#and their sufferings are the highlights of the novels

[carrot-felisidad]

Why I prefer my pookie as bottom?

(answering the question you never asked)

Because FANFICTION or even ORIGINAL WORKS in general are usually bottom-centric. If Jiang Cheng is the bottom in a fic, there will be detailed idealization of his pain and suffering and as a bottom, the story will promise him a gentle care and acknowledgement of a Top (aka Lan Xichen), which will nourish me as a reader of course. I will always prefer a pookie-centric fic, sorry I don't make the rules. Lan Xichen also has his own pain, (dare I say he got one of the most tragic ending in canon), but he's not my pookie, so... Sorry man. I can't ship Jiang Cheng with Nie Huaisang because NHS is also my pookie and if they're in a fic together I will combust.

And that's why I ship XiCheng and not SangCheng. I have no care of the canon and the chemistry, I just want the purple man to bottom.

Thank you for reading my important feature essay.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

sometimes posts like this grind my gears worse than the bad faith takes by the antis because they make me depressed rather than annoyed.

i mean… ok, i guess?? 🤷‍♀️

like i genuinely believe there’s only a handful of characters in the novel who are actually evil, irredeemable assholes, and jgy would not be among their number imo. and it is weird to me that someone can claim to ‘perfectly understand and sympathize with [jgy’s] feelings and decisions,’ and still decide that he’s fundamentally evil and beyond redemption. i don’t think there’s anything in the text that supports this read either, particularly not when we take into consideration jin ling and lan xichen’s respective reactions to having their grieving questioned or ignored.

all that said, there absolutely is a character who is tragically beyond redemption at the end of the novel, and his name is not jin guangyao. it’s nie huaisang.

[echoed-salvation]

One thing I love about orv is that it initially bait and switches you by convincing you early on that the constellations are the "big bad" of the story - voyeuristic beings that gain enjoyment off the suffering of others - until the reveal that they are also going through their own scenarios. This mirrors how us as the readers are going through our own lives and our own struggles yet we consume media highlighting the experiences of others. We root for these characters, we follow their journeys, we see ourselves in them. And yet we're not villains - we're just surviving. We're escaping the struggles of our own lives by indulging in these worlds created by human imagination. Similarly, many of the constellations in orv do not have malicious intentions despite living off stories - uriel cares greatly for the incarnations she supports (as the "fangirl" archetype) and sun wukong and abfd also greatly support kimcom throughout their journey.

This is further solidified in the reveal of the oldest dream. Despite unintentionally creating worldlines through his imagination, the younger kim dokja was never a villain or "monster". He was simply a child who sook to escape the tragedies of his life through a webnovel. He depended on that novel to survive. And that was in no way the sin he thought it was - not even secretive plotter who had gone through countless regressions and witnessed the despair of the universe could hold it against him. Nor han sooyoung, nor yoo joonghyuk of the 1864th round, nor yoo sangah, nor anyone else in kimcom. No one thought dokja needed to atone for anything - they loved him and cared for him even when he couldn't love himself.

Just like kim dokja and just like the constellations, we are readers seeking an escape from the struggles of reality. And we too are loved - regardless of whether we know it or understand why.

[despazito]

I'm anti captive cetaceans but it is frustrating how well meaning people pressure aquariums stop doing live shows because a lot of those animals really do benefit from those performances as enrichment activities. They're already in tanks and now whatever novel experiences they got to have has been taken away just because it felt "wrong" on some dialectical level.

In general I think the angle of "exploitation" is not a very great approach to argue for better welfare, it's an extremely abstract and subjective measurement. We've come a long way from Barnum and Bailey style animal tamers. The reality is for a lot of intelligent animals in accredited zoos, getting to interact with their keepers and new humans is actually a highlight of their day and not some kind of torture they dread lol.

Idk people have it in their minds that a species probably not best suited for captivity must therefore be spending every waking moment of its life acutely suffering, but I don't think that's a fair assessment unless it's a neglected roadside zoom and it flattens nuance. A lot of the cases it's not so much "is this animal in a torment nexus" and more "can we simulate a good breadth of the species' natural environment and behaviours for them to really thrive" which I think is challenging for many giant, long lived, socially complex species with tight family bonds.

[smoft-demons]

Hey, I've been reading your post for a while now andi absolutely love them. Before I got into OM I was already a big D&D person and love fantesty-romance novels. Although, that's besides the point. I was genuinely scared to ask this until I saw your headcanons, there so wholesome<3

But I was wondering if you could do a brothers + the others react to MC getting there period? I was planning on doing it on my own page but I'm a bit scared to publish my own stuff. Although, thank you if you do.

-H.M

Yeah, sure! As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I love writing all the comfort and fluff prompts. It’s like catnip to me lmao

This is gonna be pretty long, so I’m only gonna do the brothers.

Thanks for requesting!! I hope you like it :)

_______

MC is on their period

_______

You’ve been living in the House of Lamentation for a while now. You are, at this point, thoroughly and inextricably part of the family.

As a member of their family, your demons have no problem with helping you out. They can’t help but fawn over you a bit, as well—this wasn’t a familiar problem to them before meeting you, as none of them menstruate. Plus, any human condition of yours that highlights vulnerability and pain on your part makes them all get a tad protective.

In any case, they make sure to be helpful!

_______

Lucifer: responsibility -> rest

With your permission, Lucifer notes your cycle on the calendar he keeps on the kitchen wall. Tactfully, of course. It’s just a little red X in the corner of the box that marks the day you start until the day it ends. It ensures no one in the house forgets to be extra nice to you on those days. Plus, it serves as a way to remind you, in case it sneaks up on you.

In the week leading up to it, he checks up on your stock of human world products (and devildom ones too) for it. Painkillers, chocolate, tea, hygiene products, a heating pad, everything. If you’re running low, he will either take you to get more or take care of it himself, depending on how you’re feeling.

If you’re irregular, he takes extra care with tracking your cycle. Having records is important!

He takes you off the chore rotation while you’re bleeding. He wants you to rest. He will not make you expend your energy on chores while you’re in pain.

If you WANT to take some chores though, he understands and will let you, as long as you don’t make yourself suffer unnecessarily. He understands that some people cope worse with stress, illness, and/or pain when their routine is interrupted and they have no task to distract themself with. He would know! He’s one of them! So if you are too, he won’t force you to give up your tasks.

He does very strictly instruct you not to push yourself, however. You are to let him know immediately if you need to stop, so he or one of his brothers can help you out.

If you want somewhere quiet to hide, he’s got you. His study is a great spot for that! He won’t let anyone else in.

His room is another great spot for that, if you want a softer surface and dimmer lighting. You’re allowed to be in there without him if that ends up working out best (and he hopes you understand the level of trust in you he’s displaying by allowing that), but he has no problem with bringing his work out of the study and into his room if you want his company.

If he’s not on a time crunch, he won’t bother bringing any work with him though. Unless he has reason to expect you to feel guilty for taking up his time, in which case he will bring some and finish it in the room with you and then tell you he’s done for the day.

You end up lying on his bed with him, contorted in whatever weird position makes your cramps hurt the least. It’s the middle of the day, but for once Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just lying next to you with his hand splayed over your uterus or lower back, applying light pressure and warmth to help the pain go away. Quietly talking to you about stuff that doesn’t matter.

There’s no concern for productivity. Nor for terrorizing his brothers into order. It seems the key for making Lucifer take a day to just relax is to request his company while you’re in pain.

See, Lucifer’s driving force is how much he loves his family. He will go to ANY lengths to keep them safe and happy. It’s his main priority. You’re part of his family now. You’re the youngest, even… and you’re in pain. So, he’s okay with pushing off the work Diavolo gives him for a day. For you, it’s worth it.

There’s no paperwork in any realm that he would prioritize over comforting you when you’re in pain. He hopes you feel all the love in that sentiment.

You know how huge a declaration that action is, because there is NO other way to get Lucifer to voluntarily lie around in the middle of the day.

_______

Mammon: devotion -> generosity

Mammon was the first one you went to for help during your very first period in the Devildom.

After a short, frantic conversation about what happened to you, why, and how you normally deal with this, he set you up in his room with some towels, a spare set of his own comfortably worn in clothes, and a movie as he rushed out to find some Devildom substitute for the hygiene products you’re used to. Just, SOMETHING to absorb the blood in the meantime before he can get you products from the human world!

He would have gone to the human world immediately, but he’s not allowed and he doesn’t have time to talk Lucifer into letting him up there yet!! You have NOTHING to work with right now, he’s gotta figure something out ASAP!

He didn’t even think about the amount of money he’s willing to spend, or how else he could be using it. He may not have been willing to tell you how much he cares for you at that point, but he has always come through for you when it matters. Even in the early days.

You find yourself contemplating Mammon’s contrasting demeanour while he’s out. This isn’t the first demonstration of his responsible mode that you’ve seen. It’s fascinating, the way he acts so careless and tsundere until someone needs him—at which point he drops that image like it’s nothing, revealing the softhearted and protective big brother he really is.

In those moments, you can see in his personality that he helped raise 5 little brothers (and one Lilith, though you don’t learn about her until later) and is actually pretty damn good at it. It’s clear that he loves you more than he’s willing to admit in those rare moments, when showing it genuinely matters.

Anyway. He came home with an assortment of items for you. No medicine yet because he doesn’t trust that Devildom painkillers won’t harm you, but he brought a BUNCH of snacks, and a collection of things that can be used to absorb the blood for now, until he can get Lucifer to let him go get the stuff you normally use from the human world. You can take your pick.

He even commissioned an enchanter to make you a custom heating pad, because he doesn’t trust the ones meant for demons to not burn your skin. He didn’t think about the price. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Maybe he’ll remember to complain about it to save face later. Maybe.

His main concern—making sure you’re okay—left no room to think of that in that moment. He waves off your concern about bloodstains on the stuff he lent you before he went out. Being reassuring in his usual irreverent way, saying something about how he’s a demon, and demons don’t tend to be squeamish about blood. Hell if he cares, he says.

While you’re in the bathroom washing up and dealing with the bleeding (with a SECOND set of Mammon’s worn-in, comfy clothes that he put in your hands before shoving you into the bathroom, not giving you a second to refuse), Mammon is texting Lucifer to find a way to get you proper period supplies from the human world.

When you come back to him, he tells you that you’ll have what you need before you go to bed, but in the meantime you should sit, because he’s putting on another movie.

He watches you shift around uncomfortably over the next few minutes. Cramps, you know. You’re not exactly comfortable sitting the way you are. Without a word, he pulls you to lie down with your head resting on his leg. He’s looking away from you, indistinctly mumbling something about “so lucky I’m lookin’ after ya” and “what would ya do without the great Mammon” and “MY human, damn it” as he carefully rubs tension out of your back.

“What was that?” You ask him.

“Shut up an’ watch the damn movie!” He splutters.

You stay like that until Lucifer shows up with your requested items. Pads, tampons, a menstrual cup, painkillers, whatever it is you asked for.

Later that night, as Mammon persists in rubbing your back as another movie plays, you find that your trust in him is stronger than it has ever been before. You understand exactly why Mammon is the best demon to be in charge of your well-being. Lucifer chose him for a reason, and it’s impossible to miss. Mammon is so damn caring under the tsundere façade.

You feel so loved. You ARE so loved. The pain fades away under the warmth of his hands. His lap makes a good pillow, and Mammon makes a great guardian.

(Every month after this, he leaves his door open for you in case you want a distraction from the pain. He’s ready with snacks and a movie. He’ll happily do this for you every time.)

_______

Levi: passion -> gentleness

Whatever it is that Levi notices first—be it the blood, the worse mood, the regular time spent with Mammon every month—he freaks out. He’s like “AAAAWTF WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING ARE YOU DYING???” Or like “oh noooo are you mad at me why are you randomly sad do you hate me now??” Or like “why can’t you reschedule with Mammon and do this time limited event with me, do you not wanna play with me anymore???”

Either way, bro is suffering.

Eventually, either you or one of his older brothers explains to him, and he feels bad. He didn’t mean to stress you out worse! Also, periods are real?? He thought it was just some creative plot point in the occasional anime! That’s crazy, why are humans built like that??

Anyway. Levi’s nothing if not passionate, and he’s gonna turn some of that passion towards finding ways to make you more comfortable.

He will find a way to order all the human world snacks you crave while you’re bleeding. He will be on the lookout for gifts, like games and merch and manga you’d want. He stockpiles them so he always has something ready to cheer you up when you need that.

He will even do his best to redirect the envy he feels towards Mammon and his established routine of movies and snacks in his room with you lying in his lap and getting free back rubs on the first day of your period each month. He wants that to be him, damn it! But he’s not gonna disrupt that for you.

He WILL claim hanging out with you on your day 2 though, AND will fill in every time if Mammon’s not available. The only thing that can beat out his shyness at the idea of having you using his lap as a pillow is the raging envy at knowing MAMMON gets to have that every month!

(Eventually, once you figure out that Levi wants to be invited so bad, you just invite him. It’s not like you don’t want him there! He’s very happy to sit next to you with your legs in his lap while he ignores Mammon’s stupid movie and plays a game on his phone. It’s nice to have two demon pillows. This one’s got built-in cooling!)

Levi understands not wanting to deal with lights and noise and craziness when you’re in pain. He will prevent any of his brothers from bringing any of that around you with all the determination and passion he brings to everything he cares about.

He is remarkably gentle, for someone who is usually so excitable. So considerate! You can see in the way he forces everyone to only argue over text, in the gentle movement of cool, nimble hands over sore calves and hips and ankles, in the presentation of snacks and gifts determinedly brought to you from the human world, how much he cares about you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

_______

Satan: research -> comfort

The first order of business for nerd boy here is, of course, research. He is gathering information from all his relevant contacts—every human sorcerer and witch he knows, every demon with a pact-bonded menstruating human they care about AND the aforementioned human, every healer, medical researcher, librarian…

Yeah, he’s gonna end up knowing more about it than you do.

He comes back home after a few days, mumbling about human endocrine systems and nutrition and medical malpractice of menstruating patients and the mechanics of blood production and every phase of a menstrual cycle and how pain works on a chemical level. He’s got notebooks and everything. He’s got the whole history of menstruation since the beginning of humanity summarized in one of those notebooks.

… Maybe it’s a bit overkill. But you know how he gets when he’s curious, especially about something that hurts you! He’s gotta know everything!

So now he’s infodumping to you about every symptom you mention. If you’re the sort of person who finds that interesting and helpful, perfect! If you’re not… well, he won’t be offended if you get mad at him for effectively mansplaining your own body to you. Demon-splaining? Whatever, either way he will take that correction with grace and only tell you information you directly ask for. He’s learned enough about menstruation to be very sympathetic and patient while you’re in the middle of it. It seems awful to him, and he’s not about to make it worse!

He’s wise enough to know that he should ask before ACTING on any of that information though. He won’t try to optimize your nutrition or your painkillers or anything unless you ask him to. He knows that would be too far. He’s not prideful enough to override you like that, he’s not Lucifer.

If you get really angry when you bleed, he’s got you! He understands, he encourages you to yell and rant in front of him all you want. Throw around some destructive spellwork or just break stuff if you need to, he’s got a room for that. It’s all good!

Satan is so good with practical comfort. He’s big on venting for your health and sanity. He knows what buttons not to push, they’re obvious to him as wrath incarnate.

Of course, he’ll also give you hugs and drive off his crazy brothers if you need peace. He’ll bring you to the cats when you get sick of people. He’ll find you any answer you need. If your cycle is irregular or in any way atypical, there’s no better demon to have searching for answers for you—and he’d NEVER let no medical malpractice happen to you. Doctors are GOING to take you seriously, damn it!

To him, there’s no such thing as too much hassle to help someone he loves so much as he loves you.

_______

Asmo: luxury -> selflessness

As the Avatar of Lust, there’s no way Asmo doesn’t know the basics of how menstrual cycles work. No way. Even if demons don’t get them, it’s relevant to his whole domain.

Asmo’s got you. He’s gonna spoil the hell out of you. Massages with fancy oils, hot baths with magic muscle relaxant products added, masks to prevent any skin issues from fluctuating hormones, everything he can think of.

If anyone even tries to make you do anything you don’t want to, he will destroy them. This is a time for rest, he insists!

He relishes any opportunity to relax with you, have a self-care day, just chill and recharge together… but he’s prioritizing you. You get to see the rare responsible Asmo during this time! If you have non-negotiable responsibilities, he’s helping you. He wants you to get done faster!

He’s actually got a pretty great strategic mind when he’s incentivized to use it! He’s so efficient! Only because he wants you to be in his room relaxing as fast as possible, but it’s totally there!

At the end of it all, it’s completely possible that he forgets about spoiling himself too, just because he got so focused on trying to take as much of your pain away as possible. It’s wild that he doesn’t think he has any capacity for selflessness. Good thing you know better.

_______

Beel: perceptiveness -> caring

Beel smells the blood. Immediately. At first he’s concerned but minds his own business, trusting that Mammon’s taking care of you. But after you’ve pacted with him? Not anymore.

Beel becomes your warning system. He will notify you as soon as the hormonal shift starts to happen. Days before you even start bleeding.

You know it’s because he cares, and that he can’t avoid noticing the change in your scent whether he wants to or not. You choose not to think it’s weird.

He gets worried once he learns about what happens to you every month. His first priority is making sure he doesn’t eat everything that’s high in iron, folic acid, vitamin C and D, and omega-3s. All very good for you when you’re on your period. He makes sure that stuff remains available to you.

He invites you to exercise with him too, because he heard that can be helpful. He won’t STOP you from lifting if that’s what you want to do, but HE is choosing to focus on stretching and moderate cardio for now (stuff that should be more helpful for you) and if you want to join him, well… that’s what he’s doing. What do you mean he changed it on purpose? He just felt like yoga and a nice jog today! Don’t think about it too hard!

Beel is actually the best one to go to for massages. Sure, Asmo knows what feels good and he’s phenomenal at that. True. But Beel is the one who understands every muscle and tendon in a body, so if you want a full, functional reset, in which all the tension and soreness in you gets methodically, optimally pressed out, you go to Beel. It might not feel quite as nice—in fact it might hurt a fair bit—but it’ll be so effective. You will have no pain at all after. Plus, he’ll teach you stretches to prevent some of that tension coming back later, too. He’s so helpful.

_______

Belphie: laziness -> service

We all know Belphie is the number one advocate for rest. He will encourage you to sleep through as much of it as possible. Why would you want to be awake to experience pain? Screw that. He will actively keep you asleep as long as possible—unless you tell him in advance that there has to be limits so you don’t bleed on everything you’re touching. Even so, he doesn’t quite see the problem. He’s a demon, he’s not squeamish about blood. What biohazard?

But no, he’ll respect that. If he’s a lil shit about it, all you have to do is pull the “remember that time you killed me” card and he’ll do whatever you want lol

In the biggest twist of irony since The Incident, Belphie actually finds himself serving as your alarm clock. It has to be him, you see, because he insists on sleeping next to you. He wants to be there to ensure you sleep through the night, and don’t ever get woken up by cramps. So it’s gotta be him to wake you up when it’s absolutely necessary. Because you see, he does not trust anyone else to understand what’s absolutely necessary. Only someone who loves sleep as much as him gets it, he insists.

Belphie is nothing if not lazy. Obviously. But… he’s actually voluntarily doing work on your behalf?? He’s concealing bloodstains on your sheets from you so you don’t feel uncomfortable, and washing them for you. He isn’t even telling you about that, so he isn’t even getting any thanks for it! How very kind and un-demonic of him!

(Of course, he’s mostly doing it because he doesn’t want you to feel embarrassed and stop sleeping next to him while you’re on your period. He’s got selfish reasons. But… really, it’s not very selfish at all when you look at how that benefits you too. How could he be so surprised to hear that you think he can be kind and sweet when he wants to be? How’s he not seeing it??)

He may deny that he’s actually a sweetie, but you know the truth. When sloth incarnate is voluntarily doing secret chores for you, you KNOW he loves you. It might as well be spilling out of his soul, it’s so undeniable.

_______

You’re bleeding. It’s miserable. No one likes their period. It’s made much more bearable for you, however, now that you have this ridiculous family falling over themselves to make your life easier. All the pain, all the hormonal fuckery, all the bullshit your body puts you through is… well, actually quite tolerable when you’re loved this much.

[centrally-unplanned]

I watched two documentaries recently that were very "2000's nerd culture" which I thought were very fun! In like a meta way as cultural commentary, of course, it is me after all. The first was Indie Game: The Movie, a 2012 documentary on the making Braid, Super Meat Boy, and Fez. It is a "creator-focused" documentary and in particular for the latter two games the film crew actually filmed them mid-production & release, which does make for some authentically heartfelt scenes.

So in a certain sense all eras of documentary will contain this, but the 2000's going into the 2010's was absolutely rife with a new wave of films, often supported by crowdsourcing funds like Indie Game was, primarily concerned with the self-legitimization of niche subcultures. By creating something cohesive, academic, and prestigious like a documentary, the film can codify the subculture as "real" and "worthy", and additionally lend credence to narratives about the subculture that have grown prevalent. And to be clear, this is not a criticism, even if there are parts that are - all meaning and identity is forged in similar ways. But for nerd culture in the 2000's, there was a particularly intense need for this process, because this was the era of nerdom going mainstream. That level of culture shift generated demand for all the above, which films like this aim to supply. There were lot of films of this type - we made a brony "documentary" propaganda film guys, nothing was exempt.

Indie Game is overwhelmingly the story of outsider artists bleeding and dying for their art, which will triumph above all odds. And it leans, heavily, into the bleed; at one point Phil Fish (creator of Fez), openly states he might commit suicide if his game fails. Much screen time is spent on personal sacrifice, financial poverty, the "doubters", etc. This is of course a classic tale for artists, but if I may be so bold that is something of an easy sell - emotionally, narratively - for someone writing the Great American Novel. It is maybe harder to sell if you are making this?

(Cover art by Bryan Lee O'Malley btw - very era appropriate!) How do we make "dude in hat solves puzzles" worth the Starving Artist life?

We do that by positioning these games not as games, but as paradigms. These games, by dint of being the independent vision of unitary creators, are making games that Big Gaming never could. New digital means of distribution are allowing artists to cut out the middleman of publishers, groups that corrupt the real vision of creators. And with no barriers to development, now anyone (maybe...even you?) can make games that can compete in the big leagues. Indie games through this lens are a different product than mainstream titles, and these creators are opening doors. And their suffering is going to be financially rewarded with success and money to boot! That is the narrative Indie Game is selling to its audience of gamers, to understand why the indie games they bought and loved are meaningful.

And to be clear, as much as I am about to deconstruct this, it isn't like totally false or anything. Starting in the late 2000's digital platforms like Steam, more accessible development tools like Unity (released in 2005), and so on did in fact make smaller games appealing to more niche markets more viable, and by virtue of their nicheness yeah they can do things big budget games maybe can't. These creators absolutely had passionate visions for their games, sacrifice for your passions is fine (not bashing that part here), hats off to them. Indie games in this era would absolutely "change gaming".

But not really in the ways this narrative wants them to, nor with the "meaning" people of the time expected it to have. For one, there is a conflict in this documentary of them wanting to highlight "bold new visions" and also wanting to highlight...popular indie games. This is Super Meat Boy, for example:

Yeah, never had a 2D platformer blob guy dodging traps before in gaming! "No see its retro" yeah retro to what, old games? Like those Nintendo made back in the 90's, which you explicitly mention in your documentary? You know, niche indie studio Nintendo? This isn't a bash, at all, at the game itself, but instead the idea that "AAA Studios would never"; they totally would, and always did. There has never been an era where the large gaming studios weren't also making creative games, but for this narrative they need to be propped up as static for it to make sense. And the actual niche indie stuff that big studios wouldn't touch don't sell well enough to justify being in this film!

And the idea of the "solo developer" is also, hm, let us say a bit sus. Not that these developers weren't solo or small teams, they were (though ofc a solo core creator will often have dozens of helpers on supporting roles that get sidelined in this "unitary vision" narrative); but that such a model is all that new? How big do you think development teams were in the 90's for so many classic games? The original Pokemon Red/Blue game had less than a dozen core developers (the total staff list, including American localizers, is ~30 people - Super Meat Boy meanwhile seems to have 16 for comparison). You wanna bring up the dev teams for PC-98 visual novels? They were made in an Akihabara cave with a box of pixel art scraps by like 6 people! You think those games didn't have "unitary creative visions"? Small gaming companies have always been a part of the ecosystem, getting niche titles funded & published using insane magic and pure luck. The "indie boom" is better seen as a change in the numerator.

Though what did change is that, by being self-published, development was approachable by outsiders in new ways. Though even then, this is a bit of a lie - Jonathan Blow of Braid was an industry veteran, and everyone here plays the "convention circuit" and networks with people like the PAX crew and Xbox representatives. But with the games being published by an individual over a studio, even a studio of a half dozen people, it is far easier for the audience to see the creators as "one of them". No office, no suits, just a man in his gamer den banging out his dream. That aesthetic is core to why this narrative was potent at the time, and why making a documentary to codify it was seen as compelling. It takes an already ascendant idea, polishes it, packages it as nonfiction, and then sells the idea back to the people who invented it. LIke so much media, to be clear! I always enjoy seeing it, it is the dialectic of culture in action.

I also find it very funny to see a documentary made in 2012 playing tropes that will become far more ~problematic~ just around the corner. Burnout and work-life balance - in a documentary where a developer, crying, discusses suicide if his game fails, to remind you - is pretty much never mentioned, and a successful game launch is absolutely presented as justifying endless crunch. You would never see that today. The only women in this documentary are wives and parents - which is very amusing, because the co-creator of the film is a woman! No one thinks gender is relevant to mention. Boy would that change in a few years.

Indie games today, of course, are just a segment of the gaming market. They are incredibly common now, so much so that most people lose money making them, people discuss oversaturation, big studio companies have "indie wings" to cover consumer preference ranges, etc. There is no magic in it anymore, it is just dev strategy. So yeah, very enjoyable as a representative time capsule in a strain of culture that is pretty much gone now! The Capital-R Romantic Era of indie gaming; what a time.

In the next post, we are going much more niche, so stay tuned for that. Or don't, I don't know you, and like this was a loooot of writing. Maybe i'll, idk work on that for the next one? ...I probably won't -_-

[ineffable-opinions]

A Banned BL Series and A Banned BL Sub-genre

GaoGan (High Cadre, 高干) is a sub-genre of danmei, unique to BL from Mainland China. It involves characters who directly hold high position within the Communist Party (be it the political wing or the People’s Liberation Army) or are related to such characters.

Works belonging to this sub-genre was fairly common in the first decade of 2000. Now it's a banned sub-genre and we will get to the specifics of it and how that works.

A little bit about the society in which this sub-genre was created. Back then both Communist party members as well as military members could get away with pretty much anything. Society back then was a little bit more open to such practices and consequences for their actions were very limited. There was very little civilian oversight, so to speak. This meant that not only sons and daughters of high cadre but relatives including extended kin, held positions of power.

Naturally, it became a problem. For the State, I mean.

A lot of leaders now are kids of leaders from the past. They also hold in immense sway in all fields, both business and bureaucracy.

They can bag tenders and participate in those public private partnership projects and reap profits while outsiders would struggle. Laws could be bent and broken and no one could do anything to them. People suffer because of that. But you cannot really go to the police against them. Yeah, pretty messed up.

It is in this context that Addicted (你丫上瘾了) by Chai JiDan (柴鸡蛋) was first serialized. But it is in no way an extreme or a quintessential gaogan danmei. It's basically campus story in the first half with basic coming of age elements, highschoolers falling in love and lot of it is smut too.

But the threat of what their futures hold because of who they are especially Gu Hai, being the only son of his father who is a General, looms large even in first part. This is underplayed in the series compared to the novel.

Gu Hai grew up in that environment of power and reach. A lot of his rough nature is a product of such unbridled power that followed him from the cradle. His father is domineering. He is similarly domineering but with a holier-than-thou “kind” heart. He rebels against his father’s nature. He doesn't want to be the kind of person his father is. He is at the risk of becoming the monster he is fighting. He is extreme in his means, just as his father (and his late mother) and a bunch of other people such as Gu Yang and Gu Hai’s maternal uncle.

It is contrasted with how gentle and amicable Bai LouYin’s father and stepmother are, and how their lives are completely different. They don't really take any extreme steps and always pave path to reconciliation.

While Addicted sort of shows the contrast, it is not the highlight. There are novels which were written in the beginning of the millennium that showed extreme versions – focused on showing how bad it could get - be it of people getting away with that they should not get away with ideally and all sorts of bad things happening to people who have no control over their lives when it comes to people with power.

Corruption, nepotism and exploitation of power is clearly not a good practice at all. Its critique in Addicted is not on the face. It's very subtle. You need to understand what exactly is going on to understand the politics of Addicted. It is not just a random parent being despotic parent. It is because of very specific social setups. Gu Hai can coax, coerce and buy his way into changing public schools in the middle of semester, get Bai LouYin’s father a good job, treat officers on lower rungs as his personal servants and get things to work in his favour all because of the power he holds by just being General Gu’s heir. No one would dare to report his overreach because no one wants to offend General Gu lest he is less favorable to them in their time of need. Bai LouYin can avail benefits of switching schools and such since he is Gu WeiTing’s step-son.

What would give Gu Hai more power than being General’s son? Being a high cadre member himself. But doesn’t want that. From the beginning of the novel, Gu Hai rejects the military environment he grew up in. He doesn’t want to pursue his father’s footsteps.

Bai LouYin learns this when he pries into what Gu Hai wants to do with his life. Gu Hai makes it clear that he wants to pursue business. Bai LouYin dedicates his life to make that possible for Gu Hai. He does so by means joining PLA and thereby becoming his step-father’s protégé. In exchange, Gu Hai is free to live a free life. When he sets up his own manufacturing business, it is directly linked to supplying to the military and thus the exploitation of his connections that gives him a definite edge over his competitors from less privileged backgrounds continue – now as Bai LouYin’s brother too. So, he actually gets to become a rich man at a young age in his own right. It's not just Gu Hai whose business flourishes thanks at least in part to influence. Gu Yang and Gu Hai’s uncle (who seems to be powerful in his own right) too benefits from their connections.

It's something that Chai JiDan explores in a lot of her other works too, even though Counterattack and Advanced Bravely live action adaptations removed gaogan elements from turning characters into civilians.

That brings us to the de facto ban on gaogan. State doesn't want to encourage such kind of practices. It totally doesn't want it to be an aesthetic or a glorified romantic trope, especially in danmei.

Danmei actually have a mixed history with the State. Chinese government is notorious for crackdowns, jailing authors, shutting down websites, forcing self-censorship and purges that throttled danmei production and distribution.

Lesser known is the part where State benefited from it. There was the shipping of real-life high cadre politicians.

There were also the Little Pinks - groups of presumably young women who are nationalistic verging on jingoism, who would endorse Chinese government and its policies on various platforms. They are called so because their brand of rhetoric first started in the danmei forum of JJWXC, a popular web-publishing platform. Little Pinks started out on this platform, scolding authors and readers who wrote what they didn’t agree with. They have pervaded other social media sites and are compared to the Little Reds of Cultural Revolution. Little Pinks captured public attention. They became quite an eyesore for the general public and other BL fans. But State machinery especially its media have showered them with praise on occasions.

State of things have changed over the years and there have been understandable public anger against the sort of behaviors high cadre politicians and their kin engaged in as well as the unfair advantage they enjoyed. The State had to curb nepotism and accumulation of power in the hands of those from political families. Exploitation of power couldn't explicitly depict or endorsed on media.  

The new rules are imposed through censors, self-censorship and editorial overreach and what not. Compared to earlier days of danmei, today’s BL production space looks very difference since sites have disappear. There used to be revolutionary potential, not just in terms of furthering the rights of the queer community but also in many other aspects of society. It has disappeared over the years through purging and authors growing tired. Popularization and commercialization of danmei actually did not benefit the way one would imagine. As BL fans’ grip over what they could say disappeared, a lot of new authors came in who from the very beginning were willing to adjust to these demands from the State and were writing to accommodate, if not outright support, what the State willed.

So, before the ban on gaogan, there was period where fics were written praising the high cadre and highlighting their goodness, generosity and patriotism while being perfect gentlemen, paragons of virtue, upright citizen who valiantly fought enemies of the State, both internal and external.

When it aired, Addicted was fairly popular. By his own admission, Andy Lau was watching it. While exact reason for the ban is not known, there is a lot of speculation. One of the most cited reasons is simply its popularity and how that attracting attention to queer people (through the pairing of a very masculine men who were unlike the stereotypical “sissies”) and queer rights.

Another was the substance abuse related words in title and ship name such as shangyin and hailouyin which is another topic that State scrutinizes. But then A Round Trip to Love had multiple criminal elements including spiking, confinement and sexual abuse that aired.

It's not like gaogan genre just died. Authors went interstellar on their stories. So now when you open Addicted in LCRead you will be greeted by an intro page which claims that the story is not set on Earth and is set in another galaxy blah blah blah. Lot of later authors actually decided to pursue the safe, sci-fi route and decided to stick to lanes that would let them tell these stories without actually irritating the State.

This work around method will last while it can.

Quite frankly, Addicted couldn't have been made in other countries with its very specific political setting. Its essence lies in Bai LouYin joining PLA to help Gu Hai forsake the path laid out for him and Gu Hai repaying with devotion while alternatively sinking and floating in high cadre life as son, brother and husband. This won’t work in countries with mandatory military service or where military and politics interweave in a dangerous manner.

Honestly, I am not knowledgeable about Thailand to interpret what it means for Hero to walk out of ror dor (army cadet) exam (thank you @pharawee for the explanation). Also, Thai government is fully dedicated to their plan of using BL as a soft power tool. I am not sure how to feel about the Thai adaptation, Heroin the series, given the production chose to situate the beginning of the story in 2018* (four years after 2014 coup d'état). Addicted becoming a propaganda tool in favor of military at the hands of any State is a disturbing scenario to say the least.

*There is a eight year break in the relationship between the main couple in the original novel.

Seems like second season isn't happening. Makes me wonder...

-

Link to novel translations.

[secretmellowblog]

Before writing Les Mis, Hugo’s beloved 19-year-old daughter Leopoldine tragically drowned. As a result Les Mis is full of drowning imagery— drowning as a a symbol of impossible grief and loss, drowning as a symbol of being left behind by a society that doesn’t care about protecting your life, drowning as a method of suicide.

The les mis letters chapter today is the first chapter where Hugo highlights the drowning imagery that becomes central to the rest of the novel. The horrible symbolic death Valjean suffers as a result of being entirely isolated and forgotten by a society that doesn’t value his life is also foreshadowing of Javert’s eventual death.

Throughout the novel, Eponine also frequently talks about her desire to drown herself in the Seine; Thenardier monologues about how “the river is the true grave” and when bodies fall in it “justice makes no inquiries;” later Valjean escapes prison by faking his death by drowning, and so on and so on. There’s this emphasis that drowning doesn’t just mean death, it means erasing yourself from existence. It means you’re forgotten.

One of the saddest references to the death of Leopoldine is the way Valjean and Javert learn about the other’s death (or “death.”)

Hugo learned about his daughter’s death not from a family member/friend, but by reading about it in a newspaper. He was on vacation away from his family at the time. He was reading the news in a cafe and happened to stumble on an article about Leopoldine’s horrible tragic drowning, which was how he first learned that she was dead.

When Javert learns about Valjean’s “death” in prison (when Valjean pretends to drown in order to escape), he learns about it by reading it in the newspaper. When Valjean learns about Javert’s death by drowning, he learns about it by reading it in the newspaper.

So…yeah :(. Les Mis is full of all these agonized metaphors around drowning (as a metaphor for death/grief/being entirely forgotten by the people around you) and part of that comes from Hugo’s own deep personal trauma around the death of death of his daughter.

[amarmeme]

I finally finished the game last night and have a lot of thoughts/feelings left lingering about Lucanis/Rook. I know people have gone on and around on this already, but I am compelled by this fictional mess.

I don't even think we need more from Lucanis, but more from Rook, which is my takeaway from the game as a whole regardless of romance, but I would guess is most highlighted by his romance path in particular.

Spoilers below the cut.

Pretty much anything I have written or will write is going to include some degree of angst. It's my favorite brand of tension.

Case in point: my favorite Austen novel is Persuasion. If that shows anything, it's that I live for inner turmoil, quiet suffering, yearning, unspoken words, and two idiots in love.

I want to get my heart shredded until the love makes it whole. The Lucanis romance has the potential for this in spades, but the execution is just lacking and that's because we never go beyond surface with Rook's thoughts. It feels like this romance is supposed to carry on the backs of the players' imagination, which feels a bit cheap.

I've seen criticism of not enough from Lucanis and also defenses that he's been through A Lot so we shouldn't expect more. I'm actually past that. Yes, more scenes with Lucanis would have been great, but I actually want more scenes from Rook's perspective, even if alone, to fill in the strange gaps.

Before you lock in mechanically, imagine if you will, Rook having a reflective conversation with Varric, or in Varric's mirror. Rook asks if they are imagining a connection, or seeing into things.

What if Rook has a chance to speak with Neve, given she and Lucanis have a clear connection whether they get together or not? Or Harding, one of the other people who appear in Lucanis' mind prison?

I could see this continuing after the romance "locks in" -- companions comment on Lucanis looking happy, them being together, but what about Rook? If they're not ready to comment directly to Lucanis on what this really means to him (since they never kiss, touch, exchange soulful looks, etc.), Rook should be able to ask the companions what they have noticed/what they should do to advance things.

This comes down to my struggle with this game versus past Dragon Age games. It all boils down to the lack of interaction between Rook and others. If Rook could ask their colleagues questions rather than just listening to ambient conversations or helping further their personal quests, it would do so much to make this game as amazing as the past installments.

Rook is so lonely, surrounded by all these people. You have to choose to imagine they are connected and are having these interpersonal conversations about themselves, because they never happen on screen. At least I didn't get any of that in my Shadow Dragon Rook playthrough.

I am completely fine with what feels like one-sided pining, and even angst about what Lucanis actually wants out of Rook, but the game needs some mechanics to put into place to make it feel like Rook isn't just quietly okay with an empty relationship, or expect us to imagine things are happening when the game presents them as very much not.

So much of what is there is perfectly rife for fanfiction, but I expect the logical progression to be clear in the game where it really is just not. I have no idea how Lucanis/Rook get from point A to B to C. It feels like it is missing content, and it could even just be Rook-specific content to smooth it over. As it is now, it feels like an unconvincing story.

Maybe one day I'll play it again as a crow to see if that adds any crumbs, but for now I'm just feeling kinda conflicted for my poor Rook. I love the potential, but am not super pleased with the execution.

[iasirene]

A Marxist analysis of Effie Trinket

Effie Trinket is quite the character. She was created by Suzanne Collins as the archetype of the average Capitol citizen. Obsession with manners and appearances, ignorance and indifference to the plight of the Districts, and viewing the Hunger Games as a grand cultural spectacle to be celebrated, while ignoring its true brutality. Despite this, Effie has become a huge fan favorite among fans of the series, myself included. However, I view her with a more critical lens. In Marxist terms, Effie represents a class group called the petite bourgeoisie. Effie enjoys a position of privilege within the Capitol. She has wealth, the latest fashion, and access to exclusive events and parties. In spite of her privilege, let’s just say she is not living in the Corso. Effie is not, and will not ever be, in a true position of power over anybody. She is not a Crane, a Creed, a Heavensbee, or a Snow. Her last name is Trinket. “An ornament or item of jewelry that is of little value.” That’s exactly what Effie is. Not that she has no value as a person, but her position in society is based on servitude. She serves those at the very top while being blind to the suffering of those below her, i.e. The Districts. Effie’s complacency within the larger Capitol system can be understood through the Marxist idea of false consciousness. This means that members of a capitalist society do not see/justify systemic oppression, including their own. “This is the way things have always been.” “Some people are destined to be rich while others are meant to be poor.” In the world of the Hunger Games, Effie demonstrates this in her role as an escort. Her bright and cheery personality, her garish fashion sense, and her being very out of touch with the Districts. She’s genuinely surprised at the level of poverty she sees when she goes to District 12. Although this quote is from the movie, I believe it highlights her misguided way of thinking: “I don’t even think they let them have dessert, but you can!” While it appears that she has “power” over the people of District 12 by reaping their children year after year, she is simply a mouthpiece for the Capitol’s larger authority.

Effie lives and breathes her role as an escort, fully buying into the Capitol propaganda that she has been fed her entire life. She is not an outwardly cruel or violent person, but she serves a system that is built and continues its existence through violence. Effie’s obsession with the spectacle and pageantry of the games prevents her from seeing their true nature, it allows her to ignore the ugliness and focus on the beauty (it could be argued that this is a form of detachment to protect her own psyche). That is her false consciousness. Another aspect that aligns Effie with the petite bourgeoisie is her disposability. Her role as the glamorous Capitol escort is not guaranteed, but Effie does not see that which enables the Capitol to further exploit her and her labor. This is not to say that her character is a faultless, innocent victim. She is not, though she is merely a cog in the machine, that cog still moves. Her role as an intermediary between the Capitol and the Districts allows the games to continue. Who would watch the games if there was no spectacle? No glamor or beauty? Why do you think Snow changed everything? As mentioned previously, although Effie fully embraces her role within the Capitol and swallows up every bit of Panem propaganda, that is not enough to save her from being imprisoned. Her loyalty to the regime does not spare her from its oppression. Reflective of how in our own capitalist society, “hard work” does not save you from poverty.

Through Katniss’s perspective in the novels, we do see her warm up to Effie despite her initial (completely understandable) disdain: “.....Haymitch, Peeta, and I are ignoring her, but she made a real effort for us. Now, I wish I had thanked her for that.” Effie may not have become a Capitol rebel like Plutarch or Cressida, but according to Katniss’s POV, she demonstrates a small change from the woman we meet at the 74th reaping, but it must be noted that this is only because she was personally affected by the Capitol due to her growing attachment to Katniss and Peeta. She does not change because she genuinely questions her role within her society. Despite this, I still like her character. She’s complex, she’s morally grey and I love making up headcanons about her. In a way, many of us who live in the imperial core (the West) are like Effie-simultaneously victims and oppressors. We may be oppressed by our capitalist governments, but our exploitation of the imperial periphery (the Global South) allows us to live comfortably in comparison. But the question remains: are you willing to challenge the propaganda of your youth? Or will you retreat back to your own Capitol bubble?

[m1ckeyb3rry]

My question is to the Minister for Nagi Seishiro and I ask— i finally remembered my question hahahah

What’s your thoughts on Nagi’s psychology and outlook in life?

The thoughts of him telling Reo “means you matter to your parents” is hitting me hard. Had me thinking of [redacted] but in a different hard-hitting context.

AHHHH HIII OKOKOK so idk this is probably an unpopular opinion because everyone likes taking nagi’s character at a very surface level but i think almost everything about nagi can be very easily explained if you think of him as someone who is very gifted but suffers from parental neglect

symptoms/signs of parental neglect:

image sources: [1], [2], [3]

there’s plenty of examples of nagi showing all of the symptoms i highlighted throughout the manga, epinagi, and his light novels, so i won’t add in screenshots because i’ll hit the image limit 😭 but it seems to me that while a lot of people headcanon nagi as not caring about anyone and wanting to be alone, that one line about how reo’s parents’s suffocating parenting style means they “care” about him, however misguided it may be, proves that he does want someone to love him and look after him, considering his own parents never really did so. it’s mentioned that he and his parents had a “friend-like” relationship but you can NOT have that kind of relationship with someone you are meant to raise!! (that doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly and supportive with your kids, but you need to be responsible for them in a way that friends aren’t so that they can grow up into well adjusted adults)

incidentally this is also why i like him and barou together and why i think nagi really shines around barou — barou’s probably one of if not THE first person to not only pay consistent attention to nagi but to do so in a way that sets and maintains boundaries (as in, not letting nagi get away with anything the way other characters do). it’s annoying to nagi in the way that getting yelled at by your parents for misbehaving is annoying to you in the moment, but at the end of the day it’s good for him and what he has been missing for much of his life

[wilcze-kudly]

What do you think of this?

https://www.tumblr.com/rifari2037/761435740681928704?source=share

Oh wow that's a lot of points. And it looks like the OP is living the cottagecore dream judging by all the cherrypicking and strawman building they're doing! Though I do think they make some good points, or at least they have the spirit. It's clear they're passionate about their ship and they want to defend it, which is understandable. I don't want this to come off as shading some random shipper, because I can respect their dedication and the gathering of references, even if they present points rather disingenuously and their use of references is incorrect.

1.

In their first point, OP calls upon the very obvious reference of La Pietà, particularly Michelangelo's statue of it, as basis of their opinion that Katara is presented as Aang's mother.

Now, Pietà is actually a term used to reference anything related to Mary mourning Jesus's death, so there are multiple statues and pieces of art depicting that biblical scene, however the most famous, and most refrenced one, is Michelangelo's statue, so much so that it had become synonymous with it.

While yes, the most obvious and straightforward interpretation of Pietà is a mother grieving her son, there are many other interpretations of it in fiction and art, due to how ancient the concept is.

One very obvious connection to be made is the similarity of Aang and Jesus. While atla is primarily based around non Christian media, the concept of a 'deity in a human body/human touched by god' suffering and dying to save humanity is hardly a novel concept. It just so happens that the Christian mythos is the most widespread iteration of this theme, with plenty of art and themes to reference.

La Pietà symbolises the death of a saviour, the destruction of a godlike deity by misguided humans. It shows us this deity's first and truest believer grieving their death.

The utilisation of a refrence to Jesus is also a nice reference to Aang's future revival, because that is also what happened to Jesus. The theme of rebirth is surprisingly prevalent in references to Pietà.

It's actually very interesting that this scene refrences Michelangelo's sculpture in particular, since one of the bigger controversies surrounding the statue at its time is how young Mary looked, much too young to be the mother of a 33 year old Jesus. Many believe that this depiction is meant to showcase Mary's purity, and some believe that this was a refrence to Dante's Divine Comedy, particularly a passage where Dante highlights not only Mary's role as Jesus' mother, but also her role as God's daughter and the spouse of the Holy Spirit (the Holy Trinity be weird like that). Presenting her as the pinnacle of human virtue.

This is an interesting angle, because (even though this concept eludes a large chunk of the fandom) Katara is young. She is a child. And she's also pretty damn virtuous. Throughout the show, Katara is compassionate, determined, hopeful, strong and a myriad of other things. She is who keeps the Gaang going in the Desert, she is the one who saves Aang, she shows compassion to the people of the Fire Nation. She represents and embodies the goodness and hope of humanity in a way many female characters can't.

If we're gonna refrence the Bible, we can compare Kataang to the Holy Spirit being so taken by Mary's virtue, to the point where an aspect of it becomes human like her, by her.

(Does this make Bumi II Jesus? Maybe)

Boiling this reference down to "momther" seems like a disservice to Katara, because Mary represents a whole lot more than just that too. Or maybe I'm just an ex Catholic from Poland which is like the seed of the Cult of Mary.Now, don't get me wrong, many of the aspects of Mary's story do have some icky undertones, but the concept of her in Christian mythos and in popculture has evolved extremely.

It's also important to note that atla isn't unique in referencing La Pietà, even for romantic couples. The statue was quite a big infulence on art, even without its symbolism, to the point where it's sometimes heralded as the start of a short time period named the High Renaissance (which sounds much more fun than it actually was. Alas, no weed in late 15th century Italy.) Many media used it as a shorthand for grief, loss and sorrow, utilising many different pairings. Yes, even romantic.

What, are we gonna say that the Batman and the Joker had a mother/son relationship now?

Pietà means 'pity' or 'compassion' in Italian and I think this perfectly sums up the essence of the theme, particularly in modern art. It is meant to invoke the viewer's compassion, our pity, our sorrow.

And the scene where Katara, a 14 year old child caught in a war, cradles the dead body of Aang, another child, who is burdened with the weight of being a godlike saviour, should evoke pity, should it not?

Also Op references that one interview where Bryke say that Kataang is like having a crush on a babysitter, which, if anyone has the link to the full interview, I'd appreciate it, because I wanna have the full context before I make a call. It could be a clumsy explanation of a trope, it could be taken out of context, etc. Op does not provide enough of the material for me to formulate a proper opinion.

2.

Op's second point is that they believe that Kataang anti's claim that Katara never had romantic feelings for Zuko and that Katara was like a sister to him. They provide the scene of Katara examining Zuko's scar as evidence of potential romantic feelings from Katara's side. As they say, it is unusual for Katara to inspect a wound so closely before proceeding to heal it. Now, I don't think Katara had any regular water with her in the catacombs, which may be an explanation.

And when we see Katara usually heal, it's because someone is dying/freshly wounded. Like you don't have to poke around in the bleeding lightning hole in Aang's back to go: huh maybe this needs medical attention. And in the cases of her using healing to reverse Jet's brainwashing there really wasn't anything to inspect.

Now as a professional burn scar haver, I can say that, especially in the first few years, a lot of doctors inspected my many scars by physical touch. This is, from my understanding (do forgive me for not remembering I was like a toddler) is to assess the damage to the skin, whether or not certain glands are working properly and regulating the skin, etc.

ButI guess next time I go to the dermatologist to have my scars examined and they inspect the burn on my hand they're actually tryna hold hands romantically. Good to know. I'm gonna get railed by so many doctors. 🥳

Another reason for Katara stalling could be because... well, she did bond with Zuko, but he still does have a history of being bad™️. Like as kind as girlie is, there probably was a bit of a "should I really use all my super special magic water on the guy who tried to kill me like a few months ago?" type of questioning there.

I believe the creators also mentioned that Katara did experiments on the spirit water and determined that it only works on people with a strong spiritual connection, so she may be pondering if the water would even work.

As for Zuko and Katara being sibling coded, I think it stems from Katara and Azula obviously being foils and the very blatant juxtaposition of the Fire Nation Royal Family and that of Katara and Sokka's.

These two families have very obvious similarities and their dynamics are often used as foils.

So it isn't a leap for people to put forth the idea that Katara embodies everything Zuko wanted Azula to be as a sister and longs to have the relationship Sokka and Katara want.

We don't see much of Katara and Zuko's interactions after they make up, but we do occasionally see her poking fun at him, not unlike she does with Sokka, but that is just an observation. The gaang banter between each other a lot. But the ending to the Last Agni Kai, where Katara literally heals the damage Azula made to Zuko also does solidify this point, at least symbolically.

3.

The Op claims that another anti Zutara take is that Zuko and Katara's elements do not mix and can't work well together, and prove it to be false by showing how well Zuko and Katara work in combat situations. And you know what? They have a point there! Zuko and Katara are very capable together and they are honestly incredibly fun to watch when they team up!

....and then OP slides their way into the false eqivalence fallacy, which is a habit they seem to pick up especially for the last 2 points.

OP brings up the 2023 film Elemental, to back up their point, however, instead of utilising the comparison of tropes, they substitute their point with simply describing the plot of the movie and making loose allusions to zutara as a ship.

When bringing up references, it's best to pick out common tropes/storylines/themes. For example, they picked out the symbolism of fire and water, which is an excellent first step. However, then they proceed to describe an event where the characters of the movie touch, creating steam, which, if they want to make this comparison, they need to connect somehow to Zutara.

I assume they wanted to imply that Zuko and Katara could also create something new by working together? However, they'd have to explain this comparison, because one of the predominant themes of Katara and Zuko's relationship is healing the old. The idea of healing Zuko's scar, the attempt at retribution for Kya, Zuko and Katara healing their relationship being symbolic of them healing the great pain the Fire Nation caused to the Water Tribe, etc.

Im not saying this comparison can't be made, I just want OP to elaborate because they just yeeted vague concepts at us and expected us to extrapolate.

Where the theme of creating something new lays more with Zuko and Aang's relationship, as Zuko describes in his coronation speech if I'm not mistaken.

I think Op could've pulled this comparison off if they'd gone more in depth, because there certainly is a proper comparison to be made. (I assume. I haven't watched Elemental. Op just presented their point poorly. They could've just lied to me I just want them to at least lie well).

4.

In the last point, OP attempts to debunk the claim that Zuko and Katara have no chemistry. And once again, I agree with them! I think Zuko and Katara have very good onscreen chemistry. Their banter is fun to watch, they work well in action scenes and their emotional scenes always hit pretty hard for me.

Whether or not this chemistry is romantic chemistry or not is left up to interpretation. Because when we talk about chemistry between characters, it can refer to things other than romance. It's, in generalisation, something that makes us care (for good or bad reasons) about a relationship between characters. For example, Katara has good chemistry with Sokka and Toph. But it isn't necessarily romantic chemistry (though I am a big Katoph truther).

Now the term chemistry has been mainly taken over by romance because we can't have nice things, so I don't blame OP for looking at this rather nebulous concept purely through the lense of romance.

Side note, I think OP mixed up IRL romantic chemistry and the different types on onscreen chemistry when pulling up a definition, but that's beside the point. But I'd perfer thek to specify exactly which type of chemistry they mean, like are we talking 'weird pickup artist chemistry' or 'these characters make me feel something chemistry'.

However, I think OP once again presents a very lacklustre example of this chemistry and utilises false equivalency to prove their point.

Instead of bringing up Zuko and Katara's actual chemistry, OP utilises a different movie as a crutch. They compare the ending of the movie Tangled, where Flynn Rider is injured and later healed by Rapunzel to the admittedly very similar scene of the last Agni Kai.

Where I can see where they're attempting to go with this, they're trying to point out romantic tropes that could be applied to Zuko and Katara's relationship, they kinda miss the mark?

They bring up a narrative, when the point is meant to be about chemistry. Where a good narrative and storyline can enhance chemistry, romantic chemistry is often more about character interactions.

As I pointed out previously, Zuko and Katara do have chemistry as characters. Whrm pointing this chemistry out, utilise the many similarities and mild differences of their ideals and personalities, point out where these differences clash and where their similarities intersect. Dissect their interactions, how they influence each other.

It may not force the reader to consider romance as much as building your argument around an established romantic couple like Flynn and Rapunzel would, but it will present your points genuinely and allow readers to slowly come around to your points instead of forcing the conclusion on them.

Going "oh pair A did this, and pair B did this too. Pair A is a romantic couple, therefore pair B is also a romantic couple" is literally comparing apples and oranges and proves very little.

I see what OP is trying to do and I appreciate the effort, and even agree with some of their points, to an extent. I would also like to know where they got a lot of these ideas about what zutara antis think because it doesn't really add up with what I have seen from this side of the fandom, but maybe I'm just not as invested as I used to be in the ship wars.

I also don't want to send any harassment towards OP, please.

From just reading their post, they seem rather young and other than the first point, their post consists purely of just pointing out tropes they enjoy and applying those tropes to a ship they like. Yes, they presented their points kinda clumsily but they were simply expressing their preferences and opinions.

Where they presented some of their points in a manner that was a bit disingenuous and leading, this is also not a crime. And I don't think they wanted to intentionally mislead people, just express their own thoughts without going too in depth with them. Which is fine too, we're all just screaming into the void here on tumblr.

As arguments for Zutara go, tqhis si probably the least egregious I've seen in a while. It's benign, just someone talking about their preferences and not being used to presebting their arguments in this form.

[vermutandherring]

"Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland" is a poem by the Ukrainian writer Lesya Ukrainka, written in 1893. When creating the poem, the writer notes facts that can't be found in the works of other writers (such as Walter Scott or Robert Burns) and somewhat intersperses certain historical facts to give the work a more heroic sound. Thus, highlighting the struggle of the Scottish people for their independence, Lesya Ukrainka draws a parallel with the Ukrainian people, who also suffer from oppression (at that time by the Russian Empire).

And perhaps I would never have paid attention to this work if it were not for the linocut of the Ukrainian graphic artist Heorhiy Malakov. I saw this very work in my childhood at my grandparents' country house. Looking at me from the wall of a half-darkened room, wrapped in the smell of dampness, this knight, unknown to me at the time, frightened me considerably (the glint on the lying glove always reminded me of a blade instead of a finger). It's interesting to watch how our childhood fears dissipate over time.

Night hike. Illustration for W. Scott's novel Quentin Durward, 1972.

Malakov was very fond of the theme of chivalry and piracy, often depicting courtly scenes, feasts, entertainment and various funny skits. He also made illustrations for Giovanni Boccaccio's Decameron, in the characters of which he reflected not only the cheerful mood of the stories themselves, but also his own life-loving nature.

Selling barrel. Based on the Decameron by J. Boccaccio, 1966.

I spent insane amount of time photoshopping cover picture, but the colors are still weird e_e

Game: The Sims 4 CC credits:

Horse: Knight Set by @objuct, reins are photoshopped.

Knight: Chainmail Coif by @simmiev2 | Generic City Guard Armor by @notsooldmadcatlady | Sherri Cape by MSSIMS | Shoulder pads from FF XIV Innocence set by plazasims

P.S. My inner 'designer' died on that cover picture.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Innata Malevolentia - Part Three (End)

Summary: She's managed to avoid him, but is she only delaying the inevitable? | Word Count: 4.3k ~ | warnings below the cut! please read, this is DD:DNE!

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Ettore Taglist

warnings: DD:DNE, rape, noncon, choking, injury, violence, threatening language and actions, hair pulling, spitting, vivid descriptions of sexual assault, suicidal thoughts, murderous intent, slapping, punching, blood

‘The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment when you know beyond any doubt that you've been betrayed: that some other human being has wished you that much evil’.

She read the passage over and over again, her fingers drifting across the torn page, curled and frayed from years of use.

Some other woman aboard the ship had read this book before it seemed, and found it necessary to highlight the passage with a soft pencil line underneath, as if she were not sure if she should be writing in the book at all.

Unsure.

She shut the book with force, not bothering to save her place. A kind of hot, poking fear prickling at the back of her neck like a spirit had entered the room and was looking right over her shoulder.

The other book she’d swiped from the Rec Room was no better at alleviating her worries.

The same woman, she surmised who had read the first, had also read this one too.

‘Why do men have to kill beautiful things?’

There was some irony in the sense that a ship, packed with a dozen prisoners, who had all done meaningfully and equally horrendous crimes, was also packed to the brim with dark books and crime novels.

Was she a beautiful thing? She asked herself.

She was a woman. That alone did not make her beautiful.

She had done unapologetically horrific, morbid things, all in service to satiate a mortal desire inside.

One she had felt when she’d pressed that scalpel to Ettore’s neck and pushed, watching the veins and arteries beneath throb with life.

It was a shameful thing to admit to herself, that she’d wanted to see that life blood coat her hands, just as they had done on Earth all those years before.

To compare herself to him, did her no favours. She was merely opening yet another argument inside of one. Who is inherently good, amongst murderers and rapists?

There was nobody good here.

They were made for this. Built to suffer.

And it was Dibs who had dared to introduce their sexuality into that suffering. And she didn’t know if she could ever forgive the old bitch for that.

When men like Ettore see a woman, they see a small, pliant, weak little thing. Something to be twisted and bent to his liking, in positions most favourable to him. A man that revelled and moaned at their displeasure, drinking it in like a life essence, as if he could not survive without it.

She didn’t doubt that there were many before, women who had the unfortunate chance to happen upon him. And if they were lucky, perhaps they didn’t make it out of his grasp. Perhaps he would bend them so irreparably, they’d just snap, mouth frozen, eyes all distant and still wet with unfallen tears.

She looked up to the empty spot where Mink used to occupy the space. Her bed made, and untouched for days since the couples were put together.

“I might as well try and have some fun out of it. Besides, Tchemy isn’t bad looking”.

Mink had said as she threw the few belongings she had into the spare blanket, wrapping them up to carry them easily.

She’d remembered being sat where she is now, listening to Mink talk about it like it was the most normal thing in the world. To tell the truth, it made her feel a bit sick.

Mink was leaving her, to join Tchemy in his cell.

Leaving her all alone. Without the female company she craved acting as some kind of protection.

But then again, she doubted that would have swayed Ettore one bit.

From her spot, she could hear Tchemy’s bed rattle against the wall, rhythmically, and the soft pants of hurried breaths punctuated through each little pat. She imagined Mink, pressing her lips together, trying to contain just how much she enjoyed it, wrapping her legs around the man who rutted into her from above, wordlessly asking for more.

She’d heard Mink moan his name, and it made her feel even worse.

As far as she knew, Boyse and Monte remained apart, completely upset with each other at the situation they’d been forced into.

Though Boyse liked Monte to an extent, as far as she could tell, it was a platonic sort of romance. Intrigue, perhaps more than anything. But nothing overtly sexual seemed to radiate off either of them.

She thought with a sense of dread, that if the situation had been different.

If Ettore hadn’t been Ettore.

That he ‘wouldn’t be bad looking’ either.

But he is Ettore.

And he was everything she ever feared he would be. But had yet to show his full, true, unwavering potential.

In the days that followed the announcement, and she didn’t entirely know how, she’d managed to steer clear of him. Avoiding him as if knowing his whereabouts before he even knew them himself.

The cell without Mink there felt shockingly empty, too quiet. And Dibs, as a sort of reward for participating in the fertility experiments, allowed the women involved to sleep unhindered. Yet, when she slept, she rubbed her wrists, as if she still felt tied down by them.

In a strange way she missed them. It represented a freedom before this.

But now if he did come in the night, which he didn’t, she would have been able to fight back.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bother.

It was too easy now.

Brutally, she almost wished he’d just do it, and get it over with. So that she didn’t have to suffer in anticipation.

It was late in the artificial evening by the time she and Boyse were almost finished with their shared duty for the day, prepping the kitchen for tomorrow’s breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was an arduous task, one that easily broke a sweat in both of them, but a nice distraction the hell the women shared with one another.

“Mink is enjoying it at least,” Boyse muttered.

She only hummed in response, while she busied herself stacking away the various pots and pans. Disinterested in the subject already, as if it had not been plaguing her mind everyday since.

“Monte and I tried last night”, Boyse confessed suddenly, her eyes looking very much like a scared girl. She was young. And it was only evident when she was afraid, just how tiny she was.

Boyse shrugged, “It’s not so bad…” she murmurs, unconvincingly, “...he’s nice about it”.

She struggles to see what the point of the conversation is.

Boyse starts, “Maybe with-”

“That maybe with Ettore it will be all cute, romantic and lovely?” she interrupts, her voice firm, “Have you been that blind to who he is this whole time? I know you’re not that stupid”.

The other woman has nothing to say to that.

And the silence stretches uncomfortably.

“It’ll happen eventually, you know…” Boyse remarks.

But she can only give a small, exhausted huff. Knowing that she was completely right.

If by the time their first examination came around, Dibs found out there was no sexual intercourse, it wouldn't take long for her to force them into a room together, and throw away the key.

She never imagined herself a mother.

Why would she, when she can hardly atone for her own actions?

What if they all got pregnant?

What would become of this floating prison then?

She'd told Boyse to go off early while she finished up labelling the portions for tomorrow's dinner.

But really, she just wanted some time to herself, and perhaps a nightly visit to the Box to tie things off.

The canteen was dark, a blue, unnatural light stretching across the linoleum floor, making the ship feel colder than it actually was.

She wondered where he might be right now. He was more often than not on maintenance, on the other side of the ship.

Far away.

But it was late. He was probably finished by now.

The hallways were darkened and empty as she made her way down the metal ladder towards the Box. Thinking about what she might do later tonight.

Maybe finish one of those books?

Maybe go out to the deck and watch the stars and planets disappear into the blackness of space?

Sometimes it calmed her.

Down where the Box was, there were no windows. A sense of privacy.

She was about to reach for the touch-activated button when-

Darkness.

Utter and complete nothingness.

So dark she could not even see her hand before her own face.

'Temporary electrical failure. Emergency oxygen has been activated. Please wait while power is restored'.

Harsh blue lights flashed for a second, illuminating the hallway for a brief moment, a loud, searing alarm accompanying it. Her eyes hurt from the intensity of it.

"Fucking piece of shit ship.." she murmured, using the brief light of the alarms to navigate her way through to the control panel in the maintenance cupboard.

She huffed with annoyance, that there was no emergency torch inside the maintenance cupboard to light her view. The flashing blue light would have to do.

She could barely think with the incessant booming noise.

And it all seemed to go quiet, her face going all pale.

The wires connecting the electrics to the mains, were missing. Deliberately.

Dread pooled in her stomach. And the resonant ringing of alarms were pulled back up to her ears, setting every nerve on edge, fear prickling the little hairs at the back of her neck.

Her breath felt hot in her chest, difficult to push up her throat.

She shuffled back, her back meeting the wall of the hallway in a state of shock. Every now and then her vision going black when the blue lights went down, now feeling significantly longer than a simple second.

Like a rabbit in the deep, dark bushes of a forest, her head whipped at the sound of movement over the intense alarming environment.

It took a moment to really see, as the lights made it feel almost nightmare-like. Sucking his figure into darkness to illuminate him again in his dark red prison garb. His light blue, but darkened eyes staring at her from under his brow.

His expression was stoic, fading into darkness. She expected him to approach slowly between periods of nothingness, like those horror movies she always used to watch on Earth.

But this was very real.

A very real horror in the form of a man.

Ettore dropped the wires onto the floor, his form looking significantly smaller on the other side of the hallway, mercifully far away.

Instinctually, she felt for the shape of the scalpel in her pocket, her senses set alight to find it wasn't there.

It was difficult to see the smug look on his face.

"Look at you. All soft and pretty, waiting for me to have my way with you. With that dumb look on your face".

She swallowed over the lump that formed, fear overtaking everything else, her legs primed to run.

"It would be a shame, if I took what I wanted without asking".

A shame.

But he would do it anyway.

She thought, if he was a true predator, he'd be able to hear her breath, feel the thrum of her beating, female heart, as if it were in the palm of his hand, squeezing savagely.

"Don't you think?"

She waited for it to go black before she broke into a run, hoping to at least make it to the deck, where she knew there'd be more chance of escape to the safety of her cell.

But did it really matter?

Navigating the hallways, though mostly straight and clear, was still difficult with the flashing of blue light and then inconceivable blackness.

The floors of the hallway or the bed of her cell?

Choose your poison, it's still killing you nonetheless.

And every time she shifted one leg before the other, she heard him running after her.

Getting closer.

He was much faster. Taller. With wider strides.

She crossed the deck, beneath the skylight, her laboured breathing burning-

Pain.

Blood?

She felt him tug at her hair, wrenching her head back first and then straight into the metal doorframe.

Was her vision fading? Or were those the lights?

Everything felt so blurry.

Was he talking?

The floor was cold against her face. The blood in her hairline where the fresh cut has sliced into her skin sliding warmly down the side of her face.

Her head throbbed.

Where am I?

A large hand pulled at her shoulder, turning her over onto her back. And she felt warmth on her legs where his broad body was straddling her, his head partially blocking off the cosmic light emitted from the skylight, making the blonde wisps of his hair light up in a half-halo.

For a moment everything was quiet.

She blinked slowly. Before fear and panic gripped at her senses, flinging her headlong into fight or flight.

She felt pitiful, pushing against his chest with all that remained of her strength, a small voice saying, "Get the fuck off me!"

Watching his face split into a grin in horror, Ettore took her wrists easily and twisted, loving the pained grunt she gave him in return as he slammed them to the floor, "You wanna be rough? Fine, let's do it properly then, shall we?"

Her vision spun violently when his fist cracked against her jaw once, sending her face flying to one side.

This time, she was sure she blacked out for a second.

Blood in her mouth, coating her teeth.

It was so cold.

Using her moment of vulnerability, Ettore huffed animalistically, out of breath from running, as he tore at the front of her shirt, splitting it in two and exposing her breasts. He took a handful of one and pinched spitefully at the flesh. The motion jolted her, and she moved her legs and hips in an attempt to get him off her.

"You made me do this" he uttered darkly, "you know I can't control myself".

No I don't. She thought with panic.

"You were asking for it".

No I wasn't. She thought with fear.

I never asked for this.

Consciousness rose in waves to the surface, strength slowly gaining. And she pushed her legs against him, her hips, anything to get him off her. She writhed beneath him, her lips etched into a frown as she tried to break free.

"Don't make me hurt you".

His words had no effect.

It felt like life or death.

She ripped one wrist free and slapped him harshly across the face, her nail dragging along his cheek, watching with tired pride as he grimaced.

Before his face set into a scowl again.

"Stupid worthless cunt", he punctuated it with a slap of his own, in the same spot he'd punched her previously. Nausea rolled in her gut at the pain, her eyes near rolling back as she struggled to keep herself afloat and conscious.

She felt hands all over her.

Under her ripped shirt, kneading her breasts in his calloused palms.

His knee anchoring her legs down as one hand ripped at her sweatpants to tear them off with a grunt.

Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat when she felt her core exposed to the chill of the air, and how he simply looked at it, growling like an animal.

"No…" was all she found the courage to say, "Stop…"

Her mouth felt so dry.

Ettore chuckled, "Stop?", he mocked, "you should be grateful I'm even doing this".

Grateful?

Her bleary, dazed eyes rolled around before landing on him. Watching as he knelt, looking down at her, pulling his sweatpants over his hips just enough to free his length.

He was aroused at the thought of hurting her.

One hand was wet with saliva, rubbing the artificial slickness over his length as the other pushed meanly against her folds, dryly prying them apart, introducing a searing, uncomfortable pain.

She felt blood in her eyebrow as she furrowed them both in anguish, trying to push herself on her back away from him as he touched her without care.

He huffed in annoyance when he found she wasn't wet in the slightest, as if he had expected her to be.

She fought the urge to gag when she saw him lean over and spit on her core, using the hand that was already there to smear his saliva over her.

The waves of pain tugged her lower.

So much so she could barely hear his voice.

Come on. Get up.

She tried, she really did.

Get up and fight him.

Writhing weakly beneath him, "Get…off…" she said firmly, through the wavering tones of agony.

She felt real, real fear when he leaned over her like a big, broad shadow, and pressed his palm against her neck, his fingers tightening against her flesh with the veins flexing.

"Shut the fuck up and take it".

Her lips parted to gather air.

Air that wouldn't pass into her lungs.

I'm going to die.

She gasped and swallowed for oxygen, tears covering her eyes as she felt his knee prop her limp legs apart.

"This is what happens to women who don't know their fucking place" he hissed in her face meanly.

She felt she truly wanted to die, when she felt the head of his cock part her folds and push into her dryly, brutally. Her walls tight, trying to push him out. He only let out a sigh, warm against her face. Too soft for the horrendous crime he was committing on her body.

If his hand hadn't been clamped on her throat, she would've screamed.

His face showed no pleasure in the intermittent blue light of the alarms. And it was only here she realised they were still sounding, as her consciousness was constantly being ripped from her.

She winced in torment, as he reached the end of her, splitting her open painfully on his length. His body was against hers, holding her down, pushed to the hilt inside of her and tearing up her insides, causing the faintest bit of blood to wet his length inside of her.

The air was getting thin in her head.

Just kill me.

Just a little more, and I will be dead.

But instinctually, as he let go to sit back on his haunches, her body took a deep breath in, filling her lungs again. Her throat, sore and battered, felt like fire as she coughed weakly.

No.

A tear was stinging her cheek where he'd punched her, now blooming with an early bruise.

It was only now he looked like he was enjoying himself. His cock dragging ruthlessly in and out of her, igniting the pain in a new place. He fucked into her quickly and without care of her mewls of pain, bullying the end of her like he wanted to impale her.

Like he wanted to kill her.

She watched his face briefly light up with blue as he looked down to where he'd split her open, her sex still trying to reject his assault with every harsh smack inside.

Realising her own body was denying him, he pressed harder against her, only to smirk at hearing her heightening volume of protests.

She felt as if every hard and dry journey inside of her, that he was taking a little bit of her away with him. Felt her heart breaking with little shards peeling off.

Fire licked between her legs, up her spine, fuelling the burning migraine.

"You like that, don't you? Bet you've been waiting for me - oh fuck -" his moans were staggered, " - nothing but a fucking piece of meat - my little fuck toy -"

He laughed when she winced with her voice and body at the hard thrust he gave at the punctuation.

"Stop…" she pleaded weakly, though she was confident he wouldn't listen, "...hurts…"

He leaned forward, his palm pressed harshly against her abdomen, to feel himself rutting inside her, forcing her walls open around his length.

He grinned widely.

"Stop? Hurts?" he mocked in a high tone, "Yeah, I can feel your blood soaking my cock".

She could've sobbed, if her throat weren't so sore.

Her head lolled back, thudding against the linoleum with every shift of his hips driving his cock into her. She felt tears coat her vision, darkness creeping in.

His hands clamoured at her. Hips. Breasts. Neck.

But she didn't feel it anymore.

There was a numbness.

Instead, she stared up at the skylight, above where Ettore's head rhythmically moved with pleasure. His chiselled features illuminated every now and then when he tipped his head back and moaned loudly over the sound of sirens. The tattoo on his neck stretched and rippled like a puzzle.

The universe watched back.

The universe. The blackness. The void. Watched her assault.

And she thought with pain, that she wanted to be out there. Floating around mindlessly. With no air in her lungs to breathe. No effort.

She could put herself out of the airlock if she wanted to.

It was tempting.

She watched the stars and planets fold in on themselves while her body and breasts jolted with Ettore's assault. He didn't even try to touch her in a way that would bring any pleasure. He didn't care.

All he saw was a hole that needed to be filled.

He tapped her cheek. And then grabbed her face harshly. His fingers smeared the blood over her face.

"Come on now, stay with me" he cooed falsely, "I want you to feel it".

But she didn't move.

Not a single inch.

She thought of Earth.

The vast fields in her hometown.

Her family.

Going out on a Friday night to the pub with her friends.

Was today Friday?

Is that what they were doing right now?

Were they stood outside the pub, passing a cigarette around, drunkenly laughing and pink in the face from the chill of the breeze.

Did they think of her?

His thrusts began to increase in both strength and speed as he neared his end. Her eyes planted on the skylight still.

Did they even remember her?

I'm right here.

Help me.

She fought the urge to gag as he used her hips to pull her onto him repeatedly, his breath quickening in the telltale way.

He pushed himself as far inside her as he could go, fucking sloppily into her as blood streaked his length.

And with a long, loud grunt, he stilled and went all rigid.

And the warmth at the end of her made her want to die right there.

The blood in her eyebrow had now begun to slide down her face, her head throbbing still. Pupils shaking.

Ettore's eyes were screwed shut, looking more so in pain than pleasure as he emptied himself inside her. Thrusting shallowly with a loud squelch, pushing his cum deep, moulding her insides to the shape of him. Prolonging his selfish pleasure.

You could beat me to death. So just do it.

Kill me so I don't have to feel like this.

She couldn't help the little sound she let out when he pulled out of her. Though he was now only half hard, the feeling of his cock reigniting the pain through her sensitive walls had her arch her back to get away from him.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her. Every now and then to his hands, the tips of his fingers painted with blood. His blue eyes flitting from her brutalised core, to her face, which showed nothing.

There was nothing.

Did I deserve this?

She felt only a dull sense of shame as his cum leaked out of her. And the thought of one day being pregnant, perhaps as a result of this, felt devastating.

She thought, she wanted to make him feel every inch of what she'd felt.

There was something inside missing now.

As if with every thrust, he had pushed something out of her, to make room for him. And those bits she'd lost, she could never get back.

All she could hear was her breath, weak and shuddered.

It wasn't clear exactly when Ettore stood up to leave.

But after pulling himself from her, he didn't touch her.

There was only the artificial warmth of the cosmos to warm her cold, numb body. Looking down at the ripped and torn human shaped entity that was once a living, breathing woman.

'But who can remember pain, once it's over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see'.

Maybe that book was right.

The alarms stopped, and darkness descended once again.

She felt the blood and cum on her inner thighs begin to dry.

How long have I been here?

Her clothes were falling off her as she crawled over to the doorway, using the frame to pull herself onto her shaky feet, a deep, stabbing pain thrumming through her core.

A trail of blood was all she left behind on the floor.

Unlike his other victims, he couldn't just kill her to get her to shut up. Or do it so she'd be out the way, and wouldn't tell anyone.

She was stuck here, with him, to face the truth of his actions.

Perhaps that's why he'd been so quiet after. That realisation that she was a dangerous person as well when prodded.

Her body ached as she reached the haven of the showers, wanting all proof and memory of his touch off her sooner rather than later.

It was a challenge removing her clothes, her joints rolling uncomfortably from the hardness of the floor against her back.

Even the warm flow of water onto her naked skin couldn't cleanse her of what she felt. The bruises around her neck, her hips, her back and the torn apart agony she felt inside her, wouldn't subside quickly.

No tears.

No crying.

There was just nothing.

Hair damp around her shoulders, and new clothes freshly sticking to her tacky skin, she took calculated steps through the hall, the blue light setting dread in her stomach.

She clutched the knife in her hand like she was born to it, moulded to her skin, and as if she wanted to put all the suffering she'd felt into keeping it close to her.

Ettore slept on his back, chest rising and falling steadily with sleep. Half of his naked torso covered by the sheets.

The first thought she had was, how can he sleep?

Does he not know how he has changed me?

What he's created.

She thought, that he was like a child, taking what he wanted without bothering or even thinking about the repercussions. Snatching the sense of autonomy from the women he came across as easy as swiping the possessions from someone's pocket.

That he must have been either broken to the point of emptiness or simply evil.

But now, broken by him, inside and out, she could not find it in herself to have a slither of empathy for him, warranted or not.

He deserved this.

The blade twisted in her fingers, her eyes roaming him wondering where would be best to kill him the quickest.

An artery somewhere.

Bleed out.

She didn't flinch as his blue eyes opened softly, looking right at her, sensing another heartbeat in the room with him.

Look at me.

Look at what you have made.

He blinked down at the knife, and then back up to her.

And had the indecency to smirk.

Quotes: The Handmaid’s Tale & We are All the Same in the Dark

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Ettore Taglist (1): @bellaisasleep | @iamavailablesstuff | @the-common-cowgirl | @theroyaldixon

[shyvioletcat]

Rowaelin Month Day 2: Idiots in Love

When I think of idiots in loveI really do think of this au. And the idiocy really comes out in this. If you remember that fic idea I floated about not writing but then decided to write anyway *wink* it’s this one. CW: smut

~~~~~

Rowan reclined in Aelin’s bed, reading over the latest email Fenrys had sent him. His newest book was days away from being on the shelves and that meant the promotional bullshit was about to pick up in a big way. First and foremost was the book tour Rowan was leaving for in three days. There was a list full of times, flights and locations Rowan needed to be aware of. He’d handed over all the social media stuff for pre-release, knowing it was essential for good sales and all that, but besides a few prerecorded reels Rowan wasn’t a keen participant. Book tours were another beast entirely, in person he’d have no choice but to interact. It would be all kinds of exhausting.

For a good few months he would be touring cities across continents, talking about and signing his books. It was starting locally but then he’d be flying to Rifthold, then over to Wendlyn. He had never liked the public side of things, but for the sake of his success he suffered through it. Conventions had been fine because it usually came with a few rounds of verbal sparring with Aelin—which was always a highlight. The travel and time away had always been a non-issue, Rowan had never been overly attached to one place. Because previously he’d been single and unhappy, and the change in scenery had offered him mild excitement. This time was different. This time he was leaving Aelin behind.

Aelin had her own schedule to keep. She was in the thick of writing her next novel and her turn-in deadline was approaching. The best she could do was visit him for a weekend here and there. Other than that they were spending most of the next three months apart. Rowan hated that, he was so in love with her, and borderline obsessed in the most healthy way. Even a few days away from her was hard as it is. The prospect of it being months was torture.

The source of his travelling anguish appeared in the doorway, hands behind her back and a scheming look on her face. Aelin was dressed in one of his shirts, her new favourite attire, but he noted that she’d done her hair and makeup. Odd, because they had no plans on going out today. She already had a collection of shirts in her drawers but always seemed to take another when she visited his townhouse. Rowan might have to buy more before he left on his trip because he didn’t like his chances of getting them back.

“What are you up to?” He asked, discarding his phone on the bed.

Aelin’s smile turned a little more wicked and she took a step into her bedroom, rocking playfully on her feet. “I’ve had an idea.”

”Yeah?” Rowan asked cautiously. There was something afoot here, and he had no idea what it was.

“I’ll miss you while you’re gone.” Another step. “I think I’ve found something to ease the pain of it.”

Rowan hesitated as he tried to figure out what it might be—he came up blank. “How so?”

Biting her lip Aelin presented her prize from behind her back. It was a cylinder and Rowan tilted his head to read the writing along the label. His stomach dropped when the words registered in his brain.

Clone-a-Willy.

“No.” The protest came out immediately.

Aelin’s face fell in disappointment. “Why not?”

“I am not putting my—” the thought was abhorrent. “I’m not putting myself in that.”

“You don’t even know how it works,” Aelin whined, sitting on the foot of the bed.

“I don’t need to know, I can guess and it can’t be good,” Rowan said.

Aelin sighed, rolling the abomination over her palms. “Come on, Rowan. I read a bunch of reviews and it doesn’t seem that bad. Please, for me. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m still very sceptical and not willing,” Rowan hedged.

His ever persistent girlfriend only sighed, yanked the lid off the tube with a pop, and tipped contents out onto the bed. There were two tubs of something—one bright green—a thing that looked like a tube of lipstick, a thermometer, a small wooden stick and some kind of cloth. Aelin picked up the folded booklet which was no doubt the instructions, glancing through them before handing them over.

“See, nothing to it,” she assured him.

Shooting her a disbelieving glare he took the instructions and started reading. Aelin might be confident, but Rowan was not. With each line he read that little scrap of confidence hidden somewhere inside him dissipated a little more.

Measure and cut the tube, mix the mould solution, stick penis into the tube, wait at least two minutes before removing.

“Aelin—”

“I’m begging you, Rowan,” Aelin interrupted, giving him her best doe-eyed expression. “I promise to make your cooperation worthwhile.”

He looked at his girlfriend’s face and the myriad of sinful things she promised there. Two minutes. He would suffer for two minutes and then who knew what his rewards might be. Rowan was considering it, and Aelin was quick to swoop in when she saw him wavering.

“It’ll be fun,” she said cheerfully, then rectified when he shot her a look full of doubt. “I mean, it’ll be something fun for me. Keep you in my thoughts while you’re away.”

Rowan scoffed. “When you put it that way.”

Aelin patted his arm. “Just remember, lots of rewards for you.”

She played dirty, climbing over him, encouraging him to lie back and kissing him. It was a heady and dirty kind of kiss, full of salacious promises. She pressed her body against him, grinding on his lap while her tongue flicked at the inside of his mouth. Rowan was already half hard when she pulled back.

“Please,” she whispered, kissing him again.

Rowan’s hands were tight on her hips, his head dropping back as he groaned. He always found it so hard to deny her. “Fine.”

Aelin sat up, squealing as she clapped her hands in utter delight. A moment later she was off him and dashing out the bedroom door. He heard the thudding of footsteps and a cupboard opening, and then Aelin was back, a towel and a bowl in her hands.

“First reward you get right now.”

Rowan was about to ask what it was when Aelin simply grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Underneath she wore a golden lacy lingerie set.

“This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, then?” Rowan said, eyes roving, taking in every detail. “And you knew I’d say yes.”

“When do you ever say no?” Aelin stated matter of factly, adding her new supplies to the pile and kneeling on the bed. “All right loverboy, clothes off.”

Arguing would get him nowhere, so he did as he was commanded. Shirt first, and then his sweatpants. When he was done, Aelin threw the towel over to him.

“Put this under you, don’t want to ruin my bedding,” she explained. “That one is covered in bleach stains, I don’t mind the sacrifice.”

Aelin picked up the instructions again, and while she read Rowan took the opportunity to enjoy the view. The rich gold of the set was a lovely contrast against the sun kissed tan of her skin. The briefs sat high on her hips, all lace except for a satin panel at the front. The bra had two thin decorative straps that ran over the top of her cleavage, meeting in the middle. It was longer and covered more of her torso than some of her other pieces, but it was just as sexy. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her—or his lips. The best he could do right now was resting a hand on her thigh, drawing idle patterns while she concentrated. When she shivered it took a lot of restraint not to take it further up her thigh.

“Step one, we need to trim the tube,” Aelin declared.

“Please tell me that’s not a euphemism,” Rowan muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and those nerves started to return.

Aelin snorted, but then picked up the clear tube that everything in the kit had come in. “No, we need to make sure this is the right size and you need to be hard. Do you want to do the honours, or shall I?”

Never one to miss the opportunity to have his girlfriend’s hands on him, Rowan chose the latter. “You.”

The makeout and seeing Aelin in her new get up still had him half hard. It wouldn’t take much for him to get all the way there. Aelin smiled, crawling back over him. Her hands tickled up his thighs, not deterring from their goal though. Rowan held his breath as her hand closed around him, pumping slowly. Aelin’s tits looked amazing from this angle, hanging heavy against the lace. Unable to keep from touching her, Rowan’s hand made its own journey, starting at her ass, heavy with enough pressure to have her body bowing closer to him. His fingers threaded in her loose hair, urging her down for a kiss. All the while she kept pumping him, his cock thickening with every pass.

“Feels so fucking good,” Rowan groaned.

“You there?” Aelin whispered onto his lips.

When Rowan nodded she was gone a second later, that godsdamned instructions back in her hand. Then she picked up the tube and a marker and held it next to his hard cock. Marking a line she then cut it with a pair of scissors that game from gods knew where. She really had come prepared. Aelin nodded at her handiwork and smiled to herself. Then she was up, ready to take on the next step.

“Time for the mould that I’ll mix in the bathroom. And put this on.” This time it was a little tub that Aelin threw at him, beige with a blue lid. “It will stop any hair getting, ah… caught.”

“What?” Rowan spluttered, but Aelin was already gone.

She was headed into the bathroom, bowl and a few pieces from the kit in hand, and that gave Rowan a chance to admire the outfit from behind. Turns out it wasn’t a full thong, triangles of lace hugged the curve of her ass. And he had thought it couldn’t get any better. Rowan heard the water start running and guessed he should do his part. He pulled the lid off the tub of Vaseline and smoothed a decent amount over and around his erection. Only a few minutes later Aelin was out of the bathroom, the tube full of the moulding liquid.

“Sit up and let’s do this,” she said with determined excitement.

Rowan sat up, making sure to keep the towel under him. Aelin was eager as anything as she stood in front of him. “First, this.” She rolled a rubber cock ring down the length of him. “I read that it lessens the mess.”

“Did your research, did you?” His voice was tight as Aelin played with him once she was done.

“Absolutely. These are high stakes. You ready for the fun part?” She ended her question with a squeeze.

Rowan groaned. “I think you and I have a different definition of fun.”

“Don’t be a baby, you’ve come this far,” Aelin said, hiding her amusement very poorly.

“So, what? I just stick it in?”

She nodded. “That’s what the instructions say. Ready?”

It was now or never. Aelin pumped him again, just to help him recover while they had their discussion. Rowan was feeling nervous, and to give him some resolve he looked over Aelin again, reminding himself that he just needed to last two minutes and then the real fun could begin.

Closing his eyes, Rowan bit the bullet. “Just do it.”

Any hesitancy Rowan felt, Aelin outweighed it by ten fold with her resolve. She went for it, taking his dick in her hand and angling it right before sliding him in. It was cold and slimy, and felt disgusting. But he just kept sliding in until the end of the tube met the cock ring.

“Set timer, two minutes,” Aelin said.

Opening his eyes Rowan saw her drop the phone on the bed. Aelin was smiling like she was having the best time, curious eyes watching the tube that was encasing his dick. Contemplating that had him visibly cringing.

“No! You have to stay hard or this won’t work,” Aelin said in a panic, no doubt seeing the look on his face. “What can I do?”

Rowan’s brain scrambled for a second, trying to find something. “Talk to me, touch me. The best you can anyway.”

“It’s so fucking hot you doing this for me,” Aelin said, her voice sultry, not wasting any time and cutting right to the chase. “I love your cock so much, I know it won’t be anything like the real thing though.”

It was working, but he needed more. An idea struck him and he took hold of the tube. “I got this, you get up here.”

He lay back and it took a second for Aelin to catch on to what he meant. She crawled up the bed, her knees resting above Rowan’s shoulders. As Aelin used the headboard to hover over his face, Rowan used his free hand to pull her underwear to the side, baring her sex.

“Keep talking, Aelin. Tell me what you’re going to do while I’m away and you’re here without me,” Rowan said, then he was on her.

Aelin moaned loudly as his tongue played with her clit, her hips dropping lower. That sound was enough to have his mind ignoring the discomfort around his dick, so he did it again, and again, just to hear how much Aelin loved what he was doing. Rowan hummed, and that had Aelin gasping, hips rolling over his mouth.

Pressing a chaste kiss to where she was most sensitive Rowan said, “I can’t hear you Aelin.”

“Fuck, Rowan,” she sighed. “I’ll use it every night, thinking of you.”

Rowan hummed again, encouragingly, urging her to keep going.

“I’ll think of you, how big you are,” each word was laboured, like it was a struggle to get the words out and keep her mind straight. “How perfect you feel inside me.”

“More, Aelin,” Rowan growled on her clit,

The moan of pleasure Aelin let out told Rowan she was close to breaking. Having her ride his face was utterly distracting and his sole goal now was to make her come. A beeping went off—Aelin’s phone—but there was no way he was stopping now.

“I’ll fuck myself with it,” Aelin manged through her heavy panting, her voice shaking and much as her body was. “Just like you do, so deep. It won’t feel as perfect as you, but I’ll be thinking of you every second.”

Rowan sucked, then rolled his tongue over that bundle over nerves and that was all it took. Aelin’s moan was closer to a scream, her hips undulating with each pulsing wave of her orgasm. Rowan kept up his ministrations until Aelin all but fell away from him, a panting mess on the bed beside him. Through heavy lidded eyes, she glanced at him, and a second later she was rolling over and kissing him. Aelin hummed as Rowan ran his hands over her body until her brain cleared enough that she stopped her phone beeping.

“That was certainly one way to pass the time,” she said playfully. “Should we see how our little experiment went?”

Rowan snorted, his attention redirected to the particularly uncomfortable situation he was experiencing. “I wouldn’t call it little.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Aelin replied as she straddled his thighs.

That made Rowan laugh, laying back on the bed so Aelin could get this done with and he’d be free. He’d done his part, gone along with his girlfriend’s whim and suffered through the discomfort. Now he was ready for it to be over. He felt a tug on his dick, not one that felt particularly great. Then another one. On the third the mould still wasn’t budging. Rowan raised his head a fraction and looked down to see Aelin peering at the white filled tube sticking straight up in the air.

“What?”

Aelin cleared her throat, looking no less beautiful in her get up as she bit her lip. “It’s stuck.”

Immediately Rowan reached down and gave it a tug himself. Oh fucking gods it did not move. Rowan’s heart was pounding and he was sweating. This was not happening.

“This was a stupid idea,” Rowan said. He twisted the mould but the only thing he succeeded in was hurting himself. “Did we leave it on for too long?”

“You’re fine, you big baby.” Aelin was trying to play it off but he could still hear the slight nervousness to her tone.

“You should have got a bigger size,” Rowan all but groaned.

There was an ill disguised snort from Aelin. “This was the biggest size.”

Despair was taking him. This was what hell was like.

Meanwhile, Aelin was trying again, and his dick—the stupid appendage that it was—couldn’t figure out that this was not the time to be getting turned on by her touch. It didn’t help that she looked like a literal goddess kneeling over him.

“Stop touching it, you’re making it worse!”

This time Aelin outright laughed. “I never thought I’d hear those words.”

Rowan rubbed his hands over his face. “Aelin, please. I was doing this for you and now neither of us will have my dick.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Aelin said, and for some unknown reason thought it was a good idea to rub a soothing hand over his stomach. His traitorous dick twitched in response, the weight of the godsdamned mould a strange sensation.

“You’ve ruined it, it’s useless,” Rowan bemoaned.

“I stand by my previous statement,” Aelin said. When Rowan raised his head up enough to shoot her a baleful glare she lifted her hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you, I can see my presence is not helping.”

Rowan closed his eyes and felt the bed dip as Aelin left. With the reason for his current predicament gone, Rowan turned his thoughts to the unsexiest things he could conjure up. Getting stuck in traffic, the smell of overripe bananas, that time Lorcan got an infection in his big toenail. Rowan pictured all those things and tried to keep his breathing calm. He needed the adrenaline rush to wear off, not just from his panic but from giving Aelin head. That was the wrong thought to stray to, now Rowan had to think of even more gross things.

It took a while but his heart beat started to slow and he wasn’t sweating anymore. Rowan had never felt such immense relief when he felt the weight of the plaster filled tube dip as his dick finally decided to syphon off some of the blood flow. As soon as it fully landed on his stomach Rowan went to pull it off. There was some residence, but with some slight twisting he was free.

“Thank you Mala,” Rowan sighed in relief.

Curiosity got the better of him and he looked inside. He couldn’t particularly see much except a dick shaped hole. The temptation to throw it across the room was strong, just for the spite of it. Rowan really had seen his life flash before his eyes.

“Still in one piece, I see.”

Aelin had appeared in the doorway, her gold clad body leaning on the frame, like nothing had gone amiss.

“You owe me,” Rowan said, dropping the cloning mould on the bed. He’d be happy to never see it again.

With a grin Aelin retrieved it. “We’re established that. Go have a shower and I’ll finish this off.”

Rowan wasn’t going to argue with that. He left Aelin to do whatever the next heinous step was and went into the ensuite. This shower was much nicer than his and the taps rotated so much smoother. It wasn’t long before he found the perfect temperature and stepped under, letting the pounding water pressure Aelin was so proud of wash away any remnants feelings of his discomfort.

The shower did him good—Rowan cooled down in more ways than one. After getting over the shock of getting his dick stuck in a plastic tube he could see the merit in Aelin’s plan, for her at least. He’d be gone for months and she would be alone while she wrote. It was unlikely that they would get much time to see each other in person. It would be phone calls and video chats. Rowan wouldn’t be touching her body, wouldn’t be able to feel her. Gods knew it would be torture. Could he blame her for taking a more creative initiative?

Rowan turned the water off, not wanting to waste any more of the limited time he had left with Aelin before he had to leave. Dressed in nothing but a towel, he found Aelin lounging in bed, still wearing that set that had kept him hard through his ordeal. All evidence of the cloning fiasco was gone, something he was very glad of. Aelin looked stunning, that self satisfied smirk only enhancing her already beautiful face. She was a menace, but she was his menace.

Already Rowan’s body was reacting, he could feel the fabric of the towel brushing against his cock as it hardened. It took a moment for Aelin to notice him, her eyes drinking in the expanse of his bare chest.

She sat up, leaning on one hand so her golden hair cascading over her shoulder. “Am I forgiven yet?”

Rowan untucked the towel and let it fall away, watching as Aelin’s eyes flared with desire. He crawled over to her, Aelin drifting towards the bed as crept up her body. She was waiting for him to take what he needed, so patient even though Rowan knew she wanted this just as much as he did.

“I have a feeling I will be,” Rowan said, voice low and he loved seeing the way his words made Aelin shiver.

In the end, Rowan decided that he had suffered enough today and he wasn’t going to prolong it any further. His hand started on Aelin’s neck, then traced a path lower, covering her breast before it tightened there. Aelin’s mouth opened on a silent moan, her body arching towards him. Rowan dropped his mouth to her other breast, teasing her through the fabric. Aelin sighed, her hands tight in his hair.

Any other time Rowan might have drawn this out—played Aelin’s body perfectly until she was sighing his name over and over again. But today, Rowan found he didn’t have the patience. He reached under Aelin’s body and unclasped her bra, then he was helping her out of his underwear.

“Roll over for me, Aelin,” he said onto the skin right over her heart.

With a coy smile, Aelin did as he requested. Rowan ran a hand down the length of her back, and then up, brushing golden tresses out of the way. Then he lent over Aelin's body, kissing her shoulder and neck, teeth grazing as he went.

“Are you ready for me?”

Aelin nodded but Rowan decided to investigate for himself. Dragging his hand between her body and the sheets, he touched his way down until his thumb brushed over Aelin’s clit. She moaned, her hands fisting in the sheets. Just going a little bit lower Rowan found the evidence he sought.

“You are. Aren’t you,” Rowan growled, a finger dipping inside. “So wet, so ready to take me.”

“Oh, fuck. Rowan.” Aelin all but moaned his name. “Yes, gods yes.”

Just for a few indulgent moments Rowan teased, easing in out, applying pressure to places that had Aelin gasping. His cock twitched with every sound, getting almost painfully hard. That didn't seem fair after everything Rowan had been through in the last half hour, and Aelin seemed to think so too. She reached under the pillow in front of her and held up the condom between two fingers.

No hesitation and it was only moments before Rowan was ready and lining himself up. Aelin was eager, bracing herself on her elbows and pressing back.

“Come on, Rowan. I know you want to,” Aelin taunted, her voice husky, betraying how far gone she was.

“Anything for you,” Rowan promised and slid in.

Their moans filled the room as Rowan sank as far as he could go. He had one on her hip and the other was at the base of Aelin’s neck, tangling in her hair. After that it was too easy to fall into the rhythm that he knew would have them desperate for release. With each flex of his hips he could feel Aelin coiling tighter and tighter, every moan sharp and wanton. Rowan wasn’t quiet either, groaning as he felt her inner wall flutter around him, begging him for more. And Rowan gave it, he kept going until Aelin was screaming his name, her body going taught before she came, her hips dragging her over his cock relentlessly enough that it had him following right after.

Aelin went limp once they stilled, falling to the mattress completely when Rowan pulled out. He dealt with the condom and was back moments later, pulling Aelin into his arms. She sighed as she settled on his chest and Rowan kissed her head.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said sadly. “My home will be lonely without you.”

Rowan was quiet for a moment, a thought weaving through his mind. He was hesitant to voice it, but the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

“What if it doesn’t have to be?”

Aelin propped herself up so she could look at him, expression confused. “What?”

“What I mean is,” Rowan reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Aelin’s ear. “How about when I get back, I move in.”

“You mean it?” Aelin asked, eyes bright.

“I mean yeah, unless you want to move into my place,” Rowan shrugged.

Aelin lent her cheek on his chest, her smile beaming up at him. “Nah, my place is better. But you can definitely bring your library ladder though.”

Rowan laughed and lent down to kiss his wickedly funny girlfriend. She met him halfway, her hand cradling his cheek.

“If we learnt anything from today,” Rowan said, pulling back just enough so their lips still brushed. “Your wish is my command.”

~~~~~

I laughed so hard reading this one. Thanks for reading!

Tagging @rowaelinscourt

[cocktailjjrs]

So......

Since I've been suffering with these angsty thoughts... i though i would invite you all suffer with me...

It's about Chuuya...

I was doing some research for my fic (mainly going through bsd novels, blogs, tags and all) and came across this one Insta post in passing (sorry, i don't remember the name).

It was about BSD's cycles.

First, cycle of abuse, going from Mori-Dazai-Aku-Kyouka

and Second of rescue, going from Natsume-Oda-Dazai-Atsushi-Kyouka.

And then they highlighted a third category, the one's who are not saved - including Chuuya, Aku and Q.

At that point i didn't think much about it, just another post while scrolling Insta.

But now it's keeps bothering me, a constant reminder, whenever i read something BSD.

And It's so heart wrenching.

It also hit me, Q and Aku can still be saved.

Q, while we don't exactly know where they are right now, there is a chance of them getting their own arc, backstory and then being saved.

Aku, while still in Mafia, his partnership with Atsushi is his saving grace already. He is making an effort to not kill, just for their deal/bet. By the end of it all, he will be in a better place than he is now.

But Chuuya. (Spoiler's for light novel's if you haven't read them)

I remember very clearly, when in Stormbringer (don't ask me why i remember this byheart), when Murase dies Chuuya says, "Hey Detective, Weren’t you gonna arrest me?! Weren’t you gonna bring me into the world of light"

Don't get me wrong, I still believe Chuuya belongs to Port Mafia, the darkness suits him better than light.

But that does not mean he never wanted to get out of that darkness. This one instance in SB was proof enough. Makes me wonder, if things had gone even slightly differently, would he be in a better place than he is now? Is there still a chance?

What's even more tragic is that after the whole SB thing, no one seemed stick around enough to help him fight his own demons.

And he definitely has MASSIVE DEMONS.

His whole life seems to be one catastrophe after another! Don't believe me?

His first group, whom he called friends, betrayed him. Classic stabbed by poisonous knife in the back.

Hardly a year later, his second friends group, Flags, was killed by an emotionally unstable man-child seeking validation, insisting on calling him brother.

He went through a horrid ordeal, having to learn he was a lab experiment, seeing your clone vaporise to nothing but bones in your own arms, having to fight those same bones. And as if this was not enough, then fighting the monstrosity of a singularity and in process loosing the only chance to determine your humanity. (Actually whole of SB is dreadful, i don't think it'll ever get worse than that - i really hope it doesn't)

Then, given by the timeline, another year later, his third group of friends was killed by Shibusawa.

And again a year later - his partner, who brought him in all this madness, just fucking leaves without a word. This is the least tragic thing that has happened to the boy, i swear.

And I'm sure it didn't end there.

There must have been so many things going on behind the scenes in those missing years, hell even after the series began, Chuuya has been out of scene because something or the other was going on.

Now you have Fyodor fucking shit up for no apparent reason. With this shitshow, many mafia men, some of whom Chuuya might have developed a relation, are definitely dead. Not to mention the mental gymnastics going to trying to at least be on the same fucking chapter as the two geniuses.

AND ALL OF THIS IS JUST IN THE CURRENT TIMELINE. Don't get me started on BEAST VERSE!!! (That's a can of worms I'm really not ready to open at this point)

The thing with Mentally strong individuals is, they have abnormally high emotional intelligence, they are unnaturally resilient, they can compartmentalize their grief, they empathise with great deal of people, think rationally at any given point and think of ways to make things better.

What many people fail to understand is that no one is born Mentally strong, it's the circumstances that make them as such.

It can happen even through small things.

No one being there for you to express your deepest fears. No one just listening to you, even if they have a solution to your problem. Or having seen other's nightmares come to reality and feeling your own are much smaller, or having made to fell that way.

It creates the mentality of never sharing your fears, your insecurities, your discomfort - because at the back of the mind you keep telling yourself - oh, this person has gone through so much more than i have, my fear is nothing compared to it. I can handle it on my own, they have their own problems to handle. Everyone is busy, i don't think they have time to listen to the same problem I've been facing for years now. I've manages so far, i think I can manager just fine.

You start to undervalue your own feelings and start to fell like you'll burden them. Start to feel like you NEED to handle it on your own.

Now, i don't want to go into a spiral of mental health, but when you look at Chuuya, you can't help but marvel at that kids Mental resolution.

His first action after being stabbed in back was to make a deal with a demon to make sure he doesn't harm them, because they are just kids.

His first reaction to being provoked into revenge was to say Fuck off to his manipulator, not falling for the temptation and doing what he felt right.

He even forgave the killer of his friends (And also the one who tried to kill him) for gods sake! Understanding what he was going through.

He even walked away after knowing his parents are alive (oh the irony) not wanting to put a target on them. (I'm actually on fence with this, the chances of it being a manipulation tactic from Mori is just as high as it being the truth)

He had tremendous mental fortitude.

But you still see the cracks in his emotional state,

He was desperate to know if he was human or not, inclining towards the later.

He didn't know, that your friends can do some nice things without expecting anything in return. They can go above and beyond your regular stuff just because they are your friends, there doesn't need to be of anything at stake in friendship.

Hell, there was a point he believed having a Heart was too sophisticated for him, that he can't be that human!

I can go hours and hours about this.

What i can say for sure is, he has demons in all sizes, shapes and forms, something that he has stuffed in his closet only to deal with them himself, not letting them see the light of the day.

i just don't see anyone actually being there for him long enough for him to trust them fully with his demons.

No, not even Dazai. Dazai himself was a walking cry for help, like hell Chuuya is adding to that pile. He may have found a constant in Dazai in three years, seeing as all other's met their end in one. I believe in those three years, somewhere Soukoku began to feel like his safe place, somewhere he didn't had to think about his demons only by the virtue of dealing with one made of flesh and bones. But then even Dazai left.

I don't think even Kouyou was there for most part. And considering her obsession with a flowers of dark with Kyouka, i think it pulled Chuuya more in her own tragedy. Afterall, she also was never saved.

Mori is there, but Mori is a Demon in his own rights. What we've seen is their interactions have been those of a boss and his close confidents, nothing personal or emotional. Which also makes sense when you think of Mori's theory of running an organization. Chuuya, all things considered, the most powerful member of PM and he is treated as such.

The other significant members of PM, the guerrilla squad, black lizards or Kajji - all of them may know him better than most, but he is still their executive. If a 15 and younger kid took the title of being a protector of his rag-tag group seriously, being a responsible and dependable executive comes with higher stakes. He will carry out his role as one, even if it's the last thing he does.

.

.

.

That was me rambling.

My point is, i wanna give Chuuya a big hug, tell him it's okay to fell tried sometimes. To let himself be vulnerable. That his fears are not invalid. That he is not invalid. That he isn't the problem, never was.

That he will still be valued and wanted, even if he one day looses his ability or he is no longer the strongest.

Can someone please save his boy?