#i think war is inevitable but it’s never something to delight in or to hope for

[at-the-end-of-days]

To summarize what happened April 13, 2024 into April 14, 2024:

According to weapons.substack.com/p/preliminary-results-of-irans-attack

And also posted by Naija_PR on Twitter, at 9:51 AM April 14, 2024, and another dozen Twitter users with the exact same message,

Of the 331 missiles and drones launched by Iran at Israel

185 out of 185 kamikaze drones were shot down

103 out of 110 ballistic missiles were shot down

36 out of 36 cruise missiles were shot down

So approximately 7 ballistic missile impacts have been recorded as striking Israel. That said, I don’t see any death count at the moment, and the only injuries I’ve seen were about the child in serious condition. That no one died is something to be thankful for.

That said, the Israeli cabinet is debating a response or the Iranian attack, an attack that seemed to minimize any sort of casualties while emphasizing a show of force. If Israel responds with a greater show of force, I’m concerned about a brutal war. If Israel doesn’t respond in kind, then their leaders may be seen as weak.

So this likely all comes down to a matter of pride.

Let’s pray, and then acknowledging that social media posts don’t account for much of anything, look for reputable charities that will do good work in the area.

[broodwolf221]

for dadwc, varric /& whomever (or solo): autophobia [ an irrational, extreme fear of being alone ]

happy writing!

-inquisimer

y'know, i think my favorite part of having joined dadwc is prompts like these, which make me consider a side of a character i never had before, and lead me down this fascinating rabbit hole. so thank you! this was a delight. @dadrunkwriting 827 words cws: none

Bartrand. Bianca. Hawke. Anders at the Hanged Man. Isabela. The Inquisitor. Solas. Hell, even Cassandra.

He kept himself busy. Kept himself in company. So that even when he was alone, he really wasn't, his thoughts occupied by worrying after his spies, his contacts, his friends, the Merchant's Guild, his family.

Still, he felt the weight of being alone. Living at the Hanged Man had taken the edge off, for even when he was alone in his room, the sounds of the city filtered in. He was never really alone.

But Skyhold was so quiet today. The Inquisitor and Hawke at Adamant, and no word back as yet, a strange hush falling over all who remained at the keep. He made the servants uneasy if he lingered in the kitchen, for he was seen as a core member of the Inquisition despite the fact that he'd never really joined and it made them feel overly observed, so he'd left them to their own devices.

Usually he was okay here, even when the Inquisitor left without him. The differences were significant, but the constant activity did remind him of Kirkwall; the shouts of merchants trying to set up or break down their stalls for the day or harking their wares, the deft rush of messengers, the constant chatter of Leliana's birds… there were always reminders of others. 

But today was bitterly cold, even for Skyhold, and an unpleasant rain had picked up a few hours ago. Sometimes it switched to hail, pinging off the worked stone, but whether rain or hail, it served to obscure the minimal sounds of the keep. Everyone was sticking to themselves, a palpable feeling of dread settling across all of them. It felt like something bad had happened, but he kept trying to convince himself that was nonsense. 

It was just a cold, rainy day, and that put a damper on people's spirits. So if everyone seemed particularly quiet and withdrawn today, even when he'd visited the pub, that was clearly the reason. Well, and the inevitable thread of worry that suffused all those left behind whenever the Inquisitor was away. Their sole hope and all.

For all he knew, it was just him. Maybe everyone else was just tired. Yeah, tired. He knew he was tired—exhausted, more like. He hadn't been sleeping well. So it was a rainy day and they were tired. Nothing was wrong, and the Inquisitor would return triumphant, and he'd have the next chapter of a book that he'd struggle to make sound even remotely realistic. Everything was fine. 

It was just that he hadn't felt this grim crush of fear for years. He had wandered all of Skyhold already, but the advisors were all holed up in the war room, Blackwall had turned down his offer of a round of Wicked Grace to kill time, and even though they talked sometimes while traveling, he knew better than to disturb Madame Vivienne in these halls. She always seemed to be preoccupied. Or maybe just imperious.

Or maybe she just plain didn’t want to talk.

Thing is, he kinda needed to talk. To someone. Or to hear them talk, or something. When he’d visited the pub, even Maryden was being uncharacteristically silent, sat down at the bar with an untouched drink and her lute leaned up beside her.

When it got this bad—and it'd been a while since it had—he always tried to turn to writing. A lot of The Tale of the Champion came out as a result of these moods, common after their strange little group shattered.

Blondie. Maker's breath. He wanted to talk to him, too, and that was… a lot. Too much. He still couldn't figure out if he was angry or understanding, guilty or bitter. Kirkwall was his home. Their little group had been so much of his life. An act of destruction at once massive and miniscule, nothing at all compared to what he'd seen within the Inquisition, but in so many ways the beginning of all this.

Of course, a part of him knew it wasn't all Anders’ fault. A part of him really did. But he hadn't found a way to forgive him, either. Not yet… not yet, and maybe not ever. For hurting his city. For breaking their group. For the beginning of the end. Or the beginning of the beginning. 

But he'd even talk to him, right now.

Instead he grabbed the little book that held all his mess—safest to keep it between pages, and in his own shorthand at that—and opened it up, setting out inkwell and quill.

Days like this, he began, and he'd have to rework that for sure if this ever went to print, the Inquisitor gone, Skyhold quiet, and a storm on the horizon…

He kept writing. He'd create his own answer, manufacture his own company from memory.

He'd get by. The Inquisitor would be back. The storm would pass. 

Oh, and they'd save the world, too.

[saintsenara]

"eighth time's the charm" and "a general history of invisibility" 👀

thanks so much for the ask, @cealesti! and i'm delighted to say that you have exquisite taste when it comes to picking from the work in progress tag game list.

two very tonally different fics here, though...

eighth time's the charm is a piece for @ladiesofhpfest - and, specifically, for the fortnight of the fest which will focus on women of colour in the harry potter universe [you can find the full schedule of themes here]

this bit of the fest should - all being well - get quite a lot out of me [i'm also planning a couple of little pieces focusing on cho chang and angelina johnson, because i admire both of them for yelling at harry at least once], but this is the main thing i'm working on.

and it centres on a woman who is about as far in the background of canon as it's possible to be - she gets literally one mention - but who has managed to have me in a chokehold since the publication of half-blood prince nonetheless...

mrs zabini.

i am obsessed with mrs zabini - she's famously hot! she's clearly killed all seven of her husbands! and yet slughorn was clearly willing to risk it all for a chance to meet her! unparalleled! - and i think that she's the perfect candidate to be given the sort of exploration this fest allows.

after all, where does she live? what does she do? who is she friends with [because it's clearly not going to be narcissa malfoy...]? if she kills her husbands for their gold, does that mean she started out poor? how is that going to be received in the posh, white pureblood circles she might move in? what side is she on during the war? what is her relationship with blaise like, seeing as she undoubtedly bumped off his dad? what is it like for her as a black woman in the spaces she inhabits?

and, above all, what does she actually think about love? did she pick her husbands ruthlessly, only interested in their cash and how easy they'd be to kill? or did she hope each time that she might have found the one, before they inevitably disappointed her in some way?

i think she's a bit of a romantic at heart... so I'm trying to get her to pick a little bit more sensibly for husband number eight.

we've compromised. he's very much not a nice man. but he also literally cannot die.

so there is, then, a little bit of overlap between this and a general history of invisibility...

because, yes, it's one of my guilty pleasures... bartymort.

i've always been fascinated by the inherent tragedy of both barty crouch jr. and barty crouch sr. [who's getting his own well-deserved attention in subluxation, another piece on this wip list], and the fact that - in canon - we only ever see their relationship in the broad brushstrokes of tabloid gossip: the clever, quidditch-loving son of a brilliant politician; the brutal terrorist whose dad was never home on time; the kid who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and the man who sent him to azkaban without a second glance.

and even when we get the reveal - and, may i say, bcj you will always be famous - we're still left confused by a man who would let his own wife die in azkaban in order to free his son, by an elf who wanted her master to have the chance to watch a match again, and by the question of how - exactly - barty crouch jr. ended up aware that the dark lord is named after his father.

what lord voldemort was smoking that night is, therefore, a key part of this fic, but it is - in the main - a coming of age story for a young man whose life is lived, in many senses, in disguise.

never able to live up to his parents' expectations, never entirely sure how to relate to his father, alone and friendless - except for winky - for most of his childhood, mild, polite, and clever...

never clocked by anyone as teetering on the abyss of radicalisation.

ready to be destroyed by the very first person who deigns to pay him some attention.

lord voldemort's habit of collecting waifs and strays is something i love exploring, and him colliding head-first with barty's cataclysmic daddy issues is... a lot.

and, unsurprisingly, it does not end well.

[firewoodwander]

For the mistletoe prompts, Bly/Doom with 13. While dancing? (nooneherebutusghosts)

Mistletoe prompts

@nooneherebutusghosts 🤍

They were never taught anything so frivolous as dancing when they were cadets. Luckily for Bly, Doom has an incredible talent for mimicking the movements and mannerisms of natborns near-perfectly—and Bly has always been rather attuned to following his lead.

He can hear Aayla laughing on the sidelines, a sharp and purely joyful sound. General Billaba comes whirling past a moment later, in the arms of Grey’s favourite captain, just a little more enthusiastic than they are artful in their sweeping spins. Billaba’s cloak swoops and billows around the feet of General Windu who is also leading his embarrassed but devoted teenaged grandpadawan through a smooth waltz in Bly’s peripheral.

He can be grateful, he thinks, that Aayla hasn’t attempted any inevitably less-than-graceful turns about the impromptu dance floor with him.

The Jedi have strung soft glowing lights throughout the greenery and winding paths of the Temple Gardens, which are beautiful enough in the day but something approaching unearthly in the golden night. There’s a substantial orchestra of older initiates who didn’t make it to the battlefield before the end of the war, each set up with delicate instrument in hand, each beaming with pride between every piece they perform for their celebrating audience. Master Yoda perches on a stand in front of their stage and conducts them with a palpable air of satisfaction, even for the Force-inept like Bly.

None of this feels real: not the gardens, nor the gathered mix of clones and Jedi and Navy and down-dressed anti-war politicians. Least of all, Bly thinks, is that he and Doom are both here at the end of it all, alive despite the very many times they scraped themselves back together with sheer force of will.

Doom smiles at him: a small and private thing that never fails to make Bly’s heart turn over and ache. His eyes alight with something horribly soft, almost vulnerable, and reflecting each tiny tree light like he himself is dusted with gold.

Bly looks away. He doesn’t know if he can bear the emotional vortex weighing in his chest quite yet, quite like this. But, over Doom’s shoulder, he spots something familiar in the branches of a nearby fruit tree.

“Oh no,” Doom says, his voice a murmur but his trepidation clear as day. “I know that look.”

Bly grins at him, then steers them gradually between the gathered crowd. “Do you trust me?”

Huffing, Doom tightens his arm around Bly’s waist and leans in close. “Unfortunately.”

“Of course you do. Look up.”

Doom does. His brow furrows for barely a handful of seconds, the scar drawn down the length of his face pulling as his expression changes.

“Mistletoe,” he breathes.

As they watch, a small branch of pale silver berries unfurls and reaches spindly arms down toward them. It’s slow, but not so slow as to be unnoticeable, and Bly hears Doom catch his breath at the unbelievable sight.

“Jedi, huh,” Bly laughs.

Doom looks back down at him. He just stares for a moment, watching Bly’s face. Intent and content to stand under this tree and hold each other close.

“We won the war,” he says eventually. “The Jedi can do whatever the stars they want.”

When he tilts his chin and kisses Bly, Bly moves with him willingly and delighted, imagining the bubbling beginnings of hope taking root around them.

[raiquen]

Book Review: Antonio Machado. Selection of poems by Jesús García Sánchez.

I don't think I have the academic formation for a deep contemplation and careful appreciation of poetry, and I have read very little poetry before, but by the end of the book, I believe I reached a faint understanding of Machado and his life as a spanish poet at the turn of the 20th century.

Some of the most recurring themes I noted on this selection that include his most famous works and cover 40 years of his writing are the captivating spirit of nature, the inevitable passage of time, the yearn and love for youthness, the evergreen presence of Death and the war that ravaged Spain.

These two poems share the themes of nature (particularly, of Spring as a rejuvenating force) and the yearn of youthness. In both, the author gazes at the landscape around him as Spring turns everything green and new and alive. His train of thought is suddenly interrumped by the realization that his youth is gone, that life has passed. The key difference between them is the hopeful note the left poem ends with:

"— Oh, how late for my own joy! — And then, walking, like one who feels wings of another illusion: — And yet I'll reach my youth one day!"

Machado seems to understand youthness as a state of mind, as a quality one can cultivate or achieve rather than just an age. But then, on the second poem:

"Under that blossomed almond tree heavy with flowers — I remembered—, I've cursed my youth without love. Today, halfway through my life I've stopped to meditate... Youth never lived, who could dream you again!"

Then, maybe, love is what give us the will of living and youthfulness that pushes us through life.

On that vein, Machado says in one of his Proverbs:

"Words of love fit nicely in a little bit of exaggeration"

But Machado stares a lot at Death too. It creeps and pops up randomly through his verses, maybe suddenly faced by the mortality of his life by the War or the passing of a person close to him.

On the first poem, Machado dreams with a demon, who appears before him as the most beautiful angel, their eyes with a glowing heat of steel, the bleeding flames of their torch pushing the shadows of his soul. Machado is forced to accompany the angel and enter his own soul, ressembling a crypt, where he hears chains and caged beasts.

On the second poem, Machado writes about the death of another poet, Federíco García Lorca, murdered by order of Valdes because of his political views and his alleged homosexuality. But Federico walks with Her, Death, like if she were a muse, mourning about what's happening in Granada. In the poem, Federico even seems to pity Death, bowing to help her and restore her flesh, her eyes, her hair, her lips, singing them to her, as if thanking her for giving him edge to his poetry with her scythe and coldness to his songs.

Overall, Machado is a poet filled with zeist who loves life and delights about the cycle of death and rebirth in nature.

The poems I posted here were some of my favorites, but his whole Proverbs is filled with quotable excerpts and life advice. I don't want to give this book a score like I did in my previous reviews, it suffices to say that I enjoyed it and from time to time, it gave me something deeper to think about.

(I apologize in case of writing mistakes, this is my first review written from scratch completely in English)

My other 2023 readings.

[nikator]

Readings, 2022

I try to follow very loose research programmes in my nonfiction reading, and in 2020 and 2021 this was structural Marxism. My aim for 2022 was to move into humanist Marxism as a counterpoint to this. My standout discovery was Lefebvre, who has become one of my favourite theorists; he has that excellent combination of technical literary skill and strong ideas developed over a long time and many pages. I’m hopefully going to enjoy reading more of him this year. Bloch’s short On Karl Marx also left a big impact on me and how I think about Marxism. Overall, my greater exposure to humanism (both Marxist and otherwise) has reaffirmed and strengthened my antihumanism, which I suspect I’ll be returning to more heavily this year (2023).

I also had a major research project on ethics and the critique of ethics in preparation for my dissertation arguing for the elimination of ethics as a field of putative human knowledge; I abandoned that around mid-September so it never went anywhere, but I still read several great books for it that I’ve felt have really strengthened my general knowledge and made me a much better ethicist.

My 2022 was also a good year for fiction, introducing me to several very impressive authors and deepening my love for old favourites.

Overall, I’d say my 2022 was an excellent year for reading.

Books I read in 2022:

1. Davidson, Ian. The French Revolution: From Enlightenment to Tyranny. Profile, 2016

A narrative history of the French Revolution. It was a quick and easy read and exactly the kind of introductory work I was looking for so I can move on to more serious historical works about the Revolution in the future. The inevitable counterrevolutionary attitude implied by the title wasn’t too strong, and, despite himself, I think Davidson gave a fairly positive portrait of the Jacobins and sans-culottes.

2. Wahnich, Sophie. In Defence of the Terror: Liberty or Death in the French Revolution. Translated by David Fernbach, Verso, 2016 [2003]

A really impressive little essay which convinced me of the intelligence of many of the revolutionaries and just how well they understood politics and the emotions and emotional needs of populaces. Despite the differences between then and now and the revolutionary requirements of the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, I think Wahnich’s analysis does offer a lot of fertile considerations for communists, especially around the way a revolutionary terror is responsive to the masses and the limits of political leadership and commandism.

3. Calvino, Italo. The Path to the Spiders’ Nests. Translated by Archibald Colquhoun and Martin McLaughlin, Penguin, 2013 [1947]

Calvino is my favourite fiction author and it was a delight to read his first work and to see both how different it is from his later writings and how it still has what I see as his main recurring themes already deeply embedded. On its own terms, it’s a powerful novella, demonstrating Calvino’s skill for sexual and obsessive emotions and the perspectives of neglected or sidelined persons. Also a frank and unpolished depiction of the partisans’ war as riddled with contradictions, weaknesses, and shortsightedness, yet also the hope and ambition for a better world and at least the promise of genuine political leadership (i.e., by communists), something only made the more poignant considering when it was written.

4. Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings. Edited by Raymond Geuss and Ronald Speirs, translated by Ronald Speirs, CUP, 1999 [1872–86]

As with Calvino, reading the first work of one of my favourite authors was very rewarding. The Birth of Tragedy is at times overly convoluted and tries too hard to prove its (often implausible) point, but it shows Nietzsche’s literary flair and deep knowledge of ancient literature in abundance. It was a good contrast to his later work to read Nietzsche as a romantic and a metaphysician, and as a loyal follower of Schopenhauer. In spite of the limitations of this metaphysics, a lot of Nietzsche’s theory about tragedy I do find quite plausible and an interesting counterpoint to Aristotle’s theory of katharsis. The kind of book that grows on you over time and that, eventually, you realise has stuck with you and affected how you see the world.

5. Gentili, Dario. The Age of Precarity: Endless Crisis as an Art of Government. Translated by Stefania Porcelli and Clara Pope, Verso, 2021

I wasn’t best placed to understand this short book because Gentili was working heavily from Foucault, who I have only the most basic familiarity with, but I did appreciate his discussion of the Greek origins of the concept of crisis as a medical term and what that means for our modern political concept.

6. Mishra, Pankaj. Bland Fanatics: Liberals, Race and Empire. Verso, 2020

Some interesting enough points in places and an appreciable line of critique of contemporary British nationalism and jingoism, but I don’t think this collection of articles is of much theoretical value.

7. Burton-Cartledge, Phil. Falling Down: The Conservative Party and the Decline of Tory Britain. Verso, 2021

I didn’t make much of it at the time, but ever since I read this analysis of the Conservative Party I’ve found myself thinking about it more and more and finding it increasingly convincing. A good, accessible attempt to understand the ruling party of British capital and its potential failure to carry out that role going forward.

8. Bloch, Ernst. On Karl Marx. Translated by John Maxwell, Verso, 2018 [1971]

A gorgeous collection of chapters taken from Bloch’s three-volume magnum opus The Principle of Hope. A patently good translation has rendered a moving, passionate, and beautiful writer who comes across, above all, as a loyal Marxist. I think a lot of the specific claims contained in the work are, due to its very strong humanism, wrong, but a huge amount is also very important and significant. The discussion of the theses on Feuerbach is especially excellent. Even though I come from the opposite Marxist tradition, I’d still recommend this as a wonderful introductory work to Marx and Marxism and the revolutionary project, and also as a theoretically robust work for the more well-read. Easily one of the best books I read in 2022, it’ll stay with me for a long time and I know is something I will feel the need to re-read at some point. The kind of book I think is worth taking with you for life. Genuinely really quite wonderful.

9. Calvino, Italo. The Complete Cosmicomics. Translated by Martin McLaughlin, et al., Penguin, 2010 [1964–8]

Calvino at his best: a joyous, melancholy, frivolous, profound collection of short stories. An excellent engagement with Calvino’s central themes of obsessive love and science. Simply stunning fiction.

10. Fois, Marcello. Bloodlines. Translated by Silvester Mazzarella, Hodder, 2015 [2009]

This was a gift and a random read for me, but I loved it. A moving and human story, full of suffering and intimacy as modernity comes to Sardinia.

11. Engels, Friedrich. The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State. Translated by Alick West and Dona Torr, Verso, 2021 [1884] (re-read)

I first read The Origin of the Family when I was still fairly new to Marxism, and was impressed by it then, but I’m really glad I returned to it now I have a much stronger basis in the tradition. I think Engels is wrong about several things here (his denigration of the erotic principle and his belief that communist society will be monogamous are standout errors, in my opinion, and specifically errors which his own work in the book disproves), but his overall line of analysis is powerful. Vital reading for any communist and great material for feeding the building of Bloch’s concrete utopia. A paradigm example of how to do historical materialism.

12. Falco, Federico. A Perfect Cemetery. Translated by Jennifer Croft, Charco, 2021 [2016]

Brilliant collection of short stories, very evocative of place. I love how Falco handles dialogue, and he establishes strong interior lives for his characters, well-established over a relatively small number of pages. The story and title character of “Silvi and Her Dark Night” are my favourites of the collection: a delightfully erotic coming-of-age story, with all the mess and ugliness which that should entail, that in the end reflects well on Silvi as a person and makes you want to know her and be her friend. A touching book that leaves a heavy emotional impression, as, I think, any work of short stories should do.

13. Adorno, Theodor, and Max Horkheimer. Towards a New Manifesto. Translated by Rodney Livingstone, et al., Verso, 2019 [1942–89]

The first work of the year I read in one sitting. The main text amounts to a collection of starting points for further work, something I didn’t take up, which meant I took less away from it than I ideally would have. Adorno’s “Theses on Need”, attached as an appendix, however, I really liked and have worked from heavily in an as-yet unpublished manuscript on historical materialism.

14. Gros, Frédéric. Disobey! A Philosophy of Resistance. Translated by David Fernbach, Verso, 2021 [2020]

This struck me as something of a pop philosophy book, but there are definitely things of value here, especially when Gros is touching on Nietzsche and Aristotle.

15. Ayer, Alfred Jules. Language, Truth and Logic. Dover, 1952 [1936]

A strong outline of early analytic philosophy and demonstration of its radicalism. Exactly the kind of work that I think modern analytic philosophy should be returning to in order to rediscover the mission statement it seems to me to have lost: to cast metaphysics into the fire. Simplistic in places due to its brevity, but I wouldn’t ever count that against it. Much more than the merely historical text it’s often now talked of as.

16. Lefebvre, Henri. “Critique of Everyday Life, Volume I: Introduction.” Translated by John Moore. Critique of Everyday Life: The One-Volume Edition, by Henri Lefebvre, Verso, 2014, pp. 1–272

A brilliant work of Marxism. The late chapter “Notes Written One Sunday in the French Countryside” is a really impressive achievement, at once the most serious celebration of Christian civilisation imaginable while also an indignant and unflinching rejection of it— exactly how Marxist critique should work. Beautifully written, never theoretically trivial or opaque, and easy to read at length with a strong flow. Humanism at its best.

17. Blackburn, Simon. Ethics: A Very Short Introduction. OUP, 2021 [2001]

I find the A Very Short Introduction series can be very hit or miss, but this is good. Good exposition of Hume and Nietzsche given the tiny size, avoiding simply stating the normal tropes.

18. Sassoon, Donald. Morbid Symptoms: An Anatomy of a World in Crisis. Verso, 2021 [2020]

Doesn’t live up to its Gramscian trappings. Forgettable but inoffensive.

19. Enriquez, Mariana. Things We Lost in the Fire: Stories. Translated by Megan McDowell, Granta, 2018 [2016]

Enriquez is one of my best discoveries of 2022. This is a fantastic collection of feminist, Gothic, ecological, urban horror— a gorgeously physical collection, evocative of sensation and bodies. Modern in the best sense of the word. I was kept from reading more of her but I’m going to really try this year.

20. Anderson, Perry. Passages from Antiquity to Feudalism. Verso, 2013 [1974]

An impressive big-picture style history and a good work of historical materialism. Maybe partly indicative of its age, it’s, in my opinion, overly dismissive of the medieval Roman state and implausibly denigrating of its social structure, and simply wrong about the fall of Rome and end of classical antiquity, offering the old narrative of an exhausted peasant class and a crumbling empire towards which barbarian invasions merely acted as a coup de grâce— the exact opposite of what I think the historical record shows, but one that’s more convenient to somewhat vulgar forms of historical materialism. Nevertheless, a valuable study of the ancient world, the early medieval world, and the critically important transition period between them. Does what I think a materialist analysis of late antiquity should: show that the transition was one of collapse and retrograde motion, and not one brought about by the revolutionary actions of any class or bloc of classes, a demonstration that I think is important for Marxism to make in order to highlight to specificity and importance of the bourgeoisie and proletariat as classes and of their respective revolutionary trajectories.

21. Aristotle. The Nicomachean Ethics. Edited by Lesley Brown, translated by David Ross, et al., OUP, 2009 [ca. 340BC]

Aristotle is one of those people who I think fully lives up to the hype. A lovely translation of an incredibly profound work of philosophy of undying relevance and intelligence. A worthy attempt at understanding the only true goal of morality: happiness.

22. Hemingway, Ernest. The Old Man and the Sea. Vintage, 1999 [1952]

The second book I read in a single sitting in 2022, I found The Old Man and the Sea an emotionally devastating novella. I felt like I wanted to cry the whole way through without being able to properly express why. Melancholy and a feeling of loss are some of my favourite emotions, and this delivered wonderfully. The kind of book that leaves you wanting to sit in silent contemplation for hours digesting the emotions.

23. Mill, John Stuart. “Utilitarianism.” On Liberty, Utilitarianism, and Other Essays, by John Stuart Mill, edited by Mark Philp and F. Rosen, OUP, 2015 [1861], pp. 115–80 (partially re-read)

Reading this in full for the first time gave me a better appreciation for it. I think it’s a stronger work than it’s often said to be. I particularly appreciate Mill’s historical narrative, explicitly linking (then) contemporary utilitarianism with Epicurus and other ancient figures as direct ancestors of the theory; it’s questionable philosophically speaking, but in my opinion the right course of action for the utilitarian to take.

24. Machiavelli, Niccolò. The Prince. Edited by Peter Bondanella, translated by Peter Bondanella, OUP, 2008 [ca. 1513] (re-read; new ed./trans.)

Returning to The Prince rekindled my love for Machiavelli after several years spent without reading him. Without hyperbole probably one of the most important works ever written; a must-read for communists and something to return to throughout the course of your life— The Prince is a wonderful work of ethics and a meditation on the foundational question of how we should live our lives as well as a founding document of modernity and political science. I read this in preparation for reading Althusser and Gramsci’s work on Machiavelli, as well as Machiavelli’s Discourses, but things got in the way and I never got to any of them. I’m eager to find time for them in 2023.

25. Adorno, Theodor. Minima Moralia: Reflections from Damaged Life. Translated by E. F. N. Jephcott, Verso, 2020 [1951]

Another work that deserves all the hype. It took me about a year to finish it, but Minima Moralia is a deeply special book. I can’t possibly lavish it with enough praise. The very project of a “melancholy science” is brilliant and Adorno’s dialogue with Nietzsche throughout is on point. Artistically wonderful and theoretically savage. A real companion for living, as any good book of ethics should be. A glorious foil to Aristotle, as its title suggests.

26. Plato. Republic 327a–367e/~books I & II, 595a–602b/most of book X. Edited by Robin Waterfield, translated by Robin Waterfield, OUP, 2008 [ca. 375BC]

Waterfield’s translation is the perfect mix of lyrical and precise, and captures Plato’s artistic prowess. I’ve counted the nearly three books of the Republic as a “book I’ve read” even though I didn’t actually come close to finishing the whole work—and I read plenty of essays in 2022 that were longer—because I have no intention to in the foreseeable future, and because the starting books of the Republic are capable of standing alone as a text that poses a series of questions— which are then partly addressed later on, partly (interestingly) set aside. Thrasymachus is especially interesting, including in the way Plato has to mutilate his argument in order to allow Socrates to “win” and move on; a telling tacit admission.

27. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. Translated by David Francis Pears and Brian McGuinness, Routledge, 2001 [1921]

Similar to Language, Truth and Logic, the Tractatus is a founding text of analytic philosophy as a self-conscious tradition and historical movement and moment, but it’s the far stronger work of the two. I’m not a logician so I’m sure plenty of this went over my head—it was a very difficult read, maybe the hardest of the year—but what I did get was incredibly strong. An anti-metaphysical project that urgently needs to be returned to and renewed. The last sections are especially strong.

28. Hume, David. An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding. Edited by Peter Millican and Peter J. R. Millican, OUP, 2007 [1748]

Hume is one of the philosophers I give pride of place when I evaluate my own positions, and he’s always a delight to read. This is a good place to start for the primary literature and a great work of scepticism.

29. Nietzsche, Friedrich. On the Genealogy of Morality, first and second essays. Edited by Keith Ansell-Pearson, translated by Carol Diethe, CUP, 2007 [1887] / “On the Genealogy of Morals: A Polemic”, first essay. Basic Writings of Nietzsche, by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by Walter Kaufmann, Modern Library, 2009 [1887], pp. 437–600

My main academic work in 2022 was on Nietzsche and his relevance for/place in historical materialism, and this short and famous work of his was my main source text. A very strong work for the critique of ethics and ideology, with an immense amount of value contained in a short number of pages. I never know how to advise people with reading Nietzsche, but the Genealogy probably wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

30. Lefebvre, Henri. Hegel, Marx, Nietzsche: Or the Realm of Shadows. Translated by David Fernbach, Verso, 2020 [1975]

Having been highly impressed by Lefebvre earlier in the year, I knew I had to read this work of his (partly) on Nietzsche. I wasn’t able to make anything of it for my own work, almost entirely because of mismanaging my time, but it was a great read. Lefebvre’s reading of Nietzsche is impressive and one I’m going to return to, in particular to the contrast he draws between Nietzsche’s concept of overcoming (Überwindung) and Hegel and Marx’s of supersession (Aufheben), and of the importance of Nietzsche’s emphasis on questions of value.

31. Eliot, T. S. Four Quartets. Faber, 1959 [1944]

Famous dialectical poetry. I’m really unqualified to critique poetry, it’s not my form at all and I’m still trying to find a love for it after school made me instinctively hate it, but I enjoyed these.

32. Firestone, Shulamith. The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution. Verso, 2015 [1970]

I’ve been meaning to properly get into feminist theory for ages as I feel it’s one of my main areas of ignorance, and I read this very quickly at the end of the year (it has the virtue of being an easy read). I had high hopes for this book but was let down by it; overall I think it’s a theoretically poor work that makes grand pretences to (a modified version of) historical materialism at the start and then proceeds to systematically violate basic materialist premises throughout. Overall, a work of historical idealism, most valuable for its discussion of childhood and the sexuality and other humannesses of children and for the discussion of possible postfamilial social models in the final chapter. I was disappointed that so many great premises and insights—which abound throughout the book—are so consistently and systematically let down by the unworkable theoretical methodology. Ironically, what should be an extremely radical work often ends up having a paltry faux-radicalism due to its farcical methodology and version of “historical materialism” (which is only stochastically historical and almost entirely immaterialist). The stuff on race is just bizarre and is where Firestone’s dogmatism most blatantly comes apart and becomes self-devouring. I agree with a lot of what Firestone says—more than that, a lot of it is psychologically important to my sense of self and my attitude to the world—but I think she fails to demonstrate almost any of it. A book that desperately needs to be rewritten by a competent theorist because there’s so much value and importance in several of its premises and claims and they desperately need to be done justice to. Reading The Dialectic of Sex and contrasting it with the manuscripts on the same and related subjects I’ve written in the past has reaffirmed my intention to one day write a book-length exposition on the subjects. I can’t help viewing this book as a deeply regrettable theoretical failure, but it’s important to emphasise that its failure is due to an absence of genuine radicalism and for its not going far enough; any suggestion that it is too extreme has to be totally dismissed as reactionary.

33. Marx, Karl, and Friedrich Engels. “Manifesto of the Communist Party.” Translated by Samuel Moore. The Communist Manifesto / The April Theses, by Karl Marx, et al., Verso, 2022 [1847], pp. 1–88 (re-read)

I re-read the Manifesto very slowly over the course of months with a friend I was introducing to Marxism. Re-reading it has reaffirmed its importance to Marxism for me; it has its flaws, but it is the founding document of our movement. Those Marxists who dismiss it as an over-emphasised text of purely historical importance have completely missed the Manifesto’s point as a declaration of a political-historical line of movement.

34. Calvino, Italo. Mr Palomar. Translated by William Weaver, Vintage, 1994 [1983]

The perfect end to the year, short and sweet and brilliant. Palomar, ever watchful and observant in a clinical but not unemotional, and above all experimental, way, is an excellent protagonist for Calvino to express his talent and literary aims through. The condensed talent of a lifetime of literary genius rendered in a hundred pages of perfection.

[blaiddllodi]

[ READY-TO-PAINT CERAMICS ] before louis sits a bowl, fingers drumming on the table. "you know, prince dimitri. maybe i ought to give this art hobby more of a focus than i had thought . . ." the bowl is blue. on the side is, you guessed it, another poorly painted lion. "i have a few younger brothers. they always request i send them something home from fodlan, you see. the environment here is so very different from that of what i know."

paintbrush dips into white, and next to the lion he writes 'BATTL E OFEAGLEANDLION'. louis clicks his tongue in distaste - the writing is illegible. "ah . . . i ran out of room . . ." at that, he paints over the text - and yet, the sheer amount of paint he was applying had begun to stack. the bowl itself smelt strongly of chemicals. undeterred, he tries again. 'B ATTLE OFEAGLE ANDLION ANd DEER'. he isn't satisfied. louis furrows his brow, and paints over it again, before picking up the brush once more. "here i go!"

he stops.

"unless, you would like to try ? are you one for handiwork ?" at that, he holds the brush out. the scent of chemicals has made some people move away. "it would be my greatest joy to collaborate on this with you."

Dimitri hesitates to take the brush and bowl. Visibly, even. It is not because he doesn't want to participate with Louis - he had been delighted at the suggestion, especially with the unprecedented three-way tie, and one could never accuse Dimitri of being a poor sport - it is just...

Well...

Gently, gently, please, he reaches for the brush extended out to him, and for a moment he thinks he has the feel of it, doesn't press to hard to keep his grip on it, aren't you supposed to keep it secure in the thumb joint rather than between fingertips? He offers Louis a bright smile at even the slightest success.

"It is a good thought, Louis," he says. "The Battle oft the Eagle and Lion is an old tradition, harkening back to the War of the Eagle and Lion, before the Leicester Alliance separated from Faerghus."

Careful, careful. He reaches for the bowl, charmed by the recurring theme of absolutely atrocious lions produced by his new friend's hands. Rather than painting over it, he presses the brush to the ceramic, frowning when it leaves an unseemly streak.

"Ah, I don't suppose that can be passed off as antlers or a wing, do you?" He sighs, setting the brush down to press the tip of his finger against the smudge, hoping to coax it into something passable, or barring that, to clean it up.

"But given how important the Alliance has become, not just here at the Academy but in Fodlan at large, I suppose it would follow that they deserve a seat at the table - er, recognition in the name, that is - oh, blast - !"

He might have known that it would have happened, but as Dimitri shifts his grip on the pottery, turning it to inspect if he had made a mess further, his fingers tighten and the inevitable crack forms.

His head droops, and he set the bowl down before he can make a further mess of it. "I don't think that 'The Battle of Eagle / and Lion and Deer' is what you were going for, was it?"

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

okay, I want to hear about your thoughts on Renesmee wanting to eat Edward?? What's up with that. Also would love to hear about your opinion on this child in general. All the people in her life are hardcore projecting on her, what's the alien child's perspective on all this shit. Thanks for all the twilight meta its wild.

Thank you, glad you enjoy my rambling, strange, thoughts.

What’s Up With Renesmee Devouring Her Enemies?

So, this one’s actually a bit of headcanon on my end, not really supported by anything directly. We’re going way into left field with this.

But I do have this. Renesmee is a highly efficient predator, perhaps in a way more so than the vampire (although she is weaker and slower than vampires) and Renesmee is... not human, for whatever that means.

Everything we see of Renesmee’s early biological development, and what we see happening in Nahuel and his sisters, makes a lot of sense from a biological standpoint.

The mother is turned essentially into a hybrid incubator, such that even if she wanted to abort she likely would not be able to or would not survive it. The child grows at a rapid rate in the room and has to eat itself out, at which point it has a starter meal of the human mother. The child then grows absurdly rapidly to the point where, mentally and physically, it can survive on its own. Growth then slows and then stops when sexual maturity is reached, presumably for reproductive purposes.

Vampires cannot do a few things. They are a half-sterile race, only able to reproduce through humans and the previously male half of the human species. They also need external help to kill a fellow vampire. In other words, they have to light a fire.

Until you burn the pieces, the enemy vampire isn’t dead. Now, using fire as a tool is to date something only the human species has figured out. It is not intuitive and an odd coincidence that vampires had this prerequisite knowledge (I have thoughts on what vampirism even is and where it comes from). 

I imagine, just as Renesmee presumably has reproductive capabilities that vampires lack, she also a has a toolset that vampires lack: the ability to kill a vampire without the need for fire. 

Given that Renesmee’s able to eat human food, this implies she has a digestive that is able to break down nutrients. The reason vampires can’t eat other vampires is they lack this. Edward swallows pizza, he’s vomiting that shit back up three hours later and it’s going to be very solid and very gross. Whatever venom did to his innards, most of his vital human organs aren’t working anymore.

Given that Renesmee’s this mix of venom and who knows what kinds of fluids I believe her stomach is capable of breaking down and digesting vampire flesh. This seems to me the most obvious way to eliminate an enemy vampire when no tools are otherwise available.

Hence, instinctively, if Renesmee wants to murder Edward she will eat him.

(Also, as you can tell, the image is just horrifyingly delightful to me, and so it’s my go to response.)

As for why she would want to eat him, see here and here.

The Family and Renesmee

As you note, everyone in Renesmee’s life projects someone else onto her.

Not so much Carlisle, he just seems very bewildered and overwhelmed by everything at first, and one of the few who openly notes how not human Renesmee is and the implications of this (given the chromosome experiment, I’m sure Carlisle was expecting a squid).

Even in the early stages though we see Edward, Bella, Alice, and Rosalie as primary offenders. (I’d list Esme except Esme is... being Esme about it, so, she’s just floating through Renesmee’s life like her Cullen ghost self and not even at the point where she can project anything onto her. Besides, that’s what Edward’s for.)

Edward sees the best of both himself and Bella in Renesmee, a little intellectual who reads War and Peace at a few weeks old when she has no understanding of the concepts of War, Napoleon, Russia, or Peace. As Edward always does, he so obliviously projects onto her, that I imagine it doesn’t matter what Renesmee says or does around him and she quickly figures that out.

Bella’s left the planet. Renesmee’s this beautiful thing, that looks like Edward, that is her daughter. Bella has no idea what parenting is. She’s floating through life preparing herself to become Esme 2.0. It’s not so much that she projects onto Renesmee but that she... completely fails to connect her to reality. Renesmee is a concept to Bella. Renesmee might figure this out, but given her feelings for her mother, I imagine she’s far more conflicted about it. She probably wishes things could be different between them, and often tries to find ways to make it so, it just never works.

Alice treats Renesmee much as she treated Bella, as her little doll that she can dress in cute clothing. Beyond that, Renesmee is a nuisance who messes with Alice’s gift. Oh, Alice likes her well enough, but I don’t see them having an actual meaningful conversation or connection.

Rosalie’s probably the wort offender in the projection domain. She is absolutely projecting the ideal human child she never had onto Renesmee. When Renesmee inevitibly fails to live up to these perfect standards, which even a human child wouldn’t, I imagine Rosalie will get increasingly upset. Acknowledging Renesmee isn’t what she wanted either would probably break Rosalie, so she’s not going to do that, and instead try to get Renesmee to behave correctly. For however much she cares about Renesmee, I imagine Renesmee sours on her growing up, as she knows she will never be what Rosalie wishes she was. Grateful that Rosalie helped keep her alive, of course, but... she would also probably wonder, as fandom does, just how much Rosalie was hoping Bella would die in birth (for the record, I think this might have been an idle fantasy of Rosalie’s, but I don’t think she’d go this far.)

Then of course, there’s Jake. Woof, Jake. As I linked above, I think Renesmee will slowly become more and more disenchanted with Jake. She’ll either learn about or suspect her own gift, have no interest in having a romantic relationship with him, or learn about his checkered past with her mother. More Jake is...

Imprinting, at a very large distance, sounds nice but imagine what that means. You have this person who is utterly dependent on you, who will do whatever you want and be whatever you wish them to be. In other words, you have this codependent person you can never get rid of who is never authentic. They will never say no to you, will always do what you wish, and if you dare to tell them you want a little time to yourself they will probably combust into flames.

That’s not a good relationship for anyone: imprinter or imprintee.

Jake, in a sense, ceases to be a real person when it comes to Renesmee. Renesmee will figure that out and then... why should she live her life just to make this miserable man who once tried to murder her happy?

What Does This Do to Renesmee?

I imagine Renesmee grows up feeling very isolated.

She doesn’t really belong in the Cullens, for all that they’re the best fit she has. She certainly doesn’t belong with other imprintees in the tribe (and whatever occasional function she goes to with the Quileutes is probably a complete disaster), and she’s not human either.

I imagine her strongest relationships are Charlie Swan (who beyond the surrealness of his life I imagine takes Renesmee at very face value), Carlisle Cullen (who also seems to not project onto Renesmee and takes her at face value), and Bella (who she desperately wants a stronger relationship with but Bella’s not listening).

Well, Charlie at some point will die. He will not choose immortality. I imagine Renesmee never quite understands why he was allowed to choose death or what the purpose of the human species even is. To her, they are caterpillars who never went into the chrysalis. Given to Renesmee the Cullen diet is the norm, to her it would seem obvious that, yes, everyone in the world can turn into a vampire and if they ration animal resources correctly there’s no problem. Or, if not everyone, then certainly her grandfather need not die.

I’m sure Charlie tries to talk to Renesmee about this but given that he’s one of her few strong relationships in this world the talk of “I’m going to die some day, sorry kiddo” doesn’t go well.

So, I’m sure it takes Renesmee a very long time to recover from that blow, if, in fact, she ever really does. I’m sure a part of her will always grieve Charlie.

In time, I think she’ll leave the coven to go on a journey of self discovery. The coven will just be too damn suffocating and she needs to find out who she truly is. Now, if that’s before or after the inevitable collapse of the Volturi and destruction of human society is hard to say.

I will say that whatever the future holds for Renesmee, just like everyone else’s, it is unbearably bleak.

[tootiredmotel]

spoiler alert: she keeps it

A coda fic of my beloved 10x20 "Angel Heart" bc Cas and Claire are my everything, for @emeraldcas 's celebration!

Prompt: meaningful moments

1.2k words – read on ao3 or below

First, it's a matter of where.

Dean says that the mall is a safe bet, and he’s probably right. It has options, a wide array of stores with near endless possibilities, so Cas asks him for a ride to the nearest one.

As Dean pulls into the parking lot, he asks "You really think you'll finally win her over like this?"

"I'm not trying to "win her over", Dean." Cas air quotes. "It's her birthday. A present is customary, isn't it?"

It's not a rhetorical question, and Dean seems to understand that after studying Cas's gaze on him.

"Yeah. Yeah it is, buddy."

Once inside, the number of options becomes overwhelming rather than comforting. Hundreds of people bustle about, bumping into them with reckless abandon. Cas pauses a few steps from the entrance, breathing heavily and looking every which way, trying to figure out where to begin and coming up blank.

He’s never been to a mall before. 

Dean, staring daggers at the back of someone who almost trampled them, puts a hand on Cas’s back. “C’mon. Let’s try this way,” he says, leading him down the hall to their right.

They walk for a while. Cas quietly studies every store they pass, while Dean speaks up every two minutes with a new idea. Tech store? A new phone. Clothing store? A jacket, hers is looking a bit worn. Shoe store? Do you know her size? We can get her some boots or something.

“Dean,” Cas finally says, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Dean’s arm. He's grateful for the ride, and he's grateful for Dean’s suggestions. Really, he is. “Thank you, but… This is my gift to her. I need to choose on my own.”

Dean starts doing that adorable thing where he can’t decide if he wants to shake his head or nod. “Uh, yeah, no. No problem, angel. You got this. I’ll shut up.”

Right now, Cas is less focused on the gift itself and more on finding a store that feels fitting, one that Claire might pick out on her own. He puts his hands in his pockets and scans the stores in sight. Further down the hall, one storefront stands out. The walls are black, the windows dimly lit, and the sign is made of backlit block letters. It feels… edgy. She’d like it.

“There.” Cas nods toward it. “The Hot Topical.”

The other thing is the matter of what.

Luckily, the Hot Topical seems to have a bit of everything. Dean sets off on his own soon after walking in, saying something about some Star Wars character or other. There's an overwhelming amount of pop culture merchandise, most of which Cas now recognizes. But he's not sure what kind of shows or movies Claire likes, so he opts against those.

Walking deeper into the store, he comes across the jewelry displays. Claire might like some, maybe stud earrings or a necklace, nothing too frilly. But if she's going to keep hunting, and she is, it's not very practical to wear things that can get caught and slow her down. He keeps walking.

The music section is mostly t-shirts. This is where he finds Dean, eyeing the wall curiously, but not looking like he's going to buy.

“Find anything?” Dean asks when he feels Cas next to him.

“Not yet.”

“You will. You got this," he says again, and Cas greatly appreciates the vote of confidence.

Dean turns his attention back to the shirts, and Cas, who isn't all that sure about Claire’s music taste either, goes over to the furthermost wall.

The back of the store is where they keep the miscellaneous things, apparently. One half of the wall is full of small, bobblehead-ish figurines whose heads don’t bobble (as Cas discovers when he picks one of the boxes up and shakes it). The other half of the wall has quite a few things: bags and backpacks on display, a few accessories such as mesh gloves that wouldn’t keep one warm in the slightest, and unnecessarily intricate belts. At the bottom of the wall, however, he spots some shelves with plushies.

That’s where something catches Cas’s eye.

Dean is already at the back of the line when Cas gets there. He's buying an enamel Scooby-Doo keychain and says it's because Baby's is old and he needs a new one; the unbridled delight in his eyes gives him away, though.

"A stuffed animal?" He asks when he notices what Cas is holding. There's no judgment in it. A bit of amusement and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fondness, Cas thinks.

Cas holds up the cat for Dean to take and examine. "It's an... inside thing."

"Right," Dean says, and hands it back.

Dean asks if he even has any money, to which Cas doesn't answer, realizing he doesn't. Dean happily pays for both items.

---

"She kept it, y'know," Dean says behind him, the next day. He pats Cas's shoulder, then heads back to the car, keys jingling against the new keychain.

Castiel stands there for a second, watching the cab roll completely out of the parking lot and out of sight, and he's wishing he could have hugged her longer. Despite having him and the Winchesters and soon Jody Mills, despite knowing she'll always have them… Claire is more alone now than she's ever been. Cas knows she's tough, tougher than she should've had to be, but she's still a kid (as much as she insists she's not). 

He… doesn't pray. Not anymore. But he hopes. He hopes for her every day, hopes for her wellness and safety, hopes he'll be able to see her face again and not just read her words or hear her voice through a phone. And right this second, he's also hoping that his present to her, (which she kept, Cas thinks fondly), will be able to serve its purpose. That it'll be a small source of comfort if she were to ever need it.

---

That night, as Claire settles into a motel bed, she gets a text from Cas. It's a Grumpy Cat meme, one of many cat memes she's received from him since they agreed to stay in touch more. In this one, the image is the cat lying in bed with that face of his, and it says "How many people got trampled on Black Friday this year? Not enough". 

After having cried herself out in the backseat of the cab, she actually smiles for the first time all afternoon; it's not a wide or toothy smile but it's a smile, and she lets out an amused exhale through her nose, so that's something.

She texts him haha and the eye roll emoji.

Are you safe? Cas shoots back.

She double-checked all the locks on all the doors and windows. She's got a knife under the pillow and a gun under the bed. She's all set to get to Jody's by tomorrow. She breathes deep, squeezing the plushie tighter against her chest, and texts back.

I am. Night Cas

She doesn't have time to put the phone down before it dings again.

Good night, Claire. Sweet dreams.

They probably won't be all that sweet. They haven't been sweet in years. But at least now, when the bitter dreams inevitably wake her up, she's got something to hold. Or maybe strangle. Depends on the dream.

Plus, she's got an angel-dad watching over her, too. In a sense.

Claire lets the dryness in her eyes and the heaviness in her body take over, and she falls asleep. Grumpy Cat in hand.

---

Fic taglist: ask to be added or removed! <3

@casismymrdarcy @youcaneven @zorelle @spooky-floral-cas @lilcasx @oh-in-italics @theehunterhusbands @knifelesbianjo @spoookycastiel @shakespeareintellectualbadass @stressedtaco @aniridescentdreamer @mishacase2003 @spookymixtape @dykekingofhell @evermorecastiel @autumncastiel @nightandwine @doyouhearthedestielsing @all-or-nothing-baby @hauntedrederadean @ciderdean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @heres-to-evil-skanks @wormstacheangel @the-boy-kings-crown @10x02 @the-moon-loves-the-sea @ghostlynatural @one-more-offbeat-anthem @spookynightdeancas

[nyashykyunnie]

Might as well hope on the bandwagon. May I please request a Father Xiao scenarios? Maybe his child can be a half-adeptus like ganyu (Child auto-corrected to Childe when I was typing this xD)

A/N: took me awhile to think of a Xiao hc cuz I was tryna choose between some scenarios AHWHEGW Also SAME, MY PHONE AUTCORRECTS INTO CHILDE ALL THE TIME AHAHAGAGSG AND YES XIAO HAVING A HALF-BLOOD CHILD EEE NGL HE GONNA BE EXTRA PROTECTIVE AHADHJADGS I’m so excited for this ehehh. Also tyvm for the req!!! I hope you enjoy this anon!! Btw this was supposed to be for three charas but I got carried away with xiao so ahah,.... Woops =w=;;

𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛! 𝕏𝕚𝕒𝕠 x 𝙶𝙽! 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

.     　﹢　˖    　✦      ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸.    ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　 ｡　☆　　　ﾟ ＊ 　 ｡　☆ ✦˖

Having a child, with his own blood running through your veins, you being the spitting image of him- Was the last thing Xiao could ever imagine ever happening to him.

It’s understandable that he was really shocked to know you are his. Xiao is, after all, the Conqueror Of Demons. He is more than used to being in battle, always being on high alert and ready to slash any enemy down since it isone of his duties as the Vigilant Yaksha who protects Liyue.

Xiao was very cautious around you. With your small and fragile body, he feared that even touching you was enough to kill you. The Wangshu Inn keeper had to teach him ‘how’ to hold you because Xiao’s fear of holding you might just make him stay ten feet away from you at all costs.

He watches over you from afar, always ready to strike at whatever dares to bring you harm.

Though, most of the time, the yaksha is always leaving you to Verr Goldet’s care so he can fulfill his duties. It was fine at first- Until Verr had to talk to Xiao about it. He told him that he shouldn’t be too focused  on that job. 

She told him the possibilities of his constant negligence of you, she told him you might grow “Deprived From Fatherly Affection”. Xiao was shocked of course, he didn’t really know that. 

He felt guilty, he was so blinded by not wanting to inflict any form of harm on you, he didnt expect that it’ll inevitably lead you to growing some unwanted mindsets and habits.

Xiao isn’t really one for affection, there’s no need to explain that. Majority of his skills are more on the ‘slaughter’ and ‘exorcise’ expertise.

Regardless, he is not just a protector of Liyue now, he is a ‘father’ now. Specifically your father. This new responsibility isn’t something he will run away from.

Don’t expect much from him though. Xiao is still hesitant to some extent, he’s trying to figure out how he will interact with you.

 Unlike him, you’re fragile. More fragile than glass. He’s afraid of exerting accidental force that will lead him to hurting you. You’re just too small- so small can’t even reach pass his knees(Please this yaksha is just overthinking too much)

Baby steps, that’s what he’ll do. Slow and steady so he wont be too overwhelmed.

He starts off by simply talking to you, maybe even playing with you for a bit with enough begging. Xiao slowly got used to handling you as time went by. Verr was even suprised at one point when she saw Xiao handling you during your tantrums. 

Xiao made good progress with you. He didnt even know that he was unconciously getting attached to you, he didnt know that he adored your presence. He didn’t realize that he gets a little frustrated when he needs to leave you behind. Xiao developed his ‘father instincts’ to such a level to the point that he sometimes wished his Yaksha responsibilties were less demanding.

When you are trouled with nightmares- Xiao will put some stuff to wardoff evil. Though, he also heard that child mortals are more effectively comfoted if they are sung a lullaby, so he’ll do that. Just... Don’t tell anyone else or that will be your last (maybe)

The immortal sometimes even comes home with new clothes since he knew that children grow and he wouldn’t want to see you struggling with the small fit ofyour clothing. He also makes sure to put some spells on them too to ward off evil.

 Xiao unconciously spoils you, his mind always drifting; ‘Maybe they’ll like something like that. Mortal children I’ve seen are fond of those stuff’.  Naturally, he’ll make a way to afford that small gift for you. If he cant, then he’ll just learn how to make it himself.

He loves you, he just doesnt know how to convey that. Being an adepti, being raised as a machine for war- Love wasn’t something he is great at. But even if it’s that, he’ll still strive for you secretly. Xiao will no doubt make the most descreet efforts to adore you. He still doubts himself even after all the progress he’s made in becoming close to you.

“Silk Flowers!” You squeel in delight as you spotted a bouquet of it from afar. You dash off from Xiao’s side, making the adepti startled and call out your name.

But still you were a child, of course you just kept running and running until the ground beneath you rumbled at what seems like caused from footsteps. Your feet wobbled and almost knocked you off of your feeting. Then it stopped, a huge shadow looming over your small figure. You look up only to have the color of your face drained.

“D-Daddy!” You cried out in absolute horror, falling down to the ground. You were terrified, how could you not? Monsters were real, and one of those monsters was about to murder you in cold blood. “Daddy! Help!”

Just at the beast was about to swing it’s flaming axe towards you- The  wind shifted, as if slicing through the air and knocking back the mitachurl.

“How dare such filthy demon dare to even make their presence in front of my child, let alone even dare to strike!” Xiao growled, his eyes flaming gold from raw fury as he walked with the air dancing violently around him. “ I’ll make you pay”

Xiao’s voice was flooded with resentment, his primodial jade radiated as it felt it’s master’s sudden abundance in power. He spun it as his Yaksha mask formed in his face. At the roar of the enemy, Xiao leapt forward, striking the demon in overwhelming speed. He moved so fast it’s too the point the mitachurl wasn’t given any chance to react. But was it done? No, not even a little bit. That demon frightened you to the point your voice faltered in calling him. He has seen you in tears but never to this extent. Xiao was fuming as he plunged down, his anemo spears stabbing the enemy with no hint of sympathy. 

When he finally finished the kill, Xiao’s mask disintegrated and immediately walked to your crying state. He clicked his tounge, feeling a huge pang in his heart as he saw you this disheveled.

“Da-daddy!” You wailed, reaching your arms out for him desperately as your tears clouded your eyes. “Waah!”

He wanted to scold you, he really did. But the sight of you crying like this made the words stuck in his throat. Xiao instead lifted you in his arms, letting you bury your face on the crook of his neck and sob freely. You soaked his shoulder and Xiao didn’t complain, he just rubbed your back to let you know he is there.

“Does anywhere hurt?” His nonlachant voice rung in your ears softly, stealing your attention. “If there is, better tell me now or those wounds will cause  further damage in you.”

“[Y-y/n] is bad.” You hicupped. “[Y/N] is so bad daddy is now ou-ouchie. Daddy now hates [Y-Y/N]”

“Hate? You mortals have odd ways of thinking” Xiao sounded a little rough, making you flinch. “Don’t be ridiculous, I would never bear such hostility towards you. Moreover, I’m not hurt. I’ve lived for thousands of years, pain is something minimal for an adepti such as myself.”

He scoffed.

“On the other hand, your life is counted by only one hand. You have yet to experience what life will truly bring you.” Xiao’s voice started to soften bit by bit as he softly squeezes your small body towards him more “However, I am your father. If darkness decides to crawl at your feet and even when you are frigthened of what’s ahead- Call out my name. I’ll always be there.”

“Da-daddy promises?” You look up to stare at his amber orb. “Daddy will make monsters go bye-bye?”

“Yes” He simply answered. “Now stop your noisy crying, we’re going back to eat.”

He appears cold, his way of talking always straight to the point, but still he loves you. Adeptus Xiao, the guardian yaksha, his power will not simply be used in order to slaughter the darkness creeping around Liyue. With his Vision and might as Alatus, the Golden-Winged King,... He will protect you at all costs and raise you no matter how he is troubled regarding his difficulty in making much of emotions.

You are one his greatest gifts, a treasure he will sincerely hold in his heart forevermore. It doesn’t matter if his karmic binds attack him, he will venture out of it for you. 

A/N: AIGHHTT AAAA ITS MY FIRST TIME WRITTING FOR XIAO HNNN, Did I do good??? AAAA I DUNNO AHDKSGF. I hope you all liked it hngghhhh ;___; Also I’m sorry for being inactive a lot AAAAA, school is starting to get mre and more demanding. I have more hcs upcoming so dw! I wont end up completely turning into a dead ghost!

[multistoty]

Hard as he tries, the melody of their meeting runs through his mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn't think he could ever get tired of hearing it even if it would be better for the both of them if he did. It was because they were two parts of a whole. He did not belong to her. And she did not belong to him. It was never about belonging to someone. It was about belonging together. A true plague of a girl. And yet a queen in every sense of the word. love is fragile. And loving someone like a queen is near impossible. Like holding something shattered through a raging sandstorm. But he will always shelter her from the storm and ensure the storm was not made from fragments of his soul. In her eyes, he see his heart. It's inevitable. When you meet the one who makes you smile as you've never smiled before, cry as you've never cried before. there is nothing to do but fall. In her breath, he hears his soul. She is his land, his kin, and his love. The queen was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen walking this earth. And she didn't even seem to know it. She had no clue how beautiful she was or how brightly she shined. Yet, here they stood together as two stubborn lovers, protecting each other from the very same threat. Destiny was for fools. Matthias would not wait for her life to happen. She would make it happen. It was easy to be good and kind in times of plenty. The trying times were the moments that defined a man.And love? Love was something that did much to change a person. It brought joy as it brought suffering, and in turn brought about those moments that defined one’s character. Love gave life to the lifeless. It was the greatest of all living powers. But, as with all things, love had a dark side to it. War had brought such a beautiful soul to complete power before her time, but she was no waif to be taken out by a heavier foe. And he hoped that she did not lose her goodness. Duty was what usually bound him. Even the absence of locking lips, it would be easy to defend and die for this young woman. Secrecy went against his personal code, but there was no sin in loving her. Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky. “I understand the toll a war meeting can be. The lives of so many should not be on your shoulders, but we can do something about it. Something good. Create wonders out of the ashes the past has given us.Your future is not set in stone, my dearest star. A coin turns on itself a number of times before it lands. you are boundless, there is nothing you can't do. For nothing, not the sun, not the rain, not even the brightest star in the darkest sky, could begin to compare to the wonder of you. Do not fear what the setting sun may bring. Where there is a setting sun, there is also a rising one. you’re everything I want. Remember that. I love you, Juliet. Not a title. And not because a piece of paper says I should. Because I do.”

He finished his speech in a voice that was velvety sweet without the sacrifice falsity so many spoke with. They showed nothing to their queen besides what they expected her to want. The spun dreams of her delighted smile on each commandeering of baked goods made the planning it took all the sweeter. It was as if he had turned the ocean into blood with the wave of his. A more boyish joy that most guards and personal defendants would not have. It would be a slightly less heroes death if the inner part of his sleeve held a serving of tea cakes. The cook might just haunt him to the after life. It was a wonder the ruddy woman who had been such a clear and joyful part of their childhood had yet to catch this stunt was a wonder worthy of magic itself. Juliet looked like an angel spun in light. A bright spot in the darkness of a war torn world. Bright doe eyes you could drown in and paint brush perfect features along her heart shaped face. A woman of wonder sated by sweet endorphins made sweeter by memories. Before the cook, her mother had been the one to ration amounts. War had touched them all. No fingerprints marred her soul. No blood in her water even as it surrounded them. "We all have our different skills. You’re patient to a fault, which sometimes doesn’t work to your advantage. I, on the other hand, have the patience of a wet cat. Only on rare occasions does that come in handy. You doubt my skills after all this time? If I told you, It would negate the tilt wonder brings to your lips which is my favorite part of the day. Please don't be so hard on yourself, sunshine. Though i may or may not take a tax of a pastry of my own if you insist on this cold rooftop."

The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. But there’s something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour that creates a language of its own. There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. Taking in his queen with pick pocket eyes losing track of the ground they cover wether it be her body or minutes in time, the blonde couldn’t help feeling broken open and stuffed with sunshine. A smile pulling on the edges of Matthias’s mouth as it always did in his the orbit of the sunshine to the utter darkness of the world around them. Being in her orbit, it was as if juliet were oxegyn and he was dying to breathe. She was meant to be his charge. Any mere lord becoming personal guard and security to a queen was like none other. The walls they had set up out of gentle respect had molded as the gates of their lips had.  It had been the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world. Her ips are softer than anything he gad ever known, soft like a first snowfall, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet.Hope is hugging him, holding him in its arms, wiping away his tears and telling him that today and tomorrow and two days from now it all will be be just fine and the man is so delirious that he actually dare to believe it. It’s like a drop of honey, a field of tulips blooming in the springtime. It’s a fresh rain, a whispered promise, a cloudless sky, the perfect punctuation mark at the end of a sentence. And it’s the only thing in the world keeping him afloat even in this war torn realm were they were put into roles based on duty that would make a sin out of daring to love. The lord turned guard wanted to show her the kind of love that had you design a smile just for them. To want to know the taste of your body as well as the utter examination of the inner sactum of your mind and how it works. He wanted his queen to make a list of all of her favorite things and to be on it. Taking account of the distance between them, booted footsteps walked with the cat like elegance of one who had experienced battle. A hand reaching out to the woman at his side. Adorable with her contempulative pout haloed by bright white blonde tendrils that had become a homeland for his ivory fingers. The offered hand to the woman was filled with a hankerchief knowing that she would know exactly what he had done this morning. The cook had been rationed the rulers consumpations of tea cakes since childhood. He had spent many days figuring out how to creatively commandeer some without either woman noticing even when Juliet’s bright eyes attempted notice. The last battle meeting had weighed on her. Now that they were alone in her rooms, there was a chance for him to meet her in the star gazing she had always reached for in times of great weight. They were no longer chubby cheeked babes with giggles like the promise of tomorrow growing old with the blinking , glimmering witnesses of constellations. “Sunshine, you made it easy this evening. But I cannot see you look so breathless when it’s not in my arms or against my lips. If you refuse these treats, I might have to go searching for the queen. Allow me to shoulder some of the weight on those pretty little shoulders. I am sworn to you in all things.”

@myxstic-muxses​

[smutsonian]

Hi there! Can I please place request? How about nomad Steve angst with loads of tears with happy ending? Make it dark please? Probably he impregnates you and leaves you for someone else but when he sees Bruce taking care of you it pisses him off and he makes you his? Probably takes Bucky to help 👀

keep you safe

steve rogers x reader ft. bruce banner

warnings: dark fic, dark!steve, angst, manipulation, drugging, panic attack, toxic steve(he’s back guys), fucked up shit, not proofread

word count: 3.7k

a/n: ouch... also, this is all over the place. I’m sorry this one doesn’t have smut just pure manipulation and darkness and angst also im going to consider this as a oneshot

masterlist

- So, I’m thinking like maybe you and Steve were together before the civil war even happened?

- Like he’s still this soft puppy and he really took his time with you.

- He was this very shy but very romantic guy. A real gentleman who took you on a lot of dates before even making a move to kiss you. AND you were the first to initiate the kiss.

- It’s easy to say that falling in love with this man was inevitable. 

- It was perfect. He was perfect. You were perfect.

- Then suddenly it wasn’t.

- Steve started acting strange and distant and it’s not normal for you to doubt his love for you because he’s Steve. He always, and I mean ALWAYS make you feel how much he loves you.

- But is it possible that he’s not in love with you anymore?

- Then you find out that you’re pregnant and you would’ve been ecstatic if it weren’t for the downfall you’re facing called your relationship with Steve.

- You’ve been imagining this moment your whole relationship with Steve. How the both of you would be crying with joy and how the both of you will be planning for your future but that’s not happening right now is it? 

- The only thing that happened is the crying part and it was just you crying. Not with joy but with fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of abandonment. And the fear of having to raise a child alone if Steve didn’t want one with you.

- Then flashes of memories you had with Steve appear in your eyes and a smile works its way back to your lips.

- What the hell were you even thinking? Steve would be delighted to find out.

- Steve loves you and he’s just busy with his never ending missions. Steve loves you... Right?

- Wrong.

- The moment you got Steve alone, he seemed very irritated that he’s even in a room with you and that didn’t really help you. You were finding it hard to announce the news and how he’s acting is not helping.

- “Is there a reason for this? I’m very busy, Y/N,” he grumbles but you weren’t offended by his dismissiveness. All that’s going on inside your mind is how he called you by your name. Long gone were the nicknames he always had for you. There was no love when he said your name, only annoyance.

- “I-I have to tell you something,” you stuttered, no longer very fond of the idea about telling him but he deserves to know. Is it horrible to think that maybe he’ll change once he finds out? Will it seem like you’re tying him down with your pregnancy?

- “Well get on with it.,” he says dismissively. Something flashed in his eyes before a grin falls on his lips. For a moment, you thought he was back to his usual self and that made you breathe a little better. “I have to tell you something as well,” he adds before motioning for you to continue.

- “I... Steve, I’m pregnant.” You just went for it, afraid that you may back out when you stalled more.

- Steve’s reaction was nothing you expected. He was too relaxed and you didn’t know if you’re going to be relieved or scared.

- “And I want to break up with you.” His face showed arrogance and the smile that you used to love so much made your skin crawl. It’s like he lived on making you feel this way.

- What exactly were you feeling? Betrayal? Sadness? Anger? No. You can never bring yourself to be mad at him. 

- “Is that all?” He asks, his tone getting really impatient that easily makes you feel very belittled and insignificant.

- You can’t find yourself to do anything as Steve rolls his eyes before turning around to walk away. 

- You managed to whisper a small “W-wait.” Thankful for his super soldier serum for hearing you.

- He stares at you, still impatient. 

- “I-Is that it?” Your eyes started to water, everything falling into you and you start to realize what’s happening.

- “A-are we over? That’s it? You’re breaking up with me because y-you don’t want t-the baby? We can work things out, Steve. It’s... I- It’s normal for couples to not get along sometimes. We can work things out. We always do!” You didn’t even realize that you were crying, whining, or sobbing. You just remember trying your best to make him stay.

- “This is really pathetic, Y/N. I thought you were better than this.” He shakes his head in disappointment which only added a new scar to your heart. You don’t want him being disappointed by you. 

- “You want a reason? I’ll give you one. I’ll give you more than one. We are no longer working out. It’s not the same anymore. We’ve obviously fallen apart and I met Sharon...” His face shows guilt and you being so in love with the man, that guilt gave you hope. If he feels guilty then maybe he still cares about you...

- “I never did anything with her, though. Not when I’m still with you. I’m not that kind of man. I’m doing you a favor by breaking up with you. I’m not going to cheat on you, Y/N. I cared about you. I loved you. But this is the end for us. As for the pregnancy... Time changed a lot in this place. I’m pretty sure there are lots of choices for you...” He gives your shoulder a pat before turning around and leaving. Never once looking back at your disheveled form.

- Your heart hurt. The pain was all over you and your ears were ringing and all that’s going on inside your mind is how Steve left you. He told you that he cared and loved you and that’s all in the past now.

- If you didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared earlier, now you do. 

- And just like that, you forced yourself to leave. You didn’t know what to do, who to call, where to go. You just know that you had to leave the tower. You were no longer with Steve. You didn’t have the right to be in that place anymore. 

- You just had to go.

- You were never really trying to move on. You tried but then you gave up because you can never get over a guy like Steve. You loved him. You still love him. Him loving someone else doesn’t really stop you from loving him. You should but you can’t. And you really didn’t want to. 

- You stayed at a friend’s house for a while. They were nice enough to lend you a place to stay, though it’s for a limited amount of time, you were still very thankful. Beggars can’t be choosers.

- You never heard from Steve. Last time you got an update about him was when the news reporter was announcing that the hero was a wanted criminal now. Something about the winter soldier. 

- You immediately realized that the winter soldier is his long time friend from all the stories that he used to tell you when you were still together. 

- You didn’t know what to feel but you forced yourself to not care. You can’t do anything about it. You only hoped he was in a safe place. You shouldn’t care that much but you did. You still can’t forget about him. Not when you’re carrying his child.

- You were walking around the city, desperately finding a job when you bumped into him. 

- Bruce Banner.

- You never really got to get to know him much because when you met him, he was timid and you only ever really talked to him when you bump into him in the tower. And then he disappeared and that’s that.

- But he’s there right in front of you and you didn’t think he’d actually notice you or remember who you are but he did. And he greeted you with a smile. A smile that he never really wore back then.

- “Y/N? Is that you?” He laughed before bringing you into a hug. Well, that’s new. 

- “Bruce? Where have you been?” You laughed before returning the hug.

- “It’s a long story... How are you?” He offered to treat you lunch and you followed. You’re basically homeless in a few days so might as well accept blessings when you can, right?

- You told him everything that happened. You told him that you had no idea where Steve is because you broke up before he became a war criminal.

- He noticed your growing stomach and it was quite hilarious and adorable how he was so shy about asking so you told him about it.

- “Yeah, I’m pregnant.” You chuckled at his embarrassed face then apologizing to you for staring. You waved it off, telling him that it’s fine.

- “Sorry to ask but Captain left you even after you told him?” Bruce looks bewildered and disgusted and you could only nod in response, face falling at the memories.

- “Where are you staying right now?” Bruce asked with worry written all over his face.

- “At a friend’s...” You so desperately wanted to ask for help but now is the time that your pride decided to show up.

- “I don’t think that’s safe for you and the baby... You were... The captain’s girlfriend and people can use you for bait. Especially now that he’s wanted... Listen, the tower is really empty right now. Only Tony, Rhodes, and I. I can talk to Tony about it. You can stay there and nobody would even know that you’re there. I’m staying there and nobody knows but Tony...” Bruce’s words gave you hope and you could only nod in tears of joy. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad for you.

- You understand why Bruce wanted to be hidden and that’s something that the both of you would bond over.

- After a few more months, you got bigger. (yep, you kept the baby and fuck steve and his fucking fuckity fuck)

- Bruce is a doctor and you grew to trust him as time went by so it’s normal for him to be the one checking up on you.

- You became very close with Bruce and you found solace in him. He just seems like he knew everything that he’s doing and you felt safe with him. You and your baby are safe with him.

- Steve never really left your mind, not when his child is growing inside of you, but you learned how to live without him.

- You avoided the news because you didn’t want to hear about him, an exercise you taught yourself to become somewhat better.

- So imagine your surprise when he shows up at the tower.

- He looked different. Longer and darker hair. Beard. He looked well and you hated how relieved you were at the thought of him being safe and healthy.

- You locked eyes with him and everything came back to you.

- The hurt you felt when he tossed you aside and the hurt you felt when he dismissed you and your baby.

- You felt sick when you saw his eyes traveling down your body and staring at your very swollen stomach.

- You began breathing unevenly and your chest was becoming tighter. Steve made you nervous. You hate how you feel insecure under his gaze. You hate how you feel like you’re disappointing him and you hate your heart still yearns for him.

- You felt hands snaking around your frame comfortingly and Bruce’s familiar voice brings you out of your mind. 

- “Breathe, Y/N… Breathe....” He guided you out of the room, needing the privacy and you thanked him for that after you’re finally breathing properly.

- What you didn’t see was Steve’s fuming face when he saw how Bruce held you and how you reacted to the doctor’s touch. The way you calmed down after hearing his voice. 

- Steve remembered how you started panicking after seeing him and he hated how you reacted that way towards him but he hates how you reacted towards Bruce the most.

- Steve’s hatred was drowned by the swelling of his heart when he saw you and your stomach. You’re still carrying his baby and he’s so thankful that you kept his child. He couldn’t love you more at that moment.

- Yes. He loves you. He came back for you and to see you in somebody else’s arms? To see you being comforted by someone else than him? He knows that he’s at fault and he probably deserve it but he’s going to do better. He’s going to be the best he can be. He’s going to be the best for you.

- He’s going to be the man that you would need. You and his baby.

- He’s got a lot to pay for and he’s going to do just that. If only you can cooperate with him…

- Steve watches as Bruce does your ultrasound. He should be there with you but he’s giving you time. He’s giving you space. He doesn’t want you getting overwhelmed again. It’s not healthy for you or the baby so he stands in the shadows, watching you and the baby on the screen.

- “Is that him?” Your voice wavers in excitement and Steve wanted nothing else but to hold your hand but he can’t. Instead, he just watches Bruce’s hand gripping yours in comfort and that just won’t work for Steve… He needs to talk to you.

- “He’s so small but so big at the same time!” Your laugh makes Steve’s heart swell with joy. He will get you back. He’ll do anything and if you don’t want to… He’ll make you want to.

- Steve finally gets you alone. He didn’t force himself on you. He waited. He waited and waited and now you’re ready to finally talk to him.

- “Doll…” He goes over to you to hug you but you step back, avoiding him. If that didn’t hurt his heart, the words you spoke did.

- “Captain.” Your words were short and curt. It’s like you didn’t even want to be there with him at all. And what’s with you calling him captain?

- “I wanted to talk to you, doll.” His voice was soft like honey and you feel your heart pounding with joy but you remained stoic.

- “Well, get on with it.” You should be feeling some sort of relief for repeating his word back then to him but you only felt guilt and the need to comfort him when his face fell and a dejected expression takes place on his face.

- “I-I want to apologize, first of all. You didn’t deserve anything I said back then. I was horrible an- and… I just wanted you to know that I never wanted to hurt you, doll. I love yo-”

- “Well you hurt me. You hurt me a lot.” You cut him off, the stoic expression you were holding is now gone. Steve’s face turns into guilt and he makes a move towards you again but you stop him with a shake of your head.

- “I don’t want to do anything with you right now. I… I don’t even know why you’re bothering to talk to me right now when you were so eager to get rid of me back then. What changed?” You looked at him with those eyes that Steve always felt weak for. He hated himself for hurting you but that’s the only way for you to be safe. He was going to look for Bucky and that will bring a lot of problems and he didn’t want you to be caught in between his fights. He loves you too much and at that time, he believed that hurting you was the best option.

- “I wanted you to be safe, Y/N…” Steve explained, his hand weakly reaching for you but every time you would reject him just adds another stab into his bleeding heart.

- “Well, fuck.” You spat. Steve looked at you in confusion, almost flinching at the way you’re glaring at him.

- “You wanted me safe?” You let out a humorless laugh and this time, Steve flinches.

- “Well thank you, I guess.” You say, voice not holding any emotion anymore. Steve liked you being mad at him rather than this. He didn’t like how you seem like you’ve given up feeling anything for him. He’d rather you mad at him than nothing at all. He deserves your anger towards him. Not this.

- “Well, you can continue making sure I’m safe by fucking off and leaving me to myself then.” That’s the last thing you said before leaving, never once looking back at his disheveled form.

- Steve hated how he feels but he knows that he deserves every single stab in his heart. He knows he deserves more hurting. He wants you to hurt him but you’d never do that. Not his Y/N.

- You’re right though. He will keep you safe. He’ll show you just how much he can take care of you and make you safe. 

- He’ll make sure to have you back in his arms. You’re going to be a family and he’ll protect his family at all cost. He’s never loved a woman as he loves you. Not Sharon and not Peggy. 

- You never talked to Steve after that confrontation but you still see him. You see him watching over you and you couldn’t help but feel the swelling of your heart whenever you see him.

- You’d see him putting your favorite cereal box down on the counter before you can enter the kitchen so you wouldn’t have to reach for it.

- You’d see him doing simple things to keep you safe and each time, you find yourself longing for the old days you had with him. You find yourself longing for Steve.

- Then it happened.

- Bucky somehow got triggered into becoming the winter soldier and your first reaction would be to find Steve but this time, you didn’t. You went to Bruce. 

- Steve’s jaw clenches when he sees you running towards the lab to find Bruce, your hand protecting your stomach. Steve ran towards the lab as well, knowing too well what’s about to happen and he’ll be there to save the day.

- Looking for Bruce didn’t end well because he found you. Not Bruce but the green angry man. The hulk.

- He was shouting while the winter soldier was watching the green man with interest. He somehow managed to trigger the hulk. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of someone controlling your best friend.

- “Bruce! It’s me!” You shout but the green man only growled before pouncing at you. 

- You turned around, crouching and hugging your stomach to protect your baby but the impact never happened.

- The sound of clashing and fighting made you turn around and you see Steve dodging the hulk’s punches with his shield and your heart leaped in relief. You relaxed for a second before feeling worried for Steve. 

- It’s like a normal reaction for your body to feel safe with Steve and your brain is starting to believe that too. You remembered his words from before… He just wanted you to be safe. 

- He hurt you to keep you safe and you’re starting to understand that now.

- “Y/N!” You see him running towards you with worry written all over his face.

- “Are you okay?!” He asked, hands shaking as he scanned you for any scars.

- “I-I’m fine, Steve… Are you okay?” You tried to look him over for scars but he pulled you into a hug, crying and shaking against your body as he rubbed his hand behind your back.

- “I thought you got hurt. I thought I failed… I just wanted to protect you…” He choked on his words and you hugged him tighter.

- You understand everything now.

- He just wanted to keep you safe.

- You pulled back from the hug before wiping his tears away with your thumbs. 

- “What about Bucky and Bruce?” You turned to look behind him but Steve stopped you.

- “Bucky’s alright. He’s back and he’s bringing Bruce to the medbay…” Steve breathes heavily, reminding you of the battle he just had.

- “A-Are you okay, Steve?” You repeat your question and he nods in response before pulling you into a hug again.

- “I don’t care about me. As long as you’re safe. As long as you’re both safe…” He pulls back before pressing a hand on your stomach.

- “I’ll feel safe when you’re both safe. I’ll only feel safe when I know you’re safe. Y/N… Doll… I am fucking sorry for hurting you. There’s no excuse for that. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore... What I did was horri-”

- “Steve.” You cut him off and he looks at you with sadness and regret.

- You cup his face with both hands before smiling.

- “Thank you, Steve. Thank you for keeping me safe. For keeping us safe.” You grabbed Steve’s right hand before placing it back on your stomach.

- “You keep us safe… Thank you, Steve.” You see Steve’s eyes starting to water once more and you giggle before moving in, stopping just a few inches from his face. 

- Your eyes flutter before you leaned closer, finally closing the distance and kissing him.

- You feel his hand moving from your stomach to your back to pull you closer and tighter to his body.

- “I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much.” He whispers through the kiss.

- “I’ll always keep you safe, Y/N. I will never hurt you anymore. I’ll be the best husband and father…” He whispers before lifting you up.

- “I’ll keep you safe.” He whispers one last time before carrying you back to your room. The room that you’ll be sharing with him soon. Actually, you wouldn’t even need that room because Steve will make sure to get a place where the two of you can be alone. The tower isn’t safe for you anymore. Only Steve can keep you safe.

- Steve celebrates in his mind as the mission went successfully. With Bucky helping him. With how they were able to drug Bruce’s coffee. Everything went perfectly. You fell right back into his arms.

- And Steve will keep his promise.

- He’ll keep you safe.

- He’ll keep his family safe. 

------

undeserved happy ending for steve but what about it💀

taglist

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @littlegasps

Anything Chris: @patzammit @princess-evans-addict @shadowcatsworld @notyourtypicalrose @onetwo3000 @bluemusickid @heyiamthatbitch @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @empath-bunny @slytherinandoutasgard

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

Marvel: @jemzeraion

[sitp-recs]

Do you know of any fics under 10k that aren’t too angsty? ❤️

Hi anon, I most certainly do! Thanks so much for sending this ask, I was super excited when I saw it because I’m always happy to celebrate short fics - they could use more appreciation! I’ve wanted to do a proper shorts reclist for a while so I indulged myself and went big, hope you don’t mind! Putting this together was quite hard - going through my bookmarks I realized that I usually go for angsty shorts 💀 so I tried my best not to include anything too extreme, I hope these are okay!

This became a lil monster with 40 recs (and I have lots more hehe) so I decided to sort them by genre - the last category includes light angst (more on the contemplative side) because I can’t help myself. Shout-out to @tackytigerfic for giving me a 2nd opinion and helping me polish this - and for being a darling in general. Happy readings!

ROMANCE/COMFORT

1. Sun Stroke by @peachpety (2020, E, 3k)

Warm, sexy and wholesome, this fic makes my heart soar with the magical beach setting, amazing friendship dynamics and the sweet get together with a delicious side of smut!

2. oxygen [Fic & Art] by @maesterchill (2020, T, 4k)

Tentative acquaintances become something more over a shared smoke at the balcony. Sexy, mature, deliciously atmospheric and full of promise - plus Healer Draco is always a treat!

3. Catch the Snitch (No, Catch My Heart) by @prolix- (2020, E, 4.5k)

Gorgeous bath fic where Harry and Draco just... take care of each other. The raw emotion packed here! Lush and vivid build up with stunning body worship, hot and intimate and breathtaking.

4. Thermodynamic Equilibrium by DorthyAnn (2017, T, 5k)

This quiet comfort fic gives our boys some well deserved healing through physical touching and late night companionship. Love the 8th year atmosphere, soothing and familiar.

5. Blue Sky Is Living Here Today by ignatiustrout (2018, G, 5k)

The loveliest kid fic you’ll see today - real characters, gentle longing, soft understanding. It’s a joy to watch dad Draco through Harry’s smitten eyes, as he realizes there’s no rush to live that love.

6. Gravity Centered by @carpemermaidtales (2019, E, 6.7k)

Possibly my favorite Quidditch fic, this has an original premise and amazing Drarry dynamics, casual and organic, sassy and familiar, with a perfect lil twist at the end!

7. Up The by @shiftylinguini (2018, E, 7.5k)

One of the funniest PWPs I’ve ever read, clever and charming with easy banter and delicious smut. A sweet and sexy glimpse into the Drarry married life! Cw Mpreg

8. And a Malfoy in a Pear Tree by lauren3210 (2015, E, 8k)

Sweet sweet coffee shop Christmas romance! Love the light and fun atmosphere, the easy banter and cute wooing while supportive Ron cheers in the background, what a treat!

9. Ice Snakes, Glow-worms and Wolverine Stew by khalulu (2015, M, 8.4k)

Khalulu writes the softest Drarry, it never fails to put a smile on my face. This has a gentle and sweet get together, with lovely slow burn, a gorgeous San Francisco setting and matchmaker Kreacher 💗

10. Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, T, 8.8k)

This delicate comfort fic has a special way to tug at my heartstrings - a gorgeous tale about found family and the unexpected wonders of life. Gentle, magical and breathtaking in its simplicity.

HUMOUR

11. in charge by @bonesliketambourines (2020, E, 2.4k)

The ultimate brat Draco, bossy and confident and absolutely gorgeous with his long hair and impossible snark. Charming and funny, this packs so much character and domestic bliss under 3k! Perfect spoiled Draco is perfect.

12. The Morning After by birdsofshore, capitu (2015, M, 5.3k)

This is hysterical and so delightfully creative - Draco exploring Harry’s kitchen and charming a prudish appliance is the kind of cute, silly endeavor I need with my morning coffee!

13. The Spoiling of Sex From Enthusiastic Ignorance by @cibeewastaken (2020, E, 6k)

I’m impossibly enamored with Cibee’s drama queen Draco and his passionate missions! This time he’s decided to get some good diq, and the dialogue and mutual pining will make you smile from beginning to end.

14. All Tied Up by MyNameIsThunder (2020, M, 6k)

This is a secret relationship delight! Sneaking around gets so much better when dramatic Blaise is losing his shit to protect the Council of Serpents’ integrity! A+ faux-drama, super fun and sweet.

15. Luckiest Fucking Size Queen Alive by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (2016, E, 6.2k)

My favorite brand of thirsty and chaotic Draco; being inside his mind is such a crazy ride and you won’t stop laughing for a second. Amazing dialogue and insanely scorching smut as per loveglows’ usual 🤤

16. Sex Ed for Aurors by curiouslyfic (2010, M, 8.7k)

This is a Harry triumph, so fun and charming! Here he’s the one chaotic and thirsty, for a change - I’m obsessed with his internal ranting under the lust potion. Brilliant narrative and top notch characterization, a classic!

17. Ferocious Determination, Insufficient Deliberation, and a Slightly Wrong Destination by Faith Wood (2012, E, 9.5k)

Drunk Draco has never been so absurd and I LOVE it! This goes from hilarious to vulnerable and sweet in a heartbeat; pining Draco is a precious thing and Harry’s gentle persistence made my heart swell.

18. Stand Back: I'm About to Perform Archaeology by Blowfish_Diaries (2018, E, 9.7k)

This fic could definitely use more appreciation - I had a blast with Draco’s hilarious voice and their cute married banter! The plot is quite original and I love the 8th year domestic vibes.

19. The Full Monty by @magpiefngrl (2017, E, 9.8k)

The calendar fic we deserve 👏🏻 this is ultimate thirsty Draco being completely obliterated by Harry’s casual attractiveness but mostly by his kind heart and big smile. One of my favorite comfort reads, hilarious, sweet and so damn sexy, the full monty combo is here!

20. Aural Gratification by birdsofshore (2014, E, 10k)

This fic is a classic, charming and hysterical with an adorable Harry thirsting over Draco’s smooth voice. Such an original concept and engaging read, not to mention the rewarding shade of smut!

SMUT

21. Tense by Faith Wood (2013, E, 3k)

Me, reading smut for the dialogue? It’s more likely than you think 😂 this fic is hilarious and hot all at once, with perfect banter and clever dialogue, really a smut triumph!

22. Under Your Skin by @p1013 (2020, Explicit, 4k)

Great premise and the sexiest build up, ugh so much teasing and anticipation as pierced Draco takes Auror Harry’s control away 🔥kudos at the A+ twist and promising ending!

23. The Slytherin Urn by @icmezzo (2015, E, 4.6k)

This fic’s geniality slaps me in the face, what a fascinating concept! Redemption kink and magical theory walk together as Harry loses his mind over competent Draco doing some badass curse-breaking ritual.

24. Once Bitten by Frayach (2012, E, 5.6k)

Still one of the hottest things I’ve ever read, lush and raw and absolutely breathtaking. Dark and tender at once, it explores biting kink with unapologetic precision and I love that!

25. Matched Set by astolat (2016, E, 5.7k)

One of my faves by the genius astolat, this is a perfect mix of hot size kink, A+ dirty talk and a brilliant and nuanced plot showing how Harry navigates his post-war reality. A must-read!

26. Teeth by @amelior8or (2020, E, 6k)

This fic is an emotional rollercoaster and goes from light-hearted and casual to vulnerable and tender in a second. Hot and intimate feat scorching wall sex, gut-punching lines and enthusiastic consent🔥

27. Born Slippy by @dracoladon (2020, E, 8.3k)

My favorite clubbing fic ever, clever and sensual, a master class in UST including the drunk haze confusion and panty kink as a treat! I can’t even talk about this fic without blushing 😳

28. The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (2010, E, 8.5k)

Competitive boys fighting for dominance both in bed and at the gossip column’s first page This is peak enemies to lovers: witty banter, hot smut screaming switching rights and feisty stubborn idiots finally getting over their asses.

29. The Things They Never Say by @bixgirl1 (2017, E, 9k)

Angry porn with (many) feels, this feels like a punch to the solar plexus. The explosive Drarry chemistry gives way to something quieter and gentler and full of longing, ugh but it aches so good. Absolutely exquisite!

30. Sweet Indulgence by @the-sinking-ship (2020, E, 10k)

The title says it all; this is a lush and charming read, with chaotic but nuanced Draco pining over authoritative, edgy Harry 😳 steaming pent up tension that culminates in glorious semi-public smut, is your body ready?

CONTEMPLATIVE/SOFT ANGST

31. Sharing a Pack by sugar_screw (2016, E, 2.7k)

A fully fleshed-out love story in less than 3k, with complex characters and powerful feels. Raw, poignant and unbelievably romantic.

32. Still Life by orphan_account (2019, M, 3k)

A superb and gut-punching story where Harry realizes all the little things that make Draco so very different from him - and falls in love anyway. Powerful in its simplicity and concise elegance.

33. Harmony (Left-Handed Melody Remix) by mindabbles (2010, M, 5.8k)

Draco finds his way post-war and Harry meets him in the middle. Aching and bittersweet but also hopeful, with a delicious side of coconut cake, Harry in black robes and Romeo & Juliet as soundtrack.

34. Let Me Have You and I'll Let You Save Me by Frayach (2012, M, 6k)

Enemies to lovers deluxe version! Come and feast on this original narrative, amazingly clever, rich and detailed, telling us an unlikely but inevitable love story.

35. A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks (2020, E, 6k)

Broken boys fucking through their issues and healing together during the post-war is so my jam! A+ LQT goodness, this fic is evocative and quietly devastating, but full of feels and hope.

36. Our Little Life by @tackytigerfic (2020, M, 7k)

I’ve screamed about this brilliant fic recently; inventive, poignant and utterly romantic, this fic shows all the ways in which Harry and Draco find each other across space and time.

37. the keys to your kingdom by thistle_verse (2016, E, 7.5k)

A beautiful love story packing an impressive amount of character, conflict and emotion. We are invited to witness as work partners Harry and Draco finally take a leap of faith and grow out of their casual arrangement.

38. Clear As Mud by scoradh (2005, M, 9.8k)

Subtle and heart-wrenching, the sharp and clever narrative creates fascinating dynamics between this brilliantly written Draco and poor oblivious Harry trying to make sense out of it. An all-time fave. Cw: infidelity (not Drarry).

39. fine i'll hold my breath / til i forget it's complicated by teatrolley (2015, E, 10k)

Fucks buddies gone wrong but make it soft so we get to watch as pining Draco patiently waits for Harry to get the memo. Sweet and intimate, with lots of late night talks and comfortable silence.

40. Tidings of Comfort series by @blamebrampton (2012, G, 10k)

Quietly cathartic and atmospheric, this fic is a poignant balm to the soul; such a beautiful tone, such lovely interactions! A must-read for those who enjoy church settings, honest talks and redeemed Draco. All-time fave.

[doiefy]

blue // na jaemin

“The winter has passed and the spring has come We have withered and our hearts are bruised from longing”

- blue, bigbang

In which one ceases to age until they find their soulmate, with whom they then grow old. In which everyone has moved on without you.

genre: soulmate!au, fluff, angst, slow burn

pairings: jaemin x female reader (written with a female character in mind, but it can easily be gender neutral!), features relationships with other dream members, briefly mentions haechan x jeno

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of war, mentions of death, discussions of Korea under Japanese occupation, some of the historical references may be inaccurate.

taglist (DM, comment or Ask to be added): @simplicitysbabe Big thank you to @neojaems​ for beta reading this for me !! <333

spotify playlist

Your test comes back blue.

When you rip open the envelope containing your results, you find the little coloured square hidden between pages and pages of lab protocols, testing procedures and other nonsense you know no one actually has the time to read. Then there are the stupid pamphlets, the ones with overtly bright and bubbly messages reassuring people that they’ll find their “special someone” soon, slogans most likely written by people who found their soulmates before they even turned twenty. You scoff, shoving the useless papers back into the envelope and recalling the first time you tested back in 1945, right after the war. The receptionist wrote your results down on a piece of paper and nonchalantly told you to have your emotional breakdown outside.

Now you stare at the blue marking on your paper blankly. It simply means you haven’t aged biologically in ten years, but when you haven’t aged in decades, it means nothing. While the world progresses, you remain frozen in the same body, playing a cruel game with fate. And as with any game that one cannot win, you’ve slowly become bored with it, allowing it to take its course while you sit idle nearby. You feel only disappointed, and not even perplexed or surprised in the slightest. Something about meeting Jaemin just seemed too good to be true; after a lifetime of misfortune and failure, something about the bad news feels… expected. Inevitable. As if unconsciously, you knew he wasn’t the one.

Na Jaemin is not your soulmate. And you spend the walk home contemplating how you’ll tell him this.

When you unlock the door to your shared apartment, you know he’s already home, and earlier than usual: his shoes are placed meticulously on the rack by the door and his jacket is hung up next to the messenger bag he takes to work. The living room smells faintly of the pine and vanilla candle you bought last month, and you smell traces of shampoo and bodywash from the bathroom.

“I’m home!” you call out as you kick your shoes off and put them neatly next to Jaemin’s. There’s a muffled response of your name before the door to your room opens. Then his arms are around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he mumbles a tired greeting.

“Bad day?” You ask softly, pushing all your other thoughts to the back of your head. He looks exhausted. His hair is tucked messily under the hood of his navy sweater, still damp from the shower he took earlier. His eyes lack the usual brightness you often find yourself so immersed in, replaced with the fatigue and weariness he almost never brings home.

“I hate this company,” he sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax in your arms a bit. “My boss is a dick, everyone in my department hates each other and the coffee tastes like actual ass. Maybe I should just quit while I still can.”

You frown. “Jaem, you’ve been with them for literally a month. You can’t possibly be thinking about quitting already.”

“A month! A month in and I’m already having mental breakdowns under my desk at lunch. Imagine what will become of me if I spend a year there,” he scowls, but his expression softens when you kiss him reassuringly on the cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, maybe not quit, maybe I’ll just take a long, long, vacation and then retire… Move to the countryside with you…” He trails off dreamily and for a moment, you lose yourself in the fantasy he’s painted for you. The mental image of a quaint house by the ocean is quickly shattered when you remember the test results hidden in your bag. The sunflowers you envisioned surrounding the cottage are blown away in the wind, their bright yellow petals swallowed by the blueness of the sky.

“Oh, you wish,” you laugh, quickly pressing your lips to his in hopes that he won’t see your expression, that he won’t see the sadness and regret you’re fighting to suppress. “Maybe, baby, maybe one day we can do that.”

“Maybe,” he laughs, his face lighting up with the energy and liveliness that has been missing. “But enough about me. How was your day, love?”

“Mm. The same old,” you say, pulling out of his arms so you can finally take your jacket off. You crash into the couch where you fold up your scarf and toss it aside. “Stressful.”

He stares at you for a hard moment, visibly concerned as if he can tell there’s something troubling on your mind. “Is something the matter?” He asks carefully, sitting down next to you. He holds you at arm’s length so he can look at you properly. “Is this about the test?”

“What? Oh, no, not the test. I doubt the results will come in until sometime next week.” The lie slips out easier than it should, and you feel guilt slowly start to twist your insides. Just a white lie, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt anyone but yourself. He’s been through enough today. He’s tired. Not tonight. It can wait. “I’m just tired,” you shrug. “I need some dinner and a nap, then I’ll be all good again. Do we still have anything in the fridge or should we order takeout?”

“I already ordered chicken from Yong’s. I had a feeling that today would be a bad day for the both of us,” Jaemin grins. His smile is smug at first, then endearing when he sees your shock.

You practically pounce on him in excitement, and the two of you go crashing into the couch cushions until you have him pinned beneath you. “Oh my god, I fucking love you, you know that?”

Jaemin groans, curling into himself as he gives you a wounded look. “And that’s how you show your love? By trying to break my bones?”

“Besides the point,” you huff. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

“Yes, of course. I love you too.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you lower your face so your lips are hovering just inches above his. He looks up at you starry-eyed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks; you can’t help but notice the way his gaze travels briefly to your lips.

Then you realize how dangerous this is. You know that he’s not the one. You know that you’ll eventually part ways with him when he finds out, no matter how reluctant you’ll feel. Every moment you spend with him like this will come back to haunt you when he’s gone. It will become another reminder of what you’re about to lose, yet here you are, falling deeper into his embrace, intoxicated by his scent and lost in the depth of his eyes. You are only tying more strings between the two of you, strings that will need to be stretched and snapped. You are only making it more painful for the both of you.

But for tonight, you don’t care.

“Say it like you mean it,” you whisper.

He holds your face gently, and those sparks you felt upon your first meeting with him are still there, igniting each time he looks at you, blazing into an open flame when he tells you, “I love you.”

You kiss him with more urgency this time, your lips meeting his in a clash of teeth and tongue. He puts his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. For just a moment, you’re focused on only him and his presence. For just a moment, you forget about everything; the sheet of test results is just another piece of paper in your bag, the blue mark just another colour. Because tonight, he is all that matters to you.

You met Na Jaemin almost three years ago.

Though the details have faded with time, you remember your first conversation well. It began at a friend’s art show beneath the golden glow of the studio lights, the two of you surrounded by brilliant splashes of colour and bold strokes of texture. Renjun had insisted on introducing you to Jaemin before you even arrived at the gallery, and you couldn’t have possibly refused. Your friendship with Renjun goes way back to the 40s, and you often think he knows you better than you know yourself. “I think he could be good for you,” he told you quietly just before leaving to speak with his other guests.

At first, Jaemin seemed timeless. It was as if he didn’t belong to any particular time period, as if he had lived to see several generations rise and fall, but had never risen or fallen with any of them. Dressed elegantly in a fitted turtleneck and a wool coat, he appeared youthful and contemporary; yet the way he spoke hinted at a certain maturity, at wisdom and sagacity. There was something charming about him too, something about the way he recounted events of the past and drew you in with only his words.

Next to a breathtaking oil painting of the sea, you discovered your commonalities. He was almost two decades younger, but like you, had spent his entire life searching for a partner without much success. You were delighted to learn that he had also worked in teaching—though he mentioned changing careers frequently whenever things became too mundane. He was effortlessly intriguing, and every word he spoke was lively and animated. He infused your conversations with colours, painted everything in bright yellows and aquamarines that matched the swirling paint strokes of the artworks around you, left you wanting to know more without even trying.

You left the gallery that night with his number in your coat pocket. Needless to say, Renjun was thrilled.

Weeks passed before you saw him again. Your busy schedules always managed to get in the way of your plans, but the two of you still kept in touch, chatting late into the night and well into the early hours. As the months went by, you dared to hope that maybe he was the one.

You immediately scolded yourself for being naive. With all your past partners, you had been hopeful in the same way, only to be let down in the end. Your test when you were with Donghyuck came back blue, as did the one with Mark. Both have since moved on, found their soulmates and written their happy endings. Even if you still stay in touch and meet up for an occasional coffee, you know that you are only a distant memory to them in some way or another.

The prospect of the same thing happening with Jaemin had never occurred to you—you’d been so caught up in getting to know him, so blinded that you’d completely forgotten. And then you saw him differently. As if he were a flame that could be snuffed out in an instant, a feather that could be sent flying with the slightest breeze, the slightest breath. You mulled over it for weeks and always did so silently, until it finally came up in conversation.

Almost a year had passed since you’d met him. With the summer coming to an end, the two of you had driven down to the Han River where you sat in the open trunk of his car, sharing a can of cheap beer from the convenience store. There were no words, only the faint melody of an old pop song buzzing from your phone and his hand around yours.

“Move in with me,” he said at last, glancing at you expectantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t completely out of the blue—you’d been searching for a new apartment for weeks—but it still took you by surprise. “Too fast?” He asked when he registered your shock.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head and squeezed his hand. “Don’t get me wrong Jaem, I’d love to. It’s just, I don’t know about any of this. About us. If we’re actually…”

He hummed a quiet response, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. “Soulmates,” he said with a melancholic sigh. “You don’t want to go any further before we know for certain. I understand.”  

You nodded. “It always hurts, you know? You think you’ve finally found them only to realize you’ve been completely wrong the whole time.”

“I know,” he said, and his empathy flooded you with warmth and reassurance. “You always think you’ll be prepared for the next time. You always think it will hurt less as time goes by. But it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You tipped the last of the beer into your mouth; it tasted faintly sweet on your tongue before dissolving into a pleasant bitterness that hit the back of your throat. When you were finished, Jaemin took the empty can and fiddled with the tab, bending it back and forth until it snapped off.

“I want it to be you,” he told you after a few minutes of silence. “I want it to be us.”

“And if we aren’t?”

He kissed you, hard enough for you to see stars. It wasn’t desperate or longing, but it seemed to convey a hundred different thoughts all at once, a hundred different emotions for you to decipher. When he finally pulled away, his voice was thoughtful and he was seemingly lost in a pleasant daydream. “Oh, love, the universe has already cursed us to search eternally. We may as well spend eternity together.”

“Seriously, Jaemin, what if we aren’t?”

The tremor of your voice snapped him out of it. The glimmer of hope disappeared from his pupils and the dream slipped from his hands.

“We’ve been alive for so long,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think I can go on like this. What if we aren’t meant to be? What will we do?”

You didn’t regret your time with Donghyuck or Mark or Jungwoo or any of the people you were lucky enough to have met, but you’d watched all of them from afar, watched them grow while you stayed frozen in time. Each new generation that came along was only a reminder of your loneliness. You felt a certain emptiness each time you invited new people into your life, one that deepened when they eventually left you behind. Or worse, when they gave you their pity. You couldn’t stand it when people told you that it was unfair or that you deserved better, all while they lived comfortably with their soulmates. You weren’t jealous, nor could you ever be angry at them for something beyond their control. Your anger was directed at the invisible forces that toyed with the world, the mischievous hands spinning the universe in some strange direction that left only you disoriented.

His expression took on a faint sadness and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, barely a whisper. “Then so be it. If you need to move on, it would be selfish of me to stop you from doing so.” He stared out at the waters wistfully, at the yachts sailing downstream. “And besides, you’re right. Maybe it’s time we settle down… even if it’s not with each other.”

Your birthday came a few months after that night, but you held off on testing. The bus you took home from work passed by one of the labs, but you never got off at the stop, always watched the doors open and close from your seat. The test isn’t that accurate anyways, you told yourself; it could produce only an approximate biological age, so maybe the longer you waited, the better.

But in the end, it was simply an excuse to escape reality, to avoid your confrontation with fate itself.

You moved in with him just before the end of the year.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t a big deal for you (you’d lived through too many for it to be exciting), but you spent the last minutes of the year with him, surrounded by cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Jaemin had still made some sort of effort at festivities despite your indifference: pale pink and gold candles lit around the living room, golden champagne in delicate glasses set on the table.

You were almost asleep when the clock struck twelve, wrapped up in one of his oversized sweaters and a white throw blanket. The celebratory music blaring from the TV was muffled in your ears, a pleasant symphony that lulled you deeper into sleep until Jaemin awoke you with a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Jaem,” you mumbled, a smile ghosting your lips as you focused on the comfort you felt in his arms; on the new year, on your new home, new hope.

You know something’s wrong.

Jaemin doesn’t come out to greet you, even after you announce your arrival. He’s home—his shoes and coat are put away neatly like any other day—yet it’s deathly silent, terribly still. No music playing in the living room, no voice down the hallway. Only the occasional chirp from your broken smoke detector, which you’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. As you bend down to unlace your boots, you can’t help but worry.

You find him in your shared bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the comforter. The sun has almost set and the shadows stretch across the room, blanketing him in darkness and masking his expression with ambiguity. He doesn’t move when you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He doesn’t move when you sit next to him.

There’s a familiar sheet of paper in his hands.

“Jaem, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It isn’t accusatory or hostile; his voice is laced with nothing but sadness, yet you feel so much guilt, guilt that closes around your throat and squeezes the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. You kept it from him for days, and now this is the way he must find out about it. From a piece of paper you were careless enough to leave where he might find it. From a piece of paper detailing the DNA extracted from a sample of your blood. You should have told him.

“I didn’t know how to,” you let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you serious?” There it is, the cold edge that begins creeping into his voice as he stares down at you. He flicks a finger in the direction of the date printed at the top of the paper. “It’s been a week, Y/N. You kept this from me for a week. Why?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, okay?” It comes out sharper than you intended; you immediately begin to drown in guilt as soon as you see Jaemin’s expression fall. You didn’t mean to lash out, and now you make up for it by taking his hands in yours. They're ice cold. “Look, the day I found out, you were already tired from work. I didn’t want to bring it up and make everything worse—”

“So you lied. Said the results hadn’t come in yet,” he says flatly and you rush to defend yourself, only to realize that he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

The rest of your words don’t come. With a tired exhale, you bury your head in your hands, too overwhelmed to say anything else. You can only hope that he’ll understand, that he’ll empathize and that he’ll forgive you, even if you don’t exactly believe you deserve any of it right now. You hold back the tears. Only when he pulls you into his arms do they fall. He takes your hands, gently pulling them away from your face so he can wipe your tears despite your protests. There’s no coldness in his expression now, only concern.

“I needed time to process everything,” you continue, but you choke on the words. “I couldn’t even accept it myself, I couldn’t—”

“I know, love,” he says quietly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “I know. It’s alright.”

Your silent sniffles turn into unrestrained sobs as he pulls you into his embrace, your pent-up emotions finally released in the form of silvery streams on your cheeks. You aren’t sure how much time passes. The sun meets the horizon in a hazy line of faint pink and orange. The sky darkens. Outside, the city lights up in a multitude of hues, the amber light from the street below seeping into your room. The minutes go by, but Jaemin never lets go of you until your tears have run dry.

“Better?” He asks, albeit his voice is shaky, his gaze trembling when he looks up at you. You nod.

“We’ll figure this out,” his eyes seem to say. You can tell he’s just as terrified as you are, just as unsure and as lost. Though for now, you simply hold each other. You say nothing about the paper that lays discarded on the floor or what it entails, even if you both feel the need to address it, to face its implications. In this moment of brokenness, neither of you have the strength to do so.

You eventually collect yourselves. You make dinner and force yourselves to eat before passing a meaningless hour in front of the TV. You clean up, wash up. Sleep early in preparation for tomorrow. Jaemin never leaves your side.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper into the darkness of your bedroom.

“Tomorrow, love,” you hear him say just before slipping into unconsciousness, into restless sleep.

According to Lee Donghyuck, the chances of meeting your soulmate are 1 in 10 000. Or at least, scientifically. Theoretically. Donghyuck was a man of logic and reason, and had your lives not revolved around soulmates like the earth revolved around the sun, perhaps he wouldn’t have believed in fate at all.

“Remove fate from the equation,” Donghyuck mumbled to himself thoughtfully, jotting a few numbers down on a paper napkin. “And let’s assume your soulmate is around your age.”

“Can’t you rule that one out too?” You pointed out,  but he was too busy, already lost in his thoughts.

“If your soulmate is determined at birth and instantly recognizable at first sight… And they’re actually alive somewhere in the world…”

You watched the quick movements of his blue pen with intrigue. He spun the pen restlessly, allowing its barrel to cross over and under and between his fingers, at times so quickly that it became nothing but a blur of colour. Finally, he scribbled a final verdict and inked two definitive circles around it. “If fate hadn’t been so kind, the chances would have been one in ten thousand. One lifetime out of ten thousand.”

“That slim? Ten thousand lifetimes, that’s nearly impossible,” you said, skeptical but amused at his train of thought nonetheless. You took the napkin from him and looked over his calculations, though some of the numbers were too big for you to check without a calculator. You trusted that Donghyuck had done them correctly though. “You know, if you told that to someone who’d spent a century searching for their soulmate, they’d probably beat you up. You’re lucky I like you.”

He giggled. “We’re lucky it’s only hypothetical.” He took the napkin from you and crumpled it, smudging the neon blue ink on the tips on his fingers.

With Donghyuck, things were simpler. He was young, young enough to not be in a hurry, young enough to speak his thoughts so freely. He never pitied you or worried about offending you, and he never treated you as if you were out of place among the new generations. He offered you perspective. You knew that you weren’t meant for each other, but you were still content to spend your time with each other. To wait together.

“So… I might have found a new place.”

You don’t miss the surprise on Jaemin’s face when you tell him over dinner. His eyes widen a bit in curiosity, his brows arching upwards and his mouth falling slightly agape. He sets his fork down against his plate, folding his hands together the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

“Already?” He inquires. Maybe you imagine a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight dip in his tone. He looks at you with a sort of sadness, as if trying to imagine what it would be like with you gone, to come home to an empty apartment every night. “Seriously, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay if you need to. We said we would take the changes slowly.” His words aren’t just out of consideration for you.

More than a month has gone by silently, and within that time, the frigid cold of winter has finally given way to spring. Nothing has really changed when you think about it, as if your test results are meaningless. And you suppose that they have become just that, a meaningless scrap of paper at the bottom of the recycling bin in the kitchen. Jaemin still holds you the same way, though his touches are just a little bit more fleeting. Your conversations still extend late into the night, though they feel just slightly melancholic. You hang onto his every word even while telling yourself not to, that maybe there is no point in doing so when everything is already coming to an end.

“I don’t know if I’ll take it… at least not for sure. And even if I do, I won’t be moving in until April. I just thought I’d tell you ahead of time,” you tell him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I need some time alone. So I can adjust to all of this.”

“No, I understand. It’s just a little jarring, you know? Don’t know what it’ll be like without you here.”

“It’s literally only a block away,” you giggle, and he smiles. “I’ll still be here.”

After the coolness of February comes grey skies and a drizzly March, heavy rainfall washing the white snow to grey slush. Eventually, the clouds part across the sky for the sun, allowing the brilliant blue of the sky to peek through. April comes sooner than expected, producing blooms of yellow and white in the flowery courtyards of your new apartment complex, bursts of bright colours along the cobblestone paths.

You stand surrounded by boxes in the middle of your new studio apartment, watching the people pass by on the streets below. The windows are cracked open for air and you can hear the bustle outside, the yells of the street vendors, an occasional shriek of a child’s laughter. The new bedframe and mattress you ordered stand leaning against the wall in the corner, waiting to be assembled. Jaemin stumbles through the door with another box and sets it down before dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“That’s the last one,” he says. He collapses on the couch that the previous owner left behind, out of breath. You sit down next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap. He finally looks around, then at you. “Everything you hoped for?”

You nod happily. “I’ll miss having you around though,” you chuckle, playing with the soft strands of his hair, freshly dyed—after losing a drunken bet to Renjun a week ago, he reluctantly let the latter bleach and tone his hair bright silver. But you think it suits him; it accentuates the darkness of his eyes and paleness of his skin, gives him a cold and chic edge offset by the gentleness of his smile.

“I’ll still be here,” he repeats your words from two months ago. “And you’ll be much closer to work, right? No more crazy subway routes and early mornings. At the cost of me being your personal alarm clock, of course.” He grins, and you smack him with a red throw pillow.

“I won’t miss that,” you roll your eyes teasingly.

“Whatever you say, love.” He lifts his head off your lap to press a kiss against your cheek.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with him, unpacking boxes, hanging up clothes, building the bedframe and fitting the mattress with clean sheets so that at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight. When the sun sets, everything is lit in an ethereal glow, and you stare out the floor-length windows, admiring the sky. Jaemin joins you after a moment, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the music playing from his phone.

When he leaves in the evening, he gives you a final hug, jokingly telling you not to miss him too much. When he’s gone, you find yourself staring out the window once more, at the blocky silhouette of Jaemin’s building a few blocks away. He pointed it out earlier, thrilled that you could see so far from this high up.

You quickly learn that on cloudy days, it is nothing but a smudge of grey in the distance.

While Donghyuck always tried to ease your worries with reason and strokes of pen ink on his skin, Mark took you on long drives around the city, hoping that the wind blowing through your hair would clear your mind.

On late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you often found yourself in the passenger seat of his 1975 Hyundai Pony, listening to static-laced 80s rock music while he drove you around the streets of Seoul. He would always roll the windows down in the summer and watch the contentment on your face, one hand around yours while the other guided the wheel.

Mark Lee was even older than you—and with all the wars and tragedies he’d lived through, he understood what it felt like to be kept awake by the nightmares. To be kept awake by thoughts of loved ones being blown to bits, to be haunted with memories of the past. With how long he’d been searching for the right person, he knew the urgency you felt and the longing to finally settle down with a soulmate. He understood.

The stories he told you were woven between puffs of cigarette smoke and gentle kisses on your forehead. He told you about Canada and the mountains that surrounded Vancouver, where he’d spent some time in the 40s. He told you about his family, about his brother’s grandchildren who looked older than he did. It was strange, he’d admitted with a small laugh and sadness in his smile.

The two of you often pointed out buildings along the side of the road, reminiscing what stood in their place before the bulldozers and big trucks rolled in. Just down the street from his apartment, the old drive-in cinema was being replaced by an upscale theatre. Next to it, a park was being cleared for a new shopping centre. Even the studio he’d rented out last summer had been demolished so a new entertainment agency could build its empire. Once in a while, he would drive by and stare ruefully at the construction site—the classical compositions he’d once recorded there were being replaced by a new type of music, with catchy beats and pretty pop stars dressed in shiny outfits.

His music had been drowned out by a new industry, and likewise, many of the things you remembered from your childhood have been lost to time. Talking about the past with him helped you remember. It was a sort of reassurance even as you moved on.

Mark eased a bit of your pain, staying out with you until the early hours of morning to make sure that you were alright. The next morning, he would almost always call to ask if you’d slept okay, unless there was an issue with the old landline phone in his office. All concept of time disappeared when you were with him, along with your memories and the demons haunting your dreams. But eventually, he would drop you off at home and bid you goodnight, leaving you to watch him drive away. Eventually, the night came to an end.

He couldn’t stay with you the whole night, nor could he stay with you forever.

Your evenings are often interrupted by Jaemin’s messages asking you to come over. Sometimes he says that he misses you, or he wants to see you for dinner. Other times, he kisses you breathless against the closed door as soon as you’ve stepped inside, always with an unmatched fervour and urgency as if you might slip right through his grasp and disappear.

Tonight, however, it’s neither.

It’s half past midnight when your phone is set off in a series of quick vibrations. Wrapped in nothing but a towel with your hair still dripping, you type in a reply, hesitate, press send. You get changed, slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt before grabbing your keys.

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet when he opens the door for you, his gaze downcast so you can’t see his expression. He’s deteriorating; you can see it in the way he turns his back to you after locking the door, the way he walks inside with a halfhearted invitation for you to follow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you’ve sat down across from him.

“I think I found them,” he mumbles and you notice how he averts your gaze. “My soulmate, I mean. I think I found her.”

“Wait, then why with the long face? Jaem, that’s great—”

He cuts you off with a sharp bark of emotionless laughter. His expression turns bitter when he pulls his sleeve up to reveal a mark along his wrist: two linear streaks of dark purple that twist together like the centre petals of a rose. He stares at it, almost with contempt. Apart from the standardized DNA tests, markings are the only other way to identify soulmates, though they almost never show. No one has any proper explanation for them and you have no explanation for why Jaemin has one now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s smart. She’s funny. We have the same mark so I know it’s her,” he says shakily. “But god, I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this.”

You feel dread. It hits you all at once, because the way Jaemin speaks is so distant and unnerving, as if he’s lost himself in a trance and forgotten all about you. You’ve seen this dazed look before, only twice, when he was truly distressed and truly lost. This isn’t like him.

He found her. He should be happy. You should be happy for him. He should be happy.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m broken. Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, and you try to keep the urgency out of your voice for his sake. He doesn’t say anything. “Jaemin?”

“I don’t feel anything when I’m with her. Nothing.”

You don’t register his words. They don’t make any sense to you. They are barely coherent. No, you think. That can’t be possible.

“Maybe we rejected each other in a past life and then both offed ourselves. Or maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’ Maybe—”

“Stop that,” you tell him firmly. “Whatever this is, there has to be an explanation for it. Marks don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?” You pause to take a shaky breath, suddenly realizing that your words aren’t meant to comfort only him. “We can look into it. We can figure out what’s going on. This is the 21st Century, remember?”

“But what am I even supposed to tell her?” He demands, his tone exasperated and his brows furrowed together. “‘I know you’ve been looking for me for your whole life, but I can’t see you as anything more than a friend, sucks for you’? What do I do, spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and self-pity because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to? Because I could only pretend?”

You have no answers for him. Perhaps he hasn’t felt anything for her because he hasn’t let go of you. Perhaps it really was a mistake, a freak accident in the cosmos that put the wrong marks on the wrong people, designating a pair that was never meant to be. Your thoughts run wild, but you can’t put anything into words for him. Even if you could, you don’t think you would have the strength to say anything aloud.

Instead, you hold him in your arms, wiping away the tears of frustration that have formed at the corners of his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. You can only hope that his soulmate will do the same for him some day, perhaps in some future where the cruel forces watching over you cease their endless games. Genuinely, you hope.  

The tone goes off a third time. You glance at the clock across the room: 11 AM. He has to be up by now, you think to yourself as your fingers continue drumming a repetitive rhythm onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Just before the automated voice can tell you to leave a voicemail, he picks up. Donghyuck’s voice is groggy, as if he’s just woken up—or maybe he’s just about to go to bed. With his disaster of a sleep schedule, you can never be sure.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh hey, you, I know you.” You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. “How are you, Y/N? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m alright, the usual, I guess. How about you? How’s Jeno?”

“Jeno adopted another cat because he’s fucking insane, so now we have three little furballs running around the house. But yeah, it’s going great! So great,” he drawls with a familiar bite of sarcasm. You smile to yourself. “If he brings home another one because ‘Oh Hyuck, look it’s so cute, can we keep it?’ I will literally choke him in his sleep. Anyways, what’s going on? You never call me.”

“You never pick up,” you huff, earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about soulmate marks?”

Thoughtful silence. “Not much. I mean, I’ve got my theories, but nothing has really been proven. Why, did you get one?”

“No, not me. Jaemin.”

“Oh, Y/N… then that means…”

“It’s alright, don’t concern yourself with me, Donghyuck. I’m more worried about him, honestly.”

“Hm?”

“He found his soulmate recently, but it’s not exactly… it’s not going as expected, let's just say that. He said he feels almost nothing when he’s with her, and to make things worse, apparently now it’s mutual. God, Donghyuck, they’re so awkward with each other, it physically hurts me.”

Donghyuck is silent again, and you hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. You can almost see his contemplative gaze and the soft blue glow of his computer screen lighting his face. “Did they know each other at all before the marks appeared?”

“Yeah, they were coworkers.”

He hums. “Okay… that could be why. Marks have a tendency to appear if soulmates have been around each other for extended periods of time without realizing it. It’s like nature’s way of telling them that the person they’re looking for is right in front of them. As for why they haven’t felt anything for each other? I dunno… reincarnation can really fuck with people. Any previous sentiments for your soulmate stick with you as you pass on, even if you’re both reborn completely different people.”

I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this. Jaemin’s words echo in your head.

“Obviously, there’s still opportunity to fix things,” Donghyuck adds quickly before you can get too lost in your thoughts. “It just takes time. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too concerned”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “I’m just upset that after everything he’s gone through, this is the shit he has to deal with.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine.” He pauses. “You know, a lot of people would just run off if they were in the same situation. He’s lucky to have you.”

You give a breathless laugh and shrug. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“You never give yourself enough credit,” Donghyuck says, a hint of melancholy to his voice. There’s a sudden noise in the distance that cuts him off, and he curses beneath his breath. “Shit, the new cat’s not trained yet and I think she’s doing something stupid in the kitchen. Jeno will kill me if anything happens to her.”

You suppress a giggle. “Go ahead. We can catch up some other time.”

“Of course. See you, Y/N.”

The line clicks.

If Donghyuck taught you to be hopeful and Mark taught you to be strong, Jungwoo taught you to be brave.

Kim Jungwoo was your first love, and in many ways, you consider him to be irreplaceable. Perhaps it had simply been the result of young naivety back then, but you thought he was unlike any other person you’d ever met. In hindsight, he was different. A bright light dancing his way into your life when you were only a child in the 30s, a free-spirited boy who went where he pleased despite living under such an oppressive regime.

The Kims lived only a few doors down. You frequently saw the boys in their front yard kicking a beat-up soccer ball back and forth between them. Jungwoo was the middle child, and he sat right in front of you in class, his back always perfectly straight against his wooden chair so as to avoid the teachers’ chastisement. He was a quiet boy, and he never said a word unless it was to answer a question. But even then, his voice was small—not exactly shy or scared, just quiet. He quickly learned to raise his voice when the teacher hit him on the back of the hand with a ruler and demanded he speak up, when the wood scraped apart the skin of his knuckles.

At the time, when Japanese was all too foreign on your tongue and you struggled to understand anything taught in class, you thought he was a genius. He always had the right answers when he was called upon and there wasn’t a trace of an accent in either of his languages. Not that you heard him speak Korean much; you didn’t dare speak it unless you were hidden in your own homes, where your parents could discuss the uprisings without having to worry about the police roaming freely outside. Though, they still spoke in hushed voices as if anyone could hear them, as if terrified for what could happen if someone did hear.

The first time you spoke to Jungwoo properly was in middle school. After a humiliating incident at school that left you in tears, he ran to catch up with you on the way home and spoke to you in timid Korean, offering to help. You were still teary-eyed and beyond upset, but you let him guide you through your homework. He rambled to you about the Japanese grammar you couldn’t understand and explained the mistakes you’d made for your teacher to lash out at you the way she had. It didn’t stop you from making the same mistakes the next day, but at least he was patient, unlike the adults at school.

“You’re not stupid,” he told you one afternoon on the way home. Again, you were in tears.

“But the teachers think I am,” you grunted. “And I feel stupid. I can’t understand a word they say. I never have the right answers. Everything I say is wrong. If that’s not stupidity, I don’t know what it is.”

“Y/N, all we do at school is memorize meaningless facts that don’t really matter,” he replied with a shrug. “Just because you can’t shove all that information into your head doesn’t mean that you’re stupid. Look at Doyoung. He was failing school but he’s still one of the smartest people I know. He just… learns differently.”

“So? That doesn’t make me smart either. They still think—”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Who cares what they think? I think you’re wonderful, and they’re the real freaks. Miss Ito, especially.” He wrinkled his nose. “She smells funny.”

“Hey, be nice, Jungwoo,” you chided, but you were laughing. He was effortlessly funny and it was such a pleasant contrast to the way he acted at school. He was always so disciplined and perfect when the adults were watching, but he seemed to let loose around you. It made you feel… special, in a way. Validated, accepted. Something you never felt at school.

You walked home with him almost everyday from then on. You became inseparable, even when your school shut down and sent all the students to gender-segregated schools, even when your parents worried that you were spending too much of your time with him instead of studying. Even when war arrived.

The Second World War plunged your lives into darkness; Jungwoo quickly became the only light to guide you. He was there for you while your parents were away, while they laboured in the factories making helmets and guns and bullets so that they could at least put food on the table. He was there when the light at the end of the tunnel went dim, though he was miles away from home.

Jungwoo had never struck you as a fighter or rebel, even if he had the physique of a soldier. He had the drive and the courage and the steel to fight, but you only saw gentleness in his monthly letters to you. The last letter you received from him still sits in a drawer somewhere, the last words he wrote sealed in a plastic envelope so that they won’t fade away.

You took the test a few months after the war ended, only because he had pleaded with you to do so. Even if I don’t make it home, he wrote to you in the same curving script he’d used to teach you years ago. Promise me.

When the receptionist gave you a piece of paper with an X marked next to your name—there were no colour indicators back then, only X’s and hollow circles—a part of you felt relief that you couldn’t quite explain. Another part of you was disgusted, convinced that you were being selfish and apathetic. You thought that maybe you had no regard for him; that you only cared for yourself and a stranger you were still searching for. He’d risked his life to join the rebel army, fought on the frontlines with the Allies, and you repaid him with nothing.

It would take you years to come to the conclusion that your reaction was only natural. It would take you years to heal and start seeing other people. In due time, you would stop frequenting the church in your hometown and your fingers would cease to brush against the memorial stone in the yard, upon which his name was carved. Just one name among many.

Jaemin’s hands are all over you: in your hair, around your throat, pushing you against the wall as he kisses you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls on the strands, forcing your head back a bit so he can continue trailing his lips over your neck and collarbones.

“We can’t be doing this,” you tell him when you manage to pull away. His arms come around your waist anyways and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you glance behind him to see empty soju bottles on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not with Jieun,” he snarls. “Besides, like I said. I think we’re fucked. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “This isn’t fair to her.”

“It’s mutual, remember? I bet she’s out there doing the exact same thing with some other guy. She doesn’t need me.”

“Jaem—”

“We’re fucked. She told me she doesn’t need me, and I told her the same.”

You’re horrified. “You did what?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it? We had our first fight, and we aren’t even together yet.” He scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair in irritation. “Some type of soulmate.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this. He’s out of his mind. He’s lost it. “Fuck, Jaem, how much did you drink?”

“Not enough to feel better, clearly,” he snaps.

“Alcohol and whatever this is between the two of us isn’t going to make you feel any better. This isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” His words are sharp, his expression hard when he glares at you. “You tell me to move on and to give her a chance and to stop doing whatever—” he motions frantically. You’ve never seen him so wild, so out of control, and you’ve almost never seen him lash out at anyone like this. “—whatever the fuck this is, but do you even know how it feels? Do you even care?”

A sharp intake of breath, and then the world is crashing down around you.

The feelings you fought to suppress re-emerge, rising up to crush you and force you into relapse. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. The little voice in the back of your head is a raging monster now, and it shouts at you, screaming at you in a blind rage. Telling you that you’re heartless and self-absorbed and indifferent, everything you believed you were when Jungwoo died. Reinstating what you know isn’t true. You know he doesn’t mean it. You know that it’s just alcohol fueling the words spewing from his lips and nothing more, but they still bring back unpleasant memories, a sense of dread you can’t shake.

He realizes, albeit a bit too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

If you knew how much it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself. If you knew how much it hurts me knowing that there’s only so much I can do for you. “Don’t. I get it.”

For a few seconds, the room is silent, save the ticking of the clock behind you. It reminds you briefly of a memory that you can’t quite grasp, like a flash of deja vu before you spiral back down to the present reality where you stand in cold, frigid silence. The broken smoke detector chirps.

“I should go,” you say at last. You go to grab your keys from where you left them on the counter but he quickly stops you, his hand coming around yours. You look up at him in irritation, pulling away sharply.

“It’s late,” he says shakily, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t walk home at this hour. Not alone.”

“I’ll call a cab,” you shrug before slipping into your sweater and pulling on your shoes. You bid him goodnight and leave him dumbfounded in the living room.

You return home to a sleepless light and endless thoughts in a cold bedroom. A broken record replays his words in your head again and again, until you see Jungwoo’s face floating above you in the darkness. His features are faint, like wisps of smoke that loosely form sad eyes and lips pulled downwards in a frown. And then he’s the one asking, “Do you even care?”

You have no answer for the annoying voice in your head. You stare at the lines of light drifting across the expanse of the ceiling, wide awake as the sky brightens outside.

“How long will you be gone?”

It was the 3rd of August 1995. You knew because the next day would mark 50 years since Jungwoo’s death. The next day, you would be going back to your hometown and laying flowers on the altar in the Kim family home, revisiting the memorial you’d left behind when you moved to Seoul.

You shrugged as Mark passed you his lighter. The old zippo produced a small spark between your fingers, and then the sting of smoke was filling your mouth and nose. You didn’t smoke regularly—you’d stopped years ago—but you sure as hell felt like you needed one tonight.

“I dunno,” you said, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “A couple more days after the ceremony? If I stay any longer, Doyoung might get upset.“

“Upset?”

“He doesn’t like seeing me. Said I bring back bad memories. I think I remind him of Jungwoo too much.”

Mark grimaced. “Well it’s scary, seeing a childhood friend who hasn’t aged in fifty something years… Must he like seeing a ghost.” He paused, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear so that he could see your face. “My nephews feel the same way about me.”

“You remind them of something?” You asked.

“Their father, I guess,” he explained. “My brother… wasn’t the most understanding of them when they were younger. Whenever they see me, all they can think of is their childhood and his abusiveness.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He took a moment of contemplative silence “No, not really. I mean, maybe it did at first. But it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid them just because of the memories they associate with me. That would be unfair for me.”

“It would be,” you agreed.

“So then why avoid Doyoung? What he thinks of you is beyond your control. If you remind him of painful memories, that isn’t exactly your fault.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like staying out of his way might help him heal. Maybe it’ll help him move on from everything he’s trying to forget.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Mark took your hand with a breathless laugh. His smile was both sad and endearing, as if he were in awe of you—what for, you weren’t too sure until he murmured, “You’re too kind sometimes.” He paused to exhale, smoke escaping his lips and bleeding into the atmosphere, dispersing into the starry sky. He stared into the sky for a few moments, silent.

“But it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves.”

“What the hell happened to him?”

Jaemin looks like a mess. His hair is disheveled and swept messily all over the place. His skin is unhealthily pale, unusually warm to the touch beneath your fingertips. You can tell he’s had a little too much to drink; he sits on the couch in a daze, his eyes fixated on an invisible point in front of him as if searching for something that is no longer there. He yelps in pain when you wipe at the cut on his lip.

“We bumped into a couple guys at the bar. One of them took a swing at him,” Renjun explains as he passes you the bottle of disinfectant. You carefully apply a drop to a cotton swab. “And it didn’t help that he was also drunk. Thank god Lucas was there to break up the fight.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Jaemin groans in protest. “Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You couldn’t even tell me Y/N’s number.”

“I don’t remember anyone’s number.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell me your own name either. Got any excuse for that one, smartass?”

You ignore their bickering and continue cleaning the cut on Jaemin’s cheek, holding him firmly by the shoulder so he doesn’t move. The cotton quickly turns light pink between your fingers. You briefly examine the red marks along his jaw where he’d been hit, frowning. Jaemin has never been one to get into fights and especially not while under the influence, but the bruises on his cheek and his knuckles suggest otherwise. Hell, he rarely even gets drunk, but it’s becoming more and more frequent, to the point where Renjun makes sure to watch over him whenever they go out together. He’s derailing, you think to yourself as you brush his hair into some sort of order.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” You put his arm around your shoulder and help him up to his feet, nearly staggering beneath his weight. Renjun rushes over to help you move him into the bedroom.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting late,” you tell him when Jaemin has been settled in bed. You glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen as you clean up the first aid kit on the table: almost 2 AM. “I’ll stay with him… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I really tried to keep him away from the alcohol tonight. I swear I turned away for only a second to deal with Yangyang and he— Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Renjun apologizes again, shaking his head. “This whole soulmate ordeal is really getting to him. I’m worried, Y/N.”

“You know how he is. He always figures it out one way or another” you reassure him. “I’ll talk to him again though. Maybe he’ll actually… listen this time.”

“Well, call me if anything happens. I probably won’t be asleep anyways.”

“I will. Thanks, Jun,” you nod appreciatively.

By the time Renjun has gone home and you’ve finished cleaning up, Jaemin is already asleep. He stirs when you switch off the lamp and reaches out for you in the darkness, fingers intertwining with yours. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say as you admire the way the moonlight filters in through the windows and draws pale lines across his cheeks. Despite the cuts marking his skin, he looks so much softer now, innocent, in a way. Again, you’re reminded of the Jaemin you met at the art gallery. He was none of this. None of this pent-up frustration released in empty beer bottles, none of these crimson bruises marking his otherwise smooth skin.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” you murmur. There’s no reply at first, and you wonder if he heard you at all.

“I’m sorry,” you finally hear his voice: small, feeble in the darkness. His words become more urgent as he keeps speaking, spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I wasn’t thinking. You know I could never mean it.”

You hush him, wrapping him in the security of your arms. A single tear brushes against the back of your hand, then another. “It’s alright,” you assure him as you rub soothing circles against his back. “You were going through a lot. I understand, okay? It’s okay.”

He shakes his head frantically, his tears falling in steady streams now. You let out a low hiss when you see them stain pink with the blood from the wound on his cheek. “Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse. I’ve managed to fuck up everything since all of this started. I hurt Jieun, I hurt Renjun, I hurt you. I can’t even go to work and look at Jieun without feeling like such an idiot and getting mad at myself for being such a child. Without feeling like maybe I deserve this.”

Your heart drops, then shatters into a million pieces at the bottom of a dark abyss.

“Look at me,” you plead as you take his face in your hands. “Look at me, Jaem, please.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the stillness. All you can see is brokenness, defeat and regret, a look you knew well. It’s an expression that once followed you around for years, appearing in every mirror and reflection you passed by. An innate, intimate part of you that you despised so much until you came to accept it. “Listen to me, Na Jaemin. You are one of the strongest, bravest and kindest people I’ve ever met, and nothing will ever change the way I see you. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit. You don’t deserve this.”

“If you knew what I told her, Y/N,” he lets out a shaky breath. “If you knew what we told each other when we found out neither of us had any feelings for each other… maybe you would think differently of me.”

“If that’s truly what you believe, fix what you broke,” you say firmly. “Apologize to her. Make things right between the two of you, unless you want to go through this all over again in another life. Things will only get worse if you don’t address them now.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Jaem.” Trembling, you press your lips to his temple. “Whether or not you end up with her, whether or not you think you deserve this, I love you. And that will never fucking change.”

He leans forwards, his forehead touching yours, his nose brushing against yours and his lips just inches from meeting yours. But he never comes any closer, and you feel no urge to close the distance either. Perhaps it’s a sign that both of you are already starting to let go, to drift apart; this moment is nothing romantic or lustful, nothing more than comforting each other in your brokenness. Nothing more than trying to help each other numb the pain.

“I love you.” His voice trembles, but his words are steady, deep-rooted in sureness.

“Then promise me you’ll try, Jaem. You’ll try to set things right, for both our sake.”

“For you, love,” he murmurs, so quietly that you can barely hear him. His voice is lost to the faint rumbling of the air conditioning unit somewhere outside and the distant noises of traffic. “For you, I would do anything.”

You wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning. You wonder if he’ll take your words to heart, or if they’ll simply be enveloped in dreams fueled by drunkenness, reduced by sleep to nothing but a blur.

...it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves

You’ve done everything you can for him, you decide. Even if you continue to walk by his side, the rest is up to him.

One Saturday morning, Jaemin shows up at your door dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair swept up neatly. There’s a kind of brightness to him; it’s not necessarily hope or excitement, but certainly a change from what you’ve seen the last couple of weeks. He’s meeting Jieun for lunch, he tells you nervously. He wants to see you before he goes. You tell him you’re proud of him. That genuinely, you admire him.

The next time you see him, it’s at a floral shop. He’s in the middle of picking out flowers, and he flushes when he sees you. A single rose seemed too cliche, he tells you sheepishly, and asks your opinion. He thinks she’ll prefer something a bit more unique but equally tasteful, equally elegant. You recommend orchids or gerberas. They last longer than roses, but they convey the same message. When he’s gone, you buy a small vase of irises for your apartment; your living room needs a bit of colour.

Weeks later, you find a small package in the mail: a parting gift, you realize when you tear open the padded envelope. It’s nothing too special, nothing fancy or expensive—just a piece of blue glass wrapped in silver accents, attached to a delicate chain that you loop around your neck. When you hold the pendant up to the sun, its blue tint shatters into infinite colours, tossing specks of luminous yellow and orange all over your bedroom. More than just a singular colour, it reflects the other hues around you. And for just a brief moment, you think you see your own reflection.

You watched Jaemin move on just as you’d watched Mark and Donghyuck: from afar, with reserve but at the same time, excitement. Close enough for him to know that you were still there for him, but allowing some sort of distance that grew as the days melded into weeks and then months.

For the most part, he seemed to be alright. His texts were always cheerful, covered in happy emoticons—he used them when he was too giddy with excitement to type actual words. “We figured things out,” was all he said one night, and it was all you needed to hear to know that they’d be okay.

You started to notice the fondness he’d developed for her; it was subtle at first, just a hint of affection in his voice when he told you about her over the phone. Though slowly, it developed into something more. It was just as Donghyuck said: time had forged a relationship out of nothing, out of empty words and empty emotions, growing a garden from a barren piece of wasteland.

The first time you spoke to Kim Jieun, it was over the phone during one of your calls with Jaemin. She’d chimed in on your conversation at some point to say hi, and the way she spoke almost reminded you of Donghyuck: bright, cheery, a little sarcastic in a playful manner. You quickly learned that she was easy-going though brutally honest at times, well-mannered yet well-humoured. Most importantly, she wasn’t judgemental, and she didn’t treat you any differently from Jaemin’s other friends just because you’d been with him previously.

Of course, there was still a sense of yearning, a bittersweetness whenever you saw the two of them together. Your fingers always danced fleetingly along the screen of your phone before pressing like on the photos he posted to his social media. You saw him less and less, only occasionally running into him at the bakery you used to frequent together or at a friend gathering. For the most part, you let the past stay in the past. He seemed happy. And honestly, you were happy for him.

“I told you he’d be fine,” Donghyuck murmured to you at one of Jeno’s rampant parties, once most of the guests had trickled out for the night. The two of you sat on the balcony, watching everyone stumble around in their drunken stupor: Jeno was passed out on the couch with two cats sitting perched on his chest. Renjun was trying to braid flowers into Jaemin’s hair, which he’d recently bleached yet another shade lighter to match Jieun’s platinum locks. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Chenle and Jisung exchange a few bills and bicker over a bet—Chenle was still in denial that Jisung had won, apparently.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Hyuck.”

“But you were worried,” he grinned smugly.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” You sighed and knocked back the rest of your wine before motioning for him to pass you the bottle. You swiftly poured yourself another glass. “If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least I wanted him to have his. As… cliche as that sounds.”

Donghyuck raised a brow at you. “What’s to say that you won’t get yours too? They can’t keep you waiting forever. The longest it ever took for someone to find their soulmate was 241 years.”

“Goddamn, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course! Okay, what I’m trying to say is that it’s rare for anyone to wait longer than two centuries. If everyone lived for up to three hundred years, we’d have a lot of dictators and other crazies running the world. The universe would spontaneously combust.”

“I know I’m barely even halfway there, but come back to me when I set a new world record,” you rolled your eyes, to which he responded with a small chuckle.

“So what now?” He glanced at Jaemin, who sat across the room with his eyes half-closed, an empty red solo cup in his hands. Jieun had her head on his shoulder, rambling drunkenly about something to Renjun. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she’d been a part of the group all along; she fit in so seamlessly, and it warmed your heart to see her getting along with everyone.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Nothing for now, I guess. Just waiting.”

“Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be worth it,” he hummed in reply.

“You think so?”

“People say that the longer you wait, the better. It’s all in your head, of course, but they have a point.”

You sighed, lifting your head to gaze at the stars hanging overhead. “I suppose they do. Maybe someday I get to find out.”

He patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out. You always have.”

Donghyuck left a little later to get a drunk Jeno to bed, and then you had only the quietness of night to keep you company. Your mind drifted and you contemplated his words, repeating them silently to the wind. The night sky replied with nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin.

You could be patient, you thought as you watched the others inside. You fished the pendant out from beneath your shirt and stared at the reflection in the glass. It was as if you were grasping a piece of the night sky between your fingers: the stars and a crescent moon captured in a single, translucent oval. In the dark, the pendant appeared deep indigo, not too different in hue from the four coloured markings you’d acquired over the years.

But the sun would rise in due time, you thought to yourself mirthfully. Beneath the brightness of morning, you’d hold a different colour in your hands. You tucked the necklace back into the fabric of your shirt. You could wait.

read the epilogue, yellow

[lynkhart]

MAJOR spoilers for the C2 finale of Critical Role so read at your own risk of you haven’t caught up!

I have so many feelings regarding Caleb and Essek’s intertwining character arcs I needed to explore, so strap in folks, you’re in for a bit of a ride! (But seriously though, this is like 4000 words long, I basically wrote an essay 😂)

At the start of the campaign, Caleb Widogast was dripping in guilt and self loathing and refused to believe he could ever absolve himself of his sins. Essek Thelyss was a cold, aloof individual who betrayed his people for selfish goals, and their differing yet mirrored narratives have been an absolute delight to watch unfold.

In the beginning Caleb truly hated himself. He shot down any attempt at a compliment, described himself as a ‘disgusting person’, outright rejected the idea that he was worthy of love, and never let the blame shift from him for what he’d done. When Beauregard and Veth/Nott pointed out that he was coerced and manipulated into killing his parents, he reacts in an incredibly visceral way, and I’ve seen several comments likening it to a victim of child abuse who was groomed into believing they were as responsible as their abuser, and I think that’s exactly how it was meant to be read. He doesn’t see himself as a victim, only a murderer, and punishes himself for it every day. We see this in the way he presents himself, dirty and unkempt because in his mind he doesn’t deserve to feel good about himself in any way. Other than Nott/Veth and Beau to a certain degree, he purposefully isolates himself from the rest of the group and it’s a long time until he feels relaxed enough in their company to drop his defences a little.

(Speaking from a purely meta point of view, Liam did an absolutely phenomenal job of showing this through body language and I’d love to see someone do a compilation video of it. He starts off very hunched and guarded, leaning his body away from the closest person to him and avoiding eye contact and physical touch; but by the end stands tall and sure of himself.)

Early on there were a few moments where he had the option to do some pretty dark shit, and I’m sure there’s a possible timeline where he gave into his desire for revenge and really lost his way, but I’m glad he stuck it out and worked through his trauma in the way he did. His PTSD and disassociation when casting with fire was tragic, but over time he was able to work through it thanks to the constant love and support of his friends who kept him from going off at the deep end.

Molly’s death was the catalyst for change in a lot of the party, and Caleb is no exception. On the verge of leaving the group prior to his death, the grief they shared, combined with their frantic attempt to rescue the other half of their party put things in perspective and gradually he learned how to be a person again, to care.

Altering time to save his family had been Caleb’s only goal in life, and so when Essek and by extension, dunamancy was introduced, you could see his eyes light up at the possibilities.

A huge turning point for him is aligned so closely with Essek’s redemption arc which feels quite apt I think. When Essek confesses to his crimes, Caleb delivers a beautifully iconic piece of dialogue where he acknowledges their similarities and how much he himself has changed as a person since meeting the Mighty Nein. (Source - CR wiki)

‘You listen to me. I know what you are talking about. I know. And the difference between you and I is thinner than a razor. I know what it means to have other people complicate your desires and wishes. And I was like you. Was. I know what a fool I have been for years. You didn't account for us. Good. That is life. Shit hits you sideways in life and no one is prepared. No one is ready. These people changed me. These people can change you. You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it. You learned it. You have a rare opportunity here, Thelyss. One chance to save yourself, and we are offering it.’

This is not the same Caleb we met back in the Nestled Nook inn way back in the first episode. While not yet fulfilled or entirely convinced of his own worth, he knows he’s on the right path. That alone is progress enough, but that he uses his own experiences to help another escape those same chains of guilt says such a lot for his development. When he tells Essek that his ‘venom’ was learned, he’s also talking about himself and his own history of being manipulated and gaslit, with the implication being that it can be un-learned just as efficiently.

Caleb Widogast is selfish no more, or at the very least, doesn’t let his goals undermine anyone else’s anymore. Contrary to what he himself might still think, he is in no way a bad person. He loves fiercely and cannot abide seeing those he cares about in pain.

Early game Essek is what Caleb could have been if he’d rejected his friends and focused solely on his own selfish goal to undo his mistakes. Both are impassive at first and see the Mighty Nein as means to an end...until they get to know them and then their fate is sealed. The Power of Friendship wins once again!

At the beginning Caleb said he wanted to ‘bend reality to my will’ (sic) and in the end he does just that, though not in the way he originally intended. Destroying the T-Dock, and by extension the one thing he’d been building towards from the start, the chance to go back and change time, for me personally was the absolute peak of his journey. I rewatched the scene where Caleb revealed the truth about his parents death today, and it was really jarring to see just how far he’d come since then. It made me oddly proud actually.

I always felt like his plan to save his parents was the one thing holding him back from truly accepting their deaths, which is why the final scene of him in the cemetery with the letters for them hit so hard. He never truly gave up hope that they’d be reunited, but ultimately he realised he was merely postponing the inevitable and never allowing himself to live his own life. While time travel shenanigans would have been incredibly interesting to explore in game, choosing to let the past lie and not go back for them finally allows him to grieve and move on, and perhaps most importantly of all, to forgive himself at last.

I know some people were annoyed by Caleb’s decision in the finale to spend the rest of his life teaching rather than continuing to adventure, but I see it as the natural conclusion to his whole arc and his own personal victory.

He looked Trent Ikithon in the eyes, a man who he’d spent years wanting to kill and run from in equal measure, stripped him of his power and his voice (and ultimately his ability to harm anyone else) and finally spared his life so he had to live with the indignity of his defeat for the rest of his miserable existence. You couldn’t have asked for a more damning rejection of everything he’d been brainwashed into believing as a child. His dismissal of Trent’s position in the Assembly played into that as well. He never really wanted power for the sake of it; he had no desire for politics, he just wanted his family back, and while he didn’t get the one he started with, he made a new one for himself in the end.

As Caduceus once very wisely said:

‘Pain doesn’t make people; it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential; it's love that saves them.’

Caleb gets to break the cycle of abuse and teach a new generation of mages the way he should have been, with kindness and respect, and I’m pretty sure he’d have introduced a handsome drow as a guest lecturer from time to time. 😉

Speaking of...

Essek described himself as selfish and as a coward, forever putting his own wants and desires first, yet over the course of his journey with the Nein we see his priorities change drastically.

Having friends gives him people to care about, something he’s never had before, and it changes his outlook on life completely. For me, the first time we really see this is when he joins them for dinner in the Xorhaus and stops levitating. It’s a subtle thing, but meaningful. He explains that it had become an expectation of him, a quirk he’s known for, and so to feel comfortable enough around the Nein to drop that pretence is quite bold I think.

Much later, when he chooses to destroy the mini beacon they discover in Aeor in order to give everyone a long rest before the final confrontation with Lucian, he’s essentially giving up everything he betrayed his people for, just to keep his friends safe. The existence and context of that single artefact could have had an earthshattering impact on the Dynasty’s entire culture, forcing them to reevaluate their entire belief system and attitude to the Luxon, something he’d wanted from the start, something he helped start a war for, but he offered it up as a sacrifice without a second thought.

I’d say that’s a pretty big morality shift, and I’m super interested to see if Matt reveals if his alignment changed in the post campaign Q&A. I have a feeling he set him up as a potential BBEG but the party was like ‘no, you can’t have him, he’s ours now’ and that was the end of that. 😂

I think it says so much about the other characters too, that they befriended this person they barely knew, and when he was revealed to have done such terrible things, their first reaction was to give him comfort and an opportunity to atone. Jester held his hand while he confessed, and afterwards, while they didn’t immediately forgive him, they saw the good in him and wanted him to be better, which ultimately feels like what the entire campaign was about, leaving places (and people) better than they found them. It’s obvious that he’s never really had many friends before and has therefore never had the opportunity to be emotionally open with anyone, so seeing him gradually warm up to the Nein and allow himself to soften around them was really lovely to watch.

(Obviously, from a realistic moral perspective, he still fucked up big time. He’s still a godsdamned war criminal and really should have been put on trial for what he did, but I think from a narrative and personal point of view, his redemption arc was far more satisfying, so I’m glad it happened the way it did. (And not to derail but the rest of the gang have done some pretty horrific stuff as well, though perhaps not quite on the same scale)

He has a few moments towards the end that I absolutely love because they show that beneath the guilt and anguish, there’s an incredibly sweet and sensitive soul in there, just wanting acceptance. His dry jokes which often don’t quite hit, (the ‘I will punish the bakery’ line is such an under-appreciated one 😂) his simple joy at learning to garden in the Blooming Grove, and realising that he’d never been asked what his favourite food was before was actually kind of heartbreaking, because it highlighted how lonely his life must have been until that time. There was a moment pretty early on I think when he cast disguise on the party and Jester asked if he could cast it again to change the look of her outfit a bit and while he seemed to find it amusing, he refused, not wanting to waste a spell on such a frivolous request. Cut to their time in Aeor where he burns a fly spell just so he and Caleb can flirtatiously swoop around each other for a couple of minutes, all the while trying to beat Lucian to the city.

His breakdown when Molly’s resurrection failed really cemented to me how much he’d grown as a character. He never met Molly, his only knowledge of him was secondhand, through the eyes of his friends, but seeing it fail just broke him because he knew how much it hurt them to go through it all over again.

His comment to Caleb about not admitting defeat and wishing he could do more did get me wondering at the time if he was going to try and do something crazy, perhaps sacrificing himself via the Temporal Dock to make amends or somehow forcing another reroll, but I’m glad he didn’t. The conversation following that with Fjord was one of my favourites- he shows him acceptance and belief in his potential for the future, something he’s lacked for a long time, and when Caleb bluntly affirms afterwards that he is indeed an official member of the Mighty Nein, it’s the start of the rest of his life, and something he’s exceptionally grateful for.

It all leads to that final moment in Aeor with Caleb, when, presented with the opportunity to alter time and undo everything, he chooses to accept his decisions and carry the weight of his sins for the rest of his long life. That’s...huge.

He’s essentially choosing to live the rest of his existence as a fugitive, forever on the run, with no guaranteed peace or safety. He chooses to spend his life making up for his deeds, rather than looking for an easy way out.

I think that may have had a big impact on why Caleb ultimately made the same decision, as if Essek had been up for altering his timeline I think he’d have struggled to resist it himself. The conversation they had earlier in Aeor about their priorities and resisting temptation really comes to mind as well.

Now, to the relationship.

It was subtle, and not as ‘in your face’ obvious as the other characters, but I’ve been watching and hoping for a long time and I must say, it feels good to be vindicated.

(And if you have any doubt, both Matt and Liam confirmed on Twitter that their post finale relationship was 100% romantic)

I’d been hoping that Shadowgast would be a canon endgame relationship for a while, so the finale, and the aforementioned T-Dock scene in particular had me quite literally shaking with emotion as I watched live. Here you have two men, both damaged and guilt-stricken in their own ways, who find in each other a kindred spirit and a path to redemption.

They’re both very guarded and closed off people, but Essek in particular has a definite shift in the last arc of the campaign especially when it came to his interactions with Caleb. At the start he was quite aloof and stoic, though charming, and they had an instant connection through their shared love of the arcane, (anyone who couldn’t see them making heart eyes at each other when Essek was describing the different types of magic he could teach Caleb was clearly blind) but by the end he was incredibly open to showing his vulnerabilities and that takes a lot, especially for someone whose primary focus was to stay in control of every aspect of his life. The ‘Caleb, I’m scared’ moment during the Trent fight in particular made my heart ache.

No, we didn’t get a dramatic declaration of love or a cinematic mid-battle kiss, but I’d argue that their relationship was just as, if not more intimate than any of the other main characters were. They understood each other in a way the others didn’t, their shared guilt, feelings of inadequacy and their obsession with magic forged a deep connection from the get-go. Neither of them are big fans of PDA I think, though Caleb is tactile as hell (forehead touches and kisses, oh man, I’m so weak for those 😩👌) and some of their most iconic moments have them putting themselves in harm’s way to protect the other. Essek shaking off his forced guilt trip immediately after the now infamous forehead touch in ep140 was beautifully poetic, as was using his fortune’s favour to pull Caleb out of the rubble moments before. Caleb trying to include him in his Sphere of Invulnerability in the finale and Essek staying close to him the whole fight despite being obviously terrified of Trent was the icing on the cake. It’s clear that they care for each other a great deal; whether by the finale they’d consider it love is up for debate, but we know that’s eventually where it ended up and honestly, I love that. I deeply appreciated the fact Matt and Liam both emphasised that they took their time with their relationship, letting each other heal in their own way before they took the next step. All too often in media, and real life too sadly, a romantic relationship is seen as some kind of quick fix, and that a lover will somehow complete you or make all your problems vanish. They knew this wasn’t the case here, and that made it all the better.

While I would have *loved* to have seen them together as a couple right to the very end, the change in their relationship felt right, if bittersweet. I doubt they ever stopped loving each other, and if anything, choosing to shift to a deep and lifelong friendship over a romance that would cause them both so much pain is one of the kindest things you could do for someone you love. After all, friendship isn’t a downgrade, just another way of experiencing that same love, and it wasn’t as though they broke up and never saw each other again, it was pretty strongly implied that they remained a major feature in each other’s lives, they just changed their label slightly. Caleb would hate to have forced Essek to watch him wither away, and although his eventual passing would hurt Essek regardless, incompatible lifespans being what they are, having a period of time to adjust to it, to give them a buffer between the inevitable heartbreak was actually really sweet.

Their romance was no accident, they knew going in that it had a time limit, that it wasn’t going to be forever for one of them, and the fact they did it anyway says so much. They began their adventure wholeheartedly believing that they were both, in their own way incapable of love, only to later find it with each other. Whether their relationship lasted for a couple of years or multiple decades is irrelevant, what matters is that while it did they had a happy and fulfilled life together.

I know some folk wanted Caleb to use the transmogrification spell on himself so he could live on with Essek as another elf, or make him human instead, but that would have been way out of character for both I think. If they could have backwards engineered one of the rejuvenation stations in Aeor and used it to extend Caleb’s life by a hundred years or so, so he’d have a similar lifespan to Veth, now, I could have seen him possibly doing that, so he could spend more time with his best friend too, but nothing further I think. He longed to be reunited with his parents too much to postpone death unnaturally like that.

That both Caleb and Essek ultimately chose to live with their mistakes and make peace with themselves was incredibly cathartic, and I couldn’t imagine it playing out any better.

The fact Matt has explicitly stated Essek is Demi too means so much to me personally because the latter is a label I’ve been identifying with a lot recently, and it’s so rare for aspec relationships to get any representation! It has honestly given me a lot to think about over the last few days, and I really appreciate it.

To conclude, here’s a bit of shameless self promotion. I wrote this after watching the finale and honestly feel like it sums up my feelings on the nature of their relationship pretty well.

‘A casual hand on a shoulder, a waist, a wrist; a gentle kiss placed on a forehead is common between them now, an intimacy born of trust and mutual affection. Over time it grows, like a fire born of seasoned timber; gradual and steady, no spluttering kindling that flares and sparks, but a slow burn, one which lasts.

Their love is embroidered into every aspect of their lives together. Acts of service, of comfort, of understanding.

Sometimes a kiss leads to more than a kiss, sometimes it doesn’t. Either way they are content.‘

So yeah, I love these two wizard boys so very much and I couldn’t be happier with the conclusion of their stories. ❤️

[phantomato]

Five Tom Riddle Crossover Fics to Read

Tom Riddle is a difficult character to ship. For those of us who want to see pairings beyond the Big Two (Tomarry and Tomione), canonical options peter out relatively quickly. Sure, we can invent our own pairings by fleshing out side characters, but sometimes, the itch is best scratched by borrowing from another canon.

And it makes sense for Tom more than nearly anyone else in HP. Tom was born into an era that is the subject of so much literature, so it’s easy to find another person kicking around postwar Europe if that’s your goal. He’s an archetypal character, the villain seeking immortality, and can be matched against other villains with the same aims. Hell, even his quest to recover lost artifacts turns into the basis for two of these works—Tom Riddle has the perfect combination of a recognizable context and character model, plus the ambiguity of his canon timeline, to slot him alongside so many other fictional figures.

I want to pause on some of these themes for a second. Immortality or relationship to age, for one, is something that comes up in three of these pairings: the Darkling and Koschei the Deathless are both immortal characters in their own canons, and Edmund Pevensie is not immortal but has aged and de-aged repeatedly in his travels to and from Narnia. The HP series doesn’t give us nearly this wealth of different perspectives on age and immortality, which is fair—HP makes it clear that immortality is unnatural and undesirable, and Flamel is notably a ‘good person’ because of his willingness to accept his own death—but for a character as obsessed with the idea as Tom, some emotions can only be explored when you match him with another character who has a complicated relationship to aging. Even someone like Indiana Jones, not immortal and not trying to be, has an interesting perspective to bring to a story because he has seen so many other quests for power gone terribly awry.

Of course, the other thing we get from crossover pairings is the ability to match Tom with a villainous character. And whether you’re a fan of conflict at the start of a relationship or not, I think there’s something to be found in putting two villains together: moral arguments, when they exist, are rarely about whether death is necessary but about what kinds of death are best used when; the entire concept of either a redemption arc or a breaking bad arc can be thrown out a window. It’s a space wherein our two villains are allowed to be themselves, and the reveal of the extent of each character’s villainy becomes a strange form of celebration. This is challenging to achieve if one sticks to HP canon alone, whereas crossovers are a fruitful space.

My selection methodology was to read every crossover fic with a clear focus on Tom Riddle or Voldemort on AO3. I found crossover pairings by visiting the meta pages for the Tom Riddle, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle | Voldemort tags—I may have missed some pairings for Tom Riddle, as the character has over 300 child relationship tags and AO3 cuts off at 300 displayed. If you know of any ships I missed and should check out, do tell! I’ll also make a note here that one of these fics is my own—if self-recs bother you, skip Bluebird.

The following five fics are ordered by wordcount. Let me know what you think!

Neurotic Virtuosi, by skazka

Crossover: Hannibal Rising (movie version). The wizarding world exists, and Tom and Hannibal encounter each other in non-magical Eastern Europe.

Summary: Tom and Hannibal ride the same train when Tom is hunting down the diadem. Tom shares an apple and thinks about keeping Hannibal.

Mature, <1k, Graphic Torture Fantasies

Why?: This is one of those pairings that I wouldn’t have thought to do when the characters were both young, but it’s so much better for that choice! The length of this fic means we only get a taste of their interactions, but what a taste it is. Tom’s internal fantasies are horrifying and described in a very erotic way, which fits both characters.

This also serves as an interesting vision of what Tom might have experienced during his world tour to find the diadem, a period we rarely get to see. I particularly like that the author chose to write it as frustrating and mostly fruitless; a Tom who is stymied and unsuccessful is a particular weakness of mine.

Two Sides of the Same Coin, by Anonymous

Crossover: Chronicles of Narnia. Both Hogwarts and Narnia are real, and the characters meet in Britain. The magic isn’t the same, but there’s mutual recognition.

Summary: Tom tries to use sex to seduce secrets out of Edmund. Edmund sees something reminiscent of his younger self, the version of him who could join the White Witch, in Tom Riddle.

Explicit, 2k

Why?: Edmund and Tom are a pairing made in crossover heaven, both boys of a similar age born into war in the same country and whose discoveries of magical worlds help them escape it. Both lust for power and make poor choices; Edmund canonically recovers and finds redemption from his actions, and Tom does not.

This fic wears the hat of something pure smut, starting in the middle of a sex scene and tagged with top/bottom roles, etc., and it is that and does that well. But give it a shot for Edmund’s reflection at the end, his hopeful musings that he can apply the lessons learned from Aslan to help Tom before Tom’s utterly lost. It’s a crossover ship with unbelievable potential for both characters, and this fic makes me want so much more.

Shedding Skin, by electric_typewriter

Crossover: Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. Both the wizarding world and the magic of Deathless exist.

Summary: Tom meets Koschei before splitting his soul. They keep meeting, and Tom keeps attempting to match Koschei’s immortality.

Not Rated, 2k

Why?: Immortality via relocation or storage of souls is an idea that easily predates Harry Potter as a series, and seeing two different versions of the some core idea interacting with one another is precisely what crossovers exist to enable. Koschei as an immortal being that found his immortality in a way he considers superior is a fascinating concept, because it creates a power imbalance between them that leaves Tom always running to catch up. And Tom, poor Tom, feels like a desperate man, finding sensation only when he’s around Koschei and feeling nothing at any other time.

This reads a bit like you’re dissociating. The author uses descriptive language to keep the reader a little distant from the grounded reality of the events happening, which has the effect of keeping you focused on the metaphysical question of what it means to have part of a soul.

Bluebird, by Phantomato

Crossover: Shadow and Bone. S&B summoning powers instead of HP magic, set in the real world, with characters’ histories preserved.

Summary: Tom is the second sun summoner to exist, born long after the first gave up her powers and lived out her natural life. He tracks down the Darkling, the shadow summoner who never really died.

Explicit, 17k

Why?: Tom is an immortal being for at least part of his life, and his character arc is about pursuit of immortality, but he is fundamentally a young immortal, and is killed before he can graduate to old immortality. Aleksander, the Darkling, is canonically an old immortal, and his character arc is about the burden of living with the knowledge that you will likely always be alone. That loneliness sets the scene for the relationship between Tom and Aleksander, driving Aleksander’s behavior—he fundamentally believes he will always be alone, even an immortal like Tom passes through his life.

There is a high proportion of smut in this, serving in place of the emotional honesty that neither character can muster, and I recommend it for that. But the story also relies on investment in quiet everyday moments shared between the characters. It’s a fic told through behavior because both men are so cautious around one another, where they nevertheless manage to find sympathy for the other.

Riddles of the Dead, by Maeglin_Yedi

Crossover: Indiana Jones. Blends together the wizarding world and the mysticism present in Indiana Jones films.

Summary: Tom Riddle hires an expert archaeologist and gentleman adventurer, Dr. Indiana Jones, to help him pursue an artifact that might grant him immortality. There’s fucking, fighting, magic, snakes, and some difficult choices in store for our leading men.

Explicit, 18k, Angst

Why?: Maeglin Yedi has been a mainstay of the Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort ficspace for nearly two decades, but an old crossover like this can unfortunately slip through the cracks. It shouldn’t! With an original publishing date in early 2005, this predates the concept of horcruxes, the knowledge of Tom’s early years at Wool’s orphanage, and, well, so much of what we would eventually learn about Tom Riddle as a person. It’s a testament to the author that the story manages to capture Tom’s character in such a way that he’s still fully recognizable to a current-day reader, despite working with so much less canon.

This fic is fun. It’s an adventure, featuring hazards and traps and assassination attempts that you would expect from an Indiana Jones film, but the magic and mystery never overwhelms the relationship at the core of this story. It’s set up beautifully, with a mirrored structure between the front and back halves of the fic that foreshadows the inevitable end of the story. Watching older, confident Indy seduce young, hungry Tom is a delight. One (possible) mark of a great Tom-centric fic, imo, is to be able to portray Tom enjoying the exchange of power, giving it to someone as well as taking it from them, and this Tom is able to revel in giving up some perceived power as he practices being vulnerable with Indy. The romance is quite sweet, especially considering that ‘angst’ tag at the top of the fic!