#i gave up fighting tumblr i just accept the low quality now

[apamates]

Ducks

[robininthelabyrinth]

Chapter 5 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4)

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Nie Mingjue took three tries to wake up.

In all truth, he wasn’t that badly injured – if it hadn’t been for how tangled his spiritual energy already was, steeped in resentment from his wayward cultivation and burned by trying to keep a saber’s pace from within a human body, a night’s rest and some tonics would probably have been enough to put him right. But it was, and he was, and so the concern of his doctors was all the more pronounced.

The first time he woke, it was to Nie Xiaoxuan, a cantankerous old doctor who’d lost all patience with her patients years before Nie Mingjue had been conceived, looking down at him with a scowl, saying, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep!”

A needle had descended, leaving him not much choice about the matter – it was a good thing he was used to such rough treatment, or else he might’ve worried. Instead he found some comfort in how some things were always the same, and his Nie sect’s objectively awful bedside manner was one of them.

He slept.

He woke a second time to arguing outside his door in the middle of the night, whispers and hisses that were so loud as to be unworthy of being called lowered voices –

“– the Sect Leader deserves to know!”

“Nie-er-gongzi gave the order, and it was obeyed. There isn’t any need to disturb the Sect Leader’s recuperation over nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Do you know what the implications will be? Nie-er-gongzi is still young, he doesn’t understand –”

“Sect Leader was once younger still. There is still sect discipline, or are you making an official challenge to his judgment? If so, you should be bothering Nie-er-gongzi, as the one who gave the order, and a council of peers that would be assembled to determine if his judgment was flawed.”

“I  - no. I won’t.”

“If there’s no challenge to the quality of Nie-er-gongzi’s judgment, then there’s no reason to talk to the Sect Leader.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, proud of his sect and of his brother – even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that Nie Huaisang had ordered that had caused such a stir – and went back to sleep.

He woke up the third time to the sounds of a guqin.

He’d always been slow to wake from an induced sleep, and this time was no different – his body was heavy, confining, and it was a long time before he managed to open his eyes. A half-shichen at least, and yet the guqin continued steadfastly onwards.

So by the time he did manage to open his eyes, the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth were, “Wangji, please stop making a racket.”

The sound of the guqin paused.

Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him. Lan Wangji looked better than he had the last time he’d seen him, in that horrible mixture of nightmare and reality that had been their flight from the Cloud Recesses and the terrible strain of flying all the way to Qinghe in a single night.  If either of them had been lesser cultivators, they wouldn’t have been able to manage it; even at their level, it was considered highly unwise, and they had known that they were spending life energy rather than spiritual qi to buy them the strength they needed.

At least it had been late enough that both children, initially excited by all the rushing around involved in their escape, had quickly lapsed back into sleep instead of descending to tears.

Still, better was a low bar. By the end of their flight, Lan Wangji had had blood soaking through his white robes, his eye locked on the horizon and unable to focus on anything nearer, his entire body wracked with occasional shudders – if he’d been anyone else, he would have been screaming.

He still look pale and bloodless, his eyes hunted and guilty and tired, stark white bandages visible beneath the pale (but not white) robes that looked like something Nie Huaisang had once owned, but he didn’t look about to expire, so Nie Mingjue would take that as a victory.

“I would have thought,” Lan Wangji said carefully, laying his hands on the guqin chords to stop the sound, “that you would prefer that it not be silent.”

“There’s silence and then there’s silence,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to shrug and abruptly realizing that that was a bad idea. His shoulders and neck and back all hurt – possibly he’d dislocated something in trying to get out of that horrible room. Probably, even. “Not wanting to be locked in a room designed to be as close to nothingness as possible doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t want some peace and quiet once in a while…I shouldn’t have called your playing a racket. It’s very good. There was just a lot of it.”

Lan Wangji blinked, then shook his head. “I do not take offense,” he said, simply enough that Nie Mingjue believed him. “It is a surprise that you think the way you do about silence, even now. I myself have been…struggling, with the concept.”

“It’s very loud here,” Nie Mingjue said knowingly, and Lan Wangji averted his eyes. “It’s all right if you don’t like it that much, you know. Has Huaisang talked with you about the options for soundproofing?”

“He has,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

“It feels –” he hesitated. “Like a step backwards. My Lan sect has always valued silence, quiet – not just valued, but imposed, even on those for whom it is not appropriate.”

Like you, he meant, or maybe he was thinking about little Lan Jingyi, the orphan he’d stolen away from his own sect – truly stolen, since unlike little Lan Sizhui Lan Wangji had no guardianship rights over him to justify taking him away.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t objected to it, figuring that it didn’t make much difference to the amount of scandal he would undoubtedly causse whether he had taken away one child or two when he convinced the Second Jade of Lan to abandon his ‘seclusion’ in favor of refuge at the Unclean Realm. Anyway, if Lan Wangji had concluded that it would be better for the child to leave, then it probably was – Nie Mingjue trusted his judgment.

Just like you trusted Lan Xichen’s?

“Each sect has a different cultivation style,” he said, deciding not to think about that right now. “With both strengths and weaknesses. My Nie sect has a martial style, aggressive and overpowering; your Lan sect, although it still follows the orthodoxy of sword cultivation, focuses on contemplation, thoughtfulness, and, yes, quiet. Who is to say which is better than the other? They’re just different.”

Lan Wangji was frowning.

“Sometimes I think Wen Mao made a mistake when he abandoned sects based on preference and style in favor of raising up his clan,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “And your ancestors and mine, too, in following his lead. Look at Huaisang – to cultivate a saber is his heritage, his birthright and his duty to our bloodline, and so he must do so despite being clearly unsuited for it.” He paused, then sighed. “Not that he’s all that suitable for anything else, either.”

Lan Wangji shot him a quelling look, disapproving, but in the sort of way that Lans had when they were amused by you.

“Still, we’re all cultivators, each of us fighting against fate,” Nie Mingjue continued. “While we must be guided by our traditions, we must also each find the path that suits us best. You’ve always enjoyed the quiet, Wangji; you welcome peace, prefer order, thrive within the confines of your sect’s rules. Finding the point at which you and your traditions part ways does not mean that you are morally obligated to give up everything about them.”

“Not even when those traditions have caused so much harm?”

“Even so,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’re all on a path, and in choosing to take a new turn, you are not disregarding the past, but adding your wisdom to that of those who came before you. I made changes to my Nie sect’s cultivation style once I became sect leader, just as my father did before me; my brother will make still more when he takes the position after I go. Each of my Nie sect disciples practices the Nie sect style, but each one takes it and makes it their own. Keep what helps, discard what hurts.”

“But in this case, is it not the very same thing?” Lan Wangji asked. His brow was still furrowed, the matter clearly one of great concern to him. “I have always turned to the quiet for comfort and strength, sought seclusion to temper myself and test myself, and yet – in the absence of all noise– I found myself slowly going mad, locked away and alone. You yourself nearly died from it. What lesson can I take from this, if not that the quiet is evil?”

“You can take the lesson that too much quiet can be an evil, in the same way too much medicine can be a poison,” Nie Mingjue said. “I might hate your jingshi, since it doesn’t suit me, but I’m given to understand that it often helps, too. It brings peace to cultivators who are tormented by a mind full of thoughts they cannot quiet and helps them fight the demons in their hearts, it allows those who are too connected to the world to tear themselves away. It was built for a purpose.”

“It was,” Lan Wangji said. “A purpose it has now betrayed.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have anything to say about that. He’d once told Lan Xichen that he thought his sect’s practice of introducing children to that place until they learned quiet whether they liked it or not was inhumane and cruel, and Lan Xichen – in a rare moment of sarcasm – had asked him if teaching them to cultivate a saber spirit that would eventually consume their minds with rage was somehow meant to be morally superior.  

To each their own faults, he supposed. Perhaps the next generation would do better.

(He found himself thinking things like that a great deal, these days. He was only in his twenties, and yet his thoughts resembled an old man’s – the feeling of death stalking his footsteps, the day nearly done, his legacy a book that seemed to be nearly completed.

That had been what had driven him to stop his sessions of Clarity with Jin Guangyao, in fact. He’d been reviewing a plan for renovating the western courtyards of the Unclean Realm as part of a long-term plan to get more air and light in there and he’d found himself thinking I probably won’t be here to see this completed, and that had been when he’d realized that it was time to start seriously planning for succession.)

“Perhaps it is the conflation of different things,” Lan Wangji mused, more to himself than anyone else. “The quiet, being alone, loneliness…and yet you can have quiet without being alone, you can be alone without being lonely, you can be lonely without quiet. A balance between disconnecting from the world and connecting with other people.”

That sounded like poetry, and Nie Mingjue could see Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch towards the guqin – he’d probably been inspired.

Nie Mingjue sighed and put his hand over his eyes. His father had told him that being an elder brother meant a life of sacrifice, and he’d been right. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and play something. I know you want to.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a few long moments, and then his fingers began to move, the too-familiar sound of the Song of Clarity rising up to fill Nie Mingjue’s ears.

“I didn’t mean for me,” Nie Mingjue clarified, rolling his eyes while his hand was still hiding them. The Lan were always so earnest. “I’m not even meditating right now, Wangji. Don’t waste your effort.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers stilled briefly, then continued.

“Chifeng-zun –”

Nie Mingjue pulled his hand away long enough to give Lan Wangji a stern look – he’d already told him several times to refer to him more casually, and however long or short his stay at the Unclean Realm was, if they were going to endure a scandal together, he was simply going to have to adjust to their ways.

Lan Wangji looked long-suffering.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he conceded, and Nie Mingjue nodded, pleased. “Please pay close attention to my playing. Identify if there are any differences between my rendition and –”

“Wangji,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, feeling pained at the very thought. “I can’t.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, his eyes showing distress.

Nie Mingjue felt guilty at once, and exhaled a sigh. “Wangji, you know I don’t cultivate with music,” he said. “It’s all just interminable plucking to me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows shot up. “Plucking?” he echoed, and Nie Mingjue winced – he’d probably shocked poor Lan Wangji’s conscience. “Mingjue-xiong…you really don’t like music, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I can more or less follow a beat or rhythm, and military calls are fine no matter what instrument is involved, but the rest is all a mess of pointless noise. I can’t tell if the notes are high or low, which ones go before the others, and apparently there are different tones in music as there are in speech? Except in music, certain of them apparently sporadically considered bad, in a variety of different and exciting ways, sometimes but not others, none of which make the slightest difference – ”

He stopped talking on account of Lan Wangji having started to make an unusual hiccupping sound.

Nie Mingjue squinted. Was Lan Wangji…laughing?

If so, he was sorely out of practice. Though now that he thought it, that seemed to make some sense.

“Forgive me,” Lan Wangji said, shoulders shaking – he’d stopped making audible noise, but he was evidently still suffering from an attack of hilarity. “You speak so well, Mingjue-xiong; I had not realized that you suffered from amusia.” He saw Nie Mingjue’s frown of confusion and clarified, “Tone-deafness.”

“I say so all the time!”

“I had incorrectly assumed, as I suspect many have, that you were using the term colloquially,” Lan Wangji said. “How do you fight alongside my brother? I have seen you do so flawlessly, without any impediment, even when he wields Liebing.”

“I can follow along with what he’s doing with his qi,” Nie Mingjue said. “We have been close for so many years, and his spiritual energy is as familiar to me as my own –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Nie Mingjue stopped talking.

His heart was heavy in his chest, weighed down with feeling, all those things he’d been so carefully not thinking about suddenly stifling him. Lan Xichen, his childhood friend, his lover, his beloved…

He’d hurt him.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t bring himself to believe that the act had been intentional or malicious, not even when Lan Wangji’s arrival made painfully clear that Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to supervise him. It simply wasn’t in Lan Xichen’s nature to do such an underhanded thing –

(You once thought Meng Yao wouldn’t do that sort of thing, either. Do you make a habit of blindness?)

He had known Lan Xichen for such a long time, though. If he didn’t know him, both virtues and faults, what person existed that he could say he understood?

No, Lan Xichen must have been trying to help him, not hurt him. And yet – regardless of his intent – he had.

He had hurt him very badly.

Lan Xichen hadn’t listened to him, had ignored him, disregarded him – Nie Mingjue had been as clear as he could be about how he felt about the quiet room. Perhaps he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about his youthful attempt to see if he could handle it, at first out of simply not wanting to appear weak in front of his lover, but later out of (admittedly petty) principle: shouldn’t his ‘no’ be enough? Shouldn’t Lan Xichen have trusted him?

He hadn’t.

He’d trusted Jin Guangyao instead.

Jin Guangyao with his smiles and slippery manner, with his so-believable excuses and always-present rationalizations, always the victim in every exchange they had – Lan Xichen always went to comfort him first after they had another one of their arguments, Nie Mingjue recalled abruptly. He’d called him on it once, in his anger, but Lan Xichen had explained that he knew how strong Nie Mingjue was, how resilient, and that his “A-Yao” needed his sympathy more.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He was resilient, and anyway he knew how frightening his rages could be; he’d thought perhaps that Lan Xichen simply wanted the excuse to be elsewhere until he’d had a chance to calm down.

He’d rationalized a lot of things. Maybe too many. But this?

This was too much.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said hesitantly. “About – about my brother…”

Nie Mingjue grimaced, and Lan Wangji felt silent once more.

Nie Mingjue’s heart cried out for his lover, the kind and gentle man who might be a little too reluctant to express himself, a little prone to going with the will of the majority to avoid confrontation, a little inclined to panic at the thought of disappointing people, but whose faults only made him the more human, the more loveable.

But Nie Mingjue had slept, and slept well, and even if his heart was still tangled, his mind was now clear.

“I have long thought,” he said carefully, painfully cognizant of the fact that Lan Wangji was Lan Xichen’s younger brother, “that fate had arranged for your brother and I to meet, and that we would live the rest of our lives intertwined, our hears and minds filled with thoughts of one another. But it seems to me now that that was perhaps – not our destiny.”

“My brother has wronged you,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I still believe his intent was good,” Nie Mingjue assured him earnestly. “Your brother has – more reason than most, I think, to resent my intransigence on matters of my health, and to suspect – to suspect –”

He stopped, swallowed. He had long been (politely) termed to be a straightforward man; it was not in his character to stutter over his speech, to be unable to say the unvarnished truth no matter how painful. Even if it was his lover who was causing him such pain.

“Wangji,” he said instead, and Lan Wangji looked at him. “You know that my family – does not live long lives.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“It is not uncommon,” he said carefully, “for those in my family to begin to show signs of decline before the end. A certain rigidity of thought –”

“You are not so far down that path that your thinking has become impaired,” Lan Wangji said abruptly, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “Moreover, your refusal was not new, but consistent with your prior thoughts, your opinion expressed repeatedly and consistently. Do not make excuses for him.”

Nie Mingjue was a little surprised, having expected Lan Wangji to defend his brother, but then he recalled the matter of those thirty-three marks marring Lan Wangji’s back. Even if Lan Wangji’s conduct had been wrong, it had been motivated by love, and at any rate the others in the Lan sect had not died – no one had died, except for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had only been able to offer his beloved the succor of his presence for a short time before he returned to submit himself to punishment.

Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate – it might not be the actions of a Lan, but, as a Nie, Nie Mingjue found his sympathies lay with Lan Wangji in this matter. Yes, he had defended a murderer from being torn apart by the hands of his victims, and Nie Mingjue would not say that he did not think it was necessary for Wei Wuxian to die, but even those that had been duly tried and sentenced to the worst capital punishment might still be allowed the mercy of a good meal and the touch of their lover’s hand before they were executed, and a bit of disobedience against one’s elders was to be expected in any love affair.  

Was fending off a few old men to buy a few shichen of love before its premature end really worth a punishment that would have crippled anyone weaker?

“Actions matter more than intent,” he agreed, wondering how he could convey his thoughts on the subject without being offensive to the Lan sect, “but that doesn’t make intent meaningless. To act from love and affection is still better than for – other reasons.”

He wasn’t sure Lan Wangji had understood his meaning: the other man only lowered his eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s mind reluctantly returned to his own troubles.

“I’ll speak with Xichen,” he decided, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Lan Xichen’s conduct, however it was meant, could be understood as having brought him to the very precipice of death – enough justification to start a war, given that Nie Mingjue was a sect leader. Their respective positions meant that a disagreement between them could never be simply personal, but was also political; if Nie Mingjue allowed his soft heart to convince him to forgive Lan Xichen, he would be setting a poor standard for the future. “He can explain what he was thinking. If I find his explanation unsatisfactory, I will – tell him what I told you.”

Nie Mingjue was blunt and direct, sparing no one – not even himself – but he was not so cold as to be able to cut off a relationship that already spanned the majority of his life sign unseen. He would give Lan Xichen one chance to salvage things between them, to be shocked into sobriety by the extent of how things had gotten out of hand, to genuinely apologize –

“I think,” Lan Wangji said, very slowly, eyes still locked on the floor as if there was something fascinating there, “that brother’s explanation may omit that he was distracted by his other lover.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart froze in his chest.

“Other – lover?” he said dumbly. Lan Wangji refused to look at him. “Wangji – are you saying – Xichen has..?”

Lan Xichen wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

“Lianfeng-zun has told him lies, and Brother accepted them without verification,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was bitter. “I believe that he feared confronting you on the subject of a man he knew you disliked, and also saw an opportunity to obtain his heart’s desire – to not give up anything and yet gain something he wanted. And Lianfeng-zun is known to be skilled in anticipating people’s desires.”

Nie Mingjue stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind whirling.

So many little things suddenly made a belated sort of sense.

The way Lan Xichen seemed so certain that all the troubles between them were only temporary, the way that he entreated Nie Mingjue to think kindly of Jin Guangyao as if there was a stronger bond between them than a lost former friendship and a new sworn brotherhood. The way Jin Guangyao acted more intimately with Nie Mingjue whenever Lan Xichen was present, only to return to a more professional remove once they were alone – he’d assumed that was because Jin Guangyao knew that Lan Xichen would protect him if Nie Mingjue got annoyed with him for such familiarities and that Nie Mingjue would not want to upset his beloved by scolding over something so minor.

But if, for instance, Jin Guangyao had told Lan Xichen that they had been lovers once, those public intimacies, and Lan Xichen’s joy in them, all suddenly took on a new flavor –

Surely Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue would never have done that to him?

Skilled in anticipating people’s desires.

Nie Mingjue had noticed Lan Xichen’s fondness for Jin Guangyao from the first, back when Jin Guangyao had been only Meng Yao, and he’d known that Meng Yao had respected and even revered the beautiful, powerful, and chivalrous Zewu-jun. He’d been pleased when they’d become friends, hadn’t minded the occasional light flirtation – he’d been so certain that nothing would come of it, trusted in Lan Xichen’s morality and their love. He himself was not skilled in wordplay the way they were, nor as sensitive to the subtle changes in a conversation, preferring to stay silent rather than risk mis-stepping, a habit formed of too much responsibility and exposure to politics at too early an age. Why shouldn’t Lan Xichen get to enjoy the cut and thrust of charming, clever conversation with an expert at the art?

They had all been friends back then. Nie Mingjue had been so proud of his prized deputy, and pleased beyond measure that Lan Xichen liked him as well; Nie Mingjue had so few friends that the addition of another one was something he treasured. Even if Lan Xichen’s good sense had surely told him that such betrayal was impossible, given Nie Mingjue’s character, he might still in his reckless desires allow himself to be intoxicated by his affections and believe it for just a little while – just long enough to taste Jin Guangyao’s lips, perhaps.

That’d be enough.

Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen well; he knew his lover’s faults as well as he knew his virtues. If Lan Xichen had allowed himself to act foolishly for a moment, he would have panicked at the thought of coming to terms with it, and Jin Guangyao was so good at soothing his panic. Too good: where Nie Mingjue, in his harshness, had always advised revisiting mistakes and learning from them, no matter how difficult the process, Jin Guangyao would always recommend being kind to oneself, taking care of oneself, avoiding the pain that came with tackling one’s flaws and erroneous self-conceptions head-on.

Too much care for the self would eventually mean not enough care for others, Nie Mingjue had always thought, rolling his eyes whenever Jin Guangyao earnestly held forth on his views. But Lan Xichen had liked it – and why wouldn’t he? It was easier to put yourself first, to refuse to admit mistakes were mistakes, to rationalize events until you were always the victim and everyone else wrong. It meant you didn’t have to confront your own capacity for cruelty and selfishness, could conceive of yourself as always virtuous and always good and always right.

Right, rather than righteous.

Justified, rather than just.

The way Jin Guangyao always did.

Yes, Lan Xichen might allow himself to kiss Jin Guangyao, or more if Jin Guangyao pushed his advantage – which he would, Nie Mingjue had no doubt of that – and then, after the fog of lust had cleared, Lan Xichen would realize that he’d have to confess the entire thing to Nie Mingjue.

An emotional confrontation of the sort he hated most.

And then, of course, just as Lan Xichen was most upset and vulnerable, Jin Guangyao would offer him a way out – a way for Lan Xichen to continue to see himself as a good person who had done no wrong, who didn’t need confront anything – a way to get a new love alongside the old, to have Jin Guangyao’s clever speech and gentle care while not losing Nie Mingjue’s steadfast affection and support.

It was not uncommon in their times for a man to have more than one wife and entirely possible for him to love them both equally; the idea of a triad was not so strange. But Lan Xichen should have asked.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask because some part of him knew that the answer would be no, and, just as he had with the quiet room, that was not an answer he wished to accept.

And that…that was not something that could be blamed on Jin Guangyao, as much as Nie Mingjue would prefer to do so.

That was all Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen...how could you do this to me?

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes in pain. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him, like a really good punch might do - he felt hollow, weightless, disconnected, as if he had been struck by a blow that had shattered his bones and he was drifting in that blank space in the moment after the blow landed but before the pain reached his brain.

The full weight of the revelation would hit, eventually. He would feel it all, eventually.

“I see,” he said, and he did. Lan Wangji was upset over it in a way that suggested that he had only recently learned the truth. Given the speed of their travel, that meant he must have discovered it while conversing with Nie Huaisang – and that was another problem, because Nie Huaisang was their father’s son just as Nie Mingjue was, and nothing sparked their rage more than an offense against a loved one. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is what I should do.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tight, his chest dull as if there was a knot where his heart had been - yes, he would need some time to deal with this.

“Huaisang is managing well?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to actually ask for a little more time before he had to return to being the stern and untouchable sect leader, before he had to once again take on the mantle of power and make all the decisions – to force himself to react as a politician rather than a betrayed lover. It would be disgraceful to give into such weakness.

“He is,” Lan Wangji said. “He has given orders that you may not leave your room until the end of the week at the earliest, so as to remind the disciples of the benefit of rest following an injury.”

Nie Mingjue loved his brother.

“Very well,” he said, and decided not to ask about what Nie Huaisang might or might not have gotten into over the last day or so that had led some disciples to think they needed to disturb his rest in order to tell him. It didn’t really matter. They needed to adjust to taking Nie Huaisang’s orders as if he was sect leader in truth – especially if Nie Mingjue’s health continued to deteriorate…

He didn’t have time to think too much on that before Lan Wangji spoke again, saying, “Even if you do not understand music, you can follow the emanations of qi from an instrument, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue said, a little puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation but deeply relieved to have something to think about - anything, really, as long as it wasn’t the brutal feeling of his heart being torn to shreds within his chest.

“So if I were to utilize musical cultivation, you might be able to determine if I were using the same patterns as you had heard others use?”

“I suppose so,” Nie Mingjue said. It would be extremely irritating to have to pay attention to such small ebbs and flows, especially when he was also trying to meditate and draw the qi into himself for the fullest effect, but he was familiar enough with Clarity by now that he probably could if he really had to. “But why?”

“A suspicion,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie Huaisang has pointed out that Lianfeng-zun’s actions in connection to my brother are suggestive of malice against you, his actions in convincing my brother to lock you into the jingshi doubly so, and yet he comes to visit you regularly, purportedly to improve your health.”

Purportedly.

Nie Mingjue grimaced again, but this time it was with anger at himself – because the suggestion did not shock him the way the information about Lan Xichen had. Meng Yao, Meng Yao, he thought, I wish I didn’t believe this of you. I extended my trust to you twice over, and each time you have disappointed me…it’s my own fault, I suppose, for being arrogant enough to think I could change you.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he said, suddenly tired. “I understand your implication, and we will of course need to examine whether it is correct. But not today.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said, and stood up. “I will take my leave and go tell Nie Huaisang to move me into one of the soundproofed rooms. I require time to contemplate the subject of quiet.”

That made Nie Mingjue want to smile, though he couldn’t quite manage it, still twisted by all the revelations that had relentlessly pounded against him since he had awoken. “Good,” he said instead, turning to nod at Lan Wangji in approval. “I hope your meditation on the subject is fruitful.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “As you said, I must find my own path, be guided by tradition but not unduly restricted by it. But there is one point in what you said that was incorrect.”

“Oh?”

“You said that I should not, without consideration, throw out my sect’s traditions,” Lan Wangji said, and he was standing stiffly, at attention, with his face as serious as it ever got. “But at the moment, it is not my sect. You have given me permission to stay here, and I intend to do so.”

Nie Mingjue’s first thought was oh that’s going to have some serious political implications, followed immediately by I guess I did do that didn’t I and someone is going to wring my throat over this, probably Huaisang, but very shortly thereafter with if this is what he needs then so be it.

Still, he could do nothing but watch, stunned, as Lan Wangji lifted his hands to his forehead and very deliberately removed the forehead ribbon that marked him as a member of the Lan sect – the symbol of his family, the symbol of his restraint, which he would normally have never allowed another person outside his family to see him without – and, just as deliberately, wrapped it around Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

“I would ask that you keep this for me, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said, and his tone when he said Nie Mingjue’s name was the same as when he called Lan Xichen brother. “Until such time as I decide to reclaim it as my own, or discard it forever.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice a little faint from shock. “Whatever you need, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, grateful, and saluted deeply before leaving.

Nie Mingjue lay back down on the bed and stared at his wrist for a long moment.

This is going to have some serious political implications, he thought a second time. And Lan Xichen won’t ever forgive me for stealing away his little brother.

A moment later, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Lan Xichen had made his choices.

Now he would have to pay for them.

[utterlyinevitable]

I’m bored and you’re headcanons are honestly so quality omfg but anyways write a headcanon of ethan and MC having a high school, slow burn love/not love (angsty ✨✨✨ kinda like us with our muses 💀 I’m not sure if Ethan ends up coming out as gay at the end tho-honestly if he did I’m living for it) love you lots! 💖 your tumblr niece

AHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAH no no nope Ethan will not come out as gay 🤣 But I am going to take full on creative liberty with this and you’re just gonna have to deal 😘

Ethan and Becca Meet in High School 

Ethan Ramsey was 26 years old and a TA for the school’s science department. He took the part time role on a year’s contract to help pay off some of his student loans before he started residency. 

At 17 years old, Becca was a senior at a small-town high school. 

Becca was an interesting student - very quiet but intelligent. She surrounded herself with the strangest group boys. Those boys were her lab bench mates, and were incredibly subpar. 

More than once Ethan caught the three boys playing games on their laptops and scrolling their feeds instead of paying attention. 

He watched her carry them all on her back through the course. And ask for nothing in return. 

It made his blood boil - they were clearly taking advantage of their friend. 

The next week Ethan persuaded Ms. Cook changed up the seating arrangements. 

Ethan took great pleasure in marking the boys Cs instead of the B+ they were used to getting with Becca’s help. 

Second Semester, AP Bio was kicking Becca’s ass. She needed help preparing to get the 5 she needed on the exam in order to rank Top 15 in her class before graduation.

So she attended Ms. Cook’s after school sessions. 

It seemed half the class needed extra help, so they were split up into groups. Half with Cook and half with Ramsey. Becca was assigned to Ramsey. 

As the days and weeks progressed, the after school group dwindled. 

After a choose-your-partner lab that day, Becca ended up with the same group of useless individuals. 

At study group that afternoon, Ethan confronted her about it: “I don’t know why you let them take credit for your work. Be proud of your accomplishments.” “Being proud gets you enemies.” “You’d rather have friends and compromise your integrity, than showing everyone what you’re capable of?”

That made her think. 

“I’d rather come out of high school unscathed.” “You can’t make everyone love you. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you’ll come into your own.”  “And who are you, Dr. Ramsey?”  “Someone who took every opportunity I could. I advise you do the same.” 

Over the next few weeks they got to know one another better. Ethan becoming her somewhat mentor and encouraging her to speak up more and assert herself. 

She took all his words to heart. 

He was proud and a little taken aback when she found a fallacy in one of their labs and called Ms. Cook out on it. It resulted in it being postponed to fix the errors.  

Being a high school senior meant having to choose what college to go to. 

She was getting acceptance letters left and right but she had absolutely no clue what she wanted to to with her life. 

“Did you always want to be a doctor?” she asked one afternoon.  “No. But it’s what I’m good at.”  “How did you know it’s what you wanted to pursue?”  “As much as I regret saying this, it felt like a calling.”  “Hmph. Okay.”  “You don’t agree with the notion?”  “I don’t know what I want to do. I’ve applied to so many schools and different programs. How do I know which one’s right?” 

They talked about what she’s passionate about and what makes her happiest and what careers she thinks she could pursue.  

That got her to think. Think long and hard and over a few days. 

She had a new outlook on life - she was on a new quest to find her eternal happiness. 

May came around and she took her AP exam. She got a perfect score.  _

Becca has eyes. She notices how attractive Dr. Ramsey is. Tbh everyone notices - he’s the thirst of the school district. Her girl friends even ask her about him multiple times a week. All she does is roll her eyes and say he’s too old for them.    

Becca had been all but dating Bryce Lahela for the last year and a half. 

They were friends. 

Friends who kissed and touched and spent almost every Friday and Saturday night together with the gang. 

It wasn’t a secret that Bryce was completely enamored by her. 

He wanted her. Officially. And he was tried of waiting. 

One day after school, Bryce was waiting outside Ms. Cook’s classroom for her. 

He nodded at and dodged every student that passed him as he waited. She was the last one to leave. 

“Hey,” he gave his megawatt smile.  “Hey, what’re you doing here? Don’t you have practice?”  “Ended early.” 

They exchanged small talk and Bryce finally began to lay everything out in a young, round about way. He kissed her to butter her up. 

“Be my girlfriend?”  “What’s wrong with what we already have?”  “C’mon, Becks,” he pulled her in closer by her beltloop.  “No.”  “No?”  “What’s the point? We’re just going to break up before college.”  “You don’t know that.” 

She rattled off all her reasons why: they aren’t going to the same school, they’re young, she doesn’t want to resent him, she doesn’t want to fall in love with him just for it to end badly. 

Bryce went to fight for her but was interrupted by the slam of a door. The two looked up and saw Dr. Ramsey and Ms. Cook locking up for the evening.

She pulled away from him and turned on her heels. 

At the bus stop, Becca sat with her head in her hands. 

Ethan came up next to her.   “For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision. You’re going to change immensely over the next few years.”  “I know,” she grumbled into her palms. “It just hurts.”   _

Becca went to Stony Brook and double majored in Chemistry and Biology. 

She then attended Med School at UCLA. 

Her second year, a familiar name stared back at her from her required internal medicine textbook: Dr. Ethan Ramsey. 

Becca couldn’t help the smile as she remembered him. She’d almost forgot about the TA that impacted her life more than she could ever know.

Out of curiosity she consumed all his research. And when she finished everything, she found his direct email at Edenbrook. 

She spent an entire weekend wondering if she should email him - Ask if he remembered her and that she followed his advice. She found her calling and it was helping people, just like him. She thought about throwing a joke in there but figured it had been too many years and it probably wouldn’t translate. 

When residency came, she only had applied to Edenbrook. 

And that’s when she emailed him. 

She hadn’t gotten a response for months. 

Actually, she didn’t hear anything until her decision letter came. 

That same evening she found an email from him at the top of her inbox:  Glad to see you’ve found your voice. We look forward to welcoming you to the team. 

Ethan vaguely remembered Becca. 

Honestly, he blocked the whole TA part of his life out. 

Though, once he received her email, he personally vetted her application. And he was blown away. She wasn’t some naïve teenager. 

Becca started working at Edenbrook and wanted nothing more than to learn from Ethan himself. 

But he was different - jaded and cynical and not as approachable as she remembered. 

He pushed her to reach her potential and she pushed his buttons. 

They grew closer, especially with Naveen’s case. Basically the slow burn in canon happens. 

These two get together, officially, once their jobs at the new Bloombrook Diagnostics Hospital were instated and they were definitely both staying in Boston for the foreseeable future.  _

Becca didn’t particularly want to go to her 10-year high school reunion. She went because she was being recognized for her accomplishments with a few other alum. 

She brought her boyfriend Ethan with her.  “If I have to sit through this, so do you.”  “I can honestly say I’ve never been to a reunion.”  “Well, you’re my excuse to leave early. Gotta put the old man to bed,” she winked. 

She was grateful for him playing along instead of taking another shift at work, and it would be nice to just be a couple for once. Without expectations hanging over them as the heads of their respective departments at work. 

They had been in the ballroom for less than 15 minutes before they heard the loud whispers circulating. 

Seems like Becca wasn’t the only one who remember the sexiest TA in all of high school history and of teenage dreams. 

There were a bunch of intrusive questions being thrown at them and people coming up to them for the low down. 

They tried not to be rude in their admonishments but the whole situation was awkward as fuck. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring him with her.... 

But there was no going back now. 

And then Bryce sauntered over. 

They hadn’t spoken to one another since senior prom when he took her best friend as a date and then hooked up with someone else at the after party. 

“Rebecca, you look amazing,” he came in for a hug.  “Thank you, Bryce.” 

They had awkward catch ups at one side of the table as Ethan sat at the other end fending off questions from other girls and a select group of boys that remembered him. 

Bryce and Becca talked about what they’ve been up to, how he’s now a surgeon and what brought him back home. 

They lamented about how it’s strange they’re both in medicine and never spoke of that as a career path way back when. 

In their long, flowing and unawkward conversation, they settled that it was best they went their separate ways. 

They settled on the agreement that they didn’t think they’d end up at the schools they went to if they did date. They assumed love would reign and they’d choose to stay close by, and New York and California were not close by. 

With all the long awaited closure finally out of the way, Bryce motioned towards Ethan; “So, you and that guy? How’d that happen?” 

She knew what he was thinking and was quick to squash any rumors from starting.

“We work together. Didn’t mean for it to happen, it just kind of fell together.”  “You look happy.”  “I am.” 

Bryce was bold in his next assumption. Knowing Becca as the girl who always spoke about never getting married and being a free bird as her main reasons for never committing to a boy, he wanted to catch her of guard:   “Is it love?” 

He wasn’t prepared for her answer.

“Yes.” 

People change and are allowed to evolve. But it’s hard to imagine someone you once loved as anything other than who they were. And it’s even harder to see them in love with someone else. 

[mr-entj]

Hi Mr ENTJ, How do you deal with doubt? That gripping feeling that you're just not enough and you should be better? How do you look for answers from the inside rather than just patch in on from the outside? Thanks.

Related answers:

Can you talk about the quality(ies) or trait(s) that contributed most to your success?

What do you think is required from a person to succeed ?

Dealing with failure and overcoming adversity

You’re referring specifically to self-doubt. This is a great question that took me a long time to properly articulate a response because I didn’t want to dismiss it with a stereotypical: “I don’t feel self-doubt. I just fix the problem, power through it, and move on!” like every other ExTJ out there. I want to properly explain why this is the case so let me try:

I don’t often experience self-doubt or the gripping feeling that I’m not good enough, not because I’m a perfect human being (far from it-- here’s a greatest hits collection of some of my biggest failures), but because of my general approach to life that’s shaped by a few key beliefs.

1. I know where the world ends and where I begin

This means that I know where the line exists between what I want and what the world wants, between who I am and who other people want me to be, and between my expectations for my life and other people’s expectations of me. I see this boundary crystal clear and I enforce it. I set my own goals and I hold myself accountable to them.

This helps fight self-doubt because I don’t attach my self-esteem and self-worth to externally defined goals or assessments, I don’t accept unwanted input into my personal life from people who don’t matter, and I don’t compare myself to other people in destructive ways. If I compare myself to other people, it’s for the purposes of data gathering and not validation.

For example, the knowledge that most students graduate college in 4 years tells me that 4 years is the average amount of time. My key takeaway is that 3 years is above average speed and 4+ years is below average speed so I should aim to get my degree in approximately 4 years. My key takeaway is not that I’m a disastrous failure if I don’t graduate college in 4 years. And FYI, I ended up graduating in 6 years because I dropped out for 2 years and I still turned out fine.

Self-defined and self-enforced goals are critical to combating self-doubt because they mute all the outside noise; pushy parents, nosy friends, aggressive colleagues, and fickle societal standards. Life is very difficult by itself without the added complexity of multiple people pulling you in different directions that you don’t even want to go. Set clear boundaries and take the time to self-reflect what’s important to you so that you can be happy with the results of your efforts even if they don’t yield acknowledgement from anyone else.

tl;dr:

Find peace with the life you create for yourself because it’s you that has to live it.

2. I keep the big picture in mind, always

This means perspective. In the grand scheme of things, small losses here and there don’t amount to much because life is a marathon and not a sprint. This means that if you screw up today, there’s a high chance you can fix it tomorrow. If not, then know the world isn’t going to end because of it. The sun will still rise, babies will still be born, puppies will still be cute, your family will still love you, Tumblr will still be toxic, and the earth will still spin on its axis. I have failed classes, almost got held back in school, screwed up at work, infuriated important people, been rejected from 100+ jobs, lost important scholarships, and things still worked out because those failures didn’t matter in the long run even if they felt enormous at the time I was experiencing them. I know mistakes can be fixed, they’re not permanent, and they don’t sabotage the grand vision I have for my life. It makes the times I fall on my ass less painful which consequently makes me less fearful of trying to fly over and over again until I get it right.

This helps fight self-doubt because I attach failure to individual outcomes (actions) but I do not attach failure to me personally (identity).

For example, if I applied to Harvard University but got rejected, my interpretation of that outcome is this: “I failed to get into Harvard.” Yes, I failed to get into Harvard (action) but no, I am not a failure (identity).

The failure starts and stops at the end of an outcome, I don’t let it escape its container and infect other parts of my life by internalizing this kind of garbage: “I failed to get into Harvard so I’m dumb, I’m unworthy, and I suck.” This prevents self-doubt because I know failure is an isolated incident and I don’t take it personally. I don’t absorb failure as a personal identity-- I attach it to the specific event, action, or outcome and then store it in my vast library of knowledge as a lesson learned.

tl;dr:

Life is long and screwing up is part of the journey. Remember that you can fail at things (action) without being a failure (identity).

3. I accept that life is a game of probability

This means that I view life as a statistics game with events on a sliding scale between low probability of success and high probability of success. Probability of success is influenced by many variables such as my preparation, my natural abilities, the economy, my competition, timing, etc. I adjust the probability of success based on those variables to make better predictions:

I know that if my goal is to join the National Basketball Association (NBA), my probability of success is lower because my basketball skills and physical traits are below the average of a typical professional basketball player.

I know that if my goal is to get accepted to one of the best universities in the world, my probability of success is higher because my grades, test scores, and academic profile are above the average of a typical applicant.

Low probability of success doesn’t mean low effort. I don’t half-ass things that are unlikely to happen, I put high effort in all my endeavors if I really care about them and an obvious example of that is my life. Everything I’ve achieved in my life has been statistically improbable because I come from an underprivileged background where it was highly unlikely for me to have the life I have now. I beat the odds and achieved my goals anyway because I maximized my chances of success.

This perspective influences how I interpret success and failure:

Low probability of success that results in failure: “This outcome is what I expected so I’m not surprised, but at least I tried, gave it my best shot, and I know the answer. I’ll learn where I can improve and take that knowledge forward into the future.”

Low probability of success that results in success: “This outcome is not what I expected but I’m pleased it went my way. I understand this was an exception to the norm and I’m grateful it leaned in my favor.”

High probability of success that results in success: “This outcome is what I expected and I’m pleased it went my way. I need to continue doing the things that worked well and keep that knowledge for future reference.”

High probability of success that results in failure: “This outcome is not what I expected so I’m disappointed. I need to evaluate why I failed, understand how I can improve, and try again until I get it right.”

This helps fight self-doubt because it does one very crucial thing for me: it makes it impossible for me to lose.

I tell people all the time: “I’m undefeated because I’m still standing and I’m still going.” I can’t lose, I can only learn. It enables me to set realistic goals, have realistic expectations about my chances to achieve them, understand why I failed, and feel grateful when I succeed. Success is never guaranteed and failure is always accounted for in my calculations so I’m never blindsided. I know that I can be “perfect” and still fail, but I also know that I can be “imperfect” and still succeed. If I’ve done everything within my power and it’s still not going my way, then I’m not plagued with self-doubt because I can accept it was beyond my control and that it’s time to try something else.

tl;dr:

Many things in life are out of your control but try your best so you have peace of mind that you’re not quitting-- you’re moving on.

I’m not invincible, but for these reasons, it’s rare for me to feel self-doubt because I don’t view life as a game of “am I good enough or not?” I view life as a game of “what’s the best way to get what I want and did it work?” My two options are then: 1) Succeed, learn, and move on or 2) Fail, learn, and move on. There’s no third option to spiral into uncertainty and crippling self-doubt. I focus my energy on identifying the problem, the variables I can control, and the learnings from my outcomes.

In the rare times I do feel self-doubt, I go through a rigorous self-reflection exercise to identify the cause whether that’s concerns about personal decisions I’ve made, thoughts on my professional trajectory, or the state of my relationships. I identify the outcome that I want, gather information on how to secure that outcome, and give it my best shot. The result of that effort provides knowledge, wisdom, and opportunities to either 1) continue on the same path or 2) stop and try something else.

Ultimately, I always feel like there’s something wonderful in life waiting for me just around the corner and agonizing over past failures or self-doubt-- instead of getting up and trying again-- only delays me getting it.

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Organization XIII - As Cats

I was inspired by two things: the first was this post by boodalinski because I was watching the kill count on youtube and happened to come across it while scrolling through the tumblr tag for Friday the 13th.

I was also inspired by a fanfiction by nyargles called Phil Coulson is Not a Crazy Cat Lady - an MCU fanfic with the avengers as cats, which was fairly entertaining and I highly recommend if you’re an MCU fan.

oOoOo

Buy me a coffee here! (now with an updated and working link)

oOoOo

Xemnas

Xemnas was your first kitty, a regal black feline that had a look in his eyes that said he was a lot smarter than everyone around him.  The old lady you adopted him from couldn’t tell you how old he was, only that she had him for years and that he really didn’t seem to age and didn’t act like an elderly cat. She promised that he was mostly self-sufficient and, honestly, came and went as he pleased, which he does.

You can go days sometimes without seeing Xemnas. You’ll refill his food and water bowls because the contents steadily disappear and there’s evidence that he’s been using the litter box, but you don’t actually see him even when you search high and low through the house.

There’s nothing that you can do. He is the king of your house and he will make it known. When he does bother to show his face, he watches your ever move, obviously judging everything you do. Gets pissed if you don’t give him the highest quality of food - wet. salmon. only. or he’ll just refuse to eat and meow at you like a little asshole until you give in.

Does not get along with the other cats you eventually adopt. He acts as though they’re business partners and gets some of them to do his bidding.

That cat that would stand next to that expensive glass vase that your mother gave you and slowly reach out his paw while you’re like “don’t you dare,” and he’ll just blink slowly at you like the little asshole he is before he pushes the vase to the floor and lets it smash into a hundred pieces.

Xigbar

Xigbar was a wild stray when you first found him lurking on the roof near your rain gutters. His hair was long and matted and he had more scars across his body than any animal should ever have, but he had a surprisingly good attitude when you clicked your fingers and enticed him with cat treats. Turns out the treats were useless, because he just took one look at you and the treats, turned his nose up at you, hopped down from your roof and waltzed past you just to head directly to your front door, meowing in annoyance until you let him inside.

Didn’t mind it when you dragged him into the bath, meowing wildly at Xemnas from where your first cat perched himself on your bathroom counter, watching with an intense eye that almost made you uncomfortable. Xigbar, however, didn’t put up a fight against the water and happily allows you to scrub at the dirt and grime in his fur.

This little asshole gets into everything. You can lock the cabinets and the doors and put padlocks onto the bags of treats but somehow still manages to eat his way through a whole bag of cat food and treats and oh god the bag of catnip like the rat bastard he is.

Xaldin

Xaldin is a large fluffy cat with the darkest hair you’ve ever seen - hair that seems to get tangled no matter what you do, so you need to keep him brushed constantly because he’ll go absolutely ballistic if you try to get it trimmed by a groomer to make it more manageable.

His hair gathers static electricity like whoa, so be prepared to get a static shock if you get close to him, which happens a lot because he gets in moods sometimes where he loves cuddles? But he doesn’t want you to know he loves cuddles. He’ll plop his ass in your lap and expect you to give him a few cuddles and squeezes before he’s done for the day and goes about doing whatever else he does.

A jealous cat, like horribly jealous whenever you pay one of the other cats more attention than him. He needs a lot of affection even though he’ll fight you tooth and nail through it all. He wants to be an independent kitty, okay, but he gets lonely easily, so don’t be surprised if he sneaks in to your room at night to sleep at the foot of your bed and somehow ends up half on top of your pillow with you.

Vexen

A cat that is on the uglier side because of a surprisingly pointed face with a nose that is always up in the air. He has a constant pout and is on the older side, even though you’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly how old he was.

Talks a lot. Meows at you, at the other cats, at himself, at walls, at empty air, at his toys, at everything. He never shuts up. His meow sounds like the disgruntled croak of someone who smoked eighteen packs of cigarettes a day, literally one of the ugliest meows you’ve ever heard in your life.

But that’s okay!!! He isn’t the most handsome cat in the world but by god he’s so smart and endearing. You can’t believe how intelligent he is. He’s the one who locates all of the treats and catnips, Xigbar tears open the bags, and the two of them share in the spoils of their victory.

An indecisive cat. Meows relentlessly to get your attention because he gets lonely. “Y/N pay attention to me!!!” But then when you do he’s like HA SIKE and nips at your heels or hands before he bolts away because he can’t decide if he wants affection or if he just wants to be a naughty boy for no reason.

Lexaeus

You find Lexaeus at the same time you find Zexion, the gigantic cat covering the smaller gray kitten protectively with his huge body against the storm raging outside and against you. They were hiding somewhere under your porch when you heard the tiny kitten mewls from somewhere nearby, and you somehow managed to entice them into the house with warmth and treats.

Lexaeus is one of the biggest cats you’ve ever seen. He’s protective of Zexion - and later, the other cats, too - and he’s quiet and surprisingly agile for his huge size. Of all the cats, it takes him the longest to get used to your presence. He doesn’t trust you at all for what feels like weeks, but slowly he gets used to having you around and... well, he knows that you’re now his primary food source so he begrudgingly accepts you.

But when he does get used to you? He’s a purring machine. Sounds like a small car engine with how much he purrs. The smaller kittens love to lay on him or under him or around him because he’s like a vibrating massager.

Plops everywhere. Plops on your lap when he wants cuddles, which is often. Plops on top of the older cats when they annoy him or if they’re getting out of control. Plops on top of the little cats when he can tell they’re getting anxious. Just a blob of fur sometimes.

Zexion

A teeny baby!!!! Such a sweetheart. Quiet and smart and wary of the entire world around him even though he is so curious and wants to get into everything because he has to be in everyone’s business. He likes to explore even if that means he’ll disappear and appear hours later covered in dust and dirt.

Another one of your rare cats that’s fairly okay with baths. A little lukewarm water and his favorite squeaky toy and he’ll be good to go when you need to wash some dirt out of his hair.

His favorite spot in the world? Perched on top of Lexaeus’s head. You don’t know why, but you think he might like the view from so high up since he has fairly short legs.

Not really a fan of toys in general, but he loves blankets and anything fluffy that he could dig himself in and hide. The more fluff, the better, which is probably why he likes Lexaeus so much. If you can’t find him, chances are that he’s somehow gotten into your bed and burrowed under your covers because WARM

Saix

Saix was a wild stray when you found him lurking near your rain gutters one late, rainy night, with matted fur and an odd scar across 

Likes to keep to himself. You don’t own him, he owns you. Doesn’t like to be touched except for on very rare occasions. He’s self-sufficient, similarly to Xemnas, but unlike Xemnas who judges you for long distances but will begrudgingly put up with you if you pat his head, Saix is NOT afraid of swiping at you with your claws.

“Omg, Y/N, are you okay?” And your friends will just stare down at the tiny scratch marks that cover your palms and your arms and your calves. “Oh, yeah, that’s just Saix.”

Likes schedules. Somehow knows your schedule better than you do. He’s your alarm clock in the mornings, waking you up with piercing meows right next to your ear at 6:30 on the dot. Are you late for feeding time? Unacceptable. Get your ass in the kitchen and pour food into his bowl before he takes it upon himself to jump onto the counters and find something to eat for himself.

One of the cats that brings you dead animals because, my goodness you really are useless aren’t you? Here, let me just plop this dead mouse right into your shoes so you can have some sustenance.

Axel

Axel comes as a package deal with Roxas at the animal shelter. You go in to volunteer for a bit and leave with two cats meowing enthusiastically back and forth to each other.

Equally as vocal as Vexen, but his meows are a bit cuter and more high-pitched. Eagerly races after you through the house as he trills in excitement - never has any idea what’s going on, but he’s always happy to be around you!

Axel is arguably the best cat around other human beings. He’s a curious cat when it comes to people and thinks, hey this is another person to give me some sweet pets so I better be nice to them no matter what!!! Also one of the only cats that will actually show themselves when there’s a little child in the room. Sits patiently while the kid will pat him a little too roughly, well-mannered and begrudging as he noses his way around the room.

Best cat around other human beings, yes, but it takes you a while to realize it’s because he’s a nosy little shit and has to be in the middle of everything at all times. Will definitely be winding through people’s legs and whining for attention because he has to be the center of attention or else.

Demyx

Such a dumb cat. Like probably the dumbest cat you’ve ever seen in your life, but it’s gone around from being super dumb to kind of being endearing, because Demyx is such a loving cat and wants all the cuddles and love that you can give him, but he has no common sense whatsoever.

The last of your cats that likes water, and he probably likes it the most out of all of them. Scrub scrub scrub, just let him drown in that warm water, he will thank you with the best cuddles and rubs against your leg. 

Follows you everywhere because he wants to be with you because he loves you! Are you heading into the bathroom? Into the kitchen to fix dinner? Into your attic? Out to your car? He’ll be right on your heels.

Makes the cutest noises when he sleeps, like little squeaks and chirps that happen when he gets too excited even when he’s unconscious.

Luxord

Shameless attention whore, without a doubt. Follows you around the house. Follows the other cats. Follows deliver people and your friends out to their vehicles. Tries to follow you to work. He has definitely made you late more than once because he absolutely knows how to sneak past you out the front door.

Most susceptible to bribes of treats. Dangle a few treats in the air and Luxord could quite literally be eating out of the palm of your hand. He gets kind of zealous, though, so get him to do what you need him to do before he starts literally climbing up your pant leg.

Shockingly territorial. He likes things to be a certain way, so if one of the other cats happens to sneak their way into his spot on the cat tower? He can get kind of violent. However, he’s also easily distracted, so fights with the other cats are few and far between.

Marluxia

A sweet, lazy cat who would much rather spread out in your garden in a patch of sunshine than run around with the other cats. He’s an observer, through and through, and keeps himself super groomed. Loves being pampered and doesn’t mind bathing, but it isn’t his favorite thing in the world.

His weak spot? His ears. Rub behind his ears for a little bit and he will literally melt into a pile of fluff across your feet. A scratch behind the ears is instantly calming for your sweet Marluxia.

Cleans himself all the time. Expect to be groomed when he grooms himself because, man Y/N you need to take care of yourself! He’s a handsome boy and he knows it, so he thinks that he’s the epitome of good hygiene. Will also try to help groom the other cats - only half of them put up with it.

Larxene

Your first female cat and Larxene immediately takes up a role as queen. She won’t let any of the other cats take advantage of her, so your boys will either avoid her completely, watch her warily from a distance, or do their best to befriend her and get on her good side.

Static. Electricity. You don’t know what Larxene does when you have your back turned, but every time you go to pet her, you always end up getting an electric shock. She’ll chirp at you and give you a lick before running off to go curl up near the window, but you’re left with your hair standing on end.

Most active at night. When all of the other cats are snoozing, she likes to be up, roaming and wandering the house and exploring. She likes being aware of her surroundings!

Larxene is also the best when it comes to car rides. She’ll stretch out and snooze where your other cats will cry, hiss, swat at you, or hide under one of the seats.

Roxas

Roxas isn’t a stupid cat - he’s actually really smart! - but he’s so clumsy. Trips on air, on his own two feet, on the other cats, on his toys, on his food bowl, etc. He jumps long distances and misses his destination, runs with an intention of leaping but slips on the floor and runs face-first into the wall. Bounces back pretty fast and is fairly resilient, so he rarely injures himself no matter how much he trips and falls.

Most likely to be found: dangling by the scruff in Axel’s mouth, meowing indignantly. Axel took a shine to the little kitten and you aren’t quite sure why, but if you’re looking for either one of them, the other shouldn’t be far behind.

Squeaky toys. Oh, man, all the squeaky toys. Has he disappeared? Just give his favorite toy a squeak and wait a few minutes. He’ll bolt down the hallway and squeak squeak squeak squeaksqueaksqueaksqUEAK

Xion

Oh, my God, the cutest kitten, almost too cute to be real. She’s small and has stubby legs but is surprisingly agile for her size and age.  Probably the youngest of all of the kitties.

Has a sixth sense when it comes to human emotions. Knows exactly whenever your upset and she adjusts her behavior accordingly. You’re sad and she wants you to be less sad, so be prepared for constant purring and cuddles until you feel better. Sometimes recruits Roxas to come and snuggle with you.

Hates water, but isn’t afraid of it? Like she doesn’t want to be in the water at all, but she gets scared for you whenever you take a shower and wants to rescue you, so she’ll definitely be meowing at you until you take her into the shower with you, putting her somewhere dry where she can watch you and make sure that you’re okay.

[theonceoverthinker]

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 12/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before.

AO3

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A/N: ...You guys are either going to love me for this chapter or hate me! Just so you know, I’m preparing an umbrella for the things you’re going to fling at me for this one! XD Anyway, enjoy!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Sometimes, raising Clover Ebi -- or rather, Clover Callows, as he now called him -- as his own ‘nephew’ was more trouble than it was worth. 

Sometimes, it was a lot more trouble than it was worth, so much so that Tyrian had to remind himself that it was an endeavor that still merited seeing through.

Right now, as Tyrian trudged through the forests of Remnant, it felt like one of those times.

‘Uncle Tyrian! I put some dough in an oven and managed not to burn the tower to the ground! Aren’t I so smart?’

‘Uncle Tyrian, I want to see some stupid green lights and give away my identity to everyone you’ve carefully hidden it from for over twenty years!’

‘Uncle Tyrian, I want new paint from the furthest Gods damned corner of this dog’s dropping of a continent! Go get me some as well as a bag full of some other trash from the ground!’

What. A. Pest.

For twenty years, he’d had to live with that constant pest yammering in his ear all day long, asking -- nay, begging -- for trash or praise for his mediocre accomplishments or answers to his positively inexhaustible supply of banal questions.

This domestic life caring for Clover that Tyrian had subjected himself to was without question relentlessly dull, annoying, boring, and miserable.

Gods, if it weren’t for his semblance, he’d-

Well, if it weren’t for his semblance, Tyrian wouldn’t be so close -- so very, very close -- to being Salem’s right hand man, and with his ‘nephew’s’ continued help, he’d likely get that spot soon enough.

After all, that’s how he’d gotten so far. Others near the top of her hierarchy had fallen prey to many tragic ‘accidents’ over the years. 

Who could have predicted how Arthur Watts’ latest invention would not only malfunction, but that the explosion would release chemicals that came together to act as a pheromone for Grimm? 

How cruel could fate be to have the support beam that Hazel Rainart was hiding behind collapse just as he was about to complete his most recent mission for Salem?

What could have been done to prevent Leo Lionheart from attempting to desert Salem’s forces just as she’d had one hundred Grimm return from battle eager for something -- or rather, someone -- to eat?

And what sort of disaster would just the tiniest bit of luck have in store for Cinder Falls, Salem’s current right hand?

So yes, Clover was a pest, but he was a pest that nonetheless had been very successful at improving Tyrian’s placement in Salem’s hierarchy.

Tyrian supposed it stood to reason that he had to do things to keep Clover happy to ensure that that would only continue. He’d been careful to never push his luck too hard in that regard, knowing that even fear and guilt had its limits on what they could make a person willingly endure, and after their fight -- especially when it involved discussing actually going outside -- Tyrian knew Clover was getting agitated enough to possibly act on his desires.

Tyrian wasn’t about to let that happen, and so now here he was, about to make a trip all the way to the Argus Coves.

It was an ordeal, if for no other reason than that he’d be away from Salem, but it was one he would suffer all the same in her name.

He was lucky -- Salem had decided to spend the next fortnight in her Grimm pools, devising new forms for her malicious, yet stunning pets to take. She wouldn’t need his -- or, more importantly, anyone else’s -- services, nor ask about his whereabouts -- not that she ever did, always so respectful of her loyal subject’s privacy.

Salem trusted him…

In return, just as he gave her his unconditional admiration, he also gave her lies.

Tyrian hated lying to her about Clover, but he reasoned that helping her by channeling all of Clover’s luck into her most adoring servant’s being would be a better way of ensuring her victories. After all, who else would care about nothing more than Salem’s continued successes? Her other minions all had their own concerns and even if they didn’t, Train found that they were about as competent as a cat being trained to not drink milk.

In any event, his strategy had worked over the past two decades, and if he had anything to say about it, it would continue to work for the rest of his days. Perhaps, should he not only tell Clover about her, but also inspire him to love her as well -- and he absolutely could -- his scheme would persist even after his death.

He could only hope, for it was what Salem deserved.

Salem...Salem was a Goddess -- radiant, bold, cunning, enchanting, beautiful in both her body and soul, wise, gentle, ruthless, and far more qualities than Tyrian couldn’t state with all the world’s air in his lungs on top of even that. How the pitiful wastes of life in Remnant managed to not only not spend every waking moment of their purposeless days either bowing before her glory or gathering gifts to bestow upon her, but actually oppose her, he’d never know.

Cretins, the lot of them -- hopelessly lost cretins.

And of all the cretins Remnant had to offer, he got stuck with the worst of them to play the role of a lifelong babysitter -- and at present, delivery boy -- for.

Tyrian mentally mapped out his trip. If he stayed at a steady speed, took regular breaks, and ate and slept as he planned, he’d be at the Argus Coves by tomorrow afternoon. He’d spend two or three hours collecting shells and then head back to the tower. While he hated collecting the shells, and knew it would be a complete bore of a chore, it was best not to give Clover any reason to ask for more of them next year, or the next few of them, for that matter.

Then again, Clover had shown himself to be at least a little unpredictable, so he could only guess as to how quickly he would go through those paints, or what else he would desire for future birthdays.

After all, somehow, Clover had managed to conceal that mural of his from him for Gods knew how long. If it wasn’t for the subject matter of its depiction, Tyrian would almost be impressed by that bit of stealth. Clearly, he’d taught Clover well.

However, he may have been teaching Clover too well. If he could conceal an entire wall of the tower from him, what else could he be hiding? That tower might not have been large and Clover never left it, but it was fitted with many a nook and cranny for which to tuck away any number of trinkets.

Well, he’d just have to have a little search when he got back to the tower. He could disguise it as a game of hide and seek or just a checkup to make sure Clover was cleaning his living space well enough.

Clover might have believed himself to be clever -- he may have even crossed the threshold of cleverness a few times in his life -- but Tyrian knew he could put him in his place easily enough. Given how much lip disguised as wit Clover had started to show as of recent, perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to do so sooner rather than later.

Tyrian had just started to drum up more ideas for how to best reign in his ‘nephew’ when suddenly, he heard a voice cry out.

“Let me go!” It was a man’s voice, one Tyrian thought he might have recognized, but was unable to recall its source on just it alone.

“Not a chance, you thief!” a woman’s voice responded, a low chuckle underneath her words. 

Now that voice, Tyrian was reasonably sure he did recognize.

Before he could confirm it, another set of noises grabbed his attention -- the woman’s, and by the sounds of it, others’ footsteps were approaching

Quickly, Tyrian hid himself behind a tree, and just in time. Keeping careful as to remain unspotted, Tyrian peeked to look at the opposite side of the tree.

There, a group of five people, one of whom seemed to be something of a prisoner held tightly in one of their arms, emerged into his line of sight.

However, the four non imprisoned people weren’t just any people.

They were the Ace Ops. 

Comprised of General Ironwood’s four children -- Harriet Bree, Elm Ederne, Marrow Amin, and Vine Zeki -- The Ace Ops served as the leaders of Remnant’s royal guard.

But what were they doing here?

Tyrian had only a small handful of run-ins with the Ace Ops all that much over the years since their formation, but despite that, he knew all about them, from their names to their weapons to their semblances -- when one was regularly gathering intel, threatening informants, and killing bystanders and witnesses who saw him doing either of those things in order to best assist Salem’s strikes against the kingdom’s capital, it was practically a requirement. 

Because of that, it was odd to see Harriet on a horse, given that her semblance revolved around her own speed, but Tyrian didn’t let himself think about it too much, preferring to get an answer to his inquiry about just what led them so far out in the woods.

He looked at the prisoner in Elm’s arms and immediately, his eyes bulged with recognition.

Mercury Black.

Tyrian knew this man well. He was a thief, and unfortunately, a rather good one, or at least he seemed to be prior to this moment.

Salem had given Mercury not a small amount of her attention as of late. She entertained the idea of him as a prospective recruit for her forces, sending him out on missions to see just how much he could achieve. While he lacked Tyrian’s dedication to serving her, Mercury’s talent and need for direction as well as means for his survival in the cruel world they lived in piqued Salem’s interests. Like a lump of clay, Salem felt that she could perhaps mold him into a model member of her inner circle, one strong enough to enact her schemes and ready as well as willing to die for her at a moment’s notice.

Alas, it looked like Mercury’s talents had failed him. Tyrian knew Salem well and a failure that ended up with him in the custody of the Ace Ops of all people was likely a big one, all but guaranteeing the destruction of any interest she had in Mercury as a member of her forces.

Well, that just meant more attention and admiration for Tyrian to enjoy. 

And not only that, but he would have the esteemed pleasure of reporting the news of his -- judging by Elm’s grip -- literally crushing defeat to Salem once she returned to her throne.

How lucky was that?

Hmm. So this is why he had to get Clover those paints. 

It was a worthwhile enough sacrifice.

“Let me go!” Mercury repeated.

“I don’t think so, buddy!” Elm said, gripping Mercury tight in her unwavering hold, her feet firmly on the ground as to restrain any attempts of his to fight out of her grasp.

It didn’t appear to stop him from trying though.

What a waste of his goddess’ sights he turned out to be.

From her horse, Harriet turned to him. “If I can’t bring my father Branwen’s head, then I’m at least bringing him yours!”

“I don’t even have the stupid brooch!” Mercury yelled, still fighting for some nonexistent leeway in Elm’s vice like grip, not that he’d get that far if he even found it with the three other Ace Ops directly next to her. 

“Don’t you worry -- it will be found.” Harriet then looked out to the team. “Elm, stay here with the prisoner and keep an eye out for Branwen. Vine, Marrow, and I will continue to comb the forest, and we’ll reconvene here in an hour with our findings. We’re not going home without that brooch.” The determination in Harriet’s voice had Tyrian bite his lip.

Crap. Knowing Harriet, that last sentiment may very well have been a true one.

In the twenty years since Tyrain took Clover, guards have searched the forest, but they’d never come across the tower’s hidden entryway. While the brooch was likely nowhere near the tower, and the Ace Ops were still roughly a quarter of a mile out from its exact location, Tyrian couldn’t help but acknowledge the feeling of unease in his stomach.

If Remnant’s most specialized guards -- Clover’s siblings, no less -- were searching this bit of the forest, whether looking for their long-lost brother or not...they might actually find something more than just some brooch.

Harriet directed the horse she was riding on towards the tower’s general direction.

Clover!

Knowing what he had to do, Tyrian slunk away from his hiding place and snuck through the forest, careful to keep both a strong distance between himself and Harriet as well cautious, yet quick movements to pass her and get back to the tower before she could ever learn about its existence. 

It wasn’t hard. Tyrian had traversed these woods so much over the course of his life, especially over the past two decades, that he grew to know them better than he did his own hand. Every twist and turn and fork in the road on its dirt-floored surface was committed to his memory like the appearance of the very sun that shone above him.

When Tyrian at last made it to the tower’s entryway, he was well ahead of Harriet, ensuring that he would be absolutely safe crossing the canopy of vines in a way that would keep him as well as their odd disposition unspotted by her.

Tyrian rushed through the caves and clearing, all the way to the base of the tower.

“Clover!” Tyrian called out when he finally arrived. “I forgot my rain boots! Bring me back up!”

It was an odd excuse -- especially as there was no sign of rain coming for the foreseeable future -- but Clover would ask why he came back if he didn’t have one at the ready all the same.

Tyrian waited a second for Clover to respond, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, when he called to the tower, he heard nothing back. It was a foreign feeling, one that at present grated on Tyrian’s nerves like a room of mumblers.

“Clover!” he half shouted and half growled. “Wake up!”

Still, not a sound left the tower. 

As soon as he realized that no sound would be coming out, Tyrian whipped the sharp, metallic end of his tail out and slammed it into the dirt between the tower’s bricks, pulling himself up and then clinging to the bricks with the help of his blades as his tail ascended his form further up the tower’s length.

It was a method for climbing the tower that he hadn’t used in years, manually climbing it himself -- practically antiquated thanks to Clover’s weapon, but it was handy in a pinch.

Right now, Tyrian absolutely felt like he was in the pinchiest of pinches.

With exhaustion that only climbed in magnitude as the seconds passed, Tyrian made his way the tower.

Tyrian called out Clover’s name twice as he rose from the ground, but to no avail. Clover’s room was as quiet as a tomb.

Oh, that room would be a tomb alright when he was finished with Clover…

No, he couldn’t think that way...as much as he wanted to...

Upon reaching the tower’s window, Tyrian paused for no more than but a second to catch his breath, looking around the room frantically all the while.

The tower was dark.

The tower was quiet.

Neither of those things had ever been true when a waking Clover Callows roamed its singular upper room.

Hell, thanks to his brat’s snores, the tower was never quiet, even when he was sleeping!

As soon as Tyrian had recovered enough of his breath to continue, he ran to Clover’s bed, pulling off the blankets with a harsh tug.

Clover was going to pay when he woke up.

However, underneath the covers, there was no Clover.

“Clover!” Tyrian called out.

Maybe...maybe he was just using the bathroom...in the dark...without noticing his uncle’s cries…

Tyrian rushed to the bathroom, but just as with Clover’s bed, Clover wasn’t there.

Oh Gods, where was he?

Confused, Tyrian ran around the tower, tearing apart anything Clover might be hiding or sleeping either in or under. He even opened the door to the tower’s stairwell which led to his own room and checked there. However, not one place held Clover’s form.

As Tyrian approached the tower’s window, he couldn’t help but run his fingers through his hair in much the same fashion as he searched for Clover -- frantically.

Was he actually kidnapped?

There seemed to be no sign of a struggle, and he’d taught Clover to distrust outsiders enough to at least cause something of a scuffle should one ever show their face in the tower.

Suddenly though, something removed Tyrian from his thoughts.

By the bottom of the tower’s small balcony’s staircase, a small glimmer of something was reflecting off the sun, creating a glare of light that went right into Tyrian’s left eye. Tyrian sidestepped the glare’s direct trajectory, but kept its location in his mind as he steadily approached it.

He had given Clover many things over his nearly twenty years in this tower, but never had he been given something so shiny as to create such a harsh glare.

What the hell could this be?

 Upon reaching the staircase, Tyrian lifted the semi-broken plank where the glimmering object sat. 

Inside the makeshift cupboard was a satchel...and inside the satchel was an emerald encrusted, clover-shaped brooch.

No…

It couldn’t be...

Had Clover learned of his identity?

While it made all too much sense for his mind to go there, Tyrian fought the instinct with facts. If Clover had learned who he really was, why would he leave behind the key piece of evidence of his discovery? He clearly wasn’t trying to make a point to Tyrian given how he hid the brooch in such an odd location and didn’t provide his beloved ‘Uncle Tyrian’ with so much as a note for context concerning the brooch’s existence and his reaction to it. 

No, for some reason, Clover wanted the brooch and the satchel that held it to remain here, and Tyrian immediately swore to himself that he was going to discover that reason before any havoc on his life could be further wreaked.

He already had an inkling of a clue.

The Ace Ops were searching for a man called ‘Branwen’ -- whoever that was. Tyrian believed he’d heard the name once or twice in passing, but based on what they were saying, Branwen was a thief, a thief that had stolen the brooch. 

It now made sense as to what mission Salem had put Mercury up to, as well as why the Ace Ops were called to take on a thief.

Wherever Clover was, it was likely with Branwen, and judging by the still revealed painting of Clover’s wish, Tyrian had a pretty good idea of where it was they were going.

Now, all he had to do was find them and end this trip of lunacy before they got there.

Tyrain warped the satchel in a bundle and hid it in the basket Clover had prepared for him. He then felt for the handles of his blades, The Queen’s Servants. Even without touching them, he could sense they were as hungry to restore his brand of order as he was.

It was a good feeling.

Approaching the tower’s window, Tyrian shot the long way down an exasperated look.

What a pain this was going to be to climb down manually once more for the first time in so long.

He swore to the Gods, without that semblance of Clover’s...

Sometimes, raising Clover was more trouble than it was worth, but for the benefits his semblance provided, Tyrian knew he had no choice but to clean up his ‘nephew’s’ mess.

[gunnerpalace]

And I’m 💯 sure that you’re blocked and you can eat it.

But I would like to talk about this idea a little, actually. So, here are a couple of points:

The thing that a lot of modern-day “Bleach fans” don’t get is that as far as Japan is concerned, the only thing that really sells Bleach to the mass-market general audience is Ichigo and Rukia interacting. The hard truth those “Bleach fans” refuse to accept is that most of fights sucked, most of the mysteries sucked, and other than the two of them (and maybe Toushirou and Byakuya) most of the characters aren’t interesting to the average person. If you liked Bleach for any of those three reasons (or any other minor reasons), then you are in the absolute minority of nerds.

The cold, iron truth of economics is that you sell media properties in one of two ways: either by drilling down to a highly dedicated fanbase (e.g., moe-blob anime with extremely jacked-up Blu-ray prices) or by appealing to as wide and shallow an audience as possible (e.g., the Marvel Cinematic Universe). The interesting thing with Bleach is that those two audiences, by the numbers, are actually interested in the same thing: Ichigo and Rukia, and more particularly, IchiRuki.

Bold claim, I know. But you don’t have to look hard to see it. This is why the musicals were focused on them. This is why the LA movie was focused on them. And this is why both of those deemphasized other ancillary characters, especially Ichigo’s human friends like Chad—or Orihime: because they are essentially irrelevant to that largely singular fixture of the series and are forgettable other than to some hardcore nerd. (The only other thing that comes remotely close to being as iconic are the Soul Society fights, especially Ichigo vs. Byakuya.)

This is also why every time the property has been reinvented for a new market (again, e.g., the musical and the LA movie) the focus has always been on early Bleach: because it most showcases their interactions and establishes their foundational emotional connection. This is in large part why arcs that more and more deemphasized their interactions suffered increasingly worse sales, to the point that Bleach was consistently ranked 20th out of 20 in Weekly Shounen Jump’s ratings on a week-to-week basis. Less Ichigo and Rukia, and especially less Ichigo and Rukia together, means less sales. This is why TYBW and WDKALY sold abysmally, and I’m willing to bet that CFYOW’s numbers aren’t too great either considering it features neither of them at all.

This is furthermore why Studio Pierrot gave them so many moments, like the ice-skating and fireworks date that they used to send off the anime: because IchiRuki sells. And not much else does.

So, having established that, let’s talk about your idea.

Ichika and Kazui don’t make sense, because their existence in TYBW isn’t established. They simply appear, like the rest of the ending, with no buildup or explanation. In other words, there is no reason to invest in them as characters; they are simply designs walking and talking on a page. (And surprise, the only people who cared “about” them at all were people like you who were pleased as punch that it was evidence that Ichigo and Orihime, and Rukia and Renji, fucked. And even you lot don’t care about them, because there is nothing about them to possibly care about. You care about them as symbols and nothing more.)

However, what would make even less sense is to introduce them without having TYBW at all. For the anime to jump from Ichigo and Rukia having an ice rink not-date to having Ichika and Kazui running around in their places would be a bit like jumping from Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back in 1980, to Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens in 1983, instead of having Return of the Jedi. It really isn’t possible to overstate how much that big of a leap would lose an audience, whose reactions would be, “What the fuck is this? What happened?”

As I have previously calculated, animating TYBW would take about 4–5 seasons and about 3–4 years of production. So, unless you wanted to pull one of the strangest continuations ever in media history, you’d be waiting for that to wrap first, and presuming its financial success (which is dubious, for the above outlined reasons, and its relative historical print failure which got the manga cancelled).

Setting all that aside, Ichika and Kazui are not photocopies of Rukia and Ichigo; they are genderflipped photocopies of Renji and Orihime. There is a reason why, despite the best efforts of IH here on Tumblr Dot Com, the IR community has never warmed up to them: why would you take a cheap clone knockoff that can’t even trace the original properly when you could just have the original? This will likewise hold true for a general audience. If a random-ass person in Japan knows anything at all about Bleach, it’ll be Ichigo and Rukia. Going, “This isn’t them, but here’s the same great taste but less filling!” is going to get you a response of, “No thanks.”

Setting that aside, what exactly would be the premise? The Espada were retconned in from the aether and people were fine with them, since they were basically just the inverse and mirror of the Shinigami. But people didn’t much care when Xcution were retconned in from the aether. And they didn’t like it when Yhwach and the Sternritter were retconned in from the aether. And they really don’t care now that Tokinada, Hikone, and Aura were retconned in from the aether. Are you really going to have a fifth group of baddies we never even vaguely heard of before showing up? Or are you going to just recycle a set? “Oh, no, Aizen has escaped Muken and has made the Super Fullbringer Espada…” Please. The concept is tapped out: it either has to keep inventing new bullshit and pretending it was always around, or it has to recycle the same ideas but in a less exciting way. Or it has to be rebooted.

It is clear that something or other is happening with regard to Bleach for this “anniversary” event, but the evidence, in my eyes, doesn’t match what you would see for TYBW being animated, let alone for some kind of Boruto-style series.

The event has been marketed in a rather low-key fashion, which is weird considering the 2020 Olympics are a once-in-a-generation event which provide the perfect hype vehicle (and which Shueisha has been using to push other WSJ properties). If you were working on a large or risky project, you’d want a lot of hype—either to prepare the audience, or to maximize your initial buy-in and returns if it’s going to flop (e.g., Anthem). Being cautious indicates both the scale and risk are small.

The emphasis on the voice actors who are appearing at the event are all for classic and popular characters: Ichigo, Byakuya, and now Rukia. You know what fans don’t like? Having a bait-and-switch pulled on them where their classic faves are affiliated with something, only for them to be radically deemphasized in the actual final product. (Just look at the three recent Star Wars movies for some proof of that one.) It is far more likely to be something focused around them.

MegaHouse is making new Bleach figurines this year. But the designs they’ve chosen so far are… Fake Karakura battle Armored Yoruichi (who I’m excited for), and Hueco Mundo style unreleased Grimmjow. If you were going to make merchandise for TYBW or a next-generation show, it’d make a lot more sense for that merch to be… actually related to those events, rather than “classic” designs, now wouldn’t it? To go to the Star Wars well again, they weren’t trying to sell Qui-Gon Jinn or Lando Calrissian toys with The Last Jedi.

To me, all the evidence indicates that whatever it is will be some sort of “Greatest Hits” OVA or something like that, with a focus on the Aizen era of the series. Maybe a lot of the “best” battles redone in really high quality. Maybe a video game. Maybe a reboot of the series from the start. Hard to say. But it doesn’t look an awful lot like TYBW, let alone a next-generation effort.

Now, I’m not saying that either of those things are impossible. I’ve been wrong before in this life (for example, I didn’t think Putin would invade Crimea), and I will be wrong again. I could be wrong about this too. I can only speak in probabilities.

But what I will say with confidence is that committing to TYBW would be fairly dumb as a business decision given everything that is evident about what makes Bleach sell.

And committing to a next-generation series at this stage before doing TYBW would be even dumber.

And doing a next-generation series without doing TYBW would be even dumber still.

Now, stupid people are in ascendancy worldwide in all kinds of endeavors, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility that someone greenlit something so dumb. But if they did, I don’t think it’s going to do so hot.

So, good luck, I guess.

[our-controversial-opinions]

ANTIFA is going to be the downfall of everything America stood for

Just watching the news of what Antifa has been up to, I’ve been shaking my head and mourning the loss of American freedom. Antifa’s tantrums and recent threats to kill Trump for the anti-liberal decisions the Republican party has made have easily been comparable to a child. A child whose parents just divorced due to parenting differences and they got stuck with the parent that actually disciplines their children instead of giving them everything they want. You don’t get to pick your parents, kids. You do, however, get to pick your president.

Americans have the liberty of voting for their leader who, in fact, doesn’t even actually lead unless they need to keep their PR up to date. They talk. They’re a face. Trump isn’t any different. Antifa seems to believe that isn’t the case. Trump is a yappy chihuahua on a leash that just so happens to have nuclear launch codes (which I’m sure he’s forgotten already) but everything he does has repercussions within his own government. The Republican party lets him talk but they hold the leash. Yes, there are more people behind the conservative decisions that everyone hates. We’ve been under democratic leadership for the majority of this turn in history where everyone seems to think they’re privileged and entitled to explanations, to reparations, to forgiveness, and to a blurred definition of ‘justice.’ Nobody owes anyone. Forgive and forget so you can live instead of dedicating your life to a cause that will ultimately end in making someone miserable just for you to feel better. What kind of justice is that?

We notice that the more mature democrats took this presidency like they did every other time it didn’t go their way. They brushed it off and said ‘we’ll get em next time.’ I’m a millennial and I acknowledge that it’s the millennials that are losing their minds like it’s the end of the world that he’s the president. Antifa was a byproduct of lax parenting, a right to entitlement, and a screwed up sense of justice. All of our movies, books, etc. has always told us that the good wins in the end. That constant exposure and ‘justice’ has made everyone think that’s how it works in the real world. It’s really not. Everyone’s sense of justice is blurred and different. No two people will have the same opinion on justice. (ex: If you were to come up with the punishment for every sex offender in America, what would it be? How would you classify them? What would be grounds for that title? Because right now you can be sent to prison and labeled as a sex offender if you just so happen to download porn of a 17 year old girl advertising herself as 18 AND if you just so happen to have more than 7 files, your charge will be ‘Possession of Child Pornography with the Intent to Distribute’ and you will end up with 5+ years in prison just for believing a teenage girl when she lied about her age. How would you settle that?) Nobody has the same ideas for justice because everyone thinks differently as you probably noticed when considering the answers to the questions previously presented. Nobody will be happy no matter who is in office. All we can do is keep our mouths shut and wait until next time. That’s the mature way to handle it. (Doesn’t mean we don’t have to complain the whole time. By all means, complain and ridicule till your heart’s content.)

Antifa has taken such a violent approach to this disagreement that the government is looking down on them as a child that has been spoiled into adulthood, not accepting that the world doesn’t bend to their whims like it did for their whole life. A child with guns that they can hurt people with. The moment the order goes out officially labeling Antifa as a terrorist organization and/or treasonous against America, allowing officers to arrest and charge members as criminals, Antifa will play victim and pull the ‘just kidding’ card. I’m sorry but if you ever say something horrible knowing it’s horrible and follow it with ‘just kidding’ so you can get away with saying it, I lose all respect for you. That is not okay. However, that is how over half of this population gets away with being rude to people. Because everyone is entitled to their own opinion, right?

Antifa and people who defend Antifa have claimed that they haven’t been violent. When regular people (or “sheep” as you so politely call us) are afraid to stand against you because they fear you like they fear a wild animal rather than see you as a person, you have a problem. I know a lot of Antifa members use Tumblr and I know you guys may see this post. I don’t look forward to it because I DO fear you. You are a terror to this nation and people are scared of you, but I will not accept any abuse from you because you don’t agree with me.

If there is one thing I want Antifa members to read, it’s this:

You are creating a more strict, more dangerous, more scary, and more fearful nation by your actions. When you are cracked down on, the rest of America will suffer with you. The same way that bratty kid gets the whole class in trouble, you will ruin the freedom we’ve had. We were a country of freedom. Then you got offended over everything, started demanding things you are not owed, and threatened those who got in your way. Now, we’re suffering for it. Before you go into your next rally or plot to kill the president, think about whether or not your life is worth it for this ridiculous notion that you can change what’s going on. We are a system for a reason. A system that can help you if you put the effort into it instead of being lazy and expecting everything to fall into your lap. If you gave up on that system, you didn’t have a chance to succeed. You’re throwing a wrench into the cogs of our system and we are not planning to fail. If we do, however, what do you want after that? Anarchy? We will all be thrown into poverty and you will be the reason this nation lost its freedom. Sit down, shut up, and wait until the next voting period before trying to make a change. There is no perfect world. We were as close to it as we could be before everyone started taking it for granted.

Thanks, your friendly neighborhood straight, white, privileged millennial female who just wants to live without fear.

Censorship on the internet is starting to happen because some people just can’t handle the reality that is the world. People are assholes and you need to learn not to take it to heart. Don’t riot against people who can’t do anything about it at that very moment because they’re currently focused on the big picture for the nation. That doesn’t mean you group everyone of their race or tax bracket together and tell them to pay you back for their words or actions via taxes. I am a white, straight, privileged female who has no clue of your struggles. What I do know is that because of the fact that my family is Republican and I live in South Texas, I am automatically in a group of people that is told that it is okay for you to beat me, to abuse me, and that my feelings don’t matter because I have more than you do. That I supposedly haven’t struggled.

Living in a low income neighborhood in a crap 3 bedroom, 1 & 1/2 bathroom trailer that’s falling apart from the inside out, my mother struggling to feed myself and my four younger brothers after the divorce from my abusive father, that’s a struggle. Apparently my situation isn’t valid, however, because I was only in that situation from 2009 until June 2016 when she remarried a wealthy, nice man who gave us a nice home and a warm bed to sleep in. I’m not still in that situation. People that are still in that situation get to talk about it. I’m not allowed to mention that part of my life or I’m an attention seeker who’s making things up or being dramatic. There’s nothing dramatic about cold winters wrapped in hand-me-down quilts and roaches crawling out of the sink every time you turn on the lights to bathroom. It’s a cold, hard truth that everyone of every color has the possibility of experiencing.

( The Demands from Chanelle Helm from Black Lives Matter: https://www.leoweekly.com/2017/08/white-people/ )

( The Official Black Lives Matter website, again with demands that would make the quality of life for black people better but at the cost of white people’s hard earned money: https://policy.m4bl.org/ Just scroll on down to the demands. They’re separated into categories for us. )

Then I get to see Antifa and Black Lives Matter on the news saying all white people should pay reparations to them for their struggles. Where are my reparations? My father already pays child support but what about the bills paid and food stamps used by my mother? I should be paid back for that too, right? And I’m going to ask all Mexicans to pay me back because that was the kind of neighborhood I lived in. They stole gas out of my car and stalked me down the street when I got off the school bus after school on my own. I was 12 when I noticed what was going on. THAT is about how much sense these ‘reparations’ and ‘demands’ make. Want to talk about racism? It’s not just the white neo-nazis out there that are racist. I’m pretty sure the posters saying ‘They voted for Trump, they deserve this even if they’re women’ with pictures of white women with bruises on their face is pretty racist and sexist. I didn’t even vote this year!

Fake/Joke or not, these posters are circulating around the internet and SOMEONE is going to take them seriously. These posters scare me. I am scared to talk to anybody that I don’t already know because you just don’t know if you’re going to happen upon an Antifa member who plans to beat you to death behind a dumpster because you’re a privileged white woman.

The nation is becoming a more dangerous with Antifa’s presence and contagious mindset. America functions and maintains its freedom by staying unified in a system rather than fighting and destroying the system. Dramatic changes needed to be made to start the fight to get America out of debt and save ourselves a war with some of the biggest countries in the world. Debt to other nations that own nukes and control most of our trade is more dangerous than hurt feelings. Antifa has become the weak link that attacks us from the inside and could lead to the nation’s downfall if someone starts a war with us. When you’re working in a factory for another nation, paid in rice and living in small shelters, then you can revolt about your hurt feelings. When this whole nation is privileged compared to most other nations in the world, we look like fools because of Antifa’s antics.

Nobody needs to be running around with a hero complex like it’s all fun and games with no consequences. There are plenty of other organizations to join that don’t involve trying to destroy the government and ruin everyone’s lives. If you’re an teenager on Tumblr who just goes to Antifa gatherings on the weekends to mess with the government and push buttons so you feel special, get out of it. Criminals are becoming known for using Antifa as a way to get away with doing what they want to the government in retaliation for their sentences and/or titles, including sex offenders with very serious rape charges and violent felons. Covering their face protects them from the police that are focused on the rioting and everyone within the group trusts each other more than they should. It’s horrifying. You could be raped or murdered in the chaos and nobody would be able to help you.

I personally hope that an order gets passed down to allow police to arrest every Antifa member that shows up to these rallies as a terrorist or for treason. I hope it’s explosive, violent, and shocking. The bratty kid needs to get their butt whooped by the parent until they get their act together. Peaceful protest is constitutional, what Antifa does isn’t protected by any of our rights. Antifa is lucky they’ve gotten as far as they have and they’re definitely digging a pretty deep hole for themselves. Hope you are prepared for the possibility of prison if you are actively fighting in these rallies. If you’re a bystander, I’d love to hear your input on the situation.

                                                                                                         - F. Grayson

Note: This post is intended to be opinionated based on “factual resources” collected, read, and watched by the author. (If this were a paper for my college class, I would have provided a Bibliography, not a Works Cited. That’s the difference for fellow college nerds.) By no means are any of the statements intended to be taken as straight facts. They are simply as accurate as possible according to the author’s knowledge. This is a topic up for debate. Feel free to reply with an educated statement in a post. I, however, will not be replying to any replies on this post. Do what you will. I have said what I want to say as my icebreaker for this blog. If you have taken offense or believe that this post was too harsh, you’ll need to just learn how to ignore me. Expect more in the future.