#good and proper in the grand scheme of things of course | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chisubi · 13 days ago

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from the lovers’ grave — h. ran

content. fem!reader, one (1) suggestive scene near the end, something about grief, mourning, and love

word count. 10.7k

note. this was not meant to be long. originally, all i had planned was the scene with ran and rindō at the end talking and the confession scene for practice (i hate confessions) i am not sure what happened . . . also, this is unedited.

In the grand scheme of things, there were more good times than bad.

Of course, there’s no denying that during their teenage years of growing up, at some point, things have been deteriorating. Spiraling and spiraling and sprialing. They were just boys being boys, doing the only things they knew how to do, fighting and surviving; those moments were full of fun, exhilarating, a temporary bliss in this little corner of the world of theirs.

However, boys like them don’t live for long. They aren’t meant to. Just like how the saying goes: live fast, die young. Ran supposes the saying is true. Many of the people he’d known died before reaching adulthood, just like him — Kurokawa Izana. That’s just life, after all.

His funeral is a simple one. Nothing grand, and rather than how plain it is, it is more surprising how someone without a family – an orphan – is able to have a proper funeral. People like them never have one, forgotten by everyone and everything. And the one who stays forgotten by the world is Izana [to no one’s surprise], except for the few remaining members of the S-62 generation. Multiple police officers that keep a keen eye on all of them, and none of them are stupid enough to try and escape on a day like this — their bond with Izana is worth much more than that. It wasn’t something so shallow.

There are no decorations besides the white chrysanthemums and white lilies sitting in front of an old picture of him — a picture of when he first was admitted into juvenile detention all those years ago, he looked so young, his eyes were the same then as they are now. Dead. No sign of light. His cold body lies in a plain wooden casket. It’s an empty, stifling ceremony.

Shion is uncharacteristically quiet, and that alone would’ve been an insane sight if it were another day, but everyone understands his silence today. Nobody mentions it. Nobody says anything at all. It’s so silent, each breath drawn echoes, and something feels extremely off about the ceremony — something that has Ran glancing around the room every couple of minutes.

An obvious reason for this is how Kakuchō is not here; that kid would never miss this for anything, everyone knows this, and Ran can assume what happened. His injuries must be quite severe, and it’s rather a miracle that he had woken up, heck, even much earlier than the doctor’s expected. A sign of God’s mercy (and for a moment, in that cramped cell, Ran is a believer of faith). If Kakuchō is still awake, there’s no doubt he would be longfully staring out that white hospital room. Those cold, sad eyes of his watching the way the snow falls, burying the world.

And the other reason is how at the front of this cramped room, right next to the casket, sits a girl Ran has never seen before. It's alarming. Your head stays down as you only look at Izana, you haven’t bothered to look up since they have entered the room earlier. Ran can’t help, but wonder who you are. Who you are to Izana. An outsider to the S-62 generation that Izana had built from cold, scarred hands for delinquents like him. Ran wants to know so badly, but he is too tired, and now isn’t the time to focus on people he doesn’t know nor cares about.

Ran slips the singular white flower into Izana’s folded hands, all stiff, scarred, and freezing cold. A body of a dead man. He decides to place another: Kakuchō’s offering. Perhaps, that kid’s prayers would reach him, his heart has always been more pure than all of theirs combined, a softer soul trapped within this cruel world. Ran doesn't know why, but he whispers to Izana that he is sorry (he doesn’t know for what — maybe, everything), yet his eyes dwell on you.

When you turn and catch his curious eyes, he doesn’t look away; neither do you. Attempting to smile, it’s almost as if he’s looking straight into a mirror; a shiver runs down his spine.

He smiles back.

—

August tastes like cigarettes and bitter cherries. Just like it had last year in February, when blood, bones and ash had fallen and scattered around Yokohama that cold night, moments before the snow began to fall down. Gradients of whites and reds painting the town.

It’s a rather cool evening for a summer day when Ran finds himself visiting Yokohama after so long (even after his release, which had been quite some time ago, he hasn’t stepped foot here). There’s melancholy lingering in the air, much like how it always clings onto to long summer nights. Ran welcomes this, allowing his feet to lead him. Anywhere, everywhere, or nowhere at all. He just walks down the bustling streets, endlessly.

Something feels strange. . . Something is going to change this summer, something big; the unexpected always comes to people like him.

Downtown, there's a small bar that catches his eye. There's nothing too special about the shop — decorated with tacky neon flickering signs. Open, reflecting within his eyes. There's something inside of him that tells him he needs to enter, and so, he does just that.

And that feeling of his comes true within minutes. Ran sees you again. Coincidentally [or perhaps, fate, or by total chance].

The Izakaya isn’t really filled with people; either due to it still being early, since work hours are still going on or it just isn’t popular among the many identical shops along this street. And he should’ve invited Rindō to come with him; who enters and eats at an Izakaya alone? Ran has never gone out to eat or drink alone before, either way, it’s not like he’s a kid, so it doesn’t really matter that much, but he knows Rindō will be bitching to him about going out to eat alone. Well, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later.

Ran sits down at a table for two; ordering a small plate of yakitori and umeshu, something sweet and cold to drink. A waitress comes over and places his food down, his eyes widening at a familiar face, he speaks before he thinks, “Do you remember me?”

Your brows draw together, you look him up and down, then shake your head. “I. . . I am not too sure. I don’t believe so. Have we met before?”

He pauses. Disappointment swirls in his stomach, sinking. He tries not to think about why it makes him feel that way — like, disappointment is normal, but he knows he’s not someone unforgettable. “No. I must’ve been mistaken. Sorry ‘bout that.” He offers you a polite smile and that’s when he sees your eyes widen in recognition, the bar’s yellow lights flickering in yours; shining, shining, shining.

His finger glides against the rim of the glass cup, as he waits for you to speak — he knows you will say something. The ice cube clinks against the glass.

Clink. . . clink. . . clink.

“Oh—! Wait, um, you’re from the funeral. . .?” Uncertain as you carefully utter those words, he confirms this, and your eyes brighten. “Oh, hold on. Sorry, I can’t really talk right now, but my shift ends in twenty minutes,” you drift off, eyes darting toward the old big clock that hangs on the wall. You hopefully ask, “Wait for me?”

He nods. “Yeah, sure,” Ran casually says, ”take your time.” You thank him with a smile.

[Twenty minutes turn into fourty, and for some reason, he stays and waits for you. The yakitori was worth it, anyway. He’s grown to appreciate the taste of plums a little more today, too. It’s sweet.]

The both of you don’t say much tonight. Only indulging in introductions and small talk. The pier isn’t so far from the Izakaya, barely a ten minute walk away. When the two of you sit on the ledge, close yet not close enough to be touching, it’s all silent. Not a comforting one — one where the air feels thicker and there’s this itch where he feels as if he needs to say something to break this awkward tension. Curiously silent, because Ran has a lot of things to say — things he needs to know, but that can wait for another day.

“It’s a little breezy tonight,” you attempt to break the silence. He can tell there’s a lot on your mind, too, but you probably won’t say anything either. Not tonight, at least.

He offers, “Would you like my cardigan?”

You shake your head, declining. “No, but thank you. You might get cold without it.”

Relief runs over him when you decline because he is cold, he tends to get cold easily (which is something he and Rindō argue about because Rindō always, always, always turns the heat down in their apartment because he gets hot easily, even though Ran tells him not to touch it), and doesn’t like sharing his clothes or anything he owns with anyone. But Ran is a gentleman, or so he tries to be, girls feel special when he acts like this, and he likes making them think that. Well, sometimes he does. Sometimes, he doesn’t know.

“If you say so. That was my one and only offer so don’t complain after,” he halfheartedly teases (he still thinks you should’ve accepted it, because anyone would’ve if he was the one offering, but that’s your loss, really).

Maybe the way he was joking misses, because you simply reply, “I won’t.” And he hums. Silence falls over again.

“He was such an idiot,” your voice is anything but harsh when you say this. So soft, fond, a whisper of love. Too angelic, Ran is sure it will never reach him. He almost misses your words under the waves, too.

He doesn’t know who you are to Izana. A part of him understands, though. No matter what you two were or who you are, he knows you have loved Izana so dearly, you probably have for a long time. It’s quite obvious, the feeling of him that lingers onto you — he can feel it all.

His fists tightens around nothing, nail digging into his palm. How come he has never seen or heard of you before? Ran knows for a fact that Kakuchō knows you. Does Shion as well? He’s obsessed with Izana, obsessed to an unhealthy degree, so surely he knows or at least has caught a glimpse of you before. Maybe he really didn’t know Izana at all.

It’s kind of frustrating, he thinks.

Ran agrees with you. Though, he doesn’t verbally express it. Izana really was an idiot, a selfish one who was always stuck in his own head, and Ran would never get to tell him that. He’ll never get to tell him anything again. Bitterness, regret, and anger fill him for a split second, only a second, not a millisecond longer, because these emotions quickly fade back into nothing. Nothing because Ran can do nothing, but feel nothing.

“Do—Do you usually sit out here, doing nothing? Watching the world?” he sniffles. It’s summer, midsummer, heat is supposed to consume them, especially during these short nights, but the weather has been strange lately. He’s not even cold, it’s just when the breeze passes by, he gets bad shivers.

The flame of the lighter flickers, you’re lighting a cigarette — he didn’t peg you as a smoker (despite only knowing you for less than an hour at maximum), and he grimaces once he catches sight of a little pink box sliding back into your pocket. Pianissimo. Peach flavoured, of course, he almost snorts.

“Sometimes,” you reply as you breathe out the smoke. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

You pass the cigarette to him, he accepts, saying, “Nah, it’s fine.” Your smeared lip gloss stains the tip of the cigarette, his lips overlap with the marking, inhaling the bitter smoke to feel that familiar burn, it’s quite mild compared to what he prefers, something sweet lingers within, too.

“Okay, but that was my one and only offer.”

Ran chuckles at the familiar remark, and you let one out, too. “Okay. I get it.” He passes back the cigarette. “A cheeky one, aren’t you?” It comes off more flirtatious than intended, but it makes you smile at him, cheekily.

You’re captured by the moonlit water, cigarette ashes drifting down, down, down, eyes taken by the ashes, his eyes drift back to you, and that sentimental expression you wear.

(Losing someone isn’t anything new. It’s normal in a world like this. He wonders if you know this; you definitely do.)

—

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

“I am sure,” you tell him, “it’s not even a party, it’s just a get together. Go have fun with your boys. Hasn’t it been a while since you’ve hung out like that?”

“Knowing them it will be a party instead,” Kakuchō replies with a short sigh. He has never been too fond of crowds and strangers. You wonder why he is so insistent on you joining, however you don’t ask. You tell him you are sure and want to stay home, before shoo-ing him out the door.

And despite your warnings [nagging, as Kakuchō likes to call it], when you go to see him the next day, you’re met with a hungover Kakuchō and two boys knocked out on his old, leather couch. One of them is barely hanging on, half of his body is dangling off, and you aren’t sure how he didn’t wake up from being uncomfortable. And the other, you are quick to recognise as Haitani Ran.

Kakuchō was indeed right. It’s always a party with the Haitani brothers, you’ve heard this from others before, too. You take a second glance at Kakuchō. Poor, poor, poor Kakuchō, who can barely open his eyes and stumbles his way towards you, more so to what you have in your hand, that glutton, you almost burst into giggles.

You greet him, asking him simple questions like: did you have fun last night? Too much fun, you guess. Are you hungry? And he’s replying to each one with nods and grunts and incoherent strings of ‘yeah’, ‘uh-huh’, and the most annoying one of all, ‘what’. Maybe, you both were too loud because the sound of shuffling behind catches yours and Kakuchō's attention. Both boys are awake — stuck in a similar state as Kakuchō — sets of tired purple eyes peering around the room as if they didn’t even realise they crashed at their younger friend’s place.

After a few seconds, Ran speaks up. “Oh. Good morning.” He doesn’t look too surprised seeing you. His hand ruffles through his wavy hair, smoothing out his bed head as he flashes you a grin. Ran has a pretty smile. He’s pretty first thing when he wakes up, and that alone makes you envious. It’s unfair.

“Hi, good morning,” your voice comes out a little quieter than you wish it had.

Ran is still smiling, as he repeats, “Good morning.” A slight pause as you smile, too. He cocks his head to the side, introducing the boy beside him. “My baby brother, Rinrin,” he lazily introduces.

“Don’t call me that,” the boy [Rinrin] grumbles as he turns to you and gives a slight nod, “Rindō.” Rindō, not Rinrin, bends down to sweep up a shirt from the floor, slipping it back on, covering his tattoo, long black ink that paints half his chest. Your eyes linger for a moment too long, before moving onto Ran, whom for some strange reason, you know to have the other half of that tattoo on his body. They look so different yet alike.

Ran raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging on his corner of his lip once he catches your lingering gaze. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He mouths, ‘What?’, you turn your head away, feeling embarrassed. Your body heat rises to your neck, cheeks, and ears.

You can feel another set of eyes on you, not belonging to Ran, however you don’t look back up. You place the homemade bento on the counter, Kakuchō lets out a sigh, “Finally.” You roll your eyes at the boy.

“Sorry, I didn’t know Kakuchō would be having guests, so I only made enough for one person. . .”

You aren’t actually sorry. It’s just a little awkward. Kakuchō could’ve given you a heads up. It feels rude only bringing a meal enough for one when there’s a party of four (though, you didn’t plan on staying over after dropping off his food).

“Nah, it’s cool. We can share,” Ran says.

“No. Let’s order something else, too. I’m starving.” Rindō brings up. You all collectively agree with him because there’s no way the food you had brought is enough for the four of you.

Ran orders yakisoba and soda for all of you. Kakuchō loudly complains when he notices the two of them picking at the food you made for him, even with the yakisoba right there.

—

“So,” Ran begins.

You look up at him. “So?”

“Can I call you later?”

“For what?”

“To see you again,” he replies, “I have a feeling we’re going to keep running into each other.”

“That may be so.”

—

Haitani Ran was right. You do meet again and again and again. Sometimes he will get a call, lips pressing into a thin line, threatening to fall into a frown as he slips into another room for a few minutes before coming out to tell you that he has to go. He doesn’t say what, you don’t ask, but you know. It’s the same thing that has Kakuchō leaving his apartment in the middle of the night, too. You try not to think about it – acknowledge it – it has nothing to do with you.

He stops by from time to time, dropping by whenever he is in the neighbourhood, much like today. You’re no longer surprised when you open the door to be met with that charming smile of his, rather once you hear the familiar sound of knocking or ringing of the doorbell, you sort of expect it to be Ran.

“You play the guitar?” His line of gaze falls onto the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner of the living room.

“Hm? Oh no, that belongs to Izana.” Used to. A pause, before you add, “There was a time when I used to beg him to teach me and he gave up after an hour.”

Ran snorts as his lips curl up. “That’s a good job for you then. He would’ve given up on the guys in less than five minutes so you probably did okay, right?”

You laugh at his words. It’s the truth, because Izana has always been an impatient (impulsive) guy. “Maybe. Kakuchō was able to learn how to play it, and I remember being a little jealous of him because Izana seemed happy to have someone to talk about music with.”

You were jealous, upset, embarrassed at your lack of ability — you thought, maybe you just aren’t talented? You eventually came to terms with it. But there were moments when you would watch Izana and Kakuchō play their guitars (—Izana set money aside and bought a used guitar just for Kakuchō, you assume Kakuchō leaves it hidden away, far away from everyone and everything), the room fills with music and you would be sitting on the couch listening, listening, and listening until you’re slowly drifting asleep to their melodies.

You take a hollow breath.

“Those two have known each other since they were kids. . . Ah, you, as well, right?” he asks and you nod your head in confirmation.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Ran lifts his eyes to meet yours. Ever so purple, beautifully vibrant, like a gem, you’re afraid it could shatter. He smiles, softer, sadder. “I see. The three of you have a special bond then. Something others cannot replicate.”

Your heart races, then pangs at his words. Something special.

Yeah, it is special, you could never forget it. Even if you wanted to.

“Just like you and your brother. The charismatic brothers of Roppongi: the Haitani brothers,” you say, voice light with a small smirk on your lips. “I have heard some stories about you two.”

“Mhm, I bet you have. All good things, I assume?”

You tease, “Maybe, maybe not.”

He chuckles to himself. “So, good rumours,” he concludes with a satisfied look, “I am Haitani Ran, after all.” Definitely nothing good, you both know, or so, you assume Ran knows.

You agree, “That’s right, Mr. Haitani.”

He smirks at the name.

Ran doesn’t ask if it’s okay to touch the guitar, he just takes it, yet you can’t find yourself getting upset or complaining about it. You watch as he plops down onto the couch, patting the spot next to him, indicating you to come over, in which you do. “Ran, do you know how to play?”

He looks over at you and winks, “Oh, honey, that’s what you are about to find out. Keep your eyes on me.”

You roll your eyes.

It’s not even two minutes later, when you do find out, just like Ran had said. You learn he doesn’t know how to play at all. Ran plays the same tune over and over again, or he attempts to, it sounds nothing like the pretty way Izana plays. It’s clunky, off-tune, yet something about it feels tender. So, so gentle; your heart trembles along with the tune. Ran doesn’t seem to care about his lack of skills; lavender eyes softly gazed on the way his slender fingers move against the strings — a faint smile to his lips, rosy and glossy from your cherry lip balm you saw him put on earlier, as he plays Izana’s beloved acoustic guitar.

You remember Izana at this moment. The way he played all his favourite songs — how Bohemian Rhapsody and Under Pressure was played on repeat in his little apartment. How, on this very couch that you and Ran are sitting on, he used to get frustrated at how you couldn’t memorise or understand what he was teaching you (and in your defense, he sucks at teaching, definitely one of the only things he has ever sucked at), and you would cry at his frustration. Izana eventually gave up and instead learned to play your favourite song for you.

You wanted to learn it yourself, but you were so happy at the same time. It felt special. You felt special.

You remember, you remember, you close your eyes, and you remember it all. It dances to the memories every day, a little record stuck on repeat. It’s all you have left of him. What if one day your heart suddenly doesn’t remember?

“Falling asleep to my playing?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

Opening your eyes, all you see is Ran in front of you.

You shake your head and smile at the sight, Ran catches it and flashes a pretty smile back, laughing beneath his breath as he attempts to show off by playing a series of random chords quickly. Giggling at his antics, you attempt to sing along; humming a random tune as the two of you try to match each other, clearly missing the beat. Soft laughter, light teasing, Ran playing the guitar and you singing along fills the room in your apartment. Your hearts dance along, ever so intimately. You feel light, so light, and you haven’t felt this way in a long time.

Maybe you could get used to this (perhaps, you already are).

“I don’t know anything about guitars or any instrument,” he admits, “maybe besides the recorder.” He looks disheartened at the fact as he stops playing and his fingernail taps against the wood, it echoes back.

“It’s okay, I am no good at it either. I also only know how to play the recorder,” only because it is mandatory to learn in primary school. “I am probably better than you at it, though.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge, young miss?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” he says. “Someday, of course.”

You nod. “Someday.”

—

Ran sleeps with you for the first time tonight. After dinner, he was too lazy, and your couch was too comfortable, so he didn’t want to leave, and you didn’t really seem to think of anything when you offered for him to stay the night. He didn’t think much of it when he agreed. It’s so innocent, yet more intimate than everything he has ever known. He feels. . . strange.

Your mattress is quite small, however Ran prefers it this way for obvious reasons. The dip in the mattress that allows you to get closer, he can feel your body heat so vividly, if he closed his eyes he could probably imagine it, except he doesn’t. He just stares at your bare face, who stares back at him.

“Your hair looks so pretty like this, Ran. I like it.” Your compliment makes him smile, it’s not often when someone witnesses his hair down, wavy and what he considers to be a mess. Your finger runs over the loose waves, twirling the end with your fingertip. He thinks you look pretty, too, in your pajamas, and bare faced.

You ask, “Can I braid your hair when we wake up tomorrow?”

“I like my hair a certain way.” He replied without much thought. He almost doesn’t notice that he didn’t necessarily reject the request.

You pout your lips, and give Ran your best puppy eyes — little gems are shooting out of your eyes towards him, but he is not one to fall for that. Do you think he’d be the type to fall for a cheap trick? If he were, he would’ve been screwed ages ago. You picked the wrong person for that. “Is that a no?”

He softly hums, debating to himself. “I am just—” he tries to think of the right word. He just hates when others touch his hair, his clothes, his jewelry, he spends so much time perfecting his appearance — he hates when others ruin it. “I rarely let Rindō touch my hair.” He decides to say this, because it’s something people can come to understand.

“I learn quickly. . .”

He sighs. Not one out of annoyance, more so at how he is so quick to give into your wishes. “Alright, fine. I will teach you how I like it done tomorrow.” You’re lucky that you’re cute, he almost adds.

He bites his tongue.

But he doesn’t know why. He says those types of things all the time. It’s a strange night. He’s been doing things he doesn’t do or say.

You lift your hand to his face, your pinky sticks out, “Promise?”

A pinky promise. Ran almost snorts — he would’ve if he weren’t so tired, if you didn’t look so cute and serious, and he would have laughed if it were someone else. Ran hasn’t pinky promised since he was a kid, barely eleven, promising something mundane to Rindō (the world, Roppongi, a new house, a new life, he remembers, he always will).

He softly sighs, sending you a sleepy smile as he locks your pinky with his. His thumb presses against yours, sealing the promise with a kiss. His eyes flicker down to your soft lips, you are grinning so happily over a mere pinky promise, what a simple thing bringing you happiness. “I promise.”

For a moment, he thinks he could give you something worth more than this little promise — pretty, shiny things that could make you smile even more. But he knows you aren’t someone like that. And that’s fine to him.

If braiding his hair makes you happy, for some weird reason, then he’s okay with it, too.

—

Ran awakens in the middle of the night, the room is coated in darkness, the moonlight shines through the crack of the curtain and that is how he knows it is still night time. He is not used to not sleeping in his own bed, he immediately notices your lack of presence, fingers tracing the empty surface, the side you had slept on is barely warm; you were still here not too long ago.

He slowly gets up, quietly walking down the hall to find you sitting curled up on the couch, on the side that is closest to the wall where Izana’s guitar rests. Unaware of him, his presence, and everything else in the world.

He lingers everywhere in your apartment, your home, your mind. It leaves Ran questioning: when you make a person your home, where do you go when they’re gone? Where do you go? Tell him.

He leans against the wall, asking, “You can’t sleep?”

Your body jolts. Your head snaps up, as you glance in his direction, and you shake your head, beginning to relax. “Oh, Ran. . . No, I was just getting some water.”

He hums, going along with your poorly webbed lie, your heart is exposed bare on your sleeve, so cold, lonely, he glances from the empty coffee table to the acoustic guitar to your unshed tears. You are seriously a terrible liar. That’s a good thing for him. “Do you mind the company?” He doesn’t want to intrude somewhere he doesn’t belong.

You shake your head once again, “No. Not at all.” You pat the spot next to you, and Ran moves from the wall to the spot next to you. You’re watching him silently, sinking back into the cushions.

“Are you thinking about him?”

You tilt your head towards him, sending a weak smile, unable to find the words for an answer that the both of you already knew.

“It’s okay. Sometimes, I still think about him, too.” He assures.

You ask, “You do?” You sound rather surprised, and he is also surprised by his own honesty.

“Yeah. He was. . .” Words die easily on his tongue as he struggles to find the right words to say. There’s not much he can say, despite all of the memories and feelings he once had. What can he even say about Izana? He can’t think of anything nice or normal that one would say about an acquaintance (friend, comrade, boss). “He was an interesting guy. I kinda admired him.”

He was an interesting guy, Ran had thought so their first meeting, years ago back in juvie. He was the only person that left a deep impression on him. Izana was many things. Anything, but a good man. He used to be a good boy (probably), once so long ago. Ran really did admire him, he wouldn’t have followed just anyone. He admired him to the point where he spent his entire youth following the boy.

“I did, too.” Barely heard even in this room containing only the two of you, it sounds a little bitter. Just a tad.

“Yeah, I’m sure he knows,” he says, leaning his head down to rest on top of yours. You breathe quietly next to him, all of the little noises can be heard in this silence. Your legs stretch out, dangling beside his.

It’s a long time before either of you speak. And then, you look up at him. There’s something glimmering in your eyes.

You tell him a story and then two more of your childhood. You laugh and tear up through them. He laughs, stays silent, and smiles as he tentatively listens to your every word. It’s his turn, you don’t ask him, but it’s only fair if he shares something personal with you; something he and only Rindō know. He wants you to know. He wants to tell you sides of him that he’s outgrown and sides that nobody knows. He tells you about the dog Rindō wants to adopt one day, you say you want to see it, but Ran tells you about how he doesn’t really want to have pets in his apartment (though, it’s sometimes hard to say no to Rindō). You tell him about the stray cat you used to feed a few months ago, and how you haven’t seen her in a few weeks. She’s probably fine, Ran tries to assure you, there’s a chance somebody had picked her up and adopted her. You hope so.

The two of you fall asleep on your couch, one far too small for him, curled up, and entangled together. He sleeps so soundly, the cotton of his shirt soaking up your silent tears.

[Ran believes — no, he knows that he visited you in a dream last night. He must’ve. You look so at peace.

The sun hits, orange light shining through the gaps of the curtains, and you look so at peace as you sleep, leg wrapped around his waist as you lay against his chest. His fingers run through your hair, carefully, not wanting to wake you. His index finger ghosts over your cheek and Ran freezes when you shift in your sleep, smiling when he realises you aren’t going to wake.

You must be a heavy sleeper. Or maybe, you’re having a sweet dream and aren’t ready to wake yet.

He admires you for minutes that seem to last forever. He comes to terms with the fact that he’s doomed, and decides he doesn’t want to think about it or you anymore, before drifting back to sleep.]

—

When morning hits (or rather afternoon), Ran stops to look at you before leaving. His hand lingers on the doorknob. “You’ll be okay?”

You nod. “. . . Should be,” you reply, smiling. “See you later, Ran, and thank you.”

His eyes are gazing down at you, his expression seemingly confused — conflicted, before his eyes soften, turning back into pretty little gems. His smile is so pretty. “I’ll call you,” he says.

It’s a promise.

—

It’s Wednesday, your afternoon lecture was cancelled due to the professor’s sudden family emergency, so you invited Kakuchō to hang out around Shibuya. Luckily, he didn’t have any of those meetings to attend. “Are you dating Haitani Ran?”

Your heart almost stops at hearing this.

“What—no, of course, not,” you reply — one far too quick, your voice raises and you hear Kakuchō scoff under his breath. You almost stop your tracks, instead you turn your head in his direction, narrowing your eyes, clearing your throat before asking, “Why are you asking me that?”

He shrugs, opting on not replying to your question, and you frown, pressing your lips into a thin line. When you lightly hit his shoulder, he sighs, giving into you. “You always hang out these days.”

What a ridiculous reason. “Is that so weird? You and I see each other almost daily,” you reason.

Another scoff escapes his lips as if you had just said the most insane thing in the world. He tells you, “I’ve seen him leave your apartment in the morning. More than once.”

“We didn’t sleep together,” you defensively reply. A growing sense of irritation quickly builds inside of you. “It’s nothing like that. I swear.”

“So, it’s nothing.”

“Well, you know. . .” You trail off, looking at the people fleeing in and out of the cafés and clothing shops. You don’t deny it. You don’t know if you should, yet it’s not really anything, maybe something. He’s your friend. Just like Kakuchō. Just like Izana.

He sighs before saying, “You look at him like how you did with Izana.”

You freeze.

Kakuchō steps stop the moment yours do.

You look at him like how you did with Izana. You grow cold from those words alone, your heart tightens by an old memory of Izana flashing by. Those words play on repeat with the memories.

Just like Izana.

You feel faint.

There’s a tap on your shoulder, you notice the guilt on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you upset. I won’t ask, you don’t gotta say anything. I get it.”

“No, don’t be sorry, I am not upset.” You aren’t upset, but you don’t know how you are feeling. You know you aren’t upset by his words, but your heart stings. You want to cry, but you don’t understand why. [You do, and this makes you feel like sobbing.]

“Okay, well, can I ask why Ran? Rindō is the cooler brother,” he says.

Why Ran. You don’t know this yourself. You just know you like being with Ran. His presence is comforting, he makes you feel less alone in moments you feel alone. You just like being with Ran. You just want to be around that person. It’s as simple as that.

You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger into his forearm, lightly pressing your nail into his muscle. “You only say that because he works out with you.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. That’s the manliest thing someone can do. And he drinks more than any guy I know, it’s kind of insane, and he will still show up to the meeting the next day.”

You grimace. You could never pull yourself out of bed if you were that hungover — and, well, you’re sure that Rindō is dragged and forced to go to these ‘meetings’. Probably. There’s no way it is solely dedication.

“Right. Don’t be drinking with him, got it?” You don’t need Kakuchō developing even more bad habits. Sometimes you can’t help, but nag, even if it doesn't really reach him (if you were Izana, it’d be a whole different case), always going in and out the other ear. “Kaku, are you doing okay these days?”

“I’m fine, but also, a little hungry.”

“Kakuchō.” You lower your voice in an attempt to sound more serious — threatening, maybe. Obviously, it doesn’t work because Kakuchō doesn’t reply or react in any way. “Come on now. Talk to me, I know it’s something.”

He sighs, his eyes don’t meet any part of you. He turns away, the long, faded scar running across his face becomes hidden. “It’s always like this. In the end, I am always the only one who ends up surviving.” You’d prefer bitterness, anger, or sadness – anything – over the empty feeling in his words. Your heart aches, you don’t want Kakuchō to leave you, too.

You don’t even want to imagine such a thing.

You want to hold him.

Your hand reaches out to grab him, so firm and all of his little scars and calluses are felt and seen. Kakuchō looks down at you the moment you touch him. He doesn’t pull away. “I am sorry to say this, I know you won’t want to hear it now, but I am grateful for that. I’d be sad if you weren’t here with me. You are my family, Kaku. Don’t forget that. So, please don’t say something so sad.”

And he’s quick to look away again, too.

He says, “. . . I’d be lonely without you, too.”

Your hand tightens around his. His hand is warm, like it always is, his body always runs hot, too hot, but he is still alive. You’re alive. “You could at least look at me when you say that.”

He grumbles something incomprehensible, you tilt in your head in confusion, “Hm? What was that?”

“I said, ‘what do you want to eat?’”

“Aren’t you being too shy? I guess you’re at that age now,” you continue to tease him, watching as the tip of his ears turn red. Kakuchō has never been good at voicing his own feelings, he speaks through his actions alone — through iron fists and undying loyalty — just like most of the men you have ever known. You grin at the reaction. “Hmm, well, how about we have okonomiyaki tonight? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The three of you used to eat that quite often back then, Kakuchō would be the one who would always make it for you and Izana. You haven’t had it since then. You’re craving it like crazy now.

“Yeah, sounds good. Let’s find a place less crowded, though.”

He really is still the same. Just older now, maybe maturing and experiencing life in all the wrong ways. But he is still your Kakuchō.

You wonder if he thinks the same of you.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

And similar to Kakuchō, you’ve never been so fond of crowds, either. Arms linked, you walk to an old restaurant owned by a cute elderly couple. You tell him you love him (because you do, since back then and now and in the future), he almost pushes you away right then and there, you burst out in laughter.

Kakuchō sits in front of you, in the past he used to sit beside you, you assume maybe it’s because it’s easier to talk this way. A guess because you aren’t so sure. He accidentally makes an extra okonomiyaki the first round, a habit he cannot erase, you both know why, you don’t say anything. You take the extra okonomiyaki and eat it for him.

—

Ran believes that some things are meant to happen for a reason.

You and him.

Him and you.

He throws a party for his brother’s birthday as he does every single year. He only invites their friends who immediately invite other people they know as it always goes and the apartment is filled to a brim. Just like every year.

You arrive a little later than most people, due to work and having to get ready, and Ran immediately removes himself from a group of people surrounding him (a chorus of boo’s are thrown at him), and rushes over to you.

“Hey. You took a while.”

You’re all smiles around him already. “I had to shower and get ready first.”

“You still look pretty in your work uniform.”

You look up at him, pointedly. “And smell like alcohol and chicken and fish?”

Ran grins, “Not much different from here, yeah? I love eating chicken.”

You playfully shove him and his grin widens as he pulls you into the drunk dancing crowd.

When he makes eye contact with Rindō, who is DJing (like always), his brother is clever enough to change the music to keep the two of you close. Bodies are bumping into him and you, you’re really close and your hands are in the air, in your hair, and on him. People are too close, too loud, too intoxicating. He has to lean down every time you attempt to say something to him — a lot of it is just you singing — and your lips brush against the shell of his ear every time.

Every. Single. Time. Electricity jolts through him.

Hair is sticking to your forehead, face red and glowing from dancing, sweat, and the mixture of body heat; you’re stunning and all Ran can think of is how badly he wants to kiss you when you bite your lower lip when you meet his gaze once again.

He pulls you closer, and it happens within a second. You kiss him first. Lips briefly pressing against his, you’re quick to pull back before he can reciprocate, and you flash him a smile more blinding than these flickering neon lights. He pulls you back in for a proper kiss this time.

Admittedly, this is not your first kiss together. He had kissed you once before – barely a peck – one night when he had picked you up from work and drove you home. It can barely be called a kiss, but Ran would be lying if he said it didn’t cause a shock that ran through his entire body. Later that night, alone in his room, his thumb brushed over his lips and they still tingled with the feeling of you.

This kiss, unlike the previous brief and fleeting exchange, he can taste all of you. Openmouthed, desperate, and a little shameless, too (but he doubts anyone is actually paying attention). Your hands find their way to his hair — much like they always seem to do — and Ran sighs when your fingers run through, gently scratching the nape of his neck. You look up at him with a gleam in your eyes, and he swears he wants to undress you right then and there.

Except, he wouldn’t do that. Plus, a loud whistle and a familiar voice jerks him back to the present (reality). It takes so much in him to hold himself back, he has to physically pull himself away from you for a second. He turns and glares at the interruption — Shion. Obviously. That fucker.

“What?” he asks, slightly annoyed and amused at the boy’s fucked appearance.

Shion grin widens, face glowing with sweat, red eyes, high and drunk on whatever someone had snuck in. Someone sure is having a good time. “Just—‘m just enjoying the show,” he slurs as his eyes make their way behind him, to you.

Ran steps forward and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Shion wobbles with a faint touch. “Go sit down, Madarame. You’re gonna fall over.”

Shion ignores him, brushes past him, and asks you to dance. Ran groans, calling out his name, but Shion blocks out his voice and smiles at you.

So, sure, he and the boys have this thing of cockblocking each other for shits and giggles, but now was definitely not the time for that. He needs to learn how to read the room. Damn idiot. (This is probably Shion’s payback from the last party, and all the times before that, but Ran swears it’s funny when he does it.)

You look from Shion to him and Ran shrugs, as if a shrug is enough to let you know that it’s just Shion, so it’s fine if you wanna dance with him, or not. After a second, you accept his dance with a curt, “Sure.” And Shion smiles, wide with all teeth.

“Behave yourself,” he warns Shion before turning to you. “I am gonna get some water. I’ll leave you to it for a bit.”

Ran walks over to join Rindō at his DJ booth.

Rindō looks at him with a raised brow as he makes his way behind the booth. “You lost your girl to Shion,” Rindō loudly snorts.

“Just letting him be around a girl out of his league for once,” Ran jokingly replies, and they both laugh. “Change the song for me.”

The song switches to something more upbeat; everyone is spinning and jumping, you and Shion, too. He can barely hear his own thoughts through the loud vibrations of the bass. He and Rindō talk about nothing, and Ran lets Shion dance with you for two whole songs. Shion is an idiotic lunatic, especially when he’s drunk, but he’s not stupid enough to do something he knows he shouldn’t. His hands don’t leave your hands, rather, Ran thinks you’re making sure Shion doesn’t let go of your hands, so he doesn’t fall over. Ran thinks you might be too nice. He’s having a good time and so are you, so that’s all that matters. He likes watching you dance, even if it’s not with him.

At some point, he runs to the kitchen to get a cup of water, and when he returns to you, Shion is nowhere in sight. That boy never stays in one place for long.

“Sorry, Shion is an idiot,” he tells you as he offers you the cup in his hand, basically forcing it into your hand to drink.

You chug back the water, no doubt exhausted and dehydrated from all the dancing and sweaty bodies around you. “He’s a funny guy. I had fun.”

Ran gives you a skeptical look. “Guess so, but feel free to ignore him next time.”

You grin, “Really, Ran, he was nice!”

“I sure hope so.” He leans down as whispers against your ear, “My room?”

You nod.

And finally, you’re on top of him. Ran is laying on his back, propped up by his elbows as he watches you take off your top, far too slowly, because you like to tease, and Ran is an impatient man deep down. But in this moment, he lets you do your own thing, and watches, watches, admires your every subtle movement. The real thing is much better than his daydreams. Yes, in the moment, he almost thanked Buddha.

You lean down to kiss him. Rather soft and innocent compared to the way you shift on top of him, and the way your hand runs down between the two of you. He’s rather shameless, and doesn’t bother hiding the way you make him feel. There’s nothing greater than pleasure.

Your movements come to an abrupt stop, and Ran suddenly becomes more aware. For a moment, he thinks you must be teasing him once more — Ran doesn’t beg.

He asks, “You okay?”

You stay quiet, he can’t see your eyes, something is wrong.

“Hey, is there something wrong?” His hand is immediately searching for yours, unknowingly. You pull your hand away before he can reach it. You pull your hands together.

Your voice comes out too quiet. It shakes at the end.

“. . . I’m scared,” you admit.

Ran pauses, his expression drops and he’s quick to sit straight up, reaching over to grab your hand, pulling it into his. His thumb brushes against the back.

He pulls you in his arms, your head lays against his chest as he whispers, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.” He doesn’t need this. “It’s alright, don’t force yourself.”

“No, that’s not what I—” you’re cut off by a whine; your own cry.

He’s scared to death the moment you begin to sob. Full on sobbing, you’re choking, and he can’t calm you down. He’s frantically trying to speak to you, but his words are not reaching you.

He wants to know what’s wrong. He needs to know what he can do to help you. There’s nothing he can do, except hold you.

“I, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He frowns. Wrong. Your words alarm him. “There’s nothing wrong. It’s not wrong. Trust me.” He tells you, more firm than his usual tone with you. “You’re okay, baby.”

You shake your head. “It’s not.”

“It is.” He grabs the blanket beneath the two of you and wraps it around your naked figure.

You try to say you’re sorry — words don’t come out, but Ran knows you’re trying to apologise for something that only exists in your mind. There’s nothing wrong at all and he needs you to understand this.

“We’re okay, trust me. We’re more than okay.” He reassures as he holds you a little tighter when he feels your shaky form against him. “Don’t force yourself to do anything, yeah?” His voice drops to a comforting whisper, “Just breathe for me. You can do that.”

You cry into his chest for an hour. He says nothing, but strokes your hair and quietly calls your name from time to time.

After a long time, when your sniffles begin to slow and the party outside the door begins to die down, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say, and leave it at that.

(You think Ran doesn’t understand, and you feel bad because you don’t know how to tell him how his sweetness and understanding and patience with you causes you to cry even more. He’s so sweet, it aches, and aches, and aches, but his arms around you bring comfort and security, and then, so do his lips.)

—

Leaves decay, autumn passes, and it’s almost Christmas. Snow fell greatly last night, piles and piles of snow pack up, and Rindō is dragged outside to play. Play as if he is some seven-year-old kid once again.

The three of you are outside their apartment complex, you’re rolling snow to make a snowman next to one that has already been made — probably by the family that lives on the first floor. They have two little kids — one boy and one girl. Rindō remembers bumping into them in a drunken state, and the mother looked at him in disappointment and disgust as she blocked him from her children (obviously, he wasn’t going to do anything, but he can’t exactly blame the woman, either), Rindō scoffed at her and stumbled his way upstairs.

He and Ran aren’t doing anything, just standing on the sidelines, lighting a cigarette, and watching you. When Ran passes him the cigarette, Rindō is quick to take notice of the difference in smell and taste. Since when did he start smoking another brand? Especially something like this. Still, he smokes it with him without complaint.

“So,” Rindō starts off, gaining his brother’s attention. “How are you?”

Ran’s face twists, he stares at his little brother strangely, as if he had grown another head. “Huh?”

Sure, it is a weird question, because no matter how close they seem (are), they don’t talk about feelings or anything like that, even if they are together almost 24/7. But Rindō just wants to know this time, he’s so curious, because something has changed about his brother. It’s noticeable in everything he does.

His eyes flicker from him to you. “You and her. The two of you are together now, or what’s going on?” Rindō is curious. He knows there’s something more going on, he’s no fool, and the way your eyes always seem to find each other basically screams it to his face. “Hasn’t it been a while?”

Ran shrugs, poker face, as always.

Rindō just lets out an ‘Ah’, and that’s that. There’s never much to say between them because they’ll just accept anything about each other without an explanation.

However, Ran continues speaking about it, much to his surprise. “I am actually fine with it, y’know.”

“Fine with what?” he asks.

“How there will always be a little part of her who loves Izana.” Ran says this so casually, Rindō’s mouth opens slightly, yet there’s nothing he can think to say so he shuts it and stares on ahead. “Even if he were still here. . . yeah, I’d be okay with it, too.”

Ran has always been complex in ways that nobody can understand, and when they finally think they do, he shows them that they never knew him at all. When he wants something, he’s quick to dive in and take it. He takes, takes, and takes. He’s quite cruel at times, it’s how he learned to survive.

(And Rindō learned that from him, too.)

If Izana were here, somewhere in another life, he knows you would still choose Ran — that’s probably what his brother is thinking. That cocky, confident smile tells all. And Ran is probably right about it, he always is, and he’s annoying about that fact, too.

Ran’s eyes have always been a shade darker than his. Yet, in this light, they seem to shine brighter than his.

“Ran!”

The both of them look up. You’re running over, there’s snow in your hair, frosting over. Your smile is bright, teeth showing, the snow around is sparkling. Ran’s smile is suddenly all soft.

“What?” Even his voice is all smiles, and internally, Rindō gags.

“Come here,” your hand pulls him along. Ran follows you like a dog.

And suddenly, it’s only the two of you in the world; moving slowly, kicking snow onto each other, pushing, running, hands never letting go. It’s pure, gentle, something so rare and hard to find, Rindō's heart shakes at the sight of Ran and you.

The idea of Ran and you.

He’s a little jealous, but he will never admit to something like that.

He thinks about taking a picture of Ran to show him how idiotic he looks, but in the end, he decides not to. Ran won’t see what he looks like in this light, unless, as cheesy as it sounds, through the reflection of your eyes.

—

January rolls around, the very first day of the year, and Yokohama’s seaside never seems to change. Dawn is blue, forever blue, you feel as if your soul is about to cry.

Ran had shown up at your apartment right before the hand of the clock struck midnight to no one’s surprise. Well, maybe, you were a little surprised. His brother was throwing a New Year’s party (one you had declined the invitation to), yet here Ran is with you. You ask why, to which he replies with, “I just wanted to see you.” And that is enough for you to let him inside.

The two of you attempt to stay up all night — that attempt is quick to fail, because you both become entangled in your bed, falling into slumber. And once your alarm sets off at five in the morning, you’re dragging Ran out of your bed, pulling his clothes off from your bedroom floor, and pushing him out the door. His hand in yours. You take him to your spot by the pier, almost jogging. It’s nearly six.

“Sleepyhead,” you eventually call out, glancing at the sleepy boy beside you. He could sleep anywhere, you think. It’s a fact known to everyone around him. “You are dozing off. You’ll miss the sunrise.”

After a few beats, your words register through his head. He lazily nods, almost as if he’s nodding off again. “If you don’t say anything, I think I really will pass out,” he mumbles back, voice groggy and deeper than usual from his sleepiness.

You ask, “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Mhm. . .”

You ponder for a moment, before asking, “Do you think people ever truly move on from their first love?”

This is enough to wake Ran up. The weight on your head is lifted, he shifts. “That’s heavy,” he breathes out.

“You said anything.”

It’s quiet for a moment before he gives you an answer.

“It depends on the person.” He turns his body to turn and look at you. “Why do you ask? Scared to move on or do you think you’ll never be able to?”

You don’t lift your gaze, settling on the waves below. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You can feel his eyes on you and the smirk that is tugging on his lips, even though you know he is being serious with you. He wants to know. He needs to hear your answer. “I don’t know. . . Do you ever think about your first love?”

“Nah, I don’t think about things like that, sweetheart.”

“Liar. You could at least pretend and go along with me.” He smiles when you say this. You softly sigh, going along with his silence. “But fine. If you did think about those things, do you think you would eventually forget about them?”

Ran’s eyes flicker, violet hues staring deep into you, as he huffs a silent laugh — one that feels a little sad compared to his usual ones. “I think I would carry a part of them with me no matter how much time has passed.”

His words make you softly smile. And they feel a little sad, too. “I see. . . You are quite the romanticist,” you tease.

For some reason, you feel as if your teasing never seems to work against him, he remains as composed as he always is. He whispers, “Aren’t we all?”

It’s strange how easily Ran’s words bring comfort to you. In ways where you feel heard and seen even in darkness. Ran is always like that. There’s a part of you that will never forget Izana, not now or in another life. He will always be someone you love and cherish. Ran understands this — he understands you, never judging. You understand him, too, and that’s all that matters.

“Hey, Ran, can I ask you something?”

“You sure have a lot of questions today,” he says with both amusement and curiosity swimming in his tone. “Shoot. What else is running through that mind of yours?”

You open your mouth, then pause.

“Hm? What’s with the sudden hesitation? Is it something embarrassing?” he teasingly asks, nudging his shoulder against yours, prompting you to speak your mind. “You can tell me. Promise, I won’t laugh.”

You know he wouldn’t laugh at you — always with you. Never at you. You just can’t find the right words to say to him. [Or maybe the courage.]

“You know I don’t judge you.”

“You judge everyone, Ran.”

His smile drops, and his expression turns more serious than you would like. “Surely you know that you’re not everyone.” He asks, “You understand, don’t you?”

You quietly reply, “I know.”

“Then is it something bad?” His voice goes quiet, too.

“No, it’s just,” you deeply inhale, turning your head back to the sea, averting your gaze from those eyes that look at you so softly [tenderly, with his full adoration], it causes your heart to tighten every time. You fidget with the ends of your hair, exposing your nerves. Another short pause and then you breathe. “I think. . . I think I like you, Ran. Like, a lot, and it terrifies me. Maybe you don’t believe me—I would find it hard to believe, too, because of—”

“I believe you,” his reply comes immediately. Voice so clear among the waves and seagulls calling above. “I can tell. You make it quite obvious sometimes, it’s hard for me to ignore, y’know?”

You blink. “Oh. Um, is it really?” you meekly reply.

Ran hums and heat rises up to your ears in embarrassment. You don’t think you’re somebody who is that obvious. Your face no longer feels the coldness of winter brushing by, internally groaning. You guess it was obvious. The two of you kiss a lot, you’ve gone further than that on a few occasions, and he stays over at your apartment more often than not. It is obvious. But liking and loving someone are two completely different things. (Love. . .)

“I feel the same. But how I feel . . . it is probably too soon to say how I feel for you, so I will wait until you are sure you want this.” His hand brushes against yours — cold from the cement and winter air, pinky dragging across the back of your hand. “Not too long, though. My patience isn’t so gentlemanly.”

Your heart flutters, embarrassment shifting to shyness. I feel the same for you, too. You try to not burst out smiling, lightly biting down onto your lip. Your cheeks betray you. You can feel the heat rising against the wind.

“Oh? Is that what people call you now? I don’t recall you being that much of a gentleman.”

Ran scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really now?” Beginning to mutter to himself about how he treats you so well, that he’s been born a gentleman — it’s engraved into the very depths of his soul. And to some degree, those words are true. Ran has been nothing but patient with you. Someone who is always there when you need it.

I will wait until you are sure you want this. You do want this, you want to be with him — with the person beside you now. You want us. “Me too,” you say as you gather more courage, leaning towards him a little, your hand rests on his shoulder as you stare straight into those pretty lavender eyes. “I am falling in love with you,” you say to him, more sure than before.

You don’t waver.

A second passes, a wave crashes.

“Mm, I missed what you said. Say it again for me, sweetheart,” he says with that signature smile to his soft, pink lips, “for me, please?”

His plea makes you roll your eyes. Ran loves attention — both good and bad. He loves pretty things and pretty words, even more when they hold something so precious and meaningful in them. I love you. I love you. I love you. I like you so, so much. I want to be with you, Ran. Ran, Ran, Ran — sweet words that have been whispered to him many times before in the past (and many more times in the future, including now).

You lean over, cherry lips brushing against his ear, as light as a feather. You whisper a confession. A heartfelt confession. The wind rushes by, his hair tickles your flushed cheek, and a sweet confession only for the two of you to know, drowned out by everything else in the world.

It’s just you and Ran.

Snow gently falls, your hand found itself in Ran’s, his fingers intertwined between yours. He doesn’t let go. You don’t let go. Even when the sun begins to rise over the blue horizon, not when you’re walking back to your apartment, not when Kakuchō and Rindō stop by later for dinner and Ran is doing nothing, but admiring you as you cook. Neither of you let go for a long, long time.

It’s just Ran and you.

#tokyo revengers #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #haitani brothers

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therhythmafterthesummer · 2 years ago

Note

Imagine Ji teaching kitten how to make a proper nest

this has been sitting in my ask box for a while.... and i'm glad i held onto it because..... me??? writing for a pair that isn't chris x his girl???? unheard of. but not impossible.

Pairing: Werewolf!Minho x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you probably don’t really need to read any other instalments to understand/enjoy this one). | Word Count: ~2k | Themes & Warnings: Supernatural/Fantasy AU · Smut · Fluff · Established Relationship · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method, but reader is presumed to be on birth control] · breeding kink · creampie

minors do not interact.

For someone with a condition like his, Minho was a very logical man. Sure, he had his moments of randomness and silliness, but in the grand scheme of things, your boyfriend was level headed, rational, and he’d hardly ever let his wolf instincts interfere with his human thoughts.

Which was why you hadn’t expected something as seemingly innocuous as a pile of clothes on his bed to get him like this.

Not like you were going to complain, though. Not when the feel of his thickness filling you up time and time again was this good. Not when the way he had you on your knees, bent over like a dog, deliciously ramming into you, was this addictive.

“Minho…” You weren’t really sure what you were going to tell him, you just whined when you started to feel his lips on your shoulder, when he started to kiss and nibble your skin.

“Hm?” His deep strokes had you seeing stars, and the feel of him hitting the most sensitive areas within your walls was steadily fogging up your brain.

You swallowed, blindly reaching for one of the cushions that surrounded you, holding it tightly to somehow keep yourself grounded to reality. “Love–Love you”.

“Love you, too… Missed you, kitten. So much”, his pace increased, his panting grew a bit louder next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine, feeding that pool of arousal in your belly that was just ready to spill over at any moment now.

You’d missed him, too, of course. Every week, you looked forward to the weekend simply because you’ll be able to see him. You were tired of the distance, but you supposed it was something you’d had to bear for a while.

“Need to–Shit, fuck…” Minho nuzzled your shoulder, reattaching his lips to the skin there, grunting when you started to push back harder to match his thrusts, making him move faster in response.

Before Minho came back from work, when Jisung had come to Minho’s flat to hang out and kill time after you arrived today, you didn’t exactly expect the afternoon to take the turn it did.

‘Wait, so you’re not making a nest to fuck in? Not even during his rut?!’ Jisung looked genuinely shocked, and you had simply shrugged in response because ‘Was I supposed to? I don’t even know how’.

Admittedly, you did know about nests, but only as a concept. Throughout your friendship, Jisung had made sure to give you every single detail when it came to omega reproduction–because why would you keep anything private when you could word vomit at any given time, about any given topic, right?–and just omega behaviours in general.

Making a nest was, essentially, creating a safe, soft, warm space for yourself. Although it could be done just to be comfortable while trying to wind down, it was most commonly done with reproduction in mind, meaning, to be shared between wolves. So, upon finding out you’d never done one yourself, Jisung decided to take matters into his own hands.

‘See, you’ve got to pick up items that make you feel safe. Soft items, preferably. Most commonly you’d use blankets, throws, cushions, but you could also add plushies, clothes… If you’ve got a partner, it’s usually preferable to use items that smell like them. And it’s always a nice touch to add items that smell like you, so your partner can also feel comforted by your nest’, Jisung encouraged you to try it, right then and there.

He suggested doing it on Minho’s bed, since that was his sleeping space, and a place you both spent a lot of time together in. Minho’s sleeping clothes, his fluffy blankets, the throw and cushions from the sofa out in the living room, the bathrobe you’d used not too long ago, the pyjamas you kept in his closet, the pillows that were already on his bed… Jisung and you put these items together, creating this fluffy mess on his bed that certainly looked like a nest.

‘See? So you can do one of two things… If you’re doing it on your own, you can cover yourself as much as you can, essentially making yourself a warm little cocoon… But if you’re gonna share it, then you just lay in the middle. I, uh… I know I’m incredibly biassed, but I think this is probably one of the most romantic places to have sex in’, he said it with a completely straight face, so you really believed him.

Jisung did comment on how Minho could potentially react to a nest, considering it was something he hadn’t experienced in a romantic setting. ‘You know I build nests often when I’m anxious, so he sometimes joins me to help me calm down, but it’s all platonic… A nest built by you… I’m curious as to how it’d make him feel. If it makes him feel anything at all’.

That piqued your interest.

Exploring Minho’s animal instincts was always something you enjoyed doing. It made you curious, mostly because he hardly had any, and the ones he did have he couldn’t even understand very well.

As if on cue, the obnoxious beeps of the front door resonated in the flat. You heard it even in the bedroom, where you had been standing next to your nest with Jisung, just giggling and joking about it.

After Minho went into the flat, and the customary Tired Groan left his mouth, you heard his languid steps as he made his way to the bedroom. “Who gave you two stray cats permission to come into my home?”

His perfectly crafted tone of annoyance held no real meaning to it. You knew it, he knew it, and even Jisung knew it. So you just smiled and answered. “With yours, dummy. You wouldn’t have given us the code otherwise”.

As soon as he was at the door, his poised scowl turned into a look of surprise when his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. His eyes jumped from the nest on the bed, to you, to Jisung, and back to the nest. “Are you feeling well, Jisung?”

Of course. Based on Jisung’s earlier explanation, it made sense that your boyfriend had reached the conclusion that this was Jisung’s nest. That he was probably anxious and built it because of it.

“Yeap. I’m doing great. I was just showing our dear kitten how to build herself a nest”, Jisung usually gave the impression to people that he was dumb and silly. But in reality, he was very smart. And at that moment, in just a few seconds, he was able to choose the most suitable words to get his point across.

This wasn’t his nest.

It was yours.

Built by you with your own two hands.

“Huh…” Minho stared at the bed, and you could’ve sworn the bit of skin you could see under the collar of his shirt was slowly growing redder the longer he stood there.

You cleared your throat to get his attention, and you smiled brightly at him when his head snapped back in your direction. “No kiss?”

Minho blinked a bit, but then he was scoffing. He made his way towards you so he could cup your cheeks and pull you in for a kiss. You hadn’t seen him in a whole week, and that was way too long, in your humble opinion, so that kiss was more than necessary.

The dramatic sigh next to you made you break the kiss, and you turned to see a pouty Jisung staring at you two.

“No kiss for me?”

Of course. This was Jisung’s thing. He took any opportunity he could to beg for kisses.

Your boyfriend simply sighed, just as dramatically as Jisung had, and he quickly moved to stand in front of Jisung. Cradling the back of his head, Minho pulled Jisung to him, planting his lips on one of Jisung’s round cheeks to press a loud, moist kiss on his skin.

“Ew, why is it wet! Stop!”

They jostled for a bit, all while Minho chuckled, until he finally pulled away from Jisung and ruffled his hair. “Didn’t you want a kiss? There’s your fucking kiss”.

“A peck was enough, jeez”, Jisung wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, fake gagging.

The three of you broke into laughs and giggles for a bit, bantering back and forth on the ‘essential omega needs’ Jisung had, until Minho excused himself to go take a shower, leaving you and Jisung back on your own in his room.

“Alright, listen to me, dear kitten”, Jisung held you by the shoulders, trying to get your undivided attention. “Get as scantily clothed as possible, or, even better, get naked, lay in the centre of that nest, and wait for your boyfriend to come out of the shower. You can thank me in the morning”.

“Do you really think something like this would do anything to Minho? You know how he is, he doesn’t have these alpha urges”.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see”, Jisung cradled your face in his hands, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before he wished you good night.

He knocked on the bathroom door on his way out, wishing Minho good night as well, then he was gone.

So you did just as he told you.

You figured that putting one of Minho’s t-shirts on and nothing else would do the trick, and it certainly did, if the look Minho gave you once he was out of the shower was anything to go by.

Minho really wasn’t that in touch with his animal needs, not unless he was close to his rut or maybe during a full moon night, but it seemed like the sight of you, dressed in nothing but his clothes and laying on your comfy little nest did things to him.

Before you knew it you were fully naked, with his head between your legs and his fingers in your cunt, giving you a mind-numbing orgasm only to flip you on your stomach and push his cock within your walls almost immediately after.

That was how you ended up here, relishing his sounds of pleasure in your ear, and the feel of him fucking you open. He was mumbling, things you couldn’t quite make out, not when his fingers found their way between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit.

“C’mon, baby…” Minho groaned, snapping his hips harder. “Give it to me, kitten, love… Want to–Fuck…”

“You–you want what, baby?” You kept meeting his thrusts, spurring him on. You were certainly almost over the edge, but you needed just a bit more… A bit more of him. “Want to stuff me full? Want that, too. Want your–your pups, baby…”

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, shit, I’ll give them to you, kitten. All of them… Make sure I, fuck, I pump you full–”

Those were the last coherent words your boyfriend told you before you felt his warmth fill you up, before his name left your mouth in a breathless moan as your own orgasm raked through your body. He kept fucking your through it all, until you whined in oversensitivity.

When Minho peeled himself away from your back, your body slumped, and the sudden lack of his warmth almost gave you whiplash.

In an instant, his hands were on your buttocks, spreading you open just as his cum started to trickle out of your centre, and when you turned your head a little you almost giggled at the sight of him.

His chest was flushed, his cheeks as well, and he was staring at your core so intently it was almost like you could see and feel the phantom of his tail wagging in excitement.

Before you could comment on it, he was leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss on one of your buttcheeks. “Stay right here, kitten”.

Minho left the comfort of your nest and made his way out of his room. He wasn’t gone for long, only a minute or two before he was back with a soaked washcloth to clean you up.

When he was done, he left the soiled fabric on his bedside table and dropped on his back next to you, staring at the ceiling. You just looked at him, resisting the urge to bring your fingers to his face so you could trace his features. Resisting only because he seemed to be deep in thought and you didn’t want to disturb him.

Eventually, he turned to his side, propping his head on his hand and looking at you. “That was…certainly something”.

You chuckled. “It was”.

“Kitten…” Minho scooted closer to you, draping an arm over your waist. “Do I…have a breeding kink?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Loudly. “Oh, babe. Don’t all alphas do?”

“But I didn’t, though!” Minho was pouting and everything, which only prolonged your chuckles. “Not when I’m not, you know, going through my rut. But seeing you here, like this… Shit. It’s essentially just a pile of clothes and blankets and cushions, but I think it’s altering my brain chemistry for real”.

“Mmm…” You pushed on his chest a bit so he could be on his back again and you could lay on top of him. Minho wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you close as you pressed a kiss on his lips. “It’s okay, baby. I can always build more nests so you can enjoy coming inside me. I enjoy it”.

“Eager, are we? What am I gonna do with you, kitten?” Minho chuckled, pressing quick pecks on your lips, waking the butterflies in your stomach, as if they hadn’t been wreaking havoc inside you a handful of minutes ago.

“Hopefully fuck me again, if I can have a say in what you decide to do”.

You clearly didn’t need to say anything else, just like he didn’t. The mischievous smile on his lips told you all you needed to know.

It was definitely going to be a fun night. All thanks to that pile of miscellaneous pieces of fabric.

figured i’d tag anyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works

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vasito-de-leche · 9 months ago

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I was wondering... I've been reading the self-aware au and I wonder if Manus Vindictae is also aware of the player— How does Forget Me Not even react to the concept of the player too if he's ever self-aware of it? A human who calls the shots on the story progressing (clearing levels) and also the one who beats his ass in battle (i had to insight 2 level 20 my arcanists to beat him under 10 turns in hard mode)

Can he hear the player? Can he see them? (I tend to gush over him whenever he speaks, I repeat the scenes he's in 😭 i miss him sm in the story) sorry for all these questions!!! Im so curious of self-aware aus and how they work and yours particularly was REALLY good

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - Self Aware AU

Headcanons about Forget Me Not within the Self Aware AU.

this is a very good opportunity to think about non-playable characters within the game, actually! ty for the ask o7

there was someone who commented on one of my self-aware posts saying it was kind of like analog horror and I agree lolol

I vaguely remember mentioning that the requirements needed in order to be aware of the Player's existence were to either reach a 100% bond and/or to be exposed to Vertin's constant presence.

Forget Me Not, as an NPC with little to no actual relevant weight in the grand scheme of things (he is only relevant during the 1929 arc as of now) doesn't meet any of these requirements, so I don't think he'd be aware of the player!

His self-awareness is limited to knowing the world around him is fake, which fuels his self-deprecating and self-defeating, deranged, depressing mindset. I like to imagine Forget Me Not doesn't even understand that the world he lives in is a game, he just knows it's fake and that no matter what he does or says, no one will truly remember. Things will inexplicably reset or loop, and even so, he's not aware of the many times he's been forced to battle Vertin and the others because the Player had to grind specific materials. And so on and so forth. In his eyes, the "high power" that could attempt to control this empty world would be Arcana and no one else--after all, she's the one who opened his eyes to the truth through indoctrination.

When it comes to the figure of the Player, I wanted to portray an extremely obscure and detached figure. Vertin herself can't even fully wrap her head around the Player's existence, she doesn't even know if you're human--if the protagonist, the character "closest" to the Player is still left in the dark about these aspects, imagine how it is for other characters who don't have the privilege of acting your will, of being your hands and eyes. Sonetto can't even get a proper look at the Player, she still needs an insane amount of time lingering around Vertin to become more attuned to this somewhat eldritch entity tied to her. Characters of "equal" importance to Vertin, such as Arcana, may be able to perceive the Player in their own unique ways just like her, but everyone else? They need these special cases to even notice such a presence. Vertin is your only link to this world. You're the one looking in, this is a one-way mirror and only a very select few can look into the abyss and realize that something -someone else- is out there, staring back.

Like, of course I'll make exceptions or bend the rules if people request direct interactions between a character and the Player, but if we're talking about the setting as it is, then this is how I picture it.

Can he hear or see the Player? Nope. He doesn't have the means to. He doesn't even know they exist.

Forget Me Not feels superior with his self-awareness, gloating about how he's not like the common rubble who goes on about their day, entirely blind to the horrors. And yet, he's not aware of his limited perception of the world. It's very ironic, the way he looks down on others for the very same crime he's guilty of: obliviousness. Forget Me Not believes everyone outside of Manus Vindictae is too dumb, too unworthy of the freedom that comes with self-awareness. But really, this is just the blind leading the blind at the end of the day. Within Manus Vindictae, we only have Arcana and Forget Me Not as important characters, so it's hard for me to make a proper frame of reference, but overall I think that only Arcana is fully self-aware. Everyone else's perception of reality are equal or slightly inferior to Forget Me Not.

I think this falls in line with his modus operandi, so to speak! The way he believes he truly understands how things are, while turning his back on reality at the same time because he can't take it. He's too delusional, too unstable and frail to acknowledge that he may not be right, that he may be just as lost as when he first opened his eyes, that Vertin, someone so utterly disconnected from his ideals and morals and views, is the "chosen one."

As usual, Forget Me Not prefers to live a lie an double down on his usual habits than realize he always had the chance to change for the better and he just never had the courage to take that road.

How would he react upon finding out the Player's existence and their opinion on him?

I don't know the specifics around how exactly he finds out this piece of information, but either way, Forget Me Not would probably be shaken to his core! This isn't an easy pill to swallow in the slightest. You have to understand that every single time you beat him in battle, he 100% believed it was all Vertin's prowess.

How was he supposed to know she had someone guiding her? How was any of this fair?

Essentially, Forget Me Not has to confront the fact that all of his struggles, all the constant fighting and every conscious choice he's made to further ruin his life, were predetermined, already set in stone by forces beyond his comprehension. It's both freeing and claustrophobic, especially for a character like him who revels in misery and his status as an underdog earning his vengeance. He's done so much, he's worked so hard to get to where he is, and sure, his life is far from ideal, he's still the same self-destructive man, but now you're telling him that this was what the world planned from the very beginning? He had no say in anything? Someone out there decided that he was meant to be like this, and even after gaining self-awareness, he wasn't good or strong enough to break away from the script--in fact, he played right into someone else's trap.

I feel like Forget Me Not, at this point, would continue to do the only thing he knows: he doubles down. He redirects all of his hatred and all of his feelings towards the figure of the Player, if only to justify his existence--he can't live as a free man, he can't be seen as a living being worthy of respect because the plot commands it, he doesn't know where his own conscience begins and where the script and dialogue he's meant to say ends. So he might as well keep digging his own grave.

He loathes the Player more than anything else, because if there was no one to play this game, none of this would've happened in the first place. He fully blames you for every single thing, no matter how big or small. Everything that is wrong with his life can be traced to the person booting up this goddamn game every single day.

And if he learns that you replay each cutscene that he's in, he takes that as an offense.

This is just cruel mockery to Forget Me Not--not only you're the reason he's turned into such a miserable excuse of a man, but now you've turned him into your personal little jester, to sing and dance for your entertainment.

If he finds out that you hate him? That's good, it's a mutual feeling and it makes this tantrum he's throwing much more easier to deal with. But if he finds out that he's your favorite character? It kills him from the inside. How dare you?

His voice gets sharper, more visceral--every word is drenched with such profound hatred that you, from your side of the screen, can't help but think that Forget Me Not's voice actor is doing such a great job! And the artstyle is so good, his expressions look so real!

I can also see Forget Me Not eventually struggle with the fact that the Player loves him and sees him as their favorite character. It's not as easy and straightforward as hating you anymore--he doesn't even know you. He doesn't even know what to trust anymore.

Given how depressing he can be, I think he may latch onto the Player? The rug keeps being pulled from under his feet each and every time, but your existence, as awful and mysterious and controversial as it may be, is real. You're real. I have a lot of thoughts about this specific dynamic, but I'll leave them for another post so this one doesn't end up being suuuper long lol

On the subject of finding out that the Player is a human.

This one is easy! If someone were to tell Forget Me Not that the Player, the bane of his existence, is a human, then he'll just be in denial about it!

I really just like the idea of Forget Me Not having no means whatsoever to interact with the Player, it makes things so much more frustrating for him. Of course this means that everything he does know come from third-parties. And this piece of information is an extra layer of stress that he can't physically process at the same time as everything else in regards to his self-awareness, so he chooses to ignore it. To debate it. To simply deny it.

What, is he just supposed to believe everything he's told about you now? He can't even perceive you properly, let alone understand the sort of creature you are and your influence on this world--for all he knows, the people claiming to see and talk to you are all liars! All of his informants and spies could just be dead wrong, they may have misheard something on the way!

You can't be human, because he can't take another blow to his pride like this. It's humiliating enough to be played like a fiddle in such a way, Forget Me Not doesn't even want to think about the possibility of this small, fake world being at the mercy of a human--part of the very same group that caused him so much pain over the years.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #self aware au #sorry for the absence! food poisoning got me fucked up #and then i got busy with art hehehoho #sorry to FMN lovers but. this man? hes not doing good and he would hate our fucking guts #i love him to death but he would hate me to death. do you understand the problem

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onesidedradiostatic · 10 months ago

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Personally I think they're both huffing a bit of copium about one another (Vox and Alastor) but Alastor is better at hiding it/maintaing his cool. We know that at least Valentino feels confident enough to goad Vox into taking the bait, that Alastor "almost" beat him last time. It's an interesting attitude compared to Vox's. Even Velvette doesn't seem all that concerned with Alastor, both her and Valentino are confident in the Vees current status and it's only Vox's personal insecurities that prevent him from sharing that mindset.

Vox's medium IS the victor in the grand scheme of things, he (along with the other Vees) ARE more relevant than Alastor/radio. And Vox is also capable of upgrading/improving himself over time in a way Alastor (from what we've seen) is not. It's so interesting seeing Vox unable to fully realize his strength/power - he can say it all he wants, but I don't think he really believes it. We the audience, however, know that visual media is king... case in point we are watching this series as a show on screens. Vox's hypnotism and electric powers are also pretty OP, he's got a good deck of cards (even though we haven't seen the full extent of how he can really leverage these yet).

And let's not forget Alasor BOOKED IT across town to get back at Vox during Stayed Gone. I think Alasor is (and should be) somewhat nervous (maybe "cautiously aware" is a better term) about the influence Vox and the Vees have regarding the future of media. He doesn't crack easily, as we've seen, but he cares enough to engage with Vox which he doesn't bother doing with outright "lessers".

In this way the dynamic is more even (in my opinion) than many give it credit for, which I personally prefer, but to each their own... for me, if it's not more equally matched, I struggle to see how the Vees will be worthwhile antagonists in the next season and that would be such a shame for characters that have so much potential. I just love the Vees!

(prev ask)

ehh I mean I do feel that they are on more equal level than some of the fandom may make them out to be but I still don't feel like they're exactly on the same level. like every time I see takes about mutual stuff between them I still can't fully agree cause to me, it's still on some level imbalanced. I do think they are of roughly equal power yes, but I think alastor being able to keep his cool is in fact a point towards him having the upperhand. it's the fact that vox is literally incapable of keeping his cool when it comes to alastor that spells more of his weakness when it comes to him I think. but yeah I mean how the vees, or rather vox will be a proper antagonist when he's so easily defeated by alastor is what I've been asking for a while LMAO.

and the thing is, we've seen instances like alastor being somewhat scared when zestial pops up, his mask slipping when starting stupid beef with lucifer (his eye is literally twitching the moment lucifer steps into the hotel LMAO), and of course with his fight with adam. we don't see any of that when it comes to the vees/vox, alastor waves them off as "nobody important" when niffty asks, easily tramples vox in stayed gone (and yes, he did immediately go back to his radio tower to bite back, but I don't think that's necessarily out of fear, could've easily just been he saw he was being insulted on live tv and HAD to bite back because he's a petty bitch), and gloated to him about having to "try harder than that" after failing to spy on him.

in my view, he doesn't see the vees or vox as a serious threat. HOWEVER, I do think that could easily be a point against alastor. his cockiness and not taking them seriously could very well come bite him in the back (JUUUUST like with adam!)

but when it comes to his current season 1 dynamic with vox, I do think he has the upperhand because of their different attitudes. if vox was able to keep his cool like alastor he wouldn't have caused a city-wide blackout over stayed gone LMAO. they're definitely more leveled power-wise though I think, the difference comes in their attitudes. if vox won the idgaf war a bit more they'd be more leveled, but he has chosen to obsess over him 24/7 so here we are.

#ask #osrs.txt #radiostatic #staticradio #onewaybroadcast #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #every time I make a post like this I feel like I'll get vagued but whatever #just know I scroll the maintags sometimes so I very well could see it 😭😭#it's just a matter of opinion and different readings atp I guess #considering we don't have a ton of info

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radiofreeilium · 5 months ago

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Hm ok real speculation time, I know i said before that Sam's gonna die in the finale, and the ep didn't look good for him, but i think with the sheer amount of emphasis placed on alchemy and transmutation, he can't be simply dead. Now, that's not to say I think he'll be coming back in a major way - i personally do not think Sam is, or ever has been, the main character of tmagp. After all, that's the core of his entire character. Never the special one, never the one picked, never 'magnus material'. Besides, it's always been the rest of the cast that has had the knowledge and drive to actually do anything in the story - Sam has always been one (or twenty) steps behind everyone else. I think the most likely option is he will appear in a sort of micheal-esque way, as a truly warped archivist mix. I think we'll get to see a proper monster as a main character, rather than Jon's weak basically tame vampire monstrousness. Meanwhile, i expect season 2 to either focus on Alice, or Celia as a mainish character. A lot of other's seem to think alice is next up in line, which i mostly agree with, but also... doesn't it feel just a little too similar to tma? I'm not sure i'd love season 2 tmagp to just be a repeat of season 3 tma - a main character being suspicious of all their friends and steadily letting them down because of paranoia and grief. Regardless of the similarities, i do think i'd enjoy seeing Alice figure stuff out and go looking for Sam, but i think i'd enjoy getting to see Celia's side of things way more. Sure, her whole deal *could* be the end all be all big mystery of the story, but let's be real, we basically know here whole deal right now. There's some tidbits that are intriguing - when did she cross over from tma; where the fuck did jack come from and what's his deal - but in the grand scheme of things, here goals seem too short sighted to have here be like, the Elias of tmagp. So what i'd love to see is a pov more from Celia's angle where we can watch Alice's deteriorate and suspicion play out from the opposite side, and see how Celia copes with the things she's willing to do to save herself. Also of course i cannot wait to see Gwen girlbossing her way into absolute chaos. But also i do think that'll be fairly background like it was this season, i think season 3 will be the big Gwen season.

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp 30 #tmagp speculation #tmagp theory

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aleksanderscult · 4 months ago

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One thing that’s always puzzled me is how, during Alina’s time at the Little Palace, she and Aleksander only shared a handful of meaningful interactions—maybe three or four scenes at most. I understand he had a lot on his plate as the leader of the Grisha and had his duties as a general to manage, but it still feels like there was a missed opportunity for more connection between the two. If Aleksander really wanted Alina to see his perspective and not turn against him (even though I feel like she would still do that because it seems like Mal is always her only goal… 😪), wouldn’t it have made sense for them to have more conversations and moments together? It would have deepened their dynamic and possibly made Alina’s later decisions even more complex.

It’s almost like—more like it is—that Leigh Bardugo forgot that Aleksander had been waiting for the Sun Summoner for centuries, and then, when Alina is finally there, he’s practically absent. I get that he’s extremely busy, but why not add other scenes? There’s just this big gap in their relationship, which feels like a lost opportunity to flesh out their bond further. Why do you think Bardugo made this choice?

The lack of interaction feels so intentional, but I can't help wondering how the story might have shifted if we saw more of them together.

What about you? What changes would you have made to their dynamic in the first book? Maybe more time spent on Aleksander revealing the weight of his past, or moments of vulnerability between them that would complicate Alina’s view of him?

I understand your confusion, anon, but think about it from this perspective and all will make sense: This was Leigh Bardugo's very first novel.

See where my point is? And once you realize this then you understand why this book feels so amateurish. Most of all, it lacks another 100-150 pages of character development where Alina spends more time at the Little Palace and around the Darkling.

This way the reader would get more content about their mentor-student relationship, Bardugo would have the proper amount of pages to explore the Darkling's manipulation and Alina (and the reader) would feel even more bonded with the Little Palace. In canon we jumped from September - October straight to late December - January. We only got a recap of her time there.

Now what would I have done?

As an aspiring author that currently practices to writing and developing stories, I would explore Alina's time there more. It's important not to drag a novel with useless scenes but write down moments that even though would feel simple at first to the reader, will make so much sense afterwards when all is revealed and will make the reader go "Aha!". In short, that's what Bardugo should have done with the Darkling's scenes. I would personally have him around Alina even more but I wouldn't make him seem evil. On the contrary, my Darkling would deliberately let Alina be viciously trained by Baghra and then when he would step in he would be kinder, more understanding and more tolerant in order to gain Alina's trust. A manipulative person wants you to see them the way they want you to see them. (In canon, Aleksander was kind because that's who he was and not because of some grand plan which was such a waste). I wouldn't make him fall in love with Alina but Alina would have feelings for him something that my Aleksander would take advantage of, even after his schemes would be revealed. (I love some good-written manipulation, haven't you guessed it yet?)

Ah yes, of course I would change Alina's character. When you're in a foreign environment you unintentionally trust those that are kinder to you. With Alina I don't know what the fuck happened (mother issues). But I wouldn't write any POVs from the Darkling. I find it much more juicy when you don't know what the enemy is thinking, especially when he's cunning. It makes you guessing his next move and surprises you with it.

Also about the relationship between Genya-Alina. I would make the former more vengeful and darker (I'm sorry but I can't resist to such women in fiction 😩). She would be more focused in her mission than being a true friend to Alina and her kind words and actions towards the latter would be just a mask. In truth, my Genya would only care to see the royal family burned. This whole "I'm sorry for betraying you gonna go and betray the Darkling" wouldn't exist. She would know what she would be fighting for.

#well shit now that I read it again my own version is much darker #just the way I like my media actually 🙂#(damn now I want to write this)#anon asks #the darkling #alina starkov #genya safin #shadow and bone #grishaverse #AU #aleksander morozova #grishaverse trilogy

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cienie-isengardu · 5 months ago

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[MK1] Bi-Han & Kuai Liang. Good brother? Evil brother? Nah, just different reactions to trauma, part 5

POWER

This part will be mainly focused on POWER: Bi-Han’s character theme and - alongside gaining independence and freedom for Lin Kuei, the main goal he wanted to achieve according to Mortal Kombat 1’s storyline and tie-in material.

There are already many things said about Bi-Han’s thirst for power and from my experience, fandom identifies it as a serious character's flaw at best and a sign of evil nature at worst. However I do feel that fandom judges Bi-Han’s goal to gain power outside of proper context and this is why we first need to examine worldbuilding and what role the power - including personal might, plays within it.

To do so, let’s look at the Mortal Kombat Tournament. At the official meeting with Liu Kang and his champions, Sindel described it as a tournament founded to “foster peace among realms”:

Sindel: “Welcome, members of the royal house. Welcome, our esteemed Earthrealm guests. We gather once again to honor my late husband's legacy. To continue the tournament that he founded with Lord Liu Kang in hopes that it would foster peace among realms."

However, as we could see through the story, there is much deeper meaning to Tournament - this is a chance for each realm to demonstrate their strength, and in result, temper potential attempts at war.

Liu Kang said:

”The time draws near for the grand martial art tournament between Earthrealm and the realm of Outworld. Held once each century, it allows each realm to demonstrate its strength. While our realms are at peace, there are Outworlders who would prefer us to be at war. Our victory in the tournament will… temper their zeal.”

and

”Earthrealm and Outworld have long been evenly matched. But Outworld is gaining strength. Should it win, it’s more militant factions will be emboldened.”

and

”It is a place of great wealth and beauty. But our realms do not share goals or beliefs. We coexist peacefully because Outworld respects our strength. Should we show weakness, our rival will become our enemy.”

Thus Tournament is a way to intimidate Outworld (and presumably other realms) to keep it in check. Which works fine and works for a long time already, as Liu Kang mentioned that Earhrealm frequently is winning

"You presume them frail, General? Should you... given how frequently they win this tournament?"

And winning even at a great disadvantage, as Raiden fought against many rivals and understandably, the more opponents the more weakened he became with each duel.

In one of the intro dialogues, we learn people of Sun Do still talk about Raiden despite how many other things happened, including betrayal of General Shao and death of Sindel.

Li Mei: Your name is still on Sun Do's lips. Raiden: I can't believe I made such an impression.

This intro both highlights how modest and at the same naive Raiden is, because his victory won't be forgotten anytime soon there. Liu Kang’s Champion, a mere farmer who never took a part in war, came to their great and powerful realm, and beat down First Constable Li Mei, General Shao and his second-in-command Reiko, prominent fighters like Kotal, Motaro, Sheeva, princess Kitana and finally, the Empress Sindel. Of course Outworlders are intimidated by his victory, and in the grand scheme of things, Earthrealm’s power.

Since Outworld and Earthrealm are separate realms, and their cultural contact is very limited, people of Sun Do have no idea how truly powerful are Liu Kang’s people, so of course they judge them through Raiden’s achievement. In the case of war, Raiden alone could defeat their military Champions AND Empress and he is just one of possible many other great Champions. Not to mention Lin Kuei lurking in the shadows, the warriors who do not take part in Tournament, but do fight on Earthrealm’s behalf in conflicts between realms (as seen with Vaeternians, a serious problem Outworlders themselves faced in the past).

As worldbuilding goes, Earthrealm safety relies directly on power, the personal’s might of Liu Kang’s Champions and his “secret army” of Lin Kuei.

Bi-Han and his family was born in Earthrealm, but as Lin Kuei he was destined to be a warrior meant to defend Earthrealm from external threats, like mentioned before Vaeternians. Understandably then, his mindset about power and personal might won’t be the same as Raiden, Kung Lao or Johnny Cage because he was raised in a different environment than those three living and experiencing modern, normal life. For Sub-Zero, power is what guarantees peace and keeps him and his clan alive and safe. In that sense, “power” and “freedom” are inseparable terms, because without one, there won’t be the other.

This is best seen with Bi-Han’s ending

"I had broken the Lin Kuei free of Liu Kang's enslavement. We were now masters of our destiny and could take our place among Earthrealm's greatest nations. But taking and holding territory would require a vast army. I needed more fighters to make our presence felt. Then I recalled Shang Tsung's dragon warriors. An army of them would be unstoppable. But trafficking in such strong magic would surely draw Liu Kang's attention. Sektor advised that we avoid detection by building our army using science, not sorcery. We've invested much time in this endeavor, and we are beginning to see results. Once again proving the depths of Sektor's genius. When we are done, all of Earthrealm will honor our desires and heed our demands. If not, they will face the Lin Kuei's wrath."

Sub-Zero understood that Lin Kuei’s independence relies on his and his men’s power. Lin Kuei needed it to secure their land and resources, to indimitate or if needed, to defeat those opposing. Ultimately, they used Shang Tsung’s concept and adapted it to their needs, but as intro dialogues imply, power was what Bi-Han showed an interest in:

Johnny Cage: Why'd you go rogue? I could've made you a star. Sub-Zero: I want power, not fame.

and Liu Kang: You will not enter the Temple of the Elements. Sub-Zero: I will have the power you've locked away inside.

and

Sub-Zero: One should seize power by any means necessary. Rain: There must be limits, Sub-Zero.

and

Sub-Zero: You wield the power that I aspire to. Sindel: Too bad you're unfit for it, Sub-Zero.

and

Scorpion: You defile the Lin Kuei! Sub-Zero: I seek only to make us stronger.

Though the intro dialogues do not give us the context for Sub-Zero’s fixation on power, there is plenty of source material to assume this is indeed a way to keep his clan’s freedom, especially with so few reliable allies around.

There is however a different approach to Sub-Zero’s own battle might - it pleases him to fight and test himself against powerful opponents:

“We must find a less guarded section before attempting an ascent. Finally we face a worthy foe. Victory will bring us glory."

"After years of idleness, it pleases me to again face kombat."

"I had hoped for the chance to battle your dark magic."

Sub-Zero: I'm pleased to fight Outworld's foremost mage. Rain: Will it also please you to lose?

Bi-Han judges other characters through their combat power and battle experience. If his opponents do not live up to the high exceptions of his, Sub-Zero will express his disappointment, as happened in his match against Ermac

“Liu Kang was overly concerned. Your magic does not impress."

or Shang Tsung

“I had hoped for a worthier enemy."

At the same time, in case of Sub-Zero (player)’s losing a match, he would actually praise his opponents,

Bi-Han to Nitara after losing a fight: “You are a superb adversary. More than worth the wait”

and

Bi-Han to Ermac after losing a fight: “You are as formidable as promised. Let’s continue.”

So with no doubt we can say Bi-Han’s relationship with power is much more complex than him being just a power-hungry character. One one hand, he is confident in his abilities and Lin Kuei training, to the point he can come off as arrogant. He turned down Raiden and Kung Lao’s help by saying:

You are not Lin Kuei. You would only hinder the effort.

and in intro dialogues claimed Umgadi priestess warriors would not be able to defeat Lin Kuei

Sub-Zero: No one in your order can defeat a Lin Kuei. Tanya: A nescient boast which is easily disproven.

but at the same time, he would show an interest in Li Mei (a former leader of Umgadi) as he heard about her great skills

Sub-Zero: I hear your skills are formidable. Li Mei: As are those of all who have been Umgadi.

A similar thing may be seen with demons and Ashrah. Bi-Han is biased toward demons - as I assume, Lin Kuei's history influenced his idea of them the same way he was influenced by stories about Vaeternians - yet he will appreciate the power of a specific individual:

Sub-Zero: You will surely test my might. Ashrah: I will overwhelm it, Sub-Zero.

The contrast between power as a means to fulfill goals (securing clan’s independence and a way to expand its might) and power as a personal joy and source of respect for opponents highlight Bi-Han's complexity and influence of his upbringing. He is both ruthless and very eager to prove himself. Fighting is his way of life, and he takes great pleasure in it.

Surprisingly, despite Scorpion’s great loyalty to father’s teaching, Kuai Liang seems to not like fighting. All he wanted during the mission was to succeed

“I will be pleased when we complete our mission”

but there was no personal joy in the task

“Glory? We fight for duty”

In one of the intro dialogues, Scorpion would go so far as to even criticing (accusing?) Liu Kang for not abolishing combat

Scorpion: As Time’s Keeper, you could have abolished kombat. Liu Kang: Even a Titan’s power has limits.

- what logically would erase the need for Lin Kuei and the duty Kuai Liang dedicated his whole life. Which is a total opposite to Bi-Han, who enjoys combat but also provides an interesting complexity of Kuai Liang and his relationship with fighting and power.

At the same time, he took pride in being a Lin Kuei once

Raiden: Did you ever want to be an Earthrealm champion? Scorpion: I have only ever wanted to be Lin Kuei.

and has a similar to Bi-Han faith in his own abilities (former Lin Kuei training) that could be seen as arrogance.

Li Mei: Liu Kang has nothing but praise for you. Scorpion: Let me demonstrate why that's so.

Sindel: You performed well during the recent crisis. Scorpion: I did what I was trained to do.

Scorpion: Here to test the Shirai Ryu's might? General Shao: I will prove it worthless and weak.

Scorpion: Was it worth it, training with the Shaolin? Smoke: Let me show you what I learned.

The Lin Kuei training with no doubt shaped both brothers, but like with many other aspects of their past and personalities, they reacted differently to it. Kuai Liang is well aware of his combat skills to the point he barely pays attention to characters’ compliments. Yet he doesn’t seem to enjoy fighting and is there only to do his duty. He does not seek power or power-related support and rejects propositions of other characters - be it Shang Tsung (enemy)

Shang Tsung: Surely I can tempt you with something. Scorpion: Nothing you could offer would interest me.

Shang Tsung: I could teach you the secrets of shapeshifting. Scorpion: Stealth is the only tactic I need.

or Kitana (ally)

Kitana: Weapons. Soldiers. Whatever you -- Scorpion: I have all that I need to defeat Bi-Han.

In contrast, Bi-Han is a much more ambitious man, yet his relationship with power is not one dimensional and there is a personal joy to face worthy opponents and to see how far he came in his training and combat experiences. Power is a means to fulfilling his goals, but also a reason to admire an opponent's skills, even if it's the enemy trying to either capture or murder him.

#mortal kombat #bi han #sub zero #kuai liang #scorpion #good brother? evil brother? nah just different reactions to trauma #oh the sweet irony that the brother rebelling against lin kuei duty is the one that enjoys the combat #and the one that is dutiful son feels like he would rather not be fighting

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star-going-supernova · 1 year ago

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Gregory introduces Spring-ness to Freddy

The first prompt up there is number three of our tumblr generated prompts and comes from TheGrimRead3r on ao3! The second one came in during this event, but there was no reason not to put them together. This one is a sequel to Amongst the Dead, and the tldr of that ficlet is that Vanessa got spring-locked and possesses a white bunny animatronic now.

A Difference Keenly Felt

Vanessa didn’t know what she was doing. In the grand scheme of things, that is, because right now, she was letting a kid stand on her shoulders in order to climb into a vent. A kid she desperately wanted to save. Which meant now was not the time to have an existential crisis. Gregory’s slight weight left her, and she listened to the clunking of him scooting around up there.

“I’ll go unlock the door,” he called back to her, and then he was off. It was a good thing they weren’t trying to be quiet, she mused with a soft huff.

She wandered back over to the door in question. Her movements still felt stiff, but it was already a far cry from the absolute struggle it was to stand up. She hadn’t moved since she’d been tossed into that room like junk—as if she wasn’t a… as if she wasn’t an actual person.

A dead one, yes, but clearly death wasn’t as final as she’d once believed.

Vanessa looked down at herself, at what she thought of as her body now. It didn’t feel the same as her human body, of course, but it was still hers. There was a much duller sense of feeling, like she was touching things through a thick blanket, and she’d completely lost her ability to taste and smell. But the limbs moved as she wanted, and her eyesight and hearing was certainly improved.

It wasn’t the body she would have chosen for herself. If she could get her human one back, she would in a heartbeat. But instead, she was a fuzzy white rabbit animatronic, which was just salt in the wound.

She hadn’t known how to feel when she realized her human body had been removed. The insides of her animatronic suit were far from clean—judging by the way Gregory’s nose wrinkled when he got too close, she still smelled of rot—but it hurt a little to have lost that last piece of who she used to be. She was grateful, though, to not have to be so aware of the flesh and blood that had clogged her insides.

The door unlocked, and as Gregory pulled it open, he said, “You’ll never guess who I found! I don’t think I mentioned it, actually, but Freddy was helping me before we got separated, and that was when I met you!”

What passed for fear when one’s body lacked flesh and hormones and a brain to translate those chemicals flashed through Vanessa, and she looked up in a panic to see Glamrock Freddy standing behind Gregory. His smile faded a bit when he saw her, but Gregory didn’t notice either of their reactions.

“Freddy, this is Vanessa. She watched over me while I took a nap. Vanessa, this is Freddy. He was helping me before I met you.” He barely gave them a chance to take each other in before he was off like a shot. “I’m gonna go get a Fazerblaster like you suggested, Freddy! Be right back, play nice!”

Vanessa tensed as she was left alone with a real animatronic. He eyed her distrustfully.

“You are not like me,” Freddy said eventually.

“Uh,” she replied. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are… different. Wrong,” Freddy said. She flinched minutely; trust me, she wanted to say, I know. “There is no ‘Vanessa’ in my files of past or present animatronic personalities. You do not exist, yet you stand before me.” His countenance hardened, and even though Vanessa wasn’t hooked up to the communication system the way a proper animatronic would be, she could nearly feel the protective rage settling over him. “If you are trying to hurt Gregory, I will stop you.”

She raised her hands and shuffled away. “I’m just trying to help, okay? The kid needs as much as he can get.”

“Who—what are you?” Freddy demanded.

“I’m Vanessa,” she said. “I… I’m…”

He moved fast for a robot, much faster than she did, as unused to her mechanical body as she was. He slammed her into a wall, looking quite ready to rip her apart if need be.

“Okay, okay!” she cried. “But you can’t tell Gregory, yeah? It’ll—it won’t help.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

She wished she could swallow or run a hand through her hair or even just breathe. But all of those little human things had been taken from her. Their absence, the difference in all the little things that made her up… she felt it deep and sharply.

But it wasn’t like she could cry about it.

“I’m Vanessa,” she repeated. “And I was a human. I got… I was tricked into this suit—it’s got springlocks, which are really really dangerous—and I. I died. In here. And now my body’s gone and this is my body now.”

The light of Freddy’s eyes flickered. She could hear the subtle clicking and whirring of his body as he processed that.

“Vanessa Anderson,” he said slowly.

Her voice box emitted static, as close to a choked breath as she could manage.

He continued, “She is in my files as a night guard who went missing a year ago.”

A year. Had she really been asleep, shut down, whatever, for that long?

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That, that was me. And now I’m…” She gestured helplessly at herself.

Freddy backed off, releasing her. “I am very sorry, Vanessa Anderson. I… will not tell Gregory.”

“Thanks. And I mean it. I just want to help him. I, I can’t let him end up like me.”

He looked at her, then, really looked at her, and he nodded. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or a remnant of her humanity that demanded she seek emotion even in emotionless things, or maybe it was because she understood him in a way she wouldn’t have been able to as a human. But whatever it was, it seemed to Vanessa that Freddy was looking at her with more compassion than anyone had shown her in years.

#anonymous #fnaf fic #fnaf security breach #star's stories #life and times of star

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loz-furbies · 7 months ago

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Ocarina of Time Zelda

For the first time in the franchise there is some actual content about Zelda and you don't have to squeeze out fanfiction from a single line in a guide book. However you probably get more out of her if you understand OoT's placement in the Timeline and what kind of role she plays in it, but I'm sorry, I really don't care about the Zelda timeline and just doze off when the exact details of OoT's main plot are discussed. So this will be written with only cursory understanding of the time travel plot.

Design

The biggest issue for me with OoT Zelda is the colour palette, I still find this kind of magenta really unappealing, and I don’t think the blue cloth with the royal crest goes well with it either. And the crest design is just a huge mess, I bet Zelda gurus can decipher each individual element but even if each scribble has a specific meaning I still think there’s far too much going on and way too many colours. Still I like when you have designs “progressing” with age like this, and overall I think the OoT design manages that well, with young Zelda’s design being softer while adult Zelda has some armour pieces and similar colours tying everything together.

Then there's Sheik, who looks perfectly adequate for the "mysterious ninja" role. The hairstyle does bother me, Zelda shouldn't be able to style her hair to bangs like that, but I suppose that is the least of issues when it comes to how Sheik relates to Zelda.

Character

A lot of Zelda's lines are still about the plot, but this time she does have an actual personality to talk about. In princess mode she has a pretty standard nice and polite princess personality, but kid Zelda does have this plucky childlike enthusiasm about her. She's so excited to meet Link that she forgets to introduce herself, and even if it's pretty subdued, she's clearly into getting a partner-in-crime in Link. The whole scene in the castle yard has delightful "meddling kids" energy, with the kids spying on Ganondorf and scheming about their grand plans that end up being way over their head.

There is also obviusly the assertive and witty side to her since she does set up quite a grand plan, though that doesn't quite make her look like wisdom incarnate and rather comes across as just a kid who thrilled about this cool thing they saw in a dream. Meanwhile her passing the Ocarina of Time to Link manages to look like a proper and meaningful plan.

Once she has grown up Zelda displays noticeable character development, and adult Zelda is much more mature, calm and englightened. She even points out how she was naive and presumptuous about her plan, and takes responsibility for the results. I really like her character development, it makes good use of the game's two times mechanic and also fits the overall melancholic tone.

Sheik is of course also an important part of Zelda's character, and it's great that she got a more active secret persona. I have some trouble reconciling Sheik as a part of Zelda's character though, since they feel so separate. Once Zelda reveals her true identity, Sheik just completely disappears and we don't get to hear anything about how Zelda felt about her other identity (other than being sorry for deceiving Link) or presumably having gone a lot of physical training. Sheik's mysterious and poetic way of speaking is gone, as is their apparent coldness towards Link who clearly wants to know more about them. And Sheik doesn't say anything meaningful that would hint about their feelings about the secret identity either. Sure she didn't want to get caught, but I still wish there was more effort in linking the two together.

Role in the story

This time Zelda has quite a lot of presence in the story, especially if you know about the Sheik thing. It's nice that the player gets to see her set up her plan instead of hearing that she did something smart off screen, and in general she makes such a charming impression in her first scene the goal of first fulfilling her plan in the child portion of the game and then trying to reunite with her later is motivating.

Sheik's existence also gives her a way more active role both in terms of screen presence and like, getting to do something else than sit in place being a princess. Granted we don't really get to see Sheik do that much, but they did help out Ruto off screen and at least I can easily believe them to be capable of defending themselves. And I dunno, maybe it's just that because Sheik is written to be believed to be male (for unspoiled first-time players), they come across much more as Link's equal than many side character girls, who usually have at least some baggage that comes with being a girl in a video game.

Gameplay-wise Sheik's appearances are also pleasant because opening fast travel locations is always useful, and making music together with an npc is fun as long as the player's controls don't suck.

Relationships

Zelda and Link are super cute together as children, even if Zelda has to carry the scene on her own since the player can't contribute much anything. But still I get the feeling of two new friends who are excited to get into some mischief together.

As adults they have a much more professional feeling relationships, with a somber aftertaste when Zelda sends her back to the past. So while she is the most prominent npc in the game, she is far from my top pick for shipping out of Link's many potential love interests. Really I think he has the most interesting chemistry with Sheik, but I already wrote about how that doesn't automatically transfer over to Zelda. But there's just something about how he chases after the mysterious stranger! Who feels like a proper peer on their own quest too.

Impa is also there, but I don't get a lot out of them outside a pretty basic combination of child-and-caretaker and princess-and-servant relationship. I'd probably like it more if Impa wasn't in on young Zelda's plan, now it's harder to see if I'm supposed to take it as her being too naive and overconfident to begin with, or if the plan was actually valid and she's being too hard on herself after its failure.

She is also supposed to be the leader of the sages, but I don't get a lot out of that since they don't interact at all and Rauru felt more fitting for that role.

#legend of zelda #ocarina of time #zelda #character review

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three--rings · 6 months ago

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Watched IWTV 1x01 with my husband tonight, in an attempt to spread the brainrot, and I have Thoughts.

So first, I was struck by how violent and aggressive Louis is from the beginning. Like of course I remembered on paper, but seeing it again after S2 really hit home.

Because the show definitely seems to be pointing to this tendency of his as part of the reason why his relationship with Lestat was Like That, and I also think the Throwing Armand Almost Through a Concrete Wall is telling us that too. (No matter how much he deserved it.) This episode just has Louis barely restraining his rage through the whole thing.

Secondly ...

Yeah I had a second point but uh, I forgor it. I waited a day to see if I would remember what point I was going to make, but yeah.

Anyway, I was NOT sure if Mr. Rings was gonna like this show at first. Like, after S2 I wanted him to see it cause it's so good, but I wasn't sure if like Gothic Gay Vampires was gonna be his thing.

So we finished and he goes "Goddammit now I'm in!" So yay, he liked it.

I thought it funny that he didn't remember Jacob from GOT but did immediately know who Eric was and even remembered the name of Talk Radio AND knew it had been his one man show first. Like, okay, I know we've watched that movie a long time ago but I didn't know my husband was storing so much info about it.

So yeah, apparently my husband is an Eric fanboy. He kept just going "god he's such a good actor."

However, he doesn't like Sam. I was like, well, wait and see. I promise he IS really good. So hopefully he grows on him.

Also I commented on how good Jacob's accent is, and he said "eh yeah." and I was like "for New Orleans?" But then he's only been there like once for any time, and I've been several times. (I spent more time around Cajuns than proper New Orleans, though, in East Texas.) But anyway what I realized/remembered that's great about Jacob's accent is that it's accurate, but also a little subtle. Like a very THICK NOLA accent can sound like an exaggeration or mockery, even if people DO actually sound like that. So Jacob's is a little dialed down so it doesn't sound silly.

God I remember this one infamous cab trip I had in NOLA with this driver who was this very large white dude with the thickest damn accent I ever heard. We get rerouted through the uh, unsavory parts of town, because the president was in town that day. So I got a tour of the projects. And then there was a guy on the street who had apparently lost a finger somehow and there was blood dripping down from his hand to the sidewalk. Even the cab driver was pretty shook by that one.

I nearly went to Tulane, but it was probably good I choose New York over New Orleans in the grand scheme.

#iwtv #adventures in geek marriage

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twistedtummies2 · 9 months ago

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Top 15 Portrayals of Mina Harker

As I said in my past list, the famous Van Helsing is actually NOT the main character of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula.” He’s the leader of the team, sure, but he’s more along the lines of Merlin in Arthurian lore, rather than the main protagonist proper. It’s hard to say who the main protagonist of Dracula is, really, since the structure of the book makes it rather ensemble in nature…but if I had to cast a vote, I’d probably say that Mina Harker (nee Murray) is the best option for that role.

I say this because, in the same breath, I would also say that Mina is one of the most maligned characters in all of literature, and certainly in the long history of Dracula. And not just in adaptations, either: even the novel ITSELF shortchanges Mina by the end of the book. In the novel, Mina is intended to be Stoker’s idealization of the “New Woman,” a concept prevalent in Victorian times: a feminist icon who is still good at heart, and still able to have feminine leanings, but is also just as competent, willful, intelligent, and interesting as any of the male characters in the book, if not more so. She’s one of the most proactive characters in the novel, as she and Van Helsing are really the ones who lead the charge against Dracula. She’s even the one who helps lead the other characters to the vampire in the climactic final chapters…yet despite this, she plays almost no role in the final battle against the Count. Neither does Van Helsing, for that matter. They just…kind of watch the other characters take care of things.

On top of that - and this is something critics have pointed out many times since the novel’s publication - this “strong working woman’s” oh-so-glamorous job is…being a secretary. And Stoker’s cast tries to build that up as if it’s something to be REALLY freaking proud of, as if Mina is the world’s coolest gal because she’s so good at this particular job. There’s nothing wrong with that profession at all, of course…but I think most can agree that’s not really the kind of work that those in favor of the “New Woman” ideal had in mind, then or since.

These flaws are fairly minor in the grand scheme of the novel, I would argue…but one could see them as portents of the mistreatment Mina has suffered in adaptations and reimaginings since. Many versions of Mina depict her as little more than a damsel in distress; a much weaker character who ultimately is only there to be saved by the rest of the cast. Others take the liberty of crafting a romantic subplot between herself and Dracula; sometimes this angle CAN be interesting, if it’s handled a certain way, but I often feel it’s a total misunderstanding of the intent behind her character. Plus, it makes things difficult, since Mina IS a married woman (or at least engaged, depending on the version you look at), and I think most of us can agree that creates some questionable subtexts. Even her NAME is subject to mismanagement: in some adaptations, Mina is referred to as “Lucy,” while the Lucy character is swapped to “Mina,” which only confuses things more. With all that said, there’s no better way to look at how Mina has evolved over the years than for me to present the versions of her I like most from all the Dracula-related stuff I’ve gathered. (pauses) Well, actually, there probably ARE better ways, but this is my technique. So, having rambled all your ears off by now, let’s waste no more time: here are My Top 15 Portrayals of Mina Harker!

15. Agnes Moorehead, from the Mercury Theater Radio Version.

Moorehead, of course, is a fantastic actress, and her performance, on its own accord, is pretty good. However, the Mercury Theater’s treatment of the novel’s plot - which had to be highly truncated for time - means that the character doesn’t even appear till I think about halfway through the entire production. As a result, a lot of what makes Mina so interesting isn’t really present in the radio show. Still, hearing future Endora as Mina makes for some interesting listening, if nothing else.

14. Kate Shindle, from Dracula: The Musical (2011 Studio Cast Recording).

Frank Wildhorn’s musical version of Dracula has a LOT of problems, not the least of which being the way it treats Mina’s character. This is one of several versions that tries to create a romance between Dracula and Mina, and in my opinion the execution of this concept here is…well…not the greatest. Tie this to some of the musical’s other flaws (there are several), and you can see why she ranks low. However, I will give credit to Kate Shindle - an actress I admire greatly, who has worked on several Wildhorn projects - for her work in the role on the 2011 Studio Cast Recording, who probably made this role work about as good as anybody reasonably could manage.

13. Melissa Stribling, from the Hammer Horror Films.

Hammer’s first Dracula film, “Horror of Dracula” (as it’s known in the states), is quite possibly my favorite Dracula movie of all time. (“Favorite.” Not “best.” I will always contend that there is a difference.) With this in mind, I’ve always felt mixed feelings about Mina’s treatment in the movie. Actress Melissa Stribling does a very good job, and I will say this is one of the first versions of Mina I think of when I think of the character’s name. HOWEVER, her ultimate role is essentially just being “the housewife,” so to speak: she isn’t nearly as proactive as in the novel, and while she does START to turn thanks to Dracula in the film, we never get far enough to see the full contrast between her true self and her half-vampiric change, which I’ve always felt to be one of the most interesting parts of her story arc. Also, it’s worth pointing out that the Hammer version (for reasons no one can explain whatsoever) swaps characters around: everyone has their names right, but for some reason Mina is depicted as Arthur Holmwood’s wife, while Jonathan Harker is instead engaged to Lucy. One of many times where characters are fiddled around with for no apparent reason, as you’ll see.

12. Maria Rohm, from the 1970 Jess Franco Film.

Rohm’s Mina is one of the stronger versions on this list, as she is counsel to just about everything the men do in the story, tries to save Lucy from Dracula, and even interrogates Renfield at one point, nearly getting killed in the process. However, much like in the novel, she’s ultimately shortchanged by having basically nothing to do with the Count’s final defeat, and I personally felt still more could have been done with the character than the film ultimately tried. It’s hard to explain, but I just don’t feel I can, in proper conscience, place her higher.

11. CindyMarie Small, from Dracula: Pages From a Virgin’s Diary.

As I said on my previous list, in this surrealist dance-based motion picture, all of the male characters from the story are depicted as…well…creeps and jerks, to put things in the kindest possible words. As a result, the two primary female characters - Lucy and Mina - take center stage as the true heroines of the story. In Mina’s case, she proves to be the stronger lady, as - after being kidnapped by Dracula and whisked back to his Castle - she is able to resist the vampire’s temptation and actually helps the men take down Dracula. In fact, one could argue it’s really Mina who is responsible for the Count’s defeat; she doesn’t drive the stake through his heart, but the men could not have done it without her help. Ironically (and intentionally so), the men take all the credit despite this, and still treat Mina like a child or a trophy in the end. Ah, the patriarchy of Victoriana…what foolery…

10. Helen Chandler, from the 1931 Film.

Chandler’s Mina is arguably one of the weakest versions of the character on the list, so it’s probably surprising for many to see her so high up. Well, the fact of the matter is that I really like the classic Universal version of Dracula (despite the fact several elements of it have admittedly not aged very well), and - much like Stribling - Chandler is one of the first versions of Mina I think about when I utter the character’s name. In the Universal film, Chandler’s Mina is very much depicted as a damsel in distress; ironically, it’s LUCY who is depicted as more of a “modern woman,” despite smaller screentime. (More on that another occasion.) Instead, Chandler is more of the typical society lady: repressed, glamorous, and idealistic. Dracula’s corruption of Mina, turning her into a vampire and causing her to become attracted to him (in here not so much a love story so much as just another way of him controlling her), is symbolic of the vampire’s influence corrupting her innocence and the order of society as a whole. While this is totally NOT what Stoker’s idea for the relationship was (this is actually more what he tried to do with Lucy than with Mina), I do like Chandler’s performance. She goes through various stages, from a prim and proper young lady to someone more playful and sensual…and finally seeing her go into vampire mode, where she behaves more like an animal than a human being with a deeply unsettling, predatory slowness that really plays into the idea of the undead. Not accurate at all, but very unique.

9. Lupita Tovar, from “Spanish Dracula.”

For those who don’t know, the “Spanish Dracula” is the colloquial reference to the Spanish-language version of the classic Universal film from 1931. Due to the technical and budgetary standards of the time, whenever a movie like this was going to be released to other countries, instead of doing dubbing or subtitles, studios would basically just make the film all over again, using the same sets and often a lot of the same costumes, but now with a different cast and crew all speaking that language. Tovar’s Mina - or “Eva,” as she’s called in the Spanish version - is honestly more interesting than Chandler’s. Tovar’s Mina is more vivacious, youthful, and has a sort of fiery quality to her performance, which becomes downright manic and feral when she goes into vampire mode, making for a more memorable character, in my opinion. It’s the same basic character, but much less “stiff.”

8. Minnie Mouse, from Disney’s Dracula, Starring Mickey Mouse.

Here’s a shocker for you: this might be one of the most book-accurate Minas, in some ways, on this entire list. No joke. One of the things I love about the graphic novel version of “Dracula Starring Mickey Mouse” is that the people who made it clearly loved the original book and gave it a VERY thorough read. A lot of the humor and intrigue in the comic comes from stuff that you will only get if you actually read the original book. Case in point: Minnie makes for a PERFECT Mina Harker, as, like Mina, Minnie - by typical default - is able to be romantic and sweet, but is also perfectly capable of standing up for herself and won’t hesitate to give somebody a piece of her mind if she needs to. She has the same role in the storybook version, which is only appropriate.

7. Greta Schroder, from Nosferatu.

It’s weird that the Mina character from the very first true Dracula film (not counting the lost film “Dracula’s Death,” which is a whole other can of worms) is still one of the best, in my opinion. In the 1922 German Expressionist classic, the Mina character is “Ellen Hutter,” the wife of Thomas Hutter, the Jonathan character. She is once again the main character; a woman pure of heart (film’s words, not mine), who is tormented throughout the film by the vampire’s powers. Yet she struggles on, determined to find a way to destroy the vampire herself, ignoring her husband’s fears. Eventually, she finds out the only way to defeat Orlok (Dracula) is to sacrifice herself, and does so to save her hometown. Admittedly, she’s also shown fainting about…five times throughout the picture, but to be fair, if I had to deal with a vampire like Orlok, I’d have trouble staying conscious, too.

6. Ellie Beaven, from the 2006 BBC Radio Version.

Honestly, not sure what to say about Beaven’s work in the BBC Radio version. (Obviously, no, she is not in costume for Mina in this image, but she certainly looks like she’d fit the bill there.) I just think she does a really good job, plain and simple. Also, this is one of two versions I’m aware of where Mina and Lucy are depicted as being sisters, instead of just being best friends. Doesn’t really impact the story, but the other one was also made by the BBC. You may now insert the “If I had a nickel” meme here, if you care to.

5. Winona Ryder, from the 1992 Film.

I really struggled with where to place Winona Ryder’s Mina in the ranks here. Some people will probably think she’s much, MUCH too high up, while others will think that, despite making the Top 5, she’s too far down. I actually used a method a friend suggested: looking at the highest placement I could put Ryder’s Mina at for me, and the lowest I felt was earned, and finding the median between them. That median just so happened to be either 5th or 6th place, and between Ryder and Beaven, I do think I prefer the former SLIGHTLY (though, once more, I'm not sure why), so fifth place it was. Ryder’s Mina tries to combine the strong, independent, capable, charming lady from the book with a raw, sexual edge and a romantic daliance with Dracula, and…in my opinion, the result is something of a mixed bag. As popular as this film is, and the way Mina and Dracula’s romance is depicted, I actually feel the writing is clumsy on Mina’s part, in terms of her motivations and the way her relationships with other characters are depicted. HOWEVER, I think that Winona Ryder gives one of her absolute best performances in this movie, and her work as Mina is probably the first performance of hers I think of when I think of the actress. She manages to maneuver skillfully through the clutter and creates an interesting character to watch as a result. Ultimately, Number Five just felt like the best balance between the pros and cons for me.

4. Kate Nelligan, from the 1979 Film.

When it comes to versions of Mina who have a romantic daliance with a more sympathetic Dracula, I think Kate Nelligan was the first…and I would also say that she was the best. I should point out, on that note, that this film is one of the ones I mentioned before where the names of Mina and Lucy are switched: Nelligan’s character is NAMED “Lucy,” but the actual character HERSELF is clearly meant to be Mina. Apparently, this change was made simply because the writers liked the name “Lucy” better, which…is a bit of a dumb reason, in my opinion, as it just makes things more confusing, but whatever. I’m going to continue to refer to the character as “Mina” here, for consistency’s sake. In my opinion, Nelligan’s version succeeds at what the Ryder version (among others) would later try to accomplish: depicting Mina as a strong and competent woman who can stand up for herself and has full agency in her life, while also creating some interesting tension by having her form a romantic attachment to Dracula, and ALSO still having her relationship with Jonathan ongoing. How did they do this? Eh, watch the movie yourself to find out and see if you agree; I haven’t got time to go through it all here.

3. Isabelle Adjani, from Nosferatu the Vampyre.

Just like our previous pick, this version once again reverses character names, with this character being called “Lucy,” even though the actual role is clearly that of Mina, and vice-versa. It also came out the same year as the previous pick, 1979. (Again, insert “if I had a nickel” meme here.) This remake of “Nosferatu” (the first of no less than three, the other two of which have yet to gain public release) expands on the version found in the original film, showing even more of the character’s struggles as she tries to combat the vampire, even having her directly confront Dracula at one point. Interestingly, Dracula is depicted as a sympathetic character in this one, but he and Mina do NOT have a romantic interest in one another; that’s very rare in adaptations. Just like in the original version, Mina ultimately sacrifices herself to stop Dracula, and since Dracula is depicted as a sympathetic antagonist as well, that makes the ending all the more tragic.

2. The Version from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

If there’s one way to make Mina independent, it’s to completely separate her from the rest of the cast in “Dracula.” I’m talking about the comic version here, by the way, not the one played by Peta Wilson in the 2004 film adaptation. While Wilson’s Mina isn’t BAD, per say, she is…very, VERY different from the one in the Alan Moore comic series. In the original comics, Mina is actually the leader of the titular League. She has no powers in the comics, but is instead depicted as a capable and charismatic leader, as well as a surprisingly gifted strategist; after her adventures in the novel, Mina has actually become an even stronger woman than before, and shows no fear in the face of opposition from characters like Mr. Hyde or the Invisible Man. She forms a unique romantic relationship with Allan Quartermain, and has some…COMPLICATED feelings in regards to her past, and especially towards the (presumed late) Count Dracula. Again, the movie version isn’t necessarily bad on her own merits, but the comic is definitely a more interesting character between the two.

1. Judi Bowker, from the 1977 BBC TV Film.

This TV production is quite possibly the most book-faithful adaptation of the novel ever put to the screen. By extension of this same fact, Bowker’s pretty-but-not-prissy Mina is quite possibly the most accurate interpretation of her character ever put to the screen, as well. The only major change for her character is that this is the other BBC rendition I mentioned where Mina and Lucy are made to be sisters, rather than just best friends, but this really doesn’t cause a HUGE impact on the story. Indeed, Bowker’s Mina even gets some slight IMPROVEMENTS from the original, as she and Van Helsing take direct part in the final battle, instead of just watching it happen like in the novel. Easily the best Mina onscreen, bar none.

#list #countdown #best #favorites #top 15 #mina harker #mina murray #dracula #actors #acting #portrayals #film #movies #tv #comics #radio #theatre #musical theatre

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lesawrites · 7 months ago

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Writing Share Tag

Thank you @renasdoodles for the tag! Here's an excerpt from a short story I've been on and off working on for awhile! This is the beginning of the first scene. Not sure how good it is, but I've been having fun working on it!

Tarrent was nothing special, and he knew it. He was a balding middle-age man with a wife—Vanya—and three daughters—Elidi, Thia, and Kinsley. He had an office job that he thought was important but really wasn’t, and he earned enough to live comfortably. He thought he was doing well and that he was a good and respectable man, and perhaps he was. It didn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things. What did matter, was the handful of minutes he spent with the three Seers that resided in his town of East Gondul. He was walking home from another day of work. It was a nice day, and his office was only a few blocks away from his home. At first, he watched the scenery. To his left, cars drove past, heading home from work, just like he was. To his right, there were residential homes where kids could be heard playing inside. It was the middle of summer, and they were enjoying the lack of schoolwork, just like his daughters were. In the distance ahead of him, he could faintly see mountains covered in trees where it was well-known faeries resided. He’d always wanted to get training on how to deal with them so he could go hiking with his family there, but he never found the time. It was dangerous to go there without the proper knowledge, and it cost too much to hire a guide. He checked the time—5:12PM—and remembered it was his night to prepare dinner for the family. He pulled out his phone and searched through a list of recipes he compiled to figure out what he wanted to make. He picked one, and carefully examined the ingredients. Was this something his kids would like? What about Vanya? Did he need to stop at the store for any ingredients? He couldn’t remember—were they out of salt? What about butter? He didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one walking on the sidewalk anymore. A group of three, walking side-by-side and taking up the entire width of the sidewalk, headed towards him. He didn’t notice, too focused on the recipe on his phone. It would have been expected that the three maneuver out of his way, distracted as he clearly was. He was already standing to the side, leaving plenty of room for them to do so, but these three had no intention of changing their course even slightly. So, inevitably, Tarrent and the three ran into each other. “Oop—sorry! Wasn’t watching where I was—” He noticed the bright clothes of Felicity first. Bright, colorful, not quite matching clothes with a smile that would liven any room if only it weren’t coming from her. Then, he noticed Eula’s wide-brimmed hat putting a shadow over her deceivingly kind-looking old face and her vintage-style green dress. And Bastian, who had a pale, acne-covered face and wore casual clothes, could easily pass for a normal teenager if it weren’t for his sinister smile that struck unease and fear to anyone around him. “Seers-” he stammered. He tried to remember any other time the three of them walked anywhere near this area, but couldn’t. Why did they choose today to walk a new route? “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “I- I should have been more careful. Are you alright? Can I help you at all? I’m so sorry for running into you, I will pay more attention in the future.” If it were anyone other than the Seers, he likely wouldn’t have felt the need to apologize at all. After all, he wasn’t blocking much of the sidewalk. If he were any more to the right, he would have been on the grass. But because it was the Seers, he had to be careful.

Tagging (no pressure at all!): @aminovels

I'm not mutuals/friends with enough other writers to tag more than one, but here's my contribution anyway!

#This isn't the first draft of this scene but it's definitely not the last either #I thought it was good enough to share though!#I hope you like it #writeblr #writing #writerblr #writers on tumblr #writer #writers #writblr #My writing #Short Story #Fiction #Excerpt #Short Story Excerpt #fiction excerpt #fantasy #Lesa's Writing

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nonbinaryeye · 4 months ago

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Left for Dead

Written for @whumptober

Day 14 - Left for Dead

They always trembled with excitement, they were gripped with such a thrill whenever they imagined their own death. It was supposed to be perfect - on their Lord’s and Father’s altar, the last living soul alive walking scourged and bloodied Toril all alone in the end.

It is not a death that was granted to them though.

Read on AO3

...

They were perfect. Bhaal created them to be the last soul alive. At the end of this all, there was not supposed to be a single creature living. Everyone dead. Everyone dead for their Lord and Father. They were meant to make Him proud.

This was not how things were supposed to end…

They are bleeding, crawling like a pathetic worm through the fleshy corridors of the illithid colony they were meant to walk through victorious. They were so close to fulfilling their destiny! They were getting so close! Elder Brain crowned and, oh, even she was impressed by their unmatched cruelty, their plan to eradicate all life. Of course, not that she had a choice in a role she was about to play: in either the Grand Design - the scheme the Chosen of the Dead Three created - nor a plan the Dark Urge themselves was about to act out when the time was right and when their allies outlived their usefulness.

Why are they not celebrated? Why were they butchered as prey? A predator made into a fool. They are still struggling to understand the reality of it. But, oh, can they really blame their brain for not working properly, not properly processing what happened to them? Stabbed and played with and left as useless mush. Same as the rest of them - dying carcass, pathetic creature mutilated beyond recognition

The Dark Urge slaughtered so many different creatures in so many different ways, their imagination never running dry. And every time they killed, they imagined what, the death they were inflicting, felt like. When they ripped still beating hearts, when they tore limbs and pulled intestines out, when gouged eyes, when they ripped throats, when they pierced skulls of their victims. Some part of them really felt it, like it was happening to them and beamed with thrill. Little shiver, just a little touch of death, delivered in the name of their Father.

Well, now their skull was pierced open for real. With their own dagger their brain matter was mushed and squashed and made into worthless pulp and it did not feel good at all. Because it was not a way of dying they chose for themselves and dedicated to their Father. No, someone else, a traitor, dared to try to give the death of the Dark Urge to their God.

Hah, try. Bold claim. They might as well say they succeeded because their time is numbered, is it not? They failed and they are dying and this is the end for them. The Dark Urge is not afraid of their death, they were never afraid. They were always ready to embrace it - they were always meant to have a terrible and gruesome death! But! But they were meant to die only after everyone else does, not here, not now. Not when the rest of the world is treacherously and painfully full of life, still ready to be killed by their hand. But their hand is too weak now. Too weak to hold their blades, too weak to rip through flesh, too weak to even clench in a fist so they can curse the one who brought this fate upon them.

The thing is, they would love to claim, they hold no grudge against their murderkin, their little sister, their second in command, Orin. It was in her nature to try to kill them, it was expected and she has beaten them, has she not? Should they not be happy that their Father will have a better Chosen as they obviously failed Him?

Except she was not ready, they declined her duel for a reason! She should have been worshipping them, everybody was worshipping them, why was she refusing to see their superiority, how could she dare? She was not mean to, she was not allowed to fight them yet. She cheated, this was not a proper way to do things! She did not play by the rules, by Father’s rules, it is not fair! Bhaal should frown and punish her for her misbehaving as this action was not a one befitting of his Chosen.

The Dark Urge laughs - or at least tries to, choking on their own blood which is filling their mouth and their insides and all the places they are usually covered only in the blood of the others. Because a grim thought crosses their mind. This kind of treachery was more fitting to one of Bane’s worshippers and, oh, how much Orin would hate to hear that, as she hated both Bane and his Chosen. The attempted laughter is followed by another wave of rage over the unfairness of this entire situation. Because how come the Chosen of Bane, their enemy, Chosen of their Father’s enemy, was in the end the one always trustworthy, always keeping his word to them, while the blood of Bhaal’s blood, the one who is sharing the same heritage as them, was the one who betrayed them?

They crawl and curse Orin and scream for their butler but he does not come. That is not possible, Sceleritas Fel always comes, wretched but faithful little thing he is. But where is he now? Why has he not come yet? To fix them and to praise them and to tell them as always how much better than Orin they are?

They pray to Bhaal but He does not answer. Why is He not answering? They are His masterpiece, His perfect scion, His tool to bring His revenge on this realm. He loves them! So why is He silent to their prayers? Do they not at least receive one last blessing, to be told they have done well, that they have done good? They have always done everything right, what was the point if Bhaal is deaf to their dying prayer…

They call for his ally who warned them and they laughed and why is he always right, will he ever get tired of being right? Where are his glorious plans now? If he was so sure Orin cannot be trusted, why did he not count with something like this happening, where is his smug smile and back up plan for every back up plan? Did he finally grow tired of them, the mind games they play together, did they finally outlived their usefulness to him as well?

The Dark Urge is in pain, the entirety of their body screams for them to give up. To lie down and let nature do its thing. Let their blood run and leave. Let their body grow cold and still. Let their soul leave for the Fugue Plane. Except they cannot, they cannot stop yet, they cannot give up! Their destroyed mind refuses to still acknowledge their defeat, their end.

Something is squirming in their head, in their brain. They can feel it. It is not a worm, it is too soon for worms to start feeding on them. They want to reach with their claws inside their opened skull and fish it out. Scratch and tore apart their flesh to cleanse it of whatever Orin dared to do to them.

The waves of rage and desperation alternate in quick succession, each time giving them a new wave of energy to move, to crawl more, just a bit further. They do not know where they are going. Out of this place. To get help. To get revenge. To make amends. To continue, to finish, to fulfil their purpose. Because they cannot stop till they destroy this damned world! They cannot! they will not!

They cannot disappoint their Lord, their Father, they cannot stop…

They try to scream for Him but they cannot. They are getting so tired, every movement slower and slower. They feel the embrace of darkness. No coherent sound is leaving their mouth and the realisation starts sinking in. That this is how they will die. As a failure left to rot forgotten by everyone, abandoned by their God too.

And it is unfair. So unfair! They understand it now, they can admit now that they failed, they get it, they are done with their self pity! So it be, Father is displeased by them, He must be, but why is He silent? And they could bear it; they could die with the fact, if only Bhaal, if only their Lord, if only their Father was not so completely quiet. His presence used to always be in the back of their mind. But they cannot feel it now, not anymore. Gone for good, ripped away together with their flesh.

And it is unfair.

They deserve to feel at least His wrath; they are desperate for any form of His divine touch. They are the Dark Urge, they are His Dark Urge, they are perfect, He created them perfect and so their failure is a greatest form of blasphemy, an insult to Him. And if they could speak, if they could have one last prayer, they would not beg for forgiveness they would just beg for punishment.

Alas, they cannot speak.

They cannot pray.

The only thing they can do now is to die…

#whumptober2024 #no.14 #left for dead #baldur's gate 3 #fic #major character death #blood and gore #religious guilt #the dark urge #anyway behold I have actually written something for whumptober #just a stream of conciousness of dying durge #bg3 #mEye fanfic

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ollieofthebeholder · 1 year ago

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 71: March 1998

Gerard likes to think of himself as reasonably fluent in Latin. At the very least, he can translate a good number of the texts his mother puts in front of him these days, and he’s written out his fair share, too, and they’re more or less understandable by anyone with a working grasp of the language. His pronunciation is decent and, when his mother reads aloud to him, he can usually comprehend it well enough.

He has, however, no clue what the old man in the frock coat is saying.

Well, that’s not…entirely true. He’s following along, for the most part. But it’s just off enough that it’s like the guy is speaking a different language. At the very least it’s a dialect he’s not familiar with, and does Latin even have dialects? He supposes it must have, at one point, just like every other language does—the Roman Empire was big enough, and lasted long enough, that there must be variants all over the place—but he’s never learned anything but the scholarly, textbook variety, and he’s not sure what’s going on.

He realizes he’s focusing on something supremely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If he worries about how the man is saying what he’s saying, he doesn’t have to think about what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it. He can pretend everything is normal.

To his left, Melanie stands unusually still for once. Her black crepe dress with the white lace collar fits her way too well to have been recently purchased—Roger almost always buys things Melanie is going to grow into—but her patent leather Mary Janes must be new, since he’s never seen them before and they’re far too shiny to have been worn much; they haven’t even picked up much of the dirt. She’s taken her hair back with a faux pearl clip, silver stars wink in her recently pierced ears, and at her throat is a cameo necklace on a black velvet ribbon. Her face is drawn and pale, and she’s clutching an honest-to-God handkerchief trimmed in lace, which might have been white once but is currently the same ivory color as the cameo. She stares straight ahead, not moving, except for the fingers that keep twisting and twisting the handkerchief.

Gerard’s eyes rove over the crowd. It’s mostly older people, a few people he recognizes vaguely from seeing around the neighborhood and one or two who’ve come to Pinhole Books on occasion, but for the most part they’re all completely unknown to him. (He’s learned by now not to use stranger in a benign context.) Roger, standing on Melanie’s other side, seems to be polishing his square spectacles rather a lot, and Gerard’s not about to look at his mother, because he doesn’t want to know what she’s looking at and doesn’t want to get in trouble if what she’s looking at is him.

Unfortunately, that only leaves him two places to look.

He lets himself, reluctantly, look at the folding chair placed just ahead of them. It’s almost entirely empty, except for two figures. Aunt Lily has gained back some weight in the last year—a lot of weight—and now has to use a cane everywhere she goes; her hands, covered in black kid gloves, are folded neatly over the carved wooden handle, except when she raises one to cough discreetly into a handkerchief—like Melanie’s, except hers is trimmed in black. She honestly looks like she’s just stepped out of an Edwardian fashion plate in a magazine instructing people on proper mourning attire. For fuck’s sake, she even has a hat with a veil.

Of course Martin stands next to her, slightly behind her. He looks smaller than usual, like he’s crumpled in on himself. His black suit jacket is just a little too big for him, hanging loosely on his shoulders and covering half of his hands, but he’s finally grown into the Norfolk cap he’s owned as long as Gerard has known him. Because of where he’s standing, Gerard can’t see anything else, but he knows he’s wearing a pair of too-long trousers that cover his smart black school shoes. He can, however, see his face, and it makes his heart hurt. It’s beyond upset, beyond even devastated. Martin looks…lost.

Gerard looks away, and of course in doing so his eyes lock onto the box just behind the priest. For some reason, the box bothers him more than Martin’s face, even though it’s closed. Maybe especially because it’s closed.

He keeps telling himself the old man isn’t really in there. That it’s just a box, containing an empty shell. That they know the old man is dead and beyond the reach of the Fourteen. The body he viewed last night, dressed in a dove grey wool suit and fingers folded over the rosary his parents brought from Poland, isn’t really the man they all knew, it’s just a husk. That man is gone, somewhere they won’t see him for a long time, if ever. Gerard isn’t terribly sure what kind of an afterlife there is, if there even is an afterlife, and he’s not sure he’ll ever earn a place in the same afterlife as Alastair Koskiewicz if there is. But wherever it is, it’s somewhere better than this, it has to be.

It doesn’t help much.

It’s not just the fact of the coffin, the idea of being shut up in a box and dropped in a hole and covered in dirt forever and ever, and how horrifying it would be if he wakes up and can’t get out. Gerard’s read stories about that happening and it’s kept him up at nights sometimes, although not as often as thinking about the casual comment Martin made when they first met (why didn’t he ever tell Alastair about that, why hasn’t he told someone, is Martin still being punished like that, what if Martin wakes up in that coffin someday). It’s the whole fact of him being dead. Death is one of the Fourteen, after all, so even being dead doesn’t mean he’s completely safe. Gerard’s not sure how that works and he’s kind of afraid to ask.

Tiny cold fingers slide into Gerard’s, and he squeezes back on instinct. That’s all Melanie needs, apparently, and she clutches his hand so tight he almost expects his fingers to pop off. For a skinny little twig like she is, she’s got a really strong grip.

The priest recites a phrase, and even if it doesn’t sound exactly like how Gerard learned it, he at least knows what it means: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He then nods and gestures at the coffin.

Six men, five strangers and Roger, step forward and each take a handle of the coffin, then carry it over to the hole. A man, probably an employee of the cemetery, directs them, then signals for them to let go. For a moment, the coffin rests on a series of straps before the pallbearers lower it into the ground.

At his side, Melanie gives a low whimper and turns away for a moment, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, before straightening and facing the grave again.

At another signal from the priest, Aunt Lily hefts herself to her feet and limps forward, Martin trailing after her. She takes something from the priest and throws it into the open grave, then steps back. The priest beckons to Martin, who also comes forward and hesitantly lets something fall from his hand into the grave. Unlike his mother, though, he doesn’t stand back, just stays where he is. The priest ignores him in favor of finishing the ceremony.

Once the final amen is said, the crowd drifts away from the graveside and back towards the road, probably intent on heading back to the old man’s house, where a reception has been laid out. Roger moves over to assist Aunt Lily to her feet, and she leans on both him and her cane as she struggles forward. Gerard’s mother focuses on an awkward-looking young blond man standing off to one side, gives a sharp, sweetly poisonous smile, and heads in that direction. Martin remains where he is, staring down into the grave, even as the gravediggers uncover the pile of dirt under the tarp and begin spading it back into the hole. Gerard can hear the rattle as it rains on the lid of the coffin. Melanie flinches at the sound, then suddenly yanks her hand out of Gerard’s and rushes over to Martin’s side, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

He doesn’t react. Gerard’s heart constricts.

Hesitantly, he crosses over as well and puts one hand on Martin’s shoulder and the other on Melanie’s. He’s taller than both of them, for now anyway, tall enough that he can look over their heads and see into the grave as the smooth, polished wood gradually disappears under the dry, brittle soil.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to steer Melanie and Martin away. “Let’s get back to the house.”

Melanie starts to come without too much resistance, but she stops dead in her tracks when Martin doesn’t budge. He keeps watching as the coffin is slowly but steadily obscured.

He’s not crying. Gerard doesn’t like it. He understands Melanie—he’s never seen her cry, no matter how upset she gets—but Martin wears his heart on his sleeve, and the fact that he’s not crying for his grandfather is…worrying. As is the way he’s just…staring at the hole, and the box.

“Martin,” Gerard says, a little more insistently. He holds his shoulder a little tighter, shakes him a bit, trying to get his attention. The fact that Martin still doesn’t react scares him more than he’s willing to admit, and before he can stop himself, he slaps the younger boy across the face. “Martin!”

Martin jerks and stumbles back from the edge of the grave. Gerard takes advantage of him being off-balance to grab his arm and drag him away; Melanie loops her arm through his other one and helps, although she’s not much help. Actually, Gerard has to admit that if Martin wasn’t already off-balance, he wouldn’t be able to move him either. Martin is chubby, to put it politely, and probably weighs as much as both of them put together, and he can be quite difficult to move when he wants to be.

The village cemetery is probably a good mile from the house, but most of the cars have already left by the time they manage to wrestle Martin to the road. Gerard reckons that’s probably not the worst thing in the world—the walk will do them good—but before he can even bring that up, a woman comes over to them. She looks to be about the same age as Gerard’s mother, a sweet-faced woman whose thick braid of hair is more white than black but whose dark blue eyes shine with innocence, and she’s dressed in a black skirt suit that looks more like an everyday work outfit than something bought specially for a funeral.

“It’s Martin, isn’t it?” she says in a soft, gentle voice. Martin recoils, shrinking back, a naked terror suddenly replacing the half-blind look that was in them before, but nods once. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his fear. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dear. I used to work with him a long time ago. He was a very, very good man.” Turning to Gerard, she adds, “And of course, you’re Eric’s son, aren’t you? Gerard? We used to be colleagues. I was saddened to hear of his passing.”

Passing. Like it was an easy thing and not the work of his mother and a pair of hedge clippers. Gerard swallows down that response and only says, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Turning to Melanie, the woman’s smile softens. “And who are you, sweetling?”

Melanie surprises Gerard. She looks up at Martin briefly, then back at the woman, but doesn’t answer. Gerard figures she’s just shy for some reason, or too upset to talk, and steps in. “This is Melanie. She’s our friend. Her dad was one of the pallbearers.”

“Of course, of course. Are you a friend of the family, then?”

Gerard starts to answer, but Melanie shakes her head and pulls on Martin’s arm. “Gerry, you know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers. C’mon, let’s go home.”

“Oh!” The woman gives a silvery laugh, then instantly sobers. “I’m so sorry, I forgot entirely! Of course none of you know me. My name is Emma.” She looks around the parking lot and adds, “It looks like everyone else has left already. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the house?”

“No.” That single word, laden with terror and cracked with tears, explodes out of Martin’s mouth as he takes a step back. It shocks Gerard, who suddenly realizes it’s the first word out of Martin’s mouth since Alastair died, but also because Martin is never rude to grown-ups. Or anybody, really, but especially not grown-ups.

He’s right, though. Gerard was on the verge of accepting the ride, but it dawns on him just how stupid an idea that is. They don’t know this woman, and for all she claims to know both Martin’s grandfather and Gerard’s father, they can’t prove she actually does. Did. She could be trying to kidnap them, or worse.

With that in mind, Gerard tosses a hasty, “Thank you, ma’am, nice to meet you!” over his shoulder as he heads up the block, arm still looped through Martin’s. It’s hard to say who’s dragging whom.

It takes them almost half an hour to get back to the house. The drive and street are clogged with cars, including the one belonging to the woman called Emma—so at least she’s actually here—and a few shadowy figures pass by the windows. Gerard figures they’ll slip inside, grab a plate each, and find a quiet corner to tuck into.

Martin surprises him again. He bypasses the house entirely, sliding his arms from Melanie and Gerard’s without a word, and makes straight for the grove of cherry trees, currently bare and only just beginning to think about budding; they won’t flower for at least another month. He doesn’t stop there, either, just reaches up and seizes a low-hanging branch and hauls himself into one of the older and sturdier trees. Martin might be plump, but he’s strong.

“Martin! Jesus.” Gerard looks at Melanie, who gives him a worried look in reply. Bowing to the inevitable, he goes over to the tree with her and boosts her up. Once she’s managed to pull herself onto a branch, and while she’s trying to figure out how to climb a bit higher to reach Martin, Gerard turns and heads back into the house.

For a wonder, he manages to elude both his mother and Martin’s, retrieve a few snacks he can secrete in his jacket pocket, and slip back out again without anyone being the wiser. Getting himself into the tree is harder, but with the assistance of the split-rail fence and a bit of effort he manages it. Martin has climbed as high as he possibly can before the branches won’t hold him anymore, and Melanie has managed, with some difficulty, to get just a couple branches below him. Gerard makes his way up to join them, then fetches the food out from his pocket and passes some to Melanie and some to Martin. He takes it mechanically, but doesn’t eat.

Finally, Gerard breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for telling that woman your name, Neens.”

“I don’t mind. She knew yours and Martin’s, it’s only fair she knew mine, too. I just wasn’t going to talk to her.” Melanie peers up at Martin. “You didn’t like her, did you?”

Martin shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. The sausage roll hangs from his hand, and he’s staring vacantly at something far away. He looks a lot older than nine years old and Gerard doesn’t know how to fix it.

Before he can figure out what to say, or even if he’s going to say anything, he hears voices and looks down. The woman from the cemetery is passing under the trees—which she has no reason to do, they’re not between the house and the cars—along with two other people, neither of whom look so old. Gerard can’t tell genders from this angle, only that one has curly blond hair and the other has sandy brown shingled hair. They’ve obviously all been at the funeral, or are trying to blend in with it, and are apparently mid-conversation.

“—know him?” a man’s voice asks. “I guess she must have, if you did. Shame she couldn’t come.”

“She’s very busy.” The older woman’s voice doesn’t quite have the same soft, gentle tones it did when she was speaking to the three of them, but it still sounds very sweet and pleasant. “That’s why she sent us, to pay her regards.”

“I have to say,” says a woman’s voice, “the, er, bereaved didn’t seem particularly upset.” The person with the shingled hair stops and puts hands on hips, so Gerard presumes she’s the one speaking. “Not until you mentioned the Institute, anyway.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I—I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I mean, if her father worked there…”

“Worked, past tense,” the unknown woman points out. “Why did he leave, anyway, Emma?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma says, a bit vaguely. “It was so long ago—it wasn’t very long after I started working for Gertrude myself.”

“Was he in the Archives, too? Did he know Eric?” The man’s voice is a bit eager.

“Gracious, no, not the Archives. Alastair was a practical researcher. You’ll find his name on several of the catalog entries for the older artifacts, if you know where to look.” Emma sighs. “But yes, he knew Eric, too. And Fiona—you never met her, of course, she sadly passed away before your time—”

“Didn’t I get hired to replace her?”

“—he was always so patient with her. The rest of us thought she was a bit of a fuddy-duddy, honestly, but I suppose she reminded him of his own mother.”

“You must have known him well,” the unknown woman says shrewdly.

Emma shrugs. “Not very, honestly. As I said, we were in different departments. He usually brought down information for Gertrude from the other departments, and they’d chat a bit, but I was always so busy I never had much time.”

“Ms. Robinson must have been busy, too,” the man says, sounding defensive.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t, Michael dear. Only that I didn’t make the time to make as many connections as she did.” Emma sighs—a bit theatrically, Gerard thinks. “It’s something I regret in my old age.”

“You’re not old.” Michael, or at least Gerard assumes he’s Michael, touches her arm urgently. “You’re still quite young, honest.”

Emma laughs that same silvery laugh. “You’re so sweet.”

Michael sighs. “You know who I feel bad for, though? That little boy. Is that—was that Alastair’s grandson?”

“Yes, that’s Martin. I wanted to speak a bit more with him, but he’s understandably upset. He must have loved his grandfather very much.” Emma clucks her tongue. “The poor little thing.”

“His grandfather loved him, too,” the unknown woman says. “I didn’t see a single picture of his mother anywhere in that house, but that little boy was all over it.” She sighs. “Come on. We’d best be getting back. I’ve still got to follow up with a couple of people.”

They move off, and for a few moments, there is complete silence. Then something wet hits Gerard’s hand. He looks up and sees Martin, still staring fixedly ahead of him, but with big, fat tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Martin.” Abandoning safety, sense, and sausage roll, Melanie pulls herself to a standing position and lunges forward to wrap her arms around Martin’s middle before Gerard can tell her be careful. She buries her face in his side and just holds on for dear life.

“I can’t remember his face,” Martin says, his voice small and fragile and choked with tears. “I, I didn’t—Mum said, she said I wasn’t allowed to look if I couldn’t see on my own and, and I was too short, so I didn’t see him last night, there was just the picture, but he was so young, he wasn’t—he wasn’t finished. It wasn’t his face. But I can’t remember what he looked like. He loved me so much and I can’t remember his face…”

Gerard swallows hard. He can empathize with that, a little, anyway. He barely remembers what his own father looked like, and…well, he assumes his father loved him. He remembers loving his father, anyway. Martin’s had nine years with his grandfather and only just lost him. That has to be disconcerting.

He could describe it to him. Tell Martin what his grandfather looks like. He could also reassure him that even if he had been able to look into the coffin last night, it wouldn’t have looked like his grandfather, not with all the makeup and the weird slackness that death adds to a face.

He doesn’t. Instead, he puts one hand on Martin’s leg and the other on Melanie’s waist and summons up every ounce of authority and assurance he can.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

Martin blinks and looks down at Gerard. “Wh-what?”

“You don’t have to remember his face,” Gerard repeats. “Is that what’s important? Or is it important that he loved you, and you love him? You can remember what he sounded like when he told you stories or taught you poems, right? What it felt like when he hugged you? What the cherry pie he made specially for you smelled like?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then that’s what matters. Faces change. Yours isn’t finished yet either, or mine, or Melanie’s, and if you didn’t see us for years and years and then one day you saw us again, maybe you wouldn’t remember what we looked like, but you’d remember we’re your friends. Love doesn’t have to look. Love just has to be.”

Melanie and Martin both stare at Gerard, who tries not to look embarrassed. He’s almost twelve, and love isn’t a word he throws around a lot, but for these two, he’ll do it. He’s never had a brother or a sister, but he feels like he’s got one now. And Alastair treated him like another grandson. He’s, he was, a good man, and Martin deserves to not feel bad for remembering him in whatever way he does.

“Besides,” he adds, to lighten the mood a little bit. “He looks a lot like a cross between your mum and a bulldog with big dangly jowls and a walrus mustache. You don’t want that image in your head all the time.”

It elicits a tiny giggle out of the other two, and Martin starts to wipe his eyes with his sleeve before Melanie hands him her handkerchief. “He’s right,” she tells him. “Not about your granddad, not exactly, but—I don’t remember what Mama looked like either. Not really. The only picture I’ve got of her is from after she got sick, and that didn’t look like her really either.”

Martin dabs at his cheeks. “But…but what if I do forget?”

“Then we’ll remind you,” Gerard says. “That’s what family is for, right?”

At that, Martin finally smiles and nods. “Yeah. That’s what family is for.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#gerard keay #martin blackwood #melanie king #martin blackwood's mother #death #funerals #burial #implied/referenced child abuse #mention of murder #forgetfulness #grief

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