#Trieste I think?

[pietroleopoldo]

It's very fun that whenever I tell people that my only vacation this year will be in November they seem to assume that it's because I want to go to somewhere hot like southern Spain or Greece and I get to tell them. No actually you know that city in Northern Italy that's famous for its strong and cold wind.

[toomuchedgeroslyn]

Tonight, at a sushi restaurant, after a work day, by myself.

The happiness and freedom of deciding to go and eat in a restaurant on my own. The best thing is knowing that I can pay for this, be independent.

I've been working on this achievement for years.

Independence. Finally

[www-pinkhearse]

I love making at least 1 character in every story of mine Italian fucking watch me

[nipuni]

We went to see Phantom Madrid last weekend!! ❤️ Geronimo Rauch was amazing!! I'm going to write my thoughts on the whole performance under a cut for those interested 😊

I am going to be comparing it to the London version for reference since it's the only one I've seen live. I think my first impression was that It was better than I expected it to be! I read opinions about the Trieste production and I was a little worried but I found that I enjoyed a lot of the things I've seen being criticized.

The stage spinning around was awesome and added so much depth to scenes and made transitions very smooth. The backdrops were very nicely done!

As for costumes I think they were pretty good with the exception of Aminta's dress and the Masquerade costumes being kind of underwhelming.

The singing was good overall, although the translated lyrics are weird sometimes. The main songs translate well but some others become very confusing in Spanish, some wording seems forced and some notes are slightly altered to fit the phrases. Raoul is very calm and soft, maybe a little too much at times, Christine is very neutral and simple. Geronimo was amazing tho no notes!

Now the acting! I have opinions 😫 This show was very Christine and Raoul centric to such an extent that it flattened the plot for me 😬 Christine seems scared and disgusted from start to finish so there is no conflict in her character. She is never torn, she recoils from the phantom's touch during Music of the Night, and during Final Lair she sings the "pitiful creature of darkness" lines looking at Raoul the whole time backing away towards the phantom and steeling herself and only turns reluctantly at the last second to kiss Erik. She comes back to return his ring and just leaves it on the organ stool as soon as he turns around because she's scared to get close to him, when he sings "I love you" she shakes her head at him 🥹 like girl please give us something!!

Geronimo's phantom is a delight tho!! He whimpers, crawls, cries, screams, pants, it's great. He's acting his butt off and is the highlight of the show for me.

A thing that I really liked was in the end when the mob comes Erik is curled up in his bed crying and Madame Giry finds him there and tells him to hide under the covers and leads the mob away from him, I thought it was sweet and transitions into LND nicely.

OH also!! I really enjoyed the Phantom swinging on a rope across the stage during the ballet and Buquet's hanging, it's so good!! the flaming chandelier scene is also good!! in Final Lair they actually hang Raoul in the air which was very nice too! (and with his shirt still on) and even the angel wings and flying that I've seen people hating on was honestly so cool. It didn't look as goofy as I expected it to, it's very smooth and the lighting makes it scary, he casts thunder and flies!! the wings are not very visible since the scene is very dark. The light work was super good in general.

Masquerade and Don Juan were a bit of a let down, much simpler but not bad. I think my main issues were about the choices for Christine really 🤔 and I think some scenes needed more movement, especially the roof one (they couldn't move because they are sitting on a ledge)

The show in general feels a bit one note compared to the West End version but it was good!! I'm just nitpicky 😂 also I want Geronimo's autograph!! I love him 😭

Anyway if you want to see/hear more let me know on discord wink wonk 😁

[obsessioncollector]

Hi friends! Inspired by @librarycards I wanted to make a post celebrating Women in Translation Month! Anglophone readers generally pay embarrassingly little attention to works in other languages, and that's even more true when it comes to literature by women, so I will jump at any chance to promote my faves 🥰 Here are some recs from 9 different languages! Also, I wrote this on my phone, so apologies for any typos or errors!

1. Trieste by Daša Drndić, trans. Ellen Elias-Bursać (Croatian): An all-time favorite. Much of Drndić's work interrogates the legacy of atrocities in Europe, particularly eastern Europe. Trieste is a haunting contemplative novel centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman whose family converted to Catholicism during the Mussolini era and were complicit in the fascist violence surrounding them in order to protect themselves.

2. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur (Korean): A collection of short stories that are difficult to classify by genre–speculative fiction in the broadest sense. The first story is about a monster in a woman's toilet, which sounds impossible to pull off in a serious, thought-provoking manner, but Chung does so easily—these are the kind of stories that are hard to explain the brilliance of secondhand.

3. Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Tim Parks (Italian; Jaeggy is Swiss): Another all time favorite! The cold, sterile homoerotic girls' boarding school novella of your dreams.

4. Toddler-Hunting and Other Stories by Taeko Kono, trans. Lucy North (Japanese): I think I read this in one sitting. Incredibly unsettling—these stories will stay with you. They often focus on the unspoken psychosexual fantasies underscoring mundane daily life.

5. The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector, trans. Katrina Dodson (Brazilian Portuguese): I think Lispector is the best known writer here, so she might not need much of an introduction. But what a legend! And this collection is so diverse—it's fascinating to see the evolution of Lispector's work.

6. Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, trans. Melanie L. Mauthner (French; Mukasonga is Rwandan): Give her the Nobel! Mukasonga's books, at least the ones available in English, are generally quite short but so impactful. Our Lady of the Nile is a collection of interrelated short stories set at a Catholic girls' boarding school in Rwanda in the years before the Rwandan genocide. These stories are fascinating on many levels, but perhaps the most haunting element is seeing how ethnic hatred intensifies over time—none of these girls would consider themselves particularly hateful or prejudiced, but they easily justify atrocities in the end.

7. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 by Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Yvette Siegert (Spanish; Pizarnik was Argentinian): Does anyone remember when my url was @/pizarnikpdf... probably not but worth mentioning to emphasize how much I love her <3 Reading Pizarnik is so revelatory for me; she articulates things I didn't even realize I felt until I read her words.

8. Flight and Metamorphosis: Poems by Nelly Sachs, trans. Joshua Weiner (German): Sachs actually won the Nobel in the 1960s, so it's surprising that she's not better known in the Anglosphere. Her poems are cryptic and surreal, yet deeply evocative. Worth mentioning that this volume is bilingual, so you can read the original German too if you're interested.

9. Frontier by Can Xue, trans. Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping (Chinese): Can Xue is another difficult-to-classify writer in terms of genre. Her short stories are often very abstract and can be puzzling at first. I think Frontier is a great place to start with her because these stories are interconnected, which makes them a bit more accessible.

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 07 - "Only For Emergencies"

New Tawhoque was a dangerous place for Ssaelit, but if a woman knew just what crooked street to turn down and upon which unmarked door to knock, she might find a sanctuary or two open to those of the Way.

This one was a public house (semi-private house, really, they did not allow Gefendur) called Arbert's. A woman slipped its heavy front door closed behind her and pretended she didn't notice the wall of eyes move to sweep across her from the bar. Finding the newcomer hidden beneath a dumpy rain slicker and a waterproof bonnet, the collective gaze rolled back towards their whispered conversations and their glasses of imported beer. She chose a hightop in the corner, asked for a cheap pour of Trieste, and unwrapped her hand to see if the bleeding had stopped.

"They cut your finger off," a male voice observed behind her. She jumped a foot in the air, then collapsed forward over the injury to hide it from him.

"It is nothing!" she said.

"It is nothing now," he agreed, "But until recently I think it was your right index finger."

"Oh, why do you care? Did you want it?"

She turned. Her shoulders hunched even higher to discover an unreasonably tall man looking down at her, his face half a void of shadow. "Perhaps," he admitted at length. The words sounded strange. Artificial. Pymaric? What a strange thing to say, and in what a strange voice to say it! "Which of the gangs have you crossed?"

"I did not 'cross' any of them!" Her head lashed back and forth in pain, then anger. "I am a good and honest woman! I went to the constabulary! I went to report all my hens dead!"

"O-oh!" He seemed to suddenly lose a foot of height, shocked. Perhaps he loved animals too?

She continued: "I think my neighbour's hounds had at them in the night. One of the constables said it would cost thirty sem for them to go and investigate the scene. I pointed my finger in his face and called him a villain. Then he said he would have that finger, and before I knew it he had nipped it free with a spell! Have you ever heard of such a thing? That is not how policing works!"

"Naught works in the expected manner here," the stranger whispered. For all his prior forwardness, he suddenly seemed to be avoiding the sight of her gory hand. "I… am afraid I can be of no help confronting the local lawmen, but I would happily pay for your drink and direct you towards a more honest physician than the twin-eating sawbones you will find on the high street."

His voice was unnervingly tinny, but there was warmth there. In spite of her anxiety and her throbbing hand, she tried to wind down. She hadn't been in town very long but even the Ssaelit she had tried to befriend were standoffish. She was beginning to understand why. Sharteshane was a land of traps and predators; everyone was waiting to see what you had, and if you were strong enough to protect it. Why she had supposed the law would be different, now seemed beyond her. A final illusion shattered.

"Is it still raining?" he prompted when she took too long to decide on an answer. "It is forever raining here. It is as though the city must be kept wet, or its amphibian skin will crack open."

"And out will pour the bloody flies," she agreed, removing her coat. It had done little good. The clothing beneath was sodden, draping, and she coloured to realise how prominently her bosom rose. Oh, dear, her nipples were visible too. These cheap Sharteshanian weaves simply did not reflect her patterns correctly-

Now it was the stranger's turn to give a start! He shuddered and stumbled away as though burnt. Had it been the fly remark that had disturbed him? He was surely scandalized to hear such language from an Aldishwoman. Of course he would be! Soon she would be a ribald Sharte, all cusses and swears-

Ach, no, no. He was trying not to look at her chest. A gentleman! Of course.

"You must forgive me, sir! I dove into the rain after the attack without first buttoning my slicker and… and…" Her good hand fumbled at her bonnet, slipped it free of her head so he could see her earnest green eyes. Oh, a mistake! Now he would see she was a Soud, and hate her-

He stumbled again, struck, and grabbed at his midsection! Then from her eyes to her hair his attention alighted once more upon her missing digit.

"What is it?" she demanded, "Are you ill? What is wrong with you!"

"D-did you keep your finger?" he sputtered, almost wailed, "Or did the constable take it?"

"What a question! You monster! Bartender!"

"Bartender!" he echoed, "Aye, please bring to me my emergency order! I require my emergency order!"

A moment's pause, and a broad-shouldered Bronze suddenly jumped the bar. He was nearly seven feet tall, with a touch of the Glut about him. A steaming hot bar towel was in his grasp. The stranger grabbed it, two-fisted it with all the alacrity of a drowning man reaching for a watertight coffin. Then she swore she heard a hiss as his impossibly perfect white teeth bit down upon it hard. When he started gnawing it like the hounds last night had surely gnawed at her poor hens, she flew from the pub, never gathering the courage to ask if he'd been the one to leave nothing in that coop but two beaks and a pile of bloody feathers.

[eleancrvances]

i think it should be illegal to sound like this when your colleagues surprise you by dragging you out of your box to perform, but well. here he is. (complete with my incredulous gasp.)

from the rehearsal room - trieste; 10/25/23 *please do not repost outside of tumblr.*

[filthybonnet]

So this year has really been difficult for me. It's also been difficult for a lot of people around me. It's been especially hard when I compare to how wonderful 2023 was for me. However I've been really pushing myself to get into the Christmas spirit this year, more so than I ever have and it's been working. Really learning some hard lessons and how to really appreciate this time of year in a way I never did before.

I haven't been on here in over a month, and I was thinking about last year and actually got some messages about it. So a little Christmas link and reminder so you don't have to go hunting for it. As far as we know, I am the only person who has a full video master of the 2023 Italian Phantom of the Opera Production. It is from the 7/15/23 Evening Show in Trieste. I made it available for any and everyone who wants it, regardless if you hate me as my way of sticking it to the boot trading world. NO ONE should ever make you trade or pay for this boot.

If you haven't seen this production yet, I hope you love it as much as I continue to do. Seriously I didn't think Ramin could improve on the perfection of his 25th performance but he did. This is his best Phantom yet.

[lunarubra]

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan Fabris)

Summary: In this AU set during the summer of 2010, Cillian has just wrapped up the final Inception premieres. Now, he and Jiyan are traveling through Italy, seeking some peaceful downtime together.

Warning: Fluff, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Hospitalisation, Mention of Suicide, Angst, English Not My First Language.

Words: 4599

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Chapter 2 - Praeteritum ambulans in nobis

STACK.

The cue ball hit the red 5-ball, but instead of a clean shot, it bounced off the side of the table and accidentally hit the solid green ball, which rolled straight into the pocket.

"Sagbab," Jiyan cursed under her breath.

Cillian chuckled before taking a sip of his beer. "Not your sport, Fabris?"

"Oh, shut up. You’re just lucky we’re not playing darts. I would’ve annihilated you," she retorted with a playful glare.

They were out at what was supposed to be an Irish pub in Trieste. It had become one of Cillian’s odd little traditions during his stays abroad—he would search for the most Irish-looking pub or bar in whichever city he was visiting and spend at least one evening there. The pub in Trieste hadn’t exactly disappointed him, but calling it Irish would’ve been a stretch.

A few days earlier, they had left Venice and come to stay with Jiyan’s mother to spend the final leg of their trip with her family. From there, they'd fly directly to Dublin. Cillian had to start prepping for a movie he would soon be filming, along with another overseas project that would keep him busy through October and November. Jiyan, on the other hand, had just wrapped up her PhD and was waiting for her final evaluation.

After two days of sightseeing, where Jiyan had taken on the role of tour guide, and plenty of family time spent with Mika and Solin, they decided to take an evening for themselves. It was a chance to enjoy some quality time before they returned to their routine in Ireland—though calling Cillian’s actor life a "routine" was a bit of a stretch.

Jiyan didn’t have a clear plan for what came next. She had finished her PhD, and several universities had already approached her with research offers after her publication in May. But there was nothing from Trinity College, where she had been working recently. Aside from Cillian, she had no strong ties to Dublin, and that uncertainty weighed on both of them. Cillian had encouraged her to accept a very promising project at La Sorbonne in Paris, but she had turned it down. Eventually, they sat down and had a real conversation about it.

She had told him, in that calm and resolute way of hers that left little room for debate, that over the past few years she had never paused—not even when Samyah died—to think about what she truly wanted. Now that she had finally finished her PhD, she was happy. She hadn’t expected Ireland to be the place where she found her balance, but here she was, and she wasn’t willing to disrupt that stability for another research project in a different part of Europe. She had some savings, a master's degree, a PhD, and a successful publication. She spoke more languages than most academics, including a few dead ones. For now, she wanted to take her time and look for something that genuinely fulfilled her. She deserved that.

Cillian could only nod, admiring the strength and certainty of the woman in front of him. He was relieved, too. He realised with a touch of surprise that he would have moved without hesitation to wherever her next project took her. His work was flexible enough, and with the experience he had now, he didn’t need to be anchored in one place to secure good roles. The thought of a long-distance relationship didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t good at keeping distance from her.

Jiyan huffed, bringing him back from his thoughts. She was glaring at the pool table as if it were to blame for her not winning, or for the balls refusing to follow her will. Cillian smirked, amused by the way she pouted—she looked incredibly cute. Setting his beer down on a nearby shelf, he stepped behind her, pulling her close. He kissed the side of her hair, breathing in her intoxicating scent of amber, spices, and sea salt.

"You’re rushing the ball, Aji," he whispered into her ear.

Though she kept pouting, unwilling to admit he might be right, her body instinctively arched into his embrace. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more room to stay close.

"I don’t like pool," she muttered stubbornly.

Cillian chuckled softly. "Come on, for once I’m the one who gets to teach you something, not the other way around."

He guided her arm from behind, savoring the closeness and the way she leaned into him. His pulse quickened—he’d grown so intensely drawn to her that even the smallest touch set his blood on fire. It was clear she felt the same, as her gaze met his with a playful, suggestive look that said, Are you sure you want to teach me here?

He swallowed hard, trying to focus, and finally helped her aim. Together, they hit one of his balls, sending it smoothly into the left corner pocket with a satisfying swish.

She turned to him, almost disappointed. “Show off.”

“You’re doing great. It’s okay if you’re not perfect at everything,” he teased, kissing her sweetly. But what he intended to be a quick, cute kiss quickly deepened into something slow and intense, stirring something primal inside him. He felt his jeans tighten uncomfortably. When they finally broke the kiss, they lingered, simply staring at each other. Jiyan’s tan skin hid her blush, but her dilated pupils gave her away. Cillian could tell she was just as affected.

But once again, something outside their little bubble shattered the moment.

“Jiyan?” A voice broke through their conversation, startling them. A young man stood nearby, his gaze fixed intently on her. Cillian felt Jiyan freeze beside him, her fingers tightening around his arm like she needed an anchor—or perhaps a shield.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. The moment stretched awkwardly, a silent pause in which Cillian felt distinctly out of place, like he was intruding on a scene he wasn’t meant to witness.

“Kareem?” Jiyan’s voice carried a note of surprise, edged with something harder to pin down—discomfort, maybe, or a flicker of unease. Before Cillian could process it fully, her words shifted into a language he didn’t understand. The rhythm was familiar, though. Kurdish? Turkish? Arabic? 

And then it clicked. Ah, so this was him, Cillian thought, the puzzle pieces snapping quietly into place.

He loosened his embrace slightly, sensing the tension that now coursed between Jiyan and the man—Kareem. Yet her fingers stayed locked on his arm, clutching as if to ground herself against the swell of emotion that had unexpectedly crashed over her.

Recognizing the unspoken need for privacy, Cillian decided to step back. Jiyan had told him once that she hadn’t spoken to Kareem since moving to Dublin. Judging by the startled looks they exchanged, this encounter was as unexpected for Kareem as it was for her. Gently, he took her hand—still clutching his arm—and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her curls.

“I’m going to grab another pint,” he said softly, his tone warm and reassuring. “I’ll give you two some space to talk.”

“Cillian…” she murmured, unsure whether she wanted to thank him or plead with him not to leave her alone.

“I’ll be right across the pub, watching the match,” he reassured her, offering a small smile that he hoped would steady her. “Take your time.”

As he released her hand, Cillian turned to Kareem. Extending his own, he offered a polite introduction. “I’m Cillian. Nice to meet you, Kareem.”

Kareem blinked, seemingly jolted out of his daze. He hesitated briefly before taking the offered hand. His accent was rich, an intriguing blend that Cillian couldn’t quite pin down—part Middle Eastern, part Mediterranean. “Nice to meet you too,” Kareem replied, his words slow, as if he were still processing the situation.

Jiyan wasn’t sure how to process the sight of Kareem standing in front of her. The shock of seeing him again had left her momentarily speechless.

“You’re back,” Kareem said tersely, switching to Farsi.

“Yeah, I mean…” She took a steadying breath, trying to collect herself. “We’re here visiting Mum and Mika. Flying back to Dublin in a couple of days.”

“Dublin…” he repeated, his words lingering in the air before he added, “You never called.” His voice was emotionless as he sat down at a nearby table and began pulling out tobacco to roll a cigarette.

“You didn’t either,” she replied flatly, lowering herself into the chair across from him.

They sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other. It felt oddly like a scene from a cowboy movie—a Mexican standoff, tense and unyielding.

“And you’re good?” Kareem asked, raising an eyebrow as he tapped the freshly rolled cigarette against the table to pack the tobacco tighter.

“Yeah, yeah.” She fidgeted with her hands, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I finished university.”

“Congratulations,” he said, the word falling flat, his tone devoid of genuine warmth. Jiyan could tell his interest wasn’t really in her academic achievements. “You staying in Ireland?”

“For now, yeah,” she said. “I’m taking a break. I need some time to figure things out.”

Kareem let out a harsh chuckle, shaking his head with exaggerated sympathy that teetered on mockery. His frustration simmered just below the surface, threatening to spill over. “So now you’re taking time?” he asked, his voice sharp with anger. “Now you’re taking time?”

“What do you want me to say, Kareem?” Jiyan ran her hands through her hair, her frustration mounting. She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and she didn’t feel ready for this—not now. “Yeah, I’m taking some time for me. I… I’m in therapy. I want to be better. A lot has happened—”

He cut her off with a bitter, scornful laugh. “A lot has happened? Really, Jiyan?”

“You’re angry. You’re still angry,” she said quietly.

You’re still angry at me. The words hung unspoken, but they weighed heavily between them. Having Kareem in front of her again was stirring up conflicting emotions—an undeniable pull, but also a sense of relief. It felt as if she could finally confront him, perhaps mend the bridge that had always lingered, broken, between them.

“Of course I’m angry!” Kareem snapped, dragging her back into the moment. “You just disappeared, and now what? You’re happy, just like that? Like nothing happened? Like my sister didn’t die? Like you—”

“Don’t say that!” Jiyan interrupted, her voice low and threatening, her words seething through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare say that, Kareem, or I swear I’ll punch you.”

She swallowed her rage, fighting to stay in control. They both knew exactly how to hurt each other. Kareem, even if he regretted it later, was an expert at cutting her where it hurt the most. Years ago, she’d been just as skilled at that game. But she didn’t have the energy anymore—didn’t want to wield that kind of pain again.

“Punch me? Go ahead, Jiyan. I’m right here,” he taunted, his voice daring her.

Jiyan looked at him closely for the first time. He was shaking, his pain radiating off him in waves. She imagined she probably looked just as raw, just as frayed. They were both exposed nerves, all their hurt, anger, and betrayal laid bare. They’d both been destroyed by Samyah’s death, drowning in grief and guilt. But Jiyan had found tools to help her navigate the wreckage. Kareem hadn’t. He was still lost, still drowning.

“Don’t make me the villain here,” she said, her tone softening. “Just don’t. It won’t make you feel better.”

“You shut me out, Jiyan,” he said, his voice quieter now, trembling with hurt. “After everything—after ten years together—you just shut me out.”

His head dropped, his gaze fixed on the table. The weight of his words settled heavily between them, unspoken truths and unhealed wounds pressing down on the air like a storm about to break.

“You shut me out too” she said, hurt in her voice. 

After a few seconds, she looked around, realizing too late that half the pub was staring at them. No one could understand their argument, but two Middle Easterners speaking loudly in Farsi wasn’t going unnoticed. She could feel the tension in the air, expecting someone to call the cops if they didn’t calm down soon.

She glanced across the room and saw Cillian watching her, his untouched beer in front of him, his eyes seemed to ask, Are you alright?

She nodded back, a silent, It’s alright, I’ll be there soon.

“Come on,” she said, standing up and turning back to Kareem. “We’re going outside before someone calls the cops. And you’re going to listen to me.”

Kareem, who had followed her brief exchange with Cillian, shrugged. Without a word, he got up, grabbed his freshly rolled cigarette, and headed outside. Jiyan sighed and cast one last glance at Cillian. His concern was evident, but she offered a faint smile before following Kareem.

Outside, the cool air was a welcome change. Kareem leaned against the wall, already smoking.

“The Irish prince isn’t coming along too?” he muttered.

“Shut up, Kareem… just shut up and just listen,” she said sharply. “You are not alone. We were both wrong, but you’re not the only one who’s hurt here. Whatever happened between us—it wasn’t just my fault, alright?” Her voice rose with exasperation.

“It’s true. I shut you out before I left. I couldn’t anymore—I just couldn’t—but you shut me out first. After Samyah died…” She faltered, steadying herself. “I know a piece of all of us died with her, but it was like you were the only one allowed to grieve. Living with you felt like living with a stranger. We were both not okay, but it felt like you blamed me. Like she wasn’t my sister too.”

She paused, taking a deep breath to keep herself composed. She wouldn’t break now, not here.

“And I ran away,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “I know. And I’m sorry if I hurt you. I am so sorry, Kari.”

Kareem exhaled a stream of smoke, his eyes unreadable as he studied her. “I know you felt like it was all on you,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “But I never said it was your fault, Jiyan.”

“You never said it wasn’t,” she replied, her voice numb, the weight of the words settling heavily between them.

“Yeah,” he admitted, the truth difficult to swallow. He nodded slowly, his voice laced with regret. “I’m sorry.”

He was looking at her now, his expression searching, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to come together.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m sorry for being such a dick. I didn’t know what to do. I never thought…” He paused, his voice breaking as he swallowed hard to suppress a sob, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

“She really broke us,” he said quietly. “I was—still am sometimes—so fucking angry. At everyone. At the world. At you. At my sister.”

He glanced down, his hand coming up to rub his temples as if to hold himself together. “And then, when you were in the hospital…” His voice cracked, and he pressed a hand over his eyes. “I was part of it too, Jiyan. I should’ve been there. If it weren’t for your mum calling me, I wouldn’t have even known. You didn’t call me,” he said, his voice breaking again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his words.

All the anger he’d unleashed earlier seemed to have drained away, replaced by a quiet, aching exhaustion. Hurt, raw and unguarded, lingered in his expression as he finally looked at her again.

Jiyan hugged herself, trying to swallow all the memories she had avoided confronting for years. “I couldn’t,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. Only then did she realize tears were spilling down her cheeks. “I just couldn’t. I didn’t even have the words to explain how I was feeling. You’d already lost your sister—how was I supposed to tell you that...” Her voice broke, her sobs cutting her off.

A hand settled on her shoulder, pulling her closer. Kareem held her, letting her cry, knowing they had both become experts at avoiding this moment—avoiding admitting how deeply they had failed each other.

“After you got out of the hospital, when you moved in with your mum and refused to see me,” he began, his voice tight with hurt. “When you sent Mika to pick up your things from my flat… I knew, Jiyan. Even before Samyah killed herself, I knew we hadn’t been a couple for years. Even with the open relationship, it was like we were running away from admitting the truth. But the way it ended—it felt like it was all happening again. Like I’d failed all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Kareem. You’re not a failure—you’ve never been,” she said, cursing under her breath as she straightened up.

She ran her hand through her curls, her fingers trembling. “When I was at my mum’s, I just… I shut down. I think I spent a whole month not talking to anyone. I didn’t have the strength to face you. I felt like the failure.”

Kareem looked at her, his hand firm on her shoulder as if to steady her. “What a mess we are, eh?”

Jiyan chuckled weakly, drying her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt like she was standing in front of one of the closest people she’d ever known.

“I know I never said it before, and I’m ashamed that I didn’t. But it wasn’t your fault, Aji. None of it was your fault.”

She said nothing more, just nodded, another wave of tears threatening to spill. She stared down at her shoes, trying to hold herself together.

“Aji…” Kareem said softly.

Jiyan finally met his gaze. And in his face, she saw the echoes of Samyah—the same eyes, the same lips, the same dark curls. She had always thought they shared the same smile, the same spirit. He wasn’t just her older brother; he had been her first boyfriend, her closest confidant, her partner in rebellion. How much had changed.

“I missed you,” Kareem admitted. “Not us being together—” he paused, looking up at the night sky. “But the three of us…”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone else could understand you like that, isn’t it?” Jiyan said, finishing his thought.

Kareem nodded, a small, pained smile flickering across his face. “I know I was the first to disappear,” he admitted. “But when you left—for Ireland, after everything…”

“I thought I’d already lost you, Kari,” she interrupted, taking a deep breath. “After everything that happened, we were both wrecked. And we couldn’t figure out how to face it together. Then, when I ended up in the hospital, I just… I couldn’t anymore. I don’t even remember half of those months. My mum didn’t know what to do with me. Somehow, she convinced the university not to drop me from the PhD program. That was the only thing that kept me going.”

Her voice wavered, but she pushed on. “When the opportunity in Ireland came up, I knew it was an escape. But I needed it. I don’t know how you stayed here, facing all of this every day. I had to run. I couldn’t breathe anymore—I couldn’t stay another day in this place.”

“I’m still not sure why I stayed either,” Kareem admitted, exhaling. “When you left, I wanted to say ‘screw it’ and leave too. But somehow... I didn’t.”

“You’ve always been braver than me,” she said softly.

“Nah,” he teased, his voice lighter for a moment. “Just slower. And terrible with planes. Maybe I could’ve crossed the border to Slovenia, but they’re even more boring than here.”

She chuckled, unsure of what else to say. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, leaning against the wall, watching the street across from them. It was always easy with Kareem in some ways—it always had been. Even when they were hot-headed teenagers, they rarely fought. Between the three of them, Kareem had been the one to pull Jiyan and Samyah out of trouble, the reluctant voice of reason.

In the past few months, as therapy forced her to untangle her emotions, Jiyan had reflected often on her relationship with Kareem. She wouldn’t dismiss what they’d had, but she saw more clearly now that they were always better as friends than as partners. He would always be someone she cared about deeply, and she knew the feeling was mutual. Still, she had to admit—when she left for Ireland, a part of her had been relieved to be single again. The way she’d ended things, though, still weighed on her. Now, seeing that Kareem’s resentment wasn’t about their breakup but the lack of closure, brought her a strange sense of peace.

“So, Ireland?” Kareem asked, breaking the silence.

“Save the jokes,” she said, shaking her head. “I still don’t know how I’m surviving in a place where it rains all the time.”

“And are you happy?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding slowly. “I still have moments when it all comes rushing back, but I’m happy there. It’s easier. What about you?”

“I’m better,” he said after a pause. “Not always, but I’ve been working for an NGO, helping migrants. It’s helped me deal with everything.”

“Wow, Kareem,” she said sincerely, touching his arm. “That’s… wow. I’m so proud of you.” “Always so eloquent,” he teased, his smile wry but warm. “Yeah, well, I had to stop feeling like an asshole at some point.”

She laughed softly, her smile lingering as they let the silence stretch out between them. It felt easy, natural, in a way she hadn’t expected. They’d said more to each other in these few minutes than they had in the entire year following Samyah’s death.

“And the guy? Is he good to you?” Kareem asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

“Cillian?” Her smile softened, spreading across her face.

“Aww, look at you! So, it’s serious, huh?” he teased.

She playfully punched his arm, just as Cillian, as if sensing he was the topic of conversation, stepped out of the pub. His eyes found her immediately. She smiled at him, feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted.

“Yes, it’s serious,” she answered Kareem, still smiling at Cillian, unaware of the look in Kareem’s eyes as he watched her.

Cillian walked over, his concern evident as he approached. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know I told you to take your time, but I just wanted to check if you’re alright.”

“It’s alright, mate,” Kareem said, attempting a British accent but falling short.

“I’m not British,” Cillian replied, stiffening slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m Persian—not a big fan of the British myself.” Kareem grinned, extinguishing his cigarette against the wall. “Anyway, I should go. I’m already late to meet some friends. I only came to grab some tobacco.”

He turned back to Jiyan, hesitating for a moment before pulling her into a hug. He held her close, the connection between them finally beginning to mend. “Just let me know next time you move, alright? And call me sometimes,” he said in Farsi. Switching to English for Cillian’s sake, he added, “Nice meeting you, Cillian. Next time you’re in town, let’s play pool. We both know Jiyan’s terrible at it.”

“Hey!” she protested, laughing.

“You know I’m right,” he chuckled. “Call me when you’re back on that sunless island, alright? I’ll try to visit—have to see what makes you stay there over Venice.”

With a wink, he shook his curls and pulled up his hood. “Alright, I’m going,” he said with a final smile. “Bye, guys. I see you soon, okay?”

She nodded taking him in and everything that just happened, almost as she just found him again and he was already gone. But she felt lighter, she never expected they could finally sit down and talk about some of what happened.

“Bye, Kareem. Take care, okay?” Jiyan told him.

Kareem just nodded before turning one last time, crossing the street and jogging toward the bus stop on the other road.

“Are you alright?” Cillian asked gently, his voice soft with concern.

Jiyan turned to him, her green eyes puffy and red, their usual spark dimmed by the weight of the evening. Without a word, she stepped closer, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her tightly as if shielding her from the heaviness she always carried.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, his touch a quiet, steady reassurance. He wished he could lift the weight of the past that resurfaced so often, the hurt that lingered beneath her strength. But all he could do was stand beside her, as she faced it all with the fierce resilience he admired so deeply.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—her head resting against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and calming. Slowly, she pulled back, her gaze searching his. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling, and in that shared closeness, the world seemed to pause. It was just the two of them, finding solace in each other.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she whispered, brushing a light kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, gently tucking one of her unruly curls behind her ear.

“For being you. For letting us talk… For always knowing how to be here.”

“You do the same for me,” he said simply, his voice warm.

“I hope so,” she replied softly.

“Did it help? Talking with Kareem?”

She paused, reflecting, before nodding. “Yeah, it did. Even if he ran off at the end, we talked, we listened, and we apologised. It’s… a start.”

“He’s important to you,” Cillian said easily. “I’m glad you saw him tonight, even though I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed him again. “Even if I’m glad I met him, I want to enjoy these last moments of peace with you before you go back to being a world-famous actor doing whatever it is you do.”

He groaned dramatically, remembering all too well that their quiet escape was coming to an end. Soon, they’d return to Dublin, where preparations for his next film awaited.

Taking his hand in hers, Jiyan grinned. “How about a walk to the port? I know a spot where it’s not too windy. We can lie down, watch the stars… and if we’re brave enough, maybe even skinny dip.”

Cillian arched a skeptical brow. “No way. You know how much of a baby I am about cold water.”

“It’s summer, Cill…”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s dark, the water’s cold, and who knows what’s lurking in there,” he replied, dead serious.

“Such a scaredy cat,” she teased, laughing as she held him closer, his arm slipping easily around her waist.

Together, they began to walk under the quiet night sky. With Cillian by her side, the air felt lighter, her thoughts less tangled. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jiyan realized she wasn’t running from anything anymore. Instead, she was moving toward something—toward herself, toward peace, toward love. And in that moment, she felt free.

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Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

amazing dividers from cafekitsune

[sophie-frm-mars]

For people who've suffered from psychiatric abuse, what you recommend as a good alternative to therapy?

I don't know exactly how I'm different laws around mandatory reporting work in different areas but I asked my therapist in the interview zoom call if she was ACAB and I think that set an important foundation for our sessions

But I love DBT, I can't get enough of it and you can get books to practice it from that are the same books as groups use if you don't want to be in a psychiatric setting at all, and the reason I've been posting a bit about the Life Worth Living so much recently is that I think it's central to ontological security, the concept RD Laing talks about in Divided Self. I think to some degree the 12 step programs for substance abuse etc works on the same basic idea, that getting people moving living practicing the life they wanna have is the most helpful thing. This agrees with discussions I've seen of the "Trieste Model" which removes the hierarchies between service users and service providers and creates psychiatric communities instead putting the service user at the centre of their own care.

What all these have in common is simple systems to help people get regulated and healthy in the basic "getting up every day and dressing yourself" ways and then giving people space to work through their own shit.

I'll talk about these concepts more in my next big big essay The Mad & The Mentally Ill also

But yeah I think that there are alternatives, though some things are both personal mental health and class struggle (or class traumas) and only liberation can help there completely.

The other thing I would say is just v basic but to have space in your life where you can talk about what you've been through unashamedly, feeling seen and understood by people around you is really important for healing

[sisigull]

Day 8, “Maurice”

@lotftober2024

It’s fem!Maurice!

Some Maurice headcanons, if you even care:

• Is short-sighted but doesn’t care enough to get glasses (-2.00)

• Is Italian, but he’s trilingual (Italian, English, and French).

• Loves marine biology, just like his dad, who he looks up to. I think Maurice definitely has one of the better relationships with his father and family in general.

• Plays the violin

• Collects sea glass with his younger brother since they lived near the beach before moving to England just before the war started. Used to live in Trieste.

• Misses Italy a lot, he prefers sunny weather to dreary English rain. It makes his hair frizzy.

[pietroleopoldo]

It's a total of like 8 days between Trieste and Milan so it's gonna be a battle but I got tickets in worse conditions I guess...

Oh nvm they announced the dates and places for Les Mis world tour in Italy. Day saved

[trans-axolotl]

I went to the anarchist/abolitionist healthcare conference this weekend, and it was really a beautiful experience that I don't even have words for. Being able to share resources, knowledge, dreams, and joy together with other people invested in this work was so special, and I gained a ton of hope by seeing the many ways that other people are actively engaged in resisting these fucked up systems and building care into our communities. I gave a presentation about psych abolition, talked about resistance within the psych ward, and got a standing ovation from a room filled with 50 people, many of whom were mental health professionals looking to build solidarity. I legitimately almost cried because of being to have that experience with my mad comrades. I met so many beautiful crazy people who intimately understand what it means to survive as a mad person, and just gained so much knowledge from people actively putting their abolitionist values into practice. I want to share a few of my favorite resources that I became aware of at this conference, and I'll make another post later with some of my key takeaways.

Mutual Aid Self/Social Therapy: This is a support framework designed by one of my friends that provides an intentional structure for providing therapetuic support within communities, especially organizing communities where there's a lot of burnout. It offers so many resources for skills training to allow anyone, whether you have a background in emotional support or not, to set this up within your community. The framework is purposefully not hierarchial or transactional, and allows for actually addressing people's material conditions as well as providing space for emotional processing.

Of Unsound Mind: Incredible archive and research on psychiatric history. Mostly focused around America, but also has some info on other countries. The author of the website will be coming out with a book later this year, which I think is mostly going to be about the Trieste, Basaglia, and that history of psych resistance in Italy.

Power makes us Sick: Collective that focuses on autonomous healthcare and emotional support, especially in terms of autonomous trans healthcare. Has some fabulous zines and resources.

A Corpse among Corpses: Incredible documentary about asylum graveyards in the Midwest and the trade of graverobbing for experimentation in medical schools, and how this connects to settler colonialism, slavery, eugenics, and modern gentrification. Really do want to emphasize a trigger warning for genocide, eugenics, medical violence, self harm, antiblack racism, instituionalization, and lots of discussion of death. I talked a lot with the filmmakers, and really appreciated their care and intent in making this film as a way of bearing witness rather than exploiting atrocity in the name of art, but do want to be very clear that this film is incredibly heavy to watch and might be something worth doing with other people. It was deeply impactful for me, and made me tear up many times.

The Living Museum: Through transforming the old Creedmoor hospital grounds into a musuem and workspace for current patients to showcase their art, this space celebrates psychiatric resistance, transformation, struggle, and joy. I really want to go visit and share in that space, as it seems just so fucking cool. It seems like you might need to contact directly to schedule a visit.

Cahoots Crisis Response Model: This is one model for crisi intervention teams that respond instead of police. They are not perfect, still have some enagement with police, but are an interesting example of how to try to implement these types of programs. Since theyv'e been around for 25 years, they have a lot of knoweldeg and could be a good first group to reach out to if you're trying to create this in your community.

Overall this whole weekend was a beautiful example of how to put our values into practice, and really just wanted to share these projects with you all!

[ancha-aus]

Gifted Drabble - NewAgeAU - Consequences

Hey @spotaus I got the thing!! :D

This is for after the main story of NewAge I believe. like two ish year. And there is some backstory to it.

For those who don't follow Spotaus and my back and forth messages.

In short: It is about dustedafterdeath (Dust X Geno X Reaper) but the start to their relationship isn't the best or healthiest. Geno wasn't as much interested in Dust for him but just wanted to know how Dust's magic works. meaning Geno had been faking interest and attraction just to grow closer to learn more. Dust saw through it and as you can assume it blew up in all their faces and there was aftermath (Reaper is an innocent in this all. He was trying to sweetly and nicely court Dust only to suddenly not be allowed near anymore. He was confused until he learned what happened.)

with the background out of the way. this is about Geno dealing with realising the damage he did and having to admit some things to himself.

Warning: Mentions of; past manupilation, unhealthy relationships, power disbalance, pushing and forcing past boundaries, and just emotional manupilation.

Oh also no beta or edits :D

*----------------------------------*

Geno lays on the bed in the guest room. Alone with his thoughts.

It still hurts that he isn't allowed in the meeting room anymore. Worse is the fact that neither Error or Reaper defended him to say it was fine.

Geno sighs and rolls to his side. It is fine. He messed stuff up and reaper is desperately trying to do damage control.

Damage he caused.

Geno sighs as he sits up and starts to pace the space in the room.

It isn't as if it is uncomfortable. the space is large and gorgeous as always and there are comfortable couches and chairs and there is a delicious meal. He can call a maid or servant to ask for more and the view is beautiful.

He just isn't allowed to leave the room unsupervised anymore.

Which sucks as he used to just be allowed to go anywhere he wanted. But his rights for that had been revoked.

Geno sighs as he sits on the chair near the window. looking outside. He searches the area but can't spot anyone interesting-

Geno groans as he hits his skull against the window "stop thinking like that." because that is the fucking core of the problem. Geno's inability to just see everyone as interesting people. He keeps mentally either calling people interesting or just unimportant and like they don't matter.

Something has to be broken in him. and Geno has no idea how to fix it. He didn't at first even believe it needed fixing.

One of his old spells and marks activates and Geno shoots upright with a grin. Dust is back at the castle. He has to concentrate and reach. Come on...

The stables? Why would he even go there? Aren't there stable hands around this place to do horses stuff and-

wait... didn't he like horses?

Geno frowns as he triest o remember. He wants to kick himself and hit his skull against the wall. This is so stupid! He knows he asked these things before. Why didn't he just listen? Why didn't he pay attention to things he liked and stuff he did?! Geno spoke with him about it. He knows he asked him because Geno had been trying to get Dust to trust him to ask the burning magical questions that Dust didn't seem to want to talk about!

Geno frowns and grins. Right! Killer told him before! Dust adores horses and works with the horses. Trains them and everything!

Geno feels bad about not knowing these things through Dust... maybe once he fixed his mistake he can try again? ask things and try to listen? Instead of first just zoning out and not paying attention at all to later only listening to the sound of his voice.

Dust doens't speak a lot... it felt nice to just listen to the sound later on.

Geno grins as he goes towards the door. It will be easy! He will just happen to be near the stables. He will just act as if he doesn't notice Dust and ask one of the stable hands if he can try riding a horse.

He will fall off, which Geno knows for sure will happen because he can't ride a horse. Then that will break the ice and tension as Dust will no doubt see and then Geno will look more like just another guy! Geno will laugh off his blunder and ask Dust for any horse riding tips.

Easy! Geno will only talk about the horses. a safe topic as Dust likes that! And maybe that will make them be on friendlier terms and make them able to move past this whole thing and problem Geno created.

Geno throws the door open only to see one of the knights across the hall. A lion mask.

Horror it seems.

Horror just looks at him. Right in the eye. Red eye light glowing with discontent "Is something wrong?"

Geno stands frozen. Right. No free movement anymore. It is okay! He just needs to get a tiny moment to make a break to the right spot! think!

"I euh... wanted to... go for a walk." there! easy! He will go for a walk. and just happen across the stables and get the idea for a horse ride and he is golden.

Hroror nods "Inner courtyard is nice. We will go there." he he waits as he pointedly looks in one direction.

Geno grins easily "It is fine. I know the way."

Horror just continues to stare him down as he waits.

Geno pouts but starts walking. may as well go through with it and go for his stupid walk.

Horror follows him as a silent giant.

Geno is once again reminded of the fact that it used to feel so much more comfortable before. Even when Reaper and him visited for the first time. It had felt more welcoming. Sure they were watched but it was being watched over.

Now ever single movement that he does it watched and monitorred. Even those cats seem to stalk him even more before rushing off as soon as he takes another step closer. That was another thing he had been curious about but now he is terrified of even asking what the deal with the cats is.

He moves through the castle and it feels cold. but they get to the gardena dn geno actually relaxes a bit. it is good to be outside. He grins at Horror "The garden is beautiful."

Horror just continues to stare at him. like a stone wall. Right... minimal contact wiht the knights now.

This is so annoying. Geno almost wishes Killer was here. Killer used to be his go to when ti came to Dust as Killer was always happy to talk about Dust and hype him up. Obviously Killer had been trying to help Dust or them by setting them up.

At least Killer had been useful and made it able for geno to actually get anything. Instead he got stuck with Horror who didn't say a word beyond what was needed and so useless to him-

Fucking hell he is doing it again!

Geno finsihes his walk through the garden and mutters about being done. Horror doesn't say a word, he doesn't even emote anything towards him. But he walks him back to his room. Geno goes inside and the door closes behind him.

He groans as he just walks over to the bed and lets himself fall in it face first.

Maybe it is better that he didn't get to him... Geno had after all once again been planning on manupilate the situation in his favour. to once again use things the other liked to get what Geno wanted.

Why can't he just look at relationships like a normal monster?! Why can't...

He knew it wasn't fine fine. Once he realised how he felt and what he was doing. But he figured it wasn't that bad. After all. Dust liked him... he now also liked Dust. and Reaper always adored him.

All Geno had to do was slowly nudge the relationship into more... actual relationships things. instead of just Geno teasing and pushing the right buttons to get his answers.

Geno figured he could have just shifted the focus! Instead of just the magic it was about being near Dust. He just... stuck to the topic magic because that is something Geno knew. it was a safe area. Geno knows his magic and Dust knows things too. it was something they could ahve bonded over!

aparently not because Geno messed up. Or maybe Dust had always known what Geno had been doing... and let it go on because of who Geno was.

Because as Reaper had pointed out. Geno didn't offer him an out. Geno had just assumed Dust would tell him to stop. When Geno was a royal mage.

Not even just that. the royal mage and mate of the very king of a country that Dust's own king had a treaty with. A very strong treaty and multiple trade routes that were helping this very country.

Why the fuck did Geno think Dust would just say no or tell him to fuck off if Geno pushed too far.

Even when he pushed too far all dust did was distance himself. He didn't evne tell anyone.

If Geno hadn't told Error about it no one would have known... That Geno pretty much kept harrassing Dust to get answers to pushier and pushier questions.

Would he even have said no? If Geno tried to progress the relationship that had been growing? If Geno had kept searching him out and tried to actually do the relationship parts....

Geno doesn't like thinking about it.

Geno groans as he covers his face "This sucks..."

This is what he deserves isn't it? For treating others this way. for not being honest.

Reaper told him as much. That if they get the chance to even speak to Dsut again that Geno needs to be honest. He had stressed it and that Geno had to think about it if he can do that. Dust deserves gEno being honest about what he had been doing.

But Geno can't do that! He doesn't just. Do honest and vulnerable.

The only people he could do that with were his brothers and Reaper.

Adn the only reason he managed that with Reaper is because Error had gone missing and he just hadn't been able to keep up the mask!

Reaper is different. reaper didn't use his moment of weakness and vulnerability to hurt him. To get what he wanted from him.

The very things Geno does to others...

He had wanted to look... cool and controlled. capable. And he always did this to show up like that. He did it with Reaper and Reaper had been fine with it.

Whcih Geno had pointed out to Reaper. And Reaper had just looked so sad as he held his hand. he had explained that they had a more equal relationship. Reaper is a king. He is the ruler. If Geno messed up he would have been pushed back and no one would look at Reaper with any less respect because people would sooner see it was Geno trying to just having a crush and Reaper respectfully putting a stop to it.

They don't have this grace area with Dust. Dust may have been intrested before. And fuck it had hurt to hear that in the past tense. But Dust never made a move. he never was anything but respectful and silent. He had been trying to keep it professional. They both moved to start something with him.

And Dust saying no could have had consequences. Geno felt even worse because Reaper would never. Reaper would never use his power or title like that. But too much had been counting on keeping them happy and Dust just... didn't stop any of it.

Geno groans as he covers his face. It doens't matter now. It doens't matter he had been planning on easing Dust into seeing Geno being more open or vulnerable. Only after they spend time together. After they started something. Geno had wanted him to see him in a certain way...

Well it doenst matter now. Dust figured out who Geno actually was.

And Dust hated him.

Geno groans as he looks at his bag.

He really shouldn't... But it isn't breaking any rules...

He goes towards his bag and searches it. Geno smiles as he finds a small crystal ball.

He pulls it out and rolls up in the bed. Blanket encasing him and the little tool.

He needs to concentrate his magic and really focus. It isn't a hard spell but it just isn't his best.

Dust's magic had been so wild... Wilder than Error's ever was. Dust's magic reacted completely to his wishes and emotions and he hadn't been able to do actual spell work. It had fascinated him so much...

Geno had just... wanted to know how it worked. What could have happened to cause his magic to work on such a fundamental different way. Was it just no schooling? but then how is his magic as strong as it was? Four magical dampers to stop it? That is insane!

The crystal ball finally glows and Geno grins as he concentrates. He doens't want the past or future. just the present. Please.. please show him.

The crystal ball needs a moment but the spell and tool work together well and he can suddenly see the stables and ranch. He sees about twenty horses easily. All relaxing and walking around. Dust is with only one horse. apart form the others in another pen.

The horse his huffing and keeps standing on its backlegs. Dust is calm as he just. makes weird movements and keeps stepping closer before backing off again. The whole time. It is mesmorising to watch. Geno has no idea what the other is doing but doesn't feel it is a good idea to let Dust be alone with an aggressive horse.

What about his shoulder? Geno knows he never truly recovered from that injury...

Just another point where Geno knows one of his weaknesses that he could have easily exploided if Dust denied him. Hell he even used it as he stayed on that side to lean into his space and area.

Dust seems to be confident however. Moving slowly before making another unusual movement.

Eventually the horse seems to just be watching him. less likely to get aggressive. The horse actually goes clsoer to dust and Dust starts to lead the horse.

Geno notices that the horse doesn't have any of the normal rider things. No saddle or reins or anything. Just dust and the horse.

Dust starts to lead the horse through the pen. slow movement and walking first before dust starts to speed up. The horse follows the set tempo and seems to pick up speed. The horse is now galloping around the pen with Dust sprinting to keep up before Dust just sets off and jumps on the back of the horse. The horse stands on his back legs but Dust manages to stay on and calm it again.

then Dust just nudges the horse with just his body to get it moving again.

How the hell did he do that? How... how?

Geno knows dust works with horses through killer. and geno assumed he liked horses...but this? this is insane!

Geno keeps watching him just do his thing.

He isn't sure how to fix this... How to make things right...

Geno just hopes that Reaper can fix this. That he can at least make things right with Dust...

Geno just doesn't want Dust to hate him anymore.

[thesporkidentity]

this is a long shot but i promised my mom i'd ask my friends. she's looking for a book title, she thinks it was probably a harlequin from the 70s or thereabouts. and all she remembers is that the main character and her siblings were all named after the city their parents were in at the time, so she has a brother named lonnie (london), a sister named paris, and she's named trieste, with a joke that she's glad her parents moved away from liverpool when they did. does that ring any bells? she's tried searching for it but unfortunately with those names all she ever finds are train tickets

[ersetu-gazette]

So after rewatching Princess Mononoke I suddenly realized it would be a great media to crossover with Mother of Learning (sorry I have crossover-itis, it's chronic). Internal political conflicts due to imperialism, two sides fighting (one side more in the wrong than the other) where mitigating damage and diplomacy is the best option and sometimes force is required, one side working against the gods, one character chosen by them, and a protagonist only tangentially involved forced into the conflict (and he jumps in once he knows the stakes).

Obviously they're very different media, but I think their framing and how characters approach their similar conflicts would be an interesting thing to play with. So out of curiosity what would everyone think would be more compelling?

Explanations on how I would do each version below the cut:

1st option: The Princess Mononoke movie plays out exactly how it did, and then the characters wake up at the start of the movie before Ashitaka was cursed but after Eboshi shot the first boar god. Ashitaka, San, and Eboshi have to find a permanent solution that leaves the Deer God alive by the end. This requires the three of them to team up and deceive Jigo and the emperor. 2nd option: The plot of Princess Mononoke takes place on Hsan. Most of the gods (the wolf, ape, and boar gods) are instead fey, except for the Deer God who is the last god left, who descended to the material plane to incorporate into a more mortal form (as he is the god that designed souls and believed they had to experience and protect mortals there). The main cast are all mages. Lady Eboshi got her nobility by inventing a stable method of making cold iron, an easier method to kill spirits. San is a battle mage raised by the fey chosen by the angels to help save the last god from dying. She used to be the heir to a native nation that was only recently conquered by the empire. Ashitaka is a minor soul mage/exorcist from a small nation trying to resist being conquered. When he was cursed at the beginning it persists throughout the loops, the more he relies on its power the more easily it taints his body throughout the loop. Eboshi is convinced the time loops are a way to allow her to succeed at killing the Deer god, San is doing everything in her power to stop her from destroying the forest, and Jigo is a high ranking soul/mind mage spy in the imperial church (who has partial awareness of the loop). In previous loops Ashitaka never made much impact but in one of them gets Jigo's attention when he triest to take a more neutral side, Jigo assumes that Ashitaka is a looper on San's side and worsens the curse he was inflicted with, (but somehow gets him into the loop? idk I'll workshop it)

The cast over the story are forced to find an uneasy alliance and recognize the emperor needs to be stopped. There's a lot of parallels to the original Mol plot but it goes in it's own direction. There's a chance for MoL cameos but they won't be a major focus. 3rd option: Zach and Zorian are pulled into the Monosuke plot and forced into a time loop until they can stop the Deer god from dying. (Still not sure if they're natives to the world or have been isekaid). 4th option: Straight up isekai. Zorian and Zach have to stop the Deer God's death and the conflict between humans and nature before things go bad. Of course there will be some type of extra burden or problem they'll have to deal with so they can't just use their magic to brute force solve everything.