#and another short story collection but it's been my 'work reading' so it's taking me forever cus i just read it on break at work lmfao

[butchvamp]

ive managed to read 6 books this year but they're almost all novellas so idk if that counts. but i AM beating the illiterate allegations

[gremlin-girly]

Forget-me-not Blues

Ask and ye shall recieve! Buckle up buttercups, this is my first Soulmate AU.

Banner by me and the images were sourced from Pinterest, made in Canva

Dividers by: @/sweetmelodygraphics

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, ANGST/WHUMP, Soulmate Mate Mark AU!, mentions of death., mentions of torture, right person wrong time, 2nd and 3rd person P.O.V, petnames (doll)

I’m leaving out some tags so I don’t go spoiling the plot so please read at your own risk! Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated (or put through AI)

A/N: I cut a huge chunk about Soulmate AU context at the beginning because it felt unnecessary. It's just a world where word/phrase of the soulmate's is written on them; it's not always the first thing they say to a person :)

More Author’s Notes are at the end of this fic so if you want to know more about the flowers and some thoughts I had whilst writing this, please go take a peek! This has been a labour of love.

Summary: A story about finding and losing soulmates to the test of time.

Word count: 4.2k

Navigation | The Bucky Barnes Collection

1942

Your family had owned a flower stand for as long as you could remember. Ever since you could stand on your own two feet your father put you to work handing out daisies to every woman, young or old, that passed by just to put a smile on their face.

Adorned with roses, daisies, poppies and more, the colourful stall had always been popular. Your father expertly wrapped combinations of flowers in old newspapers until the war began. He believed it was bad luck to wrap gifts in bad news.

When your father had been called to return to service, he had entrusted the stall to you. The old women who’d lost husbands and sons in the war would often buy a poppy or three, and any of the soldiers on a short stay would always buy a dozen or so roses for all of the dames.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was one of your best customers. Bucky was always smiling, flirting and generally schmoozing his way by, often with a battered Steve Rogers in tow. Bucky being the big romantic he was liked roses, of course, and would frequently stop by your stall on his way home from work.

“Hey doll,” Bucky grinned, leaning against your display table.

You couldn’t help but smile back. The playful air he had around him was infectious and you half wished you could find a soul mate like him. Or wished you could just have him.

“Afternoon Buck,” You fluff up a pile of pink roses. Despite the trying times, business was booming. A lot of dates, a lot of weddings and a lot of funerals. “Want the usual?”

Bucky plucks up a rose and twirls it in his fingers before raising it to his nose and inhaling the gentle, sweet scent. His grin grows wider, his boyish charm shining through with the glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes and the dirt on his cheeks from a long day at work.

You know what’s coming next.

“No, Bucky.” You say airily, smiling at him as you move to the next pile of roses on the stall. Bucky gapes at you.

“Please, doll. One dance - that’s all ’m askin’!”

It’s now the sixth time he’s asked you and each time he looks like a kicked puppy when you tell him no.

“Yes but one dance turns into two, then three.” You tease, moving around the stall to face him, plucking the rose from his fingers and leaning close. “And then you’ll be dancing with a new dame next week anyway. I’m just cutting out the middle man. Plenty of men like you come by my stall, James.”

You turn away from him with a short shrug, placing the pink rose back into it’s correct pile before moving to a new carefully packed crate of flowers that need unpacking.

“What if I’m not the man you think I am?” Bucky counters, following after you. “Maybe I’m terrible at dancing.”

Chuckling you turn to face him, ready to spout another weak excuse to not go with him, when one of your white roses is stuffed under your nose. Raising an eyebrow you look over at Bucky, who’s smirking at you.

“Hi, my name’s Bucky and, if you’d be so kind as to let me take you dancing sometime, I promise to make it worth your while.”

You feel heat crawl up your face as you start to laugh. “Why are you introducing yourself to me?”

“Because,” Bucky shrugs, the twinkle in his eyes becoming a bright sparkle now that you’re laughing. “I’m not the man you think I am. And life’s too short, doll. I’d like to spend at least one night of my life dancin’ with you.”

How were you going to argue with that?

But something seemed… strange. When you’d say no, usually he’d banter with you a bit more and ask about your dad, you’d ask after his mom, his sister and Steve before he’d trot on his merry little way with you gazing after him.

Today, Bucky was insistent but behind his eyes was a sadness you hadn’t seen before. Your heart strings tugged, something within you screamed at you to say yes like you had desperately wanted to all those times before. No more imagining what it would feel like to have his hands in yours as you twirled and danced well into the night.

“Sure,” you sigh after a few moments, trying not to seem too eager. Bucky beams at you so brightly anyone else would think you’ve hung the moon and hands you your white rose with a mocking bow.

“One dance.” You add firmly, heart fluttering as your fingers brush his when you pluck the rose from him.

Bucky puts his hand on his heart, beginning to walk backwards. As he passes your stall he stuffs a dollar into your change jar and bats his eyelashes innocently at you.

“I only need one dance to make you fall in love with me, doll!” He continues walking backwards, narrowly avoiding other New Yorkers, but his eyes never leave yours. “I’ll pick you up at seven!”

You shake your head with a grin, watching him go. There was an electric charge all around you and you felt excited for your long-dreamed-of date with one Bucky Barnes.

Dancing with Bucky was exactly how you imagined it would be; your feet barely touched the ground as he spun and lifted you. You felt lighter than air as you looked down at Bucky's grinning face, eyes sparkling with joy as he held you close. One dance quickly turned to three.

After the third, Bucky led you to a nearby table.

"So much for one dance." Bucky teases lightly, his hand still lightly holding your waist. You're thankful your flushed cheeks hide your embarrassment but you're smiling regardless. Before he can ask you what drink he can get you, We'll Meet Again begins to crackle over the speaker and you drag him back to the dance floor.

"Hey, shouldn't I be leading doll?" He jokes, hands immediately encompassing your hips once you'd found a space to sway in.

"Hush," You murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I like this song."

Bucky smiles down at you and says nothing further until the song finishes. You both mimic the other, swaying to the music and gently singing along as you gaze at eachother.

"I should walk you home doll." Bucky says quietly once the song finishes. You feel a little light-headed and breathless, even though you'd only been swaying and you notice that Bucky's hands are still on your waist.

"O-okay." You swallow. If Soulmates didn't exist, you'd be kissing him right about now. "I know a short-cut."

"This," Bucky looked up as the wrought iron fence. "Is a short-cut?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?" You grin back at him as you crawl through a gap in the fence. "Come on Sarge, it's not far I promise."

Bucky sighs with a smile, pulling his dress pants up so they don't rip at the knees when he crawls through the gap after you. You take his hand and lead him blindly through the dark park, the both of you stumbling and giggling like teenagers, until you reach a dirtpath leading through a small thatch of trees to a clearing. The light of the moon illuminates the clearing into a sea of blue. Forget-me-nots are clustered together in one large group in the clearing; thousands upon thousands of tiny blue flowers that disappear to black when the moon vanishes again behind a cloud.

"Wow," Bucky breathes. "You've been holdin' out on me, doll. If I knew this was here, I'd have taken you on a romantic picnic instead of dancin'."

“Yeah, I could spend forever getting lost in those forget-me-not blues,” you sigh wistfully, looking over at Bucky's face.

“Well doll, forget me not.” He punctuates each word with a sad smile.

What should be a joyous moment filled with love, happiness and a rainbow of technicolour is soured by the harsh reality that Bucky wouldn't be staying in New York any longer. You shouldn't be too surprised, you knew he got drafted but you can see it in his eyes, the utter sadness of your situation. You can't even enjoy finding your soulmate in peace.

“You’ve got orders.” You can barely eke the words out of your closing throat.

Bucky nods, swallowing thickly and looking at your entwined hands. “Got my letter the other day. England."

You breathe out, long and slow, your nose becoming more blocked as more tears stream down your face and your throat burns with unvoiced sobs. It was unfair. So, so unfair.

“I could never forget you James Buchanan Barnes. Never.“ You say firmly, gazing over at him and squeezing his hand hard.

"I'll write to you everyday." He promises, squeezing your hand back. "I'll come back and visit every chance I can get until this war is over. And then-"

You cut him off with a quick kiss that doesn't even begin to convey how happy you are to have found him, trying to protect your heart from more hurt that undoubtedly will come.

"Save it for your letters," You tease softly, sniffing away tears. "I want something to look forward to while I wait."

Bucky grins and pecks your lips back. "You got it, doll."

You both stay on that log until the early hours, basking in each other's presence before Bucky was deployed to England the next afternoon. The voids left in your hearts when you separated were almost too much to bare but when you were safely home, and Bucky tucked away on a boat, you both immediately began to work on your letters to each other.

Being posted in England isn't too bad to begin with. In fact, Bucky thinks that his letters are too boring but he doesn't want to fill the letters with how much he misses you or how he wishes he could be with you instead; he knows you know it too, and it doesn't make it hurt any less.

When he's sent to Europe, suddenly those boring, mundane letters are a God-send. One of your letters contained a good Iuck charm, courtesy of your small slice of blue paradise ; a single pressed forger-me-not into a piece of card with a lipstick stain of your lips on the reverse. Bucky kept the piece in his left breast pocket, just over his heart, keeping the thought of you near wherever he went.

The first thing he does after Steve rescues him is write you.

He leaves out the details but tells you not to worry, he'll be home soon. Tell Mom and Rebecca not to worry too.

Days later, when he's lying in the snow bleeding from the Stump that was his left arm, he wonders if it was all worth it. Your lucky charm had disappeared somewhere during the fall and Bucky sobbed at the thought that not only had he lost his arm but a piece of you too. Delirious with blood loss, he imagined your face in the cold comfort of the snow, smiling playfully like you always did, kissing him so tenderly like you had on your date all those moons ago. He couldn't leave you without a soulmate.

Hearing approaching footsteps crunching in the snow, Bucky screamed for help, hoping, praying that it was Steve.

It wasn't.

Turns out, HYDRA don't like it when their science experiments escape and despite vowing to escape a second time once he's healed, it's nigh impossible. And not without consequence.

Bucky's vow quickly becomes to always remember you instead when he's strapped to the electric chair, biting on his tongue so hard he draws blood. The more his brain cooks in the chair, the more torture he's subjected to, the more your face blurs in his mind's eye. It kills him, little by little, knowing you're fading from his memory but he still tries to remember your face. He still hopes, dreams and thinks of you. Would you remember him? Would you recognise him if he returned from this hell on Earth?

What breaks him is not the twenty-seven long years of being thawed and unthawed, tortured and electrocuted. It's the one rainy day where his heart hurts so badly, he screams until he can't any longer. It's the day his blurred soulmate's face is torn from his soul and leaves him all alone in the cruellest, darkest place imaginable.

The premature death of Bucky Barnes' soulmate caused the birth of the Winter Soldier after twenty-seven gruelling years.

How could you suffer on knowing you would never see your one true love again? His brain and heart couldn't win out after that.

Present Day

Museums were Bucky’s favourite places to be on his days off. There was something comforting about the silence and the relics of human history, the evolution and study of animals, rocks and bones and the celebration of human artistry that wasn’t as overwhelming as the Internet. The Internet was faster, sure, but museums had everything in one neat place and no two museums were the same.

He and Steve had spent countless days of their childhood visiting the Natural History Museum and then when he'd finally broken away from HYDRA, he'd visited every museum he could find to learn about himself and the developments after the war that he'd missed.

Today, though, Bucky had decided to take a longer wander through the galleries. It was easy to walk through and ignore the paintings until something caught your eye but Bucky was insistent that he would stop at every painting today and perhaps try to see what Steve sees.

The galleries aren’t busy, as usual. A few old couples taking a wander through, a gaggle of tourists taking photos and an art student or two studying brush strokes of portraits. However, in a small alcove surrounded by paintings of flowers and woodland, sat a woman who looked entirely out of place.

It wasn't with what she was wearing or how she looked but something just didn't seem right. Bucky knew he should probably investigate but dammit it was his day off; he deserved some peace and quiet.

The woman is still there when he makes it to the alcove and the pull from his chest is unbearable now. He was wrong before when he'd thought that she didn't seem right; she was perfect. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen someone so beautiful that she looked like a rare painting come to life. Nervous didn't begin to describe the feelings swirling in his chest. There was an unfathomable joy coupled with anxiety and he wished he kept gum in his leather jacket right now.

“I could spend forever getting lost in those forget-me-not blues.” The woman sighs dreamily, gazing at the painting before her.

The hair on Bucky’s arm and neck stand on end, his heart rate sky rocketing. He’d heard that phrase before.

“What did you say?”

Bucky's caught off guard when she turns to look over at him, her eyes catching his for a small respite and he almost folds like a deck chair. The air is sucked out of Bucky’s lungs so quickly he can barely process it and he feels faint, no dizzy, from just looking at her properly. Her eyes are wide with surprise but there's a sliver of playfulness that hides within them and whatever ever was nagging at him earlier has now blossomed into a crackling hearth of building adoration that was vaguely familiar somehow.

Bucky's eyes drop to her neck, where a tiny blue flowers pendant sits on a delicate silver chain. It's delicate but sweet, an almost perfect compliment to her being.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Talking to myself.” The stranger gives him a sheepish smile and turns back to the painting. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

Bucky tears his eyes from her and looks at the painting; two blurred figures dancing amongst a sea of blue flowers, similar to the necklace she wears. The male figure is holding the female figure's hand as her dress billows and blends into the flowers. Although they don't have faces, it's clear these figures are happy and in love.

For some odd reason, Bucky feels a wave of melancholy. He can't place why when there's a stunning woman in front of him.

"Does it make you feel sad?" The woman asks suddenly. Bucky glances over to see that her expression has changed to one of longing.

"I... yeah. Even though-"

"-they look happy." She finishes, looking over with a wry smile. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so depressing to a stranger."

Bucky smiles and shifts on his feet. He wants to say something more, tell her that it's fine, but instead he dumbly states;

"I like your necklace."

He regrets it as soon as he says it and looks to his feet. Didn't this used to be easy? Hadn't he charmed women both as Bucky and the Winter Soldier?

"Oh! This?" She fiddles with the pendant between her thumb and fore finger, inspecting it gently. She doesn't seem bothered by the awkward compliment. "I just like forget-me-nots."

Forget-me-nots. Something in his mind flashes with recognition.

“Why forget-me-nots?” He asks suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you like them?”

The woman pauses and scratches her face thoughtfully, as if trying to place when she began loving the tiny flower. "I… don’t know, actually. I just always have.”

She offers Bucky a shrug. “I guess they’re pretty? Teeny, tiny little things but the colour?” She gives Bucky an impressive smile but then it falters for a moment as she catches his eyes again, really looking at them this time. “Wow. Your eyes are some shade of blue.”

Bucky starts to smile wider. He feels like himself, how he used to be back in the 30s. Even though there's something about her that makes him suffer this almost recognition, like she’s a word stuck on the tip of his tongue, he can't deny the joy and warmth he feels in her presence and he can't help but want keep speaking with her.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat and tries for nonchalance. "Do you... come here often?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he cringes, scrunching his face with disgusted embarrassment. So much for feeling like himself. Was flirting always so hard?

"Ugh. Sorry that was.... oh God." Bucky runs a hand down his face as the woman laughs.

“It’s alright and to answer, no - I don't. Today I just, well, it sounds stupid. But today I just really wanted to come here. I usually just walk straight past but I’m glad I did.” The flirtatious smirk she gives Bucky makes his knees wobble and he has to shift his weight to hide it. "You probably already know why they’re called forget-me-nots.” Bucky says, opting to try to sound knowledgeable instead of cool. Maybe that would be a better play. He doesn't know what's gotten into him. He's usually calm and collected. However, his heart is beating so hard he's scared it may fall right out of his chest.

“I do but tell me anyway.”

Bucky’s lip twitch into a smirk and the woman pats the empty space next to her, shuffling over slightly to make space for Bucky. His knee knocks hers and he gives a quiet, embarrassed apology before clearing his throat to recite what he'd been told.

“They used to be given to soldiers going off to war by their lovers.” He says. “I don’t remember who told me but…”

He trails but the woman is transfixed on his face.

"Sorry." Bucky scrunches his nose and smiles. "I got lost for a moment."

"At least you came back." The woman smiles in return. She looks back towards the painting again. Bucky tells himself that it’s out of old observational habits that he watches her face; how her eyes look longingly at the dancing couple of the painting, the sweet curve of her lips as she smiles.

"Do you think they were soulmates?"

"I think they're two people who love each other." Bucky says cautiously and when the woman raises an eyebrow at him, he shrugs sheepishly, waving his left arm. "Sorry I... I don't have one. The writing must have been on my left arm and I can't remember what it said. I'm a little jaded, unfortunately."

She frowns and points to his arm. "Your arm looks fine to me."

Bucky snorts and smiles sheepishly at her. “It’s a…. um, prosthetic. I don’t have any words anywhere else so they had to have been on my left arm. I should have been clearer."

“Oh.” The woman's face turns fire-engine red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. That was so rude of me."

"Don't worry about it." Bucky shrugs it off with a chuckle before swiftly changing the subject. "What do you like about the painting?"

“I’d love to do that one day.” She says wistfully after a moment, nodding at the figures.

“Do what? Dance?” Bucky asks curiously, sensing an opportunity. “You can dance whenever you want. We can dance right here if you want, I’ll ask one of the guards for music.”

She laughs, no chuckle this time, a pure lilt of happiness that makes Bucky’s heart twist in his chest and he can’t help but smile a little wider. Flirting was a little bit like riding a bike, not that he’d been interested in flirting much since having his brain fried multiple times.

The woman glances over at him, biting back a smile and rolling her eyes playfully. “Riiiiiight. Sure."

"I mean it!" Bucky bolsters, hopping to his feet. "I-..."

He falters for a moment when he sees her grin; her challenge. Her eyes meet his, bright and sparkling. Whatever he feels he knows she feels it too. He offers his left arm to her, stiff and awkward as his face blooms red.

“Hi, my name’s Bucky and, if you’d be so kind as to let have this dance, I promise to make it worth your while.”

The woman snorts and laughs again but she takes hold of his gloved hand, rising to her feet.

"Y/N. And just one." Her tone is firm but her glittering eyes betray the same excitement he feels. "What about music?"

"Heard they have music on phones nowadays, doll." Bucky quips, his free hand reaching for his phone in his back pocket. He doesn't notices she's raised a curious brow.

"Doll? That's a new one."

"I - oh..." Bucky grins sheepishly but before he can apologise, she stops him with a smile.

"I like it. Vintage."

Now it's Bucky's turn to snort. Who needed soulmates anyhow?

"Speaking of vintage." Bucky hits play on Vera Lynn's remastered classic.

"We'll Meet Again." She murmurs as Bucky's hands ghost along her waist. "Good choice."

"Thanks. Is this okay?"

"You're barely touching me." She giggles, wrists crossing behind his neck.

"Hey, I gotta make sure. Just follow my lead."

Vera Lynne's voice echoes around the alcove drawing curious peeks from other museum-goers but both Bucky and the woman in his arms couldn't care less as they swayed to the music. Y/N followed Bucky's footsteps as he guided her around the room with practices ease, poking fun at her lightly when she'd step on his feet accidentally.

An image rears its head in Bucky's mind's eye. There's a park, somewhere, with hundreds of forget-me-nots but he can't place the timeline. Did he go there as the Winter Soldier? Did he go there during the war? Was it a passing visit on a mission? He knows he didn’t find it, someone showed him. Maybe Steve? Someone else? Did he see it once in a dream?

“You’re a good dancer.” Y/N whispers against his chest as the song draws to a close. Bucky is sure she can hear his heartbeat through his leather jacket now. “I don’t think I could ever forget this.”

“Well, doll... Forget me not.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s cheesy at best, terrible word play at worst.

But she halts, blinking up at him. The silence in the alcove is so loud a pin could drop.

“What did you just say?”

It’s like a veil has lifted. The air shifts, Bucky can feel it now. That joy he buried earlier rose from the soles of his feet all the way up to his head. He felt like he was walking on air. He can see her eyes widen, further and further until their the size of dinnerplates, and there, almost within the depths of her soul; there's the flicker of recognition.

It's a domino effect. Y/N's soul reaches for Bucky's as memories flood back; lifetimes of memories, experiences and pain binding their souls together in a dance that will last for eternity.

The kiss they share is nothing like their first one. It's longer, more patient, relishing the electric feel of each other's lips for what feel like eons. “James Buchanan Barnes,” You breathe, tears of happiness filling your eyes. “I knew I wouldn’t forget you. And I knew you’d come back.”

"It's you," He chuckles, still not quite believing his eyes. "It's really you."

That playful smile he'd grown to love all those decades ago makes a swift appearance on your face and reaches the lights of your eyes as you look up at him.

"Now, if I remember correctly, we have a few decades worth of catching up to do."

END

A/N1: Ready for the flower symbolism? None of this the roses were pink because they were pink roses bs

Forget-Me-Nots: were given to lovers when their gifter went away to war. Commonly associated with the phrase “Forget me not.” (Duh). But they are also representative of remembrance, memory, love, friendship, hope, and fidelity. Source here

The necklace is based on this one on Etsy that I adore

Pink roses: (The first rose Bucky picks up and you steal back) symbolise admiration, happiness and love.

White roses: (The second rose Bucky picks up and hands to you) represent Innocence, purity and loyalty. Bucky’s intentions are were true.

These also are used for fresh starts, so can also be used as Bucky “starting over” (like when he goofily re-introduces himself to you and in the modern day where his memory has been wiped).

A/N 2: Name of the Fic

Well, a multitude of reasons really.

1) forget-me-nots are hardy plants that always come back (hence why reader says it to Bucky). He has an awful habit of bouncing back bless him.

2) Bucky’s Eyes: Azure blue? But there’s something about little poetic in a forget-me-not Blue ;)

3) Blues: Bucky is a big fan of Jazz, and Blues although Blues came before jazz its debated heavily on whether it is a sub-genre of jazz or if its a genre all on its own. Blues songs tend to be romantic, sad and slow; which I think are key elements of Bucky and his story.

4) Their meaning: true love and faithfulness. Can’t have a romance without those right?

5) the utter irony of the fact that Bucky did actually completely forget her lmao

A/N 3: I heavily debated how to incorporate the words of the Soul Mark back into modern day. Originally I was going to leave it kinda open ended at the gallery because I couldn’t think of a way to get Bucky’s words in without them seeming forced. But when I was doing a third edit of this, I realised they could end up having a haphazard date; which ended up as a replay of the 40s just so their souls could greet eachother again in the same place bc I am nothing if not a romantic at heart. I ended up scrapping that in favour of the museum alcove and having them recreate their "first date" there with the paintings acting as the woodland this time because I was struggling with dialogue and bridging the two - but I think it turned out pretty romantic!!!

This was my first time writing a Soulmate AU and I quite enjoyed myself! But I would like some feedback, and obviously all comments are welcome! It’s not to say I’m not proud of my other work on here but this story has been brewing for months (and I’m actually really happy that it won the WIP poll).

I wholly appreciate any comments or asks on this work!! I don’t quite think I’m ready to let it go yet 🥹 so much so that even though there's not a part 2 in the works, there's another fic in the same AU I'm working on ;)

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reading update: january 2025

I'm a bit behind on getting this posted, so I'm gonna do it quick and dirty. this is not the most elaborate reading round-up I'm ever going to do, and that's okay!!! january has gotten off to a weird, uneven start in terms of reading, and that is what it is!

The Extinction of Irena Rey (Jennifer Croft, 2024) - this book is great for anyone who likes dark academia but wants to see what those students will be like when they’re adults who have to get by outside of college. in this case, they become translators for an enigmatic woman who makes them gather in a remote Polish forest and then disappears. pure vibes all the way down; truly things just happen in this book. the gimmick of the novel itself being a work by one of the characters, told from her perspective, and then translated by another character that the narrator despises, is soooo rich and interesting, and I deeply wish it had been used much more extensively.

Darknesses (Lachelle Seville, 2022) - is this book good? I couldn’t possibly say. it was very fun to read on vacation with like 12% of my brain operating. the best way I can possible explain it is that by the time the book is over it feels like Seville is running one of those old ask blogs where artists would have their blorbos and their OCs answer questions and hang out and stuff. do you know the kind I’m talking about? it’s like that, it’s dissociative identity disorder Dracula and the descendants of the human Dracula characters and Norse mythology werewolves and a vampire bunny and a dragon and Satan who’s a teenage girl with pink hair and they’re all hanging out in New York City. don’t think too hard about it. 

Become Your Own Matchmaker: 8 Easy Steps to Attracting Your Perfect Mate (Patti Stanger with Lisa Johnson Mandell, 2009) - I’m not proud of this and I can’t really justify it except that my housemates and I have gotten really into watching old episodes of Patti Stanger’s terrible TV show, Millionaire Matchmaker. the show is atrocious and so is the book but in my defense it’s extremely funny.

Queen Takes Rose (Katee Robert, 2020) - guys I can’t stand Katee Robert. I really can’t. I thought it was going to be fun but god this just sucked.

Adam & Evie's Matchmaking Tour (Nora Nguyen, 2024) - after that last one I really needed a good, normal romance novel to get me back on track, and this delivered! I don’t think it’s going to be one of my all-time faves, but the characters are lovably realistic losers and I was really rooting for them—especially Evie, who feels like a messy bitch I would love to hang out with. plus the setting, a romping tour across the sights of Vietnam, was so fun and I’m always willing to award points to a romance novel that supports telling your awful to fuck off right to hell!

Mystery Lights (Lena Valencia, 2024) - here’s the thing. every short story in this collection is a well written, coherent short story. thematically there are really clear throughlines; you’ll get a lot of mileage out of this if you like middle aged women who have complicated relationships with their daughters between the ages of 13 and 23. I really wanted to like this! and yet, I feel like this collection just isn’t going to stick with me very well. there are some cool concepts and ideas (there’s a creepy story involving a little girl who disappears into some underground caves and comes back Weird that actually spooked me pretty good) but overall I feel like it’s just not going to stick with me :/

Is Love the Answer? (Uta Isaki, 2021; trans. Sawa Matsueda Savage, 2023) - huge thanks to the person who sent me an ask to recommend this manga! it’s a very quick, sweet read about a university student coming into her aroace identity with the help of a circle of newfound friends supporting her along the way. I really liked the way it delves into the way anxiety can have you second-guessing and overthinking your sense of self even after embracing an identity. this was my Heartstopper (I say, without having ever read Heartstopper).

The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse (Louise Erdrich, 2001) - I picked this up at Erdrich’s bookstore, Birchbark Books & Native Arts, last summer while I was briefly in Minneapolis, on recommendation by an employee at the store. I was initially hesitant about the novel’s focus on spirituality and religion, given that it follows a Catholic priest working on an Ojibwe reservation throughout the 20th century, but man, this was an incredible introduction to Erdrich’s work. Father Damian Modeste is an incredible character and one of my favorite depictions I’ve ever seen of a woman living long-term in disguise as a man, and how the line between those identities blurred. there’s a scene I don’t think I’ll ever forget, in which Modeste is asked, essentially, “Are you a man or a woman?” and answers firmly “I’m a priest.” and all the while, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be an agent of colonization and the destruction of indigenous culture, more than anything he is changed by the Ojibwe people he works with. it’s a surprising, elegant book, and I was shaken to find myself crying at the end. 

A Magical Girl Retires (Park Seolyeon, 2022; trans. Anton Hur 2024) - this book is a short, rapid-fire read that’s a dry, funny take on the magical girl genre. our protagonist starts the book so mired in credit card debt that she’s considering jumping off a bridge when she’s summoned to be a magical girl, and things will only get weirder for her from there as Korea’s magical girl union recruits her to help them combat climate change. a fun read, easy to polish off in a single sitting at less than 200 pages.

salt slow (Julia Armfield, 2019) -now THIS was the short story collection I was waiting for! it reminded me so much of why I loved Armfield’s novel Our Wives Under the Sea. she has another new novel out this year and I’m really looking forward to reading that as well! she has an incredible way with love and melancholy.

[charlottesbookclub]

rest (armitage hux x reader) 🧡🧡

Summary: hux is working late, but you try to convince him to get some rest

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; established relationship; mentions of a prior injury; a little bit suggestive at times but nothing too wild; very soft hux in this one; I fear we shall all need to go to the dentist after this on account of the tooth-rotting levels of fluff 🥰; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 3146

Author’s Note: so this is a little outtake from 'time after time' that I'm actually posting before that story goes live, as a little treat ☺️ in the longer story, it's situated somewhere between chapters 29 and 30! ultimately, I really liked this scene, but I just couldn't get it to meld into the narrative of the longer story, so I'm posting it separately instead! I think it should still read totally fine as a little drabble – there are a few moments where I reference events from the larger story, so if you feel like there's a little detail that lacks context, that's probably why 😅 also, this scene takes place very late in the timeline of 'time after time,' so the relationship between hux and the reader is very well established by this point. I really hope y'all enjoy and I would lovelovelove to hear your thoughts! 🥰🥰

Armitage barely noticed the buzz at the door as he leaned over his desk, eyesight beginning to go a little fuzzy as he attempted to focus on the forms and diagrams on his data screens. Then he came back to himself. You were sleeping. Kriff, he hoped the noise hadn’t woken you. He pushed himself from the chair and stumbled a little unsteadily to the door, muscles stiff after hours of not remembering to move. He peered at the tiny screen for the cam that was trained to the exterior of the door. It was just a transport droid, no doubt delivering a freshly pressed set of uniforms. Pushing the button and sending door sliding open before the droid could buzz again, he collected the clothing and dismissed the droid.

He pivoted on his heel back into the room, uniforms in hand. It never failed to send a little thrill through him when both his and yours were delivered to what used to be only his quarters. Maybe it was silly, but it was another treasured reminder that you really were together. With that pleasant thought in mind, he set the crisply folded general’s and captain’s uniforms on the low table in the living area. He didn’t want to risk waking you by placing them in their proper location in the bedroom closet.

He had settled back down at his desk, mind already puzzling through the problems in front of him when he heard a soft sound from the direction of the bedroom. Then he heard you speak.

“Armitage…” Your voice was still thick with sleep, but the sound of his name on your lips was always impossibly sweet. He turned toward you instantly to find you leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, attempting to rub the sleep from your eyes. He was about to try and convince you to go back to bed when he noticed something that caused a faint heat to begin rising in his body. You were wearing his sleep clothes. He had gotten back frustratingly late from a meeting that went far longer than necessary, and you had already been asleep when he quietly entered your shared quarters, so he wouldn’t have seen. But the tiny silver bands near the edges of the short sleeves and the hems of the shorts marked the otherwise unassuming black garments as unmistakably belonging to part of a general’s clothing allotment. Armitage swallowed thickly.

“Are… are you wearing my sleeping clothes?” he asked quietly, feeling the internal heat in his body begin to externalize itself in the form of an embarrassing blush. You nodded sleepily, beginning to make your way to him. He still watched your footsteps carefully in case you might become unstable, but you crossed the floor without incident, even if he could tell that you still favored your uninjured leg slightly. 

“Mmhmm…” you confirmed as you reached him, resting your hands on the back of his chair. “You weren’t there to hold me, so I had to opt for the next best thing.” Your fingers wandered to his shoulders. Armitage’s blush had increased to a veritable blaze, and with the way the warmth of your hands was soaking into his skin, he was beginning to find it very difficult to breathe. “Although I must admit,” you whispered, lips at the shell of his now very reddened ear, “they’re a very poor replacement.” 

Armitage was feeling quite faint indeed. Even if he had wanted to say something, he doubted any words would have made it past his lips. Your fingers pressed into his shoulders, finding all the places where his stress was tied in tense knots and slowly massaging them away. He suppressed a small groan at the heavenly feeling.

“You never wear the short ones anyway,” you murmured. It was true; Armitage had spent too much of his life feeling cold, first on rainy Arkanis and then on the desolate ships of the Imperial remnant. His wiry frame had never held onto heat well. Now that he had the choice to be warm, he wasn’t going to waste the privilege. You helped with that too, he mused as the places where your hands met his shoulders radiated with liquid warmth that was seeping into the rest of his body. “You don’t mind, do you?” There was maybe just the barest hint of hesitation in your question, like you weren’t perfectly certain. He reached one hand up to clasp over yours, momentarily stilling your rhythmic movement on his strained muscles. 

“Not at all,” he assured you. He was so far past not minding. In fact, the thought of it was causing very… distracting images to begin to form in his mind. You hummed lightly in response to his answer, and he could feel the gentle press of your lips against his disheveled hair. Your fingers began kneading at his shoulders again, and he let himself relax more fully into your tender touch. Then he caught a glimpse of the time on his data screen.

“Love,” he said softly, reveling in the way the term of endearment could fall so easily from his lips now. “It’s late – you should go back to bed.” As much as he wanted you to stay, he was determined not to let his own bad habits affect you, especially not while you were still healing.

“Not without you,” came the soft but stubborn reply. A small smile pulled at his lips. Your sleepiness seemed to have made you more endearingly uninhibited.

“You need your rest,” he reminded you, gently pulling one of your hands from his shoulder and placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. 

“So do you,” you responded, your other hand now carding through his hair, sending a pleasant humming sensation along his scalp as you freed the last of the orderly orange strands from their gelled attention. He realized his resolve was weakening.

“I have work to do…” he said softly, trying to convince himself as much as you. Reluctantly, he dropped your hand, placing his arm back on the armrest of his chair as he once again pulled himself toward the desk. He hoped that the action of returning to work would shake the tiredness he could feel steadily growing in his body. It seemed you weren’t having any of that though.

You trailed your hand over his shoulder and down the length of his arm, your touch setting off sparks on his skin even through the rumpled fabric of his uniform top. He struggled to regulate his breathing. You came into view then as you moved between him and his data screens, letting your fingers linger on the back of his wrist as you leaned back against the edge of his desk. The sight of you still soft and languid from sleep, clad in his sleep clothes, was almost more than he could bear. He bit down hard as he struggled with both the exhaustion and sudden heat that were steadily rising in his body. 

“Armitage, you can work next cycle,” you told him gently as you leaned toward him. His breath stuttered in his lungs.

“I— I really should try to get this finished,” he stammered out, even though everything in him wanted to give into you. You seemed to search his face for a moment before coming to some kind of conclusion. What you had decided Armitage could not guess.

“Alright,” you whispered, but there was less defeat in your voice than he would have expected. He watched as you pushed yourself from his desk, hoping to steal a kiss as you passed back behind his chair to return to the bedroom. But that was not the motion you made.

Armitage had to grip the armrests of his chair in surprise as you instead moved forward and slid onto his lap, easily slotting yourself against him. Your head was tucked into his neck, your hands curled up against his chest, legs swung sideways across him. It was a long moment before he could breathe again. The warm, comforting weight of your body against him was such a familiar, welcome feeling that he instinctively began to melt into you. 

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, his lips against your forehead.

“You said you needed to work and that I needed to rest,” you murmured back. He could feel your quiet words vibrating against his chest. “But I sleep better when you hold me. So I’m compromising.” Even through the sleepiness in your voice, Armitage could hear the light teasing that threaded through your words. Kriff, he was so in love with you.

“You’re not going to be able to sleep like this,” he told you, unable to keep the smile from his voice. You shrugged against him.

“How do you know?” you responded, adjusting your position on his lap and snuggling closer to him. He gritted his teeth, only too aware that he was losing this battle. When he remained still for a moment, you spoke again: “You can work. I’ll just be here.”

Armitage let out a huff of affectionate amusement at your words. Nevertheless, he pulled himself back toward his desk, trying to train his attention on the data screens. He was not particularly successful in that endeavor. Every instinct in his body was telling him to wrap his arms around you, to pull you closer. You were literally in his lap, pressed against his chest, and he was focused on work that was seeming less and less important by the minute as he became more and more aware of your body against his. He was struggling mightily to read over a diagram when he felt you move.

Your hands had found their way to his uniform collar and were slowly loosening the dark fabric from around his throat, undoing some of the topmost fastenings. His skin flushed, reacting immediately to the soft brush of your fingers.

“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” he reminded you, his lightly scolding tone no doubt getting lost in the rush of affection that he couldn’t suppress from his voice.

“You seemed uncomfortable,” you offered by way of explanation as you pulled the high collar away from his neck. “I was just trying to help.” Before he could respond, he was suddenly frozen in place by the feeling of your warm lips pressed tenderly to the revealed skin of his neck. He gripped the armrest as his breathing became fevered and uneven. He knew the battle was lost.

When your lips fell from his skin, he pulled back, letting you lean slightly into the support of his arms so that he could see your face.

“What?” you asked with a bright smile, the question suffused with false innocence. 

“You are incorrigible,” he responded, tilting forward to press his forehead against yours, brushing your noses together. The action caused a spiral of sleepy giggles to bubble from your lips. Despite his attempt to affect mock disapproval, Armitage couldn’t help the way his face pulled into a smile at your reaction.

“I learned from the best,” you retorted happily, planting a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. There was no way to hide the way his whole face went pink.

“Well, now I see why you were so good at your work, Captain,” he teased, still surprised at how easily such a response came to him when he was around you, “you can be very convincing indeed.”

“I’m not sure how good it made me at my work,” you replied, and Armitage could hear the laughter in your voice, “since this manner of persuasion is saved for you alone, General.” Your eyes were glittering and so, so soft as you looked at him. If he hadn’t already admitted defeat, this would have been the moment he would have happily given in. There was something about knowing that there was a side of you reserved solely for him that never failed to make warmth bloom in his chest.

“Hmmm… a brilliant tactician then,” he mused as he brought your head to where he could press a kiss to your temple. You hummed happily in response. 

“Does this mean you’ll come to bed then?” you asked with a small yawn. Armitage was all too aware of the way your fingers had found his collar again and were slowly opening more and more of his uniform top, revealing the black shirt beneath. The skin of his chest was no doubt a humiliating shade of pink under the thin fabric as his body reacted to your gentle touch.

“Fine,” he acquiesced with an exaggerated sigh of mock-resignment. From the way you laughed, it was clear you heard the affectionate joking in his voice.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, General,” you teased back. The way your fingers were idly tracing patterns across his chest was making him feel quite dizzy.

“Far from a sacrifice,” he whispered against your temple, the joking gone from his voice, “I consider it a privilege.” You ducked your head in slight embarrassment at his words as he pressed another kiss to your hairline.

“Then why did it take so much convincing?” you murmured against his chest. There were a hundred ways Armitage could have answered that question, most of them coming down to the fact that he had gotten good at denying himself the things he wanted. This was not the time to delve into that particular subject; he wanted to keep the conversation light, aware of the fact that you seemed to be growing sleepier by the minute as you curled against him.

“Well, your methods of persuasion were perfectly attuned to your intended target,” he mused, tracing a finger along your cheek. “Perhaps I found the process of being convinced… enjoyable.” He could feel the way your skin warmed at his words. 

“Now who’s being incorrigible?” you rejoined, unable to keep a smile from blooming on your face despite the teasing mock-accusation in your voice.

“You did say you learned from the best,” he reminded you, eliciting a small laugh as you tucked your head against his neck again. Kriff, you made everything in him feel so light. He could have stayed there all rest period, but he was too practical to think that the current position was a viable long-term sleeping option for either of you.

“Love, I hate to say this, but you are going to need to get up so that I can keep my promise,” he whispered against your ear. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your small whine of annoyance. Nevertheless, you crawled from his lap as his hands hovered over you, still anxious that you might become unsteady. He missed the feeling of your body against his immediately.

He stood from his chair as soon as he was certain that you were able to stand without incident. You leaned back against his desk slightly, arms wrapped around yourself as though to ward off the chill in the air that was more apparent on your bared skin now that you weren’t curled against him. Armitage placed his hands on your shoulders as you gazed at him with tired eyes.

“Go to bed,” he urged you softly. “I need to change, but I’ll be right there.”

“You promise?” you asked. Kriff, he couldn’t say no to you when you were looking at him like that – not that he was planning on denying you anything.

“I promise,” he assured you, planting a kiss on your forehead. You hummed lightly as his lips found your skin and offered him a soft smile as you vanished back toward the bedroom. Watching for just a moment to make sure your injured leg didn’t fail you, Armitage then slid into the refresher and finished the work you had been doing to loosen his uniform, the memory of your fingers still lingering against his skin. He pulled on his sleeping clothes – garments he used significantly more now that he was with you. Then he padded through the darkened rooms, turning off his data screens as he made for the bedroom. You were right: his work could wait until next cycle.

He stepped softly into the room, taking a moment to notice the way the starlight streaming in through the window cascaded over your form, bathing you in a silvery glow. His breath skipped a little in his lungs. He crawled under the covers with you, and he could tell that you were already half asleep by the way your breathing had deepened. You blinked your eyes open slightly as he slid onto the mattress next to you, a tired but genuine smile forming on your lips.

“This is so much better than just wearing your sleep clothes,” you murmured as he pulled you into his arms.

“And this is so much better than working,” Armitage sighed. “But you can wear my sleep clothes any time,” he added, the words barely above a whisper. Something about the soft darkness in the room and the way you were folded so happily against him was making him feel a little brave.

“Oh yeah?” He could tell from the hazy quality of your voice that you were on the verge of sleep. “Why?” He stroked a hand down your back, considering his reply. If he confessed now, with you already barely conscious, maybe you would wake up thinking you had dreamed it.

“I find it quite… attractive.” The word was a paltry one for the way heat had suffused his body at the sight, but it conveyed his meaning well enough for the moment. Perhaps there would be another time for him to be more explicit about his feelings on the subject. He blushed deeply in the dark.

“Then… I guess… I’ll have to wear them more often…” It was clear you were struggling to stay awake with the way your stumbling words kept trailing off. Armitage continued the gentle motion of his hand moving lightly up and down your back.

“I find you quite… appealing… no matter what you wear.” Again, the word paled in comparison to the way he felt about you. But the sentiment was true, the proof only too clear on his very reddened cheeks that he was grateful you couldn’t see.

“Armitage… are you saying…?” Your question faded from your lips as your breathing deepened. Armitage was relieved. He wasn’t sure that was a conversation he could have with you without it resulting in you getting far less sleep than you needed. Heat still spread throughout his body at the thought though. He closed his eyes, working to match his breathing to yours. There would be time for that on other nights.

“Sleep well, love,” he murmured, his lips pressed to your forehead in a reverent kiss as he wrapped you even tighter in his embrace. “You need your rest.”

[mythmerth]

from my October readings, I’ve collected a few more merlin fic recs for the people…

For favorite long (80k+) fic, I would have to pick another fic by horsecrazy, this time All Things Loved and Lovesick. It’s 90k and GODD these idiots I love them so bad. They’re just trying to take care of farm animals, elbow deep helping animals give birth at 3 AM all the while desperately wanting each other. I screamed a bit when they finally kissed I won’t lie.

For favorite mid length (30k-80k) fic, there were a LOT of contenders (most of my extra recs could’ve fit here) but I would have to pick From Where You Stand by fifty_fifty. The concept there was one I haven’t seen a whole lot (body swapping their way into a magic reveal) which surprises me cause that sounds so merlin-esque??? really loved the chaos brought on by that

For favorite short fic (<30k), I would have to choose Into Perdition by athousandvictories. If there’s one thing I’m a sucker for it’s religious guilt themes, and if there’s a snarky merlin in there too even better. the tension and resolution in this is just Delicious and Merlin is so bold I’m living for it.

And here’s a few more rapid fire October reads that I enjoyed!

An Illusion of Sorts by lordvoldemortsnipple. looove the magician x magic crossover

Chrysalis by i_canz_kill_dragon, a very well done coming of age/personal acceptance story

Tales of Magic by amithia. The coffee shop subtle magic OOO i eat it up, i love the take on Merlin’s magic being just this little instinct.

Awake by corilannam and phoenixacid- this is definitely a great and unique arthur returns scenario, with all the questions and mystery and love involved

Arthur Pendragon VS the World by Ally_Oop. more modern than the last but yet another unique take on Arthur returning, very well done and makes you wonder what the hell is happening

Swans Lost in the Stream of Time by DracoWillHearAboutThis. reincarnation memory returning goodness

I didn’t reread anything in October which is crazy because it’s the first month since May of this year that I haven’t! instead, I will recommend one of my most reread merlin fics: Rule Number Four of which the account has been orphaned. I love the silliness and tension and multi identity aspect of it, just such a good work all around for whenever you want a goofy, modern, powerful merthur duo.

That’s all for October, I’ll be back in a few weeks for my November recs and then soon after that I’ll be doing my 💫yearly merlin fic reading💫 stats (of which are very very unhinged). 2024 has been diabolicalamazing for my merlin readings and can’t wait to share 😁

and if you’re still looking for more recs then check out my other posts ~

<< last month next month >>

[ilys00ga]

𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞.

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 4k

➞ synopsis: buying a pretty vase from an antiques shop can't be that bad of an idea, can it?

➞ genre: fantasy, some angst, bitter sweetness is good for our hearts, fluff, hurt/comfort, cursed ghost!yoongi...

➞ A/N: So, this isn't the fic I talked about before, but I still wanted to post something while I take my time to figure out what the hell I wanted the other fic to be. this is purely inspired by a random prompt I found on a random website, and I wanted to give it a try. I hope u like it <3

ps. PLEASEEEE !!!!!!! do not hesitate to send me ur feedback (comments, asks, reblogs... whatever u want) !!!!!! just give me ur opinions. I'd love to hear it all :,)

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

The tips of my fingers meticulously traced the lines and patterns that coated the vase between my hands. A gorgeous ceramic vase that came with an even more gorgeous lid I had come upon at the small antiques store a few hours earlier, which—in my honest, humble opinion—was poorly and deficiently frequented given the amount of goodness it vends.

It was one that I’ve passed by many times on my way to work before, located in an old street busy with other art stores. Each time I’d stopped at it, fascinated by the items I could see through colorless glass, I’d get that strange desire to enter and discover what it had to offer me, but it wasn’t strong enough to pull me inside.

Broken or not, there’s magic hidden in those old items. Stories and emotions traveling from the past all the way to my heart.

Until one day, I decided to surrender to those powerful items and made my way through the front door. It was indeed a dusty magic shop.

I put the vase on the table with extra care and opened the lid, my dog running around somewhere in the other room. A quick look inside the vase, however, had my brows rising.

"Is this.. powder?" I asked myself.

Back in the shop, nothing hinted that the vase contained anything, nor did the owner utter a single word about it. She, in fact, didn't even seem to be that interested in her very few customers, if I were to be honest. The newspaper she was reading throughout all that short period of time I was in there had her eyes fixed on it, for the most part.

I swallowed hard, feeling like my heart had been ripped off my chest and drowned in icy cold water with the thought of getting unknowingly tangled in some illegal activities.

Loud barks, then the crashing of something cut my new overwhelming awareness short, and I sprinted in search of my hyper dog.

"What did you break this time, Holly?" I made quick work of cleaning the mess Holly had made, giving him some treats because he looked so cute nonetheless then returned to what I had decided to call a cursed beauty later on.

Upon entering the room, the sight of a man looking through my limited collection of vinyls with his back facing me made my legs freeze in their place, and my heart almost slipped out of my mouth in another alert panic.

"What the hell?!" my lips shouted before I could even think of finding something to defend myself in the face of that stranger.

The man dropped the disk in his hands and faced me with wide eyes. His startled expression quickly snapped into a kind smile, and he spoke, "Hey, are you the one who opened the urn?"

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?!!" my heart was pounding in my ears. I quickly went through the details from the moment I walked into the apartment to that of when I came back to the room, checking if I missed any hints of somebody breaking in or not.

The stranger started walking towards me with an arm stretched out, and I quickly backed away, looking around before grabbing the first hard object I could find within my sight line, "Stay away from me!"

"Relax, I'm not here to hurt you." He stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in the air, "I'm Yoongi, Min Yoongi, and you just set me free from that damn urn. Thank you, by the way."

The more he talked, the colder my blood was running in my veins and the slippier the object was becoming as I gripped it with sweating hands for dear life. Nothing he said made any sense. All I could do was shout in frustration, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

The patter of paws slapped across the corridor floor, and Holly came running into the living room. The dog started barking when he saw the stranger, but the latter didn’t even flinch. Instead, he sighed, breathing heavily through his nose, and then looked back up at me. But before he could say anything more, I huffed.

"Are you a serial killer?" I wanted to cry. Actually, he looked too pretty to be that coldhearted. I figured that maybe if I cried, he'd feel bad and leave me alone. Or maybe, if I took the chance to launch at him first, right then and there, that'd do something.

I could either die an honorable death, attempting to fighting back, or lay myself bare skinned for my predator, and no one would be a witness outside of the walls of the room that were only getting colder and colder by the ticking seconds.

Well, maybe Holly would, but he’s busy barking, not moving from his place at all.

"Look, I really don't know how you ended up here. I-I don't want to know, yeah? I will even let you go and not speak a single word about this. Just please don't kill me. Yeah? I'd do anything you want, just- please?" I began to plead, sweating like crazy even though the room around felt too icy.

The man didn’t reply, crouching down to lure my dog over. Holly’s small head cocked to the side before slowly moving closer to him. If I weren't busy trying to steady my breathing while simultaneously making sense of whatever was going on in the middle of my living room, I would’ve palmed my face.

"I told you, I'm Yoongi and I'm not a serial killer. This thing you have here, the one you just opened," he explained, nodding towards the open ceramic vase on the table, "I, my soul was trapped in there."

I blinked, a beat or two slipped through my lips, then muttered, “You’re being serious?”

“Why would I lie about something like this?” he retorted, hands petting the pet on his lap, and added in a softer voice, “I understand how crazy this sounds, but in simpler words, I was trapped inside and once the lid was lifted, which is what you have done, I was able to get out.”

“Oh, so you say once the vase is shut again you’ll go back there, is that it?” I breathed out, picking my words cautiously.

He hummed and nodded, still focused on the dog he was playing with. Taking my chance, I rushed towards the table. With trembling hands, I grabbed the lid and screwed the vase shut.

"No, wait! Don't clo-"

Silence…

The familiar sound of multiple clocks ticking together, hand in hand and almost perfectly at the same time, welcomed me into the antiques shop.

The shop was practically empty. No customers were in sight. My only audience was the oil paintings hanging on the walls, the lamps and the crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, the tables and the surfaces that displayed everything: from old jewelry to dolls and collectible plates and cups, the sculptures in different shapes and sizes scattered everywhere, the old books, cameras, vases and musical instruments…

They all stared at me and the vase I was holding tightly to my chest.

Walking ahead, I reached the front counter where the same old woman stood reading some newspaper. Despite the clearly audible bell that rang every time the door was swung open, she didn't seem to be recognizing my entrance. I cleared my throat in an attempt to grab her attention, but it fell on blinded ears.

Sighing, I put the vase on the counter with a thud and declared my aimed objective, "I'm here to return this."

"No exchange, no refund." The woman finally, but dryly, replied.

"You have to understand, I can't keep this anymore." I insisted.

"No exchange, no refund!" She repeated in a stern tone, looking up and meeting my eyes.

"Fine," I took a deep, long breath in, "you're the owner, tell me what do I do with it then."

"Its colors go very well with any kind of furniture, but I'd say keep it on a shelf amidst other decorations." The contrast between the way she spoke so friendly and the tight smile she had on her lips poked at my nerves.

"Are you kidding me? I just said I don't want this cursed thing anywhere near me! It has a weird powder in it! and-" I paused, lowering my voice despite the fact that the shop was empty—minus me, its owner and its goods, "some weird ghost appeared out of it!"

The antiquarian silently folded her newspaper, put it on the counter in front of her, and stayed silent for a while, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Use the ashes and break the curse." She mumbled.

"Ashes…? What?"

"You heard me. Break the curse and save the dead." She didn't say anything further, busying herself with the newspaper again, and that was my key to leave.

"Next time, don't sell cursed stuff to innocent people who don't have enough time on their hands." I turned on my heels and stomped out of the shop with the vase between my hands.

Three days later:

“Alright, talk to you later.”

Stepping into the apartment, I hung up the phone and put it on the small coffee table. Holly was curled up on the sofa with his nose tucked under his tail. My body naturally bent down, and I pecked the pup’s head affectionately.

It had been exactly three days since I came back from the small antiques shop, put the vase on the shelf, and never dared to touch it again. Every morning and every night, I’d stared at it and contemplated whether I ought to open it and investigate what the hell was going on or not. The shop owner’s words never left my ears, ‘break the curse and save the soul.’

Three days had passed, and I still hadn’t made my mind up or got to any simple conclusion whatsoever. The thought of having somebody else’s ashes in my house made my stomach twist in ways, yet somehow I couldn't find the courage to empty the urn.

Well, at least it wasn't coke or something of the kind. That thought floated in my head as I lay on my bed the same night I’d come back from the shop.

Stuck in a quandary between the fear of what could be awaiting me and the burden that was unceasingly weighing both my heart and mind, I knew that having a staring contest with that damn container day and night wasn’t going to do me any good.

After yet another fruitless debate between me and my conscious mind, I slowly walked towards the shelf, carefully put my hand over the lid, lifted it up and stared at the powder—the ashes inside.

I waited, nothing happened. Looked around the room, nothing happened.

For a moment, I could feel a scoff bubbling its way up my throat. It was ridiculous, I felt ridiculous for expecting something, for believing that something would happen and that all of that madness was real.

How could a tale about the soul of a cursed, handsome man popping out of an ancient vase be real?

But then again, I recalled the thing the old woman had said to me, as well as that encounter I had with the strange man. Very vividly clear. I remembered it, it happened, it was real.

"You didn't throw it away." A low voice came from behind and made me jolt in surprise.

There he was, the strange man—Yoongi leaning on the doorframe with both of his hands tucked in his pockets.

Part of me was grateful he was there because I didn't have to worry about my mental well-being deteriorating. But the other one shivered, creeped out by his presence, by the whole situation.

"Thank you." Why is he so polite? "I was scared you too would throw me away." Oh?

I lightly shook my head, trying to find the proper words to express myself, and I said, "Listen, I need answers."

“I figured. What is it that you want to know?”

"I-I talked to the person that sold this thing to me, and she said that I need to use these… ashes to break a curse.” Somehow, my brain was more than aware of the fact that the man standing a few steps away from me was most probably not human.

“yeah…?” He mumbled back, “didn’t she say how to do that?”

I shook my head ‘no’, and if his disappointed, broken look surprised me, I tried my best not to make it visibly noticeable.

“What the hell are you exactly?” I asked. I wasn't sure what emotion(s) I was feeling at that very moment exactly. I couldn’t put a name to it to save my life. But I surely didn’t mean to sound as exasperated as my voice made me out to be. I could see his throat work as he gulped, eyes averting from mine to look down at the floor for a moment before looking up again.

"I died a hundred years ago. A witch attempted to kill me, and she did, before casting a curse and trapping me inside that thing over there." he pointed towards the antique vase behind me, then added, "in my ashes. I've been trapped there for years. Some people did stumble upon me when they opened it over the years. Just like you did. But they never gave me one chance to even speak, and they threw it out immediately."

“But why? What did you do to deserve all of this?”

A gloom overcame his eyes, yet his voice was steady and deep as his lips stretched into a smile that only the word ‘sour’ could do its description justice.

"That's what happens when one falls in love with a witch.” He replied, “anyways, that’s all I know. I've been trying to figure out how to break the curse, but being stuck in a jar serves for nothing.”

Neither of us spoke for a while, him standing amidst the echoes of his past and my voice trying to find its way through the strangled words stuck in my throat.

“I’ll help you.” I spoke, breaking the heavy silence.

“Really?” His face was so full of hope it sent my heart clenching between my ribs.

“Yeah. This is making me anxious as well, I have no other choice.” I answered, brushing it off with a shrug.

“What brings you back here?” said the antiquarian who was busy polishing some old pocket watches, her glaces hanging low on the tip of her nose.

“I- We need some help.” I answered, and her head snapped up to find me and Yoongi staring back at her at the front counter.

“How could an old antiques shop owner possibly be of any help to you youngsters?” She asked again.

“I assure you that I’m not younger than you.” came a comment from Yoongi.

She stared at him, her relaxed expression turning tense, and then she looked at me again. Instead of providing an answer, I put the open vase in front of her. She gave it a quick look and then looked back into my eyes. “You are one stubborn young woman.”

“I’m not here to return it.” I cut her off to explain myself, “I’m here to know how to break the curse and release his soul.”

“I see you let him walk around freely.”

“Why is that a problem?” I asked with furrowed brows.

“Why wouldn’t a wandering dead be a problem to the living?” Her brows rose just as she gestured with her head towards Yoongi, as if stating the most obvious scientific fact, “anyhow, you want to know what to do next, don’t you?”

I hummed.

“All you need to do is throw the ashes into the ocean, let it dissolve and become one with the salt water. Tomorrow, when the sun sets.”

“Why specifically tomorrow?” I asked.

“Full moon. Or else your efforts will go down the drain. Do not let that happen” She emphasized on the last part through gritted teeth.

“How do you know so much?” Yoongi was the one to ask.

“I am nothing but a mere shop owner. Buying old stuff and selling them, that’s what I do.”

“You must be a special kind, then.” He bantered.

She shrugged and replied, “I study my products. We’re talking about items that date back to hundreds of years ago.”

She handed me a small pouch bag and told me to put the ashes in there, saying that it would be easier than carrying an open urn around. She seemed displeased with Yoongi’s presence, which was quite understandable, but it didn’t phase him as he was more interested in the shop around him. Walking around with curious eyes.

“Do not spend too much time out there.” was the last thing she addressed to Yoongi before we walked out of the shop.

“You think there’s more cursed things in that shop?” he asked.

“I do not want to think about it.” He chuckled at my response, then I added, “Full moon is tomorrow night.. Do you want to spend one last day with me?"

"Sorry?"

"I think you deserve one last good day before.. resting."

I watched him give my offer a thought as we walked down the street, then he broke into a wide smile, "You mean it?"

“Of course! You’re new here. We can't do much in less than a day, but we can do things around the town. And then we’ll go to the beach before the sun sets, do what we need to do…”

“That sounds way too good to be true.”

“We'll make it true.” I reassured him with a nod.

The next morning, I found Yoongi sitting with a book I could easily recognize from my own collection resting in his hands. He had told me that since he doesn’t sleep, he spent the night reading from my bookshelf. After a few minutes of me listening as he talked so passionately, impressed by everything he’d read, I decided it was time to commence my mission of granting the man his most merited happy day.

It started with a short trip to a well-known bakery, where I made him try whatever his heart—and stomach—desired of baked goods. I bought him wine to taste, and he said it bore no resemblance to that of ancient times. That's how we found ourselves running a taste test on a bunch of beverage bottles, and he had the same reaction to all of them. I also ended up getting him some soda cans to try, and he liked them.

I rented two bikes. It took some time for him to adjust, whining about being confined inside a jar for a hundred years. But once he got the hang of it, we went wandering around the streets of the city with the breeze kissing our cheeks.

I then brought him to a park, one he later said he really liked. We walked between the trees and let the grass tickle our toes. Sat between colorful flowers, redolent with the scent of an early spring. He made a crown and insisted on taking a picture of me with it. He later revealed that he used to love nature the most when he was still alive, and talked about the days he’d spent in the green despite his father’s constant insistence on marriage and building a family of his very own.

I asked him how old he was when he died, he said twenty-eight. And suddenly, his appearance made sense after that. Too young and too handsome, how could the world still let go of him?

He laughed when I made a comment about that and joked, saying that apparently his past lover didn’t want him to live past twenty-eight. I could feel the heavy pain in that joke slicing at my neck, stinging, and I swallowed it down.

He stopped to pet every dog and cat that crossed our path. I couldn’t help but take a picture or two, though the camera never caught his reflection in its frame.

I made sure to drag him towards the kid’s section of the park, where I taught him how to play in the slides and the swings and spring riders. Two grown-ups playing around in a kids’ playground had its fair amount of questioning stares, but hearing him giggle and seeing his wide grin was more than worth it.

We kept on talking nonstop about the differences between our timelines. We made it to a bridge that looked over a lake, the clouds above reflected on the water surface, glowing with the sun behind them. Yoongi started throwing small pieces of bread for the floating ducks, and I just stood there, observing.

“What other place do you want to go to?”

“The beach.” He answered, not looking up from his task. “My favorite place.”

It was a couple of hours before the sunset when we finally made it to the beach. There was a chill in the air that evening, the sand wasn’t as burning as it probably was when the sun was still up high in the sky, beaming. I let my lungs sip on the fresh scent of the ocean as I took a deep breath in, watching Yoongi approach the water with distant eyes.

He let the foamy edge climb its way to his toes, dipping his ankles and then retreating to the sea. He sat on the sand and I did the same.

We didn’t talk. We just sat there and watched the waves dancing with the wind as the sun sank to meet the horizon.

It wasn’t until shades of blue, orange and red blended, interwoven as they painted the breathtaking scenery before us that he spoke in a hushed voice, as though he’d startle the sun and make it rush to hide under the ocean if he spoke any louder, “Thank you for everything, really. No one has ever been this nice to me, even when I was still alive. This meant the most to me.”

I smiled.

“You know, if I were still alive, or if we had met sometime in my lifetime, I would’ve done everything I could to keep you by my side.” I could see him scratch at the back of his head from the corner of my eye, and I turned to see his giddy smile.

“you shouldn’t say things like this ‘cause I’m going to be thinking about it for the rest of my life.” I said, sheepishly.

His smile grew bigger, “Sounds superb. At least someone will remember me.”

My heart clenched.

“You deserve to be remembered.” I said.

“I really don’t.” I could see tears pricking his eyes as they turned a faint red. I had so much to ask at that moment, but I couldn’t. Words were stuck behind my teeth, and I just turned my head to face the horizon again.

“It’s time.” He noted, standing up and offering his hand to me. I took it in mine and stood on my feet, gripping the pouch between my fingers. We marched deeper into the sea, deep enough that the water reached our knees.

“ready?” I asked one last time, and he nodded, his smile never fading away.

The pouch felt so heavy as I untied its drawstring, carefully emptying its content into the water. Yoongi stood behind me, and I didn’t have the heart to look over my shoulder.

It took everything in me to turn around, and when I did, he was no longer there. Breeze blew in my face, and I swear I could feel warmth touching my skin for a moment, or two.

Whether I’d want to visit that antique shop again or not was something I still can’t put my finger on, but somewhere, somehow, deep down I knew I was thankful for it guided the vase– the urn to my hands.

And I whispered prayers of him resting at peace ever after as I looked up at the glowing moon above and the sparkling stars that swimmed all around it.

Grieving a person I never knew, but had the chance to cross paths with, at last.

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART TEN, THE FINALE: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ]

Welcome, friends and travellers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(no, this photo isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

The Story of Solas: Him Solas Evanuris, Da'durgen'lin (3/3)

— From the Long Sleep to the Dark Present —

If you're still here, I thank you, from the bottom of my tired heart. I am doing MY BEST to get through this final bit of theorycrafting, all in one long, gigantic post, the night before Veilguard.

I haven't been spoiled. Please no one tell me anything. I want to be able to properly say I did all this, all 10 parts, without spoilers of any kind.

This post is going to be long. Let's dive right in. We've got:

A Tiny Aside, First: Solas's Paintings are Really Important, Actually

The Herald, the Breach, and the Horrible Future

Solas's Thoughts on the Grey Wardens

Fear in the Fade

All New, Faded for Her

But Solas Left, and Not for Pride

Terror Unfolding on the Din'anshiral

What Rook Did and the High Cost of Failure

Veilguard Predictions

[Image Source.]

A Tiny Aside, First: Solas's Paintings Are Really Important, Actually

I'm writing this segment last, but placing it up here because the other sections are sort of in order. So hello. Welcome, first, from a very tired Nadas Dirthalen.

I just wanted to make mention of a few key lines regarding Solas's paintings. Emmrich remarks on them as not just memories: they are what Solas wishes to forget. (No source; I'm not hunting for footage right now.)

The Regret demon is able to spring out from them. Huh.

And, finally:

Cole: You like to dance, but can't. You hate to sing, but can. You should not paint. It would be very bad if you did.

Given that I believe Sera's playing with "small painted boxes" gave her a fragment of that memory Mythal stole from Andruil (its own theory; so many people before I have explained it in depth), I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the Evanuris, existing in a time before sundered Titans, could trap memories in things.

Like stone. Like paintings on stone.

It's said that the Shapers put their actual thoughts into the Memories. I wonder if this means creating small spirits, like wisps, in the Stone; an echo of Titans' ability.

I wonder if this means Solas was literally offloading tiny spirits of Contemplation and Regret in his paintings, the whole time. Memories taken out of himself, so he could stay true to his purpose.

(Do I have any idea how that would work? No. Do I still think it's true? Yup. Do I have time to look it up and weigh it against everything else that could be possible? Absolutely not. Enjoy!)

Anyway. I wonder if that's why he paints everywhere: because if he doesn't, his problems will consume him, forcing him to take another... terrifying... shape.

(Yes, this is foreshadowing; keep reading. <3)

The Herald, the Breach, and the Horrible Future

Solas wakes up from uthenera, hands his orb off to Corypheus, and then Corypheus doesn't die. We know the story. What I want to touch on is the fact that the Inquisitor doesn't die, either. They are dyING, but they do not die immediately, which Solas thought would happen even for Corypheus. Beyond the fact that Corypheus has, by that point, been using the orb for some time, I want to talk about why the Inquisitor doesn't die from the orb.

Because I have a theory.

Solas speaks to a high-approval Inquisitor about wisdom: one that he has never seen in their people, regardless of who those people are. I had to look it up to make sure, but it's true.

dwarf PC Solas: Dwarves are practical. They do not dream. The cannot even imagine a world beyond the physical. But you have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people. Qunari PC Solas: Qunari are savage creatures, their ferocity held in check only by the rigid teachings of the Qun. But you have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people. human PC Solas: Humans are shortsighted, brutish. Blind to the beauty of the Fade, their minds cast in a duality of black and white. But you have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I know of your people. Dalish PC Solas: You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours… have I misjudged them? [Source.]

The Dalish dialogue speaks of what I want to focus on: a spirit like yours.

My hypothesis is that the Inquisitor is a spirit from the same Titan as Solas is, and that Solas's true name really is Contemplation. He is seeing a spirit like himself, from the same home.

I think this is why the Inquisitor, even a non-mage Inquisitor, can visit Solas in the Fade and surprise the shit out of him. It's because the Inquisitor, imbued with the mark, has awakened something deep in their subconscious. Something they don't even understand.

Connection.

Isatunoll, with one singular other person (who is very single, the moment she asks, if she asks, har har).

From this and other things already covered, I know: Solas marvels at the sight of spirits similar to his, and people similar to him. He seeks for those spirits and people to thrive, and mourns their death. Ultimately, he wants the Titans to be restored, likely for the benefit of all future spirits and for the benefit of the Titans themselves (we'll get there).

That's why the Breach is a threat to him, even when he wants to tear down the Veil.

Solas wants the Titans brought back, but not as they are right now. Right now, they are Terror, Malice, Pestilence, and Spite. Before, they were something else: something happy and whole. Un-sundering them is a first step to their regeneration, but they will first come back as those unhealthy aspects.

And the Breach, should it tear open the Veil, would likely break the Evanuris's prisons, thereby releasing them. The freed Evanuris would continue wounding the Titans and manipulating the blight. The Titans would never heal; they would always be fighting back. (We'll get there, too.)

And we know this information because we had the chance to play through In Hushed Whispers.

During In Hushed Whispers (IHW for short), we saw a timeline where the Breach had been allowed to completely tear open the Veil, without the Evanuris being re-imprisoned. We see Solas as a prisoner during this questline, showing that he did not get to do what he wanted.

The whole sky is blown open and swirling green—but surely we all saw how much red lyrium is everywhere, too. They're growing it out of people, and if we remember the Chant of Light, we remember that (however abstractly) the Chant tells us that the Maker's second children (aka, everyone after the Evanuris) are formed with bodies made of lyrium and spirits comprised of Titans' thoughts.

That is Solas's worst nightmare, even though the Veil has been torn open. Because what Solas wants isn't just the Fade being rejoined with the waking world, but for the Titans he was forced to wound to be able to heal.

Clearly, with that abundance of red lyrium, they were not.

This, I believe, is also why Solas says, "You change... everything," to a high approval Inquisitor.

If the Inquisitor's soul truly is a spirit that comes from Terror, either pre- or post-Veil, it means one very crucial thing to Solas. It means that not all of Terror is blighted. That someone mortal, so much younger than him, is comprised of a thought from the Titan he has been mourning for thousands of years.

Which brings me to...

Solas's Thoughts on the Grey Wardens

Picture that you are Solas: once Cool Contemplation, now Cold Dread. You have spent thousands of years mourning the action you were forced to take, leading to the destruction of everything you knew, and also your connection to everything and everyone else. You have just woken, made another grand mistake, but in the process you have discovered that one singular person is made from the same Titan as you, and remains free of the blight.

One. But it is enough to hope for a world you thought could never exist; one you were willing to tear down the Veil to fight for anyway, despite that.

Still some hope remains for restoration.

PC: I wouldn’t mind never having another Blight. Corypheus interfering is the real problem. Solas: The Blight is the real problem. PC: And the Wardens are trying to end the Blight. Solas: Yes! Would it have worked? Do you know? Do they? The fools who first unleashed the Blight upon this world thought they were unlocking the ultimate power. [Source.]

Except for that some people have been drinking the blood of archdemons, WILLINGLY ingesting the foulness of turned Titans. Some people are WORSENING the very thing that you think has a teeny tiny itty bitty chance of being fixed. And what do they want?

They want to charge straight for Titans' hearts to exact violence upon the archdemons, who aren't actually the cause of the blight at all. Because you are. You, who is watching them suggest all of this as if it's a serious idea.

I dunno, folks. I'd be a little salty, too. Especially if they were unknowingly making casual mention of my worst fear...

Fear in the Fade

I always found it curious that Fear spoke to Solas in Elvhen. I mean, yeah, it makes sense, but why do that to the player, when Solas clearly has a grasp on the common tongue?

To make it a puzzle, because BioWare loves their puzzles. Well, I love puzzles, too, as we can all probably guess by now.

Trick Weekes says that, essentially, the Nightmare's words are, essentially, "Your pride is responsible for everything that has gone wrong; you will die alone." Solas's response, according to Trick, is, "Nothing is known for certain / Not necessarily."

But, knowing "dirthara-ma," "banal," "ma," "enasalin," and "salin," I am led toward this interpretation.

Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. May you know, Dread. Your blight led to victory. Your pride leads to your death.

And Solas's response?

Banal nadas.

Two interpretations. One is "nothing is inevitable," just like Trick says. The other is "The Nothing is inevitable," where The Nothing refers to the blight. And yes, they knew that in this scene. The Nothing is Sera's greatest fear.

Knowing what I know now, I agree with Solas on both counts, and that's why I think, now, that this is such a genius line. Solas toes the line between hope and being "grim and fatalistic."

The blight—the blighted Titans, fighting back—are inevitable to him. They are a fact of life, and why he must tear down the Veil. So they have a chance at ever being healed.

But with the Inquisitor's existence? That chance exists already. The Nightmare shows us, then, that Solas stands on a precipice throughout his time in Inquisition, because hope continues to chase him.

The Titans are waking—but what will that mean?

All New, Faded for Her

This, I feel, is the deciding line for Solas during his time in Inquisition. We know that ultimately he makes the same choice at the end either way—he leaves the Inquisition as soon as Corypheus dies.

Cole: He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't.

But until that exact moment? I believe, for many Inquisitors, Solas makes the firm decision to stay.

The Inquisitor is real. They are a real person, with a spirit so much like his own, and they continue to survive, not blighted. There is hope for Terror. It means everyone could be real. The Titans might heal on their own. It changes everything, but Solas can't depend on that change: not when the Inquisitor might be the only good thing to ever happen in these thousands of years, and abandoning his duty now might mean never seeing the world healed.

Can't he?

I believe that doubt in his own convictions—and his decision to stay—come in the moment pictured above. The moment where his friend is allowed to die as itself, as Wisdom, not bound as Pride. The moment where the Inquisitor shows Solas that there might be a world where the current society embraces the People (spirits; Titan-thoughts; Titans) that he knew.

You know what else happens during that part of his personal quest? Solas leaves. He genuinely debates leaving the Inquisition while he mourns.

PC: Guess I owe Varric an ale. I wasn’t sure you were coming back. Solas: Neither was I for a time, but only a short time. [Source.]

He visits the Fade; the spot where his friend used to be.

PC: Where did you go? Solas: I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new may grow there.

Stirrings of energy. Not in the Fade. In the Void, which the ancient elves referred to as synonymous with the Abyss. That's odd—shouldn't spirits go back to the Fade when they die?

No: this represents a Titan healing. Stirrings of energy; a scab crawling over a wound.

Cole speaks often of hope. The Inquisitor as a beacon, burning bright for both spirits and the people worshipping the Herald of Andraste.

I believe this is why: the Inquisitor represents hope for the two worlds joining—literally and figuratively. And their soul represents something that Solas sees in Wisdom's death: that the Titans may be healing on their own, in a way he never expected. The blights may end on their own, in time.

And Solas would have stayed to see it. He would have come back to a romanced Lavellan, after Corypheus's death.

But...

But Solas Left, and Not for Pride.

Let's remember Solas's first words after Corypheus's defeat.

Solas places the pieces back on the ground and stands. If Solas has high approval: PC: There’s more, isn’t there? Solas: It was not supposed to happen this way. [Source.]

He sounds genuinely shattered in the moment, much like that orb. That's because he had no time to mask the feeling, as he had been for the entirety of DA:I up until that point. This was a crushing loss.

The defeat of his fleeting hope.

Why? Well, to keep it brief because I swear my hands will give out before Veilguard releases at this rate: I, like many, many others, believe that pieces of the Titans make up magical foci. The ancient Tevinter call them the vessels of dreams, and we know now what dreams are.

We also remember the Trespasser mural of a sundered Titan, and how the orb on the Fade half (left) bears a direct resemblance to the ones Mythal and Elgar'nan carry in Solas's Lighthouse mural.

I believe that this may have been Solas's sundered heart of his own Titan. Terror.

Home, all gone.

Now there is only the Inquisitor sharing kinship of any kind with him, because Wisdom is dead and Terror is half-dead, too.

It doesn't matter how much Solas appreciates the Inquisitor's company, or how they represent an end to his loneliness. It doesn't matter how much he loves a romanced Lavellan. It can't matter.

Because the Inquisitor is mortal. They will die, and unless Solas does something, their soul will not go back to Terror if Terror does not exist at all.

Solas—Cold Dread—was not motivated by pride when he left the Inquisition.

He was motivated by fear.

Terror Unfolding on the Din'anshiral

I literally have no time to unpack the existence of this man's wolf form. Anyone who wanted to read this post for that, I'm so sorry: I don't know why it's a wolf. I suspect I'm not supposed to know why.

I will say this: I wonder if when Solas sundered the Titans, maybe he also sundered a (blighted) wolf form from himself. One he could previously shapeshift into, like seems to be the case with the Evanuris and their archdemons.

Do I have evidence to link? Nope not really; only that it's weird, then, that Solas's Dread Wolf absorbed—

Nope, okay, I've got a theory. Normally, I edit out these real-time realizations. Not today, Satan.

What I was going to say is that, if Solas had to sunder himself from the wolf when he made the Veil, it's awful weird that the wolf (sundered) somehow absorbed Urthemiel's power from Mythal.

Only: I don't think the wolf was sundered, and I remember evidence that backs that up.

Anyone remember the inexplicably killed Qunari from Trespasser?

"Backs hunched, eyes wide open... They were scared shitless when they died," says Bull.

"More dead Qunari with terrified expressions," the Inquisitor later remarks.

They were killed without wounds. They were so afraid that they instantly died. I really wondered what happened, there, since Solas has been known to petrify (a lot of) people.

It's because there's two magics going on. One, Solas's magic from being from the Stone/Titans.

The other... Dread.

I'm not sure if Solas mysteriously left no pawprints (lol) in Trespasser. What I do know is that Solas and the Dread Wolf are the same being—and that if the Dread Wolf truly is blighted, that is why both sides of the Evanuris's conflict would worship him. Solas symbolizes power over the blight—representing hope for a future with a cure, or indomitable Evanuris power, depending upon the story.

Now that THAT epiphany is out of the way, let me continue on with what I was going to say about Trespasser and the din'anshiral.

Solas, after Corypheus's defeat (more importantly, after his orb shatters), has little left to lose. If he doesn't act and do everything necessary, it's only a matter of time until the other orbs are lost this way. Until the Veil weakens and breaks entirely. Until the Evanuris walk free and take the Titans for all they've got left.

His fear is mounting. He is not acting in Pride during Trespasser (however haughty he might come across); he is acting in fear. Fear that makes him try to put on a brave (and maybe prideful) face. Fear that sends him crumbling every time his vhenan is in his line of sight. Fear that has him suddenly callous with an Inquisitor he isn't friendly with, because he no longer has time to play nice and is scared shitless of the consequences of failure.

The man is literally the living embodiment of anxiety. Cold Dread.

This is why Solas says he is walking the din'anshiral. The path of death; the path of endings. Because Terror's heart is dead in his hands. Because he carries the blight. Because the Veil is weakening, the Evanuris are on the verge of escaping their stone prisons, and he doesn't have a way to stop them.

If he fails, the Inquisitor is mortal. Wisdom is dead, and there are mere stirrings in the Void. There is no guarantee either his spirit friend or the Inquisitor will ever come back in a way he will recognize, if either of them come back at all.

And if Terror's vessel of dreams is shattered and lifeless, who is to say that Terror will ever dream again? Who is to say that there will ever, ever be another Titan-thought, another spirit, that Solas will feel close to in the same way?

I'd be willing to cause an apocalypse for that reason, too. Maybe a war between Tevinter and the Qunari, just for funsies, because my perpetual anxiety that makes up the entire core of my being sometimes needs a distraction.

(Tiny sidenote that did not fit in elsewhere: mentioning again that the spirit guardians in Trespasser say, "Revas vir-Anaris," which means "Freedom we-Anaris," which is the name of a Forgotten One. Wondering if it means Solas previously fighting to free the elves borne of Anaris, or maybe freeing Anaris (Terror??) from the blight. But also? I wonder about that Anaris and Andruil story in a way I have no time to dissect. Really, what does anything mean? Okay. Carry on.)

What Rook Really Caused and the High Cost of Failure

I honestly think things were going great for Solas (as much as a sad, dirty bed roll alone in the Deep Roads where he was probably cuddling rocks and crying can be called great) before Rook showed up.

Yes, he had an itsy bitsy little Regret demon tear apart Skyhold.

Sure, he had a little bit of a Dread-Wolf-shaped meltdown at the Mortalitasi. (On that note, I think he had said wolf-shaped meltdown because the Mortalitasi are stopping spirits from reconnecting with their Titans once they leave the fade because, oopsie, all the necromancers are catching them and putting them into corpses instead.)

But other than that?

Great. Really great. No sense of cold dread here. Nope. No sir. Definitely not guiding every single one of his actions, from petrifying random people all the way to breaking time a little bit (?) to save Varric's life in Arlathan.

He makes it up onto his little (dilapidated, fracturing) staircase in his (also under-construction and very unstable) ritual site in Arlathan, and his ritual's begun (right out in the open, with an eluvian leading right to it that we all somehow have the password to, because he definitely doesn't want to be stopped at all, nope, not at all).

The Evanuris are going to go into their stone prisons! Rock Jail 2.0: Waking World Edition! It's great!

Until Rook shoves over one of those not-quite-stable statues. Which falls into another statue (Falon'Din's?). Which then topples one more statue, before Solas shatters it (which....... buddy. Why.)

Point is: ritual broken, Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan freed, blights inevitable, Titans doomed. You know: Ma banal enasalin. Your blight wins, Dread.

Except that's not all.

Those other Evanuris, whose archdemons we killed? My guess is that they're not gone from their stone prisons. Remember what happened when we killed Corypheus's dragon? The soul just flew back into Corypheus, who was then mortal for a time (and we dropped him in the Fade instead, smh, Inquisitor, we literally went over this right before the final fight).

This means that the same is probably true of every archdemon we have killed. That means Dirthamen, Falon'Din, Sylaise, June, and Andruil are all out there somewhere, ostensibly, if they are freed from their stone prisons.

What happened in the Hissing Wastes when the stone broke, when we put the torches in the wrong order?

Demons. And what did Cole say about them?

"They were Dwarves. They think they still are. They sound like dust tastes."

And what does the Chant of Light say about the Evanuris?

Those who had been cast down, The demons who would be gods, Began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth. — Threnodies 5

(sidenote, what if tombs within the earth doesn't necessarily only mean the abyss-earth, but also the rocks in which they're imprisoned in the fade? juicy...)

I think that not only are Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan freed, not only is Terror still broken, not only are the blights back in business, not only are all the Titans still turned—

But five of the seven Evanuris just came back as world-endingly-bad demons.

Who could possess anything.

Or anyone.

I don't know whether Solas is trapped-trapped in Fade Jail™ (because there's an awful lot of wolf statues in there, and yet, he is not bound inside any of them), but honestly, that matters little when examining the scope of things.

The Evanuris all walk free. All seven. And our friend Fen'Harel, Dread Wolf, Cold Dread, Anxiety Incarnate, isn't going to be able to trick them twice.

Veilguard Predictions: the Ballad's Conclusion, or Does the Song Go On?

Oh my god this post is so long, this series is so long, my hands hurt, please for the love of god, I need to employ some sort of brevity somewhere.

Here's some predictions. I'm so tired. I've written so much.

Harding: her powers awoke, apparently, when she touched Solas's dagger. I'm wondering if that is reconnecting her to Solas's blood (which might be what makes the dagger?) or Solas's Titan. We also saw that diamond concept art, didn't we?

Varric: If you know, you know. Lyrium dagger, dwarf. If you don't know, close your eyes and pretend you read nothing.

Lucanis: You know what's really funky to me? The fact that Lucanis is possessed by Spite. And this is a time when all the other five Evanuris might possess some people. And this game might really just be Who Got Possessed By Whom. But, I think the thing Spite wants might be to see Solas dead. Or, Spite might want to see all the Titans healed. Or some other third thing that is sure to stomp on my heart.

... Sidenote I think we're going to see all the Forgotten Ones, and maybe even find out the one who's unnamed.

Solas: Fen'Harel walked among both clans of gods. The Forgotten Ones counted him as one of their own. It's possible Solas might be Terror. Not sure how that works! Not sure how sundered Titans operate! But it would sure be neat if the elven word for Contemplation were Solas's true name, and also the "true" name of the final Forgotten One (as they all have two names; their qualities and their name-names).

Emmrich: You know who'd have a really good shot of freeing all those spirits from the Necropolis? Three guesses. And you know what might happen if all those happy spirits that the Mourn Watch gave therapy to all move back into their Titans? Well, something really nice, plus a whole lot of crying from us. Sidenote: if Wisdom had enough time to reincarnate into an incomplete wisp before Solas's terror-orb broke? You know who'd be a really great candidate for a skeleton to house New Wisdom? Three guesses.

Neve: Magister Gallus is the one mentioned in the Gangue codex. :) But also, Neve is widely theorized to be the Archon's bastard child. It would be amazing to me if Magister Gallus were some other relative of hers—but how would that work, with Neve notably born as a commoner? The other, OTHER theory I've seen floating around is that this Magister Gallus is actually Neve's husband. But also—how does THAT work, with what we know of Neve?

Taash: Sylaise creation. Or Ghil creation. Who knows? Maybe Taash is how we find out the origin of all kossith. Maybe Taash is a little bit more dragon than other kossith. Maybe Taash is half scaled one, half kossith.

Davrin: Something something, the griffons woke up as the Veil began to come down. I don't know what that means, except more in the line of "Titans are waking" things. But also? He's a Warden, and he's about to see how much the Wardens didn't know about the blight. And also, Solas is blight patient zero and/or the source of all blight. And he's the Dread Wolf. Either Davrin and Solas have a lot of growing to do, or maybe Davrin is a source of anti-Solas sentiment.

Bellara: :) I really think Dirthamen, who potentially escaped the Fade in the time of the Magisters Sidereal, is hanging out with Bellara. She's got new vallaslin that none of the rest of us have access to. She's obsessed with knowledge. She has a very funky piece of ancient technology and just seems to have a way with old elvhen knowledge and equipment. Sleeper agent Bellara? Secret betrayer on our hands, or has Dirthamen become something better, kinder, than he was?

The Truth About Solas and Mythal's Relationship: I'd be so shocked if it were romance. I think, rewatching that post-DAI credits scene, they just trauma-bonded a shitload when Solas was born. Maybe I'm wrong! But if anyone in all of Thedas would have a reason to trauma-bond, it's them: the guy who started the blight, and the woman who made him do it; the two Evanuris who begged the others not to go back looking for more blight.

The Eclipse: Dirthamen and Falon'Din? Do I just love the Bird Boys™ too much, or is there something here?

Blackened Hearts Memory: I was wrong with Falon'Din, I think, and stumbled into the answer with Mythal. I think Mythal blackened the first Titan heart.

Do We Win?: man. Please. I'm just begging. Please let us be happy after all this. Do you know how much I cried, falling into the truth about Solasan and the dread at the door? I need a happy ending here. Or I need someone at BioWare to get me a nice cup of hot chocolate. Something.

Is Solas A Villain?: Bro have you even been reading? No. Pookie's never done anything wrong a day in his goddamned life. Let him sing Hallelujah in peace. :)

Do We Stop the Blight?: What other choice do we have? It's beat the Evanuris and fix the Titans now, or end up in a blighted world forever...???? Or... kill the Titans and kill all magic? Guys. Please don't kill all magic forever.

That's all I have in the way of major predictions. Probably.

---

I need a nap. You're a hero for reading all of these, if you have. <3

I'm still on an internet blackout until I have Veilguard in my hands, so I am likely not to reply here. But I promise: I will be back soon, when I've seen the game's story play out!

Let's all have some fun in Thedas tomorrow. :)

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi Ice! This one is maybe a little on the outskirts of 'creating Black characters', but it is related to the introspective questions you posted a little while back, so I thought I'd ask for your opinion. I'm sure this isn't an one-easy-answer thing, so I'd love to hear from any other Black people reading this as well!

I'll try to keep it short.

I'm seven years and 300k+ words deep in a fanfiction about anthropomorphic animal characters, and your introspective questions made me face the fact that I've been the ignorant fandom racist. I wrote my main character as white. Now, 7 years later, I stumble over a post pointing out ... those are locs

I don't know if the authors intended for this character to be Black (nonblack voice actors, supplementary material also clearly doesn't draw him this way, though that stuff was all over the place re: consistency) and I frankly also am not sure if they Should have, given his role in the narrative, but a) that's not really up to me to speak on and b) he's got locs and mostly black fur and was inspired by Anubis. I've been whitewashing, there's no way around it.

I briefly considered going back and just straight up changing the story to make him Black, but I quickly realized that I have been writing him from a white-centered narrative and just slotting a Black character into that would arguably be Worse. Or at least racist in a brand new way. I can change how he takes care of his hair, but not the themes on which the entire narrative is built upon. I've been writing about a white man and I can't just pretend I haven't.

So my question to you is ... what now? How do I best acknowledge this? Do I just quietly come to terms with the fact that this story is racist and do better next time? I would like to acknowledge it in some way, I have a small but loyal audience and if I could use that platform to start a conversation (or just put out a 'hey, don't be like me') that would ... maybe at least be better than nothing? Possibly?

I know there's not a simple solution here that will Fix It, but I thought I'd ask an actual Black person who's open to educating what might be a good next move. Maybe avoid making another, new White Person Blunder. Here's to hoping.

I really appreciate all you do, your blog rocks and so do you.

Is that Shadow?

Okay, so I had to have a conversation with Hot Chocolate on this one because this one's a doozy! I appreciate that you're willing to stop and reflect though. Most people wouldn't be willing to do so this far in!

Admittedly, the fact that you're seven years into this means this will require a lot of effort. And, tbh, I might be confused bc I cannot tell what that character is 😅 So! After some thought, here's what we came up with:

Take a hiatus. Point blank period. Take a BREAK, do not pass go, do not collect $200! Idk what lore you've written, but you've written a lot of it. Take as long as you need to reread your works, and see if at any point you ever made it clear that this was a white person, or anything other than the Black character you now think they should be. If it feels undefined, where you can turn "hair" into "locs" or add in small details, then that could be your smooth way out. It doesn't have to be massive changes, but it could help. It'll take you time, for sure! But you dug seven years in, it's gone take you time to dig out. Maybe if you skim 15k words a week (or ctrl-F it for hair, for examples), that's... 20 weeks? Go at your own pace, faster or slower.

Unfortunately this happens a lot, where influences for characters will be taken from cultures of colors and improperly represented (the "African" god from Genshin). That's just a fact. So I don't necessarily blame you for the confusion, but... Now you know.

If possible, get a sensitivity reader! Preferably a Black one. Ngl, given the massive amount of work, you're likely going to have to pay them. Maybe give them half and you take half. Idk, but let another pair of eyes look at your work. Or maybe there's a Black reader that you could speak to and see how they feel about the potential change.

Should you choose to keep going, just try to be more purposeful and intentional about that character's Blackness. Definitely tell your readers what you figured out, why it's important to you, and then move forward from there.

Now, RECOGNIZE that many of them will NOT be pleased! That's kind of the thing about opening your eyes when it comes to racism in media! A lot of people will NOT be happy that you decided to be more intentional, especially if they've been imagining their favorite white guy for seven years. You're going to have to weigh your integrity and your will to create against that. People might leave, people that you thought were cool AF until it was time to show true colors. Be ready for that.

But that's just what I would do 🤷🏾‍♀️

[muddyorbsblr]

a sizing mishap

See my full list of works here!

This story (and in turn this entire collection) wouldn't have happened if I weren't inspired by this comment from the amazing @lokischambermaid. Thank you for the thot!! 💖🫡

Summary: You hand Player #6 his uniform but it's the wrong size…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ | smut-ish at the end (minors & pearl clutchers, don't try me. not today); language; side-eye worthy behavior from less than minor character at the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: trust the process, and let me know if you caught on to the hints 😉

It was slowly and surely getting a touch too stuffy in this tiny room you were stationed in for the day. You knew that it was the misfortune that would befall the newbie on the crew but it didn't ease your frustration any. No amount of guzzled water or time spent holding your handheld fan down your shirt could help the fact that the entire room felt like you were slowly being cooked sous vide.

And as if your predicament wasn't uncomfortable and mentally taxing enough, you had to do an inordinate amount of moving about from scouring through the piles of jerseys and shorts to hand off to the various players because most of them hadn't even bothered to fill out the order forms with their size weeks prior to today. To make things even more interesting, some of the men thought themselves charmers and attempted to flirt with you while you were already under enough undue stress.

Your therapist was definitely going to hear about your exchange with that former tatted up boybander who answered your question of "Size, Sir?" with an overconfident "More than big enough for you, luv."

At least you were proud of your deadpanned response of "Somehow I highly doubt that" that made him grumble out his actual answer of "Medium". Another uninterested look that carefully examined his torso and legs and you made the executive decision to hand him some sets in a size XS instead.

"This isn't a Medium. Can you even read?" he snapped at you, waving the uniforms in his clenched fist.

"It's your size, sir," you shot back, your tone still deadpanned and unwavering despite the temper he was showcasing. "If you don't believe me you're more than free to try it on behind that curtain there. If I'm wrong then I will gladly assist you and hand you a set in the next size up."

It only took a few minutes for him to stomp behind the curtain, try on the uniform, and then stomp all the way out of the tiny room without another word. Guess you handed him the correct size after all.

You had a few minutes to breathe after that first wave of players walked through, allowing you to prepare yourself for the sweat-inducing task of moving about the piles once again when the next batch came in and told you they didn't input their sizes, either. At this point, you jokingly told yourself that you'd outright kiss the first one who actually had a size next to their name on the sheet.

"Name?" you called out when you heard the door open again, already facing the surplus of extra unlabeled uniforms to thumb through the piles.

"Douglas," the woman answered, chuckling when you let out a sigh of relief finding a size next to her name on the chart. "I take it some of my teammates didn't give you their sizes in the form?"

"Try nearly all of them so far," you huffed to confirm. "It's been so bad that I was telling myself that I'd kiss the first person who actually had a size next to their name on this damn thing." You waved the printed papers of the chart around to punctuate your point, making her laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Well I think you'd be better off saving that promise for the one coming after me, assuming that he filled out the sizing form. Trust me, you'll probably want to pass on lil ol' me. Then again he might not be up for it considering he does have a very pretty lass that--come to think of it, from what I know about her, kind of looks like you…?"

"Now I'm intrigued," you teased, turning around to the comparatively small pile of labeled uniforms and handed her the one with "DOUGLAS" written on the top. "There you go. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. And good luck to you too it's like a brazen bull in here, bloody fuck."

You waved her off, already holding your tiny fan down your shirt again and just trying to take deep, slow breaths to try and lower your body temperature somewhat. The sound of the door opening again nearly had you whining to any deity listening to give you at least fifteen minutes to cool down before having to deal with another conveniently forgetful soul. "Name?" you all but sighed out.

The effort it took for you to fight back a face splitting grin at the name and buttery smooth voice that reached your ears should have gotten you some form of accolade in the realm of sheer Herculean level restraint. "Hiddleston."

You perused the charts, pursing your lips to keep yourself stoic upon seeing that the field beside his name was, in fact, not blank. "Just a moment, Sir." There was a very faint mumbling coming from the towering man a few feet from you while you retrieved his uniforms from the pile of labeled bundles, an expression nearly as stoic as your own on his face when you handed him the parcel. "There you go."

He gave you a soft smile, holding you captive in an oceanic gaze that you had to practically pry yourself away from and at least pretend to busy yourself with the paperwork on the little desk.

Suddenly all the bravado you had facing all those hubristic men from earlier melted away, as if karma had literally deflated it out of you as some warped retaliation for your earlier behavior. He didn't even have to do fuck all anything and you could feel your pulse skyrocketing and your body overheating that had nothing to do with the current climate of the even more seemingly cramped and overcrowded room.

But then he spoke.

"Erm…I truly hate to be a bother but…this isn't the correct size."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, showing him your visible shock. "That--That can't be. This came straight from the suppliers, they're the ones that labeled these all."

"I understand that but…these are a size Small. I distinctly remember leaving instructions for y--For my partner to input a Medium."

Another look through the chart had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. "It…it says Small," you choked out, visibly struggling to meet his eyes again. "I'm--I'm so sorry, let me see what I can do, I'll make a few calls and-and--"

"No no no, hey hey…" he called out, placing the parcel back on the table before placing his hands on your arms in a gentle hold. "Calm down. It's alright, just breathe." He started running his hands up and down your arms, the motion calming you almost instantly, before sneaking a glance at your little nameplate on the table. "Y/N, just breathe for me, sw--Breathe for me, alright?"

The motions of his hands began to guide you through your breathing, feeling your racing pulse begin to mellow down. "I'm--really sorry about that, it's just I'm new here and this is gonna get me in some serious trouble if I end up fumbling and blundering like--"

"You're going to be alright, it's not that big of a deal, really," he told you in a reassuring tone, squeezing your shoulders lightly before letting go and picking up his jerseys and shorts again. "It's only one size down, I'll make it fit." His free hand twitched toward you briefly, some bizarre part of you instinctively itching to reach for him in turn, but your more rational mind decided against it and sat back on your little seat.

"There's something off about you," you rambled, shuffling the papers of the chart once more and reaching for a pen. "You're way too understanding and mild-mannered for this industry."

He hesitated before taking the pen from you, holding your hand in his as he asked, "Would you mind if I tried it on? Just to be sure." There was the slightest twitch in his eye, as if he was about to wink before he made the split second decision not to, and all you could do at that moment was look up at him with the most foolishly dumbstruck look on your face.

"N-Not at all. Go--Go right ahead, there's a curtain over--Ohh okay then that…works…too," you mumbled to near incoherence as he proceeded to undo the buttons on his thicker overshirt, shrugging the garment onto the floor before giving his light blue button down the same treatment.

Get a hold of yourself. Pick your jaw off the ground you're embarrassing yourself, you hissed inwardly, reminding yourself that you were about to be in the presence of a lot of shirtless men this entire weekend throughout all the practices and promotional events, not to mention the game itself on Sunday. But none of those guys look like this. Look like a literal god among men.

All the while he never broke eye contact with you, holding you hostage in a stormy gaze as if daring you to look away while he effortlessly pierced through the plastic that contained the jerseys. You did your best not to fixate your eyes on the sinewy, well-defined muscles that were moving fluidly with every minute movement of his hands, holding his gaze with all the confidence you could muster.

He made a show of unfolding the shirt in slow, deliberate movements, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk when he noted the visible movement of your neck from a strained effort in swallowing and calming yourself. It was only then that he put the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric stretching taut across his chest and threatening to burst at even the most minute flex of muscle.

The internet is about to have a field day and I am about to get kicked out of this committee, you thought to yourself. And on your first year, no less. You should've known it was a bad idea to agree to the invitation just because your boyfriend encouraged you to.

"It's not too bad, is it?" He swung his arms around to test his range of motion, before raising his hands above his head in a stretch, causing the borderline illegally tight fabric  to ride up on his abdomen, exposing his lower stomach.

You could barely hold in your composure as you choked out, "It looks…manageable." You held out your pen in his direction again. "You just uhm…need to sign on the chart."

He approached you with a certain sway to his step that vaguely reminded you of a wolf stealthily assessing its prey, fingers slowly brushing across your skin as he took the pen from your hand and uncapped the pen by placing the cap between his teeth. When he finished signing his name on the chart, his eyes never left yours as he recapped the pen and placed it back into your hand, his large palm engulfing your entire hand in a warmth you couldn't even bother to complain about despite the stale humid air of the room.

"There you are, darling," he rasped. "No harm done. You won't get into any trouble with your superiors because of me, don't you worry your lovely little head." You watched with bated breath as he turned around and bent at the waist to pick up the discarded shirts, putting that ass that the internet shamelessly thirsts over and stares at for hours on end mere feet before your naked eyes.

I have no idea if my job is cursed or if it might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, you thought helplessly to yourself, watching as he stood back upright and turned again to face you, giving you a small wave as he exited the room.

You fought the urge to hold your tiny fan down your pants after that exchange.

The sound of your phone chiming with a new message brought you out of your stupor, a smile finding its way onto your face as soon as you saw your boyfriend's name on the screen.

"Are you alright? Have you eaten since you got there? Make sure you're drinking lots of water, I hear it's going to be sweltering today. I love you and I miss you already, goddess."

Just the mere thought of how he'd taken the time to type out the message despite how busy you knew he was had you biting your lip to try even slightly to prevent yourself from letting out a stream of giggles like you were back in school all over again. You could feel the ache in your heart as you began to feel your own yearning beginning to intensify after his message.

"I just have a few more people to hand off their uniforms to and then I'll go get some food. Thank you for checking in on me. I love you and I miss you more than you know."

The rest of the day was thankfully a bit more merciful towards you. Once you'd handed out all the uniforms and put all the surplus jerseys and shorts into a merch pile for audience members to purchase before entering the stadium proper and perhaps have the players sign at the end of the game, the hours up until training was over were spent outdoors coordinating with press photographers, making sure that security was on peak alertness in case anyone managed to sneak through the cracks, and confirming that everything was in place for some hot sauce challenge that would take place tomorrow.

You also made a note to take one of those bottles home since you were running low. Only if you could, of course.

When the fields were empty and you were locking down the press room for the night, you heard someone walk into the otherwise quiet room. "I had the most interesting conversation with some of the other players today." The sound of the man's rich, velvety voice had your heart violently pounding in your chest. "About you."

You took a few steadying breaths before you addressed your unexpected visitor, your back still turned to him as you finished writing down the names on the media passes for tomorrow morning. "And what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Hiddleston?"

The sound of his footsteps slowly approaching you had a thrill running up your spine, making you abruptly stand to attention when you felt large hands rest on your waist. "One of them told me about how you were tempted to…what was it again? Ah yes…you said something about kissing the first player that actually had their size on the chart?" You bit back a smile, looking out the window to double check that nobody was lurking and trying to peer into the room as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Now Douglas told me that allegedly it was her, and she passed it on to whoever came next. And if memory serves me right…I believe that would mean that immensely fortunate player was…myself."

He'd leaned in so close at this point that his lips were grazing the shell of your ear. "This is highly unprofessional," you mumbled, barely able to contain your smile now.

"I don't care. I've been thinking about you all day." Fingers ghosted up the length of your spine while his nose traced a line from the shell of your ear down to a very specific weak spot on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You went nearly limp in his hold the second you felt him press a soft kiss to that same spot, his free hand deftly undoing the ribbon you had holding your hair up before weaving his fingers through your hair. "Take this as me officially breaking character. I've missed you, goddess."

The groan he let out against your skin turned you into putty in your boyfriend's arms. "One day," you giggled out. "You lasted barely one day."

Over the last few years since you'd gotten together, whenever you were both signed on to a project, you tried to commit to this bit of "staying private and professional" throughout the course of the project, so as to not draw too much attention to the fact that you were involved. It had come to the point where it collectively slipped the mind of the general public that you two were actually still, in fact, happily together and borderline maddeningly in love. And it also granted you both a comfortable enough sense of privacy, which you were immensely grateful for and neither of you ever dared take for granted.

On previous projects, he would 'break character' within the course of a few hours, and you had a feeling that the only reason it took him nearly a day this time around was that you two weren't around each other as much due to him practicing for the game, and you running around the entire facility.

"I have to be honest, though," you started, letting out a squeal as he abruptly turned you around in his arms to face him, pulling your body flush against his. "For a second there I thought this would be a first and I would break character. This afternoon." It was a good thing that he was currently holding you upright with the way he was looking at you through hooded eyes, his chest heaving through that one size too gloriously small shirt; if you were left to stand on your own, your knees would've buckled the second he touched you. "If you kept up that goddamn striptease for even two more seconds I might have caved."

He smirked at you when you a tiny yelp slipped through your lips as he placed his hands on the backs of your thighs and easily lifted you into his arms. "I'll have to try a bit harder next time," he whispered, walking until you felt your back make contact with the wall. "I believe you owe me a kiss, sweetheart."

You crossed your hands behind his neck, leaning in to give him the quickest peck to his lips. "There you are," you teased, letting out a stream of giggles against his lips when he grabbed the back of your head and pressed you against the wall before pulling you in for a deeper kiss. He let out a desperate sounding moan into your mouth as his arm around you tightened and his fingers tangled into your hair. As if he couldn't possibly get enough of you. Or as if you hadn't seen each other for months.

"Where are you staying?" he rasped when he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath.

"I have a room that I'm sharing with 2 more members from the committee--"

"That won't do," he cut you off, pressing his lips to your jaw and kissing a trail down your neck. "You're staying with me. I already despise the mornings that I wake up away from you, it's cruel and unusual punishment if I go to sleep tonight alone knowing full well that you're here in another room." You stifled a moan when he proceeded to suck a bruise onto your neck, already anticipating the questions from your fellow committee members in the morning when they catch sight of it.

"I uhh--ohh fuck--I'll need to get my things," you stammered, leaning your head back and arching into his kiss to expose more of your neck to him. "My clothes--"

"You won't need them, darling," he retorted, smirking against your skin when you let out a squeak trying to feign protest against his words. "Say yes," he pleaded between kisses. "Stay with me." He kissed his way up to the corner of your mouth. "Don't deny me the simplest joy of getting to wake up with you in my arms."

Those were the words that did you in. "Okay, okay yes," you breathed out, your moan muffled by him once again capturing your lips in a kiss that threatened to steal you of every last breath you had left.

Neither of you seemed to care in the slightest if you crossed paths with anyone on your way to his suite, Tom adorably refusing to let your feet touch the ground as he carried you down the halls. "There was one more thing that some of the players mentioned…Something about you being able to assess their sizes and giving them their correct fitting instead of the size that they told you they were?"

Dammit, the boybander told on me, you grumbled to yourself, meeting your boyfriend's gaze with your worst attempt at an innocent smile. "Aaaand…what about it?"

"You've known my measurements since they sent in the roster form," he started with a knowing smirk, causing you to purse your lips and basically out yourself that you knew exactly where he was going with this.

"I did…"

"Did you intentionally input the wrong size?"

Biting your lip before letting out a fit of near uncontrollable giggles told him more than a spoken admission ever could. "I might have…"

"And I would also be right to assume you had everything to do with the swapped out trousers in my bag?"

Your giggles got louder, practically giving the entire floor a homing beacon signal to where you were, take one look at your current positions, and give them a vivid idea of what type of noises they would expect to hear throughout the night.

"I had to do it," you managed to say between laughs. "For Tumblr."

You held on to him a bit tighter when he went to unlock his door, pressing the keycard to the scanner and balancing you on a single arm, and giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss yet another particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. He let out a seductively dark chuckle against your skin when your giggles had morphed into moans.

"Naughty little goddess," he rasped, tracing his lips along your shirt's neckline as he laid you down on the bed and then proceeding to kiss a path down your clothed torso until he reached the hem of your shirt. His hands traveled up your body, working the fabric up and over your head, kissing and licking and biting at a leisurely pace at every sliver of skin that was exposed to him.

Once the shirt was up to your raised hands, he hovered his face above yours, capturing your lips in another languid, decadent kiss that had you sighing against him as a warm contentment washed over you. You'd only realized now how much you actually missed him since having to leave your home yesterday to come here and begin preparations with the rest of the committee. All day you were so caught up with finalizing every meticulous detail you had control over it was almost like your mind didn't allow you to feel how much you were yearning.

"What am I going to do with you, my darling little menace?" he murmured against your lips, your combined moans filling the room as he licked into your mouth, your tongues meeting in a tangle long practiced and perfected over the years. You quickly tossed your shirt aside to free your hands and pull him closer, giving him the perfect leeway to unclasp your bra.

"Whatever you want," you gasped once you both pulled away, the silliest grins on both your faces as your hands fumbled for the hem of his jersey. "I love you and I've missed you more than you know."

"Shouldn't have said that, my love," he growled, pushing you back down on the bed so that your back was flat against the mattress, a near filthy moan escaping you when he hooked your legs around him and rolled his hips into yours. "There's a lot of pent up energy in me." He proceeded to summarize what he'd spent the day doing, punctuating each item with a thrust of his hips. "Running." Thrust. "Dribbles." Thrust. "Shooting drills." Thrust. "Endorphins are running amok. You understand, don't you, darling?"

"Let me repeat myself," you said breathlessly, crossing your ankles and pulling his hips to yours and making him let out the most delicious stuttered moan. "You can do whatever you want."

A/N: Suddenly those reblogs I did of 'one look and they'll know' are making sense, huh? 😉😈 Welcome to the Soccer Aid 2023 Hiddles collection! As of writing this Author's Note, there are going to be 5 stories in this collection, the next one being 'a tale of ice baths and hot sauce' which covers the Elementals challenge video, and I'm already working on it as we speak. 🫠

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-zie @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

[49436]

Taking on @batmanisagatewaydrug 's 2025 Book Bingo (along with my wife & housemate, so it's now on our fridge. Taking me back to summer reading lists from the library)

I tend to work down my to-read list in order, unless there's something I really want to get to, so most of this list is 'what's the first thing I'll hit that fills the criteria'. But some books earn the right to skip the line, for one reason or another.

Going for a full board, which means actual bingo might take a minute lol

List below-

Literary Fiction - TBD

Short Story Collection - Friday Black by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah. Chain-Gang All Stars was on my top 10 from 2024 so even though short stories and I don't tend to get along, this one I'm excited about. Will also try Drinking From Graveyard Wells by Yvette Lisa Ndlovu

Sequel - Either A Victory of Eagles by Naomi Novik or Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao. A matter of which one I get first; My library doesn't have physical copies of Heavenly Tyrant yet, and my wife owns all of Temeraire, so it might win.

Childhood Favorite - Might be Watership Down by Richard Adams, which is always a banger, but I reread Watership just a couple years ago, so it might be The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander instead, which I read many times with my mom and still have the whole series of.

20th Century Speculative Fiction - TBD

Fantasy - A Taste of Honey by Kai Ashante Wilson. I read so much fantasy, BUT I already have A Taste Of Honey on my side table. So here we are.

Published Pre-1950 - The Iliad (and The Odyssey) translated by Emily Wilson. Heard a lot of noise about her translation, and haven't read these two since... idk but it's been over a decade. Also going to hop on the Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier train.

Indie Publisher - The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms trilogy by N.K. Jemisin. I read a LOT of indie publishers and Jemisin if one of my all-time favorite writers. I've been putting off this series for a time I can really get into it and burn down all three.

Graphic Novel - Dorohedoro by Q Hyashida. Currently on volume 8, will probably finish the series in the next week or two. Love love love Hyashida's work

Animal on the cover - Plague Dogs by Richard Adams. Despite my aforementioned childhood obsession with Watership Down I never got around to Plague Dogs. Looking forward to it!

Set in a country I've never visited - TBD

Sci-Fi - Another genre I'll read a thousand of in a year. Currently I have Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie on my side table (which I fear may be mid, but time will tell) I'm also VERY excited to read The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal

2025 Debut Author - TBD

Memoir - Love Is An Ex-Country by Randa Jarrar. Memoirs aren't usually my thing, but this one made it's way onto my to-read list last year so this is good motivation.

Zine - TBD. Browsing all the other posts from people doing this challenge for recs

Essay Collection - How To Read Now by Elaine Castillo. Literally the only essay collection on my to-read list and it jump scared me. Thought for sure this would a TBD, but How To Read Now should be interesting.

2024 Award Winner - TBD. Will trawl award lists when I have time

Non-Fiction - Facing the Wave: A Journey in the Wake of the Tsunami by Gretel Ehrlich. Specifically chose something that doesn't also count as social justice/activism, which is most of my non-fiction reads. I've found a real appreciation for good non-fiction the last few years (Everyone go read Swimming to Antarctica by Lynne Cox). Learning stuff is cool!

Social Justice/Activism - Everything you Love Will Burn: Inside the Rebirth of White Nationalism in America by Vegas Tenold. Excited for this one.

Romance - TBD. Tend to read romance that's also another genre (romantasy side eye at myself) so I've inevitably got one on my list. But maybe Akwaeke Emezi will write another romance and sweep me off my feet.

Recipe - Steak wrap pinwheels. My wife has been watching Food Truck Race (lol. lmao even) and one of the contestants made these. Stealing the idea with impunity.

Horror - Fever House by Keith Rosson. I've got a rich vein of horror novels on my to-read list, but this will be one of the first.

Published in the Aughts - TBD I'm old. I read of lot of 00's work.

Historical Fiction - Velvet Was The Night by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. Is the 70's historical? I think the 70's is historical now. One of the final 3 books of Moreno-Garcia's I haven't read, and she's never let me down. Might read another Phryne Fisher Mystery or two as well, because they're quick and fun.

Librarian recommendation - TBD. I love my library and there's a few librarians who know me, will have to ask their opinions. Talking to a person! Not just taking one off the recommended shelf! Wild!

[atthedugouts]

List of Fics I Wrote This Year

It's hard to improve my writing if I don't get any feedback so please leave comments if you are able. Even if the constructive criticism isn't so constructive, I promise I won't get offended. 💜

We Take Care of Each Other  My first fic. Basically a way to get all my feelings about season 5 out. I really like the chapter Blustery which just has Colin and Iggy in it.

Get Me to the Church on Time (title is a song from My Fair Lady)  My version of the wedding if, you know, everyone actually went. This has Fiona and Milkoviches and others attending the wedding.

Lip the Tutor My least read fic, probably because it's not Gallavich but it's super cute. It's a 5 and 1 of Lip helping his siblings with their homework and the one time he gets help.

Getting to Know You  (Title is a song from The King and I) Season 1. What was going on in the Milkovich house when Ian came over to see Mickey? We get some Laura Milkovich content with this one.

Keeping Up With Mandy Mandy was gone but not forgotten. These are 5 text conversations she had when she left Chicago and the one that made her come back.

Surprise Visit More Laura Milkovich. What happens when she shows up at The Alibi one day? Svetlana is going to force everyone to a family dinner is what's going to happen.

The Flower Shop Mandy should have been at the wedding! Here she is tagging along to the florist.

Always the third Wheel What happens when everyone in Mandy's family keeps dating her friends?

Good Party Bro This was a request by an anon for an Iggy story. This is the famous coming out scene but from the point of view from our Iggothy.

Milkoviches Do Not Hug Another anon request. 4 times the Milkovich siblings hug someone and the one time they think about hugging each other

Where Tami Finds Out about Gallavich  This was a fun one to write. Tami is such the perfect character for an outsider's look at Gallavich. This is an AU where Mickey is still around but didn't go to prison with Ian. Mickey is trying to find Ian after he is released from prison and Tami misunderstands and thinks Mickey wants to kill Ian. Basically, Lip hasn't explained anything to Tami about Ian.

I Dreamed a Dream (Title is a song from Les Miserables) Season 7 and beyond. What if Svetlana and his siblings helped Mickey with his escape from prison.

When I See an Elephant Fly (Title is from Dumbo) Season 6 AU. This explores Mickey's time in prison by the visitors he gets.

Another Way I think this was based off a comment I left somewhere on Tumblr. What if Mandy forced Mickey and Ian to talk after the wedding? Starts off at the famous bedroom scene and Mandy shuts the door on them forcing them to talk.

Typical South Side Family Never ending collection of short fics about the lives of our favorite ghetto family. It's Svetlana and her gay husband and her gay husband's boyfriend and the little boy they're raising.

I've Seen About Everything (Title is from Dumbo) Sequel to When I See An Elephant Fly. Mickey's life after prison but we also have a storyline for Mandy as she's living back in the southside too.

When We Meet Again An AU, Ian is working as an EMT and hasn't seen Mickey in two years until he runs into him at the hospital

[astrangetorpedo]

IN INTERVIEW

Julien Baker, the interview 6/8/2016

At just 20 years old, Julien Baker gave us last year a first album of intense and rare emotional force, the superb Sprained Ankle reviewed here . A moving record that left a deep and lasting mark on me. It was therefore impossible to miss the young American's arrival in Paris and not to take advantage of the opportunity to try to get to know this outstanding artist a little better. A meeting was thus organized thanks to the invaluable help of Sean, her manager, in a café in the 12th arrondissement, two hours before the young lady's very first Parisian concert, on May 24. A one-on-one meeting that revealed to me an adorable and voluble young woman, incredibly touching and sincere, and above all determined to seize life with all her might! A moment of exchange and sharing that I am not ready to forget.

Hello Julien!

Julien Baker : Hello!

First of all, thank you very much for granting us this interview. I am a big fan of your music and it makes me really happy to meet you!

Oh, thank you! It's a great pleasure for me too, you know! I still can't believe that people like my music enough to want to meet me to talk about it. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, really!

Perfect! Let’s start at the beginning of your story. I read that you’ve been making music for a while now. Could you summarize the journey that led you to where you are today?

Yeah, sure! I started listening to music in middle school. It was rock, I was really into it with painted nails, black eye makeup, all that stuff! [laughs] Then I started playing in bands, punk bands mostly. Then I joined Forrister which is the band I still play in today. We were playing shows in cities around our area. Then I went to college and a friend of mine who worked in a studio there offered me to record with him for free. Since my band couldn't be there, I did it solo, without any specific plans. I put the album out on Bandcamp for $2 or $3 a copy.

That's when Sean [Julien's manager] contacted me and suggested we release the album in a more official and professional way. I told him that I was actually in a band, Forrister, and that no one would be interested in me as a solo artist. He insisted and even though I didn't believe it at all, I agreed to give it a try. I'll always remember the day he called me to tell me that NPR [National Public Radio] was going to play my single. I hung up crying and immediately called my mom all excited to tell her the news! But then, as things seemed to start to take off for me, I started to doubt myself. I felt guilty towards the rest of the band, thinking that they would resent me for doing this project without them. So I called the drummer and asked him what they thought and he said they were just proud and super happy and not mad at me in any way. So I kept going and here I am! I never thought I would come to Europe and do all this, it's crazy, really!

During the band's time, did you already have this desire to write your own songs?

I don't think I had any real unfulfilled desire to do this.

But you were writing?

Yes, I wrote my own songs. But not because the band was holding me back or preventing me from doing it within the collective. It's just that sometimes you write songs but they don't fit the moment. So I put those lyrics aside, like that, without any specific goal. I've always written and played in different bands. There was enough space for all that, things didn't have to be done exclusively in one framework or another.

Were your parents musicians?

Not really. Well my dad bought me a guitar and showed me how to play it. So I started playing by practicing at home on my own. I also took piano lessons but for a very short time. My teacher didn't really like me because I didn't work hard enough. I just played by ear without wanting to learn to read music and he didn't like that. So I taught myself. But my parents were big music fans. They played records all the time at home. When I was younger I wanted to go to a concert, my dad would come with me to make sure I was safe! He was the only adult in the middle of all these tattooed and pierced kids! [laughs] Oddly enough it never bothered me. When he made a surprise appearance at the Bowery Ballroom for my concert in New York, I was so proud! He and my mom have always been a great support!

This is really great!

Yes I know !

In addition to being an author and composer, you are also a student. Are you still going to university?

I just finished my semester. It's currently summer vacation. But I think I'm going to take a break in the fall. I completed the theoretical part of my literature course thanks to online courses. The last thing I need to fully validate my teaching diploma is the practical part, in school with students. I tried to do it last fall but it's complicated to carry out both projects at the same time: give lessons during the week then take a plane to California or New York on the weekend to play a concert, before returning to teach on Monday morning! So I'm going to take a break to devote all my time to music.

Do you want to teach one day?

I think I would really enjoy teaching. I love it. As a teenager I was a summer camp counselor, I love children. So yes it would be really cool to teach!

You studied literature. Did that influence your way of writing?

Yes, totally! I try to feed myself as much as I can from all these different ways of perceiving life and emotions that I find in books. It enriches me intellectually speaking. I have the feeling of learning new things about myself each time I discover a new author and this is then reflected in my writing I think, consciously or unconsciously.

Are you familiar with French literature?

Voltaire! I often joke with my professor friends that I would really like to have a big Voltaire and Cervantes tattoo! I already have a Gabriel Garcia Marquez tattoo [Julien then shows me his 2-part tattoo on the inside of his 2 wrists]…

Is he your favorite writer?

One of my favorites, I can't choose just one! And so when my students would complain that Voltaire is an old man who's not cool, I could show them my Voltaire tattoo and prove to them that it's really cool! [laughs] Reading Candide really changed my life. It was incredible! I think the translation of the title is The Optimist , which is quite ironic. Cervantes wrote Don Quixote and we have this word in English, "quixotic" which means optimistic but optimistic to the extreme, to the point where even if everything is going wrong in your life and you know it, you continue to believe in it despite everything. There is a really romantic and admirable dimension to that attitude I find. Same for Candide where there is this quote that I always come back to when I feel really bad and which says: "I wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but I still loved life" . I think I cried when I first read that sentence. Anyway, I could talk about literature for hours, don't drag me down that dangerous path! [laughs]

Haha, ok. So back to the music! Listening to your album I couldn't help but think of two other artists I really like: Sharon Van Etten and TORRES…

I love TORRES!

Me too! I even did my very first interview with her!

Wow! She's amazing!

Do you agree with this comparison even if the artists in question do not come from the same scene as you?

I totally agree with this comparison! As a teenager I only listened to punk and thought that anything that wasn't punk was worthless. Then I grew up as a musician and learned to appreciate all styles. When you really love music, you love an artist as long as their music is honest and good, no matter what the style. It doesn't matter if it's hip hop or country or whatever!

I totally agree!

And so I'm a big fan of TORRES! I loved her first album, the one before Sprinter . The song Honey is the very first one I heard from her.

The same !

And oh my god, what a song! I played with her in Chicago, I was added as the opening act at the very last minute, I felt so honored! On my way to the dressing room, I ran into her and as I was saying "Oh sorry, I don't want to bother you" she said "No, come on, this is a shared space, you have as much right to be here as I do" and she kindly invited me in. As for Sharon, it's funny because the first time I met her, she asked me to have lunch with her, can you imagine having lunch in New York with Sharon Van Etten! And she told me she was also going to invite her friend Mackenzie [Mackenzie Scott aka TORRES]. But our phones died and we couldn't get a hold of her. So in Chicago TORRES couldn't make the connection, I was just the little girl at the door!

Excellent! Are there any other musical influences that you would claim?

Do you know David Banzan?

Nope…

Ok. There's a band called Pedro The Lion and David Bazan is the lead singer. He influenced me quite a bit. And do you know Death Cab For Cutie?

Yes of course !

They were the first non-punk band I listened to. At the time I only listened to loud and fast music, but when I heard Transatlanticism for the first time it was a shock, everything changed. They really meant a lot to me.

Your texts are very strong and very personal. When you wrote them, did you think about the impact they could have on those around you first and then on the general public?

Well, at first, I didn't imagine that this solo album would lead me anywhere, I was convinced that my music would only be made with my band Forrister. So when I released the album on Bandcamp, I really thought that only my friends would listen to it. So I wrote all these songs like that, just for me, without really thinking about the scope of the lyrics. And I'm ultimately happy that I didn't think about it because if I had known what was waiting for me, I think I would have most certainly changed things, I would have probably been more reserved in my words. But if it's difficult for me to show my vulnerability, I realize that it's totally worth it when young people come up to me after concerts to tell me that my music has helped them in difficult times in their lives. It's of course a little embarrassing for me to share such intimate things but if these things make others feel good, then I think it's worth it in the end.

But isn't it a little scary to expose yourself so completely naked and transparent? It's so brave, I don't know if I could do it myself!

Well, you see, it's exactly the same for me, I'm not sure I would have been able to do it if I had known everything in advance! But now that it has happened, I feel that from now on I have the right, the license to be brave. Perhaps it was the plans of destiny or God, something like that.

And isn't it too difficult for you to sing songs every day that inevitably bring you back to painful moments?

I think there are two options. Option one: I can sing these songs every night, let them take me back in time and feel sorry for myself. Option two: there is the quote from this poet that I love who says that all the horrible things in life just need to be seen from a different and courageous perspective. Things that seem bad can indeed turn out to be good in the end. So I have chosen to let the dark and sad aspects of my songs become pretexts to be positive and happy. Because yes, all these things have happened to me but if that had not been the case, I probably would never have written these lyrics and I would not be here today in Paris talking to you, Laurence! In the grand scheme of things, everything has a meaning and works for our good in the end.

That's very beautiful what you say! [laughs] To talk about lighter things, this is your first time in Europe, isn't it?

Yes !

How do you feel?

I love it! I have such a good time. Well I don't sleep much... [laughs]

Is it the time difference or the excitement?

Well now it's the excitement! But a week ago it was also the jet lag [laughs]. Imagine, we traveled for over 30 hours straight to get here! I first took a plane to Richmond and then a train to Washington DC. We then took a flight to Iceland where we took another flight to Copenhagen. Once there we took a train but due to a problem on the tracks we had to take a bus that took us to another train! When we arrived at the hotel, we were totally exhausted! [laughs] It was 11 o'clock in the evening but at that time of year the sun hadn't set because we were so far north and my body didn't understand anything at all! But hey after a good night's sleep everything was better! And now if I don't sleep it's just because I don't want to miss anything, not a single minute you know! I thought I would never be able to afford to travel and once again it seems that Destiny's plans are extraordinarily kind to me. I feel so grateful and lucky!

And that's just the beginning!

I hope so! But you know, even if everything had to stop, well in any case it would have been much, much more than I could have imagined! I am so grateful for everything that is happening to me!

Are there any particular places you want to discover?

Sean has been here before and wants to show me places he liked. Today he took me to see the Sacré-Cœur which is beautiful. On my side, there are also places I would like to visit, especially in Barcelona, ​​because I am majoring in Spanish literature. I would like to go to the café where Picasso had his very first exhibition, long before he was famous. I would also like to see the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's work, visit a museum, buy a Viva Cataluña t-shirt and eat paella. I am so excited to be able to do all these things!

That's great! But it's going to take you some time to do all of this!

We are staying there for the whole festival [Primavera Sound Festival]. So we should have some time. Of course we won't sleep much because in the evening I also want to attend the concerts!

You'll sleep when you get home!

Exactly! Since I am a big coffee drinker, one of my friends gave me a badge for my jacket that says "I will sleep when I am dead" ! [laughs] There are indeed so many things to experience in one life! [laughs]

And what are your plans for after the European tour?

We're actually going to be touring until the end of the year.

Will you come back to Europe?

We're going to Australia in November I think. I can't wait! We're also going to tour the States so as for Europe I don't really know... And then I hope to have some free time early next year. I'm always writing new songs that I play live. I must have 30 demos on my computer and I'd really like to record them. So it would be great if I could get into the studio early next year!

Last question: do you have one or more musical recommendations to share with us?

Lucy Dacus!

Oh I love it!

We played together in Washington DC. I had never heard her songs before Washington and I remember hearing the lyrics to Map On A Wall which say "I hope good comes from good and good comes from bad anyway" and I started crying all by myself watching her play. Her music is so beautiful, so powerful! And we have so much in common: questions of spirituality, sexuality and faith, questions about gender too and the place of girls in rock music. We are really like two halves of the same person. We have the same booker and were approached by the same label. And when I saw her again in Richmond I knew we operated exactly the same way. So our biggest fear is that we will one day become jaded and arrogant. We want to remain grateful, sincere and enthusiastic. There are so many people who do this for a long time and end up jaded. It's really great to find someone who feels exactly the same way you do, and that's the case with Lucy. We're platonic soulmates! She's a very, very dear friend.

You must tell her at all costs to come and shoot in Europe and in Paris because there are people waiting for her here!

Promise! I'll send her a message as soon as I have wifi!

Lucy Dacus! A perfect choice! Thank you very much Julien!

Thank you! It was great!

photos by jean-marc ferré 📸

interview by lolo from paris (who has great footage of that paris show on his youtube account) 📝

wayback link for the interview 🔗

[hermitknut]

Historical Preoccupations

Hi!

So I decided a few years ago that my history + geography knowledge was dreadful and I wanted to work on it, and I've been doing that slowly. But after getting into the Nine Worlds books by Victoria Goddard, I've been reading a lot about the history of the Pacific Islands, Polynesia, and the Pacific Ocean generally, as well as related topics.

I approach everything I read with a certain amount of caution, as I am not a historian (and don't have all the tools to mind to figure out how reliable my sources are, especially as I am in the UK and most of them are not coming from the actual area in question), but it's been an enjoyable ride so far!

I thought I'd throw together a list of all the things I've been reading / have on my to read shelf with some thoughts on them. I can mostly only tell you about how readable/accessible/interesting the text is, so please don't take this as any comment on accuracy/lack of bias.

I'm making a pinned post for my tumblr that will link to this, and I'm going to try and update it as I read things.

Sea People by Christina Thompson

This was the first one I read, and I really enjoyed it! I think there's a bit of a light touch on the impact of colonialism, but her writing style is very easy to read and I found the way she approached the history very helpful. She does start with European contact, but she goes through each point in history and what they thought the history of Polynesia was and why, with what their biases brought to it. Which was fascinating!

Voyagers by Nicholas Thomas

This was a drier read than the Thompson, but it covered roughly the same historical span and helped add a different angle in a few places. The illustrations/photos were very helpful, too, and it's broken up into small enough sections to keep it moving.

Blue Machine by Helen Czerski

A slight step to the left, topic-wise - this is about how the ocean works, how it effects the world, and how people and animals use it. It opens and closes with the author's time sailing near Hawai'i on an outrigger canoe, and while some of the science went over my head, most of it was really interesting and gave me a much more layered picture of what's going on in all that water.

Pacific by Philip J. Hatfield

I've just started this, so I'll add more to this description later; but this is a beautifully illustrated book that is going through the history of the area in small slices. So far it's very readable, and is helping me settle some of the knowledge I've been learning in my mind.

Upcoming reads:

Sailing Alone by Richard J. King

Another slight step to one side, this is a collection of stories of solo-sails seems fascinating - hopefully it's as interesting as it looks!

A Brief History of the Pacific by Jeremy Black

One of several "brief history of [ocean]" books by the same author, seems quite short and will hopefully be a good simple overview before I tackle...

Waves Across the South by Sujit Sivasundaram

I'm somewhat intimidated by this one because it's ~500 pages, but hopefully I can tackle it this year, because it does sound really interesting, and like it's going to go into some greater socio-political depth than my previous reads. Fingers crossed!

Oceania: The Shape of Time by Maia Nuku

The first art book I've ever owned! I think it's going to go into more technical art detail than I'd usually read, but that's probably good for me in the branching-out sense. And it's a beautifully made book, heavy on the photographs and images.

Under consideration:

I'm not letting myself buy any more until I've caught up, but these are some of the other titles I know about (and am eyeing with varying degrees of interest - I definitely want the Low, though I'm currently having trouble sourcing it).

The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux

Hawaiki Rising by Sam Low

Come on Shore and We Will Kill and Eat You All by Christina Thompson

Wayfinding by M R O'Connor

Wayfinding by Michael Bond

I'd love to hear any suggestions of titles on the topic, particularly anything from Polynesian authors!

[lurkdragonstuff]

I'm an atheist and a philosophical materialist. I don't think there's anything more to the universe than what can be observed and measured. Disagree if you want, that's fine, but take as read that this is where I'm coming from.

As you can imagine, this makes it very strange to me that my brain thinks I'm a dragon.

I have been trying to square this circle for years. Since around the 2000's, when I first made contact with the Internet, I would look in on the otherkin community, and the draconic community nested inside it, and I would think, man. I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe that souls were real, and that I had one, and that it was a dragon, and that's why I was so odd. For quite a while, I just explained it as a furry fandom thing. Sure, yes, my fursona is feral, but ferals are furries, too. This is still true! I'm still in furry fandom, and my dragonself still acts as my fursona. But they are also, in a deeper sense, me.

I'm a secular pagan. I don't think gods exist, and I don't think magic is literally real. I can't really cast a curse on shitty charities. The moon's a big shiny rock. It doesn't care if I roar at it when the sun reflects off it just so and I can see the whole of its tidally locked face.

But my dragon brain doesn't know that. It likes the big shiny rock. It likes little shiny rocks, too. It likes to light things on fire, and considers this a sacred act, both bringing destruction to noxious things and bringing honour to things worthy of it. It likes to growl and hiss when things annoy it. It likes to collect things, to have a hoard. It likes to range around its territory, keeping an eye on what's around in what season. It finds it frustrating that its wings don't seem to work at all, and its other limbs barely better. It wants its tail back. It wants its fire breath.

I'm autistic. Sometimes speaking is hard, and I growl and hiss when things annoy me. I like to collect things related to my special interests; I have a sprawling collection of cetacean, Nintendo, and SEGA figurines, as well as lots of little animal figures. Plushies, too, and videogames, and books. I do wildlife photography, as well, marking who's around in what seasons. This is, to my frustration, limited a lot by waning energy because of chronic health problems.

If backed into a corner, to say what I really believe, of course I'm a human. It is in my DNA, expressed in a bipedal body plan, five fingers on the forelimbs only, nails and not claws, no wings, no muzzle, no tail, short neck, skin and fur instead of scales. Not even any horns. I find this frustrating, but it is what it is. I also find it frustrating when people call me 'she' and not 'they', and that really there is no feasible gender presentation that would guarantee that strangers would use the right word. The best I can hope for is that people will read the 'they/them' button on my hat, or otherwise call me 'he'. Still wrong, but at least novel.

I honestly think my draconic identity developed when I was younger as a way to explain why I was so weird. I have never been normal. I will never be normal. As an adult, I have fancy words like "autism" and "anxiety and depression secondary to post-traumatic stress disorder" and "seasonal affective disorder" to explain why I'm abnormal.

But a part of my brain, I think the same one that still believes in magic and deities even though I don't, tilts its head, then grins a sharp grin and says, "Cool story, bro. I'm still a dragon."

I generally have, for any given of my eccentricities, the philosophical materialist explanation (generally that I am either brainweird in some way or another or am playing pretend for placebo purposes to manage executive function etc.) and the dragon explanation (generally what the pretend play revolves around). But - and this is hard to explain - it isn't exactly playing pretend, either. It's me.

When I'm pretending to be Link, either playing a Zelda game or writing Zelda fanfic, Link isn't me. I might be inhabiting him as an actor, but he isn't me. When I play Animal Crossing, and I'm playing a character named after me, that's closer. It's me but greater. Me but more. Me existing in a life I wish I could have.

When I put on my mask, when I sit and daydream about the multiverse-hopping shenanigans I get up to, when I hiss at someone startling me by getting into my space, that's me. I'm not a dragon, I'm a human wearing a mask, daydreaming, hissing because "back the fuck off!" isn't allowed in the workplace.

Yeah. Cool story, bro.

I am still a dragon.

[jariten]

July 2024 roundup!! (Part 1!)

Had a great month for catching up on and starting new series with August already shaping up to be a wrap-up month. This round up will be a 2 parter, one for English titles and one for Japanese!

First is Ima Koi by Ayuko Hatta. 9 volumes is such a perfect length for the Margaret campus romance and what's better than a campus romance by someone who's been making them for 20 years. I can't find anything that I think is unique about the series aside from the fact that it hits all the right beats, the characters and their relationships are well rounded, and Hatta (known for titles like Wolf Girl and the Black Prince, and Bye-bye Liberty) knows just when to be restrained and when to give the readers what they want. I just really enjoy it when an author becomes so competent in a genre in this way and had a great time the whole way through. Hatta in the columns also expressed wanting to move on from the campus romance, which I'd love to see because I think an adult romance would release her full potential, but in the final volume announced that she's taking a hiatus from manga to explore various jobs in the food and service industry. I love that for her, and if she graces us with manga once again I will be there to check it out.

Hirayasumi by Keigo Shinzo I won't linger on for too long since I'm the one late to the party and only one volume in, but I already love the cast and how they interact and the tempo of the narrative. I'm so looking forward to keeping up with this series!

Her Frankenstein by Kawashima Norikazu is the debut title in Living the Lines Books new horror imprint Smudge which promises to deliver exciting deep cuts from the pulp world of horror manga. Her Frankenstein follows a man with a shattered sense of self which is further fragmented when he becomes haunted by his own past. Accompanied by an always thorough Ryan Holmberg essay this is a great read for psychological horror fans and horror manga fans interested in acquiring an even broader look at the genre landscape. The next title in the imprint will be UFO Mushroom Invasion by Shirakawa Marina expected to be released on October 1st

Last but certainly not least, I finally got my hands on Viz's long overdue edition of Ai Yazawa's Neighborhood Story volumes 1-2! Overwhelmed with things to say but will keep it short. First time I read it I was ever reliant on a dictionary but was nontheless swept into this tale of adolescent love, friendship, and growth. Coming back to it since then I'm once again overwhelmed with adoration for her work and how she is able to capture the ups and downs of the emotionally volatile teenage years. Timelessly stylish and one of a kind artistically I am so happy that new readers have yet another way to stumble across this work and that long time fans can finally have it in their collection! When I ran a poll a couple months ago asking if I should switch to english caps of the series when the time came the english caps won out, so next time I refill I will go back to volume 1. Will try to avoid dupes in order to speed things up, but if there is a specific cap I've posted in the past that you'd like to see posted again but in english let me know.

[nejis-desk]

Jack Jeanne Complete Collection - Interview with Terasaki Yuka (Kisa’s Voice Actor) Translation

This short cast interview is from the Jack Jeanne Complete Collection art book!

Ishida: What were your impressions when you first saw the setting of Jack Jeanne?

Terasaki: It’s a story about teenagers putting on plays together that’s drawn by the creator of Tokyo Ghoul, Ishida Sui-sensei. That information alone was all it took for me to be interested. I’m sure a lot of other people thought the same.

Since it’s a story that takes place in a theatre school, I found the way it's like a game meets theatre to be unique. I also found the aspect that the shows are put on by an all male cast to be really intriguing.

—

Ishida: When you were voicing Tachibana Kisa, were there any aspects of your performance that you had to be careful about?

Terasaki: Kisa is a character herself, but she is also the stand in for everyone that’s playing the game. That’s why I stuck to the initial impression of the script as much as possible without adding too much of my own flair. I wanted her to be ‘transparent’ like Quartz.

In the romantic scenes especially, I want the player to have their heart racing over what Kisa’s love interest is saying and focus on them. So during those scenes I made sure to act out Kisa’s emotions more subtly. I’d like for those playing to be able to decide their own colours for Kisa, so I left some of her canvas blank. I remember I would go into the recording sessions keeping that in mind.

—

Ishida: Were there any particular challenges you faced while working on Jack Jeanne?

Terasaki: The singing. When I first listened to the songs with the temporary vocals I was like ‘I’m going to be singing this!?’ and my anxiety quickly turned into terror! I had to reconstruct the way I’d been singing up until then from scratch. It was very difficult and I was unsure about a lot of things, but now thanks to Jack Jeanne I love singing even more than I did before.

—

Ishida: Other than Kisa, are there any other characters that are your favourite or that you took a liking to?

Terasaki: Tachibana Tsuki… He’s Kisa’s older brother, but there’s still a lot of unsolved mysteries surrounding him. I can’t help but be curious about him. I’d love to read a novel or something about Tsuki-nii when he was a student at Univeil. I’d like to see Fumi-san and the other third years when they weren’t upperclassmen too.

—

Ishida: Quartz, Onyx, Rhodonite, Amber. If you were to enrol at Univeil, which class would you like to be assigned to?

Terasaki: The relationships between the seniors and juniors are wonderful in every class, however I think I’d have to pick Quartz. Since I don’t think you can join the other three unless you’re already particularly skilled at singing, dancing or acting. So I’d like to find my own way to express my individuality in Quartz!

—

Ishida: You have some experience with stage acting, so were there any scenes or moments in the game that you could relate to?

Terasaki: Jack Jeanne has a lot of different choices and branches in the story. You can choose different lines to say during the plays too, but no matter which one you choose the show will still reach its conclusion. If another actor changes something then you have to change with them, and if you change something, then they have to change with you. Even though every performance of a show is supposed to have the same programme and script and movements, you go into it with a fresh mind each day and there are slight differences between the shows.

There are things you sometimes only realise on opening day when you see the audience walking in, so I could relate to the sense of tension actually putting on a show brings. I’d love for the players to see how each character's dialogue changes with each option, so please play through the shows multiple times!

—

Ishida: Every show in the game is quite different thematically, which one (setting, musical composition, etc) did you like best? Also, were there any shows that you’d like to try starring in in real life?

Terasaki: All of the shows are very different and I love all of them, but the one that I felt the most accomplished and happily tired after was the autumn performance. During auditions, the selection of lines from it were full of passion and tension, so I remember being excited to record for the autumn performance.

As for which one I’d like to try in real life, it would be Sissia of the Central Nation. When I recorded my lines for the whole show in one session, I started arranging how the stage set would look like in my mind. I’d think ‘this line would definitely be delivered from the top of the set, and this line would be said from the audience to the stage’. I’d read the lines whilst imagining what the show would look like and the performance that I could picture the clearest was Sissia of the Central Nation. So I ended up really wishing I could see it in person.