#go about it. there are so many important threads i want to see to fulfillment

[pizzazz-party]

i haven’t touched my copy of hades 2 in over a week because Reasons but damn if that game isn’t always on my mind

[jeonaissance]

Divorced in Ghana - Part 1 :; J.JK

- Summary: It is said that in the Republic of Ghana, couples who want to divorce must wear the same wedding dress and suit on their wedding day and divorce at the same wedding venue.

- Pairing: Jungkook x f!reader

- Based on the song "Divorced in Ghana".

- a/n: You should listen to the song I pinned, it will give you a better experiment!

Their love has lasted for eleven years, seven years of dating, four years of marriage. A life so fulfilling that outsiders can only say: "They may be meant for each other."

One year before they married, Jungkook and Y/N moved to Ghana together to live and work. Perhaps they are both doctors, with the same goal, so they are so attractive and understand each other, just a glance quickly knowing what the other needs.

The peaceful life in Ghana gradually passed, although the work is tiring, they always give each other words of encouragement, comfort, and steadfast faith. It can be said that, in a foreign land, Jungkook and Y/N are each other's most solid spiritual foundation.

But their happiness gradually shook when Jungkook was accepted by the hospital as the main doctor. His workload was twice as much as the others because there were only three neurosurgeons in this hospital.

Y/N also worked hard but she gradually felt the connection between her and Jungkook more and more delicate. She tried to talk to him a lot but he would almost never be home when she finished work or when he was home, she had to work at the hospital.

At this time Jungkook was also in a state of stress, many sleepless nights, long hours of treatment made him tired. Sometimes when he went home, he would sit on the sofa and sleep.

Y/N was worried about his health so she always tried to stay at the hospital a little to find him, bring him some food but recently she noticed that he rarely touched the food she prepared.

This state had lasted for more than three months and made someone remember. The two of them were getting busier and busier, they barely had time to sit together and talk, thinking and looking back at their marriage like a thread that was straining to endure.

…

“Jungkook, I just asked if you wanted to go out with me, what did I do that made you suddenly angry with me?” Y/N said angrily.

“Enough Y/N. I don’t want to talk to you anymore, go out.”

Jungkook turned his head back to his desk, it was clear that he didn’t want to talk to her anymore.

“You’re getting more and more difficult to understand, I think I can’t understand you anymore, Jungkook. I have to talk to you clearly today.”

The anger in her grew bigger and bigger, she walked to his desk.

“I told you to go out. I have a lot of work today.”

“I’m not going!”

Jungkook pressed his temples, feeling a little upset.

“Don’t you find the most important thing is our marriage? It’s been three months, we haven’t talked, we haven’t had a moment of intimacy, even just looking at each other was so difficult. What else do you think is important? Is our marriage not as important as your pieces of paper?”

She glared at him, her voice filled with regret and resentment. She felt like he was taking this marriage lightly, her heart was breaking at the thought of it.

“Y/N! You are annoyed, you know that? Get out! I don’t want to see you right now!”

Her eyes flashed with surprise. Did he just say she was annoyed? It turned out that she wanted to talk to her husband, but it was just annoying to him?

“Am I annoyed? Okay, I’m going.” Y/N grabbed her outer shirt and walked out.

Jungkook was also angry, he didn’t follow her and was no longer in the mood to continue working.

…

Tonight, she drank and then dragged her steps home. She knew that even if she called him to pick her up, he would never mind picking up her phone.

“Where are you going? Why do you smell like alcohol?” Jungkook saw her entering the house and asked her worriedly.

“Ignore me.”

Y/N went upstairs and fell tiredly onto the large bed. She thought that eleven years of love would be enough to make all the mess between them disappear, but it seemed like it was getting harder and harder.

“Y/N, are you asleep yet? I brought you some hangover soup.”

Y/N got up and opened the door.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Can we do it another time? I’m not in the mood right now.”

She immediately refused, she really didn’t want to talk to him.

“Real quick.”

She sighed and nodded: “Go ahead.”

“My love for you is no longer like before. I can no longer feel the love in me when I look at you. We are together, confronting you like this is like a habit. Y/N, we both deserve better, right?”

Y/N was silent, she couldn’t understand what he was saying. They have been in love for eleven years, right? His words were as gentle as a breeze, making the waves in her heart even more intense.

“I want to divorce.” Jungkook fatefully told her.

“Eleven years together… Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”

Jungkook gasped, he spoke softly.

“Eleven years to me is everything, something that is created inside me. But, if we are only together because of responsibility, because the vain hope of a day not far away made us hurt and resent each other. That’s not fair to either of us. I don’t deny our past, and I can’t forget what you gave me. It’s just that this love has changed and sometimes no matter how much we want it, love can’t conquer everything.”

“Do you really want a divorce…?”

Jungkook sighed, nodding seriously.

“Yes, I want a divorce.”

[agentc0rn]

Teal Mask: Kieran’s desire for strength - not just becoming strong as a trainer but also as a resilient individual in general. *LONG THREAD WARNING*

Just wanted to contribute further to the teal mask content and all that juicy stuff. As we all know, we all have unfortunately witnessed a poor boy’s down-spiral character arc. It is evident that Kieran wants to attain strength to become a stronger trainer and person as a whole. He outright states that he wants to become independent, capable, and reliable at some point. His motivation and source of support - ogerpon -  more so the legend version of ogerpon than the “real” ogerpon, was once a common innocent fixation that many of us probably had/have in our lives, that was then tragically turned to an unhealthy obsession. It became a poor coping mechanism and desperate means of proving himself that pushed him towards reckless methods and mannerisms.  

Parallels with Loyal Three

I mentioned in the comment section of one post that his desire for power parallels with Okidogi. Additionally, he shares similar sentiments with Fez and Munki. He wants to be “cool” like the ogre (achieve a cool status that of a hero, admired for their strength) and seeks knowledge on the ways to succeed like us - he wants to know how to become stronger -  “why can’t I be like you?”. This is shown through his tactics, team member swaps and appearance change at the end. 

Foils with other characters

I find it sad how as Ogerpon learns to open up, heal and receives support, Kieran does not have a proper, stable one since the start - his sister has supported him in some ways of course, but her attitude/actions likely has also contributed to his sense of inferiority. Thus, the combination of misunderstanding, cultural norms, strained familial relationships, miscommunication, and self inflicted misjudgments have pushed him further down the hole. It’s almost as if he is the foil of Nemona (yet also alike) in terms of how strength as a social arbiter determines one’s worth and outlook. Nemona became so strong but at a social cost; no one wants to compete or keep up with her and misreads her passion (likewise with Kieran and his interest in history). She just wants someone to battle with with all of their efforts and enjoy the battle the same way she does, which she does not mind losing. On the other hand, if you’re weak then you would likely get made fun of or ignored, which we see Kieran has internalized that idea through his accusations of us and Carmine laughing behind his back (perhaps this is a common concept that runs in blueberry academy? Competition and becoming the best are of utmost importance). Moreover, he is, in a way, a foil of Arven in ascribing to a legend and superstition - except Arven learns to embrace support after being alone for so long, heals and accepts korai/Mirai, while Kiki feels further isolated, loses grasp of who Ogerpon really is by going against her boundaries and runs away from opportunities of support. As for Penny, it is clear that they share a reclusive nature and willingness to not conform to, but to confront social standards. Penny takes self accountability for her actions, whereas for Kieran, while he does apologize at times and keeps his word - soon gets lost in a convoluted, distorted sense of right and wrong (him stealing the teal mask, and him not wanting to join the mask retrieval mission may seem selfish at first, but it could be that he didn’t want to be a burden as well as be seen sulking). He unfortunately (would) becomes the antagonist or better yet, the oni in our path.

Peach Symbolism

On another hand, kieran may be the peach boy in a sense but reverse. His actions and desire fulfilled the required conditions for the resurrection of the loyal three (desire for “revenge”) and thus indirectly leads them to endanger Ogerpon.  In one of my previous posts, I wrote a poem about how Kieran's dreams were sweet like peach, but then got crushed. And like certain fruits, it has seeds that contains some poison but not at a dangerous level (unless consumed at high amount ofc), which ties to the toxic chain and dokutaro that has been theorized to be external influences partially responsible for his behaviour.

Hero + heroic values

Finally, that one part when he says you’re like the hero of the story (that line goes hard and breaks the fourth wall, it’s been mentioned a lot in visual works on pixiv and social discourses), is a dealbreaker of his wish to keep his new friendship. Despite the portrayal of him hating the player (through memes which I do laugh at, and artworks/ discussions which I agree while sad about it) I think he is mad at us for sure, but not spiteful. Or maybe slightly. I think above all, he is mad at himself;  he constantly faces inner turmoil  to overcoming his helplessness, insecurity, and the process of revising his dreams and outgrowing his old ones. He had to forfeit his one childhood dream and now recognizes that he has to change in some way (albeit a bit extreme). In an ironic way, he would likely become his idealized version of strength, like "his" ogerpon - a strong “oni”- aka champion of bb academy. But again, while physical strength is a quality emphasized many times, Kieran wants to grow mentally strong to endure losses and humiliations both as a trainer and individual (ex. he is told down by his sister as seen in the beginning). He wants to be appreciated and not looked down as someone who is meek, weak and cowardly, which he tries so hard to build himself up on the virtues of a hero. He values honesty and a fair fight and tries to fulfill them to "earn" respect from people + ogerpon as a trainer. And maybe, that is when he feels that he is equal on par with you, and that he can be considered good enough to be our friend.

I really feel a lot for Kieran, because I do see myself in him (not in an obsessive way though) - hated losing, shy, hyerpfixations… I see his good traits and flaws - he is curious, sensitive, empathetic, has a critical mind of mainstream narratives but is also insecure and stubborn. I see too much simplistic takes on them (Kieran is narcissistic victim, Carmen is abusive,etc), like I get some aspects of the ideas, but saying that in a deterministic way does not define the character at all…

[raplinesmoon]

The House The Sea Built (KNJ x F!Reader)

Inspired by the Korean film Il Mare, and Namjoon’s album Indigo

pairing: rapper!namjoon x artist!reader

genres/aus/rating: strangers to lovers, angst, smut, magical realism au, time travel au, 18+

summary: It was meant to be a simple, yet practical request - leaving behind the seaside cottage meant you had to find a way for your mail to get back to you. But the response you receive from the previous resident, a man named Namjoon, dated two years in the past, is anything but simple. With extraordinary circumstances allowing you to write to each other, your tired souls find solace in your shared loneliness, and friendship blossoms. But what happens when that isn’t enough? When the ability to change life before and the future ahead becomes too tempting to resist? Will you and Namjoon find the fulfillment you crave, or will the aftermath leave you even lonelier than before?

warnings: lots of pov switches, heartbreak, references to mental health, drinking, swearing, lots of little coincidences, mentions of breakups, lots of Indigo references, Namjoon gets angry, minor accident and injury, Taehyung cameo, character d*ath, happy ending!, smut warnings: masturbation (m and f), erotic letters, squirting

word count: 13.8k

a/n: It’s finally here. This literally has to be one of the most intense labors of love I’ve undertaken, but I love Kim Namjoon, and Indigo, and this is the result of that love. I hope this fic can help you believe in the magic that exists in our mundane little world, and that it can help some of your loneliness go away, or just be understood, much like Indigo did for us when it came out. I hope you enjoy!

Present Day, 2022

What was it about saying goodbye that made it so hard? People always reminded you that you’d have the memories to hold onto, cherished moments engraved in the delicate fabric of your mind. Still, they seemed so fleeting, easily doomed to fade into oblivion as their delicate threads tore off and disappeared into the fabric of your mind.

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly notice the slip of your pen across the cardstock, leaving a garish ink stain amongst the neat print. Sighing, you decide it’s best to end your letter here, hoping the next recipient wouldn’t mind the evidence of your daydreaming staring them down on the page.

Shivering, you wrap your arms tighter around you, taking in the surrounding sea one last time. While there had been many clear blue days during your time at the seaside cottage over the past year, today was not one of them. Today, the fog was so dense the mist clouded the horizon as far as anyone could see, the only sign of the water being the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Your toes itched to take one last walk on the feather-light sand and to feel it squish between your toes, but you didn’t want to get your shoes dirty before making it to your new apartment.

A soft meow calls your attention, and you look over to see a pair of curious green eyes studying you from the shadows. Smiling, you slip the postcard into its envelope, reaching for the heavy box of art supplies - the last imprint of yourself remaining in the house, and rising to your feet.

“Alright Bokboki, it’s time to go,” you whisper softly, your boots thudding against the gangplank that kept the house elevated from the rising tide. Handing your box to the movers, you remember to pick up the card, holding it tightly to your chest with one hand, while scooping up Bokboki with the other. The wind whipped around your face, your hair flying in all different directions as you stepped back to take a look at your home. 

Slipping the postcard into the rust-covered mailbox, you hoped the next resident would appreciate the place as much as you did. More importantly, though, you hoped they honour your request in the note - the letter you were expecting was too important to miss. 

Climbing into the taxi with Bokboki, you wave a final goodbye to the cottage, turning your gaze away to await the promise of the new life that lay ahead.

. . . 

Groaning you turn against the scratchy sheets of your new bed, temples throbbing with pain as you’re greeted by the rays of sunlight upon rising. You missed the dense fog of the house by the sea, allowing you to sleep in as long as you wanted. Here, in this lonely box of an apartment, you were a slave to everyone else’s clock, awakened by the unforgiving light that signaled it was time to have another productive day. You cover your face with the blanket, burrowing back into the sheets.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

. . .

Those five minutes had unexpectedly turned into twenty, and now you were tripping over the boxes you had yet to unpack, slipping and sliding on the cool tile as you struggled to put your heels on and smooth down your hair. First impressions mattered when it came to finding work in your field, and you had to present the polished, sophisticated image that won the hearts (and the pockets) of most gallery owners.

Locking the door behind you, you see the woman from across the hall step into her own apartment as you’re leaving yours.

“How are you today?” you ask with a smile, only to feel the wind from the door slamming shut in your face. Dejected, you make your way down the staircase with your shoulders slumped.

Passing by the mailbox, you wonder if it’s worth taking a look for your letter, but decide against it. It had only been the first day after all. Who knew if Taehyung was even awake right now, halfway across the world?

Shaking your head, you ward off the intrusive thoughts in your mind, knowing that the letter would come, and all your worries would be eased. For now, you had an interview to go to. 

. . . 

The cold glint of the gallery manager’s eyes is all you remember, his booming laugh echoing in your ears, the sound seeming less like the jolly joke he intended it to be when he called your work unrefined, and more like a mockery that made your skin crawl. All you’d wanted to do was curl in on yourself in that moment, your feet itching to run to the corner and collapse. Instead, you’d politely wished him a good day, waiting until you were outside to let the first tears fall.

With your eyes trained on the ground as you walk through the brightly lit streets, you barely take a moment to notice the joyful spirit that permeated the air, couples and families all out for a stroll in the chilly weather, enjoying each others’ company. It only made you feel more alone as you ascended the stairs to your apartment, Bokboki’s soft meows greeting you upon opening the door.

Looking at your phone, you see a missed call from Hyung-seo, your best friend, asking if you wanted to hang out tonight. Slumping onto your couch, you try to figure out the best excuse, when your eyes came across the picture of you in Taehyung in the corner, cheeks red from the cold and arms wrapping each other in a warm embrace. Your fingers tremble over the phone buttons, hesitating but never daring to press call. 

What was it about feeling sad that only made you want to be even alone? Humans were strange in that way.

Giving Bokboki a few scratches between the ears, you change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth. Tomorrow you’d go back to the house and check if the letter from Taehyung had arrived. You needed some kind of sign that things would be better from now on.

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon looks at the tree with its vibrant leaves hued in red, orange and gold, and a twinge of sadness goes through him. As beautiful as they were, he knew he’d only get to enjoy them for a short while before the wind lifted them up and away, and winter settled in on the coast.

He hadn’t actually been inside yet. The company had dropped off all his things in the cottage, but Namjoon had been too scared to step over the threshold, because that meant accepting this new phase of his life. One where as the world had shut down and gone to sleep, he hoped that people wouldn’t notice how he faded into obscurity, never to be heard from again.

Quite frankly, Namjoon was tired of being heard from. As a performer and a rapper, he was used to thousands of eyes on him every second, whether it was at a concert or even through his pictures on the internet. The mask that he’d chosen to don as his alter ego, RM, had become heavy, the strings threatening to snap and reveal the tired, fragmented soul that lay underneath. He’d chosen to intervene before anyone could see him, the real him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

Staring out at the sea, the wind ruffles the strands of his hair, and he knows he should get a haircut. But then again, who was gonna see him out here anyway? At most, maybe Yoongi or Hoseok would stop by, or his parents. They were the type of people who wouldn’t care if his hair was a little bedraggled, or if he gained or lost a couple of pounds. They’d love him anyway.

The garish ringtone of his cellphone jolts him awake from his thoughts, and he pulls it out of his pocket to see Hoseok’s name light up the screen, hitting the answer button.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok’s voice rumbles through the screen. “You said you’d call when you got there.”

“Sorry, just unpacking,” Namjoon lied, hoping Hoseok wouldn’t catch on. “The house is nice. Do you know who designed it? It doesn’t seem like it was built by some generic construction company.”

He knows Hoseok is rolling his eyes on the other side of the phone, babbling that it was some architect, but Namjoon’s question had been sincere. He wondered who could have wanted to hide from the world bad enough that they’d design a house on this isolated beach, where the winds were wild and the sun shone rarely, and how someone who he’d never met could have understood his desire to not be found so deeply.

“Thanks for the Kaws figurine by the way,” Namjoon gives out at small smile when thinking of Hoseok’s parting gift. “I’ll find a nice place for it.”

Hoseok’s infectious laugh echoes through the speaker, and Namjoon feels his gut lurch, missing his friend.

“You better send me a picture of what you’ve done with the place, and don’t forget to call, huh? Me and Yoongi-hyung are gonna hold you to it.”

Namjoon remains silent on the other end, staring out at the vast horizon, nothing and no one around for miles.

Hoseok clears his throat on the other end, his voice becoming serious.

“Stay happy, Namjoon-ah, talk to you soon.”

“You too, Hob-ah,” Namjoon finally musters before the line cuts dead, leaving him alone once more. Staring at the open door, his new life waiting for him inside, he rises to his feet, walking towards the house that was now waiting for Namjoon to make it a home.

. . .

The first thing he had to tackle was his massive collection of books, the numerous volumes waiting to be homed on the weathered shelves. He knew they wouldn’t stay tidy for long, with his habit of taking one down every day to read and somehow never putting it back. Staring at the walls, he tries to assess the light filtering in through the window, wondering where he could hang his paintings. 

The entire house was blue, from the well-worn wood to the sunlight reflecting off the sea, casting a cerulean glow over the walls, matching the dark blue jeans he was wearing. Instead of being eerie, it reminded Namjoon of those dioramas of a ship in a bottle. This was now his space, his spot to look upon the world, instead of having the world look at him.

As he hung up the art on the wall, he stared at it, hoping it could look back at him, and offer him the inspiration to create he so desperately craved. Studying the strokes of the Lee Bae piece, the splotches and strokes only served to remind him of the dark abyss his mind had become. 

It seemed silly, the job Namjoon had. Who the fuck cared about him and his silly rhymes when the world outside was falling apart? When lives were changing like they never had before? At least for artists, their works could live on to be admired and reflected on without the pressures of the context it was created. For Namjoon, context was all that mattered - how he dressed, what he said, who he spoke to. Never how he felt.

Turning away from the lone painting hanging on the wall, he feels his temples throb with the beginning of a headache. Unpacking could wait. For now, he craved the fresh sea air, the whole reason he’d moved away from the city in the first place. 

The sand on the beach squished against his feet as he ran, feeling the wind blow through his hair, and Namjoon felt freeer than he had in months. Pausing by the oceanside, he panted, hands on his knees, and drew in his chest, screaming into the great beyond, his voice hoarse and tears streaming down his face.

. . .

Returning to the house, Namjoon paused outside the rust-covered mailbox. He probably should check if there had been any important communication from the label. After all, this break was not completely a break. At the end of it, Namjoon would still be pressured to show that the time off had been worth something. 

Reaching inside, he’s surprised to find an envelope within, feeling heavy cardstock in his hands. Curious, he opens it, finding a generic greeting card. Who could have sent him this? He flips the page open:

Hello there!

I’m the person that lived in this house before you did.

I have a favor to ask.

I’m waiting for a letter, actually.

So if you get anything addressed to me, could you please send it to this address?

Wishing you lots of luck in the new place.

Thank you again.

My best,

____

2022.

P.S. those pawprints by the door? They were there before I moved in. I tried my best to get rid of them, but I couldn’t. I hope you can forgive me.

Turning the letter in his hands, Namjoon is confused. The stamp was dated 2022, but it was only 2020. Whoever sent it had to be playing some kind of practical joke on him. As far as the realtor had explained to him, he was the first to live in the cottage, the architect’s lost labor of love away from the city appealing to his desire to get out of his hectic life. And there were no pawprints anywhere.

He pulls out his phone, ready to search your name on Google, but hesitates at the last minute. He knew what it was like to have his privacy invaded, to live a life under scrutiny in the age of the internet. Your letter seemed well-intentioned and even if you were a stranger, perhaps he could just do this one kind thing for you without expecting anything in return. 

Lost in thought, he almost misses the sound of a car crunching on the gravel outside, looking out the window to see a sleek black vehicle he knew all too well rolling up. Throwing his coat outside, he runs to it, a surprised expression on his face.

“Hyung!” he calls out to the two figures that exit, their expressions taking in the isolated area with nothing but the sea surrounding them. “What are you doing here?”

“So this is where you’re hiding from us,” Yoongi whistles, Hoseok nudging him in the stomach. 

“We brought some of your stuff from the studio,” Hoseok says cheerfully, his heart-shaped smile piercing through the fog.

“Do you want some tea?” Namjoon doesn’t want to invite them in, but feels like he has to.

Yoongi studies him, his dark eyes glimmering, and Namjoon senses something is up. They’d known each other for too long to keep secrets from one another. 

“This came for you,” he holds out a piece of paper. “It’s from Ji-hyeon.”

Namjoon flinches at the mention of his ex’s name, and instantly the walls he’d built up in his mind to keep them out of it crashing down, the bitter end of their relationship causing bile to burn in the back of his throat.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” he spits out, and he watches Yoongi glance at him. He knew his hyung blamed Ji-hyeon for everything going south, for Namjoon needing to get away, but it hadn’t been just that. There was more going, more Namjoon wasn’t sure he was ready to share with anyone.

“The house looks great,” Hoseok interrupts the tension. “You’ll have to invite us in some other time. Hopefully you can actually learn to cook and clean up after yourself.”

He puts a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, beckoning them to go, and Namjoon watches them leave, alone and finally able to breathe again. He hadn’t realized how stifling the presence of other people had become, even those closest to him. He just wanted to be alone.

Namjoon hears a whine from his side, looking over in surprise to see a kitten staring up at him with huge eyes, like it wanted something from him.

“Hey little goyangi,” he chuckles. “Who are you – Hey!” 

The kitten stares up at him for a few moments longer, before running towards the house, knocking over the can of paint by the entrance, Namjoon chasing after it. 

He walks in to see little black pawprints all over the entry, and is immediately reminded of the letter from earlier. 

P.S. those pawprints by the door? They were there before I moved in.

Namjoon runs to his study, tripping over boxes on the way, desperately searching for where he kept his pen and paper. He had to know how you knew about the pawprints, and whether you really were from the future.

Sitting against the wall, he’s unsure how to start - responding to yes your request seemed so trivial, limiting the ability to ask all the questions he wanted answers to. Instead, he decided to take a simpler approach, speaking from his heart:

Dear ____,

I’m fucking lonely…

Present Day, 2022

Curling tighter into your coat, you take in the old cottage, still standing as proudly and as empty as the day you moved in, a lone display piece against the backdrop of the sea. You’d contemplated coming back for a little while now, not having heard from Taehyung or the new resident. Taking matters into your own hands, you’d been surprised to hear that no one new had moved in, lying to the realtor that you’d left something behind. 

Key in hand, you open the door, greeted with the vast space that seemed cold and sad without the warmth of a human being and their possessions to fill it. Things had been rough lately, a few more visits with gallery owners and exhibitions not going the way you’d expected them to, and it made you remember why you loved this place so much.

Here, no one could remind you that you weren’t enough, that you’d have to try again. You were just free to be as you were, the ocean your silent partner. Throwing the sleeping bag onto the floor, you scoop up Bokboki, cuddling him in your lap. The two of you remain silent, watching the sky change and the clouds shift, until night falls and you drift off to sleep.

. . . 

You open your eyes with a start, the hard wood that you’d fallen asleep on causing pain to explode across your back. Turning, you see Bokboki snoozing off right next to you, his tiny body moving up and down with each breath. The first rays of sunlight have begun to break through the window, and you know it’s a sign that the weekend is almost over, and you’ll have to leave soon. 

Stretching, you wrap your sweater tight around yourself, slipping on your shoes to go check on the mail outside. The air is crisp and the fog dense. Slipping your hand inside the mailbox, you’re surprised when you feel an envelope in there, one that hadn’t been present at the start of the weekend. 

Taking it out, you open the envelope to find a plain piece of paper, the messy scrawl of black ink all over the pages. Could someone have responded to the card you’d left? Your eyes scan over the page:

Dear ____,

I’m fucking lonely. Sorry for the abrupt introduction, but I just had to get that off my chest, and as you probably know, there’s no one around for miles. As much as I want to help you, since it seems like you’re waiting for something (or someone?) important, but I think you sent that letter to the wrong address. I’m the very first person who’s lived here. I apologize for not being able to help more, and wish you the best of luck with your search.

Sincerely,

Kim Namjoon

Glancing at the stamp on the right hand corner, you see that it’s dated from 2020, and your eyes widen. Was this some kind of sick prank? Whatever it was, you weren’t going to put up with it. You’d been pushed around and dismissed by too many people in your life to stand for it with some stranger.

Rifling through your bag, you find your small sketchbook and a pen, tearing off a sheet. As much as it pained you to rip what could house a potentially new piece of art, this warranted a response and warranted one now.

Listen,

I don’t know why this letter sent to you, but if you’re playing some kind of joke, can you please just leave it where you found it? Thanks.

___

P.S. you’re not seriously sending me letters from 2020, are you? That has to be a typo. Also, the weather is getting colder outside, please make sure to bundle up.

Stuffing the letter back into the mailbox, you feel tears prick at your eyelids. Why couldn’t anyone ever take you seriously? You weren’t just some doll or plaything to be tossed around and abused. You were a real person, with real feelings, and it seemed like no one ever got that about you. You didn’t know why you’d ended with another well-wish, now this Namjoon guy would just think he could use you again.

Suddenly, you feel a cold splish! on the tip of your nose, looking up to see a soft scatter of snowflakes descend from the sky. You feel Bokboki brush against your leg, and smile, your anger of a moment ago forgotten. The tension in your shoulders eases as you close your eyes and make a silent wish that despite the bumpy start, the incoming snow would treat you kindly, and perhaps all that you deserved would finally come your way.

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon shivers with his hands in his pockets, standing outside the mailbox once again. You’d sent another letter. He’d seen it on his way out to the nearby small village this morning, his empty fridge taunting him. While his fingers had itched to tear open the envelope, he needed time to sit and process whatever your response would be. 

Opening it, his eyes fall at your cold response, the only thing keeping his frozen tears at bay your request for him to stay warm. Maybe you did have a heart after all. Sighing, he shoves the letter into his pockets along with his hands, breaking into a run as he ventures to escape the frigid winter air.

Shaking the snow from his hair, he strips off his winter clothes, teeth chattering from the cold. He walks down the hallway to the bathroom, stripping the rest of his clothes and filling the tub up with warm water. At the sound of the dripping, his new cat friend comes pattering in. Namjoon had decided to keep the curious creature after much contemplation. Just because he felt lonely, didn’t mean he wanted to be completely alone.

He sighs as he steps into the tub, the water instantly filling him with warmth. Closing his eyes, he reaches for his phone on the bench nearby. His eyebrows furrow when he sees dozens of messages from Yoongi and Hoseok, asking about how he’d settled in. There was another text too - one from the company’s head, asking how the progress on his new album was going.

Namjoon wanted to bang his head against the wall. He’d barely had a break and already, people were demanding things of him again. He wondered when this all became so painful - when the fame began to feel like shackles, when everything began to seem forced. Namjoon swipes on the message, deleting it for good. He wouldn’t let the pressure get to him again. If he wanted to write music, he would. If he wanted to make poetry, he would. If he wanted to throw paint against a canvas, he would. But no one could tell him what to do.

His phone clatters against the bench, Namjoon dropping it in favor of the wineglass that rests by the tub. Taking a sip, he sighs, the hot water restoring life to his body and the alcohol numbing his brain. 

“I do wish me a lovely night,” he chuckles to himself.

Present Day, 2022

Dear ____

Like you predicted, the weather got colder. It even snowed! I’m afraid though, that with the wintertime cheer, I’ve gotten a cold. I don’t know what to make of this – I can’t tell whether you’re a prophet or a fortune teller or just someone who owns a lot of crystals. But somehow all of those are easier to believe than the fact that you’re from the year 2022. 

Best,

Namjoon

Clutching the letter to your chest, you sigh heavily, unsure why you’d decided to keep writing back to the strange man who seemed to live inside the mailbox at the cottage. He seemed less harmless than you thought he was, his words so sincere, you could almost imagine the smile that lit up his face as his messy scrawl danced across the page.

Reaching across your desk for a piece of paper, you dig through your collection of pens, finding your favorite one. You smile as you pen a quick response, refraining from telling him I told you so about the cold weather. It seemed extraordinary to be writing to him. Although you still couldn’t fully wrap your head around the fact that he was from the past, you hadn’t realized how lonely your life had become.

Ever since Taehyung had moved away, you’d only had Hyung-Seo. The life of an artist was lonelier than people realized. There were no glamorous gallery openings or art parties in dimly lit rooms. Many of the other artists you came across were cold and unwelcoming, preferring to stick to their already existing circles, and showing no interest in you or your pieces. Hyung-seo was the only friend you managed to hold on to, but even she had her own life to worry about.

Maybe that’s why it felt so right to be writing to this Namjoon guy. You’d been denying it, but there was a void in your life - you had no one to talk to, no one who would really listen to you. Even Bokboki couldn’t say anything back. But Namjoon listened to you - he wrote to you even when you’d been rude, searching for ways to prolong the conversation. And his words, despite how brief they were, made you feel just a little bit less lonely.

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon guzzles the last of the beer, the rush hitting him while he waits for Hoseok to come out of the convenience store. Pulling his mask up and his hood over his head, he looks down at the ground, hoping no one recognizes him at this hour. He didn’t have the capacity to deal with a fan sighting right now. In fact, he’d been hesitant to agree to Hoseok’s offer of hanging out in the city at all, preferring the peace and solitude he’d come to associate with the beach house.

He had a love-hate relationship with the place, the tall buildings and masses of people in the street only serving to make him feel lonely. For a place full of people, the city was full of sorrow. In the days he’d lived here, Namjoon’s only solace had been bike rides on the river, the briny smell of the water being the impetus that had spurred him to move out to the oceanside in the first place. While he missed it, he didn’t miss the feeling of being a wanderer, not having a place to belong in this vast metropolis. 

Hoseok comes out with his haul of snacks, the two of them ready to head back to his apartment. In the car, Namjoon reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the last letter you’d sent, and he has a spark of realization. The address you’d been writing him from was near Hoseok’s place, maybe five or ten minutes away. Maybe he could finally meet you, the mysterious woman who occupied most of his thoughts and activities these days, the one who made him feel a little less alone in the world. 

“Can we take a detour?” Namjoon asks suddenly, prompting Hoseok to look at him with raised eyebrows. “I have somewhere I need to see.”

Hoseok nods silently, and Namjoon is thankful he doesn’t question him. He gives the directions, and Hoseok drives, coming to a stop a few minutes later. Namjoon can stop himself from bolting out of the car, running up to where he know you live—

Only to find a construction site and a half-finished apartment complex, and his face falls. Taking a look at the exposed beams and the planks of wood, it finally hits Namjoon that you’re a real person. A person who’s going to live here. He wonders what you look like, what you do for work. He wants to know more about you, know where you are in the world, and when your paths will cross. 

“Why are we at a construction site?” Hoseok comes up beside him, concern etched in his features for his best friend.

“No reason,” Namjoon sighs. “I just thought there’d be something else here. Let’s go.”

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon looks at the kitten, studying it with the utmost scrutiny. A tortoiseshell coat, and striking green eyes, and a little triangle patch of black hair in the middle of its head. 

He hadn’t known the little guy was supposed to have a name already, but now he’d just found out: Bokboki. Namjoon is unable to speak, sitting there stunned with his little companion after reading the letter you’d just sent, ranting about how you’d spent the entire day just lounging around with your cat, whom you’d found when you moved into the house. 

Namjoon hadn’t seen many other cats strolling around the beach, and since this one seemed to have a particular connection to the beach house, he realizes that in some strange twist of fate, the two of you owned the same pet, the fortuitous connection between you two only building and building. So, you really were from the future.

You’d sent him something else besides the letter, something that had shocked Namjoon even more than the revelation about little Bokboki. The piece itself is tiny, printed on a sheet even smaller than the one you’d written your letter on, but it’s nothing short of stunning. The simple flowers, not unlike the ones he’d seen growing by the beach, are shaded in different hues of blue. He can see where the acid caused the paint to stratify, feathery strokes running over the page, and the once vibrant flowers are now washed out to nothing but white, obliterated by the dark midnight of the background. In the very corner lies a small signature, and Namjoon realizes the neat scrawl is of your name. 

You were an artist. Just like him. 

Namjoon feels a pang within his chest, unable to reason why the tiny painting you’d shared affected him so. You hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t bragged or even gone into detail about what it meant or why you’d chosen to paint it, or send it to him. And yet, Namjoon felt as if through this painting, he knew more about you than he had through the course of all your letters sent to each other. 

You understood him. You understood what the pressure to create was like, how hard it was to condense the vast world around you into a set of lyrics, or a single painting, and to still invoke a full-bodied spectrum of emotions. He wondered if you understood the burnout too - when art no longer felt like freedom, and more like a set of shackles. How when what once made your heart beat no longer touched it at all, it felt like dying your very first death. 

He doesn’t realize the tears have fallen down his face until he sees the paper he’d picked out to write back splotched with wet spots, and he sniffles.

Scrolling through his library of guide tracks until sleep makes his eyes heavy, Namjoon glances over occasionally at the painting, at a loss of words for how he could even begin to repay the beautiful gift you’d shared with him.

. . . 

Dear Namjoon,

Are you for real? A still life that does not stop, keep my flower blooming again. It’s like you wrote this about my painting!! But how could you, when I hadn’t even sent it to you yet? The song was amazing by the way, even though I had to go out and buy a CD player to listen to it. You’re very talented. You should release it! I’m sure it would go viral on Spotify.

I had an inkling you were an artist too. That’s why I sent you my piece. I’m glad you appreciate it, even when others don’t seem to. But enough about me, I want to talk about you! Your music is so addictive, I can’t stop listening to it. Do you like making songs? I know sometimes it can be hard to create things and not see them get the appreciation they deserve, but I have full faith that if you were to share your talent with the world, you’d find an audience for it (okay maybe the audience would just be me, but isn’t that reason enough?). It seems we’re living in a strange thread of time right? Our previously separate lives are intertwining, thread by thread, and I can’t help but think that there’s something bigger going on. But I’ll save you from my rambling. For now, I wish you good luck with your songwriting!

Sincerely, 

____

Namjoon stares at the letter, his eyes rimmed with red from tears and a lack of sleep. He wants to pull at the threads of his hair and yank them from his scalp. When he’d scrolled through his guides on a whim, choosing to send you a CD burned with Still Life, he’d never expected this reaction. He had never meant for you to hear it, or for anyone to hear it for that matter. It wasn’t the kind of music anyone expected from him, or the dark, sexy kind of song that made any money, and so he’d let it sit on his computer, abandoned.

Until now. 

Namjoon wants to tear up the letter into a million tiny pieces. How dare you say that to him? How dare you give him this fragile sense of hope, knowing any moment, this cruel world could snatch it away? You were wrong. In this day and age, no one was actually interested in music. Sure, they blasted songs through their headphones on the way to work, or while running outside, or in the clubs, but did anyone actually listen to what the artists were saying? No. The lyrics remained lost in the back of their brains, no one ever stopping to think about the conversation that he was trying to initiate. Everybody talked about him, but no one ever talked to him.

Finding another piece of paper, Namjoon nearly rips through it with the force of his pen scratching across the surface.

Dear ___,

You asked me if I like making music. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.

Present Day, 2022

Dear ___,

We’d like to thank you for your time spent applying to our gallery. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you…

You toss the letter in the trash before you can even read the rest, covering your mouth to stop the tears from spilling out while you were in the middle of the street. It hadn’t been a good week for you. Not only had Namjoon written you an abrupt response, leaving you to wonder whether he was angry, but you’d finally gotten the letter you were waiting for from Taehyung. Except, instead of the response you’d expected, you’d been greeted with nothing but a big red stamp - return to sender.

You shove your hands in your pockets, staring blankly ahead as you walk wherever your feet will take you, uncaring of people scolding you to get out of their way or to watch where you’re going. Eventually, you find a bench, plopping down on it with a sigh, only to be met with the rude stare of some old man who promptly gets up and leaves. You weren’t good enough for anyone it seemed.

From across the bench, you can see a rusty telephone booth, a relic you thought didn’t exist anymore, and an idea sparks in your brain. A very bad idea. But your mind is powerless to stop the way you rise, feet walking towards the phone booth. 

The door creaks when you open it, and you give the buttons of the phone a cursory tap, just to make sure they still work and you aren’t about to have your credit card eaten. Although it wouldn’t matter much if it was - it’s not like your name was worth much. Dialing the last number you knew to be Taehyung’s, you wait as the dial tone rings and rings.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers. “Hello?”

“Who is it?” a deep voice rumbles in the background, and you slam the phone back onto the receiver, your heart beating out of your chest. 

Running out of the booth, you don’t stop until your feet carry you all the way home.

. . . 

Shoving your coat and your shoes off, you strip off the rest of your clothes, throwing them against the wall with a thud. You want to scream. You want to break something. But you have nothing of value. Nothing that would equal the pain and the heartbreak you feel right now. All you have is yourself. And you’re completely alone.

You slam the door to your room shut, ignoring Bokboki’s soft meows, and collapse to the ground, sobs wracking your entire body. You lay there with your head against the door, wondering why the world had chosen to be so cruel to you, to leave you so lonely. 

That was the hard part about getting older. When you’d been in high school, everybody had told you your adult years would be the best of your life, with so many milestones to look forward to - getting a job, entering a relationship, getting married, buying a house, having kids. And that you’d have so many people by your side to witness it all. But the reality was, none of that was true. Instead, you felt more like you were wading through the wide open ocean, with no one around to see you struggle to keep your head above the surface. 

You muster enough strength to get up, stumbling over the desk, head in your hands as you stare at the piece of paper you’d chosen out to write your next letter to Namjoon. Tracing your hand over the edge, you pick up the pen, beginning to write.

I thought falling in love would make me so happy. But all it did was break me inside. It gave me fleeting happiness, only to snatch it away and laugh in my face, telling me that I’m not enough. That I will never be enough. Why though? Why does it have to be me who feels so lonely? Why do I have to go through this pain? Am I not worthy of being loved? Am I undesirable in some way? Once, just once, I wish I could love someone and have them love me back. And not in the transient, fleeting kind of way. No, I wish I could be loved, wholly and completely. I wish to know what it feels like to have someone who’ll sleep beside me every night, to wake up warm instead of freezing. To feel another pair of lips against my own, to have those lips both soothe me and undo me. To feel someone’s fingers inside me, bringing me to highs I can never reach alone. To know someone else’s body as well as I know mine, to lose myself in them completely while we make each other come.

As you write, an image flashes in your head, one of a faceless man. You have no idea what he looks like, but you can hear his voice. It’s the same voice that writes to you nearly every day, that hears your deepest thoughts, and you want him to know your darkest desires.

Your fingers slip underneath the waistband of your panties, warmth pooling in between your legs, and you resist the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure between them. You let out a staggered breath when you swipe through your folds, fingers sliding easily against the wetness that has begun to pool, and your hand rises to circle lightly around your clit.

You let out a moan you didn’t know you’d been holding in, closing your eyes and leaning back against the chair, your legs spreading on their own as the deep voice in your mind continues to talk to you, to repeat what you’d written in the letter, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily thinking about the faceless man in the back of your mind. 

Sinking a finger inside of you, you grind your hips, your throbbing clit catching the palm of your hands. You tremble at the wet noises you can hear, accompanied by the soft staccato of your whines, and your thumb circles back around your needy bud, increasing the pressure, the pleasure rapidly building as you slide in another finger, fucking yourself against your hand. 

It takes a split second for your walls to tighten around you and the taut knot in your stomach to snap, your body convulsing as your slick spilled all over your fingers, soaking your underwear and the chair below. 

You open your eyes, huffing breathlessly as you remove your sticky fingers from inside of you, your heart pounding in your eyes. Looking down at the piece of paper, you shove it to the side, shame flooding your entire body at the debauched fantasy of Namjoon you’d just gotten off to. He was your friend, not some cheap rebound attempt. Your fingers tremble as you grab the pen, trying to write another letter to him to quell your racing thoughts, hoping calm would find you again after the storm that had just ensued.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon shouldn’t be reading this. This clearly wasn’t meant for him. But wasn’t it? You’d put the letter in the mailbox, knowing it’d go through to him, knowing he’d read the very words that had his face flushing red and his cock stirring underneath his grey sweats. He felt like a total perv, getting hard when you were clearly vulnerable and sharing something personal with him, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about how you looked, how you felt, how you tasted.

It’d been too long since Namjoon had sex, and he’d forgotten how strong and persuasive desire could be, leading him to do the most fucked up things. Namjoon reads the letter again, and again, and again, wondering if you touched yourself while you wrote it. Wondering if that’s why the words sounded so rushed, so frantic, spilling out of you like he’d never heard you speak before. He wonders who could make you feel that way, and jealousy stirs in his chest when he realizes it’s most likely someone else. Not him. 

Still, it doesn’t stop him from tugging his sweats down, his hard cock springing out, and he wraps one hand around it, leaning back against the bed. His eyes close as he pumps himself, imagining you behind his eyelids - your lips, your breasts, your pussy. But also your smile, your eyes, your hands. And Namjoon aches to touch you, to touch anyone, to banish the deep-rooted loneliness within his heart.

A bead of precum escapes the tip of his dick, and Namjoon slides it around himself, stroking harder, and faster, thrusting into his hand imagining it was you instead, just like you’d wished for him to do. Underneath him, the bed begins to creak, and Namjoon lets out a low groan, throbbing as he bucks his hips in time with his hands. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon growls as he explodes, curses falling from his lips as he slumps into the bed, chest falling and rising with heavy breaths. Sparks tingle under his skin, Namjoon’s body coming alive like it hadn’t for months. 

At the same time, the guilt settles in, and he feels as though a lead weight is pressed against his chest, crushing his lungs until he can’t breathe. He feels sick inside for taking your moment of vulnerability and using it for his own selfish gains. The gross feeling remains even after he’s gotten up and cleaned himself off, his head buried in his hands when he sits at his desk. 

Grabbing a piece of paper, he begins to write, words of apology flying off the page, hoping it’s enough to excuse his depravity, that you’ll forgive him, that you’ll still want to write to him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

Dear ___,

I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. I don’t know if you meant to send me those vulnerable words, but if you did, I want to thank you for thinking that I’m trustworthy enough to share them with. I know nothing I say can completely heal the sadness within your heart, but maybe I can offer some wisdom from my own up-and-down experiences with love.

The reason we’re so tormented in life is because love goes on, not because it goes away. But even after we lose that love, the life of a person who’s been in love is more beautiful and vibrant than that of someone who’s never experienced love at all. Cheer up. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to.

- Namjoon

Namjoon stares at the letter for a few moments, unable to believe the poetic words that had just left him in this moment of shame when he’d been struggling to write for months. His brain churns with an idea, and he opens his mixing software, grabbing the notebook he uses to pen his lyrics, and beginning to write. 

If love ain’t for us

I’ll be satisfied with this

I don’t need your touch

I just need your love

Come closer, come closer

Present Day, 2022

Perusing the piece of paper, you wonder if Namjoon’s been drinking the past couple of days. He’s never opened up this much to you, preferring to keep your interactions surface level and friendly. But his last letter hadn’t been just friendly, it’d been poetic, reassuring you that love was worth it. You wonder if he’d been thinking of someone specific when he penned the words. Now, with this next letter, you finally had your answer.

Dear ____,

It was Ji-hyeon. Ji-hyeon was their name. I thought we had it all - the perfect chemistry, thought we wanted the same things. But I was a fool to think that love was for me. I’ve been trying so hard to let the memory of the breakup go, but it haunts me every day. Every day, a little piece of me chips off and withers away when I realize that I’m losing myself. I’m losing my sanity. I’ve ceased to be a human and instead become a prisoner to this industry. To making music. And I just want to let it all go. To quit. That’s why I moved out here in the first place, to find some peace away from the hectic city. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t. I can’t let it go because music is who I am, art is who I am. And it breaks me because the pull of creative expression will always overtake anything, or anyone in my life. I can’t live normally, as much as I yearn to. I can’t love anyone.

- Namjoon

You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop the tears from falling, Namjoon laying himself bare on the page, and your heart hurts for him. Not only because of his sadness, but because his loneliness is the same loneliness you feel, both of you wandering souls in this unforgiving world. 

Watching your clothes spin in the washing machine, you think of Taehyung, and how he was your Ji-hyeon. Except, it was different. You’d known love, you’d known happiness unlike Namjoon had.

Grabbing your notebook, you scribble across the page, telling him that it doesn’t have to be that way, that real love is like the beauty of an amazing art piece. Something can be both beautiful and full of love, it doesn’t have to be full of ugliness and heartbreak for it to inspire you to create. Pausing, you think back on a story from a while back, deciding to divulge it to him. 

The watercolor I sent you? It’s from two years ago, I was painting a whole series on wildflowers in cyanotype. But I went through so many different renditions, so many different drafts, that I ran out of my favorite watercolors, the . I ran to my favorite store, hoping, praying that the creative streak I was on wouldn’t leave me, that if I just had those watercolors, I could keep going. I could make something of myself. But they weren’t there. Someone had bought them just moments before I entered the store, the last set. After that, I just gave up. I was strapped for money and couldn’t afford another set, let alone the time it would take to scour the city looking for them. I haven’t touched the paintings since. 

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon throws his coat over his shoulders, stopping only to scratch Bokboki between the ears before he runs outside, stumbling into the taxi as he frantically tells the driver to take him into the city. The roads pass him by, the serene landscape becoming dotted with more and more buildings, more people as the minutes go on. He asks to be let off at a random intersection, tipping the driver generously before he’s off running again.

There were a million art stores here. Surely one of them had to have the watercolors you were looking for. Namjoon didn’t want you to become like him, paralyzed and unable to do what you enjoyed. No, he wanted better for you, and he’d make sure it happened, so your beautiful wildflowers could see the sun’s rays once again.

Finding one on the corner of a narrow street, he slips inside, greeting the store owner warmly before heading to the back wall full of paints. 

His eyes scan through the rainbow of tubes and pans, until he sees them, the Kuretake ones you’d talked about in his letter. And there was only one left. Grabbing it, he rushes over to the cashier, paying for it, and running back out into the cold air, excitement coursing through your veins when he thinks of how happy you’d be when you saw him.

On his way out, he brushes against a shoulder, apologizing to the woman he’d accidentally bumped into. She gives him a polite smile before continuing on her way inside, and Namjoon smiles back, continuing on his way until he can hail a cab.

When he reaches back home, he slips the colors in the mailbox, and waits. 

It’s a few days later when your response comes back, your joy evident in the way the ink bleeds across the page, telling him you’d sobbed happy tears when you saw the watercolors. You’d immediately gone to start another painting, and Namjoon feels joy bloom inside his chest at the kindness he’d done for you. 

Reaching inside the mailbox, he’s shocked when his fingers close around something soft and wollen, pulling it out to see a scarf, indigo in color. The deep blue and violet fabric warms him instantly, as well as the note attached.

They say indigo is the color of intuition and perception. This scarf helped me find wisdom when I was struggling. I hope it does the same for you.

Present Day, 2022

It was a stupid mistake.

Looking at the letter again, you roll your eyes. Men. They could be so emotional sometimes, and yet they’d blame women for not having control of themselves. A small smirk makes its way onto your face as you read Namjoon’s sheepish request, asking that you send him a new tape recorder, since he’d destroyed his in a fit of rage before moving to the cottage.

Part of you wanted to laugh at his impulsiveness, but the other part of you felt sorrow for all the work he’d probably lost, just because of one rash mistake. You didn’t want him to feel sad. You wanted him to feel empowered to create, to make music again. And so, you set out on your quest to find one. The winding city streets took you on quite a journey, passing by various cafes and bookshops and parks, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. You were a woman on a mission. 

Your search finally took you to a little electronics store on the outskirts of your neighbourhood, and you look through the various tape recorders, wondering which color Namjoon would like. You wonder if he’s finally ready to start making music again, and smile when you think about being able to hear his songs again.

Paying for the tape recorder, you gather your things and walk out into the street, headphones in your ears. You’ve just stepped into the intersection when you hear a scream, feeling something slam into you from behind, sending you hurtling to the ground. Your ankle twists out of position as you topple over, and pain explodes across your entire leg as you hit the ground, scratching your hands.

Lying there, your mind chooses not to focus on how much pain you’re in, or the fact that you’re now bleeding. Instead you hyperfixate on the tape recorder that lies a few feet away, wondering how you were ever going to help Namjoon make his songs now. 

You don’t know how many moments pass like this.

Waking up, you hear the beeps of a blood pressure monitor, pain trickling from the back of your head down to your ankle. You’re not in your room. It’s a hospital bed, and across from you, you see Hyung-seo looking at you with concern, jolting up out of her seat when she sees your eyes are open.

“Here, drink some water,” she offers you a cup, and you accept, the liquid soothing your parched throat. “You sprained your ankle, please take it easy.”

“Hyung-seo,” you croak to her, still worrying about the tape recorder and Namjoon. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon can’t stop running. He’s probably run further down the beach than he should have, the house disappearing until it’s ceased to be a speck in the distance, disappearing completely from his view. He stops himself, bracing his hands on his knees, and heaves in a few deep breaths, suddenly realizing he forgot to feed Bokboki before he went out. 

He hadn’t been able to think straight for the past few days, opening the mailbox every couple of hours anticipating a tape recorder and another letter from you, but instead, he found nothing. At first, he was worried that something had happened to you. But as the days went on, an ugly feeling settled inside Namjoon’s chest. One that convinced him that you were ignoring him, that you’d purposefully grown tired of your interactions, and now wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe you’d found someone new.

Namjoon stumbles towards the ocean, feeling the waves lap at his feet, soaking through his running shoes. Fury floods his mind when he thinks of how open, how honest he’d been with everyone in his life, sacrificing his own damn mind to make them happy. And now, he didn’t even get the same back.

He wades deeper into the water, his waterlogged feet meeting resistance, and screams, his hands pulling at the strands of his hair. And then he screams again, louder this time. But no one is there to hear him.

It’s at least an hour before he returns to the house, shoes soaked with mud. Before he goes inside, he decides to peer inside the mailbox, knowing it’ll probably be worthless. As he opens the rust-covered door, his heart sinks with guilt when he sees a letter from you, and the tape recorder he’d so anxiously been waiting.

He wants to punch himself for his impatience when he reads the note, explaining that you’d met with a small accident and had been in the hospital for a couple days. His heart aches with concern for you? Were you okay? Did his selfish request cause you to get hurt?

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon looks at the tape recorder, wondering if it had even been worth it to ask for it from you. Would it really get him to work on his album? Or would it just taunt him as another reminder of his failures in life.

Sighing, he clicks the play button, ready to make the most of it no matter the outcome. But then he pauses. The sound of the tape is faint, but he can hear a voice on it. Your voice. You’re singing. Your voice is raspy, sounding unpolished, yet also rings clear and sweet. You riff a little melody, adding words that sound like a lullaby and Namjoon feels a pang in his chest. You sound so beautiful.

You end the brief recording with a laugh, apologizing for wasting space on the recorder, and telling him he can delete it. But Namjoon doesn’t delete it.

Bent over his desk, he takes the sincere melody and crafts it into a beat of his own, his low voice joining yours in perfect harmony.

With numerous thorns

The morning that comes and goes

In my own way

I'm gonna anesthetize myself, yeah-yeh

Present Day, 2022

Ride the A1 bus all the way until the second last stop. 

When you get off you’ll find a tree-lined street on both sides. 

If you cut through the patch of trees on the southwest, and walk exactly 1,632 steps, you’ll stumble upon something extraordinary.

I hope you like walking.

Holding the piece of paper with directions to your chest, you fight off a sheepish smile, heart pumping loudly in your ears as you think about Namjoon’s directions for your little “date”.

It wasn’t a real date, you see. The two of you had decided to send each other on adventures in your own time, but Namjoon had called it a date. The thought made you absolutely giddy. You hadn’t been on a date since Taehyung. As strange as it felt to be going somewhere on your own and calling it a date, it felt like Namjoon was with you, his spirit trapped in the letters of the page, leading you to somewhere wonderful.

You count your steps carefully as you walk, the trees lining your path on both sides, just like Namjoon had said. You marvel at their height, the blue sky peeking out from the canopy of their lives. Continuing to count each precise step, you look down at the ground until you reach 1,632. When you look up, you suck in a breath.

It’s a field full of wildflowers, the vibrant colors peeking through the grass like the twinkling of stars in a midnight sky. Your smile widens as you run into the field, laughing at the smell of the beautiful blooms, tracing your fingers along their delicate petals.

Finding a spot to put your bag down, you pull out your notebook, and begin to sketch, the wind ruffling your hair and Namjoon’s field of flowers keeping you company.

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon steps through the gallery, keeping his head down to avoid being recognized, sipping the coffe from the café you’d told him to go to before ending up here.

I think there’s an artist you’ll like, your letter had read, and Namjoon, like the smitten fool he was, was powerless against his own two feet as he immediately set off in search of the mysterious paintings. 

He hadn’t meant for the word date to come out. It just had. He knew you were lonely like this, and even though he couldn’t be there to erase your loneliness in person, he figured sending you to the wildflowers would be the next best thing. And it was. You’d excitedly written back, explaining that you’d come back with at least a dozen new sketches, ready to paint and turn into cyanotype. Namjoon had leaned back in his chair, his grin wider than the ocean, his heart pounding in his chest and his palms becoming sweaty when he thought about your smile, and remembered your beautiful laugh from the tape recording. 

The gallery isn’t busy this time of day, but he avoids talking to anyone, instead making a beeline for the corner you’d talked about. When he comes upon it, his jaw drops open in shock.

The strokes of the piece are ragged, burnt umber and ultramarine blue blending into a series of minimalist lines, the points where they blend creating a black deeper than any night sky Namjoon had seen.

Moving closer, he studies everything, from the worn canvas, to spots where the paint appears thicker in one area than another. The simplicity of the piece blows Namjoon away - the honesty portrayed within, showing him that he doesn’t need to be flamboyant or ostentatious to make an impact. Minimalism spoke words.

Glancing down at the artist’s title card, he sees the name. Yun Hyong-keun.

Namjoon comes home and fires up his computer, looking up interviews and more about Yun, mesmerized by the artist’s perspective on life, emphasizing his own humanity before his duties as an artist.

After his research, Namjoon pens a thank you to you for showing him the work. Coming up on the end of the letter, a bold thought crosses his mind, and he dares to write it down.

___, I’d like to meet you in person if that’s okay? Can we meet here, on this very beach? I’ll give you a day, closer to your time, so you don’t have to wait. How about December 13, 2022 at 3:00? Let me know if that works.

- Namjoon

Present Day, 2022

You slam the dress onto the countertop, the cashier looking at you in surprise.

“Aren’t you going to try it on?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. 

“Nope, just pack it up, please,” you implore her, blushing at the bold red fabric you’d picked out. Namjoon couldn’t miss you in this.

You were losing it. The date he’d given you was in three days! Not nearly enough time to prepare. How was it fair that he got a whole two years and you only got a couple of days. You wanted to meet him, but you also weren’t ready. You wondered what he’d be like. If he’d be the same as you imagined him to be, or different. Whether his voice would sound as deep and melodious as the strings of a cello, or if he had short hair or long hair. In any case, you were sure he’d be wonderful.

The next couple of days pass by in nervous anticipation, with you talking nonstop to Bokboki about your hopes and fears for the foretold meeting. You re-read all the letters you’ve shared with Namjoon before bed, wanting to impress him with how well you know him.

When the sun rises two days later, you rise bright and early with it, hopping in the shower, making sure your hair is styled to perfection, and not a smudge of makeup is out of place. You feel shy putting in so much effort, but you didn’t want Namjoon to think you were a slob. Finally, you slip on the red dress, amazed at how it fits like a glove. 

Studying yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but notice that your skin looks brighter, your cheeks rosier, your hair shinier. You look like life has found its way to you once more, imbuing you with an overall glow that hadn’t existed since before you broke up with Taehyung. Your cheeks flush when you realize Namjoon is the reason for the glow, and you shake your head, banishing all your intrusive thoughts from your mind before slipping on your coat and running out the door.

It feels like the cab ride to the beach is longer today, your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation. When you finally see the beach come into view, you ask the cab driver to stop then and there, not even waiting for them to take you all the way up, instead throwing a handful of bills you hope will cover the ride.

You leap and sprint down the beach, until you reach right behind, the house, where Namjoon said he’d be. Looking around, your face falls. No one is here. Not wanting to give up, you spend a few minutes combing up and down the beach, looking for another human in sight. But there’s no one.

Returning to the house, you let out a soft gasp when you see a man there, his messy black hair blowing in the wind. Dread fills you as you realize you don’t even know what Namjoon looks like. But maybe this was him? You decide to tread carefully.

“Excuse me?” you ask him, and he turns to study you, his eyes reminding you of Bokboki, looking right through you. “Are you here to meet someone by chance?”

His polite smile turns into a grimace, and he shakes his head.

“Whoever your Tinder date is, it’s not me, I’m afraid,” he says. 

“Why are you here then?” you question him, looking around at the abandoned beach. “No offense, but this isn’t exactly a tourist hotspot.”

“I had a friend who used to come here, said it inspired him to make art about the woman he loved,” the man says sadly, and you decide not to press on, giving him his privacy.

“Hey!” you hear from behind you, looking to see him waving at you. “Good luck with whoever you’re looking for. I hope you find them.”

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon wants to yank at the strands of his hair. He pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge, looking at your letter. He’s so fucking confused. He can imagine your small tears dripping onto the paper when you returned home from the beach, disappointed that he didn’t show. But Namjoon is bewildered. 

He wouldn’t have missed meeting you for the world. There was no single excuse, no event, that could have caused him to miss such an important day. Unless, of course, it wasn’t up to him.

Namjoon takes a walk outside the house, descending the stairs to the beach, the indigo scarf you’d given him wrapped tightly around his neck. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and sending a wish out in to the vast world, a wish for your paths to finally connect.

It hadn’t hit Namjoon until he procured the bouquet of wildflowers in excitement for your date, going to the very field he’d shown you. His excitement had been palpable, until he’d returned home to Bokboki staring him down, and he realized he still had two years to go, and the flowers were going to wilt.

His chest had ached with the realization that it would be a long time before he ever met you, and even then, your meeting wasn’t guaranteed. Running a hand through his newly cut hair, Namjoon was struck finally with the revelation that had been creeping up on him through all these months - he’d fallen in love with you. He couldn’t pin it down to a specific moment, but rather the momentous collection of all the times you’d talked to each other. He was in love with you, despite having never seen your face or talked to you in person. His heart was many things, but it wasn’t a liar.

Which is why it broke him to think that he may never have a chance to tell you how he felt in person. That you’d never realize the depth of his feelings, because maybe your paths weren’t meant to converge. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to show the world his love, in the chances that maybe one day, you’d see it and come looking for him.

Fingering the scarf, he looks at its mellow hue, so like the sea before him, and a single thought occupies his mind.

“Indigo,” he whispers. His new album would be called Indigo.

Present Day, 2022

Sipping on your coffee, your ears perk up when you hear a voice behind you, one you hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Seojin, I’ll make it home for the engagement party, you have nothing to worry about,” Taehyung’s deep voice fills your ears, the hairs on your arms coming to stand up as he talks to someone on the phone. Your coffee cup falls out of your hand, tipping over and spilling onto your shirt.

“Shit!” you curse as the hot liquid burns you.

“___? Is that you?” you hear Taehyung’s voice call out, and you turn away, gathering your things and hiding your face.

You hear footsteps come up beside you, Taehyung’s tall figure looming over you, and you inhale the scent of his cologne, closing your eyes.

“It is, isn’t it?” Taehyung looks over at your turnt figure, reaching out an arm to pull you to face him. You can’t even look him in the eyes, instead looking at the floor. You want to tell him to go away, to fuck off, but you feel powerless and weak.

“Can we talk?” he says softly, and you don’t know why you nod. Maybe it’s finally to get the answers you’ve been searching for ever since you decided to wait for his letter in the mail.

You follow him listlessly to a table, looking out the window while he orders another coffee. Looking at your disinterested figure, you hear him let out a heavy sigh, before beginning to speak. 

“It wasn’t easy being abroad, having to study there all alone,” he begins, slipping off his coat. “At first, your letters gave me something to look forward to. But then I got tired of feeling so alone. I grew close to one of my colleagues, who was by my side the entire time. We’re getting married soon. I’m so sorry ___.”

Looking up at him, you know he can see the bloodshot look in your eyes, tears threatening to spill over the edge. You don’t say anything, throwing your coat over your shoulders and running out of the cafe, your feet aching in your heels until you’re all the way home.

Slumping onto the floor, you lean your head against the window, watching the rain fall softly outside. Bokboki piles into your lap with a soft meow, and you stroke his head, continuing to watch outside. Opening the drawer to the coffee table, you reach inside, finding the framed photo of you and Taehyung, your smiles taunting you from the other side of the frame.

Things had been so simple back then. You’d loved each other, you’d wanted to spend the rest of your lives together. So why hadn’t it worked out?

Immediately, your thoughts drift to Namjoon, and how you hadn’t been able to connect with him. Were you just doomed to be alone for the rest of your life?

No. You get up, traveling to your desk to pull out another piece of paper. You could change this. You could fix things between you and Taehyung. You could cure this crippling loneliness you felt. And you knew just the person to ask.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

I thought I could forget him. But, from the moment I heard his voice, it all came back to me. The fact that he loves someone else, and the fact that I’m aware of that, and I still love him, brings me more pain than I can ever admit. I’m sorry that I’m asking you this, but please help me. Please help me not to lose him. I’m sorry, Namjoon.

Namjoon stares blankly at the letter, unable to process the words on the page that you’d written. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and clears his mind of all the thoughts currently at war with one another. He couldn’t think about what you’d just asked of him. He didn’t want to think about it, knowing his heart would splinter even further at the fact that you loved someone else. Someone who wasn’t him.

Leaving the safety of the beach house, he decides the fresh air will help him clear his head, catching a cab to the city. When he bids the driver goodbye, he wanders aimlessly through the streets, people all around him, and yet Namjoon can’t stop thinking about you.

You, who was never meant to be in his life except as a fleeting presence, as transient and ephemeral as the trains that stopped at each station, before continuing on their journey. He knew now that your paths were never meant to cross, and that he had to make his own way in this world, as alone as he’d been before he met you.

The dreadful realization hits him that he needs to leave the beach house - he couldn’t stay there any longer. It was too full of memories, ones he’d made while writing to you, and as painful as it was to forget them, it was time to let go.

He decides to catch the bus on his way back, standing alone at the stop, until suddenly, he’s joined by another person. Turning around, he sees a woman next to him. Her eyes meet his, and widen at his indigo scarf, looking closely at it. Namjoon coughs, and she averts her eyes. Something about her seemed familiar, but she was probably just another stranger. Namjoon wants to talk to her, to be able to talk to someone else besides you. He opens his mouth to make a comment about his scarf, but is interrupted when a tall, well-dressed man swoops in, his arm wrapping around the woman. 

The bus chooses that moment to arrive, and he watches the two of them climb on, the women looking back at him with a frown on her face when he fails to join them, his feet glued to the ground.

Not wanting to wait for the next bus, Namjoon walks towards the nearest cab, falling asleep on the ride home.

When he’s finally in the safety of his room again, he decides to write you again, knowing this will be the last letter he ever sends you. Because he loved you, and he wanted you to be happy with who you loved, he knew it was time to let you go.

Present Day, 2022

Holding your portfolio in your hands, your fingers tremble with excitement as you get off the bus, stepping right onto the street where Cypher Labels was located. You’d had a creative breakthrough, and someone finally wanted to hire you!

You would write to Namjoon and tell him the good news, of course. You bite your lip, worrying about him. You hadn’t heard from him since he sent the later saying he’d help you reunite with Taehyung. You had nothing but immense gratitude and affection for him in your heart. He was truly a good person, and you hoped only the best would find him in life. 

Do you remember the very first letter? You wished me luck in the house the sea built. This time, I wish you luck. I hope I can help you find what you’re looking for.

You step into the offfice, and the only two people there are two hushed men whispering to each other. At the sound of your heels clacking against the floor, they look up. The shorter of the two studies you curiously, and you can’t help but feel like he’s familiar. Maybe it’s his eyes which pierce through you.

“___! It’s you, right?” the other one gives you a heart shaped smile, his bubbly demeanor immediately putting you at ease. He beckons you to take a seat at the third chair.

“I’m Hoseok, and this is my business partner Yoongi. We’re so glad you could make it. Your artwork has us very intrigued.”

You blush at the compliment, holding your portfolio to your chest.

“Do you mind telling me a little bit about the album and the project itself?”

Hoseok looks over at Yoongi, his face suddenly falling, and Yoongi gives him a tilt of his chin.

“This project is, uh, it’s special to us,” Hoseok says softly. “It’s for a friend that we lost. He used to work with us here at the label, and we were so excited when we got the drafts from him. He’d been struggling to make music, but he moved out to the beach and began talking to someone, and he finally told us he was ready to share the music inspired by his time out there with the world. The album is called Indigo, named after a scarf he was given by the woman he loved, who inspired most of the pieces on the album.”

Your face pales at Hoseok’s description. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true.

“We lost him in a car accident nearly a year and half ago. He was on his way to meet someone.”

“W-what was his name?” you manage to choke out in a whisper, and you see Yoongi’s nostrils flare at the tears that have collected in your eyes.

“His name was Namjoon.”

You’re up and running out of the studio before you can even process the news, sobs pouring from your body as you keep going, unable to keep the tears at bay.

Namjoon had loved you. He fell in love with you through the letters he wrote, and now he was gone. Gone after he was on his way to meet someone. You do the math in your head, and realize a year and a half ago was the day in Namjoon’s life after you’d written to him, asking him to help bring you and Taehyung together.

Your heart clutches in your chest, and you double over in pain. The album had been for you. It had all been for you, every little thing Namjoon had done. And now he was gone, and he’d never know the truth.

The truth that you’d realized after reading Namjoon’s response, after hearing his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness to ensure yours. That you’d fallen in love with him too.

Sniffling into your sleeve, you pull out your phone, calling a cab. When it arrives, the driver asks you for your destination, and you hesitate, not able to give the address to your apartment. That’s when it hits you. You could change things, just like you’d asked him to. You could write him a letter and deliver it to the mailbox, so hopefully, he wouldn’t go out that day to meet you and Taehyung. You could save him, so that he’d have a full and complete life like he deserved, even if it would never be by your side.

Giving the driver the address to the beach house, you pull your sketchbook out of your pocket, scribbling furiously on the paper.

Namjoon, please listen to me. Please don’t go to wherever me and Taehyung are, I’m begging you. Please listen, please stay home. 

The driver zooms towards the beach, sensing the urgency caused by your tears, and you nearly sob in relief when you see the house coming into view, not even waiting for the car to come to a full stop before you’re running towards the mailbox. Panting, you struggle to breathe against your tears, shoving the letter in the mailbox, hoping, praying that you’re not too late.

You collapse on the ground, whispering a silent prayer against the sand, hoping it wasn’t too late to show him your last act of love - saving his life.

Namjoon’s timeline, 1.5 years in the future

Namjoon never thought he’d return to the beach house, resolving to abandon it the moment he’d let go of you. But then he’d gotten the mysterious letter in the mailbox, telling him to stay home, and he figured he had to go investigate. Coming up upon the rickety house, it’s the exact same as he left it - the worn wood and creaky boards of the walkway. The sea around hasn’t changed either, the waves as calm as the day he’d moved in.

Except for the boxes. Namjoon’s eyes widen in surprise when there are a dozen or so boxes outside the door. Someone was finally moving in. Namjoon clutches the letter and waits by the mailbox, suddenly frozen. He didn’t know why he’d come here. As much as his feet wanted to turn back, he couldn’t.

He hears the door open, and a woman steps outside, wearing the same indigo scarf that he had around his neck, and in an instant, he knows it’s you. You’re even more beautiful than he could have imagined, and now he’s finally found you.

“___,” he calls out to you, and you look up to see where the deep voice is coming from,lips parting when you see Namjoon making his way towards the door.

You stare at him in silence for a few moments, and Namjoon is worried you don’t recognize him, that in this timeline, he means nothing to you, and his heart curls into itself, preparing for the inevitable heartbreak.

“Namjoon?” you whisper. “Is it really you?”

“I got your letter,” he shudders with a sob, holding out the piece of paper. He feels a raindrop splash on his head, and then another, before the heavens open and it begins to pour soaking you both.

Namjoon stays where he is, marveling at the fact that you’re finally here, right beside him. You step towards him, reaching for his scarf to pull him towards you, your lips pressing gently against his own. His arms come up to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his lips parting to engulf your own in a more passionate kiss, his cold fingers stroking your warm cheeks. Despite the raging storm around you, Namjoon finally feels at peace, the two of you finally finding your shared moment of forever, here in the house the sea built.

A/N pt. 2: Well now I’m fucking sad. But in all seriousness, I hope you enjoyed  reading this as much as I did writing it. And again, I hope it can provide some comfort. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

taglist: @miscelunaaa @luaspersona @whoisbts @blumenfeld @rapmonie2047 @little-dark-empress @lovemepie67 @ggukkieland @joonsytip @namjooningelsewhere @chrisellaxxjung @jub-jub @outro-kook @kamilamb @coffeedepressionsoup @fujinogf @wecanpretendit @lovely-joon @rkivian​ @rebloginfics​ @firesighgirl​ 

[thecryptidzenith]

11 for the fic game ask!

11. Bonus: recommend your favorite fic

Okay, you're getting two answers for this one because my real answer isn't a D20 fic, and seeing as that's my fandom at the moment, I'd be remiss to not rec something from it.

For the past... Jesus, four years, my favorite fic has been The Prestige by black_feather_fiction (also @black-feather-fiction) No contest. I don't do MCU fic or fandom anymore, but this is the one exception. It's just. It's so good. It's demonstrates the best use of the medium of fanfiction I've ever seen (yes, I'm of the opinion that fanfiction is its own distinct medium, but I'm not going to get into it now.)

Now the conceit of The Prestige is similar to a lot of MCU long fics: what if the plot was... good? Between the California-in-the-1840's/50's amount of untapped gold in the movies and whatever any given writer wanted to pull from the comics, there are so many elements to play with when rewriting a truly epic version of the story presented in the Infinity Saga, or even just a small segment of it. There are a lot of these, and I've read a lot of these. It's exactly my kind of thing, I love a good Plot.

The thing that's special about The Prestige is the way it incorporates the conventions of storytelling in its worldbuilding. To put it simply, an all-powerful God does exist in this universe, and he's three old women who terrorize innkeepers. The Norns/the Fates/other Mother-Maiden-Crone mythological archetypes, are real, and they control the threads of fate, so to speak. The entire universe exists as their plaything, and given the chaos and entropy of the universe, they pull stories from it. The laws of storytelling are just as influential, immutable, and important as the laws of physics in this universe. And just like the laws of physics, they can be manipulated towards a particular use.

This is how the fic opens: with Loki attempting to tell the universe a story so perfect and beautiful that the Norns cannot help but let the tale play out in real life. He doesn't quite succeed. However, the rules of storytelling are never forgotten, by the characters and by the author. Having the conventions of storytelling being a part of story's universe is a brilliant move that I have not gotten over after three years. Obviously, real life doesn't play out like a story, so when telling a story there's always some suspension of disbelief involved, because real life isn't that neat. Having an in-world explanation for the existence of story structure is something I'd never seen before and it's brilliant. And it's perfect for a story about two liars, image-crafters, storytellers, whatever you want to call them.

The story structure being built into the world is incredible, but so is the way the characters attempt to manipulate it in their favor. Even beyond the opening tableau, characters work to push the narrative in directions that will serve them. And the narrative pushes back. Every time I think about how the Fall of the Giant plot beat plays out, I fall more and more in love with it. It's the perfect blend of expectation subversion, expectation fulfillment, and effective character beats. It's fucking incredible.

Besides the rules of storytelling, The Prestige also makes reference to a lot of stories in the cultural zeitgeist in a way that's as delightful as it is earnest. The primary benefit of fic as a storytelling medium is that the audience already has a shared set of knowledge. We know who the characters are. We know how canon goes, and authors already have prepackaged tools to tell their stories with. Less needs to be established in fanfic compared to other kinds of fiction because the audience has a shared knowledge base. The Prestige takes this intertextuality further by pulling from more than just the MCU canon, but from works as varied as Mystery Science Theater 3000, Gremlins, and Alice in Wonderland. These cultural touchstones are in meaningful conversation with the contents of The Prestige and efficiently add depth in a really interesting and engaging way. Hel, even the title is taken from a Nolan movie. This fic is so deeply tied to the culture it's a part of, and I adore it.

Beyond the elements of the story that are inseparably tied to its in-universe use of narrative, the plot is very well put together. I find the bit with Ozymandias (yes, like the Percy Shelly poem) particularly clever, but it's all very good. Despite it's length, I find The Prestige compulsively readable, its writing is excellent. The characterization is excellent, the worldbuilding is engaging, the character dynamics are delightful to read about and devastating for the characters involved. I think this fic may genuinely have everything: Plot, romance, action, adventure, whump, angst, parent/child relationships, (explored from both sides) familial trauma, sexual trauma, self-destruction, sibling relationships, eating disorders--I'm really just listing tags here, but there's So Much, and I love every bit of it. I have loved every bit of it for years, and I don't care how long updates take, I Will Read It. It's the only MCU fic I've been able to read in years, and honestly? I'm not that mad about it, it's fucking incredible.

Now with all that being said, my favorite D20 fic is a lot harder to pick. I've not been in the fandom that long, I haven't read a ton of fic, and my tastes skew towards the Epic, Plot-focused, and Looooooong. Which is a bit difficult to come by (as is time to read.) There are, however, a lot of excellent fics, out there, though I think I have the most to say about The Properties of Adaine by Tangerine_Blast (also @20dimensionsoftangerine) (and by extension its predecessor, but we don't need to get into it.)

The conceit is that because of Oracle reasons, Adaine gets kidnapped by Kalvaxus as a kid and grows older thinking of him as a great paternal figure even though he sucks because her only points of comparison are Arianwen & Angywn. The interesting part is only really discussed and addressed in The Properties of Adaine, which is that she's technically an object! Legally, magically, an object--a dragon's thrall to be more specific. It's a fascinating exploration of the ramifications of DnD worldbuilding, as well as an exploration of identity, security, trauma, etc. It's a bit of a thorny subject to tackle, but so far as I can tell, it's handled with grace and sensitivity. It's doing a lot of very interesting things with the Themes, plus Aelwyn is absolutely insane (she's adopted/kidnapped by Aguefort.) which I get a kick out of. Overall, a striking story (and also one that's still being updated, which is probably why it sticks with me.)

[craetor]

Another Death Note book, another Tumblr post of overanalyzing details within it

This is a literal reformatted Twitter thread that was collected as the book was read, so, in theory, one could just flip through the book & find the things addressed all in order. Enjoy my needlessly high IQ going to town on this damn legendary expansion pack AU spin-off novel...

This obviously contains spoilers to L Change The World

.

"I'm no good with girls" - L Lawliet, like 2004? (He probably had a real good time having Misa around)

L calls the kids of Wammy's House "letters" (*tries not to explode*)

It's verified that the orphans are entrusted with solving cases as grave as murders to prove & train themselves

Beyond Birthday is mentioned to crack his neck in LABB, which is oddly enough also a habit of Ryuk's. Shinigami urges, especially those of the rather unhinged kind

Suruga heard that L never even showed his face to Misora, meaning she kept quiet about their encounter to everyone until her very death. Which is pretty nice.

Tbh Beyond wasn't too far off about mocking L's behavior. He does tend to crawl when he's being frantic & is also a messy eater (from getting food on himself when not provided with utensils (even when he is...), to consuming excessive amounts of sweet toppings)

There's too many "god"s in DN names... ('Kagami' can be translated to 'nurse god' which is so stupid & uncreative /affectionately)

"L's back grew rounder as he sat on the sofa with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. [...] He seemed to be burdened by the weight of something very heavy that she could not see". L's slouch gets lower after Watari dies under his surveillance. Nothing new, just fantastic symbolism that I love about him.

Also how actually well L suppresses his emotions while working on cases is really outlined in this book. It gets to a point where he seems apathetic, as people who've seemingly gone through trauma reunite over tears in front of him, while minutes beforehand, he's exuded real sadness over Watari's passing. (this is not inherently negative or positive)

His reputation with the FBI really sticks to him like a tick, yet it's suppressing his humanity that gets L to do what's needed & initiate measures necessary (which earned him the ill-willed reputation of kinky bizarre murder-loving detective. Whereby I still can't quite locate the origin of the "murder-loving" part..)

"Nobody would think anything important to be in a bag of potato chips, don't you think?" Honey, first of all, how did you fit an entire notebook into a bag of potato chips without it looking like it's your 1 pound hershey's chocolate stash... Oh, and L has a pattern of emulating tricks that people have used to try and fool him

It seems that L wasn't lying when he said that he's a fan of Misa's work, though idrk what to make of that... Not everything in the half-canon is canon, kids. M went a bit too hard on that 'L is weird & creepy' at times. Until it's not even goofy and ridiculous anymore, I'm just.. concerned?

L seems fulfilled and glad when he's stressed about saving the world. Nothing like a superiority complex, just very INTJ.

L will know to evaluate people so much as to accept food from the ones trying to deceive him, if he knows they're pacifists. Having them vacuum his room & stuff, letting them think they're earning his trust. A side of him we haven't seen thus far, just thought it to be important to share.

Watari, now officially L's mentor and father figure (we knew this but i love it)

The fact that L prones to share sweets with anyone compatible to himself or whoever he wants to tempt is not just a quirky gesture of respect, but actually seems to write out, more than anything, 'let's put us on the same level here. Have this thing that indicates gross luxury within societal hierarchy while also being the thing that keeps me going on an everyday-basis'

Fem-disguise flirty L. He's enjoying the vibe & living vicariously. That's it that's the jot

And then there's page 151. And i wonder, am I needed here at all?

The "L-organization" Blue Ship made up is comically the truest hypothesis that has existed as a theory about L. After all, Wammy's House is the founding ground of 26 Ls each generation to come

Watari seems to be involved with the Wammy's kids more than initially thought. But this could also be Kujo's illusion, as having any contact with the one closest to L at all would be a big deal and in her mind more prominently

And finally, the relationship that was created between L & Light is closer to love and worship than friendship. Even best friends. L's reliance on the thought of Light even exists as comfort in heavily emotionally distressing situations. Your definitely romantically touched soulmate-other-half-comfort-human can be your best friend too is what I'm trying to say. Like, you don't have to choose. Just add it to the list.

Verdict: I assume the main point of the book is literally to clear up misunderstandings about L, hence information about him is being blatantly pointed out and aggressively reinforced around every corner. But I'm here anyways because page 151 exists for me and me only (and everybody else who's done their thing correctly before having read this thing) as a pat on the back and a hearty 'good job'. It was fun to have found a couple more hidden details along the way too though. L called Light his 'best friend' like he called Misora 'some guy in the US who told me about capoeira'

[suiseisyojo]

my only étude.

「tenshouin eichi x vivian // kiteichi」 ↳ commission for @ghostictreat ! wc: 1,496 a/n: thank you so, so much for commissioning me and tipping!

“Ahh⋯ Eichi, you look so dazzling♡ So handsome!” Vivian extolled as he stepped out of the vehicle, a debonair gesture being extended out to her aid as their hands linked.

Now that she had a proper chance to examine his attire at his full height—rather than the cramped view inside the limoscene—Vivian felt her heart fluttering at the pulchritude of Eichi’s tuxedo; striking white with threads of gold and angelic motifs. Fitting as always, and yet enough to make her knees buckle each and every time.

“Fufu, thank you, Vivian,” Eichi’s dulcet voice complimented her in turn, pulling her forward on the stone path and gyrating her on her heel in order to observe every last inch of her own outfit, “Although, I must say⋯ I’ll be unable to take my eyes off of you all night. You’re radiant.”

It took everything in Vivian not to squeal from his praise. And for Eichi, it took everything in him not to let his lips curve into a self-satisfied simper from having discerned the corsage he gifted her attached to her wrist.

As the limoscene pulled away and more throngs of people arrived in a panoply they’re surely accustomed to, the couple ambled up the stairs into the capacious-looking building where the hosts are holding the party—something the eminent, prolific Tenshouin family is invited to yearly.

Something about charities and an auction, if she recalled correctly.

Encased in opulence and splendour, the hall appeared straight out of a fairytale and Vivian was mesmerised. Eichi adored how the resplendent lights reflected in her eyes, the gloss overlapping her giddy irises and shimmering in a way that made his soul fill with yearning.

With her arm roped around his, Eichi gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Don’t worry, I won’t let go of you,” he whispered into her ear, sending a frisson of excitement down the column of her spine, “not even once.”

“Thank you! There’s so many people. Is everyone here from wealthy and influential families—or companies?” Vivian asked, albeit she was unsure of her own wording. That slight reticence in her voice was too adorable, Eichi thought as he admired how lost she appeared.

“Mm, for the most part. These sort of charity balls happen every so often, and I don’t typically go out of my way to attend them⋯ but this is a rare case, you see,” Eichi elucidated, the two of them departing further into the grandiose hall.

Eichi was going to elaborate on top of that, yet stopped himself as he felt it wasn’t necessary. Vivian was already aware of his unfortunate health issues and how much he prioritised his idol work above all else right now; and that wasn’t even including his monitoring of ES with a meticulous and hardworking zeal.

So he decided to tease her, omitting the importance of tonight’s event. That wasn’t needed either, was it? Not when he had successfully monopolized her time like this and he simply wanted to enjoy being by her side without fretting about things unrelated to her.

“Perhaps the real reason I decided to come was because I wanted to see you all dressed up for me♪” Eichi hummed smoothly, tilting his head enough so that a lock of pale blond hair descended across his countenance in a tantalizing display.

Warmth clustered into the apple of Vivian’s cheeks at Eichi’s playful teasing, spreading across her visage. “I already know it’s because you have to fulfill your duties as the Tenshouin’s heir~” she retorted, taking his banter in stride with a beaming grin, “I would dress up for you anytime you ask, you know.”

“Oh, don’t say that. I’ll grow spoiled,” Eichi chortled, his eyes flitting around at the congregation of people filling up around them. He took a step away from Vivian, only to extend his hand back out, cupping hers confidently and kissing her knuckles, “but before anyone comes, may I—”

As if the finale had come too soon, a pair of donors who’ve known the Tenshouin family for decades interrupted the couple’s moment before it even came. Then another came along. And another.

Eichi knew that once he began to exchange pleasantries with the fellow guests, there would never be an end of them—which was precisely why he wanted to dance with her at least once before this happened.

Even Vivian, who stood next to her lover with a practiced genteel for this particular occurrence, found herself growing unbearable fatigued by the time over an hour had passed.

She could only imagine how Eichi was feeling beneath that urbane veneer he put forth, the beads of sweat accumulating on the nape of his neck only noticeable to her as she peered up at him.

They still hadn’t even had an opportunity for a single dance together; rather, other people were constantly thieving him away for dances under the guise of talking business and catching up.

In a small lull where they weren’t inundated by others, Vivian pulled on Eichi’s sleeve. “Are you tired, Eichi? Why don’t we take a break, find somewhere quiet?” she suggested softly, attempting to beguile him into trailing away for a much needed moment of respite.

“No, I should push through⋯ Mrs. Sumeragi said she was going to be right back,” he sighed, shaking his head in dismissal, “I know this is a lot for you, too. I don’t mind if you’d prefer to take it easy by the buffet tables.”

Who was Sumeragi again? Vivian had heard so many names, she couldn’t keep track of who was who.

Well, whoever she was, clearly she hadn’t considered how Eichi must be feeling with his slightly blanched complexion and semi-droopy eyes. “I think I’ll go,” Vivian abruptly spoke up, knowing that the way she phrased her words sounded deplorable and misleading, “Come find me when you’re ready.”

“⋯⋯ What?” Left dumbfounded and incredulous by her articulation, Eichi froze as soon as Vivian turned around and began to disappear among the crowd with swift, hurried movements.

Eichi’s own body moved on its own in order to chase after her—mind reeling, abandoning the thoughts of his obligations.

“Vivian, don’t leave!”

As he rushed out the lofty doors and down the steps, Eichi’s heart pounded with guilt. Had he pushed her too much? It was awfully inconsiderate of him to suggest his date go wait by the buffet tables on her lonesome, wasn’t it?

Pursuing her frame as it vanished into the garden, Eichi watched as Vivian plopped herself down onto a contrived, wooden bench; her silhouette surrounded by the beauteous flowers, their colors muted by the darkness of the night.

Standing in front of her, cheeks adorned with rosy hues of exertion, Eichi relinquished a shaky exhale. “Are you trying to be like Cinderella?” He looked almost like a saddened puppy with how his lips smiled in a subdued relief, and he added, “Well, you are my princess.”

Giggling, Vivian patted the seat next to her, urging him to sit as she said, “Maybe a little. I knew you’d follow after me, though.”

“Are you not upset with me?” Eichi questioned as he nestled himself beside her, their legs brushing together as it was hard for him not to want to be close to her.

With an exaggerated, fatuous pout, she chided him, “Only for not taking appropriate breaks!”

“Vivian⋯” Even if he had just sat down, a heat still searing his lungs, Eichi stood up once more and reached for Vivian’s hands. “My lady, may I please have a dance? I feel it’s well overdue.”

“A dance?” Vivian parroted in surprise, her lips parting as she brought herself up and nodded; desperately trying to suppress the rapturous grin from spreading on her mein. But with how brilliant and pretty Eichi looked, she was destined to fail from the start. “I would be honored, my liege.”

In the quiet garden, Eichi placed his hand onto her hip as hers settled on his shoulder, and their intertwined fingers felt heavenly.

It made Eichi wish he endeavored harder to sneak away—and much sooner. After all, from the beginning, he wanted to have a romantic, whimsical night with Vivian.

The faint sound of the classical music from within the faraway mansion melded with the noise of their own feet against stone, and Vivian knew she was a few steps behind, yet Eichi never scolded or corrected her on it.

From the bottom of his heart, he looked as if he was having fun. There was no symphony more extraordinary than this moment right here with his beloved.

The twinkling stars speckled around Eichi’s reflection in Vivian’s eyes, and he thought with an unbridled smile,

“Ah, I love it when her eyes shine from beautiful things, but⋯ I really do love it best when the only thing she sees she is me. I’ll have to continue to work harder as an idol, as her partner, to make sure she never takes her eyes off me.”

[birlwrites]

unironically one of the things i find most motivating as a writer is going to bookstores and looking around.

not in an inspirational 'i want to see my books on these shelves' kind of way, although i suppose there's an element of that--it's more about taking the pressure off of myself.

because the thing is, there are SO MANY TITLES in your average bookstore. most of them you've probably never heard of and don't care about. some of them you've probably read and thought were meh. some of them you liked, some of them you loved, but the important thing is that the vast, VAST majority of books in that bookstore? aren't your thing.

and yet they got written and published anyway.

most of them will fade into obscurity once they've been out for a few years, and yet they got written and published anyway.

almost all of them will become 'old books,' not 'classics,' and yet they got written and published anyway.

every single one of them will be read by people who will forget what the book was even about sooner or later--and yet, they got written and published anyway.

it's helpful to remind myself that i'm allowed to just write something because i find it interesting. writing a book is a lot of work, and it can get pretty daunting if i'm also trying to write something 'important.'

of course i want to write something i can be proud of! but i do better work when i can free myself from the confines of perfection.

so i look at all the books that already exist. i look at the variety of them--all the different genres, styles, vibes of them--and remember that my writing isn't one perfect spire of self-contained genius. it's a thread or two in the enormous tapestry that is the creative output of human civilization. simply by existing, it has fulfilled its purpose. and for me at least, that's a relief.

[spikeinthepunch]

i made a post a bit ago before the reddit black out even happened, talking about how many AI written articles i find when searching for answers on stuff- usually things a little more specific (questions for video games, tech, everyday things but more specific to you, etc. not just "what city is this state in"). its bad- i basically get that or i get reddit threads when i google. and before the reddit black out, i hadnt thought too much about how those AI threads would be.... the only thing left behind if i didnt have reddit. still i watched the reddit black out live, i watched /r/funny go private at midnight. and yet it didnt really hit the importance of reddit until i went on the next day looking for help on a mac laptop i was restoring and realized all the reddits i checked were private. needing mod help for my server, all private. searching reddit for a game i couldnt remember, private.

theres a lot on the internet that needs to be preserved, kept alive, kept relevant. over and over i see people reminisce on old forums and how theyre gone and be brought back- and i think no ones follows through with the format because places like reddit at least fulfill that to some extent. staying with the mainstream is easier and its understandable, bc its relevant and trying to start up your little forum and advertise it isnt easy. Reddit being mainstream becomes the useful google option for a niche forum subject without being a lone forum you probably wont find in typical google search.

and now Reddit isn't available. the most mainstream iteration of those lovely little forums of discussion and support is not available. does it hit now? does it sink in now how bad this is? the past year- maybe even less than a year- has been so so chaotic and bad for the internet. instagram starting turning into tiktok a while back with its changes to feed and format. youtube has slowly followed suit with forcing short's as more relevant for creators than normal videos. twitter did... well, all of That, a lot of Things. Reddit goes along to make their API paid for. Discord turning to the methods on social media, with username changes and more. tumblr is also shifting so much of their entire deal, i think you should all be prepared for tumblr to become unrecognizable too because theres many hints of it happening- some already here.

when i made my personal website over a year ago, it was partially fun but it was a statement for myself too. it was recognition that social media had become unhealthy for me, and i didnt like how it was The thing that existed now, and that bigs corps suddenly taking more and more control of the web was bad and not something i wanted to be stuck with. but suddenly its not just a gentle step to the side i have taken, still knowing i can be on social media to see my friends and build an audience. but now it feels more like all the walls are crumbling around me, and soon i will have no choice but to jump ship entirely. i went from one, to the other, to tumblr where i had always been- the one site that stuck out from the others at least. had an 'old' format. in many ways you need social media.... because its how you made your friends, its how you stay in touch, its how communities get built these days!!

we can try to move back to the independent, the personal sites, the forums, but we all know its not easy. thats truth. its not going to spread as far as we'd hope, many will not follow suit or not know they can. i can only imagine all the old, tech unaware people who will continue to use the internet, never realizing why they struggle to get info or unknowingly follow nonsense AI articles, and have no idea that anything exists outside of the bubble theyre forced into. Not even the old people, but the young generations that will grow into that too and not get out of it.

im just waiting for the mainstream internet to just become entirely unusable from our perspective and its dreadful to me. trying not to be a doomer but i dont think its something you cant ignore when something as simple as googling slightly more specific questions brings nothing but AI nonsense articles or reddit posts and when one of those massive and only relevant sources is down, there is suddenly nothing.

[finitevariety]

can we hear your argument about the correct way to understand bronte’s ‘the professor’?

warning that there's an EXTREMELY long post below. Don't click 'Keep reading' unless you're sure you can face it.

The correct way to read the novel is as a satire. I say this not because it's necessarily the accurate interpretation, but because it's the most interesting.

I'm excited to get into this, but first let's tie it back to the post I tagged earlier by seeing what reviews for The Professor indicate about the state of critical thought today (the prognosis is grim).

Typically, reviews fall into two camps:

One: Charlotte Brontë is a stupid fucking woman who betrayed feminism and therefore doesn't deserve rights anyway. Why did she write about a main character who's so RUDE?!

Two: Charlotte, you've done it again! Truly this is a romance for the ages! Can't wait to call my husband 'monsieur' for the rest of my natural life! This truly is a marriage of equals! Go feminism!

There is also a secret third type of terrible review that's basically 'this is your brain on mid-10s ~feminist~ internet', in which feminism was less about gaining power for cis and trans women of all races, but more of a vehicle to advance the nebulous idea of empowerment.

'Not like other girls but make it a poorly-drawn webcomic' vibes, you know?

Bluntly, nothing here admits to the possibility that Brontë might have been aware she was writing about an unrelatable, flawed asshole, and that that might have been exactly what she wanted to do.

I don't pretend to be an expert about Victorian literature or criticism of such, but the dominant opinion over the years seems to have been that The Professor is first-draft back-of-a-drawer stuff that was deservedly rejected by 9 publishers and languished correctly in said drawer before being posthumously released. For some, it's the Go Set a Watchman of her canon.

Many lean into the idea that The Professor is a wish-fulfilment fantasy concerning the married headmaster under whom she studied in Belgium, and with whom she was certainly infatuated. I do think this interpretation can be convincing—and it's been covered elsewhere by smarter people than me, so I won't bother.

What I'm going to do is look at why I think satire is a far more satisfying interpretation that does have justification in both the text and its context. I'll look at:

The Professor as a parody of the Victorian self-help genre; and

The unreliable narrator, more broadly

I was also going to examine the novel in relation to Brontë's other work, and particularly Villette, but the post was fucking long enough already. I really do apologise for its length: please know that this is me attempting to be concise.

The Professor as a parody of the Victorian self-help genre

There is a plague of whiny nerds who call themselves bookworms yet get scared and call the lit-police when the moral of a story isn't laid out at the end like an after school special. For years now, these #amwriting fucks have considered 'not-chris-evans.jpg' the ultimate gotcha on interminable twitter threads.

This shitty mic-drop fails to consider that there are some people for whom purpose and target will always be unclear. If Twitter had existed in the 1700s, there would be people incandescent with rage that Jonathan Swift wanted to buy and eat impoverished babies. One only has to look at what this supposedly literate group did to Isabel Fall to know that to make satire intelligble to these people you'd have to break out the crayons.

Another important consideration is that satire which was clear within its time can, bereft of context, seem earnest. It's my argument that this has happened to The Professor.

Heather Glen, in her 2004 book Charlotte Brontë: The Imagination in History, makes the compelling case that The Professor is written as a fictional example of a self-help genre which was popular at the time:

It is not a clumsy fictionalization of autobiographical concerns; or a draft for its author's later, more popular works, but a novel of a very different kind (p34)

She identifies Brontë's Preface as a key signpost, linking its explicit references to themes of self-reliance and discipline to the maxims so popular in the genre.

These references continue throughout the novel, with Crimsworth making much of his industry, effort, and self-restraint. But there are clear and telling differences between these self-help narratives and the life led by Crimsworth.

This might as well be him, right down to the decision to broadcast to the world.

Self-help was, as the name suggested, focused on the individual—authors such as Craik and Smiles argued that poverty was caused by personal irresponsibility and conversely could be alleviated by discipline. (As a side note, the self-help trend did coincide with 'mutual improvement societies', a more radical movement created by and for working class men to educate themselves and participate in political life.)

The bootstrap-bios of the self-help genre are exactly what you'd expect. In the conclusion to Volume 1, Craik highlights the promised reward, if one only puts one's mind to it: joy.

Crimsworth is set apart from these heroes of self-help because he is so bereft of positive emotion. In fact, his entire worldview is poisoned: to him, existence is impersonal, violent, and hostile. I'll swing back to Glen for this, because she lays out in significant detail just how paranoid and brutal his mental landscape is:

Crimsworth is the empty, sad shell which houses all hustle culture rise and grind don't-deserve-a-bedframe fundamentally pathetic fucking idiots of the Victorian Era, and Brontë is, I argue, lampooning this sigma male grindset nearly 200 years before the rest of us. His self-strictness curdles the supposed happy ending, and it's so fucking good if you interpret that as deliberate:

again, Glen:

the scene in which he proposes to her is charged with half-suppressed violence: he holds his beloved in 'a somewhat ruthless grasp' and insists that she speak his language, not her own. She, for her part, is 'as stirless in her happiness, as a mouse in its terror'

He professes contentment, when they marry, but there is never any peace to be found. Yet, for the story to end, and for him to consider it a story worth telling—one where self-discipline and hard work won the day—he must pretend at it. He might even believe it—but are we supposed to do so also? I don't think so.

2. The unreliable narrator, more broadly

Crimsworth tells us that:

The other day, in looking over my papers, I found in my desk the following copy of a letter, sent by me a year since to an old school acquaintance...

To this letter I never got an answer...what has become of him since, I know not. The leisure time I have at command, and which I intended to employ for his private benefit, I shall now dedicate to that of the public at large. My narrative is not exciting, and above all, not marvellous; but it may interest some individuals, who, having toiled in the same vocation as myself, will find in my experience frequent reflections of their own. The above letter will serve as an introduction. I now proceed.

Crimsworth refers to this person (Charles) in distant terms. He's an 'old school acquaintaince'. His fate is unknown, but this does not keep him up at night. Crimsworth implies that there's less affection there than utility: he'd intended to bestow on Charles the dubious gift of this tale, and now it's our turn instead. In the letter, too, he's at pains to point out that he would never lift a finger for him, especially for rotten work:

you were a sarcastic, observant, shrewd, cold-blooded creature; my own portrait I will not attempt to draw, but I cannot recollect that it was a strikingly attractive one—can you? What animal magnetism drew thee and me together I know not; certainly I never experienced anything of the Pylades and Orestes sentiment for you, and I have reason to believe that you, on your part, were equally free from all romantic regard to me.  Still, out of school hours we walked and talked continually together; when the theme of conversation was our companions or our masters we understood each other, and when I recurred to some sentiment of affection, some vague love of an excellent or beautiful object, whether in animate or inanimate nature, your sardonic coldness did not move me. I felt myself superior to that check then as I do now.

but he writes, anyway, not for Charles's benefit, but because he wants to be heard and understood as he was then. The companions have changed, but if there is anyone who will agree with him about their character and motivations, he believes it will be sardonic, cold-blooded Charles.

Yet Charles did not reply, and so he turns to us for vindication.

Am I reading too much into this? I don't think so. Here's a fragment from a reworked Preface which would have replaced this first section and given us an alternate explanation for the existence of the text:

I had the pleasure of knowing Mr Crimsworth very well—and can vouch for his having been a respectable man—though perhaps not altogether the character he seems to have thought he was.

Here, the signposting is even clearer: we are not to take Crimsworth's tale entirely at its word.

Catherine Malone highlights this fragment when she examines Crimsworth's perception of his relationship to sex.

while at the beginning of the novel he declares an interest only in women with 'the clear, cheering gleam of intellect' (p. 13), asserting that for a professor, feminine 'mental qualities; application, love of knowledge, natural capacity, docility, truthfulness, gratefulness are the charms that attract his notice and win his regard' (p. 120) ...

the puritanical image he presents is continually undermined by his regard for physical beauty, manifest in his obsession with the boarded window in his bedroom at M. Pelet's, and his observations on his female pupils and the women with whom he has already come into contact. During the party at brother's house, Crimsworth is not introduced to the 'group of pretty girls' surrounding Edward and feels that he can take no part in the dancing: 'Many smiling faces and graceful figures glided me-but the smiles were lavished on other eyes-the figures sustained by other hands than mine-I turned away tantalized' (p. 24). Similarly, it is Mlle Reuter's outer rather than inner charms wh chiefly attract Crimsworth. It is he who nearly falls in love Zoraide and she, confident in her relationship with Pelet, who with his affections. Although any relationship between the two had been largely of Crimsworth's imagining, on discovering the engagement, he considers Zoraide and Pelet's deceit an act of 'treachery' (p. 112)—one which does not just cause him momentary bitterness, shame, or embarrassment but temporarily extinguishes his entire 'faith in love and friendship' (p. 111)

What Crimsworth tells himself about his desires is at odds with his reactions.

One final aspect to discuss (because I really need to finish this post up and go to bed) is gaze. In The Professor, being seen is understood as an assault; The Professor exists, we are told, because Crimsworth wished to present his tale to 'the public at large'. When Crimsworth has a narrative he thinks he controls, he'll share it—but even in the bounds of that text it's clear that he bristles under scrutiny.

Glen compiles near-endless examples of references to sight and seeing in The Professor, but I'm most interested in the way that plays out in interactions with his brother.

His first meeting with his brother is described like so:

my mind busied itself in conjectures concerning the meeting about to take place. Amidst much that was doubtful in the subject of these conjectures, there was one thing tolerably certain—I was in no danger of encountering severe disappointment; from this, the moderation of my expectations guaranteed me. I anticipated no overflowings of fraternal tenderness; Edward’s letters had always been such as to prevent the engendering or harbouring of delusions of this sort. Still, as I sat awaiting his arrival, I felt eager—very eager—I cannot tell you why; my hand, so utterly a stranger to the grasp of a kindred hand, clenched itself to repress the tremor with which impatience would fain have shaken it.

He will concede to feeling eager, but he cannot—will not—tell you why. After all, he has moderated his expectations! He does not hope! Fuck off!

He hardens himself still further, and in so doing insulates himself from disappointment—or, indeed, connection:

I can't help but feel like it is deliberate on Brontë's part that we see his professed successes as defeats. This is a man who despite all his hardness and his flaws has found himself a wife—but is that worth anything? Has he allowed himself to be understood even as much as he was back in his schooldays with maybe-dead 'acquaintance' Charles? Does he feel even a fraction of the contentment he thought he would, if only he followed the rules? Does his wife?

Towards the end of the novel is a terrifying passage that demonstrates, imo, that Frances, his wife, knows his deal far, far better than he does. Their pal, Hunsden, shares a miniature of a woman he was once into, Lucia, admitting that 'I should certainly have liked to marry her, and that I have not done so is a proof that I could not.'

In Crimsworth's list of desirable attributes from above, it is docility that ranks highest, and Frances knows it. She loves him, as other passages show, but she also sobbed as they were married, and in the scene before the wedding criticised Hunsden for an attitude that Crimsworth demonstrates throughout the text: being a facts don't care about your feelings dipshit.

so: it is very fun to interpret The Professor as a surprisingly relevant satire of the self-made man. I think there's ample justification for this in the text, which repeatedly and deliberately sets up and exposes the contradictions in character that Crimsworth himself cannot see.

I can't decide whether it's worse to assume Brontë didn't know what she was doing when she wrote about this dickhead, or that she did and he's wonderful actually. Perhaps one of those interpretations is even correct—but I am a huge fan of unreliable narrators, and I think it's 100% defensible, and far more interesting, to see Crimsworth as one.

[streets-in-paradise]

Fate - Chucky (2021) Oneshot

Word Count 1.8 K

Characters: Junior Wheeler, Jake Wheeler, Chucky/Charles Lee Ray. 

Warnings: References to greek tragedies. 

Summary: Chucky is stucked on a literature class of Junior and Jake. He hopes to get a good chance of reading them both together and evaluate the most fitting candidate for his plans, but some things he didn't sign for emerge through it.

Tags: @losersclubisms​​

The hyperfocusing on sports that Logan demanded of his son had some consequences on the academic balance. The exigences of competition would take a lot of time from Junior and it wasn’t weird to see a parade of personal teachers coming to help him prepare for some exams. His literature teacher was particularly nice with Jake as well, even when he wasn’t her student. Coming back after his tragically circunstancial move to his uncle’s house showed her a situation that made her worried for both kids. Caring for them was part of the work of any good teacher, she couldn’t and wouldn’t be a mere reciter of curricular content. 

“ Do you want to join us?” She asked directly to the boy at one time she saw him passing by when her class was about to start. “ You have to take the test as well, it’s good for both.” 

Junior wasn’t very fond of that plan, but he wouldn’t complain. If she would comment on that with her father he would get in trouble for making him look bad. Jake stayed, but sat away from him placing Chucky in the middle like a divisory line. 

It was a strange attitude that the teacher noticed, he sat the doll as if he would be a third student. 

“ As I was saying, we are going to follow the thread that connects the pre and post trojan war related tragedies together. It’s important for me that you understand things in context and it will make it way easier for you on the test. Greek tragedies are a chain of events that follow families through generations. Self fulfilled curses tied one with another in deliciously cruel ironies. “ 

“ I’m not going to get lost, I read the Percy Jackson books as a kid.” Junior interrupted. “ I know enough about the gods and some about a few mortals.” 

“ Riordan is to greek classics what Disney is to the Grimm Brothers: kid friendly versions that serve as a great startpoint to get little ones familiarized and invested. “ She kindly corrected, trying to show she was not being demeaning of his contribution. “ Those books wash out a lot of darker details that can be hard to swallow for our modern tastes. You will see it in our first play for today, ‘ Iphigenia in Aulis’. It tells the story of how the greeks managed to sail to Troy after a long wait in the port of Aulis because of bad weather. The huge army gathered was growing impatient because many days were passing and the winds wouldn’t blow, so their leaders consulted a seer and he had terrible news for their commander in chief, King Agamemnon of Mycenae.” 

“ …The goddess of hunting was angry at him because he killed a sacred deer.” Jake followed, recuperating scratches of the few things he got to hear in class during his short span of attention. “ She was stopping the winds to paralyze the ships and the seer said that she would only let them leave if the king would sacrifice his daughter.” 

“ … His favorite daughter, princess Iphigenia.”  She continued, then smiled in approbation before getting into the more proper explanation. “ She was the eldest of her house, around your age when the play takes place. The argument focuses on the trick that leads to her sacrifice.” 

Junior was deeply disturbed, surprisingly even more than his cousin. 

“ Wait… Did he kill his daughter?” 

“ In some versions he gives the deathly strike by his own hand, but Euripides says that the goddess had mercy on her at the last hour and took her away before she could be killed.” 

“ Is there any version where the king thinks ‘ Well, maybe I will not kill my daughter to save my ass’?” 

“ It’s his reputation, Junior.” She corrected, trying to help him challenge what she thought was just a modern bias. “ He was the King of Kings among greeks, he would have lost everything if he would have refused to give Iphigenia when all the other parents were giving their sons for the war. A war that he and his brother cared about the most, since they gathered all the greek forces through an old oath.” 

“ Well, I think Agamemnon should have killed himself before making his girl die for his pride. He could have offered Artemis his own life, sacrifice himself and leave his brother to lead the army, but I bet he didn’t do that because he liked the power. A good father would have died for her, not sacrificed her to his ambition.” 

“ Woow, woow, woow. Slow down, Achilles.” She stopped him with a subtle mock. “ I have to play devil’s advocate on Agamemnon because you have to get all the viewpoints if you want to understand what’s next. Queen Clytemnestra, the girl’s mother, never forgave her husband and that wound sealed the fate of the entire family. “ 

Junior was too invested in the story because he couldn’t help feeling identified with Iphigenia, seeing in both of her parents his own. The descriptions of the bond between the queen and her princess during the Aulis events reminded him of the special bond he had with his own mother. In Agamemnon he would see Logan killing a little bit of him every single day for the sake of his wishes. A child sentenced to death for the achievement of the father’s goals, the perfect son he was forced to be in sacrifice of his truest self to please him. 

When the narration and discussion advanced another argument started because, on the topic of Clytemnestra’s revenge and its consequences, Jake showed understandment of Electra and Orestes. As if the cousins could never possibly agree on anything, they exposed their points to one another in a pretty heated tone that showed too much investment for a simple literature lesson. 

“ The queen abandoned her other two children for the one she lost. They were her siblings, they had lost Iphigenia too, but she only cared for her pain over her one dead daughter.” Jake was attempting to correct one of Junior’s interventions. “ Her grief made her abusive, Electra and Orestes needed a mother but she could only be Iphigenia’s. For the love of her memory she made their lives miserable.” 

He was thinking of his father, projecting into the characters the situation he faced with him after his mother died. Lucas focused too much on his pain of husband, abandoning himself to grief and neglecting him in every possible way. Junior was indignant to hear that the younger siblings sided with the father, the killer of their sister, but he had no idea of what living alone for years with a parent consumed by grief was. 

“ Agamemnon manipulated his children from beyond his grave to kill their mother… How was it even possible? Clytemnestra did nothing wrong, she avenged their sister and released them from their prick of a father who would have killed any of them if their names would have been on the list. if I was Orestes, I would have killed him.” 

Chucky observed the situation very carefully, so fortunate for his planning that he was barely able to believe his luck. Murder was being discussed and both kids were opening crossed point views,  Junior being the surprise of the evening. 

He wasn’t expecting the self satisfaction to end in the way your explanation almost killed it. 

“ Agamemnon is for them the absent father. In absence he is idealized, Electra was barely a little girl the last time she saw him and Orestes practically a baby boy. Their dad left on a killing spree for ten years, a time in which they knew nothing about him.” 

It hitted too close to home to not get an involuntary reaction. If the kids were thinking of their parents, Chucky got reminded of his children and the void he left with his absence.To some extent, he wondered if they had fabricated any idealized images of him that he could appeal to in case of need. Surprisingly, the class was giving him a lot to think about. 

The doll moved his head and blinked his eyes to the teacher, who wondered if it was somehow broken. 

" Is that normal?" 

" I like to imagine that, when he does that, it means he is getting invested. " Jake lied carefully. " It gets activated too easily, most people find it creepy." 

She did find it disturbing, but wouldn't want to admit it. 

" We can leave the topic of the children for later. Commiting either parricide or matricide is the breaking of a fundamental law on greek lore, to the eyes of ancient greeks that makes you a monster. Things get more complicated for Orestes after that, but there are other aspects you have to understand first. Let's get into some character analysis of a very important player on Agamemnon's downfall.  He didn't come back alone from his victory in Troy, he had Cassandra."

" The girl who was taken for crazy because she told the truth. '' Junior added, commenting from his bits of overall knowledge. " Nobody believed her and she ended up the only survivor of her whole family. " 

" The cursed seer, exactly. " She confirmed. " During the fall of Troy she was raped by Ajax the lesser, but Agamemnon took definitive possesion of her. She arrives in Mycenae as a slave, her will and body belong to the man who slaughtered everyone she cared about. The ironic point here is that Agamemnon has no idea that, from the moment he crosses his gates with her, his fate is sealed. " 

" Life is short... hahaha" the recording voice of the doll called. 

Chucky couldn't help thinking of Nica, who he possessed ríght after finding her pervert doctor on the act. Whose entire family he killed, who he pushed to be seen as crazy. 

" Well, little buddy. In that you are ríght. Life was, indeed, short for Agamemnon after that. " She continued in a mock, marveling at how on point was the strange recorded catchphrase of the doll. " The interesting thing I find here is how, in his lack of self awareness, Agamemnon puts two women he wronged deeply in the way of each other to indirectly fulfill that dark fate. Cassandra knows that he is going to die and her warning triggers everything. For the first time ever she can weaponize her curse and she does it even though she knows it's going to bring her death too. Clytemnestra is her enemy, her eventual killer, but there is a silent complicity in wanting that man dead that goes beyond that. " 

" She has nothing left to live for, he took everything from her and when he ran out of things he took her. " Jake followed. " That's devastating, she is not a person anymore at that point, but a thing. "

" Nothing left to live, nothing left to lose." Junior concluded. " Agamemnon you dumb asshole, how could you think that was going to work? "

Chucky's mind was circumstantially tangled in paranoia, feeling as if her words were direct warnings to him. It couldn't be, she was just giving the damn class to the kids. 

Whatever that was, it saved her life. He could have pulled on her a deathly trick as soon as she would be alone exactly like when he killed the housekeeper, but he was too haunted by the moment to try anything. 

[drrutherford]

If Gideon could pick ideal partners for his siblings, who would he choose?

‘Ideally’ — Gideon would want partners for his siblings that are: 

Loving

Loyal

Ethical

... Among many other traits that he thinks his siblings deserve to be the recipients of, but that mostly fall under the same umbrella of the above three virtues. It’s difficult to answer this question with respect to taken characters on the dash, because most of them are mobsters, and while he could be convinced of such a relationship for his siblings given enough time, it’s not really what he wants for them as an ideal. 

... Even if I do bc drama

Adri: For example, it meant a lot to him that Aviv, a virtual stranger to him, took care of Adri at a time where his family was in a lot of danger, even though Gideon would strongly prefer she found a non-mobster. I think he wants a ‘Provider’ type especially for Adri because she tends to fend for herself and he wants her to be able to lean on someone else for a change. Not because she needs to — but to learn that it’s ok to let others do the caring, and to feel safe enough to allow that. Still, Aviv fulfilled some of the ‘protector’ criteria he’d want a prospective partner to have in relation to his siblings, so that his own stress about their wellbeing is lowered accordingly. So even though it wouldn’t be an ‘ideal’ partner, Aviv’s selflessness and care would’ve probably won over his support in the long-run.

Yvonne: Same could be said for Theo, who is the only one of Yvonne’s partners that he’s ever really known. Despite some degree of personality clash, in some AU where Theo and Yvonne stayed together + Theo chose to remain present in his daughter’s life, Gideon’s good opinion would’ve likely been earned in the long-run, bc he would’ve fulfilled the ‘loyalty’ criteria for Yvonne. Of course, that’d be canceled out if Theo either didn’t care about the rest of Yvonne’s family dying or actively sought to ensure it... So long as that was true, he obviously wouldn’t be supportive, because any such relationship would come at the expense of other loved ones. Equally, I think for Yvonne, because she is the least mob-affiliated among his siblings, it's especially important to Gid that she end up with someone who’s similarly outside that life of crime. He really respects her for making this choice and wants it to be permanent. Since he hasn’t met another person on the dash who fulfills this criteria and/or has any relationship currently to Yvonne (that he knows of), I think he’d feel her ideal partner is still waiting in the wings.

Lara: What he wants for Lara above all, is for her to ditch the family legacy and to heal as a person. It might be completely out of touch, but I don’t think Gideon will ever give up hope for her. Towards that end, athough he sees those three virtues in Henry, I think he hesitates to want them together because he doesn’t think Henry has the gumption or the interest to pull Lara out of the mob. This has been alluded to previously in a thread between them on the dash, so I won’t go into further detail. Suffice to say, because of that, he’d prob hedge his bets in favour of Jasper, currently, because (to my v. limited knowledge) he also cares about Lara, but isn’t in the mob. On ane emo note, I think he really rooted for Amir when the two were together bc he fulfilled a lot his criteria. But after the relationship broke down and (in his biased opinion) Amir broke Lara’s heart, he lost some of his taste for the man, and (unfairly) for his next girlfriend-turned-fiancée too.

Damon: In some ways, he considers Damon to be the luckiest among his siblings, because he’s landed a woman who fulfills all three criteria. Nora’s affectionate, protective of Damon, loyal to her loved ones, and finally, she doesn’t have any suspect ties to the mob. Given he wants the best for his sibs, realistically, Gideon would be a huge supporter of Nora as a romantic partner for his brother. Before Nora, his biggest frustration with Damon was the serial cheating, and what he wanted most was for Damon to find the sort of person who would challenge him into exploring a more ‘mature’, selfless love vs flings and hookups. He’s always felt Damon and the rest of his siblings have so much love to give in their own right — and that it’s just a matter of them finding the right person to bring those higher qualities out and lead to healthy, stable romances that have longevity. 

OOC: but lbr, healthy stable romances in a mob rp?? **cat w hairball noises**

[limitlessscion]

@drippingheart The phone rings once, twice, thrice . . Megumi very nearly disconnects the call to smash the damn device to pieces but then the line picks up. He bites his bottom lip raw throughout Satoru's gleeful greeting, and then — ❛ Tsumiki . . Tsumiki is in the hospital. She's not waking up . . ❜ Five hours in and the doctors are still puzzled. The smell of disinfectant and so many shuffling bodies adds to Megumi's discomfort, but he's there . . holding onto his sister's hand.

The car ride over to the hospital felt like an eternity as Satoru sorted through the facts and his feelings on the matter in parallel.

With any medical explanations still a mystery, there was little doubt in Satoru's mind that sorcery was at work, not with Tsumiki's close proximity to both him and the former scion of the Zen'ins. He didn't want to come to any conclusions about the nature of the curse until he Saw it himself however, and he calmly put down that thread after making such conclusions.

On the other side he picked up and examined his relationship with the Fushiguro siblings and where his concerns currently lay. He supposed he was worried; Tsumiki was a good kid. She was kind, intelligent, and treated the people around her well— he did enjoy her hospitality when he visited. He was also responsible for her and despite outward appearances it wasn't something he took lightly; he chose that burden, and he would fulfil it.

Seeing Megumi's pained expression when he finally arrived left him unsure of what to do— he was aware of his own emotional failings in matters like this, and he knew he wasn't what the boy needed at this moment. He'd pause and put a hand on the boy's shoulder as he approached, but left it at that. He doubted Megumi wanted anything more from him in the form of tenderness or care: the most important thing Satoru could provide is answers and a solution.

The room was cleared for the "family" to spend some time alone now that Satoru arrived, and he got to work.

"She's cursed," he knew that Megumi wouldn't need to be told that much; the cursed energy positively oozed out of her prone form, distinctly more powerful and different than the weak ebb and flow of her own non-sorcerer energy. There was also a distinct third residual woven in there, left with what must have been the slightest touch, so slight and worn down that even with his precision he wouldn't have been able to make a solid identification yet he could swear— Suguru...?

The exhaustion and grief must be getting to him; it hasn't been long since he'd ended his best friend's life in that alleyway. He shook his head to clear it.

"This feels...ancient," Satoru pulled a pad of paper and a pen from the bedside table and started scribbling notes on it, noting down the pieces of the curse that he could understand from a quick glance. "I think she ingested a cursed object."

That was troubling, with the case of a cursed objects it could very much have merged itself with her. The good news was, it obviously hadn't killed her yet and was unlikely to do so at this point.

As he kept scribbling, it occurred to him that that was a point that Megumi probably needed to hear. He put the pen down, forcing his mind to quiet from this sudden puzzle that he wanted to solve so badly to remember that there was a child here, worried about his sister. "Tsumiki will live, don't worry. We'll have time to break the curse."

Satoru paused for a long awkward moment unsure of what else to say; if he even could say anything else. And with that his focus went back to Tsumiki, the scratch of pen on paper only interrupted by moments on the phone, texting people from the school to pull up various records and information.

His attention catches and suddenly he was on his feet. "...I have a hunch that there might be related cases. You stay here, I'll leave Ijichi outside if you need anything. I'm going to investigate."

[workscounselingcenter]

Top 5 Reads of 2023 so Far

As a therapist, I encourage clients to practice self-care in any way that suits them. For some, that looks like carving out time to see friends, getting outside, spending an evening watching movies, or spending time doing hobbies we love. But it can look like anything. No matter what your self-care looks like, it is valid and good. In this blog post, I will share with you one of my favorite forms of self-care.

As many of my clients know, I love to read. Reading has always been a part of my life, but it became a form of self-care in 2020. I was living alone with my family in different states, and I needed an outlet that wasn’t just baking cookies and watching The Princess Diaries for the millionth time. So, I found a bookish community online, picked up my first book in a long time, and never stopped.

I am a romance reader, but I am trying to branch out and read different genres this year. What has helped the most is being a part of a monthly book club and exploring the never-ending recommendation lists of friends, co-workers, and tiktokers. While I will never entirely stray from my beloved romance novels, it has been so much fun to explore and find books I would have never picked up but loved so much. So far this year, I have read 37 books, and in this blog, I will share my top 5 reads with you.

1. Charm by Tracy Wolff Charm is the fifth installment of the Crave Series by Tracy Wolff. This series is so much fun! It is a Young Adult Fantasy series that starts with the book Crave. The series has magic, fantastical characters, and Twilight jokes that will keep you laughing throughout the entire series. I picked up the first book of this series in 2020 and have been following along ever since. Charm is in this line-up because we get to watch two of my favorite Characters go from hating each other to choosing each other in the most unexpected ways.

2. Final Offer by Lauren Asher Final Offer is the third book in the Dreamland Billionaires Series. This series is around three brothers who have the opportunity to earn their inheritance if they fulfill the requirements of their grandfather’s final wishes. Final Offer is about the middle child of the Kane boys, Cal or Callahan, as he hates to be called. I love this story because we get a glimpse of what living with anxiety and alcoholism looks like, and it is told in such a beautiful way. This story is a second chance romance with so much heart and will cause all the happy tears as we watch Cal fight his mental health issues and find his way.

3. The Sex Lives of African Women: Self-Discovery, Freedom, and Healing By Nana Darkoa Sekyiamah You can tell from the title. This book is about the sex lives of African women. I loved every second of this book and the important stories we heard. Nana interviews hundreds of women worldwide to tell their stories and discuss the importance of female sexuality. Nana shares in the book the importance of this narrative because of how whitewashed and male-focused the conversation of sex can be. This is a powerful read that I recommend.

4. The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work: A Practical Guide from the Country’s Foremost Relationship Expert By John Gottman and Nan Silver This book was less for pleasure and more of a read for work, but it still deserves to be up here because it provided great insight and new ways to look at marriage. As a Marriage and Family Therapist, part of the work is staying current with the research and exploring many different therapy models. As an EFT and CBT based therapist, I found that Gottman’s interventions were helpful and valuable for my work. However, this book is not just for therapists; I highly recommend this for any couple wanting a deeper connection with their partner.

5. By a Thread by Lucy Score Lucy Score is an author that I have quickly fallen in love with. I have only read two of her books, but I would love to read her backlog sometime soon. Her book, By a Thread, is about a girl who gets fired from her job because some jerk complained, just for her to land a job at that same jerk’s office! This wonderful grumpy and sunshine office romance kept me giggling and swooning the entire book.

Thank you if you have managed to get this far into this blog. Self-care is crucial for us to be our whole selves, and I apricate you reading about one of mine. If you choose to pick up any of these books, I hope you find as much laughter, insight, knowledge, and joy as I found in the pages of these books. Happy reading.

Please get in touch. We will be happy to discuss how I may be able to help.

[cometchasr]

4, 10 or 17 for the ask game?

ask game

this ended up being extremely long so all of it is under cu

4. What's a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

tbh i have no clue. i love writing fluff and angst, but i fucking love fluff. good fluff, and by "good" i mean "fulfills a very specific set of requirements that makes my heart melt". i think some good candidates would be "cuddle" (with adjectives and description of character's emotions) and "(insert thing that means said softly here)". generally i tend to go crazy over specific sections of text more than single words... like, give me soft cute gay fluff written the way i like it and i will die of happiness.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

i've never thought of this properly before. what would "haunted" mean? how would it work? i'd feel like it would mean that the work has left a big impact on me and how i do things. it "haunts" me because you will see echoes of it in my work, because i keep looking up to it as a role model unrealistically knowing that whatever i see is after editing, after betas and from someone with more experience, and i'm trying to get raw drafts up to that quality. so fun. anyways, works that have haunted me, in order:

Shadow of the Mind and Different Threads by Firehawk1100 on ffn and ao3. WoF. this was way back when i was writing broken draft 1, because his works were so long (to me back then). i wanted to make my work that long. yeah. then i got into warriors and tdp, and i started losing interest in WoF... so this ended.

the Exile AU by @/troutfur, @/kudossi and @/mallowstep. warriors. as you know utopia is based off this. it was a very important experience, because mallow's use of brackets echoes in my work, and so do the titles, and so does the method of using oneshots. probably one of my most important influences, just because. how much of what makes my writing style what it is came from here. there is only one other fic that reached this level. i thus find it slightly funny that mallow, who is one of the people that have influenced my writing incredibly, has me blocked. it's just a little bit funny

I Am Arthur Wellesley: An Iron Duke SI by Sarthak on alternatehistory.com. it actually didn't influence anything you've seen yet, but it haunts me. i keep thinking about it. it is dead, which i find infuriating. but it was the first AH story i read, and it basically told me how to write an SI fic, in the traditional sense. tdp si is influenced by this. actually you could put a lot of AH.com stories here but IAAW was the first i read, so i put it here. other good contenders are The American Dream by okmangeez and Purple Phoenix Reborn by Sersor.

finally, Warped Skies by @team-ion. in the flesh. DoP, as you know, was started literally because i read this and went "oh shit i want to make something like this". this is the other fic. a non-negligible portion of DoP's worldbuilding is directly taken from there. not a very significant portion, but one large enough that i can't hide it. the only reason the portion isn't bigger is because a) i actually need this to be original and b) i need to ask a lot of stupid questions like "how does primal dialga KGB work" and "what is the feasibility of manufacture of X in PMD world" and "can quadrupeds gain enough breath support to sing". but for me, this is THE pmd fic of all time (that's also because i havent read many others but shhh). it's beautiful. haven't read through the whole thing because it's still long as fuck, but it's beautiful. this is the other fic that made me insecure about word count again, but then i managed to make DoP's chapters three times as long as every other fic's through the sheer power of dialogue, so that got solved rather easily. it's always in the back of my mind because it's fucking good and i quite directly and blatantly based DoP off of it. also we're both on PMDWU and i'm a less effective version of him when it comes to being a writing demon. it's so fun.

that was long as fuck.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

oh boy which one to choose. (spins the wheel) (yes i use a name wheel i have too many things to juggle shush)

tdp si. right. literally just started this, so... yeah. very much based off IAAW. chapter 1 (done, unedited) is just over 1k long, i think. but i dont care! this one's all about the POLITICAL SHENANIGANS and those are later on! >:D

so. stas is adopted by annika and neha. they are an absolute joy to write. imagine how i wrote zanrex, but different. yes, i love fluff. i already said that, i believe. they bring him around everywhere, which means this baby sits through council meetings and everything. of course, he's a baby, so he sleeps through most of them... but he gets through one whole meeting once, beating his body.

also stas is panicking slightly because he knows annika and neha are going to die at some point, and then he has a nine year timer until things go to shit, more or less. depends on how fast viren is able to convince harrow. i know butterfly effect but i actually need the show to happen ok? but right now he's 1 year old and very much wants to enjoy himself while he can.

(what he doesnt know is that annika and neha will die when he's 4)

[aboutzatanna]

The Many Faces of Fate

  Given how YJ is currently the most popular adaptation of Zatanna and that version tied the Zataras and Dr Fate together, I thought it would be interesting to take a look at how Dr Fate is depicted in the comics since the character and its users are a whole different beast there. (For Zee’s interactions with Dr Fate specifically, see this post).

As of this writing there has been 7 generations of Dr Fate and 9 major characters who has worn the helmet. Wait, wha? This does not include any of the Zataras as that’s specific to the YJ show.

But what does it mean to be Dr Fate?

Are you just an innocent victim held hostage by a powerful being?

 What makes Dr Fate tick? And why has there been so many Dr Fates in the last two decades?

What’s the common thread that binds all the Fates together?

Did you know that one of Dr Fate’s writers passed away in the midst of writing his adventures?  

Also, is the story of Dr Fate just the helmet and cape? I would say, no.  I think the story of Dr Fate is about the person behind the helmet and the beautiful, bizarre adventures they go on, how they are changed due to that responsibility, and how their relationships are impacted by being connected to something so powerful and cosmic. Done right, Dr Fate can be trippy, funny, frightening and downright eerie once you get to know the man behind the helmet. Dr Fate represents the darkside of superhero wish fulfillment.

And none really exemplifies that more than the first person to wear the helmet: 

1/7  Kent Nelson & Inza Cramer:  ‘The Original Fates’  

Kent and his father archaeologist father Sven Nelson were on a trip to Mesopotamia sometime around the 1920′s Whilst exploring an ancient tomb, Kent accidentally set off a trap that released poison gas that killed his father and awakened the ancient being Nabu. The latter ‘adopts’ Kent after he magically erasing Kent’s trauma from his mind. Kent grows to adult hood under Nabu’s tutelage and years later ventures out into the world as Dr Fate.

Does this sound creepy? Yes, yes it does.  

But back in the Golden Age Dr Fate was written no differently from other heroes of that era. He was a master sorcerer but rarely helpless even without his magic: 

He also had a love interest named Inza Cramer who was pulled into his adventures.

(And as we’ll see, Inza wasn’t your typical love interest either.) 

Kent also wanted to be a doctor, a real MD, as well (take that Injustice Harley!): 

It should also be noted that the first Dr Fate stories had his origin take place in the Valley of Ur, Mesopotamia but later iterations would replace that with Ancient Egypt. Another interesting fact is that Nabu is the early iterations was a humanoid alien from the planet Cilia.     

It was when Dr Fate got a back up title in a Flash ongoing that was later collected ‘The Immortal Doctor Fate’ that a creative team began to delve into the dark side of Dr Fate. Although much of it is credited to Martin Pasko and Walt Simonson, wiki also credits Paul Levtiz, Steve Gerber and Keith Giffen as having contributed to the mini as well.    

The series gave a lot of focus to Inza and established why her perspective is so important to Dr Fate.  

The mini showed Kent and Inza living in Tower of Fate, they’re long lived thanks to Fate’s magic but Inza has to ‘share’ Kent with Nabu. Even when he is tired and exhausted from being Fate, the helmet doesn’t, it moves on it’s own, it does research on magic when kent’s asleep and when it’s time for action, it possesses Kent again and takes him out for a fight while Inza watches in horror. Sometimes she is not speaking to ‘Kent’ she is speaking to Nabu.  Whilst being young for a long time was great, Inza was not content not having a life of her own.  

This understandably caused a rift between Kent and Inza but surprisingly, it was Nabu/Helmet of Fate that helped repair the relationship by helping them see the world from each other’s perspective:    

The helmet did it because it recognized that Inza was important to Kent and necessary to continue working as Dr Fate. Though likely the ulterior motive is to keep Kent happy and willing to keep working as Dr Fate.   

This take on Dr Fate played like an adolescent fantasy mixed with horror, drama and romance.  The series is also a great opportunity to see Kent and Inza as their own characters and no just an older mentor figures who is clearly set up to pass the helmet down to someone else.    

Inza herself would don the mantle of Fate at one point starting from Doctor Fate Vol 2 #25:  

Originally, her and Kent were meant to combine as one to become Doctor but they couldn’t so Inza had to fly solo. In a role reversal, Kent was now the stay-at-home-spouse while Inza was the superhero.   

Inza even developed a friendship with Wonder Woman and they guest starred in each others titles since they were both written by the same person at the time; William Messner Loebs. Most notably in Wonder Woman #76:  

(It’s Circe, she got better later.) 

And later Inza teamed up with Zatanna when they were both recruited by the Phantom Stranger along with Etrigan the Demon to fight a rampaging Eclipso possessed Spectre in Spectre Vol 3 #17 written by John Ostrander:   

There were times when Inza got carried away as Dr Fate and made mistakes. But overall, she was a more ‘fun’ Dr Fate than Kent. Likely because she wasn’t being manipulated and controlled like Kent has been for most of his life and they were largely free of Nabu’s torment and you got this mix of mundane domestic life mixed with the otherworldly: 

Doctor Fate Vol 2 #25

Source: Doctor Fate Vol 2 #26

but she wasn’t the second Dr. Fate, she was the 4th. There was another couple who got the opportunity before her:   

2/7  Eric & Linda Strauss : ‘The Most Bizarre Dr Fate Duo’ 

In a 4 issue mini series titled Doctor Fate by writer JM DeMattis and artist Keith Giffen we learn that the forces of order is receding that chaos is taking over and the magic that kept Kent and Inza young is wearing off. Inza died and Kent can no longer protect Dr Fate.   

We are introduced to the step mother and step son duo Linda and Eric Strauss. Linda married Eric’s father for money but she regretted that decision as he proved to be an abusive partner. She did however, care for Eric Strauss enough to stay behind as his guardian. Eric is already magically aware and even at a young age claimed he could see Kent and the Lords of Order in a mirror.

At this point, the Lords of Chaos were getting stronger, the magic that kept Kent and Inza young for decades had worn off, Inza was dead and Kent was too beaten to fight the coming forces. He needed a successor.   

One day, when Linda took Eric to the park and whilst lost in thought, Kent comes in and secretly takes away Eric, much to Linda’s horror.   

We are treated to this awesome horror panel by Giffen of Nabu communicating with Eric via a mouth on Kent’s abdomen:  

Kent is more reluctant but Nabu ages Eric into adulthood to fight the agents of chaos as Dr Fate. Of course, Eric is still partially a child, mentally. He is beaten easily by the villain who takes the power of magic for himself.  

Meanwhile, in the Tower of Fate, Linda manages to find Kent and confront him about his actions and also Nabu. I can’t post the whole sequence here but we get this great set of pages of Kent confronting Nabu on how the latter has tormented and manipulated him his whole life:     

 Eric returns to the Tower of Fate and he wants to confront the villain head on but with Linda by his side.  This leads into what made this duo different from  Kent and Inza. Neither chaos and order are inherently good or bad. Eric and Linda have to combine as one being to work as Dr Fate. This is something that Nabu kept from Kent which the latter figured out, allowing the new Dr Fate to forge his own path. Nabu himself ends up rejecting the Lords of Orders offer to live amongst them and returns to earth, this time inhabiting Kent’s decaying corpse as if it were a puppet and serving as a guide and mentor to Eric and Linda.   

Once again, the themes of repressed adolescence, trauma, controlling mentor figures,  the nature of order and chaos, and control pop up in Dr Fate. Remember Kent accidentally killed his father then was ‘Nabu’ whom in later retellings also magically aged him up and used him as an agent. It’s like a horror version of Billy Batson’s Shazam.  Now you have Eric Strauss whom Kent takes in at the behest of Nabu but this time he has to work as one with his step mother. But what exactly does it say? That’s left up to the reader to decide. In a way it reminds me of the 1997 Jumanji movie, something just clicks in your brain when you realize that Alan Parrish’s father and the hunter Van Pelt are both played by the same person.     

The Eric and Linda Strauss Doctor Fate got an ongoing written by DeMattis and drawn by Giffen titled Doctor Fate Vol 2. It was very trippy and the artwork leaned heavily on exaggerating the proportions of Fate’s helmet to almost cartoonish levels:   

It really plays into the idea that despite being aged up, Eric was still a child in his mind.   

Both Eric and Linda had to combine to be Dr Fate but at the same time, they could be Dr Fate individually as well: 

  Though one thing that made added a layer of creepiness to the Eric and Linda duo was Linda having feeling for Eric when he was a child and then contemplating the idea of hooking up with him after he was aged into an adult. Ew. I like the idea of a step son and step mom duo but I could have done without the pedo incest vibes. To DeMattis credit, we are not supposed to see her attraction to Eric as wholesome, even Linda herself is repressing her feelings from the start.  

Side note: DeMattis also wrote the final half of Zatanna’s trippy final arc in JLA and he was also a writer on Justice League Dark Vol 1 when the team faced off against Prayala.  Him and Giffen also wrote the excellent and comedic ‘Justice League Europe’ and Justice League International titles.   

The Eric and Linda Strauss duo didn’t last long. The magic that aged Eric into adulthood had the side effect of also slowly killing him and Linda had to take charge to save him from Darkseid.  After Eric died, Linda took over as Dr Fate, she couldn’t perform as well due to Eric’s death and had to merge with Nabu. Then she ‘dies’ but learns that Eric did not fully die either. In a very trippy story that involves the Phantom Stranger, Eric and Linda are reincarnated into the bodies of a recently deceased couple and their new job was taking care of a child that was of cosmic importance. The story also brought back Kent and Inza Nelson in a newer and younger bodies, this time with Inza as Dr Fate as covered in the Kent and Inza entry.       

From Doctor Fate #25 onwards,  written by William Messner Loebs  with art by Vince Giarrano, Inza Nelson takes over as the new Dr Fate. Initially both Kent and Inza combined to become Dr Fate like Eric and Linda but the process proved to be painful for Kent which left Inza to take over as Dr Fate.   

Much like Martin Pasko did earlier, Messner-Loebs infused Kent and Inza’s characters with lots of humanity and also a good dose of humor which helped ground the characters despite their strange adventures.

But alas, neither Kent nor Inza’s time lasted long. DC during this period didn’t want ‘senior citizen heroes’ and wanted to appeal to hip and young readers. So during the Zero Hour event, the villain Extant aged Kent and Inza to their actual ages and then separated them from their magical artifacts of Dr Fate. 

Kent wanted to recover the artifacts and this lead to him meeting with:       

3/7 Jared Stevens: ‘The Exxxtreme Dr Fate’ 

A mercenary who hunted down the artifacts that Dr Fate uses like helmet and amulet for the now aged Kent and Inza Nelson but the duo found out that the magic no longer works for them and are promptly killed off by the arc’s villain.  

Jared, in gritty 90′s anti hero fashion, melts down Fate’s helmet and fashions it into a dagger which he uses to become the new extreeeme Dr Fate.  Jared is almost universally loathed by writers because he really represented the excess of the 90′s. He was the epitome of the 90′s bad ass anti hero. 

The character even got two ongoings. His first one titled Fate ran for 23 issues and even had a spin off called Scare Tactics  which centered on a band of the same name that was composed of monster. Jared’s second ongoing was titled Book of Fate and was written by Keith Giffen and it wasn’t bad? Was kind of descent? 

He was unceremoniously killed off in JSA #1 (1999) where he appeared at the funeral of the original Sandman, Wesely Dodds, to warn them of a coming threat before promptly falling dead due to being stabbed in the back with his own dagger by the story’s villain.     

   4/7 Hector Hall: ‘The Most Connected & Tragic Dr Fate’ 

In JSA: Secret Files & Origins #1 Wesely Dodds, the original Sandman has a  prophetic dream that tells him about the birth of a child fated to become the next Dr Fate. The child however will be sought after by powerful forces, namely the wizard Mordu. Thus, in Tibet ,  Wesley commits suicide after a confrontation with the Mordru. His and Jared’s death posted above and the search for the new Dr Fate is what kicked off 1999′s seminal JSA series by Geoff Johns, James Robinson and the David S Goyer.   

But the new Dr Fate didn’t turn out to be a new character but a reincarnated version of an existing one; namely Hector Hall.

So even before Hector became Dr Fate he had quite a bit of history which also coincidentally made him the perfect candidate for Dr Fate as well.   

Hector was the son of the Golden Age Hawkman and Hawkgirl, Carter Hall and Shiera Hall respectively. Originally the JSA and related characters were set on Earth 2. Hector was cursed from birth by Hath-Set (who also catalyzed the Hawk’s reincarnation cycle) and was born without a soul.  As a child, he felt neglected by his parents who gave more attention to the hero Northwind. 

As a young adult, he donned a suit of Nth metal armor and became known as the hero the Silver Scarab.  Hector joined the Infinity Inc made up of various kids and legacy heroes from the JSA. He fell in love with Lyta Hall, the daughter of the Wonder Woman/Diana and Steve Trevor.   

Unfortunately, the curse of Hath-Set came to pass and after a brief bout of possession and mind control, Hector seemingly died leaving Lyta a pregnant widower.   

But, his death didn’t last long. Hector took the place of Garret Sandford’s Sandman becoming the second Sandman. Hector lived in a dream world and only briefly managed to reunite with his wife. Eventually, Lyta chose to join her husband in the world of dreams.   

Then, in 1985, Crisis on Infinite Earths happened, Earth 2 was no more and the JSA were now incorporated into the main earth. Lyta Hall was no longer the daughter of Diana and Steve Trevor a new character called Helena Kosmatos and a Greek officer.

Hector and Lyta were still living in the dream world and in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series we learn that Hector was being duped by Brute and Glob. They were denizens of Gaiman’s Sandman/Morpheus’ dream realm who escaped and are now manipulating Hector within the dream world of a young abused child, Jed Walker.     

 Morpheus returns to claim what’s his, he dispatches Brute and Glob, reveals that Hector was a ghost all along and tells Lyta that her child would be his now since it was born in the dream realm. Later, Lyta has a severe mental breakdown and unleashing the Kindly Ones on Dream. The latter ‘dies’ but her son, Daniel Hall takes his place as the new Dream.   

Cut to: 1999′s JSA series; Hector is reincarnated, this time in a body of a child of Hawk and Dove.*  He has white hair now, Nabu acts as a more kindly mentor, the previous Dr Fate’s are all in his amulet and he takes down his first villain; the wizard Mordru whom he traps in his amulet.        

*Initially the woman who gives birth to the Fate child was a comatose Lyta which would have meant that she gave birth to her own husband. Which is...ewwww. But later it was revealed that the woman was Dove instead.   

He also reunites with his father, Carter Hall, who, funnily enough looks younger than Hector now:   

Hector’s personal arc in the series was reuniting with his lost wife and there were hints that Nabu knew more than he was letting on.

Hector also needed someone to point out how he changes whenever he wears the helmet and for him, it was his father, who has his own experience with reincarnation:  

At one point Mordru takes over the helmet and the powers of Fate leaving poor Hector trapped in the amulet:  

He manages to regain control again and now has a bitchin’ goatee:   

Sadly, this wouldn’t be the first time that this has happened to him, in a story arc focusing on Black Adam’s war on Khandaq (which interestingly enough is also the basis of the upcoming Black Adam movie), this time it’s Nabu who suddenly switches to being a villain. He traps Hector in the amulet, the other Fate’s were revealed to only be illusions and out of the blue, Hector reunites with Lyta:       

Hector takes back control of the helmet from Nabu and achieved his quest to save his wife. We even got a cameo from Daniel Hall in JSA:  

But:  

Yep, the Vertigo side of DC wasn’t happy with Hector and Lyta being in the JSA. Especially since they were characters who played an important role in Gaiman’s Sandman series.  They didn’t want anything going on in current continuity to mess it up.   

There was a story arc where Hector and Lyta met Brute and Glob again but the story skirts around the edges without outright referencing Sandman.

You see, during the 90′s and 00′s, Vertigo was walled off from the rest of the DCU. It was DC’s mature label.  While characters like Spectre, Zatanna, Madame Xanadu and Phantom Stranger could freely travel between the Vertigo titles and regular DC titles, certain characters like John Constantine couldn’t appear in the main universe. He may be freewheeling around the DCU post Nu52 but back in the 00′s, this was unthinkable. Characters from mainline DCU could sometimes guest star in a Vertigo title (like all the heroes who showed up to Spectre’s funeral in Spectre Vol 3) but certain characters were always walled off. If you as a writer, want to use any of the Endless characters, you have to gain approval from Neil Gaiman himself.     

At the end of the day, Vertigo wasn’t happy with Hector and Lyta being used in JSA. It didn’t matter if Hector and Lyta were pre existing characters, they were now Sandman characters and thus off limits. It should be noted that Vertigo head Karen Berger was also the editor for Wonder Woman during the George Perez reboot. I bring this up due to Lyta’s tertiary connection to Diana and the Amazons.    

So, during DC’s Day of Vengeance event, the Spectre sans host is manipulated by the Eclipso/Jean Loring into warring against all of magic and that meant Hector and Lyta were now targets:   

Nabu in full control of the helmet and amulet takes on the Spectre along with the JSA and the rest of DC’s magical pantheon.   

Meanwhile, Hector and Lyta are trapped in hell and are offered one final reprieve by their son:  

What a meta way to go out.    

Afterwards, Hector and Lyta were basically forgotten by the rest of the DCU.  Wildcat made one comment about needing to find out what happened to Hector and Lyta shortly after they were banished but afterwards, nothing.   Hawkman never made a mention of his son or his disappearance afterwards.  It was as if they just ceased to exist afterwards.  And although Daniel has shown up a couple of times in the DCU afterwards, Hector and Lyta still remains elusive. 

Save for their very brief cameos on the new Earth 2 that was introduced in the JSA title shortly before Johns left the title and a couple of years before the Nu52 reboot:   

It’s sad that Hector, whose story arc is what kicked off the new JSA, ended like this.  Sadly, Hector wasn’t the only one who lost prominence. Sandy Hawkins who was the defacto leader of the new JSA and had a prominent role in the beginning also faded away.  Whereas Hector was forgotten, with Sandy it’s like they didn’t know what to do with him anymore.   

“The we-literally-kick-started-the-modern-JSA-but-nobody-remembers-us--anymore club.” 

Overall, I think Hector is my favorite Dr Fate. Part of it is nostalgia, my introduction to Dr Fate was through his guest appearances in Superman: TAS and JLU where it was Kent Nelson version but when I got into comics, Hector was the first time I got to know the person behind the helmet.  He’s basically an anime protagonist; bad ass parents, cursed from birth, angsty about his dad not paying enough attention to him and later becomes a white haired pretty boy.   

Plus there is something really cool about the son of one superhero taking on the identity of a different hero altogether, one that he happens to fit perfectly as well. It’s a great way to tie two of DC’s most prominent Egyptian based superheroes.    

And yes, you might have noticed that there is a casting announced for a ‘Lyta Hall’ in the upcoming Sandman adaptation in which she will be played by Razane  Jamal. But I doubt that version will have any sort of sort of connection to either Wonder Woman or her new Post Crisis mother Helena Kosmastos nor will there be any connection to Lyta in the comics beyond being ‘widower haunted by the ghost of her husband’, interestingly enough, no word on Hector either. If he was cast, it’s unlikely that all the stuff about him being Hawkman’s son will be included. They might have him pretend to be a variation of the Jack Kirby Sandman or something similar depending on how the rights worked out.   

Not gonna lie, I’m surprised that the Wonder Woman comics never attempted to reclaim Lyta Hall especially when the movie lead to a huge resurgence in the Steve/Diana pairing.

Anyway, this is got kind of long but Hector is easily the most fascinating Dr Fate after Kent and Inza.     

Also check out this blog for more Hector stuff. 

So after Hector and Lyta were attacked in the Tower of Fate by the Spectre, Nabu took over the helmet and amulet and fought the Spectre. The former perished during the fight and at the end Captain Marvel/Shazam tossed the helmet of Fate into space so ‘fate’ will decide who will be the next Dr Fate.  

5/7 Kent V Nelson: ‘The Forgotten Dr Fate’  

Kent V is easily the most overlooked Dr Fate. He was the latest one to wear the helmet before the Nu52 reboot in 2011, what’s more he is the only Dr Fate whose writer died over the course of penning his story.

Kent V Nelson was introduced in Countdown to Mystery #1, prior to that there was a series of one shots titled Helmet of Fate in which different characters from the DCU came across the helmet from Zauriel to Black Alice to Detective Chimp and had to decide if they were worthy of being Fate. 

Kent V Nelson was created by Steve Gerber for Countdown to Mystery, he was a psychiatrist who was happily married and had a daughter but he blew it all by having an affair with a university student. After his wife left him, Kent started to fall into depression but still continued with his practice but one of his clients, who was being possessed by a demon, had a psychotic episode that lead him to shoot up a  Las Vegas Strip mall. Kent was sued by the victims for malpractice and he ended up homeless as a result. 

It’s during these bouts of dumpster diving that he encountered the helmet of the Fate. Initially using it to cover his head from the rain, the helmet taught him his own past and also took him on a tour of his own. Kent also pissed off a demon of hell making an instant enemy.   

Kent also his helmet for gambling. At some point, a series of unfortunate events lead to Kent having a mental breakdown resulting in a suicide attempt leading him to meet a woman named Inza. Not the old Inza but a different one sharing the same name. The implication being that this  guy is not just a long lost relative of the original Kent Nelson but a possible reincarnation.. 

Kent V’s origin story didn’t have a definite ending due to complications the writer Steve Gerber had. After he passed away, several writers wrote their own endings for Kent’s story. The events happened but the end result was always the same: Kent becoming Dr Fate.  

Kent did go on to join the JSA during Bill WIllingham’s run when Flash sought him  out for help in dealing with a super villain attack. But alas his time was short, the JSA had bloated into Legion levels in terms of characters on it’s, so he barely got any screen time and the in 2011 DC rebooted with the Nu52 thus his time was cut short.    

At this point, a lot of long time Dr Fate fans bemoaned the ‘musical helmets of Dr Fate’ that the mantle had become. After DC had rebooted with the Nu52, a new Dr Fate debuted:   

6/7 Khalid Ben Hassen: ‘The Precursor’

Khalid debuted in James Robinson’s Earth 2 title after the Nu52 reboot the DCU. The JSA were back on Earth 2 but now they were younger, hotter and given contemporary origins with no relation to WW2.    

Khalid was working with Kendra Saunders working for a group called the World Police when they stumbled upon a tomb in ancient Egypt. Kendra gets her Hawkgirl gear while Khalid gets the helmet of Fate. 

Khalid is notable for being the first Egyptian to become Dr Fate. He communicated with Nabu both with and without the helmet but his main achillies heel was his declining mental health after he takes off the helmet. Khalid spent a lot of Earth 2 babbling nonsense  next to other characters. It’s also notable that his Dr Fate didn’t have a partner like the previous Fate’s did. Kent had Inza, Erica had Linda and Hector had Lyta. 

After James Robinson left the title, Earth 2 turned into more of an Injustice style fight fest where heroes were killed off, often violently against an evil brainwashed Superman. The title ended on a happier note, with the good guys managing to eke out a victory and a new Justice League forming but they haven’t shown up since.  

Earth 2 was very polarizing especially for long time JSA fans. It depends on how important them being tied to WW2 and being older heroes. A big part of the JSA’s appeal was that they were the old guard mentoring the younger heroes. They represented the history of the DCU. To some writers, this was a boon. To others this made them outdated and unappealing to younger new readers. Hence the constant cycle of the JSA being killed off or replaced by younger, hipper counterparts (like Jared Stevens on this very post) only for the classic versions to make a come back at some point.   

The Khalid incarnation of Dr Fate didn’t stay dead, he would reinvented for the main DCU as part of DCYou, which brings us to:   

7/7 Khalid  Nassour: ‘The Forever (?) Fate’

Introduced in DCYou mini, Khalid was the grand nephew of Kent Nelson, his mother Elizabeth Nelson was his niece and she got inspired by archaeology from him.   She converted to Islam and married  Muhammed Nassour and they had a child, Khalid Nassour.  

Khalid was a med student in NY stumbled upon the helmet of Fate in a Museum and after meeting an Egyptian Goddess pretending to be a cat.   He realizes that he has aptitude for magic and later he is mentored and guided by his grand uncle, Kent Nelson.   

Khalid was at one point possessed by Nabu who wanted to destroy all magic on earth. Eventually his grand uncle passed away and Nabu died JLD Vol 2.  

Khalid has also been adapted in YJ S5 as one Zatanna’s magical proteges focusing on his struggle as a med student who also uses magic as well as the struggle between his faith and the fact that he uses magic. 

Khalid combines elements from his previous Dr Fate’s, he is related by blood to Kent much like Kent V was and he even finds the helmet under benign circumstances and he shares a name with Khalid Ben Hassen. However it does feel like he is missing something.     

While Khalid is a great character in his own right, he is missing some elements that made the other Dr Fate’s stand out. The question is what separates the helm of Fate from other objects that grant great power like a GL ring or invoking the name Shazam?   

As pointed out earlier, the other Dr Fate’s had a disturbing and eerie quality to them. Even Hassen suffered from mental break down because of the helmet. Dr Fate represents the dark side of the wish fulfillment aspect of superheroes.  The helmet is more of curse and rarely a gift. It drains the user.  It’s also serves as a metaphor for co-dependent relationships, having to share your partner with someone else,  repressed childhood trauma and having to sometimes literally grow up fast.  While this is common in superhero fiction, it feels even more pronounced in Dr Fate and there are story lines you can explore with Nabu that you can’t with Batman, Green Arrow or whichever character is meant to serve as a challenging mentor figure.  

It’s weird that the last two Dr Fate’s didn’t have a love interest and they are both poc.  Perhaps more so than any other character, Dr Fate needs someone, a friend or lover to stand besides them and point out how screwed up their situation is and provide a third perspective.  

Also, it would be interesting if we had a gay Dr Fate at some point or an asexual one.  Just to see what the relationship dynamics of that would be like.   

As for why there have been so many Dr Fates, well part of that is due to Kent and Inza never having true successors. As you can see, attempts at successors never really stuck and there is a constant back and forth between bringing back the ‘classic’ Kent and Inza duo or trying again with someone new or someone tangentially related to the original. Nabu going from a neutral force to an antagonistic one to a down right evil character, dying and then coming back again, has become a running gag at this point. The same goes for the Tower of Fate being destroyed, which, much like the GL Corps getting wiped out or the Central Power Battery getting destroyed, has become a running gag at this point.     

Right now, DC seems committed to Khalid Nassour and it will be interesting to see how long he remains as Dr Fate or if there will be a different Dr Fate in the future.   

It also seems like DC wants to skip past any Dr Fate that existed between Kent and Khalid.  Which is sad, because I would like to see someone take a crack at Hector Hall or the Eric/Linda duo (without the creepy romance element). 

Recommended Reading For Dr Fate

(If there is anything you would like for me to add, remove or specify let me know)

For Kent & Inza:

Immortal Doctor Fate  TPB  (Kent & Inza) 

Doctor Fate Vol 2 26-onwards ( Inza as Dr Fate) 

Wonder Woman Vol 2 #76 

Spectre Vol 3 #16  

For Eric & Linda:  

Doctor Fate Vol 1  4 issue mini (Eric & Linda)  

Dorctor Fate Vol 2 #1- 24 (Eric & Linda)

Additional reading:  

Invasion #1 (holiday 1988) Justice League America #31-32 (Oct - Nov 1989) - Linda as Dr. Fate Justice League America #40 (Jul 1990) Justice League Europe #7-8 (Oct - Nov 1989) - Linda as Dr. Fate Justice League International v1 #10 (Feb 1988) - Eric and Linda as Dr. Fate Millennium #3 (Jan 1988) Millennium #5-7 (Feb 1988) Spectre v2 #11 (Feb 1988) Spectre v2 #23 (winter 1989)

For Jared Stevens: 

Fate #1-23

Book of Fate  #1-12

Scare Tactics  #1-12

For Hector Hall: 

Infinity Inc #1-51

Sandman Vol 2 #11-12

JSA Vol 1 #1-80

Doctor Fate Vol 3 #1-5 (mini series)  

For Kent V Nelson

Helmet of Fate (series of one shots)  

Countdown to Mystery   

Reign in Hell   

Justice Society of America Vol 3 #30-35 

For Khalid Ben Hassen  

Earth 2 by James Robinson  

For Khalid Nassour  

Dr Fate (201) as part of DC You.   

Justice League Dark Vol. 2 (2018)  

Justice League Vol 4 #59-71  (as part of the JLD back up series )  

Justice League Vol 4 #72-present