#but it needs to at least be endurable or have some merit of its own

[cultivating-wildflowers]

"the first book is rough but the story really picks up in the sequel/s" is not the selling point some people think it is

[meanbossart]

I gotta ask this has been rattling in my brain for a while.

How did your DU drow react when Astarion asked him for help with the ritual? What were his thoughts? Or was he simply like stop it, no, we aren't doing that. OH, How did you picture your Astarion and DU Drow react after he "died" and was brought back? I know that we don't really get that much dialogue or reaction from the companions when that happens (Praying they add something later down the line in another patch)

Again thank you for sharing your beautiful art and fanfic with all of us its so refreshing to see!!! :)

OHOHOHO I'm glad you asked. I feel like that first question is very revealing of DU drow's character and It was a fun moment to ponder upon, because I think much of his behavior might lead one to believe he would be willing to go along with whatever Astarion wants, instead of pushing back at all, at least on the surface.

There's two factors at play here - first, DU drow knows of his heritage at that point, and thanks to the blank-slate treatment of the tadpole he's gotten a brand new perspective on it by the time he learns of the truth. Prior to losing his memories, accepting the fate that Bhaal had bestowed onto him felt like a choice and the best thing that ever happened to him in life, a confirmation that he was special and destined for greatness instead of just damned to the lowly existence he had endured so far. After his brain is scrambled however, DU drow got a taste of what true freedom feels like while unburdened by his upbringing; he's strong, he's powerful, he's self-sufficient, he enjoys the fruits of his labor without appreciating what got him here - he does not feel like he needs Bhaal, and the fact he ever did is laughable at best and violating at worse. This leads him to abhor the idea of depending on higher power to succeed instead of just raising oneself up by their own merits, or abiding by any mentality where you take orders from a source.

So when Astarion speaks of ascension, and especially after he learns of the source of that power (Infernal magic) he's disillusioned by it. While his memories are still hazy, the situation still feels awfully familiar to him. He doesn't think Astarion needs that higher power because he doesn't, either, and to take it would surrendering to fear and giving away even more of his autonomy than he already has.

And if that sounds a little self centered and like he's missing some of the point, it's because he is. While DU drow has fallen in love with Astarion by that stage in the story and wants what's best for him (he actually entertains the idea of him ascending up to a point - he wants him to be happy) he still has a difficult time empathizing with others. Ascending feels like a bad choice, but he can only justify that feeling from his own, narrow perspective.

(I mused on about characterization for too long again. So more under the cut - the sky is blue the sun is hot etc.)

Then there's the uglier, far more vulnerable and knee-jerk reaction to it. Now that Bhaal is no longer his purpose in life or the gift he once felt it to be, Astarion has taken it's place. Bhaal needed DU drow, in his eyes, much like Astarion does now. And as much as the vampire might have told him that his feelings on the matter changed (and that he was no longer manipulating DU drow for his own ends alone) he can't fathom a reason to be kept around unless he continues to be needed. He has slotted himself as Astarion's protector and devotee, and a vampire lord does not sound like they need much of either.

As much as he would never admit to it, DU drow does not know a life where he doesn't pledge himself, body and soul, to another purpose. He seems like he's happy to barrel through life directionless, but he needs something that anchors him or he has an inexplicable feeling that something terrible will happen. And honestly, maybe he's right - for a man who loves killing, he has a much easier time applying some strategy to that desire as long as he's doing it to some an specific end. Without Astarion, he probably feels like his choices are to either submit to his hedonism entirely or just lie down and die.

I don't need to spell out that this is pure codependency at it's finest.

So, when Astarion asks for help to complete the ritual he is conflicted. He wants to do whatever Astarion wants, but his brain is setting off alarm bells that, if he acquiesces, this will be the end for them and for him. And whatever comes after is a terrifying void of nothing. While he loves Astarion and ultimately does the right choice in pleading with him to give up on this power, his motivations are far from selfless or pure, as much as DU drow may not yet realize it.

This is why, after everything takes place, and specially once he severs his connection to Bhaal and his mind clears a little further, DU drow would go on to grapple with a lot of guilt for taking this opportunity away from Astarion, as I have touched on in the fic and will continue to do so. He's happy to feel like he has a reason to be kept around, but the inevitable hurdles that Astarion must continue to face as a spawn are obviously painful to witness. This is why he dives full force into trying to "fix" his vampirism instead, following that.

NOW, FOR THE NEXT AND HOPEFULLY FAR BRIEFER ANSWER TO YOUR OTHER QUESTION (spoiler alert, it's not brief at all, god damn it):

Yeah everyone just standing around in that scene feels little weird LOL not that it took away too much from how dope a cutscene it was (I probably watched it with the attentiveness of a sport's fan witnessing a footbal game turning in the last 10 minutes of a match) but If I were to embellish it instead of just going with something like "everyone is shell-shocked and paralyzed", I would say Shadowheart is the first to rush over to see if there's anything at all she can do to help, and probably the first (and only, in that moment) to break down crying. I think she very quickly composes herself after he's brought back, tells him he gave her the scare of a fucking lifetime and that he's the luckiest idiot in all of the realms - but that she's glad he's back. No hugs for him though LOL

Astarion is pretty much the opposite, that he would stand there in shock feels kind of apt to me. Like, holy shit, what just happened? Did one of the only good things in my life really just get taken away in the blink of an eye? Am I just cursed to have everything snatched away from my hand as soon as I'm growing comfortable with it? Yes, of course I am. What else did I expect. When DU drow pops back up he's probably like "Oh yeah I knew it'd be fine" (plus the little Twee comment, that was very funny to me.) and DU drow is similarly going "Oh definitely, it was my plan all along to be killed and then resurrected by an ominous house-keeper skeleton this whole time. Anyway, smooch for a dead man?"

This... Clearly very traumatic little incident is probably addressed by them only later. He gets a kiss and a hug at camp and a very stern "if you do that shit again I'm raising you back up just to kill you myself" from Astarion and Shadowheart's just down to drink in celebration and drown her trauma away for now lmao.

OH YEAH AND GALE WAS ALSO THERE. There was a whole Gale debacle in my playthrough but, the TL;DR, is that especially towards the end of the game he was Not in the best of terms with DU drow. Still, I obviously think he's an empathetic person and had his own "oh shit" moment. I'd say he takes this opportunity to try extending a very sincere hand out to him later that day, both for his courage in defying a god and dumb-luck - which DU drow completely passes on like an asshole and just gives him a cold-shoulder about, leaving feeling even more dejected than he already was and probably further cementing his choice to pursue the crown of Karsus later, despite DU drow's disapproval. Good job buddy!

Thank you so much for the ask and for your lovely compliments!!! Sorry for writing you a dang ESSAY 😬

[idrisofficial]

diligence all 5 for evander!

1. Does your OC have a particularly strong work ethic? Do they believe that hard work is good in itself? Or do they prefer to relax whenever possible?

evander believes very much in working both smart and hard. he doesn’t believe there’s any merit in working tirelessly for the sake of it—he’s a very occam’s razor kind of guy. but working hard when it’s necessary and seeking out clever solutions is a core part of who he is, and to some degree he bases his worth around what he’s able to accomplish with his ideas and plans for the rebellion. but he’s able to relax when he wants to, and in fact finds it crucial to doing good work. people can’t survive on their duties alone and he knows that. he handles his alcohol pretty well.

2. Does your OC believe that they can control outcomes in their life through their own efforts? Or do they see themselves as a helpless puppet of forces beyond their control?

evander’s with rowen on this one—they both believe they’re responsible for making things happen. artemis’s massacre was obvious proof of that, despite the decline of the rebellion following it. however, evander is more susceptible to becoming overwhelmed by the enormity of the systems they’re up against. to some degree he can’t help but believe that they’re all ultimately subject to the whims of the monarchy.

3. Does your OC work better on their own or with others?

he works best when he can lead with a team. he has too many ideas and too much passion to assume the position of a follower most of the time, but he relies on the input and support of others to create his best work and maintain endurance. he loses stamina and sometimes confidence when he works by himself, which is part of why him and rowen have stuck so close together over the years. someone remind me to get into rowen and evander’s history and roles as siblings.

4. Does your OC enjoy their job or profession for its own sake? Or is it merely a means to an end?

well, i suppose it depends what you consider his profession. evander is technically unemployed. which, hilarious, because that makes rowen the breadwinner of the two of them. but he also spends a lot of time being productive. that mostly consists of three things. 1) actively planning and working with the rebellion to further its goals 2) supplying for the rebellion and its members, i.e. hunting, buying/stealing materials, manual labor…….or, 3) doing gay little artsy things that keep his soul alive. while he wishes he didn’t have to be in charge of a violent rebellion, he made his peace with that a long time ago—now, he just tries to enjoy what he does. the planning and conspiring are definitely brain exercises that give him a sense of purpose. the other labor not as much, but he’s at least grateful to be providing for people who need him. and the gay little artsy stuff is very personally satisfying.

5. Is your OC particularly tidy and organised? Or do they tend to be more messy and chaotic?

evander is organized but not neurotic. he’s kind of used to living in a mess but he does his part to keep things together and won’t kill himself trying to clean up. it’s not that deep to him.

[009720kakashi]

medikits

It was strange, once Kira stopped to process the tragedy with the more logical side of her. She had to agree that it was odd. "If I'd wanted to run, I could have done it the moment I saw who you were. I've not been uncatchable for this long without good reason..." She mentioned. "Whatever reasoning I had for committing the atrocities that I have... could not have been anything of a sound mind. It just... it doesn't make sense." She sighed. Part of her did want to run now, but only so she could find a nice corner somewhere and end things once and for all. However, she knew Taberu would never allow it and considering that they shared chakra with one another, he must know how she's feeling right now. Even if she wanted to summon him to snatch her up and tunnel her away, she knew he wouldn't. Ironically, now she was safest under the careful watch of an ANBU shinobi. Kira wasn't phased by the two dogs, nor did she expect them to be friendly. She faded into some in-between of the shell of a person she'd had to be to survive Orochimaru, and the kind girl who didn't want to cause trouble. "I won't." She said simply. Petting them hadn't really even crossed her mind. She didn't feel that she deserved to touch the ground she sat on, as it was. Though, she was surprised to see him loosen the ties on her ankles and help her up. "I can walk just fine." She said softly, and as she moved with him, she thought carefully. Tried so hard to come up with any shred of a reasoning behind what happened. She didn't feel safe within her own self, but she at least wanted to know what happened. Why it happened. It was just... that she didn't often try to think back to those unpleasant memories. But she had plenty of time to think as they ran back to Konoha, a little too much quiet to be able to distract herself the way she usually would. All I can remember is going to that tree... and then... something... came up. What was it though? Didn't he... used to... scare me with those... those things? About halfway there, she needed to rest. "Just one second please." Kira said, then stopped her stride to catch her breath a bit. She was fine physically but somehow the emotional day had made her have less endurance than usual. "I'm going to sit up there for a sec." She informed, pointing up. She pooled her chakra to her feet and walked up a tree then sat on the tree branch. She was able to see Konoha from here. Big on the horizon. She was almost back home and... she was terrified and excited all at once. After a few moments of letting the moment sink in she said, "Kakashi?" Then paused a moment for him to answer before she'd continue either way. "Have you ever... wondered if you were as good of a person as you wamnted to be? As you... hoped you were?" Part of her was expecting him not to answer at all, or maybe to just tell her that he never questioned it because he'd never done anything like she had apparently done. But she wasn't looking for anything specific. Wasn't asking for assurance or seeking hope. She was just asking a question, from one human to another, and wondering if her experience was solely because of her fragmented life story, or not. Whatever the answer was, she'd be glad to hear it, if only to know whatever his perspective was on the matter.

It did not. There was no merit in burning down a village. Just rage. Which of course was an issue on its own. She could not lose herself in rage like that if that was what had happened.

“I’m inclined to agree” he said but it did not change anything.

“As I said Konoha has decent medics. They sure can find out what is happening to you.” Well the medics or interrogation guys but he left them out. No need to bring it up specifically. The situation was tensed enough as it was. 

She withdrew into herself, seemed brooding. He let her the space she needed. There was no need to inquire further. Apparently she did not know what had happened. Somehow he did not even doubt that. The thing was, it did not really make it better. It could happen again without warning after all. 

They made good time. Just when they were already half there she requested a rest. Kakashi stopped and offered her the bottle of water first, before drinking himself. He look up, then nodded. The dogs kept an eye on her while Kakashi sat down under the tree next to the one she was sitting on. He took out his book and started reading. 

Even though he heard the question, he stayed silent for a considerable amount of time. 

“No” he said then, without looking up. He had not. Because the answer was very clear was it not?

“I’m a killer Kira. My path has always been that of a Shinobi. That does not coincide well with being a good person ne?”

A Mission for the Lost - RP

@009720kakashi

Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi stood up from his seated position behind his desk after he’d summoned the ANBU Captain Hatake, Kakashi to his office. Walking around to the front of the desk, he looked over to the door to ensure that it was shut from any prying eyes or ears before he spoke.

“I regret that I don’t have more time to check in with you, considering all that you do for the village, but I have a pressing mission that I can only entrust to you. This is a S-rank mission and yet I can only send you alone, which I will explain in a moment.” He said, sighing for a moment as he looked towards the window, which was closed off with blinds, then he looked back at the masked shinobi.

“I’ve kept information about this individual to a minimum thus far, but as new revelations have surfaced, I cannot allow their rot to spread into our village and endanger our people now knowing what form it takes. You are being tasked with the retrieval of a woman named Kitsune Kira. I will give you a picture of her likeness, although our only reference is from when she was just a child, in which she always wore a mask and cloak. Her eyes will likely be the most telling feature if you come across her.” Sarutobi explained, now handing the scroll of information to Kakashi, and the picture along with it. In said picture, was a nervous looking girl, clasping her small hands together in front of her with bright blue eyes and a short ponytail kept high with bangs framing her face despite a slate grey mask covering half of it and her hood hiding much of her hair besides a few clues of the style she wore.

“I assume you don’t remember her, but she attended academy during your years there as well.” Sarutobi didn’t go much more into detail on that topic, knowing it would likely not matter anyway. Instead, he continued on with the intel. 

“It was long suspected that she murdered her parents before abandoning the Leaf Village at the age of nine. Suspected, though not confirmed. Considering she had not been heard or seen again, even after several tracking-nin were sent after her, I thought it might be possible that she ran off and took her own life after finding her parents dead. That is, until recent reports were brought forth. I didn’t know her well, but from the word of her teammates and squad leader, she was a gentle girl.” Sarutobi said, recalling the many testimonies to vouch for her, only to slowly turn into rumors instead when enough time had passed. “You are the first one to know this besides myself and a select few others, but her abilities of regeneration were the result of an experiment conducted by Orochimaru with her mother’s approval when she was not yet born. In theory, Kira is a living anomaly, as she was not expected to survive long enough to be born alive. The only prevailing theory about why she might have done such a heinous thing is that it’s possible Kira found out about the nature of her existence and something inside her broke.” As Sarutobi paused his speech, the air weighed heavy before he continued his briefing. “The woman is clever, if rumors prove true. Therefore, I do not want to send out a squad, it will attract too much attention. Not just that, but you’re one of the best tracking ninja the ANBU has, so I feel as though sending you alone should be enough to finish this.” He said, but there was a hesitance in his eyes as he was about to say his next statement, but it disappeared a moment later as he looked at the masked ninja.

“I need you to track down this ghost of Konoha’s past and put an end to it. I prefer that you bring her back alive once you find her, but if that proves to be an impossibility, then I will need you to bring back her body instead.” After a pause, he continued. “You may set out as soon as you are ready.”

[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier Dungeons and Dragons AU of my dreams (inspired by the TAD AMA and Joey apparently being an amazing dm):

-"Why do you hate fun," Eskel complains - for the fifth time that day - after Geralt refused his invitation to a new DnD campaign - for the fifth time that day. Geralt doesn't hate fun. He hates play-acting and games, especially if they rely on luck and are overly complicated, he hates big groups of people, and he hates being told stories. Dungeons and Dragons encompasses all of those aspects and that is why Geralt avoids it like the plague. "It's not for me," he mutters and hands Eskel the sandwiches he made for him to take to work. - "But this Jaskier guy is legendary, like I heard he's the best Dungeonmaster in the state." - "Likely an exaggeration...." - "Pleeaaaase. I had to bribe the hell out of Aiden to have him give up the two spots he had." That piques Geralt's interest. "What'd you bribe him with?" Eskel scratches his head sheepishly. "I may have sold our brother's hand in marriage." - "That's ballsy for you... does Lambert know of his luck yet?" Eskel shakes his head and Geralt huffs a laugh. His brothers are unbelievable, one so nerdy it makes up for Geralt's complete lack of interest in pop culture, the other an oblivious prick that tends to get arrested for being offensive. Ciri is their only hope. "So are you coming?" - "Absolutely no way."

-Geralt doesn't want to go and until half an hour before the game is supposed to start, he keeps his resolve. But then Eskel bursts into their shared living room - their flat is still attached to their father's house, but separate enough that it feels like their own; Lambert has a type penthouse suite to himself and Ciri still lives with Vesemir in the main house - with an excited blush and wearing a WoW shirt and the biggest, brightest puppy eyes, and begs Geralt on hands and knees to come with him. "Why though?" Geralt asks. "Would be more fun if I stayed away..." - "But I'm awkward and your pretty face may distract from that." - "Esk, we have the same face." Which is true, save for... oh. The scars. Of course, Geralt wants to smack himself. Eskel always tends to be more self-conscious in groups of new people because of his marred face, an accident in the zoo when they were young. He believes having Geralt with him shows other people how he is supposed to look like. Geralt doesn't believe it's a great coping mechanism, but he can never deny his twin anything. "Fuck," he grumbles and a triumphant grin blooms over Eskel's features.

-That first session is to go over the basics for anyone who needs a refresher and to talk about what each player expects from the campaign bla bla bla; Geralt doesn't contribute more than the odd grunt and is soon distracted by Jaskier's bright eyes, his pretty mouth, his whole energetic demeanor... he develops a little fixation over the course of the evening and gives up on trying to understand the game

-Jaskier approaches him after, while everyone else is exchanging notes on their characters, excited and electric and Geralt hasn't the first clue on what to do. A light hand on his shoulder, a welcoming smile. "Geralt, right?" Geralt nods curtly and Jaskier pulls up a chair and sits. Way too close for Geralt's comfort. He doesn't... mind? Fuck are those butterflies? Already? "If you have trouble figuring out your character, we could always do a private session to get you going. What do you say?" - "Saturday," Geralt grunts in reply. Jaskier claps delightedly, then is distracted by one of the women, Calanthe Geralt recalls, asking if she can play a lioness shapeshifter. He lets Eskel collect him, endures his brother's constant prattle on the ride back. He dares to give the whole thing a shot.

-Their private session starts out with Jaskier explaining different classes of characters, a few bottles of Geralt's favourite Redanian Lager on the side. He tries to listen, at least at first. But then Jaskier keeps licking froth from his lips and some of the perspiration from the cold bottles runs down his exposed neck and fuck, Geralt just can't stop himself. Eskel said over and over that Jaskier was basically a magician, but Geralt thought that would be restricted to the game. Nope. His dick definitely twitches when Jaskier leans over him to grab the dice Geralt brought upon Eskel's recommendation. Geralt catches a whiff of his shampoo - vanilla? - and Jaskier's arm brushes Geralt and well. He lets out a low whine. Jaskier hums a question mark, but when he sees the look on Geralt face his encouraging smile turns devilish, knowing. "Good," he breathes, drops the dice and climbs onto Geralt's lap. "I thought it was only me." Geralt catches Jaskier's hips and they kiss. No classes are studied that day, no alignments picked, no attributes determined. Instead, Geralt learns all the beautiful noises Jaskier can make, learns some of his own anew. They will need another private session to make up for lost time

-"Perhaps I should just design a character for you," Jaskier pants into Geralt's neck as he slow-fucks him on their couch, Eskel being out with Lambert to clear up the whole Aiden thing. It's the third time they're meeting to figure out Geralt's character. Geralt grunts and accelerates just enough to keep them both on the edge. His skin is burning and Jaskier writhes, his shoulders littered with bite marks. "Oh, fuck, Geralt, please." Later, Geralt agrees to Jaskier's suggestion. He makes him pancakes for breakfast.

-When the first session is well underway, everyone quickly realizes that this game really isn't for Geralt. He tries, he does. Jaskier was kind, gave him a stoic half-orc warrior that communicates mostly with grunts, but he still doesn't get all the rules and Calanthe is getting impatient with him, her boyfriend Eist amused by this, and Eskel keeps throwing the dice for Geralt, and these girls, Téa and Véa, stare daggers at him. Jaskier's watches it all with amusement, gently steering the group back towards their adventure - not that Geralt has the first clue what their objective is. But Geralt wants to keep playing if only because Jaskier is so fucking beautiful in his element, imitating voices, using the most ridiculous vocabulary, glowing with pure joy. It's a privilege to see, Geralt understands that now. And he has to thank Eskel for taking him despite his reservations

-"Won't you go on a normal date with me?" Geralt asks one night when they are wrapped up in Jaskier's bed, contented and tired from their earlier activities. "I could take you hunting or whatever." - "That's what you call a normal date?" Jaskier laughs and kisses him lightly. They haven't defined whatever it is they're doing, but Geralt is in no rush. Especially because he hasn't yet dared to breach the topic with Eskel who quickly befriended Jaskier (and everyone else of course, at the end of the day Eskel is a social butterfly, no matter what scars he bears). "Just... go out with me." - "You know, usually I have a strict policy for dating players, but... well that's already way out the window so, yeah, okay. I'll go out with you. But we're absolutely not going hunting, I'm a vegetarian." Alas, there had to be some catch.

-Geralt keeps playing and his permanent confusion becomes part of his character as well. It isn't ideal, but the others - and Jaskier's forgiving storytelling - drag him through to the end of it. By then, Geralt almost gets it. "Well," Jaskier concludes. "That was a bit of a different campaign. Hope you all liked it." The bastard acts abashed. Hah. Geralt and Eskel are the last ones to leave after they all toasted and talked about playing again some time. "You coming?" Eskel asks, hovering near the door. He's long past his initial anxiety, his fangirling, his self-consciousness. That too has been a glorious part of this, seeing Eskel unfold, gain confidence, be at ease. He likes that he could give his brother the safety he needed. "I, uhm," Geralt starts, but Jaskier interrupts by threading his arm through Geralt's. "We are! What's for dinner?" And he drags Geralt past Eskel who raises a brow. Geralt tries to communicate with his eyes all he neglected to tell Eskel. It's only because they're so close that Eskel at least understands that they are something like boyfriends now. He laughs.

-"My baby brother," Eskel lulls later when Jaskier is already passed out from too much wine and Geralt and him stand outside, sharing a rare cigarette. He ruffles Geralt head. "I'd wondered why you stuck around so long." - "Fuck off," Geralt says.

-The next time Eskel invites him to a campaign, Geralt tags along. Not because he particularly wants to, but because now there are two pairs of puppy eyes, begging him, and he can't say no to either of them, let alone both (maybe someday he will actually enjoy the game for its own merits)

[bloody-bee-tea]

Vision

Jiang Cheng tries his best to appear unaffected, but going by how skittish his disciples are around him, he’s not quite managing it.

But Jiang Cheng can’t help it; it’s the first time since Lotus Pier burned and he rebuilt it, that another Sect Leader is coming to visit and Jing Cheng feels like he’s being tested.

He doesn’t like that feeling one bit.

Jiang Cheng straightens up, when the first disciple comes into view, because he’s going to excel whatever test this is, and if it’s going to kill him. 

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang calls out when they are still a good distance away, but Jiang Cheng can still see how Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes at his over-enthusiastic brother and a tiny part of Jiang Cheng relaxes. Their relationship is a bittersweet-familiar one and Jiang Cheng thinks if they are just here to check in on him, then he can do this.

“Nie-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng greets Nie Mingjue, bowing low, because even though they are both Sect Leaders now their status couldn’t be more different.

Yunmeng Jiang barely escaped extinction while Qinghe Nie came away as the victor of the Sunshot Campaign, despite the losses they had to endure.

“So formal, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang complaints and his brother cuffs him over the head for his troubles.

“At least he remembers his manners,” Nie Mingjue says with a sigh and slightly shakes his head when Nie Huaisang makes puppy eyes at him over his fan.

“We’re old friends, there’s no need to be this formal,” Nie Huaisang whines and something in Jiang Cheng goes warm and pleased to hear that Nie Huaisang still considers them friends, even after everything that happened.

“Jiang-zongzhu, please excuse my brother,” Nie Mingjue tells him, overly formal and stiff, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes and Nie Huaisang puffs out his cheeks in mock outrage.

Jiang Cheng has to bite back a laugh at that, and when Nie Huaisang whirls around to him, he at least pretends to be serious.

“Let me show you to your rooms, you must be exhausted after the travel,” Jiang Cheng says, remembering his manners and starts to lead the Nie delegation towards the guest quarters.

They haven’t been one of his priorities during rebuilding Lotus Pier, but when Nie Mingjue’s formal request of a visit reached him, Jiang Cheng had done his utmost best to get them ready.

He does not want anyone to complain about his hosting skills; besides hurting his pride it would seriously damage the image of his Sect and truth be told, they can’t take much more.

They are barely scraping by as it is.

“It almost looks the same,” Nie Mingjue says suddenly when they are halfway there and Jiang Cheng stiffens. “I heard everything burned down?”

“It did,” Jiang Cheng presses out and he tries to see Lotus Pier with Nie Mingjue’s eyes, but all he can see are the smouldering remains of what used to be his home.

No matter how he rebuilds it, in his mind it will always be the new Lotus Pier. And no matter how he tries to make it look the same, there are subtle differences. Enough of them to make him wonder what his parents would say of it; what his sister and Wei Wuxian would say of it.

Jiang Cheng thinks at least his mother would scold him for not remembering his home correctly and doing such a piss-poor job.

“You did a great job rebuilding it,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng works his jaw.

“Thank you,” he gets out.

“Did you do a lot of the construction work?” 

“Of course I did,” Jiang Cheng stiffly says. 

Mostly because there was no one else around who remembered how Lotus Pier used to look like, but also because Jiang Cheng would never only order his disciples around. If he isn’t willing to do something, how can he ask the same of his people?

“Would you like to compare notes later? I did a fair share of construction in Qinghe myself and there are not many Sect Leaders I can talk to about this. Jin Guangshan is not known to get his hands dirty like that,” Nie Mingjue says, and Jiang Cheng can feel the rage bubble up inside him again.

How dare Nie Mingjue say this; how dare he imply that Jiang Cheng’s work isn’t up to par, that he’s lowering himself to do the dirty work. It’s hitting a very vulnerable part of Jiang Cheng, because his father used to say the same whenever Jiang Cheng was quick to help people rebuild after a flood or another disaster.

His mother only ever watched him with piercing eyes, but his father was of the firm believe that they had disciples for this exact reason.

And to hear these similar words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth now makes his blood boil with anger.

But Jiang Cheng can’t afford to offend Nie Mingjue and Qinghe Nie, so he forces a smile on his face.

“Sure,” he says, aiming for a light tone, but going by the small frown on Nie Mingjue’s face he doesn’t quite manage to do that.

“Jiang-xiong, are you alright?” Nie Huaisang asks, flicking his fan open and moving it in a nervous gesture.

“Of course I am,” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he can’t afford to be anything else.

Not with reconstruction still going on and especially not with Jin Ling being at Lotus Pier at the moment.

Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang share a look at that, one that makes Jiang Cheng’s skin crawl, but he clenches his jaw and simply shows them to their quarters. 

He can’t afford to make a mess of the situation, so he swallows all of his rude remarks down and bids them a farewell once he’s sure they are situated.

Jiang Cheng flees and then spends the rest of the afternoon trying to get himself back together. He appointed his most trusted disciple to keep an eye on the Nie delegation, in case they need something and so he spends his time pretending that he’s not vibrating out of his skin with nervousness about this visit.

The first day passes without another incident, and on the second da Jiang Cheng almost feels like himself again. He spends breakfast with the Nie’s, entirely unremarkable except for Nie Huaisang’s incessant shatter and Nie Mingjue’s fond eyerolls, and then he leaves for the training grounds.

He might have to entertain guests, but he’s still the Sect Leader and since they are still in the process of building up again, there are not enough disciples who could reliably teach the new ones. 

It’s just one of the many things Jiang Cheng has to oversee himself, so he’s standing at the side-lines, watching his disciples in their training fights.

There are a lot of different styles, since he simply picked up any willing cultivator he could find and while it looks chaotic, it certainly has its merits.

At least the Yunmeng Jiang will always be unpredictable, Jiang Cheng thinks when he watches one of the kids he picked up on the street go for the hair of her opponent.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Nie Mingjue suddenly says from beside him and Jiang Cheng stiffens.

“Sect Leader Jiang was my father,” he gives back, because it still feels wrong to be addressed like this.

“Jiang Wanyin, then?” Nie Mingjue asks his eyes never leaving the training disciples. 

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng agrees and he sees Nie Mingjue nod from the corner of his eyes.

“Nie Mingjue, then,” Nie Mingjue tells him and while it feels so wrong to address Nie Mingjue this casually, Jiang Cheng nods as well.

He keeps his gaze trained on his disciples, hoping that Nie Mingjue will get bored and leave, even though he should offer some entertainment to him, but Nie Mingjue stays where he is.

“They have an interesting fighting style,” Nie Mingjue eventually says, almost offhandedly and Jiang Cheng tenses again. 

He has a snappish reply on his tongue, but then his attention is brought back to one of the disciples who make a grievous mistake with the sword and Jiang Cheng is walking up to him, before he can consciously decide to do so.

The disciple tenses in apparent fear, seemingly ready to accept Jiang Cheng’s scolding, and he does scold. A lot. And then he shows the disciple how it’s done right and from that point on it just goes downhill because everyone keeps asking him about this technique and that form and before he knows it Jiang Cheng was roped into giving a lesson.

And all the while Nie Mingjue stayed at the side-lines, silently watching them.

“Apologies,” Jiang Cheng says when he finally manages to get away from his disciples. 

“No need,” Nie Mingjue easily says. “You’re good with them.”

Jiang Cheng snorts bitterly at that, because he knows that more than half of them are deathly afraid of him, like the old disciples were of his mother, and the other half barely has the respect for him that he deserves, but there is nothing he can do about it. 

It is what it is, he just doesn’t need Nie Mingjue to rub it in even more.

“Let me show you around Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng says instead of saying something biting, something that he will regret later, and as if on cue Nie Huaisang materializes next to them.

“I would love to see everything!” he exclaims, not so subtly elbowing Nie Mingjue into the side and Jiang Cheng frowns as he wonders what’s that all about.

“Yes, that would be—nice,” Nie Mingjue says and the delay is noticeable enough that Jiang Cheng can tell that he does not care to see Lotus Pier at all.

Still, he has appearances to hold up, so he dutifully shows them around and with Nie Huaisang’s excitement it’s almost not awkward at all.

“I’m sorry we’re taking up so much of your time,” Nie Mingjue says when Nie Huaisang ran yet again to another stall and Jiang Cheng shrugs awkwardly.

He wants to ask why exactly they are here, but he really does not want to hear that this is an inspection and so in the end he stays silent for so long that answering would be awkward.

So instead he points out one of his own favourite stalls and it seems to be enough for Nie Mingjue to relax, because his shoulders slump and Jiang Cheng hadn’t even realized that he was so tense.

It seems that even if this is an inspection Nie Mingjue is also in great need of some relaxing downtime himself and even though they just came out of near extinction, even though they are barely scraping by, the Yunmeng Jiang always knew how to have fun.

“Come,” Jiang Cheng tells them out of the blue and leads Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue towards one of the outer piers. 

They can hear laughter and yelling before they even get close and both Nie’s seem rather intrigued by that. 

When they finally come into view of the people playing in the water, they stop and Jiang Cheng gives them some time to catch up on the game rules before he speaks again.

“You’re free to join them if you want,” he says and while Nie Huaisang’s eyes go wide Nie Mingjue smiles at him before he reaches for his belt, clearly content to let his clothes drop right where they stand, like the other disciples as well.

Jiang Cheng did not calculate for that at all and he hurriedly averts his eyes from the new stripe of skin that Nie Mingjue reveals.

“Do you have many games like this?” he asks as he gets off his shoes and Jiang Cheng tenses again.

He wonders what it is about Nie Mingjue that always so easily hits him where it hurts; to imply that they do nothing but play is a blow Jiang Cheng is not sure how to deal with. It brings back memories of Wei Wuxian, whining at him to join them in their game, and of his mother’s cutting voice berating him that an heir shouldn’t spent his time with useless play like this.

But before Jiang Cheng can figure out how to reply to Nie Mingjue, Nie Mingjue already jumped into the water, clearly ready to get right in on the fun, and Jiang Cheng is left with Nie Huaisang on the pier.

“Da-ge doesn’t get enough fun,” Nie Huaisang says from behind his fan. “Being Sect Leader is so demanding and it’s good that he gets to enjoy himself a little here.”

Jiang Cheng bites back on the words that being a Sect Leader is not supposed to be fun, and instead he only awkwardly shrugs, making Nie Huaisang frown at him again.

“Why don’t you join them as well?” Nie Huaisang asks with a curious glance and Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Not all of us have the time to play around like this,” he bites out and when he sees Nie Huaisang flinch Jiang Cheng turns away from him.

“Feel free to roam Lotus Pier as you see fit, there will be people around to answer your questions,” Jiang Cheng tells him, head held high and then he simply marches off.

He’s aching with the want to join his disciples in the water; he misses playing around like that. But he knows that the moment he would start to shed his clothes people would stop, would stare, would freeze in fright and it’s not untrue what he told Nie Huaisang; he does have too much to do to simply slack off like this.

When evening finally falls, Jiang Cheng is bend low over paper work. His eyes are burning and his back is aching, but he can’t stop yet. There are still piles upon piles on his table and if Jiang Cheng doesn’t make a dent in them soon then he might as well drown under them.

“Sect Leader,” one of his disciples suddenly speaks up from the door and Jiang Cheng turns bleary eyes on her.

“What?” he snaps and then immediately winces.

It’s no wonder everyone here is afraid of him.

“It’s young master Jin,” she says apologetically, but Jiang Cheng is already on his feet.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks, the worry already settling in his gut.

“He’s been screaming for the last half hour. I think he misses you,” she says with a small smile and something warm replaces the worry.

At least Jin Ling is too little to fear him yet.

“I’ll be right there,” he promises, and hurries to finish up the letter he was working on before he makes his way over to Jin Ling’s room.

True to her word, he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, and now that he hears this Jiang Cheng can’t help but to worry again. What if it’s something more serious? He rushes inside the room and immediately snatches Jin Ling out of the arms of his disciple.

“It’s okay now,” Jiang Cheng says, more to Jin Ling than to her. “I have him now.”

“Alright,” she says with a bow of her head and immediately leaves him to it.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Jiang Cheng softly asks when Jin Ling continues to scream but he seems to react to his voice, because the cries get a little bit softer. “I’m here now, there’s no need for you to make such a fuss, brat,” Jiang Cheng whispers, his voice fond, and Jin Ling really stops crying.

He blinks up at Jiang Cheng with his big eyes and then simply snuggles deeper into his embrace.

“There you go, it’s not that bad after all, is it?” Jiang Cheng says, mostly so that he has something to say, because his voice does seem to relax Jin Ling.

Jiang Cheng continues to whisper nonsense to him, until he’s sure that Jin Ling feel asleep and only then does he dare to put him down in his crib.

Jiang Cheng holds his breath once he lets go of Jin Ling, but the boy blessedly slumbers on and Jiang Cheng lets out a soft sigh.

He would never say that it’s a chore too look after his sister’s son, but it is time consuming; and Jiang Cheng doesn’t have much of that even without caring for an infant.

Jiang Cheng knows that he should get back to his paper work immediately, that he shouldn’t stay and linger and simply stare at Jin Ling, but it’s another handful of minutes before he can tear himself away from him.

When he steps outside of Jin Ling’s room, Jiang Cheng immediately tenses when he sees Nie Mingjue leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng snaps, but he’s still mindful of the sleeping Jin Ling and Nie Mingjue shrugs.

“I came to find you, but your disciple told me to go here,” Nie Mingjue easily says and Jiang Cheng vows to have words with that disciple.

“You’re good with him,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod towards Jin Ling’s room and Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw.

He knows he’s not good with Jin Ling, barely knows enough about kids to not kill him immediately and he still hears the whispers from Jinlingtai, how he’s bad for the kid, how he’ll corrupt him, how Jin Ling will turn out as angry and cold as him and it’s all too much for Jiang Cheng to take right now.

“Fight me,” he presses out through clenched teeth and when he sees the way Nie Mingjue lights up at that, the anger turns into cold rage.

He brings them to one of the more remote training fields and then he just waits until Nie Mingjue has Baxia ready. Jiang Cheng doesn’t hesitate to bring out Zidian as well as Sandu and then they are off.

It’s a vicious fight and the first time since the war that Jiang Cheng doesn’t hold back. Nie Mingjue has no problems parrying Sandu, but he seems at a loss with Zidian and Jiang Cheng takes shameless advantage of that, though he does keep the electricity running through it to a bare minimum.

He doesn’t want to kill or permanently injure Nie Mingjue after all.

Still, Nie Mingjue is a force to be reckoned with, and while it’s clear that he too is struggling, there’s a smile on his face that only enrages Jiang Cheng further.

Their fight goes on for longer than Jiang Cheng expected, Zidian singing and Sandu clashing with Baxia, but in the end Nie Mingjue tackles him to the ground.

When Jiang Cheng’s back hits the ground, his breath leaves him in a rush and his vision turns black for a moment, before stars appear everywhere.

Jiang Cheng blinks up at the sky, trying to get his lungs to work properly again, but it still takes him an embarrassingly long time.

In the end Nie Mingjue seems to tire of waiting for him to compose himself and he holds out a hand to him.

“You’re a good fighter,” Nie Mingjue says, just as Jiang Cheng is about to reach for his hand. “And you wield Zidian almost better than Sandu,” he tacks on, and Jiang Cheng goes cold.

He wouldn’t have minded this much, before—his mother never did after all—but after what happened with Wei Wuxian, after everyone came after him for not using his sword like he should, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth now.

“What do you know,” Jiang Cheng snaps and slaps Nie Mingjue’s hand away, getting up out of his own strength.

“Jiang Wanyin?” Nie Mingjue asks with a frown and Jiang Cheng squares his shoulders before he faces him again.

“Don’t tell me I fight well when I just lost and don’t ever imply that I am favouring Zidian over Sandu ever again,” he hisses out and when he sees Nie Mingjue’s surprised look on his face, Jiang Cheng quickly turns away.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue calls after him, and the informality stops Jiang Cheng in his steps. “I haven’t had a fight like this in a while. Not many people can hold out against me for as long as you did. Of course you fight well. And I didn’t mean anything with my comment about Zidian; it’s a spiritual tool and you wield it well. That’s all,” Nie Mingjue explains, almost awkwardly, and Jiang Cheng wants to leave, he really does, but he’s rooted to the spot.

“Is that the problem?” Nie Mingjue asks and it sounds like he came closer, though Jiang Cheng didn’t hear any footsteps. “Have I offended you all this time without knowing?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and Jiang Cheng lets out a hard breath.

“I’m not lowering to do the dirty work when I help with rebuilding,” Jiang Cheng says bitterly, even though he knows that’s what everyone thinks.

“Of course not,” Nie Mingjue immediately says. “And that wasn’t what I meant. I really do help with construction every now and then, if my time allows for it. It’s hard work, but also rewarding. I really hoped to compare notes with you. It’s not like Jin Guangshan would ever lift a finger to help any of his disciples like that so I don’t usually have someone to talk to about this.”

Jiang Cheng gives a short nod at that, and then he figures he might as well lay it all out. It’s almost easy, now that he doesn’t have to face Nie Mingjue.

“And when you say my disciples have an interesting fighting style?”

“It’s just that. Interesting. The Yunmeng Style is very clearly still there, but they are not as rigid as before. It’s good to see them fall back to the things some of them clearly learned on the streets. It won’t make that much difference against a monster, but if they ever have to fight another cultivator or something with sentience, it will give them the upper hand. It’s a good thing.”

“The game?” Jiang Cheng whispers, now thoroughly embarrassed by how low he thought of Nie Mingjue and how easily believed he was just here to insult him.

“We have a few with balls, but none in the water. I never saw such a game and I was simply curious if there were more. I’d like to try them all, the last one was fun,” Nie Mingjue says with a chuckle even though he thoroughly lost that game, as Jiang Cheng learned.

“And Jin Ling?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“I just meant that you’re good with him,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng can almost imagine him shrugging. “He clearly loves you if he settles down by just hearing your voice and you didn’t get impatient once. You clearly love him as well.”

Jiang Cheng takes a shuddering breath when Nie Mingjue falls silent and he finally turns around to him.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here?” he asks, because for all that it has been a few days he still doesn’t know why Nie Mingjue is here.

“I thought I made that clear in my letter,” Nie Mingjue says with a frown that only gets deeper when he sees Jiang Cheng’s confused look. “I’m here to see if we’re compatible. If a courtship between us might work out.”

“You’re what?” Jiang Cheng blurts out and before the frown on Nie Mingjue’s face can get any deeper Nie Huaisang appears at his side.

“This might be my fault,” he admits, tipping his fan against his mouth and seemingly not at all bothered when both Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng turn incredulous eyes on him.

“Explain,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and Nie Huaisang gives him a winning smile.

“I stole that page of the letter,” Nie Huaisang says with an easy shrug and Jiang Cheng is so confused he doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“Why would you do that?” Nie Mingjue asks as he pinches the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem angry and Nie Huaisang seems to know that very well.

“Because I know Jiang-xiong and if you had written anything about a courtship he would have clamped right up and then you’d get nowhere,” Nie Huaisang cries out and Jiang Cheng goes red in the face, because Nie Huaisang might not be wrong.

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue yells at him, but Nie Huaisang only hides behind his fan and blinks his big eyes at Nie Mingjue.

“I’m sorry?” Nie Huaisang asks, but Nie Mingjue shakes his head.

“No, you’re not,” he heaves out with a sigh. “Go scram before I make you practice your sabre,” Nie Mingjue threatens but when Nie Huaisang laughs Jiang Cheng knows that it’s an empty thread.

“Alright, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says and promptly dashes away leaving Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng in uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry about him,” Nie Mingjue eventually says, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, because there’s only one thought in his mind.

“Courtship?” he asks, because he cannot wrap his mind around this as all and he was not prepared to see Nie Mingjue blush like that.

“See, this is why I wrote it down,” Nie Mingjue grumbles. “It’s easier when it’s written down.”

“Mingjue, courtship?” Jiang Cheng asks again, because it still doesn’t make any sense at all and Nie Mingjue sighs again.

“Yes, Wanyin, a courtship.”

“Between us?”

“Do you see anyone else? Did I go visit anyone else?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng simply sits down on the ground again, because of all the reasons why Nie Mingjue could have come, this possibility didn’t enter Jiang Cheng’s head even once.

“You must be joking,” Jiang Cheng whispers and then tenses when Nie Mingjue simply sits down next to him.

“I assure you, I’m not,” he says.

“But then you surely must have changed your mind by now,” Jiang Cheng tries next, because there is no way in hell that Nie Mingjue, esteemed fighter and Sect Leader, would still want to court him after he saw what a mess Jiang Cheng is.

“Between praising your fighting, your way with Jin Ling, your disciples and your construction work, where do you think I changed my mind?” Nie Mingjue shoots back and Jiang Cheng goes still.

“Were you just giving me meaningless compliments?” he asks and that thought suddenly hurts more than he expected.

But if Nie Mingjue had an ulterior goal in mind then of course he’d praise Jiang Cheng. And of course they would all be hollow and empty words.

“Do you know me to be like that?” Nie Mingjue wants to know. “If I don’t like you, then I’ll say so. If I do like you, then I’ll say that as well.”

“You don’t like Jin Guangshan and you never said that to him,” Jiang Cheng gives back, his mind still spinning.

“Oh, rest assured, he knows I loath him. No need to say it out loud,” Nie Mingjue easily gives back but then he falls silent. “Huaisang was right, wasn’t he. You’re totally clamping up on me.”

Jiang Cheng flushes again at that.

“I mean, who wouldn’t? Courtship? With me?”

“With who else? You’re a hero of the Sunshot Campaign. You rebuild your Sect, you’re parenting your sister’s son and you’re not cowering before anyone. There’s much to admire about you, Wanyin.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng breathes out as he hides his face in his hands.

“I will if you give me an answer, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue says and the way he says Jiang Cheng’s name sends a shiver down his back.

“Can we—how long are you going to stay?” Jiang Cheng asks instead of giving him a concrete answer but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to mind that much.

“I can squeeze in a few more days,” Nie Mingjue says with a shrug. “Why?”

“I think—I’d like you to stay for a while longer now that I know why you’re here,” Jiang Cheng gives back.

He can’t quite agree to a courtship just yet, but he thinks he’d like to spent more time with Nie Mingjue, especially now that he knows what he wants from him.

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue easily replies and he doesn’t seem to mind Jiang Cheng’s lack of an answer much.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t behave any different in the next few days either, but at least now Jiang Cheng knows to simply accept the things Nie Mingjue says without searching for a hidden meaning behind his words and since Jiang Cheng knows that this is not an inspection but something completely different he can actually enjoy spending his time with Nie Mingjue.

So much so that when Nie Mingjue eventually has to depart, Jiang Cheng has a courtship gift ready for him.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

- Chapter 6 - 

It was strange, Lan Wangji reflected, to be in public again after so long an absence. Stranger still to be addressed by strangers, to be called the Second Jade of Lan, or Lan-er-gongzi –

He wished that they would use his personal title instead. It might reduce the awkwardness.

Though, he reflected, it was likely that nothing would really reduce the awkwardness inherent in the situation, for all its old nostalgic familiarity: his brother walking in the lead, he and his uncle one step behind him, the representatives of the Lan sect in all their glory, beauty, and righteousness.

Looking at their tranquil expressions and sedate pace, one would never know that Lan Qiren was still furiously angry at Lan Wangji for his decision to abandon his sect and family, now made several times over; that Lan Wangji had been shockingly disrespectful by Lan standards in his response; that Lan Xichen had ordered that neither of them were permitted to speak until they could behave civilly (he’d used the term “like human beings”) once again.

It had been a very quiet journey to Koi Tower.

Luckily, even once they arrived, their customary reserve meant that no one noticed the tensions between them – not even the normally astute Lianfeng-zun, who greeted them at the door, much less his father and brother, and certainly not Chifeng-zun, who was listening to another sect leader speak with the stiff and stern expression that, after several years of keeping company with Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji now recognized as please stop talking to me.  

(Lan Wangji briefly considered that he ought to suggest that Jiang Cheng spend more time with Chifeng-zun. They shared a history as young men who assumed control over their sects too soon as a result of the same enemy, and he knew Jiang Cheng highly esteemed Chifeng-zun – but then he rejected the idea as unnecessary and likely full of potential political pitfalls, especially given the Jiang sect’s role in the Jin sect’s current one-sided rivalry with the Nie sect.

As the Second Jade of Lan, he didn’t need to worry about political concerns, or at least not those beyond the basic premise of ‘don’t lose face for the sect’. His uncle and brother handled everything of that nature, just as they always had, holding up the sky for him and allowing him to focus on cultivation and his own interests, only he had been Jiang Cheng’s secret sounding board for too long now to fail to think of the potential problems anyway.

He found to his surprise that he missed it.)

Jiang Cheng would have noticed the tension, but he had yet to arrive – they had agreed that it would make everything easier if he would arrive to the gathering a little late, minimizing the amount of chatter they would need to endure about the two of them before the formal events began.

This would be Lan Wangji’s first discussion conference after having “left seclusion”, as people were calling it – his uncle with notably more sarcasm than usual – and the first test of his new public relationship with Jiang Cheng. They’d settled the public fight aspect with some degree of enjoyment, having a spar that extended throughout the rooftops and alleyways of the Lotus Pier, matching Bichen again Sandu and Wangji against Zidian, and the rumors had run wild ever since then. Finally, Jin Guangyao had intervened in his father’s name to “force” the compromise they’d all agreed upon: that Lan Sizhui would fall under Lan Wangji’s personal supervision, as was his right as the (assumed) father, but that he would remain at the Lotus Pier for most of the year to avoid a sudden and traumatic readjustment.

That this coincidentally would result in Lan Wangji spending most of his time at the Lotus Pier had largely passed unnoticed. Most people were far, far too busy gossiping about Lan Wangji’s mysterious Jiang sect wife, each one adding new salacious details atop the other. Some of the nonsense he’d heard…!

At least, he comforted himself, none of them would be rude enough to actually ask him about it directly.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” a voice called, and Lan Wangji would have stiffened if his back hadn’t already been straighter than a board. His uncle coughed and stroked his beard to conceal his expression of amusement – he probably thought that having to deal with Nie Huaisang, inveterate gossip and useless person extraordinaire, was exactly what Lan Wangji deserved.

He was probably right, too. Lan Wangji had brought this on his own head.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said, very reluctantly, as the Second Young Master of Qinghe Nie showed up with a feckless smile, promptly clutching at his arm and insisting that they go catch up and indulge in nostalgia about their shared school days.

Which ones, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure – Nie Huaisang had attended his uncle’s classes three times over before passing, and whether or not that final pass had been fairly earned or whether his uncle had simply yielded to his desire never to see Nie Huaisang’s face in his classroom ever again, Lan Wangji remained unsure.

Still, it suited him not to be forced to make nice with all those sect leaders pretending that they weren’t gawking at him, and so he permitted Nie Huaisang to drag him off to some unoccupied garden he had somehow managed to uncover, the other man chattering in his ear like a magpie the entire time.

“ – supposed I really should call you Hanguang-jun now, but that just seems so formal, though at least I remember it. I barely remember anyone’s title. Though now that my big brother’s sworn brotherhood with your big brother, I could probably just get away with calling you Wangji-gege –”

“No.”

“You’re so mean!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Aren’t we old friends?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re close enough to count, anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “Jiang Cheng’s my friend as well, you know; you can’t keep him to yourself just because you’re angry at your family! That’s just selfish. Aren’t there Lan sect rules against being selfish? I assume so, though I admit I’ve forgotten more of them than I’ve learned…don’t tell your uncle that, I’m afraid he’ll revoke my sympathy pass.”

Lan Wangji reflected briefly that it was good that Nie Huaisang was self-aware enough to recognize that the pass mark had likely been given out of sympathy rather than for merit, but then returned to the more critical point of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“Why do you think I’m angry at my family?” he asked. And what was that about Jiang Cheng?

It was critical that Sect Leader Jin, among others, not suspect that Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng shared a closer relationship than apparent – even Jin Guangyao had agreed with that – and if they had been sussed out so quickly, and by Nie Huaisang…

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “You may be an unreadable stone wall, my – er, acquaintance, but do you really think I can’t tell when your uncle is upset? Me, of all people?”

This was a good point.

“And if your uncle’s upset at you, again, of all people, and you haven’t apologized or made up to him yet, that means you’re the one that’s angry,” Nie Huaisang concluded. “And anyway, why else would you agree to stay for so long at the Lotus Pier if you weren’t angry? You and Jiang Cheng must drive each other up the walls.”

Lan Wangji relaxed minutely. That was a reasonable explanation.

A moment later, he tensed up again – he was abruptly convinced, albeit without any logical basis, that the explanation was too reasonable, meant to put him at ease, designed to allow him to move on with the conversation without thinking too much or questioning too deeply. No one else had put the facts together the way Nie Huaisang had, and, most notably, Nie Huaisang hadn’t yet asked a single question about Lan Sizhui, who was, without making an appearance, the main subject matter of the day.

But then, a moment after that, he relaxed again, somewhat unwillingly – this was Nie Huaisang, who’d been born useless, grown up useless, and remained useless. It was a little absurd to suspect him of having figured out something that had duped the entire rest of the cultivation world.  

As Nie Huaisang said – of all people…

“What do you want?” he asked, shaking his head a little to try to clear it. It must be the oppressive atmosphere of Koi Tower, gilded and rotten, that was affecting his thoughts.

“What do I always want?” Nie Huaisang asked philosophically, and then helpfully answered his own question: “Attention.”

Lan Wangji was starting to remember why he’d avoided Nie Huaisang so thoroughly in their youth.

“I’m not telling you anything about Sizhui,” he said.

Nie Huaisang pouted at him. He was still clinging to Lan Wangji’s arm, and Lan Wangji wondered whether it would count as ‘losing the sect face’ if he threw him out a window.

(He wished Jiang Cheng were around so that he could mention the thought to him - he suspected it would make the other man turn purple with suppressed laughter, and probably get some sort of comment about it being the only sort of flying Nie Huaisang could manage, with or without a blade.)

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang said sulkily. “Turns out you’re still no fun, even after all these years. I’ll have you know, Jiang Cheng’s a lot nicer than you. He appreciates all the things I bring to the table.”

Lan Wangji seriously doubted it – unless perhaps if Nie Huaisang was speaking literally, referring to fine foods and liquor – but his mood improved a bit nonetheless at the compliment. Given the Jiang sect’s relatively isolated political position, with all the smaller sects looking at it hungrily, just waiting for it to trip up and give them a chance to snatch away the title of being the fourth Great Sect, it was only good that the second young master of Qinghe Nie had a positive impression of the ever-prickly Jiang Cheng.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nie Huaisang said, and dug something out of his sleeve. “Give this back to er-ge for me, will you?”

Lan Wangji stared blankly. “His passage token for Koi Tower?”

He had planned to ask his brother later if he could borrow it – perhaps not that night, since it was the first day of the discussion conference and he suspected his brother would want to visit with his sworn brothers, but in the next day or two. That was the only reason he had agreed to go to Koi Tower at all, agreed to visit Lanling at all: so that he might try to steal away at some opportune moment to visit Mo Xuanyu unattended, before anyone noticed where he’d gone, and talk to him about the request for safe harbor that he had made of Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji had still been thinking over how he would phrase the request for the token without giving away his suspicions of the boy’s mistreatment, which his brother would likely take as a slight against Jin Guangyao even though it was fairly obvious to everyone that Sect Leader Jin was keeping Mo Xuanyu as a weapon against Jin Guangyao. He hadn’t yet managed to think of a way to do it.

And now – how had the token ended up here, in Nie Huaisang’s hands?

“Well, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “I wanted to talk to you privately, without everyone eavesdropping, so I asked him for it. Da-ge never lets me use his, he says I’m a menace to both people and property, and for some reason san-ge never lets me take his. Probably because he’s always so busy all the time.”

That sounded – very much like all three of them, in fact. Nie Mingjue, bluntly refusing; Jin Guangyao, politely eliding; his brother, yielding in utter capitulation to the first bit of begging, confident enough in his own righteous reputation to not worry about the consequences…

An idea appeared in Lan Wangji’s mind.

It was not the sort of idea that might naturally come to a member of the Lan sect. Perhaps his uncle was right in saying that he’d been lingering at the Lotus Pier for too long.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Wangji said, looking at the token. “You are right.”

“I…what?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Are you getting sick, Lan-er-gongzi? I’m never right.”

“I am angry at my family,” Lan Wangji continued, deciding to ignore him. He did not specify why he was angry – let Nie Huaisang assume, as everyone else assumed, that it was because they had not retrieved Lan Sizhui earlier, and for sticking him with the ‘compromise’ of having to stay at the Lotus Pier, no matter how far that was from the truth. “I have not had the opportunity to vent my feelings.”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “You…vent feelings?” he said, sounding doubtful, but a moment later he brightened, as Lan Wangji had expected he would. “We could play a prank on somebody! That always makes me feel better – something petty and ridiculous, so that they won’t get really angry, but still know that you’re upset.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Nie Huaisang appeared somewhat dazed by his agreement. “We could do so many things,” he marveled. “I mean, the possibilities are countless. We could throw paint at something, we could put water on top of a door, we could…”

“I do not want to be publicly associated with it,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang pouted, but tapped his fan against his cheek, thinking. “That makes things harder, but not impossible, I suppose…oh, I know! Why don’t we pretend that you’re your brother? You two look like peas in a pod, but for the color of your eyes and your expressions – if I’m hanging around and calling you er-ge and no one looks too closely, they would have no idea it was you involved.”

That was precisely the idea Lan Wangji had hit upon, and the one that he had hoped to lead Nie Huaisang towards suggesting. He had gotten to the point much quicker than Lan Wangji had thought he would; it seemed, useless as he might be, Nie Huaisang was still apparently capable of accepting at least some guidance.

(Unless perhaps...but no. It was Nie Huaisang.)

“This evening?” he suggested, and Nie Huaisang nodded.

“That’ll give me time to think of a proper prank,” he said happily. It was as if he’d never encountered a care in his life, Sunshot Campaign or no. “Don’t you worry, Wangji-gege! Leave it all to me!”

Lan Wangji returned to the main hall, the token tucked into his sleeve, and said nothing when his older brother smiled at him, faintly apologetic, nor when his uncle turned his face away from him. By that point, Jiang Cheng had arrived, scowling as usual, and he was mingling, speaking with the smaller sect leaders with a stiff and stern expression that said please don’t talk to me – Lan Wangji really would have to see about convincing him to invite Chifeng-zun to the Lotus Pier, politics or no politics – and he and Lan Wangji stared at each other briefly before turning away from each other, whispers sprouting up around them like grass.

Why must we put up with people? Jiang Cheng’s expression eloquently conveyed, and Lan Wangji didn’t disagree in the slightest. Life was so much easier in his little room back at the Lotus Pier, where he could shut the door and not let in the world – sometimes he wondered if all of this was really worth it.

Later that evening, he was reminded that it was.

Mo Xuanyu had been invited to the opening ceremonies, sitting in the main row with the important people of the Jin sect – directly beside Jin Guangyao, as if everyone didn’t know his purpose already – but he hadn’t spoken at all, keeping his face down and demeanor as withdrawn as possible. Sect Leader Jin had found an opportunity to praise him for his humility and obedience, and even Lan Wangji, who did not like Jin Guangyao, was indignant on the man’s behalf in the face of such obvious humiliation.

Etiquette dictated that no one could intervene in another man’s family affairs, but Chifeng-zun had rather loudly remarked to Lan Xichen – as if only just remembering – that it must be good to have his brother (subtext: notable for being humble and obedient) out of seclusion at last, inquiring as to whether Lan Wangji was planning on attending any night-hunts in the near future and, if so, whether he would be bringing his son, for whom he cared so deeply, along.

Lan Wangji was accustomed to being the other person’s child, held up as a positive comparison to the annoyance of the person being compared, and it took Jiang Cheng’s eyes crinkling with barely concealed laughter for him to realize that the person he was being compared favorably against this time was Jin Guangshan, absent father extraordinaire, and not poor Mo Xuanyu.

Later, when his brother slipped away to meet with his sworn brothers, as Lan Wangji expected, and Jiang Cheng was gone reluctantly to take Jin Ling to visit with his grandfather, Lan Wangji headed out with Nie Huaisang, who had come up with some prank involving feathers and glue that Lan Wangji wanted nothing to do with.

“But it would be funny,” Nie Huaisang argued.

Lan Wangji blamed Jiang Cheng for the fact that he even considered it.

“We can simply walk around in the guise we agreed,” he finally said, banishing that unhelpful part of him that loved chaos a little too much – the Wei Wuxian part, perhaps. “That will be confusing enough.”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Huaisang said. “But the feathers are hidden in the linen closet off the main guest hallway if you change your mind.”

With Nie Huaisang complaisant, it was easy enough to gradually make their way through Koi Tower, seeming to stroll without any apparent goal but in fact edging closer to Lan Wangji’s destination: the Jin family quarters.

“Wangji-gege – oops, I mean, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said after he had exhausted at least three other pointless topics. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Lan Wangji looked at him, surprised by the question.

Nie Huaisang was pouting. “You clearly have a goal,” he said. “I know I’m not much, you know, but I’m not nothing. I could still help. If you wanted.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to refuse on instinct – the idea that Nie Huaisang could be helpful to him in any way seemed utterly absurd, utterly impossible – but then he paused.

Attempt the impossible, he reminded himself. After all, was it really so long ago that he himself had done what he had never dreamt he could do and chosen to leave his sect behind?

For a life at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, no less?

Maybe even Nie Huaisang could overturn expectations.

“I want to speak with Mo Xuanyu,” he finally said. “And, if he is unhappy, remove him from Koi Tower. Is that something in which you think you can assist me?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, just once – he did not appear nearly as surprised by the request as Lan Wangji thought he probably should be – and then smiled.

[thetldrplace]

Jane Eyre- Gateshead Hall and Lowood early years.

I am rereading Jane Eyre. This novel, recommended, and then given to me by a friend a few years back, started me up again on my journey to become more familiar with the wealth of classic literature out there. In the more than four years that have passed since then, this will be the first work I’ve gone back and re-read. But I listened to Michael Knowles Book Club review of the work with Madeleine Kearns, and thought I should go back and read it. I’m reading the Chiltern Publishing version, which has a beautiful hardback embossed flowered cover. I’m about 100 some pages in and wanted to review some things that struck me. 

I am kind of dividing the novel into sections based on where Jane is living. 

The opening chapters find 10 year old Jane Eyre at Gateshead Hall. Gateshead hall is the home of her maternal Uncle’s family. Her mother, from a more well-to-do family, had married a cleric, considered beneath her, against her family’s will. Her parents both died when she was very young and her Uncle took her in. Shortly after, he too was sick, and on his death-bed, wrung a promise from his wife that she would watch over Jane. Her aunt, Sarah, does so, but as minimally as possible. She prefers her 3 children, Eliza, John, and Georgiana, and excludes Jane under a constant stream of criticism. John, 14 bullies her constantly, but they all act as if she is barely worth tolerating. 

In the catalyzing event, John hits her, and Jane strikes back by bloodying his nose. He claims she struck him for no reason and Jane is subsequently banished to the 'red room', where one of the maids, Miss Abbot spells it out:  

"They will have a great deal of money, and you will have none: It is your place to be humble, and to try and make yourself agreeable to them." 

That is about as straightforward as it comes. Jane will need to eat, be clothed, and sleep someplace, and that is only had by money, of which she has none. The Reeds (her adoptive family) do. So it will be Jane’s place to humble herself and do whatever needs to be done in order to ensure she can continue to receive what she needs to live. But Jane is not built to suffer injustice, and she sees the way she is unjustly treated, at least in comparison with the aunt’s children, and she hears the unjust accusations leveled against her.

Her aunt, looking for a way to unload the charge she has been given, contracts to have Jane sent to an orphan’s institution where she can learn some practical skills and gain an education. When the director arrives, he is told that she is deceitful and in need of discipline, which Jane knows to be unjust.

After the interview, Jane unloads her feelings on Mrs Reed, discovering a freedom and strength in speaking the truth. 

Soon after, Jane arrives at the Lowood institution. Mr Brocklehorst is the owner/director. Miss Temple is the manager. She meets another student there, Helen Burns. Miss Burns, a mild soul, is disciplined publicly for some trifling matter, which angers Jane. When she asks Helen why she submits to this injustice, Helen tells her that it is better to suffer it, since it hurts her alone, whereas if she rebels, it would cause trouble for those that sent her here for an education. Jane is mystified by this attitude of endurance but considers Helen may be correct. Helen tries to see her own faults and doesn't bother with the faults of others. 

Helen has a conversation with Jane where she clearly shows an understanding of a text she has been considering on Charles the First. She is clearly a bright girl. The things Helen is chastised for are being disorderly in keeping her things in her drawer, forgetting to do certain tasks, etc. The faults that her teacher sees are really due to Helen’s inability to fit into a mold. Rather than nurture her strengths, the school, on direction from its director, Brocklehorst, is trying to ‘mortify the flesh’ and train its pupils to deal with hardship. There is some merit to the idea, after all, there is some truth to the sense that life will not be easy on these girls, but it’s too rigid. These ideas of education seem to be recurring in some of the books I’m reading, particularly Hard Times. Must have been something in the air in England at the time. 

There is an interesting dichotomy between Helen and Jane. Jane sees the injustice and feels she must speak out about it, but she has a blindspot for the good that was given to her too. She only sees that she is mistreated in relation to the other children at Gateshead Hall. She doesn't recognize that even though that’s true, she was nonetheless given a nice place to live and stay. This is of course a very human trait. We all see things relative to what is around us. People will consider themselves very poorly off if they deem many others around them have much more than they do, even if they themselves have more than they need. It’s relative, and having glimpsed what others can have, they want that same amount and will consider themselves hard done by if they don’t have it. This of course isn’t true, but it’s nature to see it that way.

Helen recognizes this and doesn't worry about what she doesn't have. But she does it for a specific spiritual reason: she is a Christian.

The conversation between Jane and Helen goes on with Jane stating that she must stand up for the injustice she suffers and fight against those that give it. Helen answers that pagan cultures do so, but Christian ones do not. Love overcomes hate, violence does not. 

This is not something Jane can understand at first, but who of us can? It’s not a work of the flesh that transforms in this way, it’s a work of the Spirit of God. 

I’m paying more attention to these aspects of the novel this time than I did the first. But I really love this counterpoint that Helen gives, and how Jane is able to begin to learn from her example.

[soundsaboutrighttumblr]

Extra Scene: WBL meta scribble and musings.

On: Shu Yi’s lack of love and that extra scene, toxic masculinity and overcoming the double standard of needing to earn being loved back.

What did Shu Yi mean exactly, by “You gave me the love that resulted in my love/you fulfilled my lack of love” or all the suggestions for translations that were there and around...?

For me, the sentiment that hides in there, that I think I like the best, is something like this: 

Seeing the example of Shi De’s unconditional love made it possible for Shu Yi to love the way he wants love to be, and to make himself a loving person.

And see himself as such. A potential and maybe a yearning that has always been there in him, but never a defining trait, to the eyes of others, or himself.

Because I think Shu Yi’s journey has always been intertwined with toxic concepts of masculinity, even without the added homophobia: through the expectation to define himself through power and merit. When inside, he’s just wanted to define himself through his love, too.

Let me explain some more:

What did he mean, when he said, he was lacking love? Somehow I don’t think Shu Yi means that he was not loved enough. Yes, he has his insecurities about not being good enough, but he has been loved, by his father, by his mother even if she was no longer there. By his true friends. He has known love in his life, even if not with a romantic partner yet.

I think he rather meant, that he was lacking love as a part of his own identity, as something pouring out of him, an act and way of life, that makes him Shu Yi just as much as his shortcomings and his temper make him Shu Yi, a defining trait of himself: Being Shu Yi the lover, to feel whole and strong, self-fulfilled, together with a partner to love in that way.

Because at the start of getting to know him, we would not have used loving as a descriptor that came to mind quickly with Shu Yi, right? There were other traits that came to mind before that, others his friends told him he was, that he himself uses: his temper, his high opinion of himself.

And I think he did try with Yu Xin, to love. But he was too insecure still, and it was one sided, never fulfilled, it never went out into the open, as an act, a decision, was never brought to the surface. Yeah, pools and surfaces and all, lol.

And there was also that:

In the very first ep of season 1, Shu Yi makes a correlation, between loving/having a love, and being a success: His father used his confidence and success and perseverance to win over his mother, so Shu Yi will use his win in the swimming competition to win over Yu Xin.

It’s a correlation between love and success, where the winning somehow is the prerequisite to deserving love, his working hard is what will lead to a fulfilled love, being loved back. It’s a man’s way, right?

In the words of his Dad he quotes: If you fail that’s fine, but you will only be a true man if you succeed.

Of course, there’s a glaring double standard, next to the toxic masculinity, because Shu Yi is ready to love Yu Xin, but not expecting her love back before he deserves it, worked for it.

Funny thing is, Shi De works under the same misunderstanding and double standard, that Shi De will only be loved back when he stays winning, if he proves he’s good enough. He has the same double standard that Shu Yi has, they both are ready to love, but think being loved back needs their worth proven and earned first.

A thought that is quite prevalent in the LGBT community, to have to be successful first, work harder, prove your worth, to make up for what and who you are, the ‘disappointments’ and ‘shortcomings’ that come with your very nature, for only then to be allowed to love and be loved.

So that theme with winning and love? With Shi De, Shu Yi has always been the runner up, never the winner. So, he never even thinks of love there, for himself.

Until he realizes, that in exactly that relationship, where he is never winning, where his hurt pride brings out his worst sides, he is actually loved best.

After getting to know Shi De, after knowing about his love for Shu Yi since so long ago, he sees how Shi De’s example of love for Shu Yi works: An alternative concept, that does not wait for Shu Yi’s success, wait for Shu Yi be worthy, to be allowed. An unconditional love, a kind one. A love that does not want him to be different, less faulty, than he is.

Shu Yi wants to love like that, too, and he has been ready to, I think. So Shi De loving him like this, gives him the chance to fulfill himself by loving back like this.

Seing love from the other side like this, being loved, looking inside the mirror of Shi De’s love, he realizes that this is how love should be, how he wants it to be, for both partners. So he becomes that mirror image.

Just by doing it, loving Shu Yi, Shi De also shows him that it can be done. That there is no mistake in this love between two men.

He accepts Shi De’s unconditional love first, as the way things should be, when Shi De will still struggle with the double standard, will not be able to believe Shu Yi’s undonditional love in return, his forever. Will fall into the trap of having to prove his worth via success again.

Yes, Shu Yi will have doubts about having Shi De’s love, too, with the insecurities of distance and misunderstandings, but he already has decided then, what love means to him, and how he will do it, his part in it.

Shi De will have to complete that arc of bravery for himself too, of allowing yourself to be loved back the same way that you love. Of allowing one vision of love, equal and without double standard.

For Shu Yi to break out of that merit-based understanding of love faster/first, especially in that battlefield of toxic masculinity that is his upbringing, his job and career environment, it means so much. He is brave, and gets there before Shi De.

Of course if the journey is still an ongoing one, with becoming as open as he’d like with their relationship.

But his braveness lies in that decision for and the persisting commitment to that vision of love, love that is equal and unconditional, enduring and all in.

To conclude: Shi De giving him that example of unconditional love, one that resonated deep within him, made it possible for Shu Yi to come to terms that this is how he wants to be and do love. Unconditional and equal, other than a love that was always dependent on merit, at least on his side.

So, since then, he has bravely loved that way. Let that love become part of who he is, even in the absence of his partner, with love in hiding, in denial, through insecurities and its ugly shadows.

He became a loving person when he commited to Shi De, fell for him, brought that person to light through his acts and decisions, so much that others could see – Bing Wei for example -, so much that now, that he is not shadowed over by pain and hurt and hate anymore -the dark backside of love- he can come back to that. To seeing himself that way.

And now we can see him that way, too, right? Now his capacity to love is the thing we see, when we see Shu Yi?

[orsuliya]

The Rebel Princess Carry Top 8 List

Rebel Princess who?

If you are reading this list, you probably already know everything there is to know about The Rebel Princess. For all the newcomers: I advise you to strap in, watch, enjoy and prepare yourselves for any unreasonable expectations towards prospective male partners that you may acquire in the process.

Carrying of princesses or princess carries

For the purposes of this list we shall define a princess carry as an act in which person A carries person B in their arms, with one arm placed beneath either thighs or knees, the other supporting the back and the body of person B being held close to person A’s chest. Just like a groom carrying his bride, hence the alternative name of a bridal carry.

Furthermore, we shall only accept those attempts in which a defined element of lifting the carried person can be observed. A carry is a carry, a catch is a catch, no matter how delightful such a princess catch happens to be. This automatically disqualifies catches performed by Zitan and Xiao Qi in, respectively, episodes 2. and 4.

Similarly disqualified are all instances of potato sack hefts, such as the one performed by Potato in episode 4. with Xie Wanru playing the role of the sack, as well as any other hefts, lifts or carries where the carried person is not merely supported, but rather fully embraced by arms coming at them from opposite directions.

Attention! Despite the name stating otherwise, the carried person does not, in fact, have to be a princess, thus any titles carried by the carried person will have no influence on the final score.

Why Top 8

Why Top 8, you might ask. Well, there are exactly eight proper princess carries in the whole 68-episode-long drama. Which, by the way, gives us one princess carry every eight and a half episodes or 0.12 of a princess carry per single episode.

Scoring criteria

Since the purpose of this list is to objectively estimate the respective value of each princess carry and then use those results to rank all the attempts accordingly, from the feeblest to the most admirable, we are in need of a comprehensive scoring system. After some deliberations the judging panel (namely me) has managed to create exactly such a system, which was then approved by an independent third party (also me, but in a different hat). Each attempt shall receive a score from 0 to 10 points; this score being the sum of four components: Style, Technique, Hotness and Excellence. Those four main components encompass partial, specific criteria; see the explanation below.

Style: This particular component is mostly used to give proper value to such vital characteristics as artistry and flair. However, those are not by any means the only considerations the judging panel will take into account while awarding the total score. The intention behind any given attempt is to be established and subsequently used to judge how well the chosen style suits the purpose of the carry in question and whether it adequately fulfills any goals and needs that may have been expressed or set before the commencement of the attempt itself. The judging panel reserves the right to make demerits based on handling of clothing and accessories, as needed.

Technique: While proper technique of executing a princess carry is most important and ought to be assessed with exceptional care, it is far from the only criteria taken into account while rating general technique of any one attempt. After all, lifting a person in one thing and actually carrying them a very different one. Thus, whenever possible, we will observe and judge the endurance exhibited during the attempt in question; if such an observation proves to be impossible for any reason, a reasonable estimation may serve as an acceptable substitute. Moreover, since any princess carry has to be judged on its merits, the overall difficulty of any attempt must be first established, depending on the probable disparity between the strength of the carrier and the weight of the carried person as well as other factors, such as any floppiness or lack of a proper latch on the neck of the carrier.

Hotness: Recognizing that overall hotness is not a criteria that can be judged objectively, the judging panel hereby undertakes to use more precise methods of measurement, such as: reaction of any independent witnesses, if any are present, emotional reaction of the carrier, the carried person or both, whichever applies and the general mood set by any particular attempt. If any of the aforementioned methods cannot be used for any reason, the judging panel reserves the right to supplement this component with individual hotness assessments made by qualified experts (also me, but horny).

Excellence: Any exceptional elements or unique characteristics, which the judging panel feels might not have been rewarded properly while scoring the other components, will be subject to a rather subjective criteria of overall excellence.

The individual components can receive the following maximum point values:

Style: 3 points

Technique: 3 points

Hotness: 3 points

Excellence: 1 point

AND NOW TO THE LIST PROPER!

Number 8. Song Huaien gets recruited to escort a rather shaken Yuxiu to a doctor – episode 36.

Style: 0.5 points

What style can we even speak of when one of the parties involved makes no attempt at hiding their utter lack of interest in anything even remotely approaching artistry or feeling? Truly, never has there been a carrier less gracious; that the purpose of this exercise is to escort Yuxiu to a doctor is neither here nor there and serves as no excuse for the decided lack of any flair. After all, technically this is an engagement carry, seeing as Song Huaien announces his intention to make Yuxiu his main wife halfway through its duration. Moreover, he has the easiest possible dress to deal with and still manages to bunch it up, if only a little.

Technique: 2.5 points

A truly great lift it is not, although a more or less correct one, at least if we were speaking of pure utility. Still, Song Huaien manages to position Yuxiu in his arms in one move, no further jostling into place needed. Although this may be helped by the fact that she hooks her own hand around his neck even before he gets her off the ground. What is rather impressive is Song Huaien’s undeniable endurance: he not only manages to carry Yuxiu through two entire courtyards, going up and down the stairs, but also makes it look surprisingly easy. Why, at one point he even breaks into a trot. That Yuxiu is hands down the smallest female to be carried in this drama is another matter; he still does rather well and his posture leaves nothing to be desired throughout the entire carry.

Hotness: 0.4 points

There is much to be said about the utter lack of any emotion from Song Huaien other than pure unwillingness to even exist in this particular time and place. No show of strength or endurance will ever compensate for that. The witnesses do not seem to be overly impressed either; why, Awu cuts off Song Huaien’s declaration of intent and physically hurries him away, while no other person present at the scene pays any attention whatsoever to Huaien’s feat. Sheer competence might have been enough to raise the final score, if not for one thing: Yuxiu holds herself very, very stiff for most of the time, trying to look smaller and not, by any chance, lean into Song Huaien’s chest. It’s only at the very end that she makes a conscious effort to do so and that finally brings the element of positive emotion into play.

Excellence: 0.1 points

We admit that there is something rather special about the sheer awkwardness of this princess carry.  It certainly is not easy to forget this heap of stiff, sad mess.

Total score: 3.5 points

Number 7. Potato does his absolute best to show Xie Wanru his love – episode 45.

Style: 1.2 points

There is something to be said for Potato’s (faulty) confidence as well as for his single-minded intent to show Xie Wanru the depth of his care for her and Miracle Fetus. That he doesn’t properly succeed is a different matter altogether. Yet it cannot be denied that there is a certain flair to his approach, if not to the actual execution of the princess carry itself. One also has to question the validity of deciding to princess carry one’s wife while standing at the foot of the bed, although that might simply mean that Potato chose to be surprisingly realistic about his capabilities.

Technique: 1 point

The fact that Potato even manages to lift Xie Wanru, much less to a proper princess carry height, is a rather impressive feat, particularly taking into account that he is, well, Potato and Xie Wanru is no sylphid. Moreover, he really does rather well on the upswing, applying a reasonable amount of force, certainly enough to get her to the required, if not particularly awe-inspiring level. What is surprising is that - when the scene is rewatched closely - it does seem like he actually manages to lock his grip and stop Wanru on the downswing, if only for a moment. What does get him is her fearful reaction; and even then he does manage to let her down in a controlled manner. Sadly, Potato’s attempt should be properly classified as a princess lift rather than a princess carry, since there is no actual carrying going on; this makes it hard to estimate his endurance.

Hotness: 1.4 points

The judging panel would like to notify all sundry that its opinions are meant to be devoid of any personal prejudices and as close to true objectivity as it is even possible. Which means that it must be admitted that there is something rather… warm about the pre- and post-carry playfulness exhibited by both parties, regardless of the momentary fear and panic shown during the latter half of the carry itself. Moreover, the general mood of the scene remains in place in spite of Potato’s incompetence and objective failure. Truly, it is a great pity we cannot see how any of Wanru’s maids might have reacted to Potato’s shenanigans. “It’s a rather lovely moment of marital playfulness,” says our expert, “one perhaps made even more spectacular by Potato’s failure to fulfill his original goal. And really, it does prove once and for all that potatoes should be served warm, not cold!”

Excellence: 0.8 points

It may not be quite fair to award points based on the sheer unexpectedness of ever seeing this particular carry, but there you have it. Objectively speaking, Potato’s sheer excitement and playfulness alone might have managed to win the judging panel over, but the fact that a root vegetable somehow managed to pull off a princess… lift is even more impressive.

Total score: 4.4 points

Number 6. Gatekeeper steps in for Zitan and carries Su Jin’er out of the dungeon – episode 57.

Style: 1.1 points

It is debatable whether there is much flair or artistry to this particular princess carry, despite it being executed in rather dramatic circumstances and in no less dramatic surroundings. However, that is not the purpose of this attempt; what Gatekeeper is actually meant to do is to conduct a rescue, which he certainly does in a rather professional, matter-of-fact manner. There is, however, one element to his behaviour, which may seem rather out of place; notice that he stops before Zitan in such a way that Su Jin’er’s legs actually bump into Prime Minister Wen. As to whether he does it on purpose, well, that certainly seems to be the case.

Technique: 2.9 points

That Gatekeeper is a surprisingly competent man, especially for an Imperial Mook. Not only does he manage to lift an unconscious Su Jin’er from a slumped, almost horizontal position, but he also attempts it while in full mail. What’s more, he does pretty well with arranging her in his arms despite her overall floppiness and then moves around tight spaces with no visible effort. As if that was not enough, he then carries her up a great number of very steep stairs and then, presumably, all the way to the palace proper. Really, the only thing one might find any problems with is Su Jin’er’s relatively low position in Gatekeeper’s arms, especially where her legs are concerned; and even that might be the result of trying to provide more support for her head.

Hotness: 0.6 points

While an unconscious Su Jin’er is unable to express any kind of reaction and even if it was not so, she would most probably act disappointed in the identity of her actual carrier, there is something very reassuring about the matter-of-fact manner in which this particular princess carry is executed. “Competence is something rather attractive, no matter its source,” says our expert, “and there is a certain romantic air about the idea of being literally carried out of danger.”

Excellence: 0.5 points

There is something to be said for a competent substitute, although this rather novel approach to princess carries might be not to everybody’s taste. And yet it spared us from having to watch Zitan making his own attempt, for which the judges are, for one, undeniably grateful.

Total score: 5.1 points

Number 5. Xiao Qi rescues Awu from the evils of excessive alcohol consumption – episode 13.

Style: 2 points

Never has there been a carry more utilitarian in purpose; Xiao Qi makes a decision to get his wife to bed and immediately executes it, no hesitation or half-measures needed nor wanted! And yet even then he cannot deny himself that one tiny show of flair on the upswing. Why, I do believe that at one point Awu’s knees are positioned higher than her head, if only for a moment!

Technique: 3 points

There is much to be admired about Xiao Qi’s technique; he manages to lift Awu up in one fluent move, using the considerable power of that upswing to position her in one go so well that it requires no further corrections. Which raises a question of where and when he might have learned to do that, seeing as it’s the very first attempt we see on-screen (somebody must have brought Awu back from the bridge, don’t you think?). Xiao Qi carries Awu all the way to bed, which may not be a great distance, but still a considerable one. Especially as she is out of it and thus unable to help support her own weight by holding onto his neck or shoulders, although she still tucks her arm in, stopping herself from achieving total floppiness.

Hotness: 1 point

Since Awu is out of it and Xiao Qi’s face is full of determination to get his wife to bed… but for altogether too innocent reasons, there is little that can be said for overall hotness of this scene. The only witness for whose reaction we might have hoped, namely Yuxiu, is also unconscious, which forces us to ask the experts for their opinion. “Somewhat hotter than lukewarm by the sheer force of Xiao Qi’s competence in executing that carry,” said I, nodding with great authority.

Excellence: 0.7 points

The judging panel remains in awe of the exceptional fluidity with which Xiao Qi manoeuvred Awu’s body into his arms.

Total score: 6.7 points

Number 4. Zilu starts celebrating Mi’er’s birthday in a very appropriate manner – episode 22.

Style: 2.4 points

From what little we can observe, Zilu, who is a rather artistic man on any given day, is no less artful when it comes to celebrating his beloved’s birthday. A proper princess carry is just the way to go; still, there remains a question of whether a planned and possibly rehearsed carry is just as good or maybe even better than an improvised one. Zilu’s is certainly planned, judging from the way he arranges himself in the doorway and then carries Mi’er through the entire courtyard, door-to-door. What is admirable is that he miraculously manages to deal with her very difficult dress; perhaps it could have been arranged better, for it does get somewhat bunched up… but it’s a good attempt nonetheless.

Technique: 2.1 points

Sadly, we have been robbed of seeing the actual lift, all thanks to Pang Gui the Inept Ninja. Still, there is much that can be assumed based on the prelude, which we do see, and the carry itself. Zilu’s stretched out hand is undoubtedly very steady, which speaks to his confidence in the subsequent maneuver. The carry itself is rather less steady – Mi’er seems to rest rather low and even sways at one point, although that can be excused since Zilu is climbing the stairs at that very moment. All the same, Mi’er does clutch onto him rather tightly with a fully functional grip.  And yes, Zilu does manage to climb a few stairs, which, together with the fact that he carries Mi’er through the entire courtyard, is a surprising feat for a Ma prince. Those, as you know, are not particularly known for their fitness.

Hotness: 2.2 points

It is rather hard to say what Zilu’s two servants might think about his princess carry, even if they do go to their knees. What is quite remarkable, on the other hand, is that Pang Gui stills for a good moment or two, seemingly for no other reason than to observe this great feat. Unfortunately, we do not see Mi’er’s face, although it is obvious from Zilu’s pre- and post-carry reaction that he at least must take great enjoyment from the very idea of surprising his lady in this manner. “There is a tangible promise of great enthusiasm and surprising endurance right in that princess carry,” says our expert, “which raises the temperature quite considerably.”

Excellence: 0.3 points

Not a memorable princess carry by any means; there is a reason why it was missing from the original list of contenders despite the rather unexpected carrier. Still, it is a birthday carry, which certainly makes it one of a kind.

Total score: 7 points

Number 3. Xiao Qi rescues Awu from the evils of lonely garden strolls  – episode 18.

Style: 2.7 points

Excellent handling of a rather difficult multi-layered dress on Xiao Qi’s part! Somehow he manages to lift Awu in such a way as to fan out all the layers for maximum aesthetic effect, while at the same time not leaving them to hang so low as to hinder his steps. The overall style is rather sentimental, which suits their surroundings, if not the occasion itself.

Technique: 2.1 points

The lift itself is not quite forceful enough to allow Xiao Qi to arrange his wife correctly on the first try; he does have to jostle her into position. Although this is pretty understandable, seeing as they go straight from an embrace to a full carry with no space to catch momentum in between. Awu is quite a helpful princess on this occasion, holding onto Xiao Qi’s shoulder with a solid, if not overly firm grip and bringing her head close to his chest, which redistributes her bodyweight in a rather helpful manner. The distance to their bed is presumably not that great, taking into account the general layout of the house, but it would still take more than a few steps to get there.

Hotness: 2.6 points

No witnesses to be had, but Awu seems properly impressed during the lift itself. In fact, there might have even been a tiny gasp! Once properly in the air, she shows proper appreciation as well as undeniable trust in the strength of her husband’s arms. Xiao Qi, on the other hand, may look rather restrained to an untrained eye; make no mistake, though, there is undeniable pride there and a not very subtle promise of things to come in form of a smile. “Trust,” says our expert, “is a very warm feeling in proper circumstances” and we concur heartily with this opinion.

Excellence: 0.5 points

There is little else to be said about this particular carry, although there is something truly remarkable about Awu’s helpfulness and utter trust; the judges hold an opinion that a proper carry is just like a tango – meant for two.

Total score: 7.9 points

Number 2. Xiao Qi bridal carries his princess of a bride to their chamber – episode 33.

Style: 3 points

There is masterful handling of clothes and then there are miracles. What Xiao Qi is doing on this occasion can be nothing but the latter; somehow he manages to execute a princess carry while managing his own floor-length ceremonial robes, Awu’s difficult dress with exceedingly long sleeves and a train as well as both of their trailing cloaks. All the while displaying this unwieldy finery to its full magnificence and somehow not landing on his face. Although he noticeably deploys no other dramatic gestures nor tricks except for some very touching and impressively prideful sweet-talk, so it seems like this miracle does require a lot of concentration. But do we really need additional bells and whistles in this case? The judges seem to hold a rather firm opinion on that matter: a bridal carry it is supposed to be and a bridal carry it is, for it really does not get any more bridal, at least not without some reality-shattering shenanigans.

Technique: 2.2 points

Unfortunately, we are again devoid of the opportunity to see the actual lift, which seems like a true pity, taking into account the probable level of difficulty caused by all this wedding finery. Once again Awu is being held rather high, although, to be fair, rather unsteadily – for Xiao Qi, that is, not unsteadily in a particularly dangerous or even visible manner. There is also the matter of her grip; this time Awu locks her hands around Xiao Qi’s neck, which might indicate the need for further support. It is hard to estimate the distance which they might have crossed as we do not know the starting point, but it must have been a rather considerable one and those robes cannot be light.

Hotness: 2.7 points

Having female attendants literally giggle once hit with the aura of overwhelming hotness should be proof enough that this princess carry is truly something special. If it is not, then there is always the look of undisguised manly pride on Xiao Qi’s face, only further affirmed by his words. “Few things can fan the flames quicker than a prime display of manly confidence,” confirms our expert, blushing violently, “as long, of course, as it does not cross over into toxic machoism. In this case we can feel absolutely safe, there is no doubt as to that.” The judging panel, however, decided to award a demerit for a visible lack of surety or excitement on Awu’s face; although caused by external matters, it does seem to retract from the overall mood.

Excellence: 1 point

I am sure that nobody can deny that this particular bridal carry is the most bridal of them all. There is literally no further height to strive for, as far as bridal carries are concerned.

Total score: 8.9 points

AND NOW FOR OUR NUMBER ONE PRINCESS CARRY...

Number 1. Xiao Qi cannot wait to give Awu all the children – episode 29.

Style: 3 points

There is showing off your wife’s beautiful clothes and there is just plain showing off your skills at the former. Xiao Qi shows himself to be the master of both, somehow allowing Awu’s train to hang very close to its full length and yet managing it in such a way that it doesn’t hinder his steps in the least. He also does it while seemingly paying no attention to his own steps, which takes it to a wholly different level, and while at that, he adds a lot of eye-contact and even a heartbreakingly gentle nuzzle. No wonder that towards the end we can observe a quietly triumphant look under all that manly confidence… and no wonder that this particular carry gets its very own rather dramatic music accompaniment.

Technique: 2.4 points

It is rather unfortunate that we were not able to observe the execution of the lift, although there is no doubt that it is was correct at the very least. What we do see, however, is that Awu is being held very high, which indicates an application of considerable force on the upswing, something that Xiao Qi has already proven himself to be more than capable of. At the same time, the difficulty of this particular carry is rather low due to a rather trifling distance as well as Awu helping quite a lot with how she holds her body and with that gentle, yet very solid grip. However, the judging panel is forced to admit that the steadiness of Xiao Qi’s hold is truly a sight to behold; it takes a true master in order to maintain such a minute face-to-face distance without touching and yet avoid any unpleasant bumps.

Hotness: 3 points

Never has there been a carry more deserving of an NC-17 rating. Even without the prelude there is no doubt whatsoever as to the purpose of this particular exercise; the look which Xiao Qi and Awu share speaks just as loudly as five full-blown kisses would have in any other circumstances. And a smouldering look is not the only thing they share: why, at one point they seem to share the same breath, which turns the chemistry up to unimaginable levels. At the same time, this scorching hotness is masterfully tempered by a sense of pure tenderness and intimacy, which causes the judging panel to bitterly regret their promise not to exceed the maximum score for any single component.

Excellence: 1 point

This princess carry really has everything that an ideal princess carry should have, which is undeniably a kind of excellence in itself. However, that is not what convinced the judges to award the highest number of points possible in this category, but rather the fact that more than one expert has pointed out this particular scene as the reason of their own imminent pregnancy, sometimes with twins or even triplets.

Total score: 9.4 points

[all the amazing gifs used in this list were provided by the ever-generous @storge​]

[gerrydelano]

SON OF A FUCK. i had forgotten to move an edited paragraph into the html document i have for this last chapter and so almost all of adelard’s apology was outdated, too. fixed under the cut here jdhkbfjn

Gerry,

I needed you to be able to hold this as you read it, so my wife is transcribing as I speak. The Eye is no comfort to me on its own, but when I have struggled to articulate a dark moment, there can be some merit to its encouragement. I can already feel it stirring in me, and my own hands could not hope to keep up with it now. Please accept hers for the time being, not as an intrusion but a show of my sincerity. Jacqueline has been my own anchor for nearly forty years, and I must be honest with her, as well, about my mistakes.

I have owed you an apology since the day that I met you. I cannot claim that the help I try to offer you is purely charity, or the sort that I would give to many of the allies I’ve secured over the years. I don’t doubt your capability or dismiss your age with assumptions of naivety. My years of experience don’t outnumber yours by all that many. The difference is that I came into this life as a grown man, and you did not. The luxury of choice was taken from you. My actions, and my inaction, only aided in taking it again when what happened on that cliffside should have set you free.

And so you may have already suspected that regret plays a part in my reasoning, but you deserve to hear it directly from me. You deserve, at least, to know why I bound Gertrude to the book. I don’t know what she’s told you because I can’t say I trust her to be honest about such a selfish thing, but I can tell you how she convinced me to agree to it.

To be frank, I never thought it would even come down to this. For so long, I was certain she would outlive me. I didn’t know someone like you would be waiting with her when I might be called to collect her body.

Jacqueline and I have written our own wills, but I may have been Gertrude’s last remaining friend. The contingency plans we came up with together were not so domestic as they were rooted in the truth of all that we had weathered over the years. Ways of extracting each other from a situation no one else could, methods of disposal should burial no longer be an option. If I were to end up in a state that I would not want my family to see, she would be the one to contact them. Her own wishes were simpler: “Just set me on fire.”

Early last year, she proposed revisions to her request. She had recently come into possession of a book that once belonged to Mary Keay. I knew her, and I knew of her passing, but none of the details. She was never exactly the type of person I was all too interested in thinking about if I could help it. I’m sure I don’t need to explain why.

I didn’t know enough about you. She had given no reason to expect much from any child of hers beyond an extension of her greed, and her politics. Your name never entered conversation as Gertrude explained this new step she would need me to take should she find herself dying before she could put a stop to the Unknowing.

She had originally asked me to bind her to the book and deliver it to whoever might take her place as Archivist, so that she may pass along any information most vital to stopping the ritual that would otherwise be lost. It wasn’t so simple as telling me her secrets, as it was her position under the Eye that made a difference. She was certain that I was too devoted to the “fool’s errand” that would lead me to Klanxbüll that very summer.

I asked her how much it might hurt and she presented me with no illusions of how awful it would be, but we agreed that stopping any ritual would be worth that pain. At least, she was willing to endure it for the greater good. The moment she said her piece, she would request that her cremation be completed, because who would want to stay that way forever? Not my friend of so many years. My friend, for whom my genuine respect is still not without criticism.

Perhaps she thought that I would sympathize because I continue to devote myself to pursuits that have taken decades. She never did understand my stake in faith, I think in part because it traces back to a trust in the generations that will survive me. I believe just as much in the tremendous tenacity of people and their ability to carry on as I do in my G-d, and my duty. I do not place my own wisdom above a natural death. The moment I do is the moment I have lost sight of the bigger picture.

Gertrude spent far too long in the belly of the Eye to entirely quash that egocentrism. I should have accounted for how long she had been playing with fire, as well.

I told you to find me in London because I wanted to check on you. You were in such a state when I found you with her, and still you tried to help me when my leg gave me trouble on the way up the incline. That gesture alone was enough to show me that you were nothing like your mother, and that I had misjudged you before I had even given you a chance. I’m sorry for that, too. I know that I am far from the first.

But when you showed up to my safehouse and saw the book on the table, when I told you what I was meant to do with it, you said, “Leave it with me.” That no one who had never seen it before should suffer it, and you knew what to do next. I remember thinking to myself — this will hurt no one but Gertrude. I remember writing her death, and learning then just how much she had already hurt you. I thought that if you were to skip ahead to burning her page, then it would be within your rights.

It surprised me when you didn’t. Signing a contract was the last thing I expected you to do, but the way you explained it to me made sense. If I had found myself in that position at your age, at that juncture in my life, there’s no small chance that I would have done the very same.

It was seeing you in person again to discuss the NotThem that made it all the clearer to me. You stuttered when I first brought her up. Not with your words, but with your whole body. You had a look that, were I to see it on any one of my daughters’ faces, someone would be very sorry very soon. I was already sorry, but you didn’t even seem to blame me. That was the moment that I knew you hadn’t chosen to keep the book for your own practical uses, but for a reason I’m not even certain you’ve let yourself acknowledge yet.

While Gertrude and I may have shared a certain level of pragmatism throughout our partnership and I am not above making tough calls, I cannot say I ever saw myself becoming accomplice to such a private, deliberate hurt. To a decision that serves no one, and does none of the good she proposed it would when she was still herself enough to retain warmth.

I make no excuses. My only hope is that this explanation grants you a modicum of the freedom that has been stolen from you: choice. The hamsa I gave you is no priceless heirloom, and should disposing of it bring you more peace than keeping it, I encourage you to do so. I wanted you to be able to hold this letter so that you may have the choice to keep it, or rip it up. We can remain friends or simply colleagues; regardless, should I come to possess information that could help you and your team, I will pass it along with no secrets kept.

It’s up to you. So is what you do with that book, for better or worse. But if direction is something you still find yourself in need of, then let me say this with the utmost clarity: this Gertrude is hanging on by a thread. What she wants may be derived from who she was at her very coldest. The Gertrude that I knew intended to burn.

Adelard

UUUUUUUUGH

[holisticalecsecareanu]

This interview by ERA News Beta speaks to Alec about a varied number of subjects to do with his film casting and debut in GOC, but farther than that, Alec speaks in great detail about his journey in Romanian theatre,  his views on the state of Romanian theatre today,  his acting philosophy.

I found this an incredibly revelatory article about Alec because you don’t fully realize, until an interview like this,  the depth and breadth, not only of his intelligence, but of his strong beliefs and views regarding his chosen profession. It’s very different going from little snippets in interviews where Alec discusses mostly just one project, to this really comprehensive presentation of who he is as a person and an actor. Also, obviously being able to discuss such complex subjects in his native language, I believe, really allows him to open up more comfortably.

He has a -LOT- of strong feelings and responses to the questions the interviewer asks and he expresses them eloquently, intelligently, and also pretty bluntly, sometimes. It shifted, a little, and not in a bad way, who he is in my head, or rather, it fleshed out who he is in a way that all the quick sound bites and magazine interviews don’t.

I know, from this, that he will never strop striving to push himself and his abilities, to discover new and different ways to learn in his craft. This interview also goes a long way towards explaining how Josh, Francis, and he,  formed such a bond, because I believe they also hold these beliefs and commitments to the roles they take on and the projects invest in. It’s almost like kismet because what are the odds that these three individuals would have the same kind of approach to the story they were telling? I think that is why God’s Own Country is such a superlative and luminous film.

Also, the Fight Club production sounds KICK ASS and I wish I had seen it and I can’t believe someone didn’t tape it!

And, yes, that photo, because it never, never ceases to rock every aspect of my world.

This interview is in Romanian but, at least on Google, there is a Google translate button that appears. I have also provided the Google translated version below; am not able to vouch for it’s accuracy, but at least it is something!

Thank you if you’ve read this far. :-D

Google Translation of Interview Below. : 

The first British film brings a London agent to Alec Secăreanu

There is also news that one of the young aspirants managed a movie in Hollywood, and for a second people hold their breath, dismayed, wondering "what the hell is this?", Before the engines start again. and to see life beyond its course - Radu Iacoban once said to me, referring to an entire generation, actors who are making their way to a glory that neither they nor we know much about yet . It could have the American endorsement or the greatness of the European trophies, in any case it will no longer be possible to rely on the applause of those who built their illusions in the theaters where they were taken by force or on the admiration of those who dreamed of the two hours of the program. television of yesteryear.

Alec Secăreanu is not one of the 10-15 actors who appear constantly in the distribution of each of the films of the new wave, fueling the impression that only a few people have managed to finish the theater institute in Romania lately. But it has the merit of entering Tyler Durden's mind. And to enter Tyler Durden's mind is courage, especially since it is a dark mind, split into two completely separate universes, and in each of them reigns revolt in all its forms, revolt against the system, against consumer society, against to an absent father and, therefore, against God himself. It's an even greater courage to do this after a perfect director has already passed by, who explored his corners, in tandem with an iconic actor.

The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were, at the end of last year, an absolute success in Bucharest, so the complete version follows, with sophisticated projections made by Les Ateliers Nomades - the company that made the famous mapping on the Parliament Palace - and imagined stunt figures under the guidance of experts from the Gladiator Association, which works in the good tradition of its illustrious founder, Szobi Csech. It's like we lost sleep. Anyway, Tyler Durden doesn't sleep either… Alec Secăreanu certainly sleeps quite a bit himself, since in the meantime he finished filming the first feature film in which he took the lead role, a kind of Brokeback Mountain with a farmer from Romania, the debut film of the British director Francis Lee.

There were nine weeks of filming in Yorkshire, enduring the "bipolar weather" of England, during which time he learned, among other things, to cut the hooves of cattle, to make cheese, to witness the birth of lambs. Oleacă already knew from the Fight Club. And in few percussions I surpass him, after Alexandrul Dabija's Requiem, from the National Theater in Bucharest. In addition to stories about the British system, a show business performance machine, news about new theatrical productions in Bucharest or evaluations of Romanian theater in general, from Alec Secăreanu I found out that there is an online radio that takes you far, Nice Cream FM , and something even more interesting, that there is Radiooooo, with five "o's", which allows you to choose from the map of the world what kind of music you want, in decades, from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present. «You can understand your decade and your country and listen to, say, Mongolian music from the '60s. It's something like Wikipedia, users are still uploading music, so they've already reached an impressive database, "says Alec.

Rep: Actors of your generation make most of the film and most make film outside. Ana Ularu, Iacoban, Bucur… a long series in which you have just been included, in the most honorable way, with a British production, a kind of Brokeback Montain as far as I understand, a love story that happens on a farm and involves a character born in Romania

Alec Secăreanu: The first feature film in which I had the main role, "God's Own Country" is Francis Lee's debut film. I really wanted a Romanian for the role, because the character in this story is Romanian, and the director wanted everything to be as authentic and organic as possible. Of course, the character has only a line or two in Romanian, not at all significant, by the way, for the story, so they could take absolutely any other actor who speaks English with an accent. But he wanted everything to be organic. The casting director from Romania gave more than 40 rehearsals and, a few weeks later, the director came to Bucharest and wanted to meet about 13 of us, a group from which he chose three actors. The three were in London for a final test, a so-called chemistry test with the other actor, the one who had already taken the role.

YOU HAVE TO HAVE EXTREMELY STRONG NERVES THOUGH, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE STAKES ARE HIGH. PROBABLY THE FIRST THING YOU NEED TO GET USED TO AS AN ACTOR IS TO BE REJECTED. YOU GO TO DOZENS OF CASTINGS, TO HUNDREDS OF CASTINGS, YOU GET FIVE OR TEN PERCENT OF THEM, TO THE OTHERS YOU ARE REJECTED AND, MOST OF THE TIME, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

 They are simply looking for something else, the sooner you understand this system, the better. To keep your lucidity and show signs of mental health. And you have every reason to protect your health, since, in the end, the tool you work with is yourself and, if you break this tool or if it is defective, it no longer serves you properly. My character's name is Gheorghe Ionescu, he is a young Romanian farmer who went to work in England, who ends up working somewhere, in an isolated complex in Yorkshire, and there he meets a guy, the boy of the farm owners. An unexpected meeting for both of them, surprising, a friendship and a fascination are linked and the two end up living a love story, although neither of them identifies as a gay person. In fact, the film does not want to be a gay movie, but, rather, a story about people, a plea that some encounters are love. A very interesting creative connection was created between me, my colleague, Josh O'Connor, the director Francis Lee and Joshua, our operator.

We had two weeks of rehearsals, in which we discussed very well each stage of the script, each sequence, what happens to the characters, the history of each of them. When I started working, everyone in the frame knew what to do. I filmed a lot of exteriors, on which occasion I got to know very well the weather in England, which is dementia, you

have four seasons in one day, it starts with snow, followed by a storm, then hail, then the sun rises, then again it snows a little and so on. In fact, the weather was a real problem at the connections, because I was starting a frame in the sun and when I resumed it, it was snowing outside, so things didn't fit.

THE TWO WEEKS OF REHEARSALS HELPED ME BUILD THE CHARACTER, BECAUSE I HAD TO WORK ON THE FARM, I LEARNED TO WORK WITH COWS, SHEEP, TO WITNESS THE BIRTH OF LAMBS, TO CUT THE HOOVES OF CATTLE, TO MAKE CHEESE , LOTS OF THINGS. IF THIS THING WITH ACTING DOESN'T WORK… I LEARNED SOME EXTREMELY USEFUL THINGS, WHAT CAN I SAY.

Rep: I understand that the benefits were even greater, you chose an invitation to the British actors' union and a London agent…

Alec Secăreanu: I had the opportunity, for nine weeks, to work in a healthy system from the ground up, starting from the way the union works, to the fact that the actors from the British schools learn notions of personal discipline from college, in a broader framework for the management of the profession. I was treated as a member of their union. A month and a half after I finished filming, my agent received an email from the union asking if I had been paid for the work done, so that the warranty that had been withheld from the producers at the time could be released. in which they announced the film. What can I say… welcome to Romania!

I told them that I am not part of this union, they told me that such a contract in the UK guarantees me these rights and allows me to become a member. I'll be back on the 20th for a series of meetings, and we'll probably finish the talks on this occasion. In the meantime, I also have an agent in London, in addition to those who represent me in Romania. I started the relationship with my agent from Romania, Alexandru Harsany, from RAA (Romanian Artists Agency), two years ago, when I was just returning from Venice, where I stayed for about three months, at the Art Biennale, where I was a performer in an installation built by Alexandra Pirici. Alexandra…, a perfect artist… two days ago completed a performance that will be presented at the Tate, in London…

Returning to my professional path, my stake, I once told my agent, is to work abroad, because in the country, unfortunately, you have nothing to do. You just have nothing to do. Seven to eight films are made a year, which usually have the same cast. In fact, if you look at Romanian films from the last ten years, you might get the impression that only 15 actors have graduated from the University of Romania lately. Beyond this shortcoming, there is no market, the options are few, I do not understand how many of my colleagues manage. Well, I'm in this situation too. Outside, once you have a major project, some doors open, everything goes on.

HERE, I HAVE COLLEAGUES THAT PEOPLE RECOGNIZE ON THE STREET, BY SUBWAY AND BY BUS, WHERE THEY ARE MAINLY BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE TAXI MONEY. IT'S FRUSTRATING.

I worked with my agent in Romania, I updated my casting photos every six months, which means to make available to potential producers a picture of the state, in which you must be relaxed, not to frown and to highlights your features as best you can. We have updated, to the necessary standards, the video materials or CV presentations, ie that series of things without which you have nothing to look for at the door of a casting director or an agent. While filming in England, the producers there issued a press release announcing that they were filming and that they had a certain distribution. At time number two, Alexandru's mail exploded, hundreds of requests, questions and offers came, sent by casting directors, agents, an entire machine was set in motion.

During the filming in London, I had five days off at one point, and the producers arranged for me to meet with some other directors, agencies, to see how things worked. They are somehow looking for unpolished stones, hoping to find the next great talent. We don't have this culture. I know only one casting agent who goes to shows or to UNATC, to see new faces, and that is Domnica Cârciumaru. The others always work with the same people, and that's especially because they don't know other people, they don't look to see what actors there are on the market, they don't care. Romanian agencies do not have casting databases, for example.

There are real platforms out there for that. Our casting directors work from project to project. 'What I need, a 40-year-old woman. Where else have I had a 40-year-old woman? Aha, in the gum commercial. Well, let's call that one too - that's how things work. In London I had meetings with three agencies and I opted for a rather large one, The Independent, which deals not only with actors, but also with directors, screenwriters, a total of about a thousand people. I liked that it works as a boutique agency, they have 40 agents, every week they meet and discuss the projects that are on the market and to which they have access and then they try to promote the people they represent. In addition, this agency is open to the States. We will see…

Rep: Returning closer to home, you have a few shows in Bucharest, including Fight Club, one of the revelations of last season. The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were an absolute success, so the full version follows… 

Alec Secăreanu: In addition to the most recent premiere, Fight Club, we have an extraordinary show at Godot, «Flowers, Girls, Movies or Boys», which we have been playing for ten years with great success. It is one of the first texts written by Mimi Brănescu, he being a basic actor, but lately he has reshaped himself on dramaturgy and screenwriting. A show about relationships, which follows the evolution of two couples, from the moment when future lovers know each other, until a little later, when they may lose love. It's a good, funny text, it catches the audience very well. I'm one of those lovers, a filthy neighborhood wannabe, the kind who feels like he knows them all, and obviously he's not.

His evolution is very interesting, he hits a person he underestimates, in any case he did not expect to have such an impact on him. The girl is from another social class and this very conflict between social classes arouses him and makes him get closer. In time, however, the two realize that they do not have much in common.

I KNOW, I KNOW, THERE'S A THEORY THAT OPPOSITES WOULD BE DRAWN, BUT THEY'RE MOST LIKELY DRAWN TO THE POINT WHERE THEY REALLY HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON. THEY MAY NOT EVEN MEET AT ALL, AND THAT'S THE STRANGENESS OF THE COUPLE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.

I have another show at the National Theater, Requiem, directed by Alexandru Dabija, entered the seasons last year, things are going well. We expected him to be selected in the National Theater Festival, but it seems that was not the case. It is a text Vişniec, first placed in Romania, with references to an area that seems to be of great interest to Dabija now, more precisely the area of ​​war, the world of soldiers. Vişniec was also interested in this form in one form or another, if we think of "The Woman as a Battlefield in the Bosnian War".

most spectacular staging of this text. There was another show, once in France, he told me that he had seen it, but that it is much more extravagant. Dabija thought of an image show, there are costumes, there is scenery, there are quite a few actors on stage, about 20, some of them employees of TNB, most of them - collaborators. It is sung, it is sung beautifully, the music is by Ada Milea, some songs are really very nice, it is a kind of music specific to the instruments with which it is played: an accordion, a big drum - where I play… We have some marches and various others pieces that lead to the military music area.

I play the role of a soldier who still believes in victory. The story takes place in a cafe Chez Vişniec, a place where soldiers meet who are preparing to return home, who dream of the triumphant march and the glory of reception in their cities. All sorts of people gather at this cafe, some who have never believed in victory, others who have believed, there are some who still believe that victory is possible - all sorts of psychologists synthesized from this theater of war.

What did not delight me about this text is the fact that the characters do not have an evolution from one end of the show to the other. A logic does not have to exist, it is an area of ​​the theater that Vişniec has accustomed us to, but the characters, although very vehement, with a very strong speech, were suitable for a well-deserved development.

Rep: Do you believe in victory? Or have you not fought your big battles so far?

Alec Secăreanu: No, the great battles did not take place. But we started with a few fights, some of which we lost, others we won, others are still contested. I lost, for example, the struggle with the idealism I had at the end of college. I was very disappointed when I finished college, very disappointed… I had high expectations from the Romanian theater market, I hoped to have a vision, a coherence, a general enthusiasm. Of course, everyone wants to be part, at some point, of a movement that means something. I'm still part of the independent theater area, so I never relied on the state theater to do anything for me.

BY THE WAY, I THINK THAT THE STATE THEATER HAS ENTERED A KIND OF SHADOW CONE, IN THE SENSE THAT, AT LEAST THAT IS MY IMPRESSION, IT HAS BECOME MANNERIST, IT HAS NO IMAGINATION, IT HAS STUCK IN SOME RECIPES THAT SEEM TO WORK AND, WITH FEW EXCEPTIONS, NO ONE SEEMS WILLING TO DEVELOP NEW THEATRICAL EXPRESSIONS.

And in the latter case, the high hopes and high expectations were primarily for them, because they manage the funds needed to do that. Every year they have to put on a number of shows and I look in amazement that they are not trying to discover anything, they are systematically going to areas where they have been before, they only walk on dirt paths. It's not the commercial that has to bring the world to the theater. There may be a commercial area, but I think it is our duty, of artists, actors, directors, to push the boundaries a little, to invent new ways.

But the independent theater is currently identifying itself as an area of ​​precarious means. You do shows that catch the audience - logically, otherwise you can't finance yourself, the setting is, most often, modest, consisting of two chairs and a table - since there is no money for something more sophisticated, the costumes are also as they are - most often the actors come with their clothes from home. It's a poor theater, let's face it. If you try to look for what is happening in the independent theater, the first time you notice the lack of funds, and you notice it as a spectator and it would not be your job as a spectator to see things like that. It can be seen that the director made a kind of compromise with the money to make this show. While in the state theater a lot of funds are lost.

There are exceptions, of course, but my huge frustration is that you see shows with extraordinary budgets and you don't understand why the money went for such a show, which doesn't bring anything new. While in the independent theater there are so many ideas and so much desire to work, but there is no funding for their realization. I was really talking to someone the other day, because we're looking for funding for Fight Club, and I was asked, okay, beyond funding, what's the business? Let's get along, we're talking about an art form, and monetizing art in this brutal way is harder to imagine, because our stake is to try to develop new theatrical languages, we need grants, state aid, maybe even the private area, the effort is not made for a show to be sold like this, to fill the halls.

If you want that, you have a party, you call the world, you play a few more instruments, you say three more poems and that was it. Either way you want to go, the discussion inevitably reaches the area of ​​the diseased system, which you have little to do, except to try to build it from scratch.

I have a cultural association with some colleagues. We realized in 2007, when we finished the University, that there is no point in hoping, that we will not receive any kind of help from the theaters, where even now the places are blocked.

I WOULDN'T SAY THEY AVOID YOUNG PEOPLE, BUT RATHER THAT THEY ARE WARMER WITHOUT US. THERE ARE A LOT OF EMPLOYEES IN THEATERS WHO DO NOTHING, BUT KEEP THE SEATS BLOCKED, TWO OR THREE SEATS APPEAR ONCE EVERY THREE YEARS.

IT'S A KIND OF SLAVERY, PEOPLE WORK IN A WELL-GROUNDED SYSTEM, WHICH NO ONE REALLY WANTS TO CHANGE.

In fact, the same situation is in every state institution, many people who receive a meaningless salary. And these are not theater companies, to say that they are families, but they are state institutions, financed from the budget. One is an independent, self-financing theater company and theoretically is allowed to do whatever it wants with its money, and another is a budget-funded theater, obliged to function for the public and to educate it, to arouse it, to motivate it. . If you put the same pieces of Caragiale and Chekhov every year, and only that, and only that…

Rep: There are all kinds of public calls lately for the elimination from the scene - from various scenes - of the generation we call, coded, "golden", as we saw calls of some intermediate generations, I would not know how to define them , to finance somewhat less intellectual productions, which have at least some connection with the public. Where is the truth? And with the golden generation, what should be done, ideally, from the point of view of the new wave you represent?

Alex Secăreanu: Who else is today a consumer of magazine theater, for example? They are nostalgic, and they know where to find their shows, and they somehow look for them by virtue of inertia. I have no problem taking care of established actors. I appreciate them as history and there are some from which I had a lot to learn, because they are better than me. Victor Rebengiuc, for example, with whom I worked for a short film called Casting Call, written and directed by Conrad Mericoffer, is a man from whom I learned a lot. The story follows an elderly actor, who is called to a casting, but it is not necessarily about the elderly actor, but a generic meditation on the condition of the actor, because we are all, in fact, in the same situation. I played, Paul Ipate, Victor Rebengiuc and Sergiu Costache.

I learned a lot in the short time I spent with Rebengiuc, how to behave in a team, how to approach a role…

IT'S LIKE CHESS. IF YOU PLAY WITH SOMEONE WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU, YOU LEARN FROM HIM. IT'S NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE BETTER BEAT YOU, BECAUSE YOU LEARN FROM HIM.

There are cases, however, in which it would be in the best interest of the actors in question to give up, as is the case of Radu Beligan, for whom I have a huge respect, but who has advanced a lot in age, goes through natural stages of life, to simply remember the lines, it is simply no longer possible. What we want from this story is already doing him a disservice. It's just an example. With reconfigurations and reinventions it is harder… but actors like Victor Rebengiuc and Marcel Iureș believe that they went in different ways from the very beginning, they wanted more than they were offered and they looked for more.

In this profession you never stop searching, because as soon as you get the impression that you know them all, you enter a very dangerous area, an area where you don't come up with anything new, and the viewer feels that. You have to surprise him, he has to see you doing something new, otherwise there is no stake.

Rep: Fight Club… You were able to get into Tyler Durden's mind, a courage, probably, after his twisted imagination was once explored by David Fincher, with the iconic film released in 1999. What you found there ?

Alex Secăreanu: Fight Club… is a story that, for me, started many years ago. I read Chuck Palahniuk's book in 2006 and I thought that this book must be a theater show. The idea bothered me for many years, until last year, when the stars lined up, I said it would be time to do it, especially since I found an exceptional team. We developed ideas, we had a lot of meetings in which we kept challenging the imagination, to see where the story can take us, and finally we were ready to put everything into practice. Sure, we hit the funding. Arcubul financed us for the show, which is a complex one, with multimedia elements, videomapping, fight scenes, music,

It was a test for us first of all, to see if our ideas work, if the team works. After the first six rounds, we realized that we are on a very good road, which must be continued. We can bring new elements to the theater, we can develop new languages ​​in the theater, we wanted from the beginning to make an experience for the spectator, a one hundred percent experience made for him. We wanted the spectator, when he left the theater, to feel that he had received a punch in the stomach. We got pretty close to the goal, all the people said, after the show, that they lived that thing that we felt when we were little and we watched a karate movie, and after the movie you wanted to jump around the house, to give more and you a fist, try another scheme.

He left absolutely no one regardless of this show, which is very important. We need some more money to set it up the way we thought it would. The amount is not large for a state theater, but huge for an independent theater. About 60,000 euros. Usually, in the independent theater you say, come on, how much do we have, 5,000 euros? Let's do it, we come home with more clothes, we cut another set, we give up that one, the other one and we did the show. When you have thought of an artistic approach in a coherent way, you cannot make concessions like this. You can not. There are elements, means that you absolutely need to build your convention fluently, to say what you wanted to say.

THERE ARE ALSO PRODUCTIONS AT TNB OF ONE MILLION EUROS, APUS DE SOARE, THIS ONE FROM TEN YEARS AGO OR WHEN IT WAS MADE, TWO SEASONS WERE ALSO PLAYED AT REVEDERE.

There is also a record amount for a show that has never been played before. I don't know how much the funding was, but let's remember that in the year of Caragiale, a theater wanted to do D'ale Carnavalului somewhere, at the Metrorex Halls. They equipped a hall with bombers, cars, an entire fair built from scratch, and the show was never done again

[thirsty-x1]

Cheese & Wine | Kim Wooseok

Request:

could i request a dom!wooseok scenario where u go out to a fancy dinner to celebrate something w the members and u have a little fun w wooseok under the table making him angry and he punishes u later at home 🥴😉 i love ur writing thank u so much🥺

↬ Pairing: Wooseok x fem!reader

↬ Genre: Smut.

↬ Warnings: explicit language, dirty talking, masturbation, hair pulling, master!Wooseok, orgasm denial, oral sex (blowjob), protected sex.

↬ Word Count: 3k

↬ Song Recommendation: “Cheese & Wine” by DPR Live.

Boredom lurked in your mind as you played with your food, your head starting to hurt at all the incessant chatting that surrounded you. Being with Wooseok’s members was fun, but not so much when the night out meant a company dinner, with a setting that was beyond “fancy”, making you feel slightly uncomfortable and you could notice it caused the same in some of the other boys. You started tapping the floor with your shoe slightly, procuring earning your boyfriend’s attention with the small noise but he wasn’t affected by it, instead he kept talking animatedly with one of the employees sitting in front of him.

Carefully, you placed your hand on his thigh, his head turning to you only as he noticed it sliding upwards and resting on the inner side of his leg. His response wasn’t as entertaining as you had hoped for, a severe look and a cheeky smirk was all he gave you before holding your hand and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it in a swift motion. The gesture might have looked sweet in foreign eyes, but it was a light warning that meant “do not do that again”.

It was always like this with him: silent and subtle interactions, his love always shown through small details that only he could catch, and rarely ever raising his voice with you. If you had to describe his way of loving, it would be warm and comforting, it simply felt like being at home, and although it was a wonderful feeling, sometimes it got boring, like now. You had never tested what were Wooseok’s limits, but tonight was a night that merited new experiences.

For the second time in the night, you slid your hand on his leg, this time not stopping at the first glance he threw at you and instead kept going until you reached his crotch. However, he still maintained his composure and calm, letting out a scoff but quickly shutting up as you pressed a bit, massaging his member with discrete movements until you could feel it getting hard. His hands gripped the border of the table, trying to stabilize his breathing while closing his eyes until another of the members called him.

He didn’t stop you this time though, continuing the dinner as if there was nothing going on under the table. You decided to do the same, after all the thrill was still exciting and wanted to discover how far you could push his boundaries. Grabbing your glass, you drank the liquor in it, suddenly feeling Wooseok’s eyes on you which you took as an opportunity to get close and softly moan in his ear how much you wanted his cock while your fingers worked on lowering the zipper of his pants. Your boyfriend didn’t seem to be affected by it, simply letting you continue before he gave you a sweet smile, reprimanding you loudly in front of everyone.

“It’s bad education to whisper in the table, why don’t you say it for everyone to hear?”

The weight of everyone staring made you freeze on the spot, your cheeks getting redder and your hand stopping its movements wrapped around him. Of course he had something planned out, the embarrassment only letting you giggle nervously and shake your head a few times until everyone continued with their own businesses. Bothered, you looked at Wooseok, his posture extremely relaxed as he tried to hide his smirk while drinking his glass. You gripped his length harshly making him choke, some of the liquid spilling on the corner of his mouth and continuing down his neck. Pretending to be worried, you took a napkin and started cleaning it, seizing the chance to jack him off abruptly, enjoying the way he threw his head back as if to allow you to dry it when in reality he was trying to not let out any sound.

Seeing the way he clenched his teeth was enough to indicate that he was close to the edge, so you let go of him, fixing his clothes and going back to your place not without placing a kiss on his cheek. You didn’t turn to see how he reacted to it, and it was probably for the better.

The rest of the night moved on swiftly, Wooseok didn’t try to talk to you and you didn’t either, simply interacting with the members when they asked something to you and with the staff if they asked for a favor. In the end, everyone said their goodbyes and you found yourself in your boyfriend’s car, but there wasn’t any kind of tension in the atmosphere. It made you feel slightly disappointed, maybe because you were waiting for him to say something, or at least a bit of awkwardness that showed something was going to happen later, but none of it was there.

But as soon as you entered the shared apartment, everything changed. He let you in first, as usual, but when he closed the door it simply felt different. The lights remained turned off, his eyes burning on your back, his steps causing you to feel more and more nervous until his arms embraced you, pressing his raging hard on against your ass at the same time as he left a trail of kisses on the back of your neck.

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to do anything about it?” The low tone in his voice sent shivers down your spine.

“No…”

“Then you were expecting to be punished? Hm? Is that what you wanted?” His delicate fingers slid the straps of your dress as he bit on the skin of your shoulder. “Is that why you ignored all of my warnings?”

You knew that he wanted answers, but the feeling of his hands travelling up your inner thighs and getting under your dress, avoiding your center on purpose made it hard to form a coherent thought. His breath impacted on every bit of your skin as he inhaled your scent, the perfume making him smile before he stepped away from you.

“Why–”

“Shut up.” His tone was serious, causing you to turn around quickly. “Undress for me now.”

Electricity filled your whole system, feeling dazed at the sudden loss of contact, but you quickly complied to his request, letting the dress fall and pool around your heels. He hummed in approval, circling around you as if he were examining his prey. His silence made you feel impatient, shifting your weight under his gaze.

“What else do I have to do?”

He waited another minute before replying. “Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?” You clenched your fists at his harsh tone. “Go to the room.” As soon as you turned around, he scoffed. “I meant to crawl to the bedroom, on all fours.”

All color drained of your face. He had never asked you to do anything like that, and just now you were feeling that the consequences for your previous actions might be worse than what you expected. Following his orders, you got on your hands and knees, hissing at the contact of the cold floor and starting to crawl as he followed close behind you, and you couldn’t help the temptation to move your hips slower, feeling satisfied when you heard him halt. However, you quickly regretted it as he gripped your hair delicately, not exerting any force into dragging you to the bedroom.

When you finally got there, your knees hurt slightly but you held back the need to rub them, instead opting to wait for his next instructions. He stood in front of you, his grip still firm as he got closer to you, his free hand caressing the side of your face before slipping his thumb past your lips, ordering you to suck on it.

“Do you want my cock, doll?” You whimpered around his finger at the explicit question, swirling your tongue around his digit. “Hmm, seems like now you are behaving… but it’s too late.”

Before he completely let go, you grabbed his leg, fisting the fabric of his pants and pressing your cheek dangerously close to his groin. “Please. Please, I will do anything, I’m so sorry…”

Wooseok didn’t seem moved by your actions at all, instead staring at you coldly. “You challenged me. You ignored me, continued to tease me in front of anyone…” His fingers gripped your chin harshly, making you wince. “And didn’t even answer to my question.”

Frustration started to build up inside of you, your gut already clenching with need. “I am so sorry, Master.” The name rolled of your tongue naturally, your eyes pleading.

“Hmm, I think you will have to demonstrate it.” A moan escaped your lips as you felt the tip of his shoe press against your covered core, your hips grinding down on it trying to chase any kind of friction.

“I can be good! I will do anything you ask for, please, please…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Please what, kitten?”

“Please… let me please you, Master.”

That seemed to do something, although it wasn’t quite what you had in mind. Wooseok sat on the bed, leaving you in the floor as he crossed his legs, resting his chin on his hand while staring at you with a smug smirk, enjoying the way you trembled in anticipation.

“Touch yourself for me. I want you to follow each single instruction I give, if you don’t, I will not allow you to cum.”

You nodded eagerly, lying on your back trying to not mind about the freezing wood on your skin and spreading your legs for him, keeping your hands at your sides. Few seconds later, he started speaking, your breathing getting quicker with each command: feeling up your breasts, caress your stomach and inner thighs, pinch your nipples, rub yourself over your underwear, but never allowing you direct contact. It was driving you crazy, not knowing just how much of his teasing you could endure before bursting.

“I could see you dripping when you were crawling.” The detail caught your attention, eyes locking with his but he kept the same calm expression as before. “I bet you want to touch your dripping cunt so bad.”

It was new and exciting. Listening to him talk like that, when you were used to his silent orders, or simply to him taking everything into his own hands with nothing more than a few pants and grunts here and there, and he knew just how much power it had over you. A few seconds went before he repeated himself, making it clear that he was demanding an answer.

“I really want to touch myself…” The embarrassment that you felt on the table before was nothing compared to having to admit your own needs right now, your pleading voice resonating in the room.

“How would you do it?” Was he planning on making you combust right there? “Tell me and I might let you do it.”

Taking a deep breath, you began. “I w-would circle my clit... spreading my wetness all over my slit…” You closed your eyes, your fingers hooking on the band of your panties as if to keep them still. “I would put one finger in, but it’s not enough… slip another in… stretching myself for…” Your breath hitched just from imagining it.

“For what, kitten?” His voice tingled your skin, and when you opened your eyes, Wooseok was right in front of you.

“For your cock.”

With a soft nod, he gave you permission and you wasted no time in following the steps you did before, the sound of your juices filling the room each time you fingered your hole. His eyes stared at your core hungrily, making you drip even more, a moan leaving your lips as he decided to insert one of his fingers along with yours, the slight pain making you feel dizzy.

“Which feels better, princess? Your fingers?” As he said that, he pulled out your digits and replaced them with his. “Or mine?”

Your back arched as he pressed them upwards. “Yours! Yours, Wooseok, yours…”

His low chuckle made you suspect. “You look so pathetic right now, baby, all putty on my fingers… It didn’t take much to have you like this, yet you teased me for a whole half an hour there.” That being said, he left you feeling empty before making you taste your own wetness. “Leaving me hard, not even finishing the job… Why should I let you cum?”

Not a single coherent reason crossed your mind, he was right after all, and both knew there was only one way for you to repay him. At your lack of response, he stood up, his hands quickly working on his belt and unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his pale skin and lowering his pants and underwear enough to take out his throbbing length. You were still clenching, aching to be touched again, but this was punishment and you knew you wouldn’t get what you wanted unless you worked for it.

With some effort, you were able to get on your knees, the discomfort making its way through you once again. Wooseok stroked himself a few times, twisting his wrist at the tip and spreading the leaking precum before tapping it on your lips, suggesting you to open your mouth. You obeyed, taking out your tongue and he slid in one thrust, gasping as he felt you gagging when he reached the back of your throat.

“Ha… you always take me so well, did you know?” His praising words made you look up, the tears welling up in your eyes as you tried to hold back your gag reflex. “You do baby, and you look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock too.”

His pace was excruciatingly slow, turning you conscious of the weight of his dick on your tongue, of the slight bitter taste of his precum, of the way his tip rubbed on the inside of your cheek before he angled it up again to shove it down your throat. His grip was hard unlike other times, every now and then forcing you to keep it all inside before letting go, allowing you to take some air before repeating the whole thing again.

Intoxicating, that is the word that would describe your current thoughts now. It was intoxicating to see him get this dominant, it was intoxicating to be completely under his control, it was intoxicating to see the way his gaze darkened with each tear that fell down your cheeks only for him to wipe them away and continue. You had crossed the limits without even being aware of it, but he was making sure you knew your place now, showing you a complete new side of him without caring what you were going to think about it, and everything about it was absolutely raw.

Not too long after, you felt his member twitch and he quickly pulled you off, smirking at the saliva dripping down the corner of your lips. He helped you get up, the small act filled with love as he put you on the bed and carefully took off your underwear. You whined as you noticed him grabbing a condom, and he laughed out loud again.

“What?”

“Wasn’t I good?” You struggled to let out your voice, your jaw aching after his rough treatment.

He seemed to consider it. “Yes, you were good…” His fingers skillfully slid the condom on his hard on. “But you still don’t deserve to have my cum inside you. This is still your punishment, kitten.”

Before you could complain, he thrust into you aggressively, your walls hugging him tightly but that didn’t hold him back at all, snapping with all the pent up anger and frustration inside of him. You couldn’t keep your voice down, your moans and whimpers being louder with each second that passed, getting cut whenever he buried himself deep in you.

“W-Wooseok…”

“Don’t tell me you want to cum…” You had to close your eyes to avoid the intensity of his gaze, his mocking voice getting slightly high pitched. “Aw, you want to cum really bad, don’t you? Look how much you are shaking…”

The humiliation was too much, extending your hands to hold his shoulders and bringing him closer, and there must have been something in the way you looked at him or the silent pleas that fell of your lips, because his whole demeanor softened as he kissed you for the first time in the night. It was tender and sweet, his hands holding your waist as he deepened the kiss, sucking on your tongue. The time felt unreal, everything slowing down as he made you focus only on the way he felt, his skin and warmth against you, how he filled you, his pants against your mouth, hypnotizing you to the extent where you forgot your own needs.

“Cum for me, babygirl, you can do it… just this once… do it for me, yes?”

He didn’t need to repeat himself, the knot on the bottom of your bottom unleashing as you felt your orgasm hit you through multiple waves after being denied for so long. A few thrusts later, Wooseok stilled his movements, spilling into the condom as he hid his face on the crook of your neck, peppering it with kisses when he recovered.

“Thank you…” Your whisper was barely audible, but he giggled anyway.

“Was it good?” Your weak nod warmed him up. “If I had known you were into this, I would have done it long ago.”

As he snuggled into your chest, you hugged him. “So I had to test your limits to know this side of you?”

“Mhmm…” The contrast between him a few seconds ago and how he was now purring at you playing with his hair was almost comical. “This was a nice punishment, though.”

I wasn’t expecting this to be this long but;;; guess my brain missed to write smutty Wooseok owo.

~Nani

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[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 18)

Azula had blown it. She had gone there to track them down and came away with nothing but heartbreak and repressed memories. She curls up on the bed and wonders how long it will take before they tire of her. Before they finally stop coddling her and demand that she gets on with her life. When they will tell her to get a job and stop taking up space in their infirmary.

And yet she can’t get herself out of bed. Fresh out of fury for revenge, she has no reason to do so. Nobody to get up for and, by Agni, she doesn’t want to get close to anyone. Not ever again. Not when they will be taken from her or grow to resent her upon finding out who she is. Hajime and Atsu were rare gems, she can’t imagine that she will come by anyone else who would be willing to accept her. She isn’t sure that she wants them to.

She knows for certain that they have no more compassion or patience for her a few days later when they inform her that they need bed space for several new patients. When they offer her only shrugs and pitying looks when she asks where she can go.

Life becomes so terribly unbearable after that. It was hard to cope with before.

Now, people don’t even look at her. They go out of their way to pretend not to see the pathetic, shivering, dirty woman asking for a place to stay or something to eat. They put an effort into taking no notice of the ratty woman infested in body with lice and in spirit with survivors guilt.

With any luck, she won’t be a survivor for long. There is only so much a survivor can survive before the instinct burns out.

There is just enough of a flicker of that instinct for her to seek out a job, a way to make some coin. But the people of Chin know her too well already; they know that she is crazed and dirty. They have no interest in working with someone who’d earned a reputation for hallucinating a healthy pregnancy.

She still feels the kicks.  She still hears the cries. She now knows...accepts that they aren’t real. But she still covers her ears.

They avoid her with all of the effort they put into avoiding those afflicted with disease. That is the company Azula keeps now. On occasion she talks to the lepers and those with smallpox. She keeps her distance mostly conversing from the opposite end of the alley, though she doesn’t particularly care if she falls ill herself.

They are nice enough but she doesn’t get attached; their time is short.

Go-Hara is her favorite among them. Her face is swollen and bumpy, her hands puffy and disfigured. She has less time than the rest of them. Allegedly, she has been afflicted with leprosy since early teenhood.

Not a soul has spoken to Go-Hara, so she claimed, not until her. “You’re not afraid?”  She had asked.

“Not at all.”

“I am a monster.” The woman had brought those puffy hands to her lumpy face.

“No more than me.” Azula had declared, though her rot and ugliness comes entirely from within.

Go-Hara had laughed, hoarse and unpleasant, more like a death rattle than a chuckle. Right after Atsu’s screams and Hajime’s last breath, it is the worst sound she has ever heard. “Pretty girl, you are. Pretty face…”

“So what?”

She laughed again.

“I’m not afraid of monsters because I’m one of them.” She had thought of Hajime of how he’d always reassured her whenever the doubts had crept in. She hurt all over again, thrice over.

“You don’t fear the disease?”

“I wish it would take me.” She had said. Azula knew that Go-Hara was worth speaking to when the woman laughed at this too. She still isn’t sure of exactly what was so funny about her death wish.

Today, she sits at the other end of the alley and tosses Go-Hara one of the mangos she had snatched from one of the traveling merchants. “Come closer.” Azula demands.

“I will not.” Go-Hara says again. Azula is still leprosy free and to no credit of her own. Go-Hara avoids close proximity with her as though she is the leper and not the other way around. The woman bites into the mago. “Very good. Thank you.”

Azula nods. Sometimes it is a silent day, they will just sit at opposite ends of the alley and enjoy having the company. When Azula finds herself staring up at the sky she knows that today is a silent day.

That is fine with her, she doesn’t have much to say anyways. But apparently, Go-Hara has different intentions. “Can I tell you about my family before they abandoned me?”

“Go ahead.” She is a seasoned listener after enduring so many after work dinners with old man Ojihara. It dawns upon her that she misses his irrelevant boyhood tales. “Please, go ahead.”

And Go-Hara does. It is very different from Ojihara’s tales. The old man was all logic and lessons--each of his tales ended with some sort of cautionary lesson; don’t go hippo-cow tipping because it isn’t as funny and lighthearted as many young folk think it is, stealing possum-chicken isn’t a funny prank either.

Go-Hara’s stories are all whimsical and nonsensical. Oftentimes they have no point and Azula wonders if they really happened at all. She supposes that, that is why she enjoys them so well.

Sometimes it is nice to hear about something so absurd that it has to be true despite such surreal overtones. She can very easily see a pre-teen Go-Hara making her way into a badger-mole den and causing a stampede of singing gophers.  

“Your turn!” She declares when her story is through.

“My turn?”

“Humor me. Tell an old woman a story. It doesn’t even have to be true.”

And because her time is so short anyways, Azula tells her a story. She tells her a story about a fire princess who could have been something remarkable.   Go-Hara mentions it to no one else. Azula hadn’t expected her to.

That day she learns that some of the best people are the shunned people.

.oOo.

Sokka isn’t sure what to make of it. He has been analyzing and overthinking their conversation for hours now. He is almost certain that she had implied, several times, that she is in love with him, or at the very least, that she is getting there.

And he thinks that, that is a fragile place to be with her.

He finds her in the garden again. He is fairly certain that she is just out there to be out there, he can’t imagine that the seeds would have sprouted that fast even with the palace’s rich soil.

“Hey.” He greets.

Azula turns her head. “You’re up early.”

He shrugs. “I get the prettiest views in the morning.”

“You’re welcome.” Azula replies.

“I was talking about the--”

“Princess of the Fire Nation?” She interrupts. “I know.”

He laughs, he is glad to find her in better spirits. Her gaze is fixed upon the gold-blue of the sunrise as it throws shadows over the garden. “We should add strawberries to the garden.”

“Strawberries?” She quirks a brow. “Next to the turnips? Sokka, that make no sense.”

“It’s your garden, you can arrange it how you want to.”

“Yes.” Azula agrees. “And I would like to keep the fruits with the fruits and the vegetables with the vegetables.”

“Or you can spice it up and lay it out in a fruit, vegetable pattern.”

Azula shakes her head. “I know that there aren’t any crops in the tribes but I think that it is common sense, that the fruits and vegetables are kept separately.”

“Can you say that with confidence?”

Azula nods. “I’ve traveled to various parts of the Earth Kingdom and have passed many farms. Not one of them arranged their crops in a fruit, vegetable pattern. It is because they know that that’s a ridiculous idea.” She adds for good measure.

“Alright fine, we’ll put the strawberries all the way on the other side of the palace. Happy?”

Azula shakes her head, “that is too much unnecessary walking. Optimally the strawberries would be placed…”

He had forgotten how carefully she likes to lay out every detail. How concise even some of the most trivial things must be. But then he might not have truly know that to begin with, he has only heard Zuko mention it on occasion.

“And that’s why it’s important to keep the strawberries near the watermelons.”

He flushes, realizing that he hadn’t been listening at all. Though he isn’t entirely confident that strawberries and watermelons have the same growing season. “Azula, can you answer something honestly?”

She nods.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

She thinks for a moment. “Not entirely. Seukhyun usually helped me with my gardens. I can’t quite remember everything he was trying to tell me about it.” She pauses. “I suppose I can ask the palace gardner…”

“Or we can figure it out together through trial and error. Don’t you think that, that would be funner.”

.oOo.

She supposes that it could be. She’d had a nice time the last few times that he’d taken her somewhere new. Spontaneity isn’t exactly her first choice but it has its merits. “That’s a strange way of asking if you have permission to plant your strawberries next to my turnips.”

He bursts out laughing again. The sort of barking laugh that includes holding his hands to his belly until the fit passes. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. She didn’t think it was that funny. “So is that a yes?”

Azula sighs, “fine. But only because I can shift the blame to you if my turnips don’t turn out well.”

It is quite therapeutic to do garden work. She thinks that if they had let her give it a try at the institution that she might have received it better. But then, she wasn’t exactly ready for something like that then. At that point, gardening was still entirely a peasant’s work. She supposes that it kind of still is. And she knows it by the curious looks she is given throughout the day, particularly when she re-enters the palace with muddy pants and dirt smudged hands and cheeks.

“New hobby?” Zuko asks.

Azula nods.

“I remember when you were burning things in the palace garden for being ugly.”

“My garden is going to be too pretty to set on fire.” She declares. “I have come inside for lunch and tea.”

“It’s almost ready.” Zuko smiles.

“Where are Mai and TyLee?”

“They went for a stroll around the capital. Where’d Sokka go off to?”

“He’s on his way inside.”

“You’ve gotten...close.” He notes.

“Yes.” She replies. “What of it?”

.oOo.

He shrugs as he sets out a few teacups, “I guess that it’s just nice to see that you’re making friends. It’s just…” he trails off. It’s strange. Surreal. Unexpected among other things. It isn’t the bad sort of strange and unexpected, not that he can see. In fact it is very much a relief to know that he won’t have to listen to constant bickering and mediate between she and everyone else.

Generally, she seems like she is doing significantly better.

“Did you finish reading it?”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots. “Almost.” He replies. Truth be told he has been hesitating to finish reading the journal. He knows already what is going to happen, he just isn’t ready for it. Doesn’t want to know the details and the how’s. Atsu is...was a sweet boy and he doesn’t want to flip the page only to find that he has died.

Agni, if he can’t even read it… He looks at his sister. At the scars on her neck and the very subtle bags under her eyes. He can’t even begin to fathom it.

She takes her teacup and cradles it in her hands the way she always had since they were kids. Sokka walks into the room and suddenly her eyes don’t seem so weary and tired. “I’m glad that you’re doing better.” He says finally.

Azula nods, “thank you.”

Sokka comes to stand in front of her, “you got dirt all over your face!” He declares boldly. “Let me just…”

She takes one look at his hands and grumbles, “Sokka, don’t you dare.”

Despite her protests, Sokka rubs the dirt from her cheek. By rubs, Zuko meant smears. He doesn’t just smear the dirt, Zuko thinks that he has added more to. His suspicions are confirmed at the crinkling of Azula’s nose.

“Zuzu, come here.”

Zuko steps closer. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. She takes his sleeve, his lavish Fire Lord regalia and rubs her cheek clean. “Better, thank you.” She remarks.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Septuagesima Sunday - January 31, 2021

Septuagesima  and Lent are both times of penance, Septuagesima being a time of voluntary fasting in preparation for the obligatory Great Fast of Lent. The theme is the Babylonian exile, the “mortal coil” we must endure as we await the Heavenly Jerusalem. Sobriety and somberness reign liturgically; the Alleluia and Gloria are banished

The Sundays of Septugesima are named for their distance away from Easter:

The first Sunday of Septuagesima gives its name to the entire season as it is known as “Septuagesima.” “Septuagesima” means “seventy,” and Septuagesima Sunday comes roughly seventy days before Easter. This seventy represents the seventy years of the Babylonian Captivity. It is on this Sunday that the alleluia is “put away,” not to be said again until the Vigil of Easter.

The second Sunday of Septuagesima is known as “Sexagesima, which means “sixty”. Sexagesima Sunday comes roughly sixty days before Easter.

The third Sunday of Septuagesima is known as “Quinquagesima,” which means “fifty” and which comes roughly fifty days before Easter. Quadragesima means “forty,” and this is the name of the first Sunday of Lent and the Latin name for the entire season of Lent.

Throughout this short Season and that of Lent (next Season) you will notice a deepening sense of penance and somberness, culminating in Passiontide (the last two weeks of Lent), that will suddenly and joyously end at the Vigil of Easter on Holy Saturday when the alleluia returns and Christ’s Body is restored and glorified. 

INSTRUCTION FOR SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY by Leonard Goffine, 1871

Why is this Sunday called “Septuagesima”?

Because in accordance with the words of the First Council of Orleans, some pious Christian congregations in the earliest ages of the Church, especially the clergy; began to fast seventy days before Easter, on this Sunday, which was there fore called “Septuagesima”–the seventieth day. The same is the case with the Sundays following, which are called Sexagesima, Quinquagesima, Quadragesima, because some Christians commenced to fast sixty days, others fifty, others forty days before Easter, until finally, to make it properly uniform, Popes Gregory and Gelasius arranged that all Christians should fast forty days before Easter, commencing with Ash-Wednesday.

Why, from this day until Easier, does the Church omit from her service all joyful canticles, allelujas, and the Gloria In excelsis, &c.?

To gradually prepare the minds of the faithful for the serious time of penance and sorrow, for sins committed, and for the actual fast. So the priest appears on the altar in violet, the color of penance, and half of the altar is covered with a violet curtain. To arouse our sorrow for our sins, and the need of repentance, the Church at the Introit cries, in the name of all mankind, with David: “The sorrows of death surrounded me, the sorrows of hell encompassed me. In my affliction I called upon the Lord, and He heard my voice from his holy temple.” (Ps. xvii. 5 – 9.) I will love thee, O Lord, my strength; the Lord is my firmament, my refuge, my deliverer. (Ps. xvii. 2 – 3.) Glory be to the Father, &c. 

by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

Jesus asks the discontented laborers: “Is thy eye evil, because I am good?” Why do they murmur? Have they been obliged to exceed the stipulated amount of labor? No! Have they worked longer than the time specified? No! Has not the master promptly paid them? Yes! Did he give them less than he promised? No! What then is the cause of their discontent? It is envy, because those who were sent later into the vineyard to work, received the same wages.

Envy is a most dangerous, execrable yet concealed vice; a vice of which, many are guilty, but whose real wickedness few recognise. Let us employ this hour in considering its dangers.

Mary, mother of love, pray for us, that the pestilential breath of this sin may never pollute our soul! I speak in the most holy name of Jesus, to the greater glory of God! We can better recognize the turpitude and wickedness of envy, by considering the beauty, merit and amiable qualities of the opposite virtue–true, heroic brotherly love.

The love of our neighbor for the love of God is a virtue which inspires us to love others as ourselves, to wish them all the good we wish ourselves, and to do for them all that we would do for our own interests. Of this commandment Christ says: “It is like unto the other,” namely: to the commandment of loving God, and our salvation depends on our observance of it. Thus teach Christ and His Apostles, especially St. Paul and St. John, both of whom emphatically and frequently insist upon it.

Envy is the vice directly opposed to this commandment. This will become clear to us if we consider the teachings of St. Paul in regard to the qualities of true, active, brotherly love. “Charity,” says he, “is patient, is kind; charity envieth not, is not ambitious, seeketh not her own, is not provoked to anger, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth with the truth: beareth all things, believeth all things” (i Cor. 13. 4).

Let us reverse these qualities, and we have the most perfect picture of envy. Envy is not kind; on the contrary, it is cruel, selfish, and without compassion for the needs and sufferings of others.

Envy provokes to anger, and leaves nothing untried to prevent the well-being of others. Envy seeks only its own good, and is arrogant. It thinks and does evil.

Who can count all the vices whose source is envy? Jealousy, mistrust, calumny, deceit, enmity! Envy is easily roused to anger, and brooks little contradiction. It rejoices not at the good fortune of others, but is pleased, rather, at the contrary. Oh, how terrible a vice! it tears up by the very roots, the beautiful flower of brotherly love!

I say, secondly, what a foolish vice! For it deserves also this stigma. Every sin bears the mark of insanity, and therefore it is that Holy Writ calls the sinner a fool. It were easy to point out the characteristics of insanity in the misdeeds of sinners, especially in the envious.

Envy deprives man of the use of his reason, robs him of strength of mind, and exerts an evil influence on his other faculties. The possessions of his neighbor seem better than his own, for no other reason than that another and not he is the owner!

Besides, he who is guilty of other sins has at least some satisfaction: the proud when he is honored; the miser when he counts his money and fills his coffers; the intemperate while he eats and drinks, and so of others. The envious have only the satisfaction of their anger.

Foolish vice! It harms itself while yielding to its own indulgence What a foolish, but at the same time, what a dangerous vice! It was envy that brought sin among the angels. Lucifer and his adherents, as the Fathers of the Church teach us, envied the glory of Christ, Who in His human nature stood below them, but Whom they were commanded to glorify and worship on account of the hypostatic union with the person of the Son of God.

As regards man, Holy Writ teaches us that it was through the envy of Satan that sin entered paradise. The envy of the serpent would deprive the human race not only of paradise but also of heaven. It has cast upon us innumerable woes, and has exposed us to countless dangers in working out the salvation of our soul. Satan envied mankind who were destined to take the place of the fallen angels in heaven.

Woe to us if we ever hearken to the voice of envy! Satan will then find it easy to assail us with temptations of all kinds! The first born of men became a murderer on account of envy. It was envy that induced Cain to kill Abel. It was envy that nailed the Redeemer of mankind to the cross.

It is true that pride introduced heresy into the world, and thus corrupted countless souls and wrought their eternal ruin; but envy is the twin-brother of pride, the second poisonous fang of the serpent of hell. Not seldom has its influence been felt since the origin and dissemination of heresy, especially since the last and most pernicious of all, namely, Protestantism.

Pride mated with envy has given birth in our own day to the heresy whose followers style themselves the Old Catholics. Yet more lamentable is the fact that envy, even among the good, has succeeded in preventing much that otherwise would have been done for the salvation of souls and the welfare of the Church, thus effecting incalculable mischief in every age of the Christian era.

It is envy that lights the torch of war among nations, and destroys the peace and happiness of congregations and home circles. Yere there no envy among mortals earth would become a paradise. Envy were capable of changing even heaven into a place of torment, and for this reason it is, as Gregory the Great says, “The mark of the damned.”

The condition of the envious is the more dangerous, because the poison of envy is concealed. How few think themselves guilty of this sin! how few accuse themselves of it, and endeavor to uproot it from their hearts with the determination of St. Francis of Sales, who says: “Did I know that a fibre of envy were beating in my heart, I would tear it out!”

Follow his example, cost what it may, and instead of that detestable parasite, guard deep within your heart the holy virtue of heroic brotherly love! Amen!

“Why stand you here all the day idle?”–Matt. 20.

The reproach which Christ in today’s Gospel addresses to those who remained idle until the eleventh hour, is unfortunately one which might he addressed to the greater portion of mankind, yes even to many of the children of the Church.

We usually live careless of eternity, seemingly forgetful why we are here upon earth, and that this life was not given us to seek the honors, joys and treasures of this world, but to gather merit for eternity. How many men, how many children even of the Church are idle in this regard!

Let us earnestly take to heart this reproach, at once so true so important, so salutary for time and eternity, and endeavor to purchase back the hours we lost in idleness, and to employ with the zeal of the saints the days still left to us.

Mary, thou faithful handmaid of the Lord, pray for us that, following thy example, we may employ our entire life in gaining our salvation through Jesus Christ our Redeemer! I speak in the most holy name of Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

“Why stand you here all the day idle?” What an astonishing, incomprehensible, and yet only too true fact! This becomes clear to us if we consider the character of our life upon earth, and the relation in which it stands to eternity. Our life here below is the time which God gives us to prepare ourselves for the world to come.

If we reflect how precious time is, how short and how uncertain are the days of our life, we certainly would expect man to think of nothing else, than how to employ the days of his life in securely reaching that end for which life was given.

A crown, a high degree of glory, is the recompense for every moment well employed. St. Chrysostom was right when he exclaimed: “Time, thou art worth as much as God!” But time is so short; for what is the longest life compared to eternity? In addition to this, not one moment of this short time is certain. How often death surprises man, and then his precious time is gone, never to return. Man knows this, the Christian believes it; therefore how incomprehensible their neglect to employ their time after the zealous earnestness of the saints! This becomes still more incomprehensible, when we consider how provident man is of his time in regard to temporal affairs and the acquisition of earthly goods. They hesitate not to cross the ocean in the often disappointed hope of securing employment and gaining money, while, if they only seize the opportunity, they will never lack profitable labor in the grand affair of their salvation.

And yet how many lose and kill time! I wish to call your attention to the following classes of idlers:

The first are those who lose their time from sheer indolence. They are those drones, who do their duty neither as citizens nor as Christians. They dream away their time, and awake when it is too late, to the grand reality of life. They want self-abnegation. These . especially deserve the reproach: “Why stand you here idle?”

The second class are those who idle away their time by excessive labor, not for the salvation of their soul but through an inordinate care for the things of this world. I call them industrious idlers. Apparently they are occupied, but in reality they do nothing, since they are busy only for this fleeting world and not for eternity. They think themselves, however, much wiser than those who fail to accumulate an equal amount of temporal wealth. But all their labor, all their success is of no value towards their eternal welfare; indeed, as far as this is concerned they might better, perhaps, have remained as idle as the former. For, in their eagerness to gain temporal goods, they may have yielded to temptation and then, being in the state of sin, gained nothing even when they seemed to be laboring for heaven. These are the industrious idlers who, in the words of Holy Writ, exclaim when it is too late: “We wearied ourselves in the way of iniquity” and of temporal care.

There are others who, though they live in the state of grace, may yet be said to lose the time which has been granted to them to work out their salvation. To this third class of idlers belong those who lose their time in vain conversations and idle gossiping. Oh, how many apparently pious souls belong to this class of idlers! They talk ten, nay a hundred times too much. Even in necessary business how many useless words are spoken, how many moments wasted in idleness! Instead of leaving after having obtained the desired information, we remain and continue conversing about the same affair, though we previously stated all that was necessary; and in this manner we lose the time we should give to work.

But how shall we designate the many idlers who lose their time by too frequent visits and by prolonging this useless and sometimes dangerous pastime, till late in the night? Instead of regulating our visits by the just demands of friendship or of Christian neighborly love, we seek only to enjoy the society and conversation of others, forgetting that we could employ our time much better in sanctifying ourselves and others by works of charity.

Lastly, what shall we say of the idleness of pleasure-seekers, of those who pass day and night in gambling, dancing and other worldly amusements? How much time is lost for eternity in this manner! How much in visiting watering places, frequenting theatres and balls! There is also a certain class of people who lose their time in travelling for the sake of pleasure. I call these travelling idlers.

To all these we must needs add the large number of drunkards who, in their revels, heed not quickly passing time, and employ it neither for their temporal nor spiritual welfare who squander their money, impoverish their families and not unfrequently end their days in the almshouse. What a despicable class of idlers!

In conclusion, let me mention those who are idlers on account of negligence in renewing their good intention. The good we do, must be done with the right intention, that is, for God’s sake and for His sake only. Of course this does not mean that a Christian may not transact business or perform this or that work for the sake of gain, friendship or neighborly love, as our circumstances in life make necessary; only let these good and praiseworthy intentions be secondary to the one just mentioned.

Christian, lay your hand upon your heart and tell me, if you do not belong to one of these classes of idlers, or perhaps to all of them? Make now the firm resolution of profiting well by the time yet left to you that, one day in the kingdom of eternal life, God may assign to you your reward! Amen! 

[96thdayofrage]

The anti-racism consulting industry does deserve both some sympathy and some credit. Its intention, to prod white Americans into more awareness of their own racism, is beneficent. And their premise that white people are often unaware of the degree to which racial privilege has enabled their success, which they can mistakenly attribute entirely to merit and effort, is correct. American society is shot through with multiple overlapping systems of racial bias — from exposure to harmful pollution to biased policing to unequal access to education to employment discrimination — that in combination sustain massive systemic inequality.

But the anti-racism trainers go beyond denying the myth of meritocracy to denying the role of individual merit altogether. Indeed, their teaching presents individuals as a racist myth. In their model, the individual is subsumed completely into racial identity.

One of DiAngelo’s favorite examples is instructive. She uses the famous story of Jackie Robinson. Rather than say “he broke through the color line,” she instructs people instead to describe him as “Jackie Robinson, the first Black man whites allowed to play major-league baseball.”

It is true, of course, that Robinson was not the first Black man who was good enough at baseball to make a major-league roster. The Brooklyn Dodgers decided, out of a combination of idealism and self-interest, to violate the norm against signing Black players. And Robinson was chosen due to a combination of his skill and extraordinary personality that allowed him to withstand the backlash in store for the first Black major leaguer. It is not an accident that DiAngelo changes the story to eliminate Robinson’s agency and obscure his heroic qualities. It’s the point. Her program treats individual merit as a myth to be debunked. Even a figure as remarkable as Robinson is reduced to a mere pawn of systemic oppression.

One way to understand this thinking is to place it on a spectrum of thought about race. On the far right is open white supremacy, which instructs white people to fight for their interests as white people. (Hence the 14-word slogan, “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.”) Moving to the left, standard-issue conservatism tends to discount the existence of racism and treat all problems in pure color-blind terms, as though racism has been banished. To the left of that is standard liberalism, which acknowledges the existence of racism as a problem that complicates simple race-neutral solutions.

The ideology of the racism-training industry is distinctively to the left of that. It collapses all identity into racial categories. “It is crucial for white people to acknowledge and recognize our collective racial experience,” writes DiAngelo, whose teachings often encourage the formation of racial affinity groups. The program does not allow any end point for the process of racial consciousness. Racism is not a problem white people need to overcome in order to see people who look different as fully human — it is totalizing and inescapable.

Of course, DiAngelo’s whites-only groups are not dreamed up in the same spirit as David Duke’s. The problem is that, at some point, the extremes begin to functionally resemble each other despite their mutual antipathy.

I want to make clear that when I compare the industry’s conscious racialism to the far right, I am not accusing it of “reverse racism” or bias against white people. In some cases its ideas literally replicate anti-Black racism.

Glenn Singleton, president of Courageous Conversation, a racial-sensitivity training firm, tells Bergner that valuing “written communication over other forms” is “a hallmark of whiteness,” as is “scientific, linear thinking. Cause and effect.”

This is not some idiosyncratic oddball notion. The African-American History Museum has a page on whiteness, which summarizes the ideas that the racism trainers have brought into relatively wide circulation.

“White” values include things like “objective, rational thinking”; “cause and effect relationships”; “hard work is the key to success”; “plan for the future”; and “delayed gratification.” The source for this chart is another, less-artistic chart written by Judith Katz in 1990. Katz has a doctorate in education and moved into the corporate consulting world in 1985, where, according to her résumé, she has “led many transformational change initiatives.” It is not clear what in Katz’s field of study allowed her to establish such sweeping conclusions about the innate culture of white people versus other groups.

One way to think through these cultural generalizations is to measure them against its most prominent avatar for racial conflict, Donald Trump. How closely does he reflect so-called white values? The president hardly even pretends to believe that “hard work” is the key to success. The Trump version of his alleged success is that he’s a genius who improvises his way to brilliant deals. The realistic version is that he’s a lazy heir who inherited and cheated his way to riches, and spends most of his time watching television. Trump is likewise incapable of delayed gratification, planning for the future, and regards “objective rational thinking” with distrust. On the other hand, Barack Obama is deeply devoted to all those values.

Now, every rule has its exceptions. Perhaps the current (white) president happens to be alienated from the white values that the previous (Black) president identified with strongly. But attaching the values in question to real names brings to life a point the racism trainers seem to elide: These values are not neutral at all. Hard work, rational thought, and careful planning are virtues. White racists traditionally project the opposite of these traits onto Black people and present them as immutable flaws. Jane Coaston, who has reported extensively on the white-nationalist movement, summarizes it, “The idea that white people are just good at things, or are better inherently, more clean, harder working, more likely to be on time, etc.”

In his profile, Bergner asked DiAngelo how she could reject “rationalism” as a criteria for hiring teachers, on the grounds that it supposedly favors white candidates. Don’t poor children need teachers to impart skills like that so they have a chance to work in a high-paying profession employing reasoning skills?

DiAngelo’s answer seems to imply that she would abolish these high-paying professions altogether:

“Capitalism is so bound up with racism. I avoid critiquing capitalism — I don’t need to give people reasons to dismiss me. But capitalism is dependent on inequality, on an underclass. If the model is profit over everything else, you’re not going to look at your policies to see what is most racially equitable.”

(Presumably DiAngelo’s ideal socialist economy would keep in place at least some well-paid professions — say, “diversity consultant,” which earns her a comfortable seven-figure income.)

Singleton, likewise, proposed evolutionary social changes to the economy that would render it unnecessary to teach writing and linear thought to minority children. Bergner writes:

I asked whether guiding administrators and teachers to put less value, in the classroom, on capacities like written communication and linear thinking might result in leaving Black kids less ready for college and competition in the labor market. “If you hold that white people are always going to be in charge of everything,” he said, “then that makes sense.” He invoked, instead, a journey toward “a new world, a world, first and foremost, where we have elevated the consciousness, where we pay attention to the human being.”

Whether or not a world along these lines will ever exist, or is even possible to design, is at best uncertain. What is unquestionably true is that these revolutionary changes will not be completed within the lifetime of anybody currently alive. Which is to say, a program to deny the value of teaching so-called white values to Black children is to condemn them to poverty. Unsurprisingly, Bergner’s story shows two educators exposed to the program and rebelling against it. One of them, Leslie Chislett, had to endure some ten anti-racism training sessions before eventually snapping at the irrationality of a program that denigrates learning. “The city has tens of millions invested in A.P. for All, so my team can give kids access to A.P. classes and help them prepare for A.P. exams that will help them get college degrees,” she says, “and we’re all supposed to think that writing and data are white values?”

Ibram X. Kendi, another successful entrepreneur in the anti-racism field, has a more frontal response to this problem. The achievement gap — the long-standing difference in academic performance between Black and white children — is a myth, he argues. The supposed gap merely reflects badly designed tests, he argues. It does not matter to him how many different kinds of measures of academic performance show this to be true. Nor does he seem receptive to the possibility that the achievement gap reflects environmental factors (mainly worse schools, but also access to nutrition, health care, outside learning, and so on) rather than any innate differences.

Kendi, like DiAngelo, argues that racism must be defined objectively. Intent does not matter, only effect. Their own intentions are surely admirable. But the fact is that their insistence on denying that America provides its Black children worse educations inhibits working toward a solution. Denying the achievement gap, like denying the gap in how police treat white and Black people, seems to objectively entrench racism.

It’s easy enough to see why executives and school administrators look around at a country exploding in righteous indignation at racism, and see the class of consultants selling their program of mystical healing as something that looks vaguely like a solution. But one day DiAngelo’s legions of customers will look back with embarrassment at the time when a moment of awakening to the depth of American racism drove them to embrace something very much like racism itself.