the pyre and wait for the conflagration to take you.

When it does, your entire body shakes with the force of it and gods if you don't feel like your exhausted body might just give out.  Your mouth and the near constant vibrations of your moans finally send Noct over as well, thick cum shooting to the back of your throat.  Some leaks out before you can swallow, but for the most part, you've made a clean affair of it.

Ignis, seeing the two of you gone mad in passion, gives in as well, the force of him releasing in you setting off a smaller orgasm on the heels of the last and you are well and truly done.

You aren't the only one, though, evidenced by the fact that the three of you collapse into a tangle of limbs on the rumpled sheets, panting heavily.

"I still gotta know who's better," Noct remarks casually, laughing.

Ignis reaches across your body, lazily swatting at him.

"No contest, Highness," he says, voice hoarse.  "She's pledged herself to me with good reason."

You simply laugh, content to lie and enjoy the heat of their bodies.  A very merry Christmas, indeed.

[secondchildcomplex-blog]

"3, 2, 1..." {for ibara to nagisa}

SEND “3, 2, 1…” FOR A NEW YEAR’S KISS FROM MY MUSE (asghsja I’m love my ibanagis thank you for sending this ask afsga qwq from @dokuhebi-tactician )

      Ghhh- ghh– New Year is right around the corner, for those who are listening to us, we wish you the best… this year has been…

      Along with a string of static, the music channel interrupted it’s usual set of classical music. Concentration cut in two, Ibara lifted his blue eyes from the stack of papers he had been working on. Schedules for Eden, projects for the year, requests for lives and CMs… and then on the side the schedules from the many clases Nagisa had inscribed himself into for next year.

      Lifting his lenses, he reached for his exhausted eyes and rubbed them softly with his fingers.

      Everyone else was resting, enjoying the holiday times. Yet, that was not for him. A lowly bastard like himself didn’t deserved a break. No, no. He should continue working, make the numbers and times fit. Make the best possible choices so the profit would increase…

       The New Year’s talk continued to come from the radio, but now the sound of steps tagged along. Muffled steps, heavy yet well balanced. Nagisa’s steps. Had he grow bored of staying in the living room and was moving over to his room? Perhaps.

       Lowering the glasses over his face, Ibara stretched and calmly started to write again. As if he wasn’t bending down from exhaustion just a bit before.

      Just in case Nagisa peeked into the room.

      Just in case.

      Nagisa’s steps stopped by the door, and a little creak indicated he had pushed it further open.

      Turning around, back a straight line and body ready to stand up if requested to do so, Ibara gave the white-haired a wide smile, framed in long wine colored locks.

     “Your Excellency! Is there any way I can make myself useful to you? Anything you might need of me? Just say the words and I, Ibara Saegusa, shall do the very best of my efforts to please you!” It was easy to act this part. To say what he always say and smile like he always did.

     Nagisa’s reply was as lukewarm as always, merely a shake of his head followed by the very contradictory action of making his way into Ibara’s room and sitting on his bed.

     Head tilted slightly to the side, Ibara felt once more the usual confusion that Nagisa’s behavior brought to him. Because Nagisa was something he couldn’t quite calculate; something that should be in his palm and yet, had more freedom than any other of the pieces in his game. Strange. This weird pull he felt on his chest whenever he saw Nagisa, and the little warmth that came from it, must certainly be confusion. For, what else could it be?

     Nagisa didn’t said anything and so Ibara decided to return to his work.

     Pen dragging itself over the papers, Ibara continued to set down the different events, accompanying his mental calculations with meaningful words.

      Then Nagisa’s voice reached him, interrupting his thoughts once more and making him turn around to look at him. A question followed by a ‘Ibara should know, right?’

      “A New Year kiss, you say? Of course I have heard about it before! It’s a tradition that has found its meaning distorted along the different cultures it passed to. There’s those who believe sharing a kiss with someone in New Year will bring you good luck in the upcoming year, and those that see it as a prayer to be even closer to the person they love. A sign of wanting to spend the rest of the year together even! It’s quite the interesting tradition. Should I gather up some books or articles about it for you to read?”

      Nagisa looked up for a moment, as if coming to terms with the new information, before finally shaking his head to Ibara’s proposition of gathering documents for him.

      “Is there any specific reason for His Excellency to be interested in such a topic? Not that it’s necessary for you to tell me! I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great!”

Nagisa nodded once before commenting it had been because of Hiyori.

      “Ah, yes His Majesty Tomoe surely is the type to enjoy such things. Truly a warm and passionate person!” he praised, only half-believing the words that came out of his own mouth. A little tug on his chest when he thought of Hiyori and Nagisa sharing a kiss on the New Year. Though, wasn’t Hiyori out of the house at the moment?

      Yes, Hiyori had gone out with Jun-kun, Nagisa confirmed. Such a perfect timing it almost felt as if he had read Ibara’s mind. And before he could make another comment on the matter Nagisa had stood up from the bed and walked closer to him.

      Crimson eyes imposing, Ibara was unable to move or talk for the seconds following Nagisa’s request for New Year’s kiss.

      Truly puzzling. Confusing. It almost felt like he was the one trapped in Nagisa’s hand, instead of the other way around.

      “O-oh, a low being like myself has no right to share such a thing with Your Excellency…” the little stutter by the start was subtle enough to pass unnoticed, but it was more agitated he had showed himself in a while.

     Nagisa wouldn’t yield either.

      Apparently he wanted to ‘get along with ibara this year as well’, and was also curious about the tradition…

       Ibara would hope Nagisa wouldn’t rope him along with his little experiments of curiosity, but here he was…

       “If that’s what Your Excellency desires, then who am I to refuse?” he finally rectified himself, standing up right in front of his unit-mate. Bowing gallantly, he reached for Nagisa’s hand and lifted it up, pressing a soft kiss against it.

       That’s not what Nagisa wanted… but he truly didn’t felt like it’d be correct for him to share an actual kiss with him, not wanting to dirty the other anymore than that.

       An unsatisfied look -though maybe that was merely ibara’s own interpretation- fell over him.

       Wasn’t it supposed to be on the lips? It wasn’t even at the right hour.

     That weird sensation appearing in his chest once again, Ibara could do nothing but smile -like he always did.

       The actual countdown for the end of the year was sounding now, and Nagisa was still there. Impassible. Stubborn. He wanted a real kiss. One that would work.

      “Then, may I request that you close your eyes?”

       Nagisa seemed puzzled but he accepted.

       Closing his own eyes, Ibara stepped on the tip of his toes and pressed one soft kiss against Nagisa’s.

       And that weird feeling in his chest suddenly grew. The turmoil and confusion only stronger as he noticed Nagisa leaning further into the kiss. Fast and strong enough to make him feel like it might burst through his chest and break him into pieces.

       So he pulled away… face red and eyes trembling as much as his lips.

       It was weird to see Ibara with a face like that, Nagisa commented. It felt more human, he added. He liked it, he concluded, just like he liked Ibara.

      “Even if I’m the worst type of trash to ever exist?”

       Nagisa nodded. Calmly. No rush, no hesitation. A clear and unwavering sincerity.

      And Ibara could do nothing but see those unidentified emotions grows strong enough to overpower him completely. It was warm... a weird feeling that made him want to stay always by Nagisa’s side. To even throw his life in the line for him, if it ever came to that.

       The emotion he could barely pinpoint as loyalty by then, was however, probably something much closer to an emotion he never experienced -nor as receiver or giver- and thus could not possibly understand: Love.