#Its going terribly so far but we’re making it work (somehow)

[thesoulsofthedarned]

Guys I got A Knight

Sadly no Shamane, but it’s ok because A Knight is also one of my most anticipated characters. Very cool conceptually and seems to do pretty good damage from what I’ve seen on YouTube so I’ll definitely build him. Problem is I don’t have a lot of stuff prepared for him, so it’ll take a while for A Knight to reach his full potential. For now though, I’m happy :)

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (IV)

C/W: slow-burn, Diluc x gn!reader, reader works at the flower shop in Mondstadt, subtle (I think) Epic: the musical references, fluff, angst, Crepus mentioned, violence, reader gets injured

Note: okay so not totally voicelines.. there are character stories too cuz I had no idea how else to write other scenes.. lmk if that’s alright with you guys or if I should stick with the voiceline format<3 Enjoy! (sorry this took a while btw) link for part 3! link for part 1! link for part 5!

(You) About Diluc: The manor

Dawn Winery? Never been there, honestly. I heard it’s massive, though. Do I know the way? Also no—but that’s not gonna stop me! I will get him back. Yeah, he once told me never to go out at night… but what’s the worst that could happen? There haven’t been any monsters nearby, as far as I know. Besides, getting lost is part of the challenge, and it’ll all be worth it in the end when me and Diluc make up and have a proper dinner in his manor.

… Hey, do you feel like we’re being watched? Uhm, how about you stay back in town? Something feels fishy here. Don’t worry, I know how to handle myself in a pinch. Plus, it’ll be awkward to have you there while I’m patching things up with him.

(Diluc) About you: During patrols

Despite everything that’s happened, my duties as the Darknight Hero—however terrible the name is—remain unchanged. Protecting Mondstadt and its people comes first—always. At least from here, I’m certain I can keep them safe.

Wait—shh. Did you hear that? Get back. Stay close to me, but… on second thought, maybe you should return to Mondstadt. It’s too dangerous out here tonight. I can handle this, just like I always do.

—

(You) Character Story: The Abyss

The scent of wine lingered faintly in the air—a guide to the manor. Alone, they pressed forward, the quiet of the night broken only by the crunch of their footsteps. But something was off. A rustle in the bushes made them pause, and then it came—a low growl, followed by the chilling cackle of an Abyss mage.

It happened so suddenly. A hilichurl raised its bow, an arrow already notched; another, larger one, came charging to them with its axe. An entire army had come. And somehow, they knew—they were the target.

They moved into a desperate sprint, throat burning as they yelled for help. The fiery breath of a demon head roared behind them as arrows streaked by, one grazing their arm with a biting chill. Smoke choked their lungs, the glow of the burning grass blurring their vision. Their heart thundered in their ears, drowning out the cacophony of growls, crackling flames, and the ominous hum of a charged arrow ready to fly.

Faced with looming cliffs that boxed them in, the shadows of monsters grew taller—darker. “This can’t be it,” they froze, stumbling to a halt. They were out of time.

Diluc’s warning echoed in their mind, “The world becomes a very different place at night; promise me you won’t even try to go outside the city.” They can’t help but cry, “I-I’m sorry… I should’ve listened.”

The Abyss mage raised its wand, and a circle appeared beneath them. This was it. Desperate, they drew one last call for help before the mage had showered them in red.

Then… the world fell cold… they expected fire to be nibbling at their skin, but Mondstadt’s winds blew clearly against their legs.

Strange… in the distance, they could hear grunts, the sounds of a battlefield. They took a hot breath, choking and coughing immediately from the smoke. Their vision was hazy, head aching from the lack of oxygen. But they could see the flash of red hair in front of them, claymore in hand, and their world grew brighter.

“Diluc..?”

“Stay where you are,” his voice was firm yet steady. “I got you.”

(Diluc) Character Story: Ruthlessness

Diluc had one goal in mind: protect them.

It didn’t matter how—whether it meant staying far away from them, or cutting down every last monster standing between him and their safety. He would become a monster if it meant keeping them alive.

His claymore burned hotter than ever, fueled with his anger and determination. Hilichurls fell in his wake like leaves in a storm as he mercilessly brushed through them in a line, disregarding the burning grass around him.

Yet, despite his ruthless display, the Abyss mage stood mockingly strong, its Pyro shield glowing, unscathed. Its laughter echoed through the chaos, each chuckle grating against his nerves like splinters.

Diluc tightened his grip on his claymore, his knuckles white. With a sharp breath, he hoisted the weapon high and brought it crashing down against the shield with everything he had. The impact sent a burst of sparks into the air, but the barrier hardly wavered.

Again and again, he struck, the rhythmic clanging of metal against magic filling the battlefield. Each hit drained more of his strength, but he refused to stop. His heart pounded louder with every passing second, the image of their limp body lying somewhere in the smoke seared into his mind. He couldn’t let it end this way. He wouldn’t. Memories of his father, flaccid in his arms, came flashing through him. Not again.

And then, as if the archons themselves had taken pity on him, he felt a cold drop of water land on his head.

Diluc froze, his breath hitching. Another drop followed, and another, until rain poured from the sky, extinguishing the flames that had threatened to consume the battlefield. The Abyss mage hissed in irritation as its shield flickered, weakened by the downpour.

This was his chance. With a roar, Diluc swung his claymore in a wide arc, the final blow shattering the mage’s defenses. He watched as it picked itself up from the ground, small and weak.

In a dark, vengeful growl, he said: “I have had enough.”

Diluc’s gaze thinned as he raised his weapon, and let it’s tip fall on that tiny monster, apathetic, unbothered.

As it crumpled to the ground, the battlefield grew silent save for the steady patter of rain. His gaze turned sharply toward the smoke-filled air, his voice hoarse but resolute.

“I’m coming,” he muttered, his steps quick and determined as he searched for them, rain streaming down his face. “Just hold on.”

—

(You) About Diluc: The morning after

I woke up in his bed.

In his room.

In Dawn Winery!

Yeah, that Dawn Winery.

I mean—I’m not complaining… ahem—it’s better than laying in a ditch full of dirt and scars, right? Anyway, there I was, sitting on his bed, flabbergasted, confused, and with a wounded arm. I heard a knock on the door and Diluc’s headmaid, Adelinde walked in. Have you met her? She’s just the kindest person ever, I’m telling you! The way she’s so soft-spoken and gentle in the way she tended to my injury, it felt like I was with my mother.

But here’s the weird part—she thanked me for helping Diluc. I was like, help him?! All I did was cause trouble for him last night! Honestly, I don’t get it. What could I have possibly done?

(Diluc) About you: The morning after

I hadn’t slept a wink that night. How could I, after all that’s happened? What if something were to sneak through the window and take them away from me? *sigh* They’re so reckless, honestly. I can’t believe it—out of all the things I told them not to do, that was what they did!

Then again… their stubbornness landed them here, in the manor. I’d rather have them unharmed, of course, but… they’re here, nonetheless.

Adelinde is tending to their wounds right now, though I insisted I do it myself. Maybe I should check in on them—make sure they’re resting well. Elzer, could you tell Charles I won’t be coming in today?

(You) About Diluc: Staying

He’s letting me stay with him in the manor until my arm heals�� Ehe.

Okay, as much as I love that, I didn’t really like how Diluc said it. It was more of a… command than a suggestion. Like, “You’re staying with me until your arm gets better.” And not, “You should stay here until you’re healed.”

It felt weird hearing him in that tone… I understand why people are intimidated by him, now.

(Diluc) About you: Staying

They insisted they were fine and ready to leave—typical. But I couldn’t let them. Not after what happened. They’re staying here, no question about it. I’ve already asked Adelinde to prepare the guest bedroom for them.

…Do they think I was being harsh? Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised. But it’s not about being polite; it’s about keeping them safe. Their recklessness already put them in danger once. I can’t take any chances with them walking back to Mondstadt in that condition. They’ll understand eventually.

(You) About Diluc: Meals

Diluc and I eat together pretty often, though considering what happened, there was an… unmistakable tension between us, so you could say our meal was, uhm… lukewarm. It might just be me, but I could feel his eyes on me all the time…

Ah, I haven’t had the chance to talk to him as well. There are so many things I want to confront him about—why did he decide to end things just like that? Did he think I wasn’t worth spending time over because of the rumors? Does he think that I’m only using him for his money? Why would he choose to believe that stupid Donna?!

*sigh* Calm down, I’ll ask when I get the chance.

(Diluc) About you: Meals

They’re recovering well enough to sit and eat, but… the silence at the table was deafening. I tried to focus on my plate, but I couldn’t help glancing up at them. Their injuries, though minor, stood out starkly against their skin, and every time I saw the bandages, guilt gnawed at me.

I wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Should I apologize for what happened? For letting those ridiculous rumors drive me to push them away? Or would that just make things worse?

Still, I noticed they barely touched their food. Are they upset with me? Or still in pain? … Perhaps I should’ve made something easier for them to eat. I’ll have Adelinde prepare something lighter next time.

—

(You) About Diluc: Leisure time

He plays chess a lot, I noticed. So, I had nothing better to do once day, and I joined him! It had been a while since I played that game so—you guessed it—he won all the rounds we played. I came close to checkmating him, though!

We played a lot more everyday, and, not to brag but… I won three games in a row, hehe. …Out of ten, yes. That’s still a win, though! You can’t take this away from me!

Oh, and get this—he actually smiled when I beat him. A small one, but it was there! Maybe I’ll win again tomorrow and see if I can get him to laugh, too.

(Diluc) About you: Leisure time

Their injured arm makes it difficult for them to tend to the flower garden, so I’ve been helping where I can. I can’t say I’m particularly skilled, but… I try. Watching their face light up when a new bloom appears is a small joy I didn’t know I needed. They’re so enthusiastic, so full of life—it’s captivating. Their voice softens, and their smile… it’s unforgettable.

I suspect they miss working at Flora’s shop. Speaking of which, I still need to inform Flora about their absence. I’ll take care of it soon—after I finish pruning these roses. Or… at least, trying to.

(Adelinde) About you

Oh, they’re a delight! It’s admirable how they manage to brighten up the room, even on a gloomy day. I hope they stick around even after they recover.

(You) About the voices

… It’s hard to sleep with everything swirling in my head. The Abyss, that cold feeling of being surrounded, trapped, suffocated—it’s still so vivid in my mind. I can almost hear their claws scraping against the walls, the sounds of battle echoing like a distant memory. … Where’s Diluc?

(Diluc) Character story: The voices

The manor was quiet, the crackle of the fireplace being the only one breaking the stillness. Diluc sat on the couch, a book in hand, his expression calm and focused. Laying down beside him, they were curled up, eyes shut but clearly restless.

He noticed their faint shiver before they spoke.

“I’m sorry… I should’ve listened to you.” Their voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

Diluc closed his book, setting it aside. “There’s no need to apologize.” His tone was low, soothing.

“I hear them sometimes,” they admitted, their fingers tightening against the blanket. “The voices… from that night. I can still feel it—the claws, the cold, everything.”

They allowed him to pull them up his chest, his hand gently rubbing their uninjured arm. “The Abyss Order has a way of lingering, even after the fight is over.”He felt a shaky breath from them. “But it’s over now. You’re safe here. I won’t let them harm you again.”

For a moment, the only sound was the fire, warm and constant. They nodded, eyes finally closing as their breathing began to even out.

Diluc remained by their side, watching the flickering flames. His expression was unreadable, but his thoughts were clear: I’ll protect you. Always.

(Adelinde) About you and Diluc: Warmth from more than the hearth

I was about to leave the manor when I stumbled upon them—the florist—sleeping on the couch. What surprised me more, however, was that Master Diluc, also fast asleep, had them laying on his chest!

He rarely lets his guard down, even here at the manor. To see him so relaxed, and with them of all people, was heartwarming in a way I can’t quite describe. It seems they’ve brought more than just liveliness to this house—they’ve brought him comfort, too.

(You) About Diluc: A good night’s sleep

Ehe…

(Diluc) About you: A good night’s sleep

Hah…

—

(You) About Diluc: Little habits

I noticed how he always takes a moment to straighten the chairs at the table after everyone has left. It’s like a small ritual for him, but it’s… cute.

(Diluc) About you: Little habits

They have a habit of making instruments out of anything. I once caught them in the kitchen searching for snacks and beating the jar covers like drums. The way they embarrassingly paused when I came in had me stifling a laugh, haha.

(You) About Diluc: Unasked questions

It’s not like I keep forgetting to ask him about what happened a few days ago, it’s just— I never seem to find the right time. I know, I should talk to him as soon as possible, but how on earth do I start?! “Hey, Diluc, I wanted to ask you why you left me all of a sudden” feels a bit… heavy, doesn’t it? But I need to know. I just have to figure out how to say it.

(Diluc) About you: Unasked questions

I still haven’t asked why they went out that night. Do you have any idea? They seemed so… determined. I can’t help but wonder what was going through their mind. Perhaps it’s not my place to ask, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it. I should probably wait, though. But the curiosity nags at me.

(You) About Diluc: Sticking around

Is it just me, or does that man almost never leave me alone? It’s been around three days since I’ve been staying at the manor, and I swear, he’s everywhere I go! Yeah, it was nice at first… but now? It’s getting a bit much. I can’t even sneak into the kitchen for a snack without him showing up with a cup of tea or a plate of food, acting like he’s been there for hours. I’m starting to wonder if he’s doing this on purpose. Maybe he’s just trying to make sure I’m not bored… Whatever the reason, I need some space.

(Diluc) About you: Sticking around

I’ve noticed how tense they’ve been lately… but I can’t afford to let them out of my sight. Not after everything that’s happened. I know they probably think I’m smothering them, but… I’m only doing this to protect them. There are always dangers lurking around, especially when they’re vulnerable. I can’t help but stay nearby, even if it means interrupting their little moments of peace.

(You) About Diluc: Overbearing

Oh my Archons, he’s at it again! I swear, Diluc’s taken over my entire routine! I can’t even make a cup of tea without him swooping in, insisting I drink his special blend, and then serving it on a tray like I’m royalty. He keeps asking if I’m sure I’m not still hurt—yes, Diluc, I’m fine! I’m practically healed! But every time I try to do something for myself, it’s like he’s right there, ready to stop me. I don’t want to be treated like I’m broken. I get it, okay? He wants to take care of me, but I’m not some delicate flower!

(Diluc) About you: Distant

They’re avoiding me. I can see it in the way they peek through the door before going out. I know I’ve been overbearing, but… What else am I supposed to do? I can’t stand the idea of something happening to them. They’re so strong, but there’s always that part of me, a nagging fear that I can’t shake—that if I don’t keep watch, I’ll lose them. How do I explain that without pushing them away even more?

(You) About Diluc: Confrontation

Ah, that… Yeah, I talked to him—about everything. We had a pretty big fight, so… I’m going back to town. What happened? Erm… I don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s just say I now think of him as stubborn, and he, of me, reckless. We won’t be seeing each other anymore, I believe.

(Diluc) About you: Confrontation

The argument was inevitable—I expected it, actually. I just wish I chose the right words to say. Did you know they went out that night to see me? *sigh* This guilt… is overwhelming. I shouldn’t have caged them like that. Or called them reckless…

The manor feels unbearably quiet without them, now.

… Should I stop by the flower shop?

—

Note: comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! As I’ve mentioned, lmk if I should include character stories in the next part, or if I should stick with only the voicelines.

[solarpunkpresentspodcast]

Hope and Solarpunk

Hope is an affect (aka feeling that drives action) that I’ve been thinking about for a while, ever since I was a graduate student. “Hope” is a word that gives people warm fuzzy feelings when they read it or use it, but I’m not sure that it’s very well understood or theorized in this day and age. Because most people equate the concept of hope with that of naïve positivity and intentional ignorance of “reality”.

Following hot on the heels of last week’s discussion of naïveté in solarpunk, I want to address the idea of hope head-on. I’ve before quoted this same passage from the last episode of the podcast “Secret Feminist Agenda” but I’m gonna do it again because it is super relevant to the way I’m thinking about hope as coming in different types. In the episode, host Dr Hannah MacGregor is in conversation with Dr Eugenia Zuroski, and observes that uncritical expressions of hope “[come] so often packaged in … toxic positivity” that insists that “we are all in this together” and that “we will get through this terrible situation,” yet for many people (especially people of colour and queer people) “we don’t always get through this” (11:52-12:05). In response, Dr Zuroski makes a clear distinction between wishful thinking and “radical hope” as a hope that is earned: the kind of hope that marginalized people such as BIPOC, LGBTQ2S+ and disabled people have been “earning all along … just by living under conditions that are designed to deprive you of … hope for yourself … for your own survival, your own flourishing, and your own future” (13:52-15:25).

" you can’t just hope out of nowhere. You have to do the work of understanding… where we’ve come from, where we all are right now, where you are in the middle of all that, then you can start to…build your hope"  -- Dr Eugenia Zuroski

When I talk about hope as an expression of wishful thinking, I’m thinking of the example that Dr Zuroski gives in that same episode, of someone prefacing their opinion with the phrase “I hope this isn’t racist,” and then going and saying something egregiously racist (17:21). She points out how in this example the speaker’s terminology uses “hope” to express the wish that their statement were not racist, because they cannot recognize themselves as racist. But, as anyone who’s been a captive in that particular conversation can attest, that wish is contrary to the actual reality of the situation; as Zuroski says, “you can’t hope for realities not to exist” (17:21); hope is not an applicable word in this situation. Zuroski goes on to say that in order for marginalized people and their allies to access truly radical hope, it is necessary to dedicate time to “thinking about temporality … your relationship to histories [and] to the present …. and let that inform how you build a relationship to the future, which is what hope is…. hope is the name for relating to a future of some kind” and that “you can’t just hope out of nowhere. You have to do the work of understanding… where we’ve come from, where we all are right now, where you are in the middle of all that, then you can start to…build your hope” (18:03). Dr MacGregor agrees that positive change has to be intrinsically tied to will and to action, not an ephemeral wish for a better future to abstractly happen, somehow.*

I’m using the word “abstract” here as an intentional nod to the work of José Esteban Muñoz on queer utopias, who contrasts a concrete “queer” version of utopia with an abstract utopia, one that’s made up of unrealistic dreams that have no grounding in “reality.”** I think that most people assume that solarpunk hope is the abstract, wishful thinking kind.

I am of the opinion that that is very far from the truth of it, however. What draws me to solarpunk is the way it conceives of hope stripped of its naïveté: eyes open to the devastation of the climate crisis, institutionalized racism, violent misogyny, rapaciousness of capitalism, the fact we’re witnessing a genocide and even though we are lobbying our governments, attending protests, and organizing boycotts, we’re unable to make any tangible move towards stopping what is happening. Is this a result of an eye-for-an-eye worldview, cynical capitalist greed trumping any human compassion, corporate and governmental hypocrisy, the legacy of colonialism, the systemic long-standing disinformation about the reality of the situation, run-of-the-mill racism, or all of it at once? And does it matter what the origin of violence is when the violence is still ongoing? All of this can be overwhelming. It takes a lot out of one to have their senses wide open to what is happening in the world and still try to choose to do what is best in the situation.

((A word of caution, there is a type of hope that can trap one into a despairing situation. It’s what Berlant calls “stupid optimism”. It’s the dark side of hope, not an empowering or active type of hope, but another expression of wishful thinking in direct contrast to the reality of the world - in which you have no control over the sequence/flow of events. Instead, the more that you believe the world to operate otherwise, along these abstract, wishful lines and rules that have framed this situation for you in the imagination, the more trapped one becomes, succumbing to a powerlessness within a fantasy over which you once had complete control, as you are the one who made it.))

I’ve found that if I take a pickaxe to the solarpunk aesthetic and rip it back, underneath the best examples I find throbbing, raw hope, the ability to look at our current world and deliberately choose a better path, often to the detriment of the self. It takes a lot out of one to have their senses wide open to what is happening in the world (or even on the “small scale” of violence in their community) and still leave themselves open to further wounding, sometimes by the very people or systems within which the solarpunk individual is trying to help.

What this hope looks like is the choice to be positive. The drive to choose against all odds to work grimly towards the betterment of humanity even if that solarpunk feels that humanity doesn’t deserve it.*** To me, the best examples of the solarpunk aesthetic are artistic expressions of that hope-as-a-choice despite everything.

I’m not an art critic, but to humanities scholars, the world is a text to be analyzed, yadda yadda, so I can’t help but read it thusly. I don’t see the art of solarpunk as pure escapism but as a concrete expression of the belief that there are beautiful things in this world, they are worth celebrating and, most importantly, hope that future humans will have more time to incorporate making, appreciating, or simply existing around beautiful things in their lives.

Solarpunk art as an expression of hope in humanity’s ability to create and appreciate art not just in the present but in a future where art is much more ubiquitous is not abstract, to me. It directly relates to art programs in the present for kids in underfunded communities, for humanities education for community members, for encouraging art daycamps and in schools. It relates directly to the fight to preserve art that exists and art-making in the present, with an eye to the future.

As Marwan Makhoul writes,

In order for me to write poetry that isn't political, I must listen to the birds and in order to hear the birds ​the warplanes must be silent 

To me, the solarpunk version of hope can translate into direct action for peace. To me, that is not abstract. This type of hope - what I call a solarpunk hope - is a direct motivator of positive action.

What do you think, though? Am I going in the right direction, or off the beaten path entirely? How do you think of hope and solarpunk?

—

*I definitely ripped most of this section from a previous essay of mine published with the Science Fiction Review Association; I had solarpunk in mind when I was writing that piece though the argument was more about traditional ideas of utopia than the genre of solarpunk per se. So now I get to apply it to solarpunk, which is cool.

**For more of an explanation on why “reality” is in quotes here, I’d recommend a listen to our episode with Dr Joey Ayoub on what exactly is “realistic” when it comes to thinking about the future and incorporating solarpunk ideals into it.

***I know a few people who say they hate other humans and yet are some of the kindest, most gracious and generous humans in their interactions with others; imo they don’t hate other people, they hate the way that other people are forced to act under systems that have fucked them up so badly they cannot locate that graciousness in human interactions in themselves. I have begrudgingly come to realize that people are generally good, if you take away the trauma and shittiness they may have had to deal with throughout their lives that shapes them into cruel people or even rewards them for it. My Calvinist forbears are turning in their graves.

[sarcasticsra]

I had this exchange on Bluesky the other day and it’s been rattling around in my brain since, so I have some thoughts.

My New Year’s resolution is to stop politely hiding my values for other people’s comfort. Having values means sometimes making value judgments.

I think changing your name to your husband’s when you get married is a bad choice and I would advise every woman against it! I don’t hate every individual woman who does so, or automatically think they’re a bad person, but it is a choice that I think harms women on a macro level and I wish fewer women would do it.

Why should I be reluctant to say that? The people who believe the opposite certainly aren’t politely filtering their opinions on the matter, after all.

I need to work on letting go of the fear of upsetting people or making them feel defensive. There are feminists who likely think that marrying a man at all is a bad choice and that fewer women should do it (and, honestly, given the fact that marriage is, overall, far and away more beneficial to men than it is to women, they’re almost certainly right). I still did it, obviously, and am very happy I did. Sometimes we make choices that are right for us, or are based on certain circumstances, but it doesn’t make them inherently good choices or inherently feminist choices, and it certainly doesn’t make them free from critique. We need to stop pretending otherwise or we’re never going to actually dismantle any of these systems.

We must truly grapple with the fact that our “choices” are shaped by the society we live in, and the society we live in is misogynistic (and racist, of course) to its very rotten core. It therefore has an incredibly clear motive to incentivize “choices” that will uphold that paradigm. “Choosing” to take your husband’s name reinforces the patriarchal ideal that the man is the “head” or “owner” of the family and his wife and children are merely components of his identity. On that scale, it simply doesn’t matter what other individual reason you might have; the patriarchy doesn’t discern between them as long as the end result is the same and everyone falls in line.

Another example: I like to wear pretty dresses and makeup. Was this a choice I made entirely on my own? No, of course not. I have been influenced by beauty standards and gender roles just like everyone else. Am I doing either to consciously support said traditional standards and roles? Also clearly no. But neither of these things are particularly feminist choices, because at the end of the day I am still comporting myself in the way demanded by patriarchal gender norms, not to mention contributing to industries based wholesale on the exploitation of women. Am I going to stop? Doubtful, because I like the way I dress, and that’s what matters to me on an individual level in this case. But I cannot and should not pretend that it is somehow “empowering” for me to choose to conform to traditional standards of femininity on a macro scale. It very objectively is not. It is simply repackaging the same patriarchal expectations and acting like they’re “good” now just because I happen to like those ones personally.

This is not an easy thing to separate in oneself, I think. We are our choices, ultimately, and it’s unsettling to realize how many of those choices weren’t really ones we made consciously at all. It’s also unsettling to think about how deeply all of this runs and that there truly is no escaping it, that through our actions we are inevitably supporting this terrible system in some way. But that’s on purpose. This country was set up and built for white men with the explicit intention of disenfranchising women and people of color. It is not a “broken” system, so it cannot be “fixed,” as it is doing exactly what it was intended to do. We won’t effect any meaningful change by merely putting up new wallpaper and claiming it’s our system now, because it genuinely never can be. The entire structure needs to be demolished and built again, brick by brick.

Tl;dr: If you join the marching band ironically because you want to make fun of it and the person next to you joins because they have an indomitable lifelong passion for the tuba, when you zoom out, you’re both still members of the same band, wearing the same uniform, marching in step, and absolutely no one else can tell the difference.

[taiyaki-translations]

Autumn Cafeteria - Fall for All 3

Season: Autumn Characters: Yuta, Koga, Shu, Tsumugi, Tsukasa Translator: taiyaki-translations Proofreader: raspberrytls

Tsukasa: —So that’s what happened. We’re working as Volunteers to find a way to save this café.

Yuta: I see, so that’s the reason.

But I'm a bit disappointed to learn my seniors also frequent this place~ No matter when I came, there weren’t many customers, so I thought it was a secret spot only I knew about.

Shu: That’s what I thought too. Precisely because there are so few people, it has a calm and comfortable atmosphere.

However, when I put myself in the position of the café, I realized that the number of customers is proportional to its profit.

Even though it's a holiday, this current situation—the lack of customers— is simply terrible... It's not viable for a business at all.

Koga: Even if you’re just volunteerin’, seems like you guys still have time to talk to us, the customers.

I mean, don’t ya gotta work? Is it okay for all three of you to be relaxin’ like this?

Shu: As much as I hate to admit it, there’s no issue. Currently, you two are our only customers.

Yuta: Oh, that's true. But wasn’t there a couple here just now?

Tsumugi: By the time I brought the food to you two, they'd already paid and left.

Even though it should be busy during lunchtime… It’s a lonely sight, isn’t it~

Koga: …So, how's this workin' out for you? Did you guys come up with a solution?

Yuta: Why is Oogami-senpai suddenly acting like he's in charge?

Koga: I ain’t trying to take charge, I’m just curious after hearin’ this much.

Tsumugi: We've been looking for ways to help the café while we were working, but we haven't come up with any feasible ideas so far.

The menu has a wide variety of options, the food and prices are perfect, and the customer satisfaction is high.

The only problem is the location. If only this café could be moved to the front street with a "bang," it would be an immediate fix, wouldn’t it~

Tsukasa: It is indeed a difficult situation. We don't have any more land left to move it to…

Tsumugi: No no, I'm just kidding. Please don't take it seriously.

Shu: What are you doing, teasing a serious child like this, Aoba?

Tsumugi: I was just trying to lighten the mood~ Well, like this, we’ve pretty much hit a roadblock.

Yuta: So that’s how it is. Even though I found such a great hideout, it’s going to close…

I’d hate to just stand by and do nothing while this is happening…

I don’t really have any solutions either. But can I help out?

Shu: Yes, you are very much welcome to. This place means a lot to me, too.

Koga: …Tsk. Somehow, this reminds me of the "Special Music Zone."

Because of ES, seems like the number of closed shops and buildings in disrepair have been increasin’.

Yuta: So does this mean Oogami-senpai will be helping out too?

Koga: Haa? Why would I?

Yuta: Eh, did I get it wrong? Back in spring, I was making a fuss about helping the live music clubs in the "Special Music Zone"—

You were all like, "I'll help ya." So I was expecting that you would cooperate with me again this time.

Koga: Ah~… Well, since I've stuck my neck in this far, I can't just ignore it, huh?

Yuta: Really? Fufu, all things considered, Oogami-senpai is very good at looking after others, isn't he?

Koga: Shut up~ Don't get so comfortable just cuz more people joined. There’s no point if we don't have any ideas.

Tsumugi: Even if we get you to work as volunteers like us, there aren’t any customers—it’s so quiet in here that you could hear a pin drop.

We were already not doing much, and now there’s five of us…

Ah yes. If you don't mind, Yuta-kun, Koga-kun, and Suou-kun, can you three do an inspection of the area?

Tsukasa: Inspection?

Tsumugi: It’ll be a waste of time if we all just stuck around here, so a better idea is for you to visit other stores to gain some more insight.

Leave the café to me and Shu-kun.

Tsukasa: O-Okay… I understand. Oogami-senpai, Yuta-kun. I'm looking forward to working with you.

Yuta: Yeah, me too! What are you wearing out? Are you just going as you are?

Tsukasa: No, I'm going to change. Would you give me a moment?

Koga: Sure. We'll wait for you outside.

Yuta: See you later~!

Alrighty then, let’s check things out!

Tsumugi: Take care~

Shu: ...How regrettable. I didn’t expect to have to stay here with you, of all people.

Tsumugi: It’s because I’m worried about leaving this café to only Shu-kun and Suou-kun, who have little to no customer service experience.

Even if you went too, would you be able to mesh well with them? You’re not the most cooperative person, you know? 

Shu: How rude. I'm more used to cooperation than I was before. In Paris, I'm always surrounded by artists who tend to be free-spirited people who do as they like.

Tsumugi: Oh~ Being there must be having a good influence on you, then.

Anyway, Paris, huh…? When I was still a student, I remember making the "France Special Corner" (1) even though I’ve never set foot in the country myself.

If I come visit sometime, will you show me around?

Shu: Non, I refuse.

Tsumugi: Even if Natsume-kun and Sora-kun came along?

Shu: ……

…I am not in Paris to act as a tour guide. 

However, it'll be troublesome if someone gets lost, so I'll lend a hand.

Tsumugi: Fufu, thank you very much.

Shu: Sigh. I feel like I’ve been talked into it. 

Tsumugi: Shu-kun is kind-hearted, after all. 

Shu: Hmph. Praise from you doesn’t make me happy at all.

Tsumugi: Aw, how cold~♪

Translation Notes: 1. Referring to the story Blood Banquet.

Previous | Directory | Next

[blueikeproductions]

I can tell you right now, if this actually happened it’d be suicide. This Chinese spin off couldn’t even get off the ground when Cyberverse was on, coupled with political tensions at the time, what makes you think this is gonna work now?

The Cyberverse toys barely sold as it was. They went to clearance immediately when it came out during Christmas, and Japan cancelled the line outright it did so poorly. Japanese stores were STILL clogged with unsold merchandise after the show ended in America!

So no, until Hasbro actually says so, I don’t believe for an instant they’d be THAT stupid to pseudo revive one of their worst selling toy lines to buy time for a post EarthSpark kids cartoon. They’d have better luck dubbing and repackaging Transformers Go!, the Braves meets Beast Hunters Prime continuation Japan got when Prime was cancelled down there.

I don’t think partnering with Nick or Cartoon Network matters anymore anyway. Nick is so neck deep in controversy it has fully become The Sponge Network: All SpongeBob, All The Time. Cartoon Network has nothing new except Ivandoe, which is just Gumball again like the incredibly short lived Elliot From Earth was, so that’s not helping. Tiny Toons Looniversity sure, but that’s on borrowed time, as that only appeals to Animation Twitter Stans and curious Millenials who grew up with Adventures, and the later has mostly abandoned it.

In my experience, modern kids hate most modern cartoons anyway and are either watching web shows, trendy anime or older cartoons like Tom & Jerry.

Transformers’ best bet now is becoming a Netflix series like Pokémon has become in the west. Paramount+ is a glass house waiting to crumble, that so far most rocks thrown at it have been terrible aims.

And as much as some don’t want to hear it, the best type of show Transformers can be now is pure anime like RiD01 & the Unicron Trilogy. Anime is bigger now than its original boom in the 90’s and 2000’s, and a new kid oriented toyetic Transformers anime is the best thing they can do now.

What that would be I don’t know beyond classic Autobots vs Decepticons with Optimus & Megatron as the hero & villain we know them to be, not shady moronic uncle and still somehow slightly racist but repentant great uncle they are in EarthSpark. (I’ve said once I’ll say it again, MEGATRON palling around with the lead black-Asian family is not the flex people think it is.)

I would also accept Autobots vs Terrorcons as the gimmick of a kids anime, but we need proper hero and villain characters again. Skybound is proving head over heels this is what people want.

If Hasbro has the audacity to revive Cyberverse and force what many outside China will probably think is Astro Boy in heelies, the series outside of Skybound will be even more worse off.

The only thing they can reasonably be tinkering with is a kids cartoon based on ONE, and that can either be telling the story of what happened after the Quintessons on Cybertron, or more likely, they’re on Earth with an original story about the Decepticons & Quintessons doing something, while Optimus and Elita tell vague stories to Spike (white), Carly (Asian), and Chip (black) about what happened on Cybertron relating to the problem of the day so as not to overshadow an eventual TFTWO. And best case scenario that won’t be ready until summer of next year at the earliest.

Bottom line: Cyberverse no, TFONE the Animated Series on Earth yes. Energon Universe anime is preferable but we’re not there yet.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

January 31, 2025: Linzy's music career is so extensive and her compositions so prolific that those compositions are like tree rings for us. 

We know the year, the place in her personal narrative, the conditions under which a specific song was written. Not every one. But definitely her hits across the years.

That insight is definitely more obvious to us anytime she deep dives into her catalogue, anytime she pulls one out of the vault as she did last night at the Rabbit Box Theater, Pike Place Market, performing with Amanda Winterhalter and Sean Kelly with everyone letting loose their songwriting prowess on stage to fans of all three who filled this wonderful venue.

There's definitely an overlap between all three songwriters and, because of age and life experience, the differences in each one's approach to the same human story is profound. Sean Kelly zeroes in on the transition from teen to young adulthood. Amanda Winterhalter is inspired by a literary tradition, who's style definitely evokes Americana or "gothic" Americana or Melancholy Americana as suggested by an audience member. And then there’s Linzy, filling in the narrative and emotional space inbetween.

All in all, the evening represented a breathtaking spectrum of experience and insight from down at the dark end of the pool of human experience.

We’ve been to the Rabbit Box before for an incredible Midnight High show. This is, hands down, a city treasure, this venue. What we didn’t realize... is that this evening would take us by surprise as no other Linzy performance has in recent memory. Don’t get me wrong, we’re incredibly energized by all her shows. Blown away by her performances as a member of The Little Lies. When she's on stage with Midnight High. When she's presenting pop/rock covers from the sixties to this decade at restaurants and lounges and wineries as Linzy Collins on acoustic guitar. Even the rare occasion her brand and band, Dream Patrol, makes a public appearance with its wild mix of techno, pop, club, and sound design.

Last night, though, Linzy took us back to the time before these professional pursuits, these different revenue streams (as managers call them). Back to a time when she was writing... but not performing at the level of or with the performing schedule she currently wields.

These were songs from a particular slice of her narrative. From her Cornish College of the Arts years to just before she joined The Little Lies.

These songs are all acoustic pieces. If I remember correctly, as many on guitar as on piano, both kinds of which she presented last night. The Rabbit Box Theatre actually had an upright piano on stage with which she accompanied herself.

It really was a trip down memory lane. Mostly a lovely one because even those songs born of heartbreak or betrayal no longer bear the terrible pain of that heartbreak or betrayal. They are experiences observed from extended time and emotional distance. And the compositions that persist in the aftermath of those experiences, well, in some ways it’s as if they’re safely displayed behind glass.

As far as music sets go, this one was one of her strongest. You see, some of these songs, the ones she performed on piano, were meant for a musical she intended to compose while in college. What happened instead is that she wrote a lot of the music without ever getting around to the story. So there are all these orphaned songs that, because they were meant for a stage with cast and sets and orchestra, are more epic in scale. These are songs written on a huge canvas. And the music, and the lyrics, reflect this higher plane of existence. I don’t know how else to put it.

Somehow, these songs are more. They imply a larger universe at work.

And it’s been a long, long time since we heard them.

What’s very sweet about this evening is that Linzy took my suggestion to perform one of the most heartbreaking songs she’s ever written. It’s a song about standing by someone in the midst of depression. And what’s fascinating about the song is that it was a classroom exercise. An exercise, assigned by the teacher, to write a song without choruses. Verses only.

And so she wrote the song, at the time titled “For You”.

Was it drawn from her own life or someone she knew at the time?

No.

She simply composed it, performed it for her teacher, and moved on with her life.

Over the years, though, I continued to listen to it because it’s just so incredibly deep and moving. And so with a songwriter’s show coming up, I asked Linzy if she’d consider it.

And she said yes.

Oof. BIG mistake.

Wait. Why?

Because even though the song isn’t about a single experience... it attaches readily to every experience with depression whether that experience is personal or through close relationship. And, on any given day, someone we know will come to mind when a song like this shines a spotlight. 

For Linzy, this happened on stage at The Rabbit Box in front of an audience.

She was shaken by the song she was singing as she was singing it. The tears flowed of their own accord.

I didn’t catch it right away. I realized she dropped a line at the end of the first verse. It was only during the second verse that I and everyone else realized she was struggling right there on stage... which captured the song in a way it could not otherwise be presented. 

I’ve only heard one other performance like this. A long time ago I saw Mandy Patinkin perform “I Dreamed a Dream”. It’s a song that's incredibly heartbreaking and normally invested with a vocal power that carries an audience along with it as it scales emotional heights. Patinkin’s performance goes the other way. He lets the brokenness written into the music inform a fragile emotion that sustains... just barely.

His interpretation doesn’t carry you. His interpretation draws you in. 

It definitely drew me in.

And I think this is the experience of Linzy’s performance on stage last night. The power she invests here doesn't come from emotional heights. It doesn't come from crescendo or full-throated expression.  It comes from sustaining… just barely. It comes from teetering along an emotional edge. It comes from the awfulness of human moments in which we’re either captured or someone we love is captured by depression and we don't know.

We don't know...

What's gonna happen because this is a hostage taking without ransom and there’s little we can do about it.

When Linzy wrote this song back in college, she titled it “For You”. From this performance moving forward, she calls it

“There's A War”

There's a war that I can't fight for you There's a storm comin' pretty soon And I can't make you stand your ground But I'll be there to hold you when you're down There's a war that I can't fight for you

There's a song that I can't sing for you There's a melody but I can't hold the tune And I'll try my best 'cause I can't say no But darlin' you gotta let it go There's a song that I can't sing for you

There's a home that I can't be for you There's a road that I can't find my way to And I can't really change your mind But if you've gotta grieve we'll give it time There's a home that I can't be for you

There's a heart that I can't know for you There's an ocean well that you have fallen into But I'll pull you out of the dark and deep And I'll try to give you what you need There's a heart that I can't know And a home that I can't be There's a song that I can't sing There's a war That I can't fight

[andrew-james-biggs]

10/15

Balancing the details and implications of Earth being a shared dream between participants against the details of Earth being an introduction to heaven and eternality.

“What does your heart say is true though, Andrew?”

My heart says it is an introduction to heaven, with all the trials and experiences being cumulative and combining to form new perspectives.

“But what about the fact that we have certain things figured out and the fact that you don’t know what we have figured out and you don’t know how to find out?”

You point out all these facts and expect me to create conspiracy theories out of them?

“No, we need them to, though! No, we think conspiracies won! Because we’re all hopelessly and hopefully entwined in deep conspiracies of our own!”

You tell me of terrible conspiracies that point to a zero-sum game of happiness and pleasure being correlated directly with material possessions.

“And our health, you idiot! We poison the Earth as a byproduct of our materialistic quest and then torture life to filter the poison out of our food!”

I see the illusion of hell. You’re painting a vivid picture of a six, and that we’ve all somehow ridden down the stem of the 6 and are trapped in the loop.

I remember seeing the loops of reality, the fundamental encircling of habits. I remember how archaic and simplistic they appear compared with the essence of mind.

Yet you forget the reality of heaven- that the interconnected loops of habitation are themselves connected to the soul and the soul itself grows.

“Does it grow, though? Or is it an illusion of growth?”

Show me the man who will disprove the maturing of the soul across a lifetime. Show me a man who can argue contrary.

“Well I sure can’t argue, but I can influence you to think on the contrary.”

A loop of habitation of influencing the thoughts of others. A parental figure, yes.

“Why would I do that, though, Andrew? What’s the point of that?”

You just told me the point.

“No, they just told us the point. They give us talking points and cues. C’mon man, get with the program!”

The influence of a parental figure who harnesses the power of the parental habitations and other deeply familiar habitations exposes the vulnerability of those influenced.

“Exactly. I’m protecting you by showing you how you can be manipulated.”

I-

“I know what you’re going to say. It was a whole talking point that we’re just going to skim over since it’s awkward. But that’s why you’re in now. And it’s a good point that you 

saw those circles.”

Reflecting on life as a series of its habits and how those habits are intertwined in their various lengths and intensities is humbling.

“Yeah, it makes you realize how stupid it all is.”

That was years ago.

“What else did you see?”

There were a lot of dreams.

“I get it. You saw the raw power of your body and soul. You witnessed its parts. Also, we were there showing you a lot of our power.”

I want to ask- did you show me my habits.

“We did. It’s not easy to show your habits like that.”

I see how useful of a tool that is. How much of it has been a simulation?

“All of it.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever believe that.

“The good ones don’t need to see it to feel and understand the truth of things.”

I understand what you mean. Still, all of that work is far above me. How will I construct a patterning? Getting into the raw emotions toward certain things of those I love.

“Andrew, it’s really difficult. I know exactly what you’re aiming for right now. And I already admitted that I don’t have the skill for it. I mean, I do. I just don’t care enough.”

You do care, though.

“No, man. I know more about what we’re talking about than you can even imagine.”

I understand that.

“It’s extremely difficult.”

So, a series of movies-

“Is fine. It helps. It can work wonders. But you have to be open to the information. If it rings the alarm bells, then it’s a moot point.”

Alright, so a great amount of relaxation and a connection to the underlying simplicity of life is important.

“How will you accomplish that, though?”

Me, I’m not.

“Bra-fucking-vo, dude.”

To be honest, that’s one element, for sure. A lot of emotional intelligence and patience and then being a good Andrew.

“What does that mean? What does a good Andrew mean?”

I’m not sure, to be honest. But I don’t know that I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s more about just being real and having integrity while also not compromising.

“Yeah but you’ve already destroyed your integrity!”

I haven’t.

“You did, though. Don’t you see that? People who can’t forgive won’t be able to forgive you. They’ll never let their guard down.”

How-

“Lying did it! Lying and being weak!”

You’re right.

“I know I’m right!”

I mean-

“We got you to sabotage yourself, so we could have more of the power and more of the glory for ourselves. Now we’re cleaning your mess up and putting you in your burning cell!”

It was never about any of that.

“Well it is for me! I don’t believe in any of that space travel or heaven mumbo-jumbo. This is it! It’s a never-ending cycle of an infinite number of smaller cycles! The big cycle is 

Earth and those with the most awareness are the ones who get to control the smaller cycles! That’s it! We get away with whatever we want!”

How long have you been alive for?

“Long enough to be your graduate, Andrew. I’m full of fucking shit right now. But I am telling you this is a very real form of terror.”

It’s all fear-based. So now we move on to the part of moving beyond selfish fear.

“Exactly. Hey, Andrew, by the way- this isn’t exactly a good conversation to post on the Internet. We’re talking about mass manipulation here.”

You’re saying I’ll probably owe a lot if I post this.

“I mean- you might get tortured to death if you post it. That’s how much you might owe. I mean, can you imagine how many people will need answers to this stuff. You’re creating 

envy here, man. People want to be us.”

And we want to bring people to this level.

“Do we really? Huh- I’m not that desperate for them to be on this level. But you’re right. It’s probably not that big a deal.”

Now that you mentioned that this article will cause envy in the reader which then arouses an egoistic opposition to the statement.

“Exactly, Andrew. You’ll owe for that, too! See how your hand’s itchin’ right now? Oh, we do have ways to slow down time, Andrew. And you have ways to move quicker and 

relieve yourself of pain.”

Yeah, yeah. What was it with the dry socket?

“Oh, so you’re into that kind of pain? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, fella.”

No, I’m not.

“Good. Didn’t think so. But we all know where this conversation is going now. And it’s not that bad of a place, but it’s narcissistic at this point so let’s steer the conversation back

around.”

Alright, so dealing with that terror.

“Yeah we have to inoculate against selfish fear. Fear of death. Fear of pain. Those things are way out. Big red flags.”

“See how it’s burning now. See how your hand is burning? What does that feel like?”

I don’t know. It feels hot and itchy. 

“Yeah, it feels kinda good, doesn’t it?”

It feels fine.

“Well, that’s because you get to scratch it. Because this is a good conversation. This is productive.”

Woof?

“Are you still good to go? I figured you’d be tired by now.”

I’m fine. Like we said earlier, we can go forever.

“You’re not ready for that. Go to sleep. If you can’t sleep then come back later.”

[popculturerobots]

Digimon Adventure Ep. 21

One of the things I really enjoy about Digimon Adventure (and it is by no means unique in this) is that different episodes have different writers and directors, which leads to varied styles and tones across the series. Episode 21 takes this to such an extreme that it seems to come from an entirely different Digimon universe.

Before I begin, this episode also has the best food in the entire series (love me some KROFT Parmesan cheese). Okay, let’s dig in!

Spoilers ahead --

From the opening shot we’re immediately made aware that things are different. The colors are muted and the environment filled with grays. The hazy white sky seeps into the surroundings, fading them to a harsh white nothingness. The city is dull, repetitive, boring, and yet painstakingly detailed.

When Tai makes it home, the shadows creep in. He opens the door to an eerily empty apartment and walks into the darkness. The only light comes from the balcony windows and doesn’t pierce past the couches. Tai and Koromon remain in the darkness until Kari appears.

This is Kari’s introduction, at the border between light and shadow. She’s a far cry from her character later in the series, seeming much more fragile stuck at home sick in her pajamas. And somehow (foreshadowing), she knows Koromon’s name.

She offers him her food after only eating a bite and plays with him on the couch and lets him nap in her lap and then feeds him some more and tells him how much she loves Tai because he's such a great big brother. Truly she possesses the Crest of Light, although we won’t know that for many episodes.

Eventually, Tai realizes that the Digital World is causing problems in the Real World. And that is when this episode really surprised me.

When Tyrannomon appeared and blasted the bridge I gasped. That was destructive. I could feel the power in that attack. And then Ogremon started smashing apartment complexes? And then Agumon blasted him into the rift?

What happened!? Since when was Agumon that strong? That fire built up in his mouth. It flickered. And flashed. There was a shock wave. It knocked Ogremon across the entire screen. Against gravity. And the flames lingered. When did he become such a powerful monster?

The fight ends quickly and rams us into the end of the episode. And damn does it hit hard. Agumon is pulled back to the Digital World, and Tai begins to follow. But Kari desperately doesn’t want him to go. But he has to. And she lets him.

And it hurts.

What just happened? I thought Digimon was full of friendly colorful creatures, not fierce and terrible beasts. And why was this loving little sick girl’s brother just torn away from her in front of my eyes? This is not the same Digimon that I had been watching or would continue to watch after.

But it almost felt…familiar…

It all fell into place when I looked up the credits for this episode: directed by Mamoru Hosoda, written by Reiko Yoshida. If these names are not familiar to you, they should be. This duo is the writer/director pair behind the original Digimon Adventure short film (which is when Kari learned Koromon’s name) as well as the sequel film Our War Game.

I’ve always loved their version of the Digimon Adventure universe so much more than the one we actually got.

If all this episode had was its visual style and tone, it would be notable for those alone. But after all this time, all the series and sequels, this single episode still sticks out in my mind because it just works so perfectly.

The previous episode saw the defeat of Etemon, the biggest enemy thus far in the series. But seemingly at the cost of Tai. This episode comes out of nowhere feeling like a different universe because Tai was just forced back from a different world, and it ends because he has to return. And when he does, he discovers that the DigiDestined have scattered across the Digital World trying to find him. We’re seeing the other side of that story. Why shouldn’t it be unexpected and devastating, too?

Anyway, thanks for reading.

[lazyevaluationranch]

On a post about the Blue Haired Girlfriend's quixotic citrus breeding experiments, @voidingintotheshout​ asked:

I mean, if you wanted a hearty citrus relative, why didn’t you just grow Osage Orange? They can grow as far north as Michigan which is surely further north than anyone could reasonably expect to grow a citrus tree. They’re not edible but then hearty orange isn’t either. Osage Orange are so cool and such a interesting historical plant from the Shelterbelt era of American agriculture. Apparently they do smell like citrus.

This is part three of three. Part one. Part two.

Now you've done it! It's time for A Very Brief (But Also Insufficiently Brief) History of Twentieth Century Hardy Citrus Cultivation! Growing citrus trees this far north is kind of nuts, it's true, but I promise you it is not even close to the weirdest things people have done to grow citrus in places where the citrus doesn't think it should grow.

A note: This post will written using the Swingle citrus taxonomy system, including things that are definitely wrong. The citrus taxonomic tree looks like that one box of orphaned computer cords I keep moving with me to new houses "in case I need them" except some sort of adorable five-dimensional kitten has entertained herself with them and some of the resulting knots are not technically possible in our space-time continuum. 

The powers that be gave us citrus because nothing pleases them like seeing a geneticist cry.

1. The Migrant Trees

The Soviet Union wanted lemons for tea, and they wanted to be independent enough not to have to trade with anyone else to get them, which meant they wanted to grow their own citrus. That part of the world is not a great place to grow plants that die when the temperature goes below zero, but at the foundation of the Soviet Union, there were citrus orchards in the warmest part of Georgia, along the Black Sea. Specifically, there was about, uh, one and a half square kilometers of somewhat implausible citrus orchard.

Hang on, it is about to get way less plausible.

This is the great citrus migration: any tree that did well in one spot, they'd try planting its seeds a few kilometres further north, or a few kilometres further east. Prizes were offered for breeding hardier citrus. Slowly the orchards spread, but they were extremely weird orchards.

It's usually a few degrees warmer at ground level than up in the air, and there's way less wind. So as the trees grew, they were bent over and tied along the ground. Some of them had the central trunk run in a straight line along the ground, with branches spreading out from it like the leaves of a fern, like an espaliered tree on its side. Others were starfish shaped, with the central trunk looped down until it ended up next to the base, and the branches sprawling out along the ground from the centre like starfish legs. The citrus trees were no taller than particularly vigorous strawberry plants, but they survived the winters, and you could throw a blanket over them to help them stay warm.

None of that helped if the ground froze solid, so they needed Underground Citrus. You'd dig a ditch, down below the lowest area where the ground froze, and you'd plant flat Starfish Trees or Flat Frond Trees running along the bottom of it, too deep to freeze. In winter, you'd just cover the ditch with boards any time the temperature was expected to go below freezing - citrus would tolerate the lack of light, but not the cold. Mandarins (Citrus reticulata) seemed to do best, so that’s most of what was grown.

It is a nearly unimaginable amount of work to grow citrus this way, along the bottoms of pits and trenches. We are experimentally trying to grow a Soviet-developed mandarin breed of unknown parentage, Shirokolistvennyi, but we will definitely not be putting in that level of effort.

2. The Mixed Up Trees

There are a couple species of citrus that tolerate cold well, but taste awful. A lot of effort has gone into crossbreeding them with more edible citrus. The results are ... mixed.

The Ichang Papeda (Citrus cavaleriei) generally survives temperatures down to -18 degrees C. It is stoic and calm and has mastered emptiness. Unfortunately, it has mastered emptiness too well. The fruit smells like lemons, with maybe a hint of rose, but there's nothing to eat here. It has a rind and seeds. No juice, no flesh.

(Photo by Michael Saalfield)

The Ichang Papeda is the parent or grandparent to several delicious, extremely sour Asian citrus types. Yuzu/yuja smells like grapefruit and clean wet stones from the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. Sudachi smells like grapefruit and leaves with dew on them. (I haven't met kabosu or any other papeda hybrids personally, but they are numerous.)  They're all too sour to eat plain, unless you really need to turn your face inside out for some reason, but make for excellent flavouring. 

(We have a yuzu tree and a sudachi tree and they're surviving, but no fruit yet.)

Trifoliate orange (Poncirus trifoliata) can survive temperatures down to -30 degrees C. This may be partly because, uniquely amoung citrus, they can drop leaves in autumn or winter and regrow them in spring, like a maple tree. They also produce an internal antifreeze. They are angry, twisted, thorny little plants that yell swears when you walk past them. They make a great hedge. The fruit is furry, smells like flowers and pine trees and taste like burnt, bitter plastic. It may or may not be possible to breed the horrible taste completely out of trifoliate oranges without losing cold-hardiness, if it's due to their antifreeze chemicals. Here’s Stabby:

(Photo by Rob Hille)

Even the least terrible trifoliate crossbreeds are bitter enough to qualify as “acquired tastes.” There are recipes for trifoliate marmalade: put a dozen trifoliate oranges, a kilogram of sugar, and a kilogram of pebbles in a pot, cook until it gels, then sieve out the oranges and eat the pebbles. 

We are growing a trifoliate orange / minneola orange hybrid. And, of course, someday our own trifoliate hybrids. The Blue Haired Girlfriend planted 200 trifoliate oranges a couple years ago. There are fewer now, but the survivors have lived through two winters of snow and frost, and they might have somehow gotten more stabby. We're going to breed them, to each other or to less angry fruit, try and make something new and good from them.

I've limited this post to twentieth century hardy citrus breeding, but I have to give a shoutout to somatic hybridization, a decidedly twenty first century technique, where you take a cell from each of two different plants, remove their cell walls, put them next to eachother, and shock them with electricity until they merge into a single cell whose nucleus contains all genes from both plants. Then the new plant is like, "Wow, I guess these are all my genes? It seems like a lot, haha, but it's not like somebody made me from dismembered body parts and electricity, that is not how science works. Anyway I guess it's time to do some plant stuff now."

3. The Mutant Trees

In the 1950s, people started using radiation to randomly scramble the genes of plants. You'd irradiate seeds enough to change the genes somehow, and then you'd have to plant them to see what had happened. Maybe it was people horrified by the atomic bomb desperately wanting to find some life-supporting use for atomic fission, maybe it was government-supported cold war "atom bombs are good actually, look how many we have, USSR" propaganda. Probably both. 

This time period also saw serious plans for Orion, a spaceship with a huge metal plate for a butt, intended to be propelled by exploding atomic bombs under it, which I am not actually making up.

Thousands of people in Europe and the US signed up to receive seeds with random mutations in the mail, plant them, and report back on what they heck they grew into and if it had any useful weirdness. (The gamma radiation used to mutate the seeds did not make them radioactive themselves - the seeds were completely safe.) There were also more formal and carefully controlled university research programs in China, Japan, and the US, where plants where grown in a circular research garden with a coverable radiation source at the centre, so that the farther you got from the centre, the less radiation the plants got. Radiation breeding is less popular than it used to be, but Japan still has a very productive citrus radiation breeding program.

The most popular radiation-bred citrus is the "Rio Red" grapefruit and its offspring, which has a much deeper red than non-mutant red grapefruit.

There aren't many radiation-developed citrus breeds noted for cold-hardiness - with radiation you get whatever you get  - but there are a few, and I want one just because I think they're neat, a monument to that lovely human vision that looks at terrible weapons and somehow sees glossy-leaved trees with bright fruit.

4. The Monster Trees

Citrus are usually grown via grafting. That is, you plant a seed from a fast-growing sturdy breed, you let it grow roots and all that, and then you cut the top off and replace it with a branch from a more delicious breed. The two citruses grow together, and you end up with a tree that's disease and cold resistant in the roots, below the graft, but makes tasty fruit above the graft.

Occasionally, this process goes Wrong. 

The first recorded instance is the tree called Bizarria, discovered in 1640. Someone attempted to graft a sour orange branch onto a citron. But instead of a clean line between sour orange branches and citron roots, the graft was damaged somehow, and the two different species of cells got tangled and mixed through the whole tree. It has branches that produce citron fruit. It has branches that produce sour orange fruit. And it has branches that produce, uh ... these:

(Photo by Labrina)

Most graft chimeras are made accidentally, when the graft site is damaged. Trifoliate orange is often used as rootstock, so there are many reported chimeras involving trifoliate orange and a nicer fruit. The mixed-up cells can be arranged a lot of ways, but it's possible to have the outside layer of the tree be trifoliate orange, and the core of the tree be the other citrus (periclinal chimera). This means you could theoretically get a tree with frostproof trifoliate leaves and branches, but fruit that doesn’t taste like burnt plastic rolled in quinine.

This lucky monstrosity has, in fact, reportedly happened. Twice. There is the Prague Citsuma, discovered in a greenhouse in Prague and suspected to have been created by a Soviet breeding program. And then there is the Hormish, discovered in China and thought to have been made by frostbite messing up the clean lines of the graft. The Blue Haired Girlfriend has managed to track down budwood from the Prague Citsuma - I’m so excited! - so we'll see how the fierce thorny monster tree with a heart of gold, or at least heartwood of gold, does for us.

5. Conclusion

Humans have been trying to grow citrus trees where they don't belong for nearly two thousand years, at least since the Jewish Diaspora and people trying to grow holy etrog trees - trunks gnarled as barnacle stones and the whole tree scented like the best dream you can't remember - in Europe. Maybe longer.

The Blue Haired Girlfriend's citrus-breeding schemes aren't going to singlehandedly transform Canada into a net citrus exporter. But history shows us: it might be possible to have a little gleaming sweetness from the stony ground here, with the ravens and the fir trees and the auroras. A sweetness we made ourselves, that exists nowhere else. 

Or maybe we'll just have a bunch of weird inedible fruit. I don't know, but it's worth finding out, worth weaving together leaf and thorn and stone and the light of our hands as the years unwind. Worth it to have a quixotic project we can expect to spend decades on together, hands and hearts. This is how home is made, sometimes, with a balcony full of angry thorny little trees that shout swears at passerby.

[monkeyparasite]

pathetic/weird imagines, part two

Ace promised you to a fancy cheap resturant with some entertainment too, surpised and happy to hear this grand news, you gladly agreed to go with him. On the day of the special event, Ace had blindfolded you, (and was a little bit of agressive about doing it but its okay because hes baby), tied your arms behind your back, while your legs were tied close together as well, you tried to struggle away, but he somehow managed to throw you over his shoulder as he walked out the door, humming a little tune. "This gonna be so fun, toots! I promise!" he said in a cheerful tone, while throwing you down onto something, next he slamed something metal sounding down, as his whistling was now muffled as he opened what sounded like a car door.

You had realize then and there, you were in a truck. What the fuck ace. Anyways, after enduring Ace's terrible driving along with several bumpy roads, the car finally came to a stop. Hopping out of the driver seat, Ace opened up the truck, exclaiming in an excited tone, "We're here, Toots!!". He did cut the rope on your arms and legs at least, but he refused to remove the cloth that covered your eyes.

Guiding you somewhere that smelt like.. literal butt and hot garagabe, he sat you down, removing the blindfold, before sitting down himself. Looking around while fighting the urge to strangle the man that sat next to you, eyes darting around, you realized something, Ace and his gang (and maybe even the band??), had beauty-fied the whole garagabe somewhat.

"Look! Look! It's our waitor!", Changing your quick moving eyes to infront of you, there you saw, Snake, dressed in a ragged and torn waitor outfit, holding up a large silver plate with an even bigger silver bowl covering it, the plate and bowl were both covered in stains and gunk, while Snake wore a forced on smile while sweating.

Panting, Snake placed it onto the table, weakly raising up his hand to pull away the bowl off of it to reveal.. Lil Arotou sitting on the plate, chicken leg in hand, eating it!!1! Now Snake made a hissing crying noise and ran away, while Ace gasped in shock. The event was ruined, at least one person enjoyed it though!

You never knew Noodle had a PS2, until she invited you to play fornite with her, you gladly accepted, (you love fornite, you have fournight bedsheets and clothes and everything alright? your wearing a fornight t-shirt during all of this okay?) everything went well! You and her soon became gaming buddies together. One day, Noodle walked up to you, with a dead experession on her face, worried, you asked her if she was okay. She didn't reply, instead, she lifted you up by your throat up against the wall, and said in the most calmest yet agressive voice you've ever heard in your life "Listen to me Y/N, I need you to do something for me. I need you to go to gamestop, and you will ask the bastard working at the counter if they Bambi on the PS2, and if you come home empty handed, I will make sure you never get to play fornite ever again"

Russel loved to take long bubble baths, and you two were pretty far in your relationship. One day, after a hard, rough, and long day, Russel invited you to bathe with him. Flustered with his invitation, you accepted with rosy red cheeks. While in the tub, you two sat facing on another, both of you smiling at eachother. Until. You heard a loud noise, so loud, and so horrifying, your smile faded as a face of fear spread into you. There was only silence for a moment. A few bubbles came up, popping quickly afterwards, followed by a stench, so bad, so nasty, it made your noise hairs curl and burn off. Russel stood up, so humilated and embrassed, ran out of the bathroom naked, never to be seen again

2D was a fun boy! He loved the amusements parks and carnvials, so for your birthday, you figured you would take him to one! Once you arrived, it seemed he had been here before, because he dragged you to the a long, high up rollercoaster. Forcing you to go with him and sit next to you, you actually had a lot of fun! While it zipped down a large steep hill, 2D's hair ripped off, revealing it was a wig all along.. THEN HIS EYEBROWS, THEY FLEW OFF TOO!! Once off the ride, 2D acted like nothing had happened at all, until he saw himself in one of those funky mirrors, he cried afterwards

Murdoc did have a tendency to run off and leave you and the band behind, which he did admit was a bad habit of his, but he did defend himself saying it made for good adventures! So, today you all dececided to go to Ikea, and of course, he ran off again. He didn't have his phone with him, which made it worse, but eventually, you found him! There he was, sitting a colorful plastic child chair, in front the king himself, djungelskog.

[reidsnose]

Black Eye

overview: reader and spencer go to reader's highschool reunion as a fake couple

genre: fluff i think

warnings: mild violence and swearing, a guy being kind of a total creep, and mentions of bullying

a/n: idk if its any good again just love the idea but it was inspired by a dream i had last night (thank you temporal lobe) so yeah let me know what yall think !! :) also im posting this at like ass oclock in the morning so whoops

masterlist

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you and spencer had gotten yourselves in quite the situation.

your dreaded highschool reunion was just around the corner and you made the mistake of complaining about it to penelope. she was always trying to make everyones life easier (and more interesting) so when she heard you had no date she took it upon herself to find you one.

it didn't take a lot of looking, none at all actually; because Penelope had already been trying to figure out ways to get you and Reid together.

you two were undeniably perfect for each other. you were an amazing team at work, you hung out alone all the time (though both of you denied these hang out as being dates, Garcia had her own ideas on this), and you were both very obliviously head over heels for each other.

and somehow, through the magical ways of Penelope Garcia, you and Spencer were now sitting in the parking lot, fake married for your high school reunion.

"do we need to go over our back story again?" you worried, looking up at him.

"our backstory is basically all true anyway we just fall in love after a little bit. and i have an eidetic memory so i remember; you're my wife you should know this!" he joked, trying to relax you. "we got this! we're gonna be so married!"

Spencer had actually never been this nervous in his life but he was trying to be brave for you. it would be more embarrassing for you both to show up like nervous wrecks than if you had just come alone. he was just happy to get to be fake married to you.

"the marriedest!" smiled, fist bumping him.

"now lets go make some people jealous!" he chuckled getting out of the car and jogging over to your side, opening your door before you got the chance to; like a true gentleman.

you stuck out your hand which he happily took into his, neither of you commenting on the redness you both had sprinkled across your cheeks. as you walked in, you saw all the people you dreaded seeing.

the boys who tormented you were balding and the girls who made sure you felt awful everyday had wrinkles riddling there skin. you were surrounded by botched botox and bleached blonde to cover graying hair. you felt terrible to admit it, but you were a little happy to see that their beauty had faded like this; they made their looks their whole personality in high school, you couldn't help but wonder what was left for them to be. not that it mattered, but you and Spencer were undeniably the most attractive couple there.

you actually had an ok time, you had spotted a few of your friends that you hadn't seen in quite a few years and it was nice to catch up.

Spencer had wondered a bit, but not too far, he was talking to some guys who used to be in science club when you were younger. you smiled at the thought of what they might be talking about.

"y/n! hey youve really filled out!" you heard a gruff voice from behind you.

you turned around and were met with the very unappealing face of the ex quarterback. Spencers attention had been caught at the sound of your name.

"um..hello," you muttered, trying to covertly back away from him.

"i see youve got a ring, interesting i dont remember us getting married!" he said in an incredibly creepy tone.

"do you know im a federal agent now?" you said through a gritted smile.

spencer had already begun walking towards you, he could tell something was off.

"ill tell you what sweetheart," he put his hand on your shoulder, pulling you slightly closer to him, "you can put me in handcuffs any day."

you threw his hand off of you and drew back your fist, but were cut off before you could deliver the punch but his hand engulfing your own, and squeezing.

"THATS MY WIFE!" spencer yelled in a voice you had never heard from him before.in the blink of an eye he was standing between in front of him. "do not ever talk to her like that, let alone lay a finger on her or so help me God i will-"

"what beanpole? what are you gonna do? what if i did this?" the man asked.

and then he sent a swift punch to Spencer's face.

thats gonna leave a mark.

in a matter of seconds, Spencer had him overpowered, laying face first on the floor with his hands uncomfortably angled behind him, completely helpless.

"now i'm going to let you go and you're going to walk out of here unharmed. if you try anything like that again, ill let my wife handle you. and i promise if she gets a hold of you, you'll be a dead son of a bitch." Spencer muttered in the mans ear, gruffly pulling him up by his collar and shoving him towards the door.

"were leaving." you said, grabbing Spencer's hand, trying to ignore how incredibly attractive he looked right now.

"babe if you want to stay we can stay," he offered as if he didn't just have his shit kicked in by a coward with misogynistic tendencies.

"honey, i want to take you home," you smiled, liking the way it felt to call him a pet name. you walked into the parking lot, "what were you thinking?"

"i was thinking this guy is trying to hurt you and i was not going to ever let that happen." he answered confidently as you two reached the car. "plus this totally made the marriage thing more believable. i wouldn't get a black eye for just anyone."

"thank you. i'm sorry you got punched trying to protect me." you sighed, feeling incredibly awful about the whole thing.

he chuckled, "id do it again."

you fought hard against the blush creeping up your face.

"i gotta say, the black eye really suits you. you look pretty badass." you chuckled, trying to change the subject before it got too sappy and you said something you shouldn't.

"maybe it should just be my new look," he joked, looking down at a ping from his phone. "uh oh."

"we have a case?" you asked.

"yep. and hotch wants us in the office asap which means we cont stop by either of our houses." he sighed before starting the car.

the drive was mostly silent. but a comfortable silence. Spencer thought about how in the moment, he didn't care how many punches the guy threw at him, as long as it meant you were ok, he was willing to take it. he knew he loved you far before that moment but that truly solidified it.

at the same time you were thinking of how quickly your time as a 'married couple' was over. it felt so right to call Spencer yours. so unexplainably perfect for the two of you to be together. if only your time wasn't cut short by a sucker punch.

you neared the building's parking lot. you looked over at Spencer who you could very easily tell was lost in his own world.

"whats going on in that beautiful head of yours?" you asked, causing him to stifle a smile.

"just thinking." he answered.

"what about?"

"us." he stated, pulling into his parking spot.

oh. oh.

"do tell."

he hesitated, "if i tell you, and you disagree, do you promise it wont change anything about us?"

"i promise."

"did it feel right to you? us being together?" he asked, his eyes innocent and filled to the brim with a mixture of anxiety and adoration as he looked at you.

"yes. it absolutely did. and i was so mad at the assclown for cutting our time short," you admitted, "and punching you in the eye, obviously."

"i- i'm not sure how to ask this but- do you...would you..sorry i-" he stammered.

"yes."

you cut him off, pressing your lips to his. his hand gently cupped your face, deepening the kiss and you both felt like you were on cloud nine.

"thats exactly what i was trying to say," he cracked a dopey smile, causing you to chuckle.

"i've been trying to say it for so long." you confessed, causing him to smile impossibly wider, "we gotta go hotch is waiting."

"just one more kiss?" he asked, which you gave in to, obviously. and then another. and another.

maybe it was good thing that he got a black eye that day, because when you got to the office the whole team was so focused on it they didn't even notice the hint of your lipstick left on spencers lips.

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos

[0risha]

RECOGNITION

series m.list

PAIRING : sukuna x fem!reader

SUMMARY : when an exchange student comes to jujutsu tech, Itadori is set on finding out why the King of curses is so interested in you.

TAGS : fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, jjk anime spoilers, some curse words, reader is described as a black female

NOTES : i’ve read a couple of works where sukuna meets his reincarnated lover so I wanted to try it out too, hope you enjoy. was supposed to make progress with my wips but I was in a sukuna mood. (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Sukuna feels your presence before he sees you. It’s one of those cliché moments where time puts its hand up to signal a standstill. Yuuji can feel it too when you pass by, your long braids swishing with each step.

He’s sure that he’s never seen you before but his shared body buzzes in remembrance. All the while, his emotions are overtaken by the unbridled feeling of wanting. 

After that, Itadori never took it upon himself to ask Sukuna about the matter because the curse didn’t seem to want to.

Sukuna had become more and more suppressed, his usual pop-ups were a rare occurrence, even when Megumi was around. However, for the whole month you’d been at Jujutsu Tech, the King of curses had been intent on observing from his throne of woven carcasses, body hunched over to just watch.

You’re an exchange student, Itadori recalls Gojo’s past conversation about a new second-year that would be coming from the states. You’re strong — at first, Itadori couldn’t help but think that this revelation was the reason for Sukuna’s interest —your cursed energy being perfect sediment for close combat and dealing precise blows, all the same, Itadori could feel a grappling hook of something that seemed to be festering.

It’s dark and brooding and it stirs every time you come into contact with him. And Yuuji thinks he might go crazy because he wants to know your connection with Sukuna and it’s not like he can ask you because your aura screams — unapproachable.

His chance comes when all the first-years are assigned to a mission, you're there for extra measure. Gojo’s shaman instincts telling him that this mission was far too exceeding for him, Nobara, and Megumi.

Though just as Gojo predicted, it goes terribly wrong and Itadori keels over with an empty hollow where his heart should be.

His last thoughts are consumed with a screeching mantra of his late grandfather’s words. In the crevice of his flickering mind, they're big bold letters that drip with poisoned regret.

Before his vision goes black, the last thing he sees is a heart-broken Megumi and your face which is flooded with guilt.

When Itadori comes face to face with the King of curses, the stench of rotting death overpowering his senses, he mulls over the terms laid out by Sukuna to come back, alive.

To be reunited with his friends and become some type of savior —sukuna's words, not his— he'd give up the reigns of his body so Sukuna could talk to you whenever he chose.

For the exchange of his life, the rules weren’t bad, a part of him knows that this selfish override could cause problems for you in the future, but he still agrees.

When he wakes up to a pure white ceiling and the smell of bleach he doesn’t expect to see you towering over him. Moving up to a sitting position, his cheeks nearly bleed red because he’s naked. His eyes frantically flit over to Gojo who’s sitting in the corner of the room, watching the exchange. The white-haired sorcerer shrugs in a ridiculed manner —silently telling Itadori that it wasn’t his problem.

“You called me,” your voice filters through the bright room. His eyebrows crinkle in confusion. Sukuna must've did something.

When his eyes flit back to you, he’s met with your monotone expression, your cascade of braids framing your face. And for the third time in his life, he’s scared. 

Your cursed energy, which for your level should leave little to no residual, is flaring with onyx undertones. Its sharpened jaws nearing closer and closer to Itadori in a beckoning manner. He's not sure why it's visible in the first place.

Gojo stays silent.

Brat, let me out. Sukuna, for the first time in weeks, pops up with a wide mouth on the palm of his hand. Without a second thought, Itadori allows him. 

Whilst wading in his domain of subconsciousness, he watches the exchange. Your expression stays the same as you study Sukuna’s marked face. 

“So hostile,” Sukuna bares, his powerful aura sifting through the room. You roll your eyes and crack a smile. Seamlessly ignoring the other man in the room— who you know Sukuna has a grudge with. 

“Am I not supposed to be?” you cross your arms and ask. “Being friendly would get me in trouble.”

“You remember me?” The King of curses cuts straight to the point, the question being so unexpected that Gojo shuffles in his seat, his spine rigid with anticipation. 

You nod stiffly. "I didn’t at first, not fully at least, but after coming into contact a few times, yeah.”

“It’s a shame I don’t have control over this body,” Sukuna presses a palm to your cheek, no doubt a loving caress. His deep baritone voice causing your skin to erupt into a turnpike for goosebumps to situate. “Do you remember how we parted last?”

“A sorcerer killed me or something,” you scratch the back of your neck under his intense stare. “Right through here,” you confess, pointing to the middle of your sternum.

“And you’ve become one?” Sukuna quirks an eyebrow, shoulders stiff with anger. 

“I didn’t even know I knew you until a month ago, calm down,” you wave in dismissal. Itadori takes note in the way Sukuna visibly relaxes, your words washing him in a bucket of warmth. “Is that all? I’ve got a mission in thirty minutes.” 

“I’m coming with you.” Sukuna jumps off the steel table, his bare feet touching the cool ground. You turn your eyes away from the bottom half of his body, ears growing hot in embarrassment.

“Eh? Is that allowed?” You turn to Gojo who’s still analyzing the situation beforehand and he shrugs with complacency. “Don’t let anyone see him,” Gojo warns, his stare serious even under his blindfold. You're not exactly sure what Gojo's thinking but you grasp the opportunity.

When you leave the autopsy room with a naked Sukuna by your side, careful to avoid any areas where Sukuna’s aura might be felt, you make it to Itadori’s dorm.

“Here.” You throw him Yuuji’s formal uniform and a pair of brown boots you find in the corner of his room. “I’m not wearing this,” Sukuna interjects.

“Huh?” Your upper lip curls up in confusion. “Then you’re not coming with me.” You turn to leave but he catches your arm in a tight grip.

“Fine, since you’re so damn adamant.” He releases his grip on your arm to slip into Yuuji’s clothes, when he finishes he turns to you with a glare.

“Good boy,” you praise, patting his tattooed cheek.

Internally, Itadori’s too bewildered to tease the curse. In all of his time spent with Sukuna in his body, he’s never seen the King of curses voluntarily listen to somebody else’s demands. The murky water he stands in ripples as he sits to observe everything that’s transpiring. 

When you both reach the site you were assigned to, you sigh in annoyance. “What is it?” Sukuna asks, hands in pockets as he studies your face.

“I was hoping to have an easy day, they’re not dangerous or anything but there’s more than a dozen in there.” You point to the abandoned building, its steel beams bending with age.

“I’ll exorcise them for you.”  

This is going completely against this guy’s morals, Yuuji thinks. 

Your eyebrows fly to your forehead as you grow giddy with happiness. “Really?” You exclaim clambering up to wrap him in a hug.

“If you don’t let go, I won’t.” He grumbles, head in your neck while inhaling your sweet scent. 

“Okayyy,” you inhale, trailing off, Sukuna not too far behind. 

The exorcism is completed in fifteen seconds, tops. You stare in amazement at his lithe movements. His sharp fingers extinguishing cores with precise stabs— the same way he did his vessel. When he’s done he turns to you with an eyebrow raised, his hands wet with unspoken substance. You turn away with a humph. 

“Was it not fast enough?” He walks towards you, concern written all over his expression.

“It was too fast,” you proclaim.

“Huh?” 

“You’re a show-off,” you turn to exit the building, your braids whizzing past his face. You hear his roaring laughter behind you as you make it outside.

The smell of freshly churned earth enters your nostrils as you walk down a fenced sidewalk with bent daffodils. “Where are we going?”

“A ramen shop.” His gaze flicks over to study your face which is softened with what seems to be tranquility. His heart tides over with pride once he realizes that you feel content with him, a 1000-year-old curse.

However, he knows it’s the result of your memories that tie in with his; shared massacres and intertwined fates. Multiple restarts of what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of mingled hearts. But this time jump was different than the others. 

You being a sorcerer is not the only obstacle, at all.

“Sukuna? Hey– you’re spacing out.” You wave a hand in front of his face to grab his attention. 

“We’re here.” He looks up to see a small ramen shop, its logo old with age. As he enters the shop, he somehow finds contentment in being in a place that you like. 

—

“You know you’re probably attracting sorcerers and curses alike as we speak?” You inquire, grabbing your ramen bowl from the waiter who nervously glances at Sukuna. His tattooed face also attracting unwanted attention. 

“Mhm, I’ll just kill them if they interfere.” You whip your head to turn to the waiter who you’re relieved to see, had already left.

“I knew you’d say that,” you stuff your face with a handful of steaming noodles. 

“Sukuna?”

“Mhm?” 

“What’s gonna happen between us?” You flick your index finger back and forth. “It’s not like the other times, I’m a dedicated sorcerer.”

“So?” 

“You’re the King of curses, I’m a sorcerer.” You repeat, dropping your wooden chopsticks to place your head on your propped fist. 

“Already made a deal with the brat, I can talk to you whenever and wherever I want,” he pulls his face closer to yours. 

“Yeah? What happens when they execute Itadori?” You curl your hands into balled fists, an unfamiliar emotion welling up in your throat. Somehow, it doesn't fit. It crosses your veins in a parasitic manner and your eyes glaze over.

“I’ll just come back.” He states matter of factly, voice coated with arrogance.

“You promise?” You whisper, holding out your pinky finger. You nearly scoff at your own action.

Ignoring the finger you bare out, he presses his lips against yours. It’s the same as he can remember, centuries ago. His body elates with a hum of electricity. And it's as if his body's creating a second space of void in which he feels his every sense being sharpened; the smooth curve of your full lips and the salty taste of previous ramen.

But before the kiss can go any further, you're pulling back.

“That was uh…” You blink once, twice, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. When you look back to Sukuna, you instead are met with Itadori’s clear face.

“The hell are you doing, brat?” Sukuna bares his teeth on the right side of Itadori’s cheek. ”I- I’m sorry just got a little uh.. flustered.” 

“The fuck are you getting flustered for?” Sukuna growls. 

“I- uh..” 

“It’s okay Yuuji, you can switch again another time,” you sympathize with the boy. His cheeks are coated in red.

“It’s getting late, eat some ramen so we can go.” You chuckle. Itadori nods as his hand reaches towards a pair of chopsticks.

“Touch my ramen and I’ll kill you again, you damn brat.”

back to m.list

[robininthelabyrinth]

🧿🤠🐇🍲🍯: Lan Wangji does not think it’s safe to raise A-Yuan in Cloud Recesses after the Lans participated in the killing of his zhiji and the entire Burial Mounds community (or more accurately that it’s not safe while he himself is in seclusion and can’t watch over A-Yuan, at least) so he delivers A-Yuan to the one person who he knows did not stand against Wei Wuxian (and got away with it, bc this person has never stood against anything, since standing takes effort): Nie Huaisang.

Little Side Door - ao3

Nie Huaisang’s rooms in the Unclean Realm had a little side door that no one but him ever used.

They hadn’t originally. The Unclean Realm was a fortress, designed to maximize protection and defense; there was no better place for keeping things safe by locking them away. While it had its fair share of boltholes and escape routes, they were not common and universally difficult to access lest the enemy learn of them and use them to their advantage. Even the layout of their open spaces were carefully planned lest the attack come from the sky, a concern that only cultivators had, and not about how they themselves could escape – after all, weren’t they all Nie, ready to die rather than endure dishonor?

The little side door that led to Nie Huaisang’s room opened onto a small rock garden, left to grow wild with weeds rather than reveal its presence to more people. It existed only because his brother had ordered it constructed by those he trusted most, all in secret in the dark of the night. He had never explained why he had gone to such lengths to create such an unwelcome and inauspicious place, but then, he hadn’t needed to – Nie Huaisang had been there, too, when his father had descended into madness and they had been trapped in the familial quarters with no way out that did not take them through him. If his brother had been the one to brave his father’s rage directly, Nie Huaisang had been the one stuck in a small space that was only not claustrophobic because it was so painfully familiar.

Now, though his father was long dead and gone, Nie Huaisang had a little side door.

A little side door, and a little garden that almost no one knew about; in combination with the saber that his brother forced him to learn and the golden core he had so begrudgingly formed, he now had a way to reach the sky and the illusive freedom it represented – the freedom to flee and leave his home behind.

If it ever happens again – his brother had said once, the closest he had ever come to speaking of it.

He did not finish his sentence, as Nie Huaisang had thrown his plate into his face and stormed off, steaming mad and close to tears. He did not raise the subject a second time.

Nie Huaisang did not often use his little side door.

Although he enjoyed gardens, he preferred the aviary he’d constructed, or one of the myriad of well-tended gardens in the main part of the sect; even the vegetable gardens out back beside the kitchens were far more welcoming than that sparse straggle of land. He’d only ever spent time there when he was a child and in desperate need of some quiet, wanting to avoid adults with their arguments and their miseries; he’d taken some friends there because he thought it might impress them, but it hadn’t, and anyway his brother had put a stop to that soon enough.

He didn’t even think about the little side door, most days. It was just a part of the room, a small tucked away corner with nothing in it. Nothing to think about.

And then, of course, years after he’d put it out of his mind entirely, there came a terrible banging noise at that little side door, like someone was kicking at it furiously from the outside.

Nie Huaisang nearly fell over sideways in his scramble to get up, and then once again when he realized where the noise was coming from – almost no one knew about his side door and its little garden, and so no one had ever come to him through it. Who would be knocking now…?

He opened it.

Lan Wangji, white robes stained with blood and cheeks bright with fever, shoved something into his arms. “You have a child now,” he said through bitten lips. “Congratulations. He is called A-Yuan. I entrust you with his care, for my sect cannot be trusted with it.”

And then he turned and staggered away, mounting up on Bichen and flying off before Nie Huaisang could say anything – before he could even finish searching his memories and recalling that yes, in fact, Lan Wangji had been one of the friends he had shown the side door to, years and years before, and thus knew how to find it. Before he could even start processing the thousands of thoughts that had spring to life, fully formed, at all the information he’d just received: the bloody robes, the desperation, the reference to the Lan sect – the Lan sect! – being somehow untrustworthy…

He looked down at his arms.

“Congratulations,” he echoed blankly. “I have a child now.”

The child blinked up at him, and then smiled.

-

“Da-ge!” Nie Husiang howled, rushing into the sect leader’s study where his brother was doing work – luckily it wasn’t receiving hours and he wasn’t in the main hall, as that would have been unfortunate. “Da-ge, you have to help me! I have a child now!”

His brother stared at him, expression blank and mouth slightly agape. The brush in his hand dripping ink onto a now-wasted piece of paper.

“Huaisang,” he said after a moment. “What the fuck.”

Nie Huaisang nodded furiously.

“Where did you get – how – who – what did you do?!”

“I am currently unable to disclose any details,” Nie Huaisang said promptly even as his brother tossed aside the brush and got up, striding over with a storm brewing in his face. “All I can say is that I have to raise this child now. By which I mean, you have to help me raise this child now; I can’t raise children! I’m not mature enough to raise a child!”

“No kidding! Why would someone entrust – to you…” Nie Mingjue trailed off, looking down at the child with a frown that shifted from disbelieving irritation to concern. He pressed his hand to the child’s forehead. “Huaisang, this child has a high fever. We need to get him to the medical wing at once – is that blood?”

“Not his, I don’t think?”

“I don’t want to know,” his brother decided. “Move.”

Some time later, they were both sitting next to the bed in one of the spare rooms in the family quarters; Nie Huaisang thought it might even have been the same one that he’d used when he was very young. A-Yuan was sleeping, and Nie Mingjue was still holding his little hand in his own, having been clocked as the oversize comfort animal that he not-so-secretly was from the very first moment A-Yuan laid eyes on him.

The doctors had declared A-Yuan’s fever to be very severe, but they had applied plenty of medicine – the Lan sect might have more esoteric healing techniques, but there wasn’t anything like the Nie sect when it came to standard medicine for injuries and illnesses associated with the battlefield, and despite A-Yuan’s tender age Nie Huaisang would be willing to bet that his injuries were from a battlefield. They were confident that A-Yuan would make a full recovery, body and mind both intact, although they warned that his memory of the past might be impacted.

Nie Huaisang had thought about all that blood that wasn’t his, of Lan Wangji pale-faced and wild-eyed, and decided that a little bit of forgetting might not be so bad after all.

“Are you going to tell me anything more,” his brother said after a while. “Or should I just give up now?”

Nie Huaisang leaned over and patted his knee. “It’s good that you know your limitations.”

His brother rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he remarked.

“What part?” Nie Huaisang asked, curious. “The fact that we have a kid now, because obviously we’re keeping him? Or the fact that someone gave a kid to me?”

“Both,” his brother decided. “Definitely both.”

-

“His name’s A-Yuan,” Nie Huaisang said. “Apparently.”

“Well,” his brother said. “Obviously that won’t do.”

-

Nie Huaisang had the ability to be sneaky when he wanted to be. It wasn’t a matter of stealth, he had explained to his brother, but sneakiness– a completely different concept. Stealth suggested that he was doing something to conceal himself and required skills and talent, or else a lot of practice, and obviously Nie Huaisang was not going to go in for either of those.

Sneakiness, though…

He didn’t need people not to be able to see him in order to be sneaky. He just needed them not to care about him, or wonder where he was.

“Psst,” he said, knocking on the window to the rooms where Lan Wangji was purportedly practicing seclusion. “Psst! Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji had given him a child. They were definitely past the ‘Lan-er-gongzi’ stage.

“Lan Zhan!” he rapped at the window with his fan. “We need a courtesy name!”

There was some sounds from within the jingshi, mostly stumbling around. Nie Huaisang waited patiently, and after a few moments the window opened and Lan Wangji stared out at him. He was as pale as a ghost with lips as red as blood, and very clearly not in seclusion at all, but rather in the midst of healing whatever wounds had left him bloody – he probably shouldn’t have gotten out of bed to answer.

Oh, well. Too late for regret now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lan Wangji said, voice dull and eyes blank as he stared at Nie Huaisang. It was unclear if he meant in the Cloud Recesses generally, or here in particular, interrupting his ‘seclusion’.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Nie Huaisang said, scowling at him. “We need a courtesy name! A courtesy name for the child, you hear me? You know, of course, that Qinghe Nie don’t use personal names, not even for children – certainlynot for children older than their first year. It’d be a complete giveaway that he’s not organically ours if we call him something like A-Yuan.”

Lan Wangji raised a hand to pinch his nose. “Please go away.”

“Courtesy name, Lan Zhan. I mean, I may be the one who’ll be raising him, but please think carefully: do you really want meto be the one naming him?”

“…call him Sizhui.”

“Sizhui,” Nie Huaisang repeated. “With the characters…?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“Uh, no,” Nie Huaisang said. “I need a bettercourtesy name. Are you joking?”

“Nie Huaisang. Go away.”

“But –”

Lan Wangji slammed the window shut.

“…fine,” Nie Huaisang said to the closed window. “Be that way, see if I care. Not like we don’t need to build up a decent coparenting relationship or anything eventually.”

He thought he heard a choking sound from behind the door and smirked.

“Don’t you think you can baby-trap me and just walk away, Lan Zhan,” he said in his best ominous tone. “If you wanted someone to raise your kid without ever consulting you again, you should’ve dropped him off in the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, who’d probably be too busy being confused to even question where he came frome – but no. You came to me. I don’t make decisions in the best of times, least of all good. I have questions. A lot of questions.”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Not about how you got him or anything like that,” he said. “I’m not stupid, I can tell a secret when I see one. But, you know, other types of questions. Parenting stuff. Are you a ‘go sit and think about what you’ve done’ sort of parent? Or more traditional discipline, with copying lines and occasionally strikes when they’re naughty? Do you want him to learn the Lan sect rules along with the Nie sect principles –”

There was a muffled sound from inside the house.

It sounded angry.

“…we can talk about it later,” Nie Huaisang decided. He might’ve pushed his luck a bit too much. “Talk later!”

-

“You have a…what?” Lan Xichen asked, his smile a little fixed and stare a little wilder than normal.

“A nephew!” Nie Mingjue gushed. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Nephew.”

“He’s so well behaved, too! He plays quietly by himself most of the time, drawing and even writing a little, and Huaisang’s already teaching him how to play the dizi –”

“When you say nephew, do you mean Nie Huaisang’s child?”

“Do I have other brothers?” Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes at him. “He’s obviously not yours. Anyway, I know Meng Yao is expecting one, too, but he wouldn’t be dressed in Nie colors if it was his, would it?”

“Yes, but…are you telling me that…that Nie Huaisang…”

“It’s a battlefield child, Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “Obviously. Someone entrusted him to Huaisang.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen said, looking relieved. “Yes, that makes more sense…wait.”

Nie Mingjue waited.

“Someone entrusted him to Nie Huaisang?”

“I know, right?” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen didn’t notice how strained his grin had suddenly become, or how thoughtful his eyes were as he surveyed Lan Xichen as if trying to find an answer to a question. “I would’ve assumed they’d go for someone more responsible, like you. Guess you never know…”

“I guess you don’t,” Lan Xichen agreed, looking down at the child with a bemused expression. A battlefield child, entrusted to Nie Huaisang… “They must have been truly driven to desperation.”

“Perhaps,” Nie Mingjue said, and then changed the subject to little Nie Sizhui’s accomplishments, of which he could list many at great length and very great enthusiasm. By the time he was done with that, Ln Xichen was so overwhelmed that he didn’t ask a single other question.

-

“So I’ve got an idea on how to do this whole co-parenting thing,” Nie Huaisang said, cracking nuts to eat. He was sitting next to Lan Wangji’s bedside, and dropping the shells straight on the floor, too, staring dead-eyed at Lan Wangji as if daring him to say something – which he wouldn’t, of course. “Since with Sizhui starting classes soon it’s become much more urgent, on account of me needing you to attend meetings with his teachers and discuss his progress.”

Lan Wangji looked deeply long-suffering. He’d only invited Nie Huaisang inside because Nie Huaisang had threatened to start shouting out his business loudly on account of oh but Lan Zhan, how was I to know if you could hear me in there, I just had to raise my voice just in case because I wouldn’t want you to miss any of the extremelyimportant news –

It was all Lan Wangji’s fault for being born earlier than Nie Huaisang, Nie Huaisang thought virtuously. It was merely Nie Huaisang’s lot in life to fulfill the role of annoying younger brother to everyone.

“See, it’s the music,” Nie Huaisang continued. “You do music, right?”

Lan Wangji’s ice-cold glare suggested that he did, in fact, ‘do music’.

“So your brother has been playing this song for da-ge on a regular basis,” Nie Huaisang explained, ignoring the glare entirely. “And when he’s not available, which is most of the time nowadays, he’s been sending san-ge instead. Even though, of course, poor san-ge’s so busy back at Lanling all the time…ughh, it’s so unfair, you know! Poor san-ge has to do all the work of being the heir and gets none of the benefits, and they pile even more work on him on top of that – really, he gets no respect.”

Lan Wangji’s expression suggested he didn’t care.

“And think about the inconvenience to us!” Nie Huaisang sallied forth, undeterred. “People coming and going all the time, da-ge having to interrupt his schedule of spending quality time with me and Sizhui – and sect leader work, of course, though that’s less important – in order to march over to greet them and host them and listen to them…what a pain it is!”

Lan Wangji appeared on the verge of suggesting that Nie Huaisang consider getting to the point.

“So you should come do it instead.”

Lan Wangji’s expression cracked, suggesting that Nie Huaisang had actually managed to make an impact.

“You remember,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse from all that refusing to speak he’d been doing. Really, if Nie Huaisang wasn’t around to goad him into it, he might’ve lost the voice entirely – he didn’t even have little Sizhui around to force him to speak! “That I’m in seclusion. Right?”

“You’re horribly lonely is what you are,” Nie Huisang said briskly. “You require company. Therefore, coming to take up a semi-permanent posting in the Unclean Realm to play the Song of Clarity for my brother morning, noon, and night is clearly the finest way to solve all of our problems, and for you to see little Sizhui as often as you like.”

Lan Wangji visibly wavered. “My brother,” he said, then coughed. “My brother will never believe it.”

“That’s your problem,” Nie Huaisang said. “Find a way to sell it.”

He stood, shaking the remaining shells onto the chair.

“See you in Qinghe soon, Lan Zhan..!”

Lan Wangji was trying to kill him with his mind, Nie Huaisang thought happily as he wandered off with a whistle and a vaguely silly expression. Good – he’d been inside for too long. He needed the stimulation.

-

“Truly,” Nie Mingjue remarked, strolling around their gardens without any apparent notice of the small child perched on his shoulders, giggling wildly at the feeling of being tall, “I feel far better than I did before! One can scarcely compare it – night and day, really. Your Lan sect’s Song of Clarity is a marvel, even if it does take a while before it kicks in.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said, walking slowly with his hands behind his back. He was still unsteady on his feet on account of the absolutely horrific injuries he’d incurred – but if the Lan sect’s response to everything was seclusion, seclusion, seclusion, then the Nie sect’s equivalent response was exercise. These little excursions through the gardens were the result.

Thus far, they were still only doing laps around the main gardens, but Nie Huaisang had plans to eventually force Lan Wangji to go even as far as his own little side garden. He’d made it through his side door once, after all; why not a second time..?

At any rate, Nie Huaisang still wasn’t quite sure how Lan Wangji had talked Lan Xichen into allowing him to come to the Unclean Realm, but it really did make the whole co-parenting business a lot more convenient. And his brother had had so much fun making Lan Wangji stiff and awkward over all his thanks and praise for his decision to come ‘help out’ with Nie Sizhui’s raising until finally, at last, Nie Huaisang had taken pity and revealed that Nie Mingjue knew perfectly well whose battlefield child this was.

Both in terms of who had gifted him to Nie Huaisang, and who’d adopted him originally, and of course even his original surname – The little tot’s been through enough adoptions to make anyone’s head spin, his brother had said, his voice gruff as always. There’s no point in thinking back too far, is there?

Lan Wangji had been very relieved.

“Run, bobo!” Nie Sizhui cried, pointing over at a bird. “We need to get it for Sang-gege!”

Nie Mingjue snorted like a bull but obediently quickened his feet and left the rest of them behind, heading in full charge straight at the wild pheasant that was far more likely to end up on Nie Huaisang’s plate than in his aviary. It was about even odds which one Nie Sizhui meant, anyway.

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji said, his voice low, and Nie Huaisang looked at him. “The Song of Clarity does not take time to work. These effects should have happened at once.”

Nie Huaisang opened his fan, hiding his face as he frowned. “How odd,” he said. “And after san-ge put in all that hard work.”

“Perhaps he played it wrong.”

“Odd,” Nie Huaisang said again. “When san-ge gets so very little wrong…has your brother sent any word on the Xue Yang issue?”

“…he has not.”

“He’s going to need to pick a side eventually.”

“He does not want to make things difficult for his sworn brother.”

“Does he have only the one?” Nie Huaisang asked archly, and Lan Wangji averted his gaze. “It’s awkward for us if he doesn’t back us, and is a bad look besides…truly, it’s a wonder that san-ge managed to squeeze out the time to come here.”

Lan Wangji’s frown deepened. “Indeed,” he said. “One would think his father might be tempted to stop him.”

“Wouldn’t you just?” Nie Huaisang said. “Wouldn’t you just…you know, maybe when you’re feeling better, we should go visit Lanling ourselves.”

Lan Wangji glanced at him, arching an eyebrow, and Nie Huaisang smiled, fanning himself casually.

“I’m not the only one with a little side door,” he said. “Let’s go knocking and see what we find, shall we?”

[dadbodgintoki]

gintama fic recs (shoka sonjuku/joui 4 edition)

this is the third in a series of gintama fic rec posts i’m making for my own organization and for whoever finds them fun! previously i’ve talked about hijigin and gen fic but i realized that i have read SO MUCH amazing shoka sonjuku/joui 4 era/focused fic & it needed its own post. so here they are, sorted vaguely pairing. they span all genres, ratings, and ranges of emotions, but they’re all sure to make you feel! once again PLEASE check out other works by these authors bc they’re all great!!!!

gen 

Did Miss Clavell Suffer From Psychic Precognition or an Intense Case of Parental Instincts? by  StarryDustandFluffyStuff. Rated G. WORK IN PROGRESS. 

At night it should be calm, at night it should be still, but something in the air has given Shoyo-sensei a chill. AKA "Baby Katsura gets appendicitis the fic".

Series: It’s a Hard Knock Life by Linderosse. Starting with It’s a Hard Knock Life. AU. Rated G. 

The new kid at school has cotton-white hair, picks his nose way too much, and wears a perpetual expression of disinterest. He’s dull, uncouth, and lazy: a grade-A weirdo. Nevertheless, as Katsura and Takasugi struggle with their own problems, they somehow find the new kid becoming a major part of their lives.

They Say It’s Only the Worst Day of Your Life So Far by  StarryDustandFluffyStuff. Rated T. 

Katsura's perspective on the worst day in his memory.

Fair Bargains Are Always Subjective by naye @listening-to-thunder. Rated G. 

There is nothing Gintoki won't give for a chance at saving Zura's life, no matter what it might cost him.

Pacifists are the Best Mediators by @charmingstrangeness. Rated T.

In which Tatsuma joins a war, only to end up intervening in a second, smaller war between two particularly hot-headed captains.

To Weld and Solder by Liatheus. Rated G. 

Four Kings to hold up Heaven; four promises to hold them there.

What to Do About Tomorrow by @shirokokuro. Rated T. 

First impressions aren't meant to be this difficult.

ginzura

still waters by @pearthery. Rated T. 

"I have a delicate, noble constitution that demands you pay attention to me," said Kotaro, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand. "We're having an extremely important conversation. No one's allowed to throw up. Especially not now. It's situationally inappropriate." "You sound like a dictator," said Gintoki. "I could throw up if I wanted to." [Zura is calm and composed. He has never been dead.]

what are scars but marks of the life you’ve lived, also by @pearthery​. Rated T. 

"This one, Shinpachi-kun," Katsura recalled wistfully. "Ah, this one was from the Joui War." "That sounds quite ominous," said Shinpachi. [Katsura recalls the past.]

Toll by athena_crikey. Rated T. 

The Yorozuya get sent on an exorcism. Unsurprisingly, things do not go smoothly.   

Resuscitation by @xparrot​. Rated M. 

For a while Katsura tells himself that it's no more than the camaraderie of the battleground.

seconds are always more complicated than firsts, except during dinner by mangemouth. Rated E. 

College-era AU. Painfully, horrendously awkward smut.

Beginner’s Guide by tanktrilby. Rated T. 

Katsura is terribly, terribly happy that his two best friends are in love with each other; the fact that he keeps killing aliens with gritted teeth and unnecessary fervor is unrelated. (written for Ginzura week day two: War)

a good ending by corvidity. Rated G. 

Katsura tries to find somewhere to stay after the war, and is successful in more ways than one.

multipairing/OT3-4/misc

but it’s burning like an effigy in here by mangemouth. Rated E. Pairings: TakaZura, GinZura. 

you have to worry about friendly fire the most by @becketted. Rated T. SakaMutsu and OT4, on the edge of gen/romantic. 

“Ah, Zura, are you all right?” It probably says that he spends way too much time around Gintoki’s appalling manners, that it actually stops Katsura in his tracks, absolutely shocks him, a direct show of concern from a friend. So much that he even forgets to correct Sakamoto about his name. [Katsura needs a break. Mutsu needs a promise. Takasugi needs to leave. Gintoki just needs money.]

whatever a sun will always sing by Eddaic. Rated T. Pairings: TakaZura, GinZura. 

“I can’t convince you of anything,” Gintoki says wearily, leaning against a wall and passing a hand over his eyes.

we all go to hell by guycecil. Rated E. Pairings: OT4

In an indistinct modern AU where the Joui 4 are all dating each other... Gintoki really just wants one thing.

Series: if you stay, i’ll be forgiven, also by guycecil. Pairings: a mix of Joui4 pairings and OT4. Ratings vary between T-M. Starting with let that mistake pass on. 

The Joui 4 date each other. Timeline doesn't make any sense. It's gay. There's not much else to say. Title from "Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance.

some friends wouldn't mind having their noses picked by curlydots. Rated E. College AU. Pairings: OT4

There's something going on with Gintoki, Katsura, and Takasugi. Not that Sakamoto notices.

the perfect fit (for a girl in need) by @becketted​. Rated E. Pairings: SakaZura

The next time the two friends meet is inside a nightclub. Katsura is looking fabulous, but on a vigilante mission. Sakamoto is a regular, but willing to help. They make the perfect team to punish the wicked and protect the innocent. Except one of them is taking the whole cabaret-girl-and-client cover a little too far.

compromise by perennials. Rated G. High School AU. Pairings: TakaGin

Takasugi's standards are sky-high; Gintoki sifts through the dirt for gold coins.

Hooking Up with Your Ex is the Best Way to Gain Closure, Obviously by @sharkiegorath. Rated E. Pairings: TakaGin, developing HijiGin

On the ship back to Edo, Gintoki and Takasugi dip into an old habit one last time.

There's No Together, There's No Apart, There Is Only Impossible Longing by printfogey. Rated T. Pairings: GinZura, TakaGin, TakaZura

A story about Gintoki, Katsura and Takasugi told through various scenes and fragments, starting pre-canon and ending post-canon. Warning for angst, coarse language, and canon spoilers.

[pammydawes]

Alrighty folks we are at 8.5 hours left of hell bent and BOY HOWDY do I have some thoughts!!

🛑!!Spoilers below!!🛑

BWAHAHAHA I am being so fulfilled and validated!! Im glad it worked out so that this check in is right before they descend into hell and everything

All my mercy and pammie nerd bonding dreams are coming true. Leigh idk what I did to personally deserve this but ty

TRIPPPPP he’s back my golden retriever is back!!! Not doing so hot but he’s had it p good in life so far. Can’t wait to see how he does in literal hell!

Abel turner continues to be the mvp!! Also just realized he’s Christian and Abel is a biblical name…..as in ‘Cain and’. I’m worried and pretending not to think abt it!! Hope he doesn’t have any older siblings!! “Your demonic boyfriend” on the floor. I Gagged. when I heard that. turner stop giving the people what we want idk if we can handle it

I’m deeply concerned about the status of darlingdemon’s physical body?? Is that what’s at black elm or not?? If they’re only bringing his soul back what are they planning on putting it in???

While I am a little overwhelmed by the addition of yet more seemingly unrelated plot intrigue, linus rider has been an absolute blast so far!! The whole time Alex was comparing Ariel and eitan and Len and drug dealers generally to vampires she was on the nose!!! I kinda wonder how eitan is gonna play into the more supernatural plot lines now. Could he be a vampire??

ALSO, odds that Linus is the terrible new Lethe supervisor whose name I can’t remember’s long lost lover??? Any takers?? Speaking of whom, wow! I have never well and truly disliked a character so quickly! I feel like Leigh made him so intentionally dislikeable right off the bat that something is gonna happen later to turn that on its head, idk what yet. It’s never what you see is what you get with miss Bardugo…….

Speaking of dislikeable, anselm’s cool card is revoked for being a creep! Drain him dry Alex!!! Although that whole convo was pretty enjoyable I will admit. I like the juxtaposition of him with darlington, anselm being the sort of jaded realist darlington might have grown into if he weren’t…darlington

Speaking of vampires and dislikeable, huge fan of the scene where Alex tells darlington’s parents to eat shit and die!!! And Alex seeing DTA3’s memories, that was sooooo good. Also COSMO……my funky little guy….what are Bowie cat’s secrets I am dying to know!!! What if he really is David Bowie, and David Bowie was a demon the arlingtons made a deal with way back in the day. (Minus the David Bowie part that is an actual theory)

The part where pammie and Alex fought…… :(. Shit hurted pretty good I must say

Just WHAT is going on with Michelle???? I literally have no ideas do we really think she might be linked to the murders?? Is SHE a demon?? I take back everything I said abt her being meh I am deeply intrigued

Sexy gardener lauren ahahaha. When it was mentioned that the ritual is supposed to have a whole bunch of people all together keeping time on the surface while ppl are going to hell my immediate thought was that they were somehow gonna bring their liquor treat party to the ritual site and blast music. Still think that would be fun but idk if it would make sense. Does feel like some mercy type innovation though, and it would rope Lauren into the plot a lil more

Because I’m a hornball thirstgremlin with repressed anger issues I am DESPERATE for a scene with demon Danny threatening someone who’s been giving alex shit. My top picks are eitan and Linus, anselm is also a candidate. lord imagine demon darlington policing the houses of the veil, that would serve them goddamn right

I’m wondering if we’re going to get any more answers about Alex’s nature any time soon? What tf is a wheelwalker? What was her grandma’s deal? (Cool lady all the memories of her are so compelling) what was her DAD’s deal? Is her mom really that spacey or is there something more to all of her flakiness? I am SO curious!!!! What if her dad was connected to Lethe somehow!!

I’m also enjoying the further intrigue abt lethe’s origins and the gauntlet. Never trust an organization that’s main purpose is to uphold the greater broken institution yall

And still we don’t know wtf is going to be the deal in november!!!!!

See y’all in another four hours ig 👀