#imagine being a father and realizing that the only way you can achieve the ultimate goal of ur whole lineage and kingdom

[sandu-zidian]

Y’all I’m gonna cry aren’t I 😭😭

[forgottenfinn]

hii so i’m crazy so here’s will wood songs as taz characters cause i have basically only listened to will wood for the past two months and i can make anything whatever i want forever

also. i am a taako guy at my core so i can relate anything to him so sorry it’s taako all the way down

its like. a lot of taako and lucretia.

ww is just so taako coded idk what you want

this is so nothing

________________

tomcat disposables:

the twins -

the whole food imagery and the hope for peace and stability

“One night one flung light through this place

So I run for cover, over, under, left the rind out on the plate

Little heart racing and praying, "Something, keep me safe"

I think it saw my face

Okay, one hungry day”

being about the light of creation / the hunger during the stolen century

“i’ll make it through again, i have before, come on now, what’s one more?”

which is lup dying and being used to it after so many years dying

“Just like I'd always imagined it

More than I could eat

My dreams were finally reality

My struggles had a happy ending

They must want to be friends

My stomach starts to turn

With thirst, why does it hurt?

My just dessert is served, dig in”

taako realizing that lucretia was behind it all, the place where he found a home was lying to him. also idk something glamour springs

also lup dying just as she was about to successfully secure her relic

“I held on so tight

For so long, it's just not right

Let a sigh out as I close my eyes

Was that all there was to this?

What's for the best?”

lup dying after they Finally got to stay in a world, also her skeleton being described as just resting against the wall like it was relaxed

________________

becoming the lastnames:

i can and will make becoming the last names about whoever the fuck i want, however,

taako (& kravitz) -

“I'm not sure yet myself, but I learned from a good father

Yeah, I mean, sure, they messed me up, but I think that's just the gig”

being about davenport

“And marriage always scared me, but I'd like to have a last love

And love can last a pretty good long while, yeah, I've seen it around”

duh, barry and lup OBVIOUSLY

something something taako seeing lup fall in love after everything they went through together and that’s great but him never seeing that for himself

“But what do I know 'bout forever when so far I've been so fleeting?”

everyone was just talking dust, etc etc

“Babe, my frontal lobe's done growing, this might just be how I'm wired

But now we're kissing before brushing, smile with our whole faces

If you want a hyphen last name, I guess I don't mind the cadence”

it’s just. hold my hand. trust.

“Cause I've made more mistakes than simple empty moments

Whoa-oh, each one as out of character as you know I tend to be”

you’re gonna look me in the eyes and say that is not a taako thing. come on.

“If we grow old together, will you talk to my headstone?

That is, assuming that I die first (which is fair) and assuming I don't leave”

kravitz already being dead and taako having a habit of running away

________________

cicada days:

taako and lucretia -

“She said, "It just feels inhumane to lose this much"

"'Cause when you leave you know you takе more than your love"

lucretia losing her family, also her making taako forget lup

“Let all my red flags fade to white, yeah, I give up

Don't let me leave, I'll only take more than I gave

Okay, I'll pack my stuff

Here at the end of days, my god, what have I done?

Christ, now it feels damn inhumane to get all I've dreamed of”

lucretia after the day of story and song, feeling like none of them care about her anymore because of what she did. but ultimately, the world was safe, her family was safe, even tho the way she wanted to go about it was wrong and would have killed them all, and her having to come to terms with what she did to everyone, taako and davenport especially

taako after glamour springs, seeing the people he thought he killed after achieving his dream of being famous. something something sazed letting taako believe it was his fault

________________

euthanasia:

lucretia -

i actually think about this a lot LMAO

“I was right there

While you fought tooth and nail

Gasping in the gas mask thrashing till you disappeared

Say you're not scared, that you know it's cause I cared and

Say you know I love you, and that hope was just not there”

magnus walking in while she’s feeding the story to the void fish, her saying she loves all of them, and she’s gonna fix everything

“Over the rainbow, can I stop by and say hello and

Sorry I would take it back if I could but I know

To love one from too far to call

Is not to love at all, to whom is it I talk?”

her visiting them in their respective areas, just to make sure they were okay

________________

that’s enough, let get you home:

barry bluejeans -

“Haunt my bedroom at night and say "Let's get you home"

liches <3

“They say "Grow up, be a man, 'cause until then

You're nothing but a short-haired girl"

sorry trans barry will always be real to me

“So come on, William, grow up, be a man

'Cause until then they're gonna treat you

Like you're just a little girl

But come and Braille-palm-read, hold my hands and you'll see that

It's me who cries mercy while your fingers curl

And, oh, are you at all like me?

Do you know what I mean?

Or am I too close to see?

Someone, anyone?”

DO YOU GET IT.

________________

um, it’s kind of a lot:

taako -

“But I never been afraid of no one breaking my heart

It's not like I'm 'bout to fall and cut my throat on the shards”

taako not really. seeing falling in love as an option for him

“Hold me like a tourniquet, and I'll you, like an iron maiden

I've grown used to fear

But no, not to you yet, my dear”

something about kravitz being so just. sweet and endearing and that just scaring the shit out of taako. kravitz will hold him gently and help him, he’ll hold kravtiz like he will leave him

taako is always very much the quote of, everything i let go of has claw marks on it

“Oh, I love you so much it scares me half to death

I'm not used to this

How did it happen, baby?”

my taakitz :(

“And I'm afraid you'll notice all my flaws

I'm afraid you already have, obviously

And I'm afraid I'll come on too strong

Hold you too tight and scare you too”

post wonderland.

“I'll twist my words: a clever turn of phrase

Sorry, darling, please excuse my

Constant need to self-aggrandize

Coddling my narcissism

M.A.D. come ride my A-bomb

While I beg you to say I'm okay

So here's one last lyric to sum up these

Thoughts I struggled to come up with

To make me sound deep and smart and

Then I promise I'll shut up

Wait, let me think

Hold on, I got this

Anything but "I'm in love with you"

ARE WE KIDDING.

________________

half decade hangover:

taako and lucretia -

“Wonder how I didn't die

This is not my life. I'm no survivor, I only happened to survive”

taako post glamour springs after he got some reason didn’t test the food first

lucretia being alone after she erases their memories, technically alive but. why

“Cause I was drunk when I made my bed

Now with a half-decade hangover I lay down in it

What have I done? Don't know what I've said

It's a half-decade hangover, either this, in jail, or dead

It's a half-decade hangover, Jesus Christ my aching head”

taako having to deal with the aftermath of glamour springs. specifically “either this (adventuring with thb), in jail (cause of glamour springs), or dead (yeah.)”

also him with angus after being a dick to him or any other person he lashed out at

lucretia having to deal with what she had done, watching her family be a shell of themselves and then once they’re back, dealing with the backlash from it

“Sober, but so much still hangs over

Please believe me when I say I poured my whole past down the drain

Say that a second chance is a chance I can take

But I can't make amends for things I don't remember

I can only say I'm sorry and occasionally pray

Guess you'll just have to take my word that I've changed

After one thousand eight hundred twenty five days”

then not being able to remember half of the shit that they did, lucretia not being able to ask for forgiveness till so so much later. also she can’t fix what she did

________________

vampire reference in a minor key:

kravitz -

i mean, duh. the whole vibe of the song is so kravitz

“If you need me, I'll be in my coffin

You could come knocking, and I'll raise hell for you”

this man arguing with his literal GODDESS cause the guy he likes has a fucking weird family

“Hold my hands, we'll dance the 12-step on my grave

I'd kill the man I am for one more chance to be yours, babe

No, I ain't begging, I'm just saying, it's an option

Don't let the latest be the last nail in my coffin”

TRUSTTTT

________________

the main character:

taako -

i mean. come on. you saw that coming

“So, God forbid I'm seen just as an average human being

I mean, imagine if protagonists just died in the first scene

I'm the gap between a tragedy and comedy

Don't come at me

I'm the main character, and you have to like me”

i think justin listened to this song and went. yk what. i can work with that. (ik taz came out before incase i make it, hush)

“you’re about to kill americas favorite wizard.”

“I loot plot armor from NPCs

Well, they are to me

Trite, tropes, traits, traumas, trinkets, and treats, it's all XP”

taako stealing from Literally everyone all of the time

________________

against the kitchen floor:

taako -

it’s literally called against the Kitchen floor. what do you want from me.

“I don't owe you my heart

And I don't owe you my body

But you should know that I'm sorry

For being careless with you”

listen. me and mars love to play little barbie’s with these characters but like. do you understand. do you see the vision. taako being someone who has a lot of casual sex and is like no yeah i’m so cool and normal about this and he’s Not cause he’s a Liar but like.

the wanted to be wanted thing even if it’s not. good.

something soemthing sazed etc etc

“I swear, I'm really trying

Get it together, Will, know and do better

It just don't come natural to me to think that you'd want me for mе

I swear, I'm really trying

Oh, I'm sorry, I promise, I'm doing my best

I just haven't learned how to be human as you are yet”

him having to learn what a normal and healthy relationship looks like with kravitz and being kind of off put when kravitz actually likes him for real

“I've lived more lives than enough, I haven't died quite as much

But I'm not a real person, just the shit you can't make up, and”

stolen century, duh

“I swear, I'm really trying

I'm just as exposed if I take off my clothes

When we make the closest thing to love that I'm capable of

And I don't know why you would care

But I'm really trying”

something about his glamour thing after wonderland

“I'm catatonic in your arms

Crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"

I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor

Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours

Don't say "I'm sorry, but this can't go on"

I know you've got scars of your own

But hide my knives before you go

I'll either live or die alone”

him with sazed after glamour springs

“ promise, I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible

I swear, I'm so fucking sorry

I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all

But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all”

“taakos not a hero.” yeah.

________________

sex, drugs, rock’n’roll:

taako -

“So this is what I choose to do

With my redeeming quality

That thing that came from the same place as my

Instability”

i know it means mental instability, and like yeah that too, but his home/money instability. learning how to be a wizard and how to cook so that he would have somewhere to stay

“It's not a gift if you pay for it

And I don't want no charity

I spent all my years to end up right here, and now

I really think I'd rather leave”

post glamour springs

“And I hate proving that

I'm still human after all”

“i’m a fully realized creation! fuck!” etc etc

________________

white noise:

lucretia -

“But If you listen closely I swear, to God I swear

You can hear the ocean if you hold it up to your ear, here:

White noise

If you listen close between the waves

White noise

You can hear the ocean through your wake

White noise

If you listen close between the waves

White noise

You can hear the ocean through your wake”

just this whole songs meaning is very lucretia to me. the quiet isn’t boring. there’s more to lucretia than even she sees if you care to notice

[twistedsamuraiadvice]

Dear Fulbright, I hope this letter finds you well. As I sit here, pondering over the complexities of life, an intriguing question comes to mind, one that provokes deep contemplation and elicits a range of conflicting emotions. It is a hypothetical scenario that invites us to consider our priorities and the values we hold dear.

Imagine, if you will, a world where justice prevails, where righteousness is unwavering, and peace reigns supreme. In this realm, however, there exists a heartbreaking twist - the sacrifice of a beloved person, Simon Blackquill in order to achieve this seemingly unattainable utopia. The question arises: would we be willing to pay such a steep price to bring about what so many yearn for?

Balancing this proposition is another alternate reality, where every criminal is allowed to roam free, their nefarious actions unchecked and unpunished. Yet, in this chaotic state, you are revered like a deity, treated with awe and unwavering admiration. Without doubt, this would stroke our ego and provide an immense sense of power, but at what cost to our own morality and the wellbeing of society?

Reflecting on these two options, I find myself pulled in different directions. The allure of stamping out injustice and creating a fair world where righteousness thrives is undeniable. However, the idea of cherishing and preserving human life, Simon Blackquill with whom we have shared countless memories and cherished moments, is undeniably heart-wrenching.

Conversely, in a world where criminals roam free but revere us as a godlike figure, we must question the consequences. Would such unrestrained freedom result in societal collapse, a dystopian nightmare where morality loses its way? Moreover, can the adulation of others truly replace the need for a just and balanced world?

As I struggle to decide between these complex alternatives, I recognize that life rarely offers such clear-cut choices. The pursuit of justice should be at the heart of our actions, driven not by personal gain or self-importance, but by a genuine desire to create a better world. However, the price we pay, particularly when it involves the loss of a cherished being, cannot be easily dismissed or taken lightly.

In the end, my dear Detective, the question lingers, unanswered but not forgotten. It serves as a constant reminder of the intricate dilemmas life presents us, urging us to question our values, our sense of duty, and ultimately, the legacy we leave behind. Perhaps, instead of choosing one extreme or the other, we should strive to find a balance, where justice prevails while cherishing every individual life, never forgetting the worth of one soul, even in pursuit of a greater good.

May this letter spark a thoughtful contemplation within you, as it did for me. I eagerly await your perspective, knowing that our shared discussions always deepen my understanding of life's intricacies.

With warm regards,

Umi Teardrop

Dear Teardrop,

First, I'm sorry it's taken some time to respond, I know it's a long wait, but I really wanted to sit with this.

As....naive as it sounds, there was a time where I really thought Justice would always prevail, bad things happened, but good would win out in the end. Like how it always did in stories, everything would look dark, but then something would change, there'd be some hero at the end of it.

W...when my father left, I told myself it was better that way, because my grandparents were good people, who loved me, and someday... someday my parents would realize they loved me too, and if they didn't....there'd be justice, somehow. I was never sure how, just that they'd be sorry. Really I just wanted to stop feeling like there was something wrong with me, because that was the only other option, and it hurt.

I think that's part of the reason I wanted to reform Blackquill....sure, he had been sentenced, but if he changed his ways, then it wouldn't be just anymore to kill him. And he was good, deep down, so shouldn't we try?

Then someone else came, and I found out how much evil there really was in the world.

No one even noticed I was gone.

....And sure, it came out in the end. They found me, eventually.

But...was that really winning? People died, Blackquill went to prison, Miss Cykes had her whole life uprooted, and for what?

What was it all for?

.....

I do believe in justice. There is good in the world. But it's not what I thought. We have to fight for it, there isn't some....force out there, making it happen.

It's in the hands of people. Normal, every day people. Not heros. Just people.

I'm sorry, I think I got off topic. I need to sit down.

In...justice, we trust.

-Bobby Fulbright

[talea456]

Aaahhh!!! I LOVE complex shows like this! So many layers and layers and layers to discuss!!

I agree with those points, but I also think another, “meta” layer to The Double (and also those other kdramas you mentioned) is the comparison of “story book ‘love’” vs the real thing. It was really on rewatch that I started to realize the extra layers to Shen Yurong’s memories of XFF.

I think Shen Yurong thought he loved XFF, but when you combine his ambition; denial of any choice in his wrongdoings; & his (clearly delusional) thoughts that XFF would want to marry him again with his visions of her being this perfect, uber-supportive-of-him spouse, I think it really demonstrates that he only defines love as something people do to service him and his ambitions. In other words, “love” to him is just another tool to get what he wants. His visions of her show them happy while her memories show her sacrificing and sacrificing and sacrificing for him. His memories of XFF show the audience what he thought of their marriage. And we know he’s a pretty unreliable narrator when it comes to his interpretation of things. (And I think he wanted XFF back not to redeem himself, but because he ended up with no one to serve him the way he thought he deserved to be served…and also because he sees her as a possession to lose and regain as it suites him.)

As for XFF, I think she’s naturally “a giver,” and she thought she found a righteous, worthy man to throw all her support behind so he can achieve his dreams. I think the scene where she’s begging her father to marry him despite their class differences is very telling in this. She sees him as her equal, and this sets out to support him with all she’s got. BUT she was young and little too naive — and maybe a bit arrogant in her own judgment — that she didn’t see the potential red flags.

I think her father was questioning the marriage because he probably saw something in SYR that concerned him. (This is also supported by what we learn of her father later on—that he cared deeply for others regardless of their social status.) Being older (and probably being burned by this same selflessness that his daughter has), he knew that certain men would see XFF as a stepping stone to advance in life. And I don’t think we can deny that SYR did just that. (For example, if you put Xiao Heng in the scene where she’s selling her qin — could you imagine him just standing there letting her walk away? Oh heck no! He’d take the instrument right out of her hand and walk right back into the house with it. SYR said the right words, but ultimately did nothing to really support her — because his love was never about her. It was always about him. SYR is all talk and no action re: his honorable/loving intentions….basically, he’s the definition of a covert narcissist.)

Xiao Heng is, of course, the perfect foil to SYR. He doesn’t suck up to people (and yeah, that’s partly due to his status, but I doubt he would do it if he didn’t have that. He’d probs be more like Ye Shijie re: quiet confidence.) XH is pretty much “very little talk and all action.” He uses the guise of arrogance as a tool in his arsenal to bring down the bad guys. (Whereas SYR uses the guise of humility to mask his arrogance.) Hence XH’s emphasis on the theater of it all. (And his recognition that XFF can play any role she needs to achieve her truly honorable goals…she’s his match in ability and intellect.) I am still really impressed at how the show demonstrates this aspect of his character by using the love story. How it shows him supporting her (despite his words of her being a pawn) throughout — never directly stepping in to “save” her, letting her save herself but still giving physical protection when needed. (Hence the need for his men to keep an eye on her. She’s not able to defend herself physically against assassins and such.) I really love the scene at the palace where he basically tells her to be more careful and she’s all “I can’t. I don’t have a massive spy network and social status to flesh out my theater trope. I’m a one-woman show, babyyy! And so I’ve got to risk my life to figure things out as I go.” And from then on, he’s open in saying he doesn’t want her risking her life, but he doesn’t hold it against her when she does. And a little later, he gives her that whistle so she can use his men when she needs to. Pretty damn sweet.

I, a middle-aged tumblrite, totally swooned when XH told JL/XFF not to compromise herself. Cause it means that he knew that her compassion is both a strength and a weakness. She can go too far in her eagerness to be giving and selfless — and he knows that she already has re: her first marriage. It’s such an amazing way to show the audience that he: Understands her deeply, understands her past and what happened to her, and truly loves all of her. All of what makes her HER. And he doesn’t want her to think that she needs to please him — his love isn’t based in her service to him (despite his words at the beginning of their relationship saying she was his pawn.) That is such a beautiful and powerful thing to see in a romance drama!

Ah the layers. It’s an onion. That’s what’s making me tear up, right? The show is a big damn onion.

Thoughts on The Double rewatch

tl/dr: The FML & SML romantic contrasts sum up like this:

Shen Yurong: Hello my darling, self-sacrificing trophy-wife. Your hands shouldn't touch weapons. They should only do dainty female things.

Xiao Heng: What's up, my fierce wild-cat? OMG your brain is sooooo freakin' sexy, btw. What? You need help learning how to kill someone? Hell yeah, Queen! *grabs her hand and head straight to the armory*

Like, seriously. Every time Shen Yurong has visions and/or flashbacks to his wife, it's basically Xue Fangfei giving c-drama tradwife vibes every time. She's either playing music, doing some calligraphy, or helping him out by selling her things and/or giving him advice constantly.

BUT every time Xiao Heng is seen thirsting over Jiang Li/XFF, it's when she's doing 5-D chess with politicians and talking herself and her family members out of trouble.

Just LOOK at him absolutely LOVING her fucking up the Li family plans. Man is totally turned on by how fucking SMART and CAPABLE she is.

Like, one thing about this scene in episode 16 is that I thought the ML was going to come running to protect/help out the FL here. I've watched enough c-dramas to expect that, ya know?

But not our man Duke Su! He's like: She's totally got this...And I should probably stay seated to manage my giant boner rn anyways.

And how green flag is that "advice" he gives her about not compromising herself & become a different person for someone else in ep 31???? It's pretty dang green, guys.

Point is: Shen Yurong only saw her as a trophy/trad-wife. Xiao Heng sees, and loves, ALL of her.

[thedreamermusing]

Harry identified with and reluctantly admired Snape even before ‘The Prince’s Tale’

So, 'Albus Severus' is admittedly is a controversial name in fandom due to Snape's own dubious morality. And people also think that Harry going from hatred to admiration of Snape so quickly is unrealistic. But, that's not true. There's no doubt that Harry hated Snape, but amid that hatred, there was also reluctant admiration and even identification with Snape. Let's see a few examples:

Harry did not speak; he felt that to say anything might be dangerous. He was sure he had just broken into Snape’s memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape’s childhood, and it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting was actually standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes. . . .

Probably the first time Harry is looking at Snape as anything more than his hated Potions professor. But it is still significant considering Harry's own abusive childhood.

His reaction to Snape's Worst Memory:

What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him — it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.

His immediate reaction after watching Snape's memory is to empathise with Snape, because he knows what it's like to be bullied in front of a crowd.

We also get hints of how similar Snape and Harry are. Even Hermione comments on it:

Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff —” “Well,” said Hermione, “I thought he sounded a bit like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?”

Hermione comments on how they both sound similar. Snape and Harry do have a lot in common as we will find out later, but this is one of the first hints of another character noticing it.

But imo, the largest culmination of Harry's reluctant admiration is in the case Snape's old textbook, when he called himself the Half-blood Prince. This is teen Snape; Snape as Lily knew him, Snape without all the baggage that he has with Harry. And what is Harry's opinion of him?

Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behavior, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way. Harry felt, however, that the Half-Blood Princes copy of Advanced Potion-Making hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how much was in there, not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.

Harry's admiration is practically dripping through the pages. He's staying up at night reading the book, admiring the boy who was so clever.

One of the most interesting lines is also this:

“My dad used this spell,” said Harry. “I — Lupin told me.” This last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be —?

Harry is so attached to Snape's old textbook that he wishes it was his father. Harry is hungry for father figures and the fact that he elevates the Prince to this kind of figure from just his textbook is significant. It shows the lost potential between Harry and Snape. Who is the Prince but a younger Snape? It shows that had Snape been a little less bitter and damaged, he could have been a mentor figure for Harry.

These two have so much in common: their lives are defined by Voldemort and they're not truly free until he's dead, they're both half-bloods who grew up in the muggle world, they both suffered abusive childhoods, they were both bullied, they're both sarcastic and dry, they both can get very vicious (Snape more so obviously), they're both completely loyal to Dumbledore, they're both brave and stubborn as hell. I truly believe that had Snape not been so blind, he could have been a great father figure for Harry simply because of how similar they are and how much they could relate to each other.

He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn — Harry’s stomach churned — how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much…the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen…He could not…

Harry thinks of the Prince as a friend and guide.

“Will you stop harping on about the book!” snapped Harry. “The Prince only copied it out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!”

“I don’t believe this,” said Hermione. “You’re actually defending —“

“I’m not defending what I did!” said Harry quickly. “I wish I hadn’t done it, and not just because I’ve got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn’t’ve used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can’t blame the Prince, he hadn’t written ‘try this out, it’s really good’ — he was just making notes for himself, wasn’t he, not for anyone else…”

Even after 'Sectumsempra', Harry defends the Prince like this. As a side note, I also think that Harry's relationship with the Prince somewhat mirrors Lily's relationship with Snape. They both admired and loved the boy who was so clever and imaginative and were willing to blind themselves as that boy went deeper into the dark side.

He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself dwelling upon Dumbledore’s inexcusable trust in Snape…but as Hermione had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the same…in spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much..

This is after Snape killed Dumbledore, and Harry's primary feeling about the Prince is one of betrayal. Ultimately, I believe Harry's relationship with the Prince is pivotal in his understanding of Snape, and I firmly believe that this also informed his decision to name his son after Snape. After watching Snape's dying memories, Harry's admiration of the Prince returned and merged with his feelings towards Snape. It is no coincidence that the chapter revealing Snape's true allegiance is called 'The Prince's Tale', telling us that Snape truly is the same Prince Harry admired and wished was his father.

Harry's feelings towards Snape after the Prince's tale is obvious. Throughout Snape's memories, he identifies with him, not James. He immediately notices that James has an air of being loved and adored while Snape conspicuously lacks it. He cannot bring himself to watch Snape's Worst Memory again. After watching the memories, he identifies with both Snape and Tom Riddle as 'the abandoned boys' who were outcasts and only found their home in Hogwarts.

In short, I believe Harry's admiration of Snape was not sudden or inexplicable but something he always reluctantly felt. He identified with Snape even when he hated him. Once he saw Snape's memories in his entirety, he understood and identified with them even more because Harry has been in Snape's shoes. He's been a dark-haired, abused, bullied, half-blood outcast. And he knows how hard it is to be brave in those circumstances. While the readers might have trouble understanding why Snape would have a child named after him, Harry doing so is not a surprise.

[loser-hub]

Endeavor: an attempt to achieve a goal.

Summary: Self indulgent ficlet with a contemplative, worrisome Endeavor.

Warnings: None! Pure, unadulterated fluff.

The three remaining Todoroki children all come to a sudden realization: they hadn't seen their father at home for quite some time. Everyday when they returned they find the house quiet. They knew their father worked long hours and was rarely home but often times when they were getting ready for the day, they would hear him leave. Now however they heard nothing when they were awake and nothing when they were asleep. The new dynamic at home was welcomed by the youngest of the three while the two eldest weren't sure what to make of it, despite the new peace they were worried for his safety and well-being.

Enji would find his way to your home everyday after work, he'd set his shoes aside while you helped him remove his jacket. No words would be spoken, afraid the sound of speech would shatter the intimate moment. He'd wander over to the recliner you had bought for him and sit down, a short glass of bourbon in hand, to contemplate. The time varies. He may sit in silence from ten minutes to an hour. He'd sit alone or pull you into his large lap when you passed by. Those were the moments he'd cry. Letting the emotions he bottled up release in a torrent of self-doubt. Asking questions you didn't have the answer to but helped explain away, your fingers combing through his crimson colored hair while he hid in the crook of your neck. Often how he wondered how much suffering he had to endure for sufficient recompense, what he had to do to prove he's changed and learned from his mistakes. What he had to swear to reconcile with the people he's hurt. That's all he wanted and the longer time went on the heavier the task weighed, you tried to share the burden but this was his to resolve.

Contemplative silence accompanied with your presence was calming, grounding. Holding you in his arms he didn't feel so alone, you relied on him and that made getting out of bed worth it. Your smile was the light of his life, your laughter the fuel to his fire, the way you looked at him in soft moments the reason he kept going.

The time varied but when he felt that he had recharged enough his attention is solely on you. You've been so attentive to his needs he can only repay in kind in his own awkward and unsure way. The first on his list is to always make sure you've eaten, your health one of his top priorities so he'll ask if you have. Offering to make a meal with you or take you out, if neither of you are in the mood to socialize takeout is ordered right to your doorstep. The next nightly step is asking how your day was, letting you unload your worries and stresses onto his more than capable shoulders. He doesn't want you to keep your emotions under lock and key, knowing full well how dangerous that can be. He's not as wise as he wishes but he'll be damned if he doesn't offer you advice and even help with whatever has you down. Work to familial matters and everything in between. He wants to he relied on, to be the rock and light in your life just as you are to his. He'd do everything for you if he could but he's aware that kind of relationship can turn toxic and he wants to avoid that if possible. Though he doesn't know if any relationship with him no matter the length will stay stable. No more toxicity, no dependency and no fights. The motto he lives by throughout your relationship until its second nature. Healthy, happy and secure.

Your home becomes as cold as the Arctic whenever Enji is around. His quirk a blessing and a curse. Even when its deactivated Hellflame produces an exorbitant amount of heat, heat that when he's trying to relax and wind down makes him unbearably uncomfortable. Solution? Crank that thermostat down as it could go. Compromise? Enji pays your electric bill and he keeps you warm with snuggling. Perfect compromise. It just works.

The Number One Hero is a walking furnace, a furnace that has no qualms about you using him as a bed. Its the least he can do for putting you through the cold for his sake. Your form resting against his while a thin blanket is draped across your bodies for privacies sake as an extra layer of insulation. His hand is large, fingers thick and calloused and barely used to administrating soft touches. He tries. Hand laying at the curve of your back, his fingertips brushing across your spine, your head laying on his broad chest. The moment is serene. The occasional activation of the air conditioner breaking the quietness of the room, the whirring of the blades drowned out by the thudding heartbeat directly underneath your ear. There was something unique about sleeping with a hero, the top ranking hero at that, that made the world feel different. Feel safe. The worries of the world and the villains all melted away.

Eventually the thumping of Enji's heart and the exhaustion of the day catches up with you, lulling you to sleep without your consent. You don't realize you've fallen asleep until you're in a dream, whatever blessed reprieve from the outside world taking control of your senses. Hands play with your hair and massage the knots out of your muscles so delicately, ghosts of touches placed on your skin while the your half waits to follow you to the Dreamland.

Sleep never comes to Enji easily, never has. Even when he pushed his body to the point of falling apart he'd lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and even witnessing the sunrise once or twice before he'd fall asleep. Never for long. An hour or two at the moment. That's not the case with you. The sleep cycle he's known the majority of his life gets turned on its head in your presence, in your arms he nods off before he can stop the encroaching slumber. Part of him welcomes it with open arms and the other, the ever alert hero, needs him to stay awake. He knows he's the target of many villains and needs to be vigilant to ensure your safety. His heart clenches in despair whenever his intrusive thoughts turn down the path of losing you. Getting caught in the crossfire or kidnapped to be used against him are two possibilities that do keep him up at night, thoughts swimming of what would happen if he lost you. His ultimate failure.

He doesn't notice you've woken up until your hands are on either side of his face, cupping his cheeks and your worried voice calling out his name. Snapped back to reality he always apologizes for waking you, never accepting that you simply needed water as an answer. You must've known and felt his worry in your sleep, his teeth grind together when he gets lost in his own thoughts.

"You won't let that happen, I'll never leave you", he's always stunned silent whenever you say such things. His firstborn, his wife, his other children, his family. You have so much trust in him to give him hope like that, he'd understand if you feared the relationship with him would have the same outcome but you don't. Day-after-day building him to be better and more than he was. His large arms scoop you up and hold you close, if he didn't fear what you'd think of him he'd let a handful of tears slip. He had never known happiness this unbridled, this pure before. It defeated him every way imaginable and he wanted more, the only thing granted to him unreservedly that he'd accept. Keeping you from the cold, saving you from the villains, letting you mould him, helping him reconcile with his remaining family..

He'd endeavor through it all with you.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Girl on the Battlefield

Heed the tags. This one is very dark, but so were the medieval days, so here we are.

******

“Captain, this one’s still alive.” Aldis grabbed the breathing body by the sword strap on their back. Lifting them up, his brows rose. “I was going to offer to finish them, but you might want to keep this one.”

The captain walked over, dodging other fallen soldiers with his feet. “Why? If it is not the prince, I am not interested.” He examined a dagger on the ground, picked it up. “Ornate,” he muttered. “Whoever fought with this fell two steps into the fight. Ornate daggers are not meant for battle. Curious who it belonged to- probably a common thief caught in the mix, the poor wretch.”

Aldis took the small weapon from the captain- otherwise known as his father, the king. “The jewels are green. Female.” Aldis noted and slid the dagger into the body he was holding’s scabbard. It fit perfectly. With the dagger hand now free, Aldis put a hand in the injured soldier’s hair, pulling their head back. And so, it was confirmed, even with blood staining the ‘soldier’s’ forehead and dribbling from their lip, they were a girl- a girl on the battlefield.

“Kill her,” the king said. “No girl belongs on a battlefield- make her a thief and it’s even worse. Kill her.”

Both the king and Aldis were taken back when the girl groaned, or whimpered, or made some kind of noise. A sigh passed through her lips, and Aldis didn’t doubt it was an attempt at a plea.

“You’re looking at it socially, Captain. Take on a more political outlook and way of analysis.” His father waited for Aldis to explain himself. “You assume the dagger was stolen but look at how decorative it is. A common thief could not have achieved stealing a dagger like this. A smith’s weapon, maybe. Not a lady or queen’s. That means this girl is more than a common thief. Assume she’s used to stealing from nobles, she’d be smarter than to interfere with battle, so she is also more than a skilled thief.” Aldis jostled the nearly unconscious girl before grabbing her right hand and crossing it over her chest for his father to see. “Royal seal. She’s the princess.” He dropped the girl’s hand.

The king smiled. “Turn her back to me. We take her.”

Aldis obeyed, turning the girl in his arms so that his father could tie a thin rope around her wrists and behind her back.

She whispered, almost silently, “No. I just wanted to…save…my brother.” Her head was against Aldis’ chest, heavy with exhaustion and likely a concussion.

Having a brother himself, Aldis almost tried comforting her, but she was the enemy. This princess belonged to the kingdom in which Aldis, his father, and his army, just partially slaughtered. Of course, there were more battles to come, but either way, this princess didn’t deserve Aldis’s sympathy.

“Are you walking on your own or should I carry you?” He made his voice as dull and bored as possible. He didn’t want the princess thinking he felt sorry for her for even the slightest moment. He didn’t. She was the enemy. And now she was his prisoner.

“Please. Let me- let me find him.”

“Carrying you, then.”

She thrashed. The little rat actually thrashed in Aldis’ grip. Battered, and bruised, and bleeding, with barely any breath at all, and she was fighting his hold on her. “I didn’t even know he was leaving!” she cried, and pulled against Aldis even more.

He hummed, and his brows shot up with an idea. As she tugged forward, Aldis let go, let her fall flat on her face, arms stuck behind her back, useless- just like she was.

The princess rolled onto her back, sitting up with an expression Aldis couldn’t identify. “Y-yer cruel.”

Aldis rolled his eyes. She was out of breath again. “And you are pathetic, but then again you are a girl on a battlefield.”

“That doesn’t…mean…anything.”

“Doesn’t it? I am not the one with hands tied behind my back and sitting in a puddle of blood.”

Her eyes widened like she didn’t even realize her borrowed trousers were soaked with red. Aldis laughed, thinking maybe she wet herself with fear of being in enemy hands, of being thrown to the ground by one of her men, and that was why she hadn’t noticed. Not a rat, he thought now of the princess, but a terrified little mouse.

Now looking at the body behind her, a sob rattled the princess’ body. She let herself settle down before speaking again. “I suspect you have never loved anyone. I suspect no one has cared enough to stand up for you. I suspect you are callous because it was the only way you could fit in, and now it is your life. And I suspect that you will burn in whatever Hell exists.”

“Stand up.”

“I will if you let me say goodbye to him.”

“You just said it. Stand up. Next time I won’t be so nice.” Aldis knelt down beside the mouse, grabbing the dagger and pulling it away even as she tried to roll away from his reach.

She threw a shoulder at him but ultimately fell onto a soldier who was no longer breathing as she was. The princess squeezed her eyes shut and sucked her lips in. Her chest bounced and Aldis saw her swallow. Vomit.

“If you puke on me, we will have even greater issues.” He smiled, looking at the body the princess had fallen on for a moment. Gaging the enemy soldier’s wounds, Aldis guessed they simply bled out. “If you think that is a sore sight,” he whispered, “just wait until we find your brother’s body and bring him home. Did you know my kingdom stakes noble opponents? I hope he is found alive, so that we can nurse him to health, give him hope, then stick him through his rear with a blunt stick.” Aldis hummed with his content, but he faltered for the slightest second, imagining his own brother staked like that in front of a palace he’d never seen himself. “With nobles, we drive the stake along the spine, allows them to live for a couple days, allows them to writhe in pain until they are nothing but a sputtering mess. Maybe I will let you say your goodbyes, then- when his toes are giving out and he’s finally been penetrated all the way through.”

The princess couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think either. She only stared blankly at the world in front of her, breaths oddly controlled. It was as if she completely shut off.

Aldis tsked and tucked the princess’ green-jeweled dagger between his pants and belt. He demanded the girl stand, but when she only continued to stare off into space, he picked her up himself. The commander would probably want to stake her, too, but Aldis was rather fond of keeping her.

Maybe as an added horror to the enemy kingdom, he would have a wedding conducted, and he’d marry the princess. Not because he loved her- he despised the little mouse- but because it would guarantee Aldis and his father obtained more land without having to fight in more battles. They were annoying- the constant battles- and Aldis was growing bored of killing. After the prince was dead, of course, because impaling a prince was always a sight to see. And now he had a princess to provide him a show when it happened, too.

******

Part 2 here

( @whatwhumpcomments )

[chalkrevelations]

OK, y’all, I’m back, finally, with Word of Honor Episode 8, and I have … a LOT of notes on this one. I’m trying to figure out how to organize this. Buckle up, I guess, because this is kind of a long one.

First of all, the usual warning: SPOILERS. This is a re-watch, so there are spoilers not only for this episode, but for the entire show. Scroll away and come back later if you want to watch all 36.5 eps unspoiled.

So, this is an ep that’s really good to me, because the found-family dynamic is one of the things that sold me on the show, and a ton of the ensemble work that builds and enriches that dynamic is centered on scenes about food and eating together, on literally nourishing the body(ies) of the family, from A-Xiang’s repeated instances of cooking bread on a stick over a fire, to fish soup with Ye Baiyi, to Wen Kexing’s elaborate New Year’s meal, and all the various and sundry restaurant sit-downs in between. Feeding each other and eating together is how these characters form bonds. Alternately, inability to provide sustenance or rejection of food implies distance. The point at which Zhou Zishu is still denying Chengling’s request to become his disciple, he’s unable to cook a fish properly for the poor kid to eat. Cao Weining falls in love at first sight and immediately buys A-Xiang not one, but two dinners, because the first one gets cold and he’s going to spend the rest of his life providing the best (emotional) nourishment he can for her. Paying for Ye Bayi’s meal earns a favor from him. When A-Xiang is separated from Wen Kexing and Zhang Chengling and Zhou Zishu, she eats up the little corn family she sees as representative of them, as if she can keep them with her by taking the food that represents them into herself. Despite the fact that Zhou Zishu is losing his sense of taste (evidenced by his ability to suck down wine that any and everyone else spits out in disgust), he continues to fully participate in meals, sharing food and both accepting and providing choice bits to Chengling and WKX at Siji Manor, in a scene that is possibly the most heartfelt domestic bit of the show. Rejecting (dramatically so) the table that’s been set for him by Prince Jin is symbolic of Zhou Zishu’s rejection of their relationship. And as we ultimately learn from Ye Baiyi’s storyline, eating is what makes us human, with all of our messy, painful, gorgeous connections to the world, in contrast to the icy seclusion of immortality. Which makes me feel some kind of way about the facts that WKX started out by burning A-Xiang’s mouth on too-hot porridge before he learned how to take care of her and was saved by her in Ghost Valley and that A-Xiang and WKX, who are both trying to find their way back to the human world from the world of ghosts, become the primary physical nourishers in their relationships with Cao Weining, Zhang Chengling, and Zhou Zishu. It also makes me feel some kind of other (ambivalent) way that part and parcel of the immortality Ye Baiyi achieves for a time and passes on is predicated on being willing to only eat and drink ice and snow, and the symbolic ways that separates you from the rest of the world and from forming the various connections we see forged through food.

All of which is to say that I’m delighted by this ep, where one of the first scenes is an extremely awkward dinner scene at the restaurant with ZZS, WKX, A-Xiang and Cao Weining, which not only plays into a lot of that, but is also comedy gold, and possibly one of the best scenes of the ep (and I say that knowing we’re eventually going to be getting to Han Ying, My Beloved). It’s hilarious how irritated WKX is by the mere fact of Cao Weining’s existence (JunJun, your little pouty face, it’s amazing). And it is triply hilarious how much of a whole-ass troll ZZS manages to be when he realizes the opportunity this presents. I’m not sure we’ve seen ZZS this cheerful … well, yet, at this point in the show, as when he’s just realized how much WKX clearly disapproves of this character who’s after his baby girl and how much of a chance this provides to fuck with WKX. It’s such an asshole move, but at the same time, it’s so weirdly charming to see him willing to play like this. It gives us a great character grace note right in the middle of the comedy - it’s the sort of teasing we see from him with Jiuxiao over the hairpin in Ep 1, and at the same time, it’s also kind of subtle, I think, in the way it calls back to almost the entire ZZS-WKX relationship up to this point. ZZS has clearly been paying attention – almost everything he says to Cao Weining is him giving up with both hands stuff that WKX has had to pry out of him with a crowbar. And it’s blazingly obvious that it’s deliberate. When he compliments CWN, ZZS comments that “it’s our fate to meet each other,” directly echoing what WKX said to ZZS in Ep 2. He waves off the price of dinner, telling CWN that “money is just a possession” after making WKX beg for his wallet and deploy the Sadness Eyebrows before he was willing to hand it over in the last ep. He immediately volunteers his name (or, at least, the name he’s using, Zhou Xu), and asks CWN’s in return. He waxes eloquent about CWN’s sect and background. WKX’s entire face journey through all of this is a delight to watch. ZZS repeats that it’s their fate to meet, and WKX’s eyes almost roll out of his head. ZZS invites CWN to sit and have a drink together, and WKX’s mouth literally drops open. Finally, when WKX learns that A-Xiang is not going to make this interloper go away because he’s her ticket into Yueyang sect, he orders her to go find his wallet (presumably knowing that CWN will follow her when she leaves). As CWN leaves, ZZS reassures him that making friends is “mostly about resonance,” and the implication I presume, is that there is resonance between ZZS and CWN (and yeah, in more ways than one, as CWN will be the ZZS stand-in as these two relationships grow more and more parallel), in contrast to a supposed lack of resonance between ZZS and WKX. I … am not entirely sure that this is just to fuck with WKX, although it’s definitely part and parcel of that, or if it’s a little bit of ZZS trying to convince himself, particularly given a moment later in the ep, which I’ll get to later. In which case, sure, A-Xu. You keep telling yourself that. You didn’t get off at ALL on him staring at you like you’re the most gorgeous thing on earth. Uh-huh.

Outside, A-Xiang and CWN have a little foodie moment together, and if there ever was a fandom that needed a food-truck AU, it’s this one. I’m SO glad that after A-Xiang and Cao-dage got married, they settled down together and opened that little restaurant just down the mountain from Siji Manor. (Shut. Up.) Meanwhile, ZZS and WKX continue to drink inside, now that they’ve gotten rid of the kids. They discuss Mo Huaiyang (:spits:), with ZZS calling him a “cunning old fox” and wondering what a big rabbit like CWN is doing in his den (owowowoOW). WKX promises to get A-Xiang to check on ZZS’s disciple inside Yueyang Sect – he kind of emphasizes that your disciple bit, like he doesn’t really care at all what happens to Chengling, nuh-uh. OK, my dude, you keep telling yourself that, I guess. There’s yet another discussion about Philanthropist Wen’s real motives, which he claims are to empty out hell, which is metaphorically taken to mean saving the damned, although he probably literally means razing Ghost Valley and maybe the jianghu along with it, as he warns ZZS once again that “the fiercest ghosts tend to disguise themselves as human.” And because everything has a triple meaning in this show, this also, again, is also, again, a warning about himself – that he may look human, but he’s not, really.

Meanwhile, Chengling’s been delivered to Gao Chong at Yueyang Sect, where he’s undergoing the worst kind of family bonding. We learn where ShenShen gets his sparkling way with people, when Gao Chong’s first move is to frown at Chengling, feel his biceps and want to know if he’s sick, because he’s such a weakling. We also see where ShenShen gets the yelling and threats of violence. Both Gao Chong and ShenShen put the press on Chengling for the Glazed Armor, as he continues to insist he doesn’t remember anything about it, while Zhao Jing continues to be the “reasonable” one, tearfully telling Gao Chong to be nicer to the traumatized orphan for the sake of his father, oh, oops, I didn’t mean to remind Da-ge of the estrangement with Mirror Lake that’s mentally torturing him now and make him so emotional that this conversation gets cut short, no really, that was not my intention at all, my bad. Sure, buddy. Anyway, this gives us confirmation that Zhang Yusen hadn’t been interacting with his Five Lakes brothers for a while before Mirror Lake was targeted. But never mind that, you can trust us, Gao Chong tells Chengling, and follows up by asking him: Besides us, who can you trust? Which does not actually sound that trustworthy, my guy, and I begin to suspect that Five Lakes Alliance is running things because you’re the biggest bullies, as not a single one of you seems to know how to be the least bit politic. Except for Awful Yifu, who’s not so much adept at politics as at skullduggery. ANYWAY, when asked who he can trust, we can see Chengling thinking “MY NEW DADS” like it’s lit up in neon over his head. We also see him continue to press or clutch the place on his abdomen where we previously saw his injury, so that’s still bothering him, and I can’t imagine why it might do that any time he has to argue with one of these Five Lakes assholes about the Glazed Armor, amirite? I do also notice, though, that he calls both Gao Chong and Zhao Jing “bobo,” which I think is a more familial term for uncle? as opposed to “shishu” for ShenShen, which is martial, and I’m not sure exactly what distinction he’s driving home by doing so, but there you go. Chengling is sent away to rest, and on leaving the hall he immediately gets bullied by Xie Wuyang, one of Zhao Jing’s undercover Yueyang twinks, before being rescued by Gao Xiaolian, daughter of Gao Chong. She takes him to his new room, which faces right onto the training grounds, because no one’s told him yet how much he needs to build himself up, right? And we get to see a bunch of little Yueyang shits who acted like good boys and promised Xiaolian to her face that they would train with Chengling but who then immediately turn around and start mocking him as soon as she goes away, so WKX’s assessment of how the jianghu is full of assholes continues to look kind of correct. What is Cao Weining doing in this whole hive of scum and villainy?

We get a brief detour here to go with Xiaolian to meet Cao Weining and A-Xiang, and she agrees to let A-Xiang stay with her, before a disciple comes to get her to help set up for taking Chengling to worship at the Five Lakes Alliance memorial. Xiaolian helpfully lets us know that this is weird, because it’s going to be dark soon. A-Xiang sneaks away and informs WKX and ZZS that this is weird, because it’s going to be dark soon. ZZS and WKX also spot some of the Tian Chuang Action Lanterns and surmise that some “feudal lords” seen outside the city are up to no good, so they go and skulk in the bushes along the road to the Five Lakes Alliance monument.

This is getting super-long, so I’m going to get right to the next important part, which is the bit where Han Ying (My Beloved) and his Tian Chuang forces have laid a trap for Gao Chong and Chengling on the way back from the monument, and they try to kidnap Chengling. Han Ying continues to be cold, haughty, and capable at his job right up to the moment when ZZS jumps out of the bushes to foil the kidnapping with his signature Swiftly Moving Steps and a frankly ridiculous bit of gauzy fabric tied around the bottom half of his face as a disguise. Han Ying’s instant change of demeanor is something to behold – he can’t even notice that WKX has him by the throat around the hearts in his eyes as he recognizes ZZS. Which, let’s face it, he ought to, because ZZS spent a decade and a half running around with all of these guys with the bottom half of his face covered, so you’d think more of them would recognize him, but apparently the Cover Girl bangs throw them off. Anyway, WKX grabs Han Ying and they use him as a hostage to get Tian Chuang to release Gao Chong, Chengling and a bunch of Yueyang disciples. Once everyone else is gone, WKX and ZZS drag Han Ying into the bushes, where he hits his knees ten times faster than WKX has yet for ZZS, so maybe it’s WKX’s own fault that he’s left standing around, ignored and vinegary. Han Ying is back to the puppy-dog he was around ZZS in Ep 1, and interestingly, the way Zhang Zhehan is styled here makes ZZS look more severe than he has in a while – he’s got a lot of his hair up in the high pony that looks a bit like the topknot from the front, all the rest of his hair is back behind his shoulders, and his bangs are pushed back out of his face more than usual, making him look more like his Tian Chuang self as he talks to Han Ying. Who he calls Ying’er, and omg, fuck you subtitles, for not including this because HE CALLS HIM YING’ER AND I’M DYING. (Also, oh god, I just realized that the Ying of his name is the same character as “hero.” Which, just, the simple fact of it, of course, but also it was used in the “hero saving the beauty/beauty saving the hero” (overdubbed) lip-read from Ep 6, and now I’m dying on the floor, because that’s kind of a weird little link between Zhen Yan WKX and Han Ying already. It’s likely coincidence, but it’s potentially USEFUL, yes, all my fic writers out there?) Anyway, Han Ying is desperately worried - he knows something’s wrong, because ZZS isn’t bothering to disguise himself with that awful fake face anymore to keep himself safe from Prince Jin’s spies, and also, HOW IS YOUR INJURY, MY LORD? (DO YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TAKE TENDER CARE OF YOU?) WKX continues to look vaguely uncomfortable about this whole thing that’s going on right in front of his salad. Han Ying swears he’ll do anything for ZZS. WKX clears his throat loudly to draw attention and suggestively asks if he should leave for a while. (I am not shitposting here, this actually, literally happens.) ZSS literally huffs in annoyance and ignores him. He tells Han Ying that he saw signs of Tian Chuang at Yueyang and thought they were after him. We can see Han Ying thinking, “No, if I’d known you were here, you’d have found me on my knees by your bedside waiting patiently like a good boy.” We learn that Duang Pengju (that asshole) has had Han Ying looking for the Glazed Armor since the Mirror Lake massacre, probably to take credit for anything he finds. Han Ying reiterates that he’ll do anything for ZZS, and ZZS tells him to stay out of all this, saying that what Han Ying can do for him is stay alive (well, OW).

After this, we get a scene of ZZS and WKX still hanging around by the side of the road after dark. ZZS sincerely thanks WKX for his help, and says he owes WKX a favor. WKX asks him what’s really going on with ZZS and Chengling. ZZS says that he couldn’t stand around and do nothing while this kid was in danger, likely stirring some Zhen Yan feels in WKX that we don’t officially know about yet, at this point. ZZS asks WKX, again, about his Weird Thing about the Five Lakes Alliance and whether it was a coincidence that WKX was at Mirror Lake for the massacre. WKX goes vaguely Ghost Valley Master wild-eyed and says of course not! before laughing and saying, “I followed you, remember?” He gets friend-zoned and follows up by asking ZZS, “Why don’t you ask what I think of you?” ZZS – pretty unconvincingly, tbqh – says he doesn’t care and stomps off, leaving WKX to stare after him soulfully and call him zhiji. Much like that resonance thing earlier - you keep telling yourself that, A-Xu. The next time we see them, they’re at the marketplace, probably the next day, and you remember that thing I said about bonding via food? We’ve come back full circle to that, too. Zhen Yan WKX is 7 years old again, he wants some reassurance that he is ZZS’s super-special friend, and he works his way through the marketplace making ZZS buy him every sweet thing to eat that he can find. Every time ZZS has to pull out his wallet, he makes this pissy little face, but he keeps paying. ZZS is hopeless at cooking, but if you can’t make your own, store-bought will do, WKX is craving reassurance, and as uncomfortable as ZZS is with how close WKX has gotten at this point, he continues to provide it. I also want to point out another censorship dub here, thanks again to AvenueX on Youtube: As they’re figting over the way WKX is spending ZZS’s money in this scene, when WKX tries to grab ZZS’s hand, and ZZS is all ‘”Don’t touch me,” the voice dubbing has WKX say that repaying ZZS is no big deal, he’ll just let ZZS order him around, with ZZS’s response being to tell him to get lost, then. OTOH, lip-read gives us, from WKX, that it’s no big deal, he’ll sell the rest of his life to ZZS, with ZZS’s response as a threat to sell him to a brothel, then. :hands:

Quick wrap-up from there: They go watch some exotic dancers, only there turns out to be an unexpected pile of heads in the follow-up magician’s act, which turn out to be from the guys who were in the “bridal party” at the Ghost Valley “wedding” a few eps ago, and everyone swears vengeance against the Ghost Valley. WKX and ZZS go to visit Chengling, who is supposedly sick and can’t see them, but they get introduced to Gao Chong. Gao Chong and WKX are weird at each other, and ZZS is increasingly suspicious. He’s got his thinky face on, and we don’t get any literally pokey fingers, but I can’t help but think there are some mental pokey fingers going on, as he turns over all the info he knows in his head. Then some Yueyang disciple comes shrieking in about a dead body, omg, death, destruction, death, and Gao Chong is all, Seriously? In front of guests? before we’re out.

[perkynurples]

... May I ask you about the slow excruciating progression from Meng Yao to Jiggy?

also paging @holdmycaffeine and @cadencekismet, who asked me for the very same, and @acutebird-fics, who is my partner in crime deep philosophical discussions about these characters, and a great deal of this messy essay is informed by those

Tl;dr: JGY is a multifaceted character and the author struggles not to lose her mind trying to find the right words to describe that. Literally every single point of this rant is up for discussion, begging for it even, so please don’t hesitate to engage me, but, like... tomorrow, maybe. After I sleep it off.

Meta I used or referenced: THIS ONE explaining how JGS deciding to give him the name GuangYao is all kinds of wrong | THIS ONE talking about the red bindi-like Jin forehead dots, among other things | THIS ONE about his capacity for evil and his own recognition thereof

-

Alright, without any fancy preamble, here goes. Honestly, whenever I think about JGY for more than three seconds, it becomes painfully evident that there are two wolves inside me at all times - one wants to spend tens of thousands of words exploring his narrative, his choices, his abilities and his failings, his capacity for violence as well as his capacity for love...

And the other one just likes to call him a gremlin in chief in a fancy hat, and doesn’t want to go much further than that. I’m going to try and feed them both.

The thing that pisses me off about Meng Yao is just. The fact that he doesn’t stay Meng Yao, and we get to watch it happen in slow motion. You get a tiny little twink-ass kid who suddenly finds himself adopted into the Nie by the Sect Leader himself, and this is Meng Yao, the son of one of Jin Guangshan’s many mistresses, who doesn’t have a whole lot going for him aside from that, at that moment - his cultivation, weak. His opportunities, nonexistent. His dick, small. His political savvy, only just starting to show itself.

And this guy gets the chance of a lifetime presented to him on a Qinghe-silver platter. Like, we can argue about book canon and try and decide if he did anything at all to make NMJ notice him, but show canon makes it all the more hilarious (again, please refer to this gem of a post for a level of humor I’m sorely incapable of) - you’re seventeen, and the Batman of the cultivation world picks you up and elevates your status across swathes of societal norms, to a level you previously could have only dreamed of.

It’s interesting to me to try and imagine if this was the moment that Meant Something - in the grand scope of things, of course it did, because it started MY on the road to JGY, but also to Meng Yao personally, in terms of what he believed he could comfortably achieve. I do not for a second believe he started out wanting to murder people to reach his goal, or that he even had a good goal to begin with - being accepted by his father, maybe. Murdering the (at the time) greatest villain in the world, becoming a renowned spy, landing an incredibly beneficial sworn brotherhood, et cetera et cetera? I mean, the kid has wet dreams, but no way do they reach this far at this point in his life.

But so many things about him are unclear. Show canon changes his timeline, in that he met NMJ before he met Lan Xichen, and even accompanied NHS to the Cloud Recesses. Either way, his stint with the Nie is incredibly personally important to him. I firmly believe he loved and admired them, in his own way. He certainly flourished under NMJ’s tutelage and approval, but in the end, his motivations, his entire raison d’etre, clashed with NMJ’s too much. To Meng Yao, who’d gotten kicked down those infamous Koi Tower stairs for daring to ask for his father’s attention, murdering a guy for slandering him and his mother was a natural outcome of being slandered his entire life, and finally having had enough - to NMJ, it was unforgivable.

But this still isn’t where Meng Yao becomes Jin Guangyao, and it begs the goddamn question - how much of what JGY was perfectly willing and capable of doing to stay in power, had been present in Meng Yao that entire time? You see him make excuses that someone who isn’t NMJ, with his incredibly staunch morals and black-and-white view of the world, might have even accepted, but instinctively, you know - making excuses is just how it’s going to be with this guy.

Because Meng Yao, as well as Jin Guangyao, lies, and he is damn good at it. He is so good at it, that he lies his way to the very top of the Wen, all the way to Wen Ruohan’s side. His lying is what enables him to become Jin Guangyao. And like any good liar, he doesn’t only lie to the people around him - he also lies to himself.

And I can’t blame him, because - been there. Lying to yourself becomes absolutely necessary, when you want to keep everyone else around you believing in a mask you wear. You need to start believing it, at least a little bit, at least sometimes, for it to work.

At this point, you’re probably wondering - but Annie, what about the time he spent a year sheltering Lan Xichen? Did he lie then? Was he not just Meng Yao, a poor but cunning bookkeeper, then? I’m getting there, I swear. Slowly and in a roundabout sort of way, because honestly, I don’t know how I can start talking about the LXC of it all, without it turning into a novel.

Because whichever way you twist it, whatever canon you choose to follow, one constant remains - A-Yao’s feelings for Lan Xichen. I’m deliberately not calling him Meng Yao or Jin Guangyao, because it’s these feelings that divide the two, but also ultimately unify them, fatally so. But we’ll get there.

In one version of events, Meng Yao travels to Cloud Recesses at the behest of NMJ, and falls in love with a statue made of jade there. In another version of events, they meet during something LXC only describes as ‘the shame of a lifetime’. Both of those events lead to Meng Yao sheltering LXC, hiding him, saving his life and those precious Gusu Lan texts.

Whatever version of events you choose to see as the right one, one other truth also remains - Lan Xichen offers freely and without asking that which Meng Yao has had to struggle to attain, that which has been denied to him time and time again, based only on the circumstances of his birth: respect. Lan Xichen never looks down on him, never brings up his origins, and instead extends him respect and dignity in a way only he is capable of - no fucking wonder Meng Yao admires him. No fucking wonder, when this amazing guy, this perfect pristine handsome number one young cultivator, looks at him, smiles at him, and actually sees him, son of a whore or not.

No fucking wonder Meng Yao loves him, and Jin Guangyao continues loving him. No fucking wonder he never means to hurt him, but does so anyway.

But here’s the thing - lying to yourself to make things work only gets you so far. Do I think Meng Yao spends restless nights in cold sweat dreading who he’s becoming, thinking about all the lives he’s taken to further his goals? Absolutely not. Do I think he does good things, often even great things, because it helps him feel better about himself? Do I think he both loves Xichen and keeps him around because it’s beneficial to him, having the Lan Sect Leader in his pocket, but also personally speaking, having someone who so firmly believes in the goodness in him? You bet your overly adorned murderhat I do.

And frankly, reducing Jin Guangyao to one or the other - coldblooded murderer or a man plagued by his own insecurities, helpless and trying to be kind in a world that’s so evidently against him - is doing a character like him a huge disservice. You have to consider all sides, if you want to truly understand him. Hell, I myself am by no means claiming to truly understand him! He pisses me off daily, and I’m writing this stream-consciousness-y thing because he simply won’t shut up in my head.

This kid makes Choices, and here’s the catch - he doesn’t regret a whole lot of them. If anything, I’d like to think he regrets going along with his father’s plans for so fucking long before finally realizing that avenue won’t bring him what he seeks. Killing Jin Guangshan, by the way? Very sexy of him, that I’ll admit. Guy was a pig.

But even the obviously Good Choices he makes? Building those damn watchtowers? Letting Mo Xuanyu stay at Koi Tower? Seating Qin Su by his side at that same throne where his shitty father entertained concubine after concubine? (Frankly, please make up your own mind as to whether he was lying or telling the truth about learning about Qin Su being his sister before or after they’d consummated their marriage, I’m choosing to believe that he hadn’t known.)

How much of it really happens out of the goodness of his own heart, and how much of it happens because he wants to improve his own reputation, kintsugi away the minuscule cracks in his own image until he’s once again a perfect picture of Jin gold? Is he himself even capable of telling the difference, recognizing where his good intentions end and his desire to look out for number one begins? When you spend so much time crafting your own perfect mask, in your own head as well as others’, the lines blur real fast.

I think ultimately, he craves respect as much as he does pity, and those two never mesh well - the cultivation world never truly accepts him, his father certainly never truly accepts him, but Jin Guangyao is not Wei Wuxian, he can’t just look at all of these perceived injustices and slights, all of this gossip and slander, and say ‘Whatever’. No, Meng Yao takes one look at the world standing against him so very vehemently, and decides to fight it, fight tooth and nail for his place in it, until he comes out Jin Guangyao on the other side, gilded and pristine, ascending the stairs of Jinlintai to exact his revenge on anyone who dares not accept him.

The Guanyin Temple, in a way, is a perfect little vignette of his character - we observe him wildly oscillating between seeking out the aforementioned respect and pity, confessing boldly and laughing loudly one second, and pleading on his knees and clutching onto Lan Xichen’s robe the next. To him, that night, and everything leading up to it, is a series of footholds - the ground begins crumbling under his feet when he learns of the letter, and he has to act fast. 

He buys himself time, excuse after excuse, thinking on his feet, and here’s the thing - he’s not necessarily the best at that. Anymore. Up until that point, until the letter and Qin Su and WWX turning up, everything is going according to plan, and his plan at this point is, frankly, correct me if I’m wrong, sitting pretty at the top of his golden tower and making sure the truth about him never comes to light, which... Well, we all know the truth has a nasty way of coming around when it’s least convenient for you. 

And I think Jin Guangyao (not Meng Yao) is, at that point, unused to being inconvenienced. Everything he ever does, he calculates, he twists the public opinion of himself, he twists individual people’s opinions of himself, to suit him - nothing unexpected ever happens anymore, because he’s played the game long enough to foresee most things. Nie Huaisang beats him at that same game, not because he has a huge plan spanning decades of his own, but because he’s good at improvising, kicking the hornet’s nest and then knowing where to direct the fallout - but that is another essay all of its own waiting to happen.

For now, I feel like I need to wrap this up before I lose my mind. Personally (and please feel free to challenge me on this any time), I don’t feel like there’s a single defining moment, or even a handful of them, traumatic or otherwise, that irrevocably turns Meng Yao into Jin Guangyao. Sure, being kicked down the literal stairs leading to a better place for you a handful of times will have you feeling some kind of way. Sure, serving a maniacal warlord while playing an impossibly high-stakes game of spy poker will leave a mark or two. Sure, your sworn brother spitting in your face the very insults you’ve been hearing your whole life and never learned to shake off, will make one more vestige of patience inside you irrevocably crumble to smithereens. But.

Your whole life, you work very, very hard. You know to put your head down and get your hands dirty, but you also know that sometimes, the best way out of a hairy situation is turning on those puppy eyes and appearing just a smidgen weaker, a smidgen more frightened and helpless, than you actually are. And if, when you actually tell the truth and people still don’t believe you, lying becomes easier, becomes, eventually, so easy it feels as natural as breathing? Well. Might as well use that particular skillset to sneak your way through a war, am I right? Might as well use it to build yourself a nest among the very vultures who resent you, and whom you resent, and make sure that they have to respect you.

In the end, to me? Jin Guangyao is the guy who jumps from person to person, from callout to very personal callout, there in the Guanyin Temple, just to stall for time, just to regain some sort of foothold in the situation - he’s the guy who probably views losing an arm as a necessary sacrifice, shakes it off and still gets to work from there.

Meng Yao is the guy who wants to take his mother with, and who asks Lan Xichen the one question he’s dreaded knowing the answer to his entire life - not ‘will you stay and die with me?’, but the one that hides beyond that.

Is this what devotion is? Respect? Love? Is there, at this moment in time, enough of all of those things in your heart that you will, in fact, stay and die with me?

When Lan Xichen says yes, without words but still loudly enough to be understood without a doubt, Meng Yao is relieved, while Jin Guangyao is vindicated.

When Lan Xichen says yes, neither version of A-Yao needs to hear any more than that - the seventeen-year-old boy shooting a shot way above his station and loving a statue made of jade, who wants Lan Xichen to survive, and the man wearing the wrong name and the title of the first Chief Cultivator of his generation, who wants Lan Xichen to live with the weight of all his mistakes and misgivings, are both, for once, in accord. They’re both happy, and they both make that final push to save him.

In conclusion, if there even is one to this jumble of random thoughts... Jin Guangyao and Meng Yao are one and the same. Aspects of one can be found in the other, but neither feels remorse about his choices. Both of them, in turn, are capable of amazing things. Both of them are, in fact, capable of decidedly horrible things. One builds a wall around the other so thick, so impenetrable, you only catch glimpses, and only the ones he allows you to see. One learns very quickly that vulnerability is dangerous, unless employed proactively, and the other one perfects the craft.

Both of them believe they are perfectly justified in their actions. Both of them believe their own line of reasoning, their own excuses. Both of them want to be loved, for very different reasons, or for the very same ones, at the end of the day.

Both of them aspire to greatness, Meng Yao some vague idea of it instilled in him by his mother teaching him to believe his own worth, Jin Guangyao a more concrete vision of it, always one step ahead, one step higher up those gilded stairs. Both of them are willing to excuse a whole lot to reach it, too.

And when Jin Guangyao finally stands in Koi Tower, properly this time, wearing that coveted golden peony, wearing that red zhushazhi and a much nicer version of the hat his mother always told him to wear, but also wearing the wrong fucking name, one that barely gives him a spot in the family he belongs to by blood?

All he needs to do is take one look in the mirror to see Meng Yao staring back, always there with him, always ready to remind him where he came from. He’s seventeen years old, and he just buried his mother, and somewhere out there, the rest of his life awaits. His smile is all dimples, and that, too, they have in common.

Time to get to work, Meng Yao suggests, and Jin Guangyao agrees.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I am grinning like a FOOL at nmj/wwx/lwj. Aaaaaahhh just imagine the looks on everyone’s faces ESPECIALLY the jins, can you IMAGINE. Every sect except their own has entered a marriage alliance in one swoop, and that marriage alliance includes three of the most powerful cultivators alive. I’m in love with this.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, past 5 - aka Pastime (with good company)

-

“I can forgive you for getting married, but not for making me tell Uncle about it,” Lan Xichen said without ceremony as he swept into the room like a puff of aggravated white cloud – and yes, he was well aware that was how he was coming off, he had plenty of self-awareness. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was actually upset anymore; he hadn’t seen so many secret little smiles from Lan Wangji since their childhood. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him turn that shade of red before. I think he was even thinking of throwing something at me!”

“Did you mention the bit where it technically fulfilled his requirements regarding devoting to a single spouse?” Nie Mingjue asked from behind his teacup, eyes bright with amusement and not even a speck of shame. It was just like him, too; Nie Mingjue was not one to regret decisions he had made. “Huaisang mentioned that you’d said that: I rather liked that one.”

“I did,” Lan Xichen said, making a face at Nie Mingjue and causing him to laugh. “It didn’t help. As you probably could have guessed, you – oh! A-Yao, be careful, you’re spilling the tea.”

Jin Guangyao looked down at where he’d filled his teacup to overflowing. “Ah,” he said, and put the teapot down, reaching for a piece of cloth to clean up the mess on the table. “Forgive me, I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing…I’m sorry, er-ge, did you say that da-ge was marrying? And you – told your uncle about it, for some reason?”

“Well, there wasn’t much of a choice,” Lan Xichen sighed, sitting down and accepting the cup of tea that Nie Mingjue slid over to him instead. “Since one of his brides is going to be my brother.”

“Your brother? You mean – Wangji? And - one of his brides…?”

“He only has the one brother; who else could he mean?” Nie Mingjue pointed out, and Lan Xichen shot him a glare to remind him to behave – it wasn’t Jin Guangyao’s fault that he probably had more siblings than he could count on both hands and feet, after all.

“Yes,” he said, turning to Jin Guangyao. “Forgive me, A-Yao, I entirely forgot you weren’t at the Unclean Realm when this was all being discussed at the start. As it stands now, Da-ge will be taking two brides to share the position of first wife, one of which is my brother.”

Jin Guangyao was blinking very rapidly, clearly attempting to process the information and just as clearly having some difficulty. Possibly at the idea of Nie Mingjue getting married at all, much less in a cutsleeve marriage – in fact, Lan Xichen wasn’t sure he’d ever mentioned to him that Lan Wangji was a cutsleeve. 

Did Jin Guangyao maybe have some lingering prejudices? It seemed unlikely, given what Lan Xichen knew of his personality, but such issues were more often seen among the common people…

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said. “And…who’s the other one?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue said, and he looked so incredibly pleased about it that Lan Xichen reluctantly shelved the idea of scolding him further. A smile from Lan Wangji, a smile from Wei Wuxian, a smile from Nie Mingjue – anything that caused this many smiles was bound to be a good thing.

Even if poor Jin Guangyao’s smile did look a bit strained…

-

“He’s what?!”

Jin Guangyao held his hands apart as if to indicate he had no idea how it had happened either, and Jin Zixuan thought that for once in his life his duplicative half-brother might be completely and utterly sincere. “He confirmed it himself.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jin Guangshan growled, having apparently decided to skip over shock in favor of paranoid theorizing. “Of course – all this time, Nie Mingjue pretended to disdain the Stygian Tiger seal, looking down on it, but in reality he was seeking his own means of obtaining it –”

Jin Zixuan didn’t think that was especially likely.

He’d fought with Nie Mingjue during the war as one of his lieutenants. Even though his father had insisted that the Jin sect fight under its own banner, it’d quickly become obvious that none of the generals his father had appointed had the slightest idea of what they were doing, unlike Nie Mingjue; to keep his people from enduring another slaughter, Jin Zixuan had forced himself to swallow his pride and ask Nie Mingjue for advice.

The other man had never once lorded it over him, even though Jin Zixuan was in the weaker position – his letters had been straightforward and to the point, answering his questions without any judgment, and when they worked together in person, he was the same.

Jin Zixuan had spent entire nights worrying about his motives, and a shamefully long time to realize that the reason Nie Mingjue was acting the way he did was because he was just – like that. Honest and forthright and disinclined towards scheming, the way everyone said he was; a man who was righteous in the sense that he did what he thought was right, not in the sense of flattering himself to think he was better than others.

(Somewhere along the line, Jin Zixuan had shifted from choking down his pride to choking down guilt at thinking that Nie Mingjue was a better leader than his father – and that he’d probably have been a better father, too, no matter how Nie Huaisang had ultimately turned out. He thought, though he did not know, that if he had not adopted some of Nie Mingjue’s straightforwardness in pursuing Jiang Yanli, she might not be his bride today.)

“ – why didn’t any of us think of that?” Jin Guangshan was demanding when Jin Zixuan tuned back into the conversation, and it made him nearly choke. “A-Xuan! What sounds are you making over there?”

“Nothing, father,” Jin Zixuan said, coughing a little to clear his throat. “Merely – admiring how unorthodox Chifeng-zun’s thinking must have been.”

Jin Guangyao’s lips twitched. It was only a second, there and gone, but Jin Zixuan had still seen the little glimpse of humor. It was truly a pity, he reflected, that his brother wanted his position more than his friendship; they might have been good friends, in another world. Of course, that was the way things went in Lanling, with each person out for themselves, but ever since he’d married Jiang Yanli, he’d started to think that perhaps the greedy, grasping, conniving world his father had cultivated around him wasn’t the right way to lead a sect.

He used to think that the Jin sect was better than everyone else because of the way they thought – that only they were honest enough to acknowledge the frailties in human nature and to make use of them, rather than pretending that people could really be brave and righteous and true, that friendship was a real thing rather than another name for allies of convenience, that love was anything more than a momentary lapse, a weakness – but he didn’t any more. The other righteous sects might be naïve in their belief in righteousness, but believing in righteousness encouraged righteous behavior; even if it was done only as a façade, for most people, the façade would eventually turn into truth after it became enough of a habit.

For most people, anyway.  

Jin Zixuan had done his best to like his new brother – upstanding war hero that he was – but he couldn’t quite manage it. He was too familiar with people who came to him with gentle smiles that hid daggers, and his mother, while far too vicious, was unfortunately right that those who shared his parentage all seemed to have their eyes fixed firmly on his position.  Jin Guangyao might pretend that he didn’t, but some of the moves he’d made were a little too obviously meant to be consolidations of power: courting the Qin girl, being friendly with certain dissatisfied factions…

Jin Zixuan heard that Jin Guangyao had once been Nie Mingjue’s deputy, wearing a façade of righteousness, and their current enmity had been birthed once the other man had seen what he was really like.

It seemed like a bad trade to him, scrabbling for scraps in Lanling instead of being respected as a man in Qinghe, but he supposed he was in no position to judge. He’d had all the advantages in the world given to him at his birth, and he’d still taken so very long to figure out that righteousness was actually worth something by itself.

His father was still ranting about Wei Wuxian, with his half-brother indulging him with nods and questions that didn’t achieve anything other than making his father feel good about himself for having guessed right, and eventually Jin Zixuan was sick enough of it to feel the need to divert the conversation.

“Whatever his motives may be for marrying Wei Wuxian,” he said, “surely those reasons don’t apply to Hanguang-jun, who possesses no secret power to be obtained. It’s not as though the Nie sect needs a connection to the Lan sect – Chifeng-zun is already sworn brothers with Zewu-jun.”

He paused, deliberately, then added, as if in afterthought, “And A-Yao, of course.”

Jin Guangyao might have mastered the ways of the mistress, sweetness and support and indulgence to win favor, but Jin Zixuan had grown up with a mother that had never allowed an infamously straying husband to bring home a single concubine – if Jin Guangyao thought a few tricks were enough to get his position, he was only dreaming.

Jin Zixuan would help him wake up.

-

“Do you think it’s that he doesn’t like A-Xian enough to marry just him?” Jiang Yanli asked, biting her lip, but her husband shook his head with a laugh.

“My father couldn’t think of a reason either,” he said, looking arrogant and smug in that charming sort of way he had when he was happy. “The only thing he could come up with after hours and hours was that he might be some sort of pretty flower vase meant as a consolation for having to marry the Yiling Patriarch.”

“But you don’t think that.”

“Of course not. Chifeng-zun is a good man, and even if he wasn’t, he’s old friends with Zewu-jun, who would never allow anything like that.”

Jiang Yanli conceded the point, but that still didn’t explain why. She’d known, of course, of Jiang Cheng’s desperate gamble to protect Wei Wuxian and keep him in the Jiang sect in some manner – technically not, since he’d be under the protection of the Nie sect going forward, but this way at least made sure that he’d always have his family backing. She’d even hoped, based on some things Jiang Cheng had said to her, that Wei Wuxian was happy with the marriage, looking forward to it.

But why would Nie Mingjue take a second wife – no, another first wife – at the same time? Wasn’t that looking down at her brother?

“Personally, my theory is that he just didn’t want to get cuckolded,” Jin Zixuan said, playing with her hair. “So he took precautions against it.”

“Cuckolded?” she asked, and she could feel him turn red – her husband was sensitive about such things, a remnant of his unhappy childhood. He was terrified that she might start to suspect him of crimes he hadn’t yet committed (as if he wasn’t a terrible enough liar that she’d know at once anyway if he’d really done anything), and he usually avoided any discussion of infidelity like the plague. She wasn’t letting him off this time, though, not if Wei Wuxian’s happiness was at stake. “What do you mean? A-Xian wouldn’t betray someone he’d sworn himself to.”

Not without a good reason, anyway. The way Wei Wuxian had been behaving recently towards Jiang Cheng – towards the Jiang sect generally, especially after the business with the Wen sect remnants – could almost make her think terrible things, and only the fact she loved her brother as blindly as she did could make her unswerving in her faith that there was some purpose behind his seemingly cruel behavior.

“Probably not,” Jin Zixuan agreed. “But I mean – come on. I didn’t notice it when I was younger, because I was an idiot back then –”

He said it, not her.

“– but Wei Wuxian chased after Lan Wangji the entire time we were at the Wen indoctrination camp together. Same way I chased after you, actually.”

“With no grace or tact or knowledge of women?” she teased, and he blushed and rubbed his cheek against hers.

“Well, yes,” he said. “But I got you in the end, didn’t I?”

That was a good point.

Jiang Yanli hadn’t seen them interacting enough to really judge – convention separating men from women the way it did – but Wei Wuxian had spoken of Lan Wangji rather a lot after his time studying in the Cloud Recesses. It was certainly a plausible guess.

“So you think Sect Leader Nie married Hanguang-jun for what reason?” she asked. “To keep A-Xian from pursing him?”

“Common wisdom in Lanling says that if it’s not to create connections, then there’s only two reasons for a man to take a concubine,” Jin Zixuan said with a shrug. “One is to keep the man company – the other’s to give company to his wife.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyebrows shot up. “Company for his wife?”

“Why not? Men and women move in different circles – if a man is worried his wife might be thinking of looking for company outside, it’s better to get her someone who will be by her side all the time, isn’t it?”

Jiang Yanli covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “I suppose so,” she said. “Please don’t get me company in the future, though; I’m quite capable of making friends on my own.”

“And I,” her husband said, perking up at once, “of keeping you too busy to even think about other company –”

-

“You really think it’s all right?” Jiang Cheng asked Jiang Yanli. He trusted his sister’s judgment, but he was still worried. “I don’t want Wei Wuxian to think he has to suffer in silence –”

Jiang Yanli patted his shoulder. “A-Cheng, think about what you’re saying. I’m not saying A-Xian wouldn’t suffer, but – in silence?”

“If he thought it might hurt one of us he would,” Jiang Cheng said stubbornly. “This was my idea, and you know he’s worried about messing up your relationship with Jin Zixuan by starting too much trouble, especially with the Jin sect being the first one to jump down his throat about it. And anyway, he wasn’t chasing after Lan Wangji! He was – he –”

He frowned. He’d always thought that they disliked each other – certainly Lan Wangji’s constantly cold expression didn’t suggest he enjoyed Wei Wuxian’s teasing, although Wei Wuxian did spend an awful lot of time planning out pranks centered around Lan Wangji in specific. Or even, as Jiang Yanli had pointed out, just talking about him.

Which he did. A lot.

“What if Lan Wangji doesn’t like him back?” he asked, suddenly consumed with a brand new worry. “If Chifeng-zun goes to all that trouble for Wei Wuxian, and gets his hopes up, and then it turns out that Lan Wangji really doesn’t like him –”

“I’m sure Sect Leader Nie must have thought it over carefully before he took any action,” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Xuan tells me that he’s a good person, a good leader, and a good general – he must have a plan. Don’t you think?”

“Well, he is all that,” Jiang Cheng admitted. He wouldn’t have been so confident in his plan to marry Wei Wuxian into the Nie sect if Nie Mingjue hadn’t been as righteous as his reputation. But still…

“Why don’t you see what Wei Wuxian thinks about it?” she suggested, quite reasonably. “And anyway, he’ll still need a chaperone for their next visit, and the seasonal floods are over – you could go supervise.”

Jiang Cheng brightened. His older sister always had the best ideas. “What would I do without you?” he asked, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

She laughed. “Starve, probably. Would you like some more soup?”

“Of course! Remind me, why am I letting you go off to Lanling again..?”

[darling-i-read-it]

Ko No Mono

2x11 

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies,, will being hot as fuck

Author’s Note: I’ve made my bed now i have to lie in it. I still haven’t actually seen your guys reaction to the last episode at the tiem of writing this so hopefully it blowed over okay lol. I love Will and Hannibal dudes. 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary :Jack and his team discover the truth of Freddie Lounds' disappearance, Will tells Alana to arm herself; Mason suspects his sister intends to usurp him and Hannibal shows Will how much Abigail reminded him of his sister.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif) 

You woke up slowly this time, a nightmare less sleep. Unfortunately you felt Will beside you and you could hear how loud he was breathing. You turned around and grabbed his arm to ground him. You waited for a minute as he caught his breath and then he laid back down on the pillow before wrapping his arms around you, his head resting on your chest. 

You pet his hair and wordlessly, as though in tune, the two of you fell back asleep. Whatever dream he had was not worth talking about right now. 

-

You sat beside Will. Will sat directly across from Hannibal as he dished up your food. It was an interesting one this time around, confusing. Everything Hannibal made confused you but you were used to it at this point. 

“Among gourmands, the ortolan bunting is considered a rare-but-debauched delicacy. A rite of passage, if you will,” aHannibal said, sneaking a smile to both of you. “Preparation calls for the songbird to be drowned alive in Armagnac. It is then roasted and consumed whole in a single mouthful.” 

“Ortolans are endangered,” Will stated.

“He’s right,” you said. 

“Who amongst us is not?” Hannibal asked. You shook your head but you weren’t about to deny a Hannibal made dish. 

“I have been gorged, drowned, plucked and roasted. Not yet,” Will said simply. 

“Traditionally, during this meal, we’re to place shrouds over our heads, hiding our faces from God,” Hannibal said. “I don't hide from God.” You smiled a bit at his audacity. You picked up the bird and so did Will.

“Bones and all?” Will questioned. 

“Bones and all.” 

You and Will both ate it all in one bite. Your eyes locked with Hannibals as you did so. You swallowed after a moment. 

“After my first ortolan, I was euphoric. A stimulating reminder of our power over life and death,” Hannibal said. 

“I was euphoric when I killed Freddie Lounds,” you told him. Your mind wandered. Your hands around her neck. Will beside you.

“Did your heart race when you did it?” 

“No,” Will said. 

“Not a bit,” you retorted. 

Hannibal smiled at the two of you. You were growing in his mind, evolving. This was his design and he was liking the way it was threaded. 

-

You stood in the morgue, the charred body of Freddie Lounds in front of you. 

“Freddie Lounds ultimate failure was her inability to keep herself out of her own stories,” Jack said. 

You smiled. 

“Freddie had the longing need to be noticed,” you stated. 

“She was noticed,” Will finished. 

-

You were fuming. Absolutely fuming. You were in the room with Hannibal, Will and Margot Verger. She sat in the chair across from Hannibal but you and Will were standing. You didn’t even have the heart to sit on the desk like you usually did you were so pissed.

“There’s no baby. Isn’t even an embryo yet. I’ve got hormones in my pee. That’s the extent of it. But here I am, feeling maternal,” Margot said. 

“We’re discussing a small group of cells. Barely life, but immediately seen to be life-changing,” Hannibal said in his physiatrist voice. You had your arms crossed and despite the fact you were pissed, your face was in a careful poker face.

“I feel like everything that was done to me can almost be undone,” Margot said. 

“Through children we can disrupt our own sense of the past. We can protect them in ways we weren’t,” Hannibal inquired. You were pissed at him too. You weren’t sure why but you were sure it would come up eventually. 

“Life eventually bounces back Margot.”

“I could be good to a child. I’ll go to parenting classes,” she said like she was pleased with herself. 

“You’ve conspired with your unborn child to liberate yourself and you’ve made Will and Y/N an unknowing accomplice,” Hannibal said. 

“I got what I wanted from Will, but I didn’t understand what I was taking until the strip turned blue. Y/N was just a happy accident. I thought you were single, honestly and I’m not proud of myself,” she explained. You raised your finger to her and Will grabbed it before it slapped her in the face. 

“Nor should you be. You said-” Will started. 

“I lied,” she finished. 

You felt like you were mourning something that you figured was yours. You stared at Margot and saw the mother of your boyfriend's baby. You had one night of slippage and here was the result. Margot Verger. The Vergers. 

“You’re just as bad as your brother,” you hissed. “And did you know?” you asked Hannibal. 

“I was aware of Margot’s goal of having a child. I was not aware of the means to achieve it.”

“What do you want from us?” Will asked. Still using ‘us’. It was after he said that he realized this could ruin any relationship he had with you. He didn’t even know if you wanted kids but someone else having his child was surely a dent. He looked over at you and you couldn’t even look at him. In fact, the only person you could look at was Hannibal. 

“Little or nothing or as much as you’d like to give,” Margot said simply. You shook your head and left the room to your desk. 

You sat there and shut the door behind you. You knew you shouldn’t be mad at Will. You did it together and it was a joint decision, granted it was not really talked about. A spur of the moment, completely calculated thing. You stared at your computer, the blank black screen that reflected you back at you. 

Margot walked out and you stood up, refusing to show any emotion. 

“I hope you’re pleased,” you said simply. Will left the office but you didn’t look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. You wanted to strangle the life out of her but instead you just walked past her and Hannibal to the office, shutting the door behind you. You walked over to the chair you promised yourself you would never sit at and you sat in it. Hannibal was still sitting at his chair. 

You stared at each other.

“You swear to me you didn’t know,” you muttered.

“I did not know,” he said. “I had no idea you were bisexual.” You shook your head but you had bigger problems.

“It was a spur of the moment thing. Will and I had just…” you trailed off. “I was in the wrong headspace for her to have conniving plans.” You stared at Hannibal and stood up. “I don’t like those chairs,” you whispered. You walked over and finally sat on the desk. Hannibal got up. 

“Has Will left?” 

“He’s presumably waiting for me in the car.” You looked up at Will and tears pricked your eyes. “It’s not his fault,” you promised. Hannibal leaned against the desk beside you. 

“But you believe that this will change things.” You whipped the few stray tears.

“Shouldn’t it? I mean come on, wouldn’t it be weird if I was having your child but you were with Alana?” Hannibal laughed dryly at the comparison. You took a deep breath. “I don't even know if I want kids but...that was supposed to be my kid,” you whispered. “Will and I were gonna have that family, the family that has now started between him and Margot Verger.” 

Hannibal wiped your tears away with his thumb. He was now standing directly in front of you, looking down at you as you sat. 

“Will loves you,” he promised. “And cares about you more than I would care about Alana in your analogy.” You nodded and he hugged you. You pressed your head against his chest. 

“I just have to talk to him,” you whispered. He nodded. 

“But your emotions are valid. Don’t forget that.” Hannibal pet your hair but he felt your emotions hitting a hard chord. 

This wasn’t good. 

-

The car ride home was interesting. Silence. Uncomfortable silence. That wasn’t something that you and Will were quite accustomed to. You got into the house and immediately locked yourself in the bathroom to catch your breath. You stared in the mirror and imagined how Will must be feeling. 

Excitement to be a father? Going through things you were supposed to feel together one day? 

You opened the door and Will sat on the bed. You walked over and sat beside him, looking at your hands. 

“What does this mean?” you asked.

“If we have any more threesomes I should probably wear protection.” 

“Good advice overall however I don't’ see many more threesomes in our future,” you whispered. He wasn’t sure what you meant by that. Did you mean just in general or that you wouldn’t be together at all?

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I should be asking you how you’re feeling, father to be,” you said, voice breaking. You hid your emotions as best you could. 

“Y/N…”

“It was meant to be us,” you whispered. “The two of us. Not you and Margot Verger.” He nodded and looked over at you. “Do you want me here now that you’re having a kid with her?” The dreaded question.

“Of course I want you here,” he said quickly. “I’ll always want you here.” You looked over at him. “Do you want to be here?” You nodded even quicker. 

“I do.” 

He hugged you tightly and you wrapped your legs around his waist as you sat on the bed. You buried your face in his shoulder. The battle wasn’t over but at least you knew you had each other.

“After Abigail,” he whispered. “I dream about her. I dream about teaching her to fish,” he told you. You nodded. You felt maternal to Abigail as well.

“And Hannibal....” He nodded, pulling away from you a bit. “Robbed that from us.” 

“Yeah. He did.” 

-

Will grabbed your arm. He was sweating, it was even showing on your pajama shirt. There was a knock on the door that had woken him up from a nightmare.

“You okay?” you whispered. He nodded. 

“Who is that?”

“If it’s Margot Verger again I’ll drown her in the sink.” Will got up and walked to the door as you grabbed him a robe. You could hear from the back room that it was Alana.

“I guess I’m trying to convince myself of something. Or maybe I’m trying to convince you. Or maybe I don't know why I’m here,” she said. You walked up to the door. 

“I know why. You’re worried I killed Freddie Lounds.” 

“Did you?” Alana asked. She looked at you and you looked at her. Your friendship had unfortunately dissolved over time. She seemed so pensive now.

“What do you think?” Will asked. 

“I think that’s the wrong answer to tell somebody who is already wondering what you’re capable of,” Alana said. Will turned to you. 

“Can you make us some coffee?” 

“Two or three cups?”

“Two,” he said bluntly. You nodded and walked into the house but you could still be here. 

“I know you’re lying to me. You’ve slipped into some kind of skin and I think it fits you a little too well,” she said. 

“I told everyone Hannibal was a killer and no one believed me. Just like no one would believe you if you said I was a killer,” Will said and you smiled as you started to make coffee. 

“I'm afraid, Will. But not of you. I'm afraid for you. I don't think Hannibal is good for you. I think your relationship is destructive.” 

“Hannibal's good enough for you.” You almost clapped at that but you contend to pretend you weren’t listening. 

“You should be afraid. You’re right to be afraid.” 

-

Alana Bloom stood back at Freddie’s funeral. You were with Will but you wanted to talk to her first so you told him to wait back. You walked up to her and she let out a small sigh at your presence. 

“I’m here to mourn Freddie Lounds. Can’t imagine it’s why you’re here,” she muttered. 

“I’m here in support of my boyfriend. His psychiatrist recommended he come.” Alana looked over at you.

“They aren’t who you think they are. You may think that you know Hannibal Lecter but you don’t. I don’t think anyone does,” she said. Almost like a warning.

“Says the girl sleeping with him,” you whispered teasingly. “I know Hannibal better than you know him Alana. And I know Will better than that. You may think you’re right about every single thing Alana but I can assure you, you are not.” You whispered. She let out a huff. She can’t imagine herself being wrong. 

She walked away. 

-

You sat in the room with Will and Hannibal. You sat on the desk while they sat in the chairs, reminiscent of old times. 

“I’ve been so preoccupied with taking a life, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around making one,” he muttered.

“You and Y/N have never discussed it?” You shrugged.

“Not often. We’ve always had other things on our minds,” you admitted. “Just that if it happened it was in the future.” 

“When men become fathers, they undergo biochemical changes that affect the way they think,” Hannibal explained. 

“You said the same thing happens when men become killers,” Will inquired. 

“Fatherhood is not always a nurturing role. Fathers can be killers. In protecting a child, things trapped inside a man for years fly free, ready to explode in pain. And dangerous behavior. What sort of father would you be?” Hannibal questioned.

“He’d be a good father,” you said quietly, answering for him. 

“How quickly we form attachments to something that does not yet exist,'' Hannibal whispered. You and Hannibal shared a look.

-

You stood beside Will at a crime scene. This one was not yours. This was Hannibals. Freddie Lounds was put into a religious figure. 

“What connection do Freddie Lounds and Randall Tier have?” Jack asked. 

“The Grahams. Randall Tier was their suspect and Hannibal’s patient,” Alana said. She looked to be having a tough time. “Freddie was investigating his murder when she died.

“Freddie was investigating a lot of things when she died,” Will said. 

“This is a psychopath who has incubated fantasies of killing is translating them into action. He’s building himself up. Or somebody’s building him up,” Alana said. You and Will shared a look. 

Jack Crawford would be showing Alana Bloom Freddie tonight. Freddies body, alive, completely and utterly alive. You and Will did not kill her. Alana was breaking and Jack would show her that you and Will were not the murderers she thought you were. 

Technically.

“This is a courtship,” Alana whispered.

-

When you got word about Margot you were silent. You went with Will to the hospital silently. 

You stared at Margot Verger, without a child now, silently. 

Hannibal approached you and while Will immediately left you strayed for a moment. You looked over at him and you shared a look.

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

“I did nothing but suggest simple actions.” You nodded and grabbed his hand as you turned away. You held it for a moment. Then you followed Will.

-

Mason Verger watched his pigs. Will walked up to him and held him over the edge. You looked at him, waiting from behind. You had taken out the guard, per request. You didn’t want the child and you were relieved it was gone. That being said, you would likely back Will in anything he wanted to do. 

“You think it was Margot’s idea to have an heir? Think it was your idea to take it from her? My idea to come here and kill you? What you, your sister and I all have in common is the same psychiatrist,” Will said. He brought Mason back to the ground and you raised a gun to his head. 

“Aren’t you his secretary?” Mason questioned. “Oh you and baby daddy!” He paused. “Margot messed with the wrong throuple.” 

“If Hannibal had his dithers, you’d be wrapped around a bullet,” you said. You put the gun down. 

“He’s the one you should be feeding to your pigs,” Will finished.

2x12

[davidmann95]

So you've talked a lot about Darkseid, but what about the other New Gods?

SO THIS HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX FOR ALMOST AS LONG AS THIS BLOG’S BEEN AROUND AND I JUST FINALLY FINISHED FOURTH WORLD

Well that sure was something. My musings on some major players that I either have substantial thoughts on, or where I especially think the majority consensus/interpretation has subsequently gotten them wrong (a state Kirby is well aware of, because a HUGE part of “Even Gods Can Die!” is him being frustrated at subsequent handlings of the characters even by 1984 mucking things up):

Orion: Perhaps the most hard-done by as a result of Kirby never being able to fully finish Fourth World as he had imagined it, as his character arc ends on a cliffhanger for a decade and is forced into a rapid completion later. When he emerges, while a warrior born he’s also every bit the classical, magnificent hero you expect to see in a superhero comic to try and overshadow his inner demons, while by the end of New Gods he’s embraced not only his true face (the OTHER face, as his father would put it) in the fight against Apokolips but the murderous, sadistic rage that is his birthright, reveling in inflicting agony and very much the berserker others have since portrayed him as. Surely as much a product of his trauma from a childhood on Apokolips (a detail frequently glossed over) and a sense of being unwanted as anything genetic, it’s ultimately unconditional love for him as he truly is in Hunger Dogs that lets him overcome his fear that he can’t be anything but a monstrous tool in service of better people than himself, and embrace ‘the tomorrow overture’. Even his anger has its righteous if tragic place as a primal force of upheaval: “It defies time! It stands firm against the hammers of change! It mocks life and defies death!” I won’t get to it for awhile yet, but very curious what Simonson does with him.

Lightray: Rules! He’s the closest the New Gods have to a traditional superhero, and it’s in that capacity that while a lousy warrior next to Orion (Kalibak thinks little of his attempt at fighting him, mockingly deeming him a “callow little killer”), his strength is in transformation: he makes himself light, he turns a tormented weapon into the glory boat, a machine armed against the New Gods into a weapon against Darkseid, Orion from a man alone into a friend. He’s not a warrior, but he’s the one who makes a better world worth waging war for and who might one day make such war unnecessary. Also he and Orion have definitely fucked.

Mister Miracle: Not WILDLY off the mark since, but it’s interesting that as I expect a result of JLI he’s been written so often since as an everymanish, relatable, bordering-on-comedic figure, when under Kirby he was very much the archetypal good guy. One often committed to freeing others as he had been freed himself, in the likes of Ted Brown and Shilo Norman, an avenue I’m surprised hasn’t been explored more often from what I’ve seen. Also worth noting: Darkseid declared the moment he got his hands on the kid that Granny would be twice as hard on him as others, and that it would eventually drive the boy away and let the war resume. Which not only indicates Darkseid’s understanding of the subtlety needed in control, but would seem to take Scott’s rebellion out of his own hands…except that at the moment of his escape Darkseid still offered him a choice, implored the boy to allow him to “complete the destruction of Scott Free – so you may live with the majesty that is the power of DARKSEID!” And instead he turned his back on his god and chose to be what he is.

Barda: Shockingly, great as she’s been since, her background is often severely mischaracterized. The shorthand is “love saved her and turned her from a servant of evil to a champion of good!”, but that’s…while not entirely wrong, a bad way of presenting it. When she leaves Apokolips initially, even after she starts hanging out with Scott Free and Oberson after having helped the former escape years earlier, she still believes in Darkseid. She fights and hates her former allies not because she’s turned against his vision of the universe (this is in fact a major aspect often overlooked - under Kirby Darkseid’s agents don’t simply fear him, they sincerely believe in him and his vision of how the universe works) but because she sees them as loathsome, brutish executors of his grand design. In short, she doesn’t think it’s the system that’s the problem, but a bunch of bad apples. It’s her experience with freedom and simple pleasures and life on Earth, her lingering guilt over the death of her friend Auralie as eventually manifested in her protection and training of Shiloh Norman, and yes, her eventual realized love for Scott, that brings her around to realizing she truly desires a life beyond what Darkseid can offer.

Forever People: Okay I actually don’t have a ton to say about the Forever People, though I do think they’re underrated and underutilized. Naive and in over their heads as the frequently are they’re also the best of their peers, believing in freedom and transformation and the potential of those around them to become better - their defining moment for me is when they reassure Sonny Sumo that having the power of the Anti-Life Equation doesn’t make him a monster. “Where we come from the Anti-Life Equation is one of many others–almost as awesome!! But they merely exist!! It’s we who live!!”

Metron: The big figure I haven’t really been able to crack. Machinery as not necessarily cold mechanization but extensions of ourselves and our souls, and able to nourish them in turn, is a big aspect of Fourth World, but Metron as the embodiment of mechanization and knowledge feels like not just an outsider as he’s framed but one who never quite became whatever Kirby had in mind for him, making his crucial role at the end of Hunger Dogs a bit of a non-sequitur for me. I’d be curious to hear what other people think.

Desaad: God Desaad’s been made boring. Not that he isn’t fairly one-dimensional under Kirby too, but his craft and awful glee as the god of torture isn’t just in strapping people to tables and poking them with unpleasant tools, it’s in manipulating their emotions and agonies to a fever pitch - he should be such an unsettling figure, and instead he’s a simpering helpless toady.

Highfather: Not a perfect figure, given how he’s framed with the likes of Fastbak, and the Forever People, and the Pact, willing to deploy fear as a weapon in the name of peace as Darkseid will use chaos in the name of a larger order, but always trying - as with Darkseid, an imperfect vessel of what he represents, but capable of growth and realization as a leader.

Steppenwolf/Heggra: Essential to understanding The Pact, they’re the old ways of the world and war, petty despots and warrior-kings, supplanted by fascism in Darkseid.

Darkseid: So I’ve discussed Darkseid before in terms of his broad use and ideas, but the very specific ways Kirby presented him have their own dimensions. In the world of superheroes he’s larger-than-life and often such in here too, but in rare moments, and by the end entirely as all artifice is stripped away? Kirby’s Darkseid is a profoundly human figure. He recognizes the irony that the Forever People believe in letting all be who they are, for that very need to fulfill himself is why he must pursue conquest (“And of course - that’s the pity of it!”). While he thinks to himself “Oh, how heroes LOVE to flaunt their nobility in the face of death! Yet THEY know better than most that war is but the COLD game of the BUTCHER!” he too believes in “Boldness! Risk! The raw meat of existence!” even as he consigns himself to the role of puppetmaster rather than warrior. He does or so he tells himself “no more than what HAS to be done!!” rather than indulging in cruelty for its own sake. He dresses up in ridiculous costumes for his schemes, he gets sarcastic, he recognizes honor and respects worthy foes, he feels love, he craves the laughter of a friend, he fears the obsolesce of his preferred way of doing things, he tells himself that should he achieve omnipotence others will find “eternal shelter”. He’s a person, one capable of a range of emotions, but he is the TIGER FORCE AT THE CORE OF ALL THINGS regardless…not because he is a mythic unstoppable force, but because every day he rises and believes in himself over all others, because there is a black hole within him that he can only hope dominance might fill regardless of what pain he finds in the process. But as Mister Miracle’s battle with the Lump foretold, when left truly alone over a world that is himself he will be only within “a self-made prison”, reflections of his own fear and agony.

[sir-phineas-lost]

Follow-up post

So I got a reply to my comment about the ableism in Ironwood’s character arc by @swapauanon and then they immediately blocked me. Since I am sometimes a petty bastard I decided to make a separate response anyway.

The first thing I would like to point out is that this person does not actually address my points in any way throughout this lengthy rant. My comment was all about the behind-the-scenes comments from the creators and they only responded with in-text examples and their interpretations of them. Those are important sure, and I will talk about those, but they don’t exactly come off as arguing in good-faith right from the get-go.

Okay, so I don’t TYPICALLY acknowledge RWDE’s beyond blocking them, but I think it’s important to separate how Ironwood views himself versus how the writers view him.

Because Ironwood’s entire downfall is his misunderstanding of how humanity works. He denies his own humanity, and sees maiming his vulnerable flesh and replacing it with unfeeling machinery as ridding himself of his own human weaknesses.

Except at the end of the day, he can’t cast off his VERY human soul, and his refusal to acknowledge that he can’t and SHOULDN’T do that are ultimately what leads to his downfall.

I have seen this “Actually it is just Ironwood himself that is ableist” argument before, and I don’t think it holds any water. While it is true that he begins to see compassion as a weakness, he never expresses the views you say he does about his own machine parts. And if you want to talk about how Ironwood sees himself vs how the writers see him you really can’t do so without talking about framing and subtext. When we get scenes that emphazize Ironwood’s machine parts to make him look intimidating or use his passive superpower (described as “hyper-focus” by the creators themselves) to shut off his empathy, that is the writers telling us that these physical aspects of Ironwood makes him less human.

Meanwhile, what V8C12 was TRYING to convey (even if it was horrible in its execution), was that it’s one’s SOUL that defines them, not the body that houses it. 

Literally NO OTHER CHARACTER with mechanical parts added to their body views themselves as less human.

[...]

Penny doesn’t angst over not being human, she angsts over being treated like a soulless tool. (Which is why I don’t like that they turned her human. Had they set up that she’d wanted to be human back in Volume 2, it would’ve been one thing, but they don’t establish that Penny wanted to be human until AFTER her mechanical body has been discarded.)

So here they outright contradict themselves. They start off saying that no other character views themselves this way, and then go on to say that Penny does (but only after she has been turned human). And like, points for admitting that scene was bad, but they seem unwilling to consider that maybe the fact that the writers did include that scene tells us something about the way the show at large views disability. They seem to think they can just write it off and move on like this instance of Penny absolutely seeing herself as inhuman can just be ignored. it also disregards that this isn’t just Penny expressing how she feels about herself. When Penny gets her human body she expresses surprise that hugging someone makes her feel “warm inside” even though she has hugged people countless times before. This is not a villain saying that having machine parts makes you less human and being proven wrong, this is a hero saying outright that “wow, my mechaniocal body made me unable to appreciate this simple human interaction, but now that I have a flesh-body I can”. Things like this is why I do not buy the argument that it is only Ironwood who thinks being part machine makes you less human.

Mercury doesn’t angst over the loss of his legs, he angsts over the piece of his soul his father tore out.

[...]

While Yang DOES lose her arm and angst over it, she doesn’t view herself as less human because of her prosthetic.

The closest we get to a LITERAL “cybernetics eats your soul” story is with Cinder, and she doesn’t have ANY cybernetics, just a parasitic leash that’s slowly consuming her flesh and threatens to eventually consume her mind if she doesn’t get rid of it. And if/when she does, I imagine she’ll replace that with a mechanical arm.

(I moved a few parts of their post around here because it made more sense to me to talk about these quotes together)

I feel like this highlights how much this person completely ignores the core argument of what makes the themes in RWBY ableist. They focus way too much on the literal and whether the characters “angst” over their humanity. But like I have said before, thie main issue here is theme and subtext.

Mercury doesn’t “angst” over his legs, but that doesn’t erase the subtext inherent in the fact that he still lost his legs (and presumanbly the piece of his soul) at the same time as he joins team evil.

Yang is probably the best take on a disabled person with a prosthetic in the show. I will give it that. I don’t think there is anything particularly wrong with how it has handled this storyline, but I do think it sets a certain expectation for how it thinks a “good” person should handle their disability. Because Yang basically deals with her lost arm by seeing her prosthetic as an “extra”. She creates a distance between herself and it instead of seeing her mechanical arm as actually part of herself. Again, nothing inherently wrong with that but combined with the Penny-nonsense it creates a pattern of seeing machine parts as inherently inhuman and “lesser”.

The point about Cinder is where the argument relies too much on technicality. Sure, Cinder’s new arm isn’t cybernetic, bhut it is still a prosthetic and it is unambiguously presented as evil and corrupting.

So, no, it’s not the fact that Ironwood has prosthetics that makes him less human, they’re simply a symptom of his view of “soft” traits (kindness, empathy, forgiveness, and flesh), as weaknesses to be sacrificed for the “greater good”. Basically, while I know this term gets misused a lot, Ironwood embodies toxic masculinity. The idea that showing any emotion other than rage and pride is “shameful” and “unmanly”. The idea that brute strength matters more than strategy. That taking unnecessary risks to achieve your goal is “brave” and “daring” and not “stupid beyond belief”. Plus, I want to point out that WINTER HERSELF said that Penny (as a robot) was more “human” than her. 

Again, this completely ignores how Ironwood and his prosthetics are framed by the narrative. The idea that all of his flaws are based in toxic masculinity and have nothing to do with his disability is just not very supported by the text or by word of God (again, it was the creators themselves who said that losing his arm was “symbolic of losing his humanity).

And Winter’s words to Penny aren’t very positive either. The point being made there is that Penny was always human “underneeth” her robotics, which sounds good until you realize that this still frames her mechanical differences as negative. They are treated as a prison for the “real” Penny and the narrative explicitly tells us that they have made her unable to feel certain emotions.

It’s just that searing off that flesh after breaking his own Aura serves as a good visual metaphor for Ironwood giving up his “softer” traits to accomplish his goals, even if there was a better solution staring him right in the face (i.e. the rings were EXPOSED and he could’ve just nudged them out of alignment to get to Watts).

This feels like a really big reach on their parts to justify their idea of Ironwood as stupid on top of everything else. It relies on assuming things about fictional technology that was never explained in the show itself. I mean, if the rings are so easy to nudge then what is even holding them in place?

Either way it doesn’t really matter because the message of the scene is the same. If the point is to signal that ironwood is willing to give up his softer traits because he is also willing to give up his soft bady, then that also tells the viewer that being able-bodied and being capable of compassion/kindness/etc are synonymous.

It has nothing to do with the metal, and everything to do with the “Mettle”. 

I have no idea why they would bring up the fantasy neurodivergence the writers added in through word-of-God as if it somehow makes the show less ableist. “Mettle” as it is described by the writers, is not a character flaw. It is a chronic condition.

Edit: Seriously, I hope you realize that the hatedom makes it VERY hard for any criticism of the show to be taken seriously when the very VALID cricisms are downed out by “Adam should’ve been an anti-hero!” and “Fascism is good, actually!” leading to those of us with ACTUAL constructive criticism getting lumped in with you lot!

I am curious what they think “constructive criticism” looks like since apparently “Hey, constantly equating robot parts with inhuman behavior is shitty and ableist, please stop” doesn’t cut it.

Anyways, fuck this guy. If they want to be taken seriously maybe they should think about why they had to make such a long-ass rant to dismiss criticism of very basic ableist tropes.

[defensefilms]

Defense Films Lists His Favorite TV Characters Of All Time

5. Chris Partlow- The Wire

The ending of The Wire paints Chris Partlow as something closer to a serial killer. 

He wasn’t. None of his hits were done out of pleasure, curiosity or even impulse. Every one of those bodies helped the Stanfield organization become what they became, even the one on Michael’s stepdad.

What Chris represents is reliability and capability. The ultimate “get shit done” guy. Out of all the characters on the show, none were more dependable or crucial to the success of the institution they served. 

Lester Freeman was capable but not a good politician and ultimately a nuisance to his superiors. Bill Rawls was incredibly capable at his job but he was power hungry and ambitious. In season 5, Gus Haynes is the most capable man in the news office but the problem was that Gus questioned authority and didn’t “go with the flow” when the office decided the paper needed a “refreshing” of how they cover the local news.

Chris didn’t have any of these handicaps impeding the people he served.

He recruits the foot soldiers for the Stanfield crew, even training them himself and Marlo had something akin to a small army at his disposal as a result. He organized his sub-ordinates, handled all surveillance when Marlo’s crew was under investigation at the start of season 5 and took care of incoming shipments after they established a direct line to the Greeks. 

When the task required finesse or subtlety, like the time he stole Sergey’s picture from the court office, he was more than capable of that too. When Marlo is questioning how to address the murder of one of his dealers, he listens to Chris and chooses to retaliate on the perpetrator directly rather than targeting everyone on his corner. 

Marlo truly comes to rely on Chris in matters concerning Omar Little. Every step of how Marlo wants to get back at the near mythical larcenist, is first passed by Chris. Chris takes this as his number one job throughout the show. Anything concerning Omar is handled with brutal efficiency, tact and an almost out ouf place  sense of professional pride. 

That’s Chris’ most endearing quality. Through all the blood, guts, scheming, lying, betrayal that comprises Baltimore’s underworld, all of which Chris is very much a part of, he has a pride in how he approaches the day to day business aspects of what he does. 

Stringer Bell is arguably the best second-in-command in the show’s run but he was dishonest, ultimately harming the survival of the institution he served and damn near going rogue. 

Chris doesn’t share such qualities as blind ambition or selfishness. He understands that trust is all he has in this game. When the indictments eventually come down and Chris is facing a life sentence he doesn’t complain or even raise the possibility of turning state witness. Instead he ends up on the yard along side Wee-Bay. Marlo in turn makes sure that Chris’ people are taken care of financially.

Many of the men that serve in the various institutions depicted in the show could learn a thing from Chris Partlow. When the time came, he fell on his sword and did so in full acknowledgement that this is where it all leads. There’s a kind of honor in that.

4. Tony Soprano- The Sopranos

One of the biggest misconceptions about The Sopranos was that it was a story about a gangster. It wasn’t, or at the very least, that would be an over-simplification of what the story actually contained.

What it was was a story about a man and his family, both biological and criminal. That’s the tie the binds all of the story’s narratives together.

Another way of looking at Tony’s story is one of leadership. Having ousted his Uncle Junior from the seat of power, season 2 and onwards, as far Tony’s criminal life is concerned, focuses on what happens once you get to the top. 

While the show’s creators gave you plenty of grizzly, violent scenes, what leads to those is the story of a man struggling and failing at leadership. 

In every season, Tony has to deal with a problematic figure, employee or subordinate. 

Season 1 was his Uncle and the idea of old fashioned leadership. Then in season 2 it was the ever-acerbic Richie Aprile, representing a generation older than Tony’s, that still feels entitled to something. Seasons 3 and 4 gave us Ralph Cifaretto, the only one among the men I’m mentioning that actually earns his status and then in season 5, it was his cousin Tony Blundetto.

Each of these problems is uniquely stressful for Tony because of how they pull at the threads of both his family and criminal life. With the exception of his Uncle Junior, he kills all of them.

By that metric, Tony is in fact a very poor leader. 

He doesn’t really deal with the Richie Aprile problem because his sister beats him to it. He doesn’t willingly promote Ralph Cifaretto even though Ralph earns it and is the only one among the candidates with any real intellect and business savvy. In both the cases of Christopher Moltisanti and cousin Tony Blundetto, Tony allows favoritism and nepotism to cloud his judgement and ironically both those men die at Tony Soprano’s hands.

This paints a picture of a tyrannical man, slowly devouring everything around him because he’s got to be in control. Worse yet, his need to be in control doesn’t actually lead to smarter long term decisions or better people management.

Tony’s relationship with Ralph in particular is built on professional envy. He feels entitled to Ralph’s race horse winnings because “why should his subordinate benefit more from anything than he does?”. He then proceeds to take ownership of the racehorse itself without assuming any of the costs of owning the animal. Then to top it off, he steals Ralph’s girlfriend purely because he has the status to do it, even digging in to Ralph’s personal life in order to justify doing so.

Textbook mismanagement. Every type of managerial violation you could imagine.

So how does Tony handle it when an employee is actually being a problem on a criminal/business level?

He rewards Tony Blundetto’s deception after the Joey Peeps killing by letting him run an already profitable gambling joint. He promotes Christopher to “made guy” even with his drug problems being well known, and he promotes Bobby Baccalieri, partly at his sister’s behest and partly out of spite.

 It was fun to watch on screen but you’d hate to work for Tony Soprano.

How does that translate to his family? What kind of leader is Tony at home?

Season 3 does well at examining Tony as a father/paternal figure starting with his relationship with Jackie Jr, which is built on concern at first. Then later it starts to make Tony anxious. Before Tony decides to push nature towards taking it’s course, when Jackie runs afoul of men in Tony’s charge.

His relationship with AJ is also a bigger part of the show as the seasons go and it’s not much better in as far as the leadership or guidance that Tony offers. We can waffle on about AJ’s failings as a spoilt teenager but the real problem is that Tony doesn’t see himself in AJ. 

That’s the first step to any failure of leadership. An inability to find common ground or identify with the people you’re leading.

We won’t go in to how hypocritical it is because the entire way that Tony entered the mob life is because he himself was a mob prince and his father’s status definitely paved the way for him. 

Hypocrisy. That’s the other key to failure in leadership. 

All these negatives added up to make the most fascinating television character in over 20 years. A constant stream of contradictions and watching a man say one thing but do another was it’s own experience and you didn’t realize what a horrible human being you were watching until you saw the show over and over again. A scary observation that implies people are either blind or really comfortable with evil and narcissistic behaviour.

3. Noah Solloway- The Affair

Out of all the characters on this list, this one was hurt most by writers hitting a ceiling in how much they could say about the character or how much they wanted to say.  Divorced men don’t really have that much representation, so if you’re writing a character that so strongly linked to that one particular event in his life, you may hit a ceiling if you don’t actually have real life examples to work with.

They had the right actor, the right story and it was the right time in human history to tell this story, it just felt like they didn’t follow through on really speaking on the plight or rise of guys in Noah’s situation.

Anytime I watched The Affair, and unlike most, I was pretty loyal to it despite what reviews told me, I identified with Noah. All those other characters didn’t make sense to me the way Noah did.

The story begins with my man being stuck in a rut, the kind of middle age funk  married men tend to fall in to, so he drives out to visit some folks and while he’s there he happens to meet a baddie. Story of every man’s life. Only he does what you’re not supposed to do and sacrifices everything he has so he can be with the bad-bad. 

Then my mans starts popping off with his book writing, gets a publishing deal and in his 40′s, he starts achieving his highest career peaks. See this is important because it shows that the writers understood the subject matter really well, as well as the demographic they were talking about.

Then the next season, they go in to some murder mystery plot, Noah ends up in jail somehow, almost as if the writers and producers didn’t feel confident that they could tell Noah’s story without the theatrics/murder mystery element. 

The other danger that the writers probably didn’t want to indulge was rewarding the character with any kind of happy ending or positive outcome. Noah’s infidelity serves as the jumping off point to all of the story’s unfolding plots, mostly depicting the impact on the lives of his immediate family, a handful of which play out in sad dramatic fashion. So the writers likely felt like Noah couldn’t win at the end. 

In the 1930′s when gangster films were first being made, they would commonly feature PSA messages at the start warning against criminal behaviour. 1931′s “Little Caesar” starring Edward G Robinson, features a warning at the end that makes it clear the film’s producers and writers needed the character to go down in flames at the end, to prove the moral point that “crime doesn’t pay”. 

A writer’s moral obligation and the times in which they live can lead some to write the ending that makes a moral point rather than writing the most dramatic or honest ending. I think Noah Solloway kind of suffered from this.

I don’t know. 

There was a chance to explore modern men in a way that most stories fail to. They had the foundation. They knew enough about who and what they’re talking about. However it didn’t manifest in the telling of the story. 

I’m not saying Noah needed a positive ending, it’s just that the one we got was not the most fitting nor did it wind up ending the story honestly or even dramatically.

Noah Solloway should have got the Tony Soprano treatment in as far as how much the writers explored his inner world but instead the show’s creators decided it didn’t matter. They didn’t answer the question of why this happens to modern men.

If nothing else Noah Solloway can be a blueprint or foundation for those telling this story in the future.

 2. Ciro Di Marizio- Gomorrah

About as slimy and as low down as a television character can possibly be. Ciro represents Machiavellian criminality pushed to it’s extremes. 

When writers plot a character’s trajectory, they often fill it with moments that make the character more endearing. Exploring the relationship the character may have with a child, friend or spouse that makes you see the character’s more genuine/compassionate/likeable side. The writers of Gomorrah did plenty of that with Ciro.

However, they didn’t hesitate to show you just how off-the-rails and downright evil Ciro could be. 

What’s funny is that Ciro is defined by loyalty and servitude when the story begins. He is a capable captain and rises to 2nd in command when the Savastano family needs him to. However the death of his close friend and mentor changes him for the worse and he goes ham. 

What follows is betrayal and Ciro basically masterminding a coup of the Savastano clan but the levels of paranoia that his new found power push him to, make him question whether it was all worth it. The world burns around him and a kind of justice is restored when Gennaro is able to take back power and restore the Savastano name. 

That’s one aspect of the show that Ciro truly exemplifies in that he rises to the top but the throne never truly feels like it’s his.

He is Iago-like in his ability to understand the weaknesses of people around him. He proves himself more cunning, capable, strategic, murderous and even business-minded than almost every other character. Every character except for Pietro Savastano (the man he betrays) and Gennaro Savastano. 

The show goes to great lengths to put forth the idea that crime families in Naples are on the same level as the pope. True modern day monarchies. Royal families that have the power to benefit or harm anyone around them. People bow their heads to them when they walk in public and use reverential terms when addressing them. They will often have salons, jewelers  or restaurants cleared out so they can enjoy the establishment in ostentatious privacy. 

When you look at it like that, Ciro was always an outsider. The difference between just sitting on the throne and being born of the throne. 

In that way maybe Ciro’s story is about redemption. 

He eventually sides with Gennaro Savastano again, helping him get his wife and daughter back after they’re kidnapped. He does this by essentially lying to/duping a crew of young dealers from Florence to fund this hostage rescue and then he offers himself as a sacrifice when the Florentines demand blood.

At his best Ciro served the clan and went to great lengths to restore what he had destroyed. 

1. Marlo Stanfield- The Wire

Is there any greater?

Sure there are characters like Tony Soprano whose world and whose inner thoughts the audience gets more familiar and intimate with. Within the same shared universe as Marlo is a character like Stringer Bell and the writers of the Wire go to great lengths to understand and convey his moral conflict as a drug kingpin turned wannabe real estate tycoon. 

Marlo is something purer though. 

You don’t need to know his inner-most thoughts like Tony because his utmost desire is simple, he wants to be the top kingpin of Baltimore. What more do you want?

He does not share Stringer’s moral complexity because unlike Stringer he is not conflicted at all. He’s not a drug dealer playing businessman, he’s just a drug dealer and that’s all he ever wanted to be.

From the start of season 3, it was fascinating watching this man move about on the screen with a confidence reserved for the richest and most talented. Indeed Marlo proves he has both in bundles. 

He outwits the older drug kingpin in Stringer Bell by maintaining independence from the Co-Op. He matches Avon Barksdale’s war effort step-for-step after Avon comes home from prison. He outsmarts the wily, Proposition Joe in order to learn how to launder his money and then get access to the Greeks.

It was fascinating watching Marlo avoid pitfalls, monopolize Baltimore, out-think his older counterparts and grow his empire to the scope that he did. 

There’s a youtube video that compiled all of Marlo’s scenes from his 3 seasons on The Wire and it pretty much plays like a feature film. Watch it here if you dig Marlo as much as I do.

You’re not watching a drug dealer become a kingpin, or at the very least that’s what I believe. It has more to do with watching the younger generation upset the order, and in a lot of ways that’s what Marlo represents. From the moment Marlo shows up, all old agreements are null and void. He does this over and over again throughout his story. Constantly upsetting the order and establishing his own. 

Indeed Marlo isn’t aware that this is what he’s doing. He’s acting on ambition, arrogance and naivety. 

It speaks volumes that most of the characters on this list have on-screen relationships that explore their personalities, like the aforementioned Ciro’s relationship with his daughter. Marlo has none of that.

Marlo’s most revealing relationship is his rivalry with Omar Little, a man he only ever encounters once. The continuation of their feud happens because Marlo refuses to let any perceived slight towards him slide. One way of looking at what this shows is that Marlo is both egoist and perfectionist, the latter of which is actually very prized personality traits in today’s business environment. The combination of the two is actually commonly seen among CEO’s and top executives.

Marlo shows every weakness and drawback of youth while exposing the follies of the more seasoned and experienced in his field. A walking contradiction in that way.

[pleom]

swimmer!bang chan [M]

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions and descriptions of depression, emotional abuse, family issues, graphic descriptions of sexual content (cunnilingus, unprotected sex, handjobs, loss of virginity)

Word Count: 8.7k

Something inside you burns. It throbs and pummels against you from the inside-out, wholly unwelcoming, though you wouldn’t say you suffer. You wouldn’t say it’s painful, either. This feeling engulfs you, blending with your senses and the way they interact with each other. Physically, you’d say it’s another part of the experience. Coupled with the vibrations (dull and wide-spaced,) the muffled sounds, the incessant screeching and tapping and cramping and pulling and—

You gasp for breath—a whistle blows—and you can’t swim.

“Y/N, out,” your coach motions for you.

The students around you move hesitantly, but ultimately part for you to exit. Your vision is still blurry, but you manage to pull yourself up the ladder without slipping. You slip on the way to the locker room though, and embarrassedly throw yourself behind the door and onto a bench without abandon.

Your eyes sting, and are probably more red than they usually are after practice. Your skin grays and itches as it slowly dries, so you take a towel to assist both matters. When the only thing keeping your body from fully shrugging off the remaining water is what slides off the tips of your hair, you fling the cloth over your head and sit there, slouched and effectively closing out the rest of the world.

The moments of before are already starting to feel fake—a blur of imagined happenings. The only thing you can clearly recall is your errors, constant and public for all to see (and they did, they most definitely did.) Your lungs cry with the remnants of salt and bleach, and your chest burns with discontent. Discontent that you almost drowned; discontent that your coach didn’t let you drown. (You’ll also be hearing that from your sister later on, when you’ll come home probably coughing and aching, and you can see it already: her prideful and mocking gestures, her feigning concern and doubting your abilities. You sit here, chest gaping, and you know you’ll have no argument against her. She was born with knowledge you had yet to achieve.)

A voice makes you jump. “Are you okay?”

You hope with every fiber of your being you aren’t the person who the question is being directed to. You let it fly over your head, and rub the fabric over your hair to look inconspicuous. Wet footsteps seem to bound straight for you, and in what feels like a second, a shadow peeks from underneath your towel. There’s no use acting like you’re no one, because someone’s standing right before you and seems dead-set on getting you to interact with them.

“Hey.”

Lifting your head, you take in the sight of Chan, all broad-shouldered and pale-skinned to the point you might blame the chemicals in the pool for it. He stands shirtless, though as dry as your throat feels. His class must be after yours.

He doesn’t know you (though you know of him) and it’s clear on his face. Why he bothers to question you, you don’t know. You shouldn’t look that out of place, since a few students like to hide and hang out in the locker rooms alone sometimes. Guess you couldn’t pass off as one of them.

“You don’t look so good,” he says, “Was Coach hard on you? I always tell Dad to go easy on the new swimmers but he never does…”

He sheepishly wrings his towel over his shoulder. It takes you a moment to absorb his words, but when you do, you’re quick to react.

“No, no he doesn’t,” you hesitate, “How did you know I was new here?”

“I come here almost every day to help my dad mentor the students. ‘Think I’d recognize a face like yours.” he takes a step back and seems to take in the look of you. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you shuffle in your seat nonetheless. “Did you just transfer?”

You wince at the question and shake your head. You’re too embarrassed to reveal that you have been enrolled since the start, which for sure would make the air between you even more awkward. You quickly flip the conversation to be less you-focused. “So, you help your dad train the students? You must be under a lot of pressure.”

The coach is pretty ruthless. Every interaction with him leaves your skin feeling prickly; every command and scold, his directions, and even his praises—superficial amidst a deeper frustration. You can imagine an inkling of what he must be around his own son, if he’s anything like your own parents.

Chan tilts his head as if in deep consideration, but ultimately shrugs. He takes you by surprise when he breaks into a slight smile. “No, not really. I’m just here to help, as long as someone succeeds at something new, we mark that as a win in our books. Pressuring anyone helps no one.”

You eye the entrance to the pool. His words don’t really match up to your experiences, and you feel a slight jealousy for those who wound up so lucky. Maybe it’s because you’re a late bloomer, if you can even call it that. His father must’ve been shocked at seeing a girl your age floundering at what most have already nailed down.

“It must be nice having a professional help lead you down their path, the only reason why I took this class is so I could finally have a useful skill under my belt,” you can’t help yourself from rambling, so you shut your lips tight once you realize you’ve nearly thrown a pity party for yourself. Cautiously, you glance at Chan and hope he’s been distracted by one thing or another, or grew bored of you once you opened your mouth. Neither seem to be the case, though he looks at you with mild astonishment.

He motions for you to give him your name, and you do, reluctantly, cautiously, as though you’re making a deal that you can’t take back. When you do, he grins with a face of understanding and gives you his hand to shake. This all feels entirely foreign, disconcerting, and you can’t tell if the wetness between your fingers is nervous sweat or remnants of the pool. You have no time to think about it, because you separate when another whistle blows and students begin to file into the locker room.

Chan’s already left with a grin and a wave, and you’re left tugging on your school clothes with your heart beating waves of fire.

Chan has been on your mind ever since, though that is not exactly a feat. You tend to overthink and hyperfocus on the inane—it’s a fault your family has never let you forget. It’s what brings you to the situation at hand right now.

You come home late, after spending your time at the nearby café to sort out your school work. What you forgot to do was sort out your emotions (crucial mistake) and immediately your mother is hounding your every move. You make a snide comment, under your breath, about the state of the house: it feeds you more despair than actual food.

It ends there.

A snap here, a threat there, and you wish you had left as soon as you came. Your house’s front door slams shut behind you and you swallow that hard lump in your throat the best you can. Here, you’re so focused on that insignificant little action, one of pain and only pride, that you miss the tears and the ringing in your ears and it’s all useless. You’re useless.

The sleeves on your shirt have grown damp from all the wiping, and a thought comes: why not get it all wet? You’re already a hose of emotions, and your mother will yell at your weaknesses; the uncontrollable. Giving her a proper reason to scream seems sensible. Maybe you should empower yourself before she can impose her power on you.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you stride towards the school and mentally rummage through different ways of justifying your actions. Who cares if they don’t make sense?

You don’t.

-

The school pool’s entrance is surprisingly easy to get through. The inside feels especially hollow without the fuss of your classmates and coach. Every step carries its own reverb, and you momentarily hold your breath in case it does, too. But even so, the emptiness of the pool has a strange serenity to it. You bathe in it wholly.

You can’t bathe for too long, so you kick off your shoes and get right to it. You toe the edge of the pool and examine its reflections. You keep your eyes off yourself, only tracing along the ceiling lights and the stars spotted from the window. When the moon starts slowly inching into the view, you plunge.

The water whirls around you in both a menacing and tantalizing way. It plugs all of your senses and you let it. It soothes; it stings. And when you start feeling lightheaded, you resurface.

It takes a while for the blur to leave your eyes and the pounding to leave your ears. However, even with all this sensory overload, you feel blithe, and a full-belly laugh escapes you before you can stop it. You don’t want it to. This is the happiest you’ve felt in months.

Just as quickly, it ends. Abruptly, because someone has made themselves known with a loud clang. It rings from the locker room, and before you can pull yourself out of the water and hide, the door swings open and reveals—

Chan.

He’s already down to his swimwear, and looks unsurprised by your presence here. In fact, he looks somewhat pleased. “You’ve started without me.”

You’re a bit too stunned to respond, and the position of you both suddenly starts weighing on you. You’re on school grounds, way past its lockdown. The dip in the pool has definitely cleared your mind some, and you know now that what you are doing is trespassing. Maybe alone, you could’ve learned to reprimand yourself for doing so, swear to never do it again. But here you are, and there’s a witness.

Chan chuckles, clearly not running through the same thoughts in his own head. Instead, he walks over to your side and kneels, extending his hand. “Need some help?”

You can’t bring it in yourself to argue, so you take his hand and let him pull you out. You collapse very sloppily onto the tiles, the weight of your soaked clothes dragging you down. There’s silence. Your heartbeat slows once you realize Chan’s not intending on pulling any tricks. (At least you hope.)

“I won’t tell,” Chan eases your thoughts, “as long as you tell me the reason why you’re here.”

Despite saying this, there’s no urgency or force behind his words. You don’t feel pressured to answer, so you pay no mind when you do. “Wanted some time alone for myself and this was the closest thing in mind.”

“Did you know the door to the pool would be open?”

“No, not at all.”

Chan hums. He doesn’t seem suspicious of you. He doesn’t question you after that. Instead, he takes a couple steps back, “Well… if that’s all…”

He races forward and dives into the water, splashing your legs in the process. He disappears for a moment, then breaks the surface into a breastroke. He moves languidly, though sharp enough to slice straight through the liquid.

It’s a harsh contrast to you. You start to feel uncomfortable and misplaced now that the son of your coach displays his skill. Imagining yourself in his spot feels daunting, and you have to fight your instincts to just grab your shoes and run.

Back home.

The thought makes you shiver.

“Hey,” Chan floats up to you on his back. “You wanted swimming lessons, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” You’re nervous to see where this is going.

He smiles. “So hop in.”

-

Your parents didn’t question why you came home late that night. Nor why your clothes were mildly wet. Your sister gave her routine insult–slash–brag and was on her way. You certainly didn’t complain, now that you were left to your own devices, and on it the screen pings with a new message, one from Chan, whose contact you have yet to save.

You stay up all night responding to his texts.

When the next day comes, your loneliness hits harder than usual. You had forgotten what it was like interacting with people for a period of time longer than the length of class. You find yourself looking over your shoulder more often for a glimpse of Chan, even while swimming. And surprisingly, you don’t get yelled at by the coach for being so sidetracked. You’ve accumulated more praises, though you still sense it’s from a place of pitiful obligation.

You come home earlier than usual.

“So you’ve just given up on your education now, huh?”

“What?”

Your head snaps up at your mother’s voice. She stands as volatile as ever, hands splayed over her hips. The house smells flowery; she’s making her special rose petal flan—something she only does as a treat for herself, when things for her are going exceptionally well. These days come rare but welcomed, because usually then she’s as sensitive and motherly as one can be.

Yet today is the total opposite. And you get an inkling as to why: your English test sheet, laid on the kitchen counter.

You wince. Of course she had snooped through your room and saw your failure peeking through your garbage bin.

“I gave you so many chances, so many chances, let you drop out of math for God’s sake! And this is how you repay me? Failing your tests and coming home early? Did you even go to the library today? Have you ever studied in your entire life?!”

Your mom shows no sign of ever stopping her tirade. Her neck seems to have grown redder by the second. Your sister arrives just in time to catch the next part, no doubt excited to have her ego fed as per usual.

“We’ve moved cities, exchanged schools, and transferred jobs, just so you could have the opportunity your sister had. Do you think life was easy for her when we all lived in that garbage bin we called an apartment? Do you think she let that dissuade her from acing her studies and receiving that scholarship?” Your mother points at your sister then, and the looks on both of their faces hit you with two different senses of shame, both equally strong. “Are you honestly willing to undo all of your sister’s hard work? This is how you want to end your senior year? This is how you planned to enter adulthood?”

And with that she takes your paper and shreds it. She leaves you for the living room, sparing not one glance at the way your lips tremble and eyes glisten. It hurts, but in a way, you’re glad she doesn’t notice. It’d only stack another disappointment onto that pile she holds. Your sister’s grown bored of looking at you too, and trots off behind your mother.

Despite your blues, the sun is still up. So you exit the front door and sit on the steps. You wish you had it in you to fight back, no matter how disastrous that might end out to be. Because what your mother doesn’t realize is that it all piles up. You never asked to move to a new city, this late into high school. Everyone’s already bound and wound tight around each others’ fingers—friends, best friends, lovers, all things you’ve rarely experienced due to your momentary presence. You have your acquaintances, those who you would probably refer to as ‘friends,’ but they’re surface-level at best, not people you could ever rely on.

But that’s all she thinks you’re good for: never achieving, or attaining, or accomplishing, only to ever rely on others.

Impulsively, you pull out your cell phone and reach out to the only person nearby that you can.

TO: BANG CHAN

Just had an argument with my mom :(

Not feeling good…

FROM: BANG CHAN

Oh, no :(( are you okay?

Wanna come over and swim? Help clear your head?

The pool doors are open

Legally, this time :p

The slightest grin stretches over your face.

-

“And that’s how you do a butterfly stroke,”

The other kids of this program have begun to slowly disperse. They’re all younger—freshmen, probably—that make you want to douse your head in shame. The worst part of it all is that Chan isn’t even teaching them, they’ve all learned how to do the basic swimming strokes, and it makes it all the more obvious how lacking you are.

Chan had tried to placate you and tell you that most students aren’t paying attention to your mistakes, but you’re pretty sure that you saw one kid giggle when you came up for air.

As afternoon blends into evening, the lights indoors begin to feel more artificial. Chan pulls you over to a bench once most of the kids have gone home. This is when the awkwardness starts settling in.

“You should come here more often if you’re so worried about your skills, which, by the way, aren’t as bad as you think they are. No one is looking at you funny because of it.”

He pats you amiably on the shoulder. You shrug.

“I’ve already got too much on my plate. I usually go straight to the library to start on my homework. By the time I finish, it’s dinner time and I’ve got to make the switch over to the cafe to finish up my studies. An after-school swimming program can remain an afterthought, sorry,”

“Geez, no wonder I’ve never seen you walking around during class,” he gasps, “you’re up to your neck in work!”

“Yep,” you sigh. “Doesn’t even seem like it’s paying off.”

“How so?”

“My IQ is in the negatives,”

Chan jolts up as though he’s been caught asking an insensitive question, but just as quickly melts into himself. He gently slaps a hand on your arm, giggling. “No, it’s not! But for real, though…”

“I wasn’t lying,” you say, “Hours in the library, and yet I still fail.”

“It happens to the best of us, sometimes,”

“Sometimes being the key word,” you insist. “This isn’t sometimes.”

Chan is silent for a moment. “Be easy on yourself, it’s senior year, you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

You’re tempted to say ‘No, I’m not allowed. I have never been allowed. I’ve been perpetually skidding along thin ice,’ but you swallow it.

“Ok but,” you start, slowly and cheekily. “I’ve yet to see you make a single mistake in the pool. What is it going to take to make the Great Bang Chan, son of an actual professional athlete, screw up?”

“If my friends got here,” he says with a smile. “They’ve always got tricks up their sleeves. Some that they can probably teach you.”

“They swim as well?”

“Yep, but definitely not as good as me as you might’ve guessed,” he jokingly flexes, laughing. Then he sobers. “They’re coming later, if that’s okay with you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay with me?” You ask, but you’re already getting up to make yourself more presentable for their arrival. “That means more tutors for me.” And more judges.

There’s a moment of pleasant solitude between you and Chan before his friends trickle in. They enter in small enough numbers that it gives you time to familiarize yourself with them.

Seungmin came the earliest, the most diligent of the crew. He spoke gently and swam even softer. Felix and Jeongin toed after him, and flung water with utmost chaos. Others came and you observed, much too shy to delve into the same antics they toyed in. At times, Chan would climb out and chill with you, prompting the others to take a break and chat alongside. It all mended into a blur as the sky grew purple.

Over the days, you find the presence of Chan’s friends comforting. They’re friendly—obviously—with lighthearted races and pool tricks. They give you an experience you’ve been deprived of since you moved. They’ve taught you well, surprisingly. And it must have also come as a shock to your coach.

He approaches you one afternoon after class ends.

“Y/N, you were amazing out there,” he says. “Haven’t seen an improvement that big in a long while.”

Something about his statement rubs wrong on you. You take a step back, guarded.

“Thank you,” you say, making sure to send a polite smile his way. “Swimming has started to become more fun as the days go by. Really grateful to have made the exchange over here.”

“I’m glad as well. Honestly, I was a bit worried when you enrolled a bit late into this class. Have to keep the students all on the same page, and it’s hard to split the attention,” he sets a hand over your shoulder. “But it seems like you’ll be on the same level as the others in no time! Keep up the good work!”

And like that, your suspicions have been confirmed. Your stomach drops when he leaves, and you mentally beat yourself up for thinking you were in any way competent. A pity-compliment, that’s all that was. That’s all it ever is.

Chan rushes into the locker room and quickly changes into his swimwear. When he sees you, he smiles, pauses to wrap you up into a hug, and is out in the pool in no time. His father watches him from the sidelines fondly, with an expression that clearly holds pride and amazement.

You wonder if you will ever get that kind of look from your parents. Or anyone, for that matter.

-

That question is still up in the air, weeks later, when your sister intrudes on your swimming class one morning. She doesn’t interrupt or anything. She just quietly stands by the pool’s entrance and watches. You see her eyes trail over the other students and slowly back to you, making silent observations, none of them kind.

When you climb out and class is over, she pulls you to the side. She takes a moment to look you over. “So this is what you’ve picked up since you came here. Impressive.”

“Well, yeah,” you say, and try to move hurriedly to the locker room to escape her. She takes you by the arm, demanding. You struggle shoving her off. “I also need to pick up my books for next class, if you’ll excu—”

“Oh, you don’t have any class to go to right now,” she snaps. “I’ve called. You’re coming home with me for now.”

You freeze, and with satisfaction, your sister drops your arm. “Why?”

“It’s an emergency, one I thought you should know,” a small smile spreads across her lips, and your heart sinks. It can’t be a family emergency, right? Or else she’d be more panicked, right? But if it’s not, what can be so urgent that your sister would have to pick you up from school so early? “Just grab what you need for now so we can go.”

Hesitantly, you nod your head and follow her orders. When you are sat inside her car, you wait for her to disclose any information related to your early departure. She doesn’t feed your curiosity then, only drives slowly and silently down the road to your house. She makes a detour, picks a route that’s longer than your usual, and finally breaks the silence.

“You know how my scholarship gave our Mom a better opportunity at finding a job, right?” It’s a simple question, but set up dangerously and your sweat kicks in as you nod. “And since Dad isn’t the only one working anymore, we’ve got more money to spend, right?”

Right. This is a big jump from the past, when your father only made enough to cover the expenses of the bills and a few groceries. Your mother was met with job rejections left and right, and neither you nor your sister had the time or management to juggle grades as well as employment. At that time, your mother insisted that you focus more on school. She made promises that if one of you hit big, that would be enough of a reward for her. That all her stress and burdens would be paid off. You suppose it half came true. Financially, you were all rewarded.

But rather, all her stress and burdens were pushed in a different direction. You wonder what it’s like to be on the opposite side. You eye your sister, and nod your head to continue.

“So, initially, her plan was to save up to help you out once you graduated. Of course, she knew this was necessary, since there’s no way in hell you’d strike a full scholarship with, you know,” she throws you a sidelong glance, batting her eyelashes. Your hand tightens around your seatbelt. “But she realized, even with a new and improved environment, that your current habits probably wouldn’t strike you one at all. She was forgiving at first. Thought about paying half your tuition and taking a loan for the other. Welp. Then you dropped pre-calculus for swimming and made her rethink her life choices all over again. Good job!”

“Sis,” you hiss, “what does that mean?”

You can’t handle her bullshitting right now. Though you know she has all the time in the world for it. Your surroundings have begun to look unfamiliar, and the anxiety inside you strikes. That’s probably the effect she was going for.

“It means you’re fucked,” she lets out a loud laugh, “you’re not getting any help from her. Or Dad for that matter. Better start counting your pennies, sis!”

And just like that, the tightening in your chest explodes. You feel as though you’re suffocating, each intake of breath amounting to none. Your body grows hotter and you’re wracked with shivers, and stuck inside the cramped space of your sister’s car leaves you no space to handle your panic attack.

You’re overwhelmed by the thoughts of what’s to come. Getting into college—now a complete uncertainty—just to be lost in debt, and there’s nothing to do about it. You lack life experience. You’ve been holed up and relying on the bare minimum to get you by. The only moment you have been able to hold your head above the water, and your own family has dunked you back underneath. You’re struggling to win a sabotaged race.

“By the way, don’t tell Mom I told you,” your sister says, now pulling into your driveway. She chatters in a low voice, as if she doesn’t want the world to listen in on your conversation. “It’s our little secret. Just like how it was mine and hers.”

You find yourself not coming home at night. Where you stay is just about as much of a mystery to them as it is to you. You’ve huddled yourself in the locker rooms some nights, using sheets and water bottles as cushions. You’ve cornered yourself in classrooms. Hell, you’ve even holed yourself up in your family’s car, in the backseat, on the floor so that onlookers can’t peep and tattle your nightly whereabouts to your family (What a disgrace that would’ve been). But you’ve always made sure to come back home at the lick of dawn, just before the rest of them would get up and bang down your door looking for answers to ‘where’ve you been last night?’ and ‘what time did you get home?’ and you’d answer ‘the park’ or ‘friend’s’ or ‘convenience store,’ and ‘at midnight.’ Just late enough for it to be believable. No one’s ever up that late, and if one were, they’d probably be tired or drunk off their ass to notice your absence. No one’s ever called your bluff, a heartbreaking realization that you’ve come to appreciate.

Chan, though, walks into the pool at just the wrong time. You’ve just gotten used to the stench of bleach and chlorine when he nudges you awake on your makeshift bed of thin sheets and soaked homework paper. You dash up, searching and grabbing for your phone to check your alarms (How did you miss it? Was it on silent? A dead battery?). Chan chuckles as if your panic is the funniest thing he has ever seen.

“You’re fine, school’s not open till another hour and a half,” he picks up on your confusion. It seems to settle into his own features. He’s got swim trunks on, and a towel slung over his shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you note the darkness of a not-yet-risen sun. “I just decided to come in early for quick practice.”

An awkward pause and an understanding nod to himself later, he kneels. “Hey. What are you doing on the floor here?”

His eyebrows knit and his worry looks even more pronounced in this dark blue reflection of… life. How pitiful you must look. He’s probably wondering if you’re that dirt-poor, that sleeping on tile might be considered a luxury to you. But even so, you can’t bother to be embarrassed by yourself at the moment. He’s pulled you out of the comfort of unconsciousness, so now you’re fighting your natural reactions to the biting cold and solid ground.

It hurts. You’re sore and your face is blue and all you can think about is crying. It hurts that your options are either this or your home, and the fact that you chose this.

“I’m fine,” you nod meekly, “Just…napping,”

Too overwhelmed to map out a convincing lie, you prepare yourself for the defenses. This is going to sting Chan and you are sure going to regret it later, but fuck it. You’ll deal with the consequences once you’ve showered under hot water and mulled it over at breakfast.

Chan reaches for your shoulder, palm warm, and helps you sit up. “Why are you napping on the floor?”

“Because if I nap in the pool, I’ll drown.”

Chan almost cracks, and you consider that a victory. But he just as quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, one hand laying over your own. “Don’t joke about stuff like that. I’m serious. Are you okay? Did…something happen at home, again?”

Something’s always happening at home, and that’s the part that drives you nuts. Your old friends can handle you complaining about spontaneous spats with your sister every once in a while, but would go madder than you if they heard every single crisis that went down behind your walls. You have to bite and swallow every time.

You shake your head. “I tried swimming last night. It went about how’d you expect, and I knocked out on the floor immediately after. Not sure how you can do it, Chan. Honestly, everyday I respect you a little more.”

He chuckles, arm tightening around you for a pulse. “No one’s born a pro. And I promise you, you’re on your way to becoming one.”

You feel as though you’re on your way to becoming no one. You try to voice this as inconspicuous as possible.

“What if you disappoint someone because you’re not there yet?” you ask, “What if they wanted you to be a pro since the very beginning, and because you’re nowhere close, they end up mad?”

“Who’s mad? If it’s about my dad, I promise you he’s not—”

“No, it’s not him.Forget it.”

“Is it—” he inhales, “Is—Is your family upset? Is that why you’re here?”

You don’t respond. It’s enough of an answer.

“I’m not sure what they said to you, but just know they’re wrong. We all improve at our own pace, and we’re not better or worse for it. You need to give yourself patience, ignore them, just—”

“Chan, I can’t ignore them,” you snap. You pull yourself from Chan’s embrace and bury your face into your knees. Your eyes burn as the emotions take over you. It doesn’t hurt less as time goes on. “They make my life a living hell and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t know how to do anything. I’m the very definition of useless, and the worst part is that they all know, but no one helps. I can’t leave them or else I’ll just end up… here.”

Sobs start to wrack through you, and you can’t do anything to stop it. You’re tired of wallowing in self-pity, in others’ pity, but you’re at a loss for what to do. You wish you weren’t an adult with the tendencies of a child, only there for others to look after. No one’s taught you what it takes for that transition to happen, to grow independant, to discover skills and utilize them. They’ve just thrown you in the deep end and disregarded you when you drowned. You wish you weren’t so helpless. You wish you had some help.

“I wish I knew what to say,” Chan murmurs. He’s wrapped his arms around his knees and seems to gaze into the pool. Every once in a while, he passes you a glance, but ultimately, he leaves you to yourself.

The sun has slowly started to rise, and the birds have begun to chirp. That’s your cue to get out of here, though even now you’re running behind schedule. Your eyes sting and you hope your walk back home is enough to soothe them back to normal.

Chan stands up when you do, and quickly interrupts you by the doorway. His face is sullen, concave, and heavy as though he bears the same amount of burdens that you do. Who’s to say he doesn’t?

“Just… We’ll figure this out, okay? Together.” He meets your eyes. “I’ll wait at the pool for you. As soon as they start acting up, come here immediately. Don’t let their words intimidate you.”

“Okay,” just when you think this conversation’s done, he pauses you again. A beat passes. Several. And then he leans in—

His lips press against yours, soft and warm, and are off in an instant. You don’t have enough time to savor the feeling.

He smiles and says, “I don’t want you to be in any danger, whether that be at home or otherwise, okay?”

You smile. An unnamed pressure lifts from your shoulders. “Okay.”

You feel a bit guilty, keeping Chan out of his own home during the nights and mornings. You have to fight to reassure yourself that this is out of his own volition. He certainly doesn’t seem bothered when he spots you on your way to the pool’s entrance. And he’s found ways to help the time pass faster. Be it games, studying, or making out.

Yep, he’s introduced a new activity to you, though you can’t really complain. But it doesn’t change the fact that the pool’s tile and linoleum, all cold and hard, is not meant for a person to sleep on. You’ve started checking the other for bruises and marks that could be left behind in your wakes, literally.

Over time, it’s become a routine. A sad one; one that shouldn’t be necessary, but you force yourself to think of it in a positive light. That’s also something he’s been teaching you while you stay: how to manage your inner thoughts, how to turn those demons into angels, even when the devil is really, really trying you. It’s helped ease your wounds, and you avoid your family enough for them to not reopen them.

Finally, that’s his last lesson. Family is both permanent and temporary, and you’d be glad to know that the permanent ones are those you keep, and hold tight, and never ought to lose. While temporary family could always be cut off, and should be, because what’s the point of family if they won’t be there for you all the time? He’s made sure to look you deep in your eyes when he said this, voice clear and low, and just a bit unsteady. You take your time digesting that one.

You’ve got trouble with your family, and one night, after more than a week’s passed, you get into trouble with someone else’s.

You had arrived at the pool a tad bit early, you supposed, and had already laid out all your blankets and card games when the entrance clanged open. You were about to reveal a new game you’d discover online to Chan, only to be met with a voice much deeper than his.

“Y/N.”

Your head snaps up and immediately blood rushes to your ears. Coach dangles a set of keys in his hand, and seems–rightly–surprised at your appearance. But you can see the moment he understood what he saw. A person’s pity can only extend so much, and you know exactly where yours lies.

You don’t even have to wince.

School break has just started, and of course you’re grounded.

On one hand, you’re happy you don’t have to face your coach after being caught trespassing. His face held a look of rage and disappointment, and you don’t want to witness that any more than you have to. The resemblance between him and Chan are uncanny.

But you’re home. That doesn’t spell out comfort for you at all.

You and Chan send messages back and forth to each other consisting of “i miss you”s and “sorry that happened”s. You rant to him about how fed up you’ve been, and you feel relieved for the first time in a long while, because finally, someone is there to listen, judgement-free. Chan suggests sneaking into your house for the night a couple of times to see each other, but you reject, saying that your mother’s too eagle-eyed for that to happen.

-

Once break is over and school is back open, your family keeps their eyes locked on you like a hawk. You no longer can stop by the library for homework or studying, instead they demand you return back home immediately once school’s over. Your father insists on helping you study instead, and although you know it’s not out of the pure kindness of his heart, you accept it for the time being.

Swim class is awkward, now that both you and Coach Bang have to pretend to not have gone through that whole ordeal. But you can feel his gaze linger on you when you plunge underwater. You have no idea what he thinks of you now, after all this, and you’re too embarrassed to ask Chan.

One day, Chan approaches you before swim class begins.

“Mind if I take you out for a bit?” He asks. You slyly look at the clock ticking away by the door to the pool. You have just about a minute. Only a minute to get ready. “It’ll only be for a quick moment. You’ll be back in no time and if you don’t, I’ll cover for you.”

You squint suspiciously at Chan. “What’s this about?”

“A surprise. One my father will absolutely understand.”

When it puts it like that…

-

It’s a quick ride to where Chan ends up taking you: a bizarre little creek tucked behind several neighborhood houses. Its water runs fresh, uncontaminated by human interaction, feeding into the thick brushes of land and trees. It’s a beautiful sight indeed, but wholly inconsequential. You look to Chan for a clue as to why he brought you here.

He seems lost in himself and nature. Slowly, he jumps over to the rocks and gazes into the creek’s depth. For a moment, you think he’s just brought you to admire the scenery, so you’re shocked out of your own stupor when he speaks. “My father used to bring me here when I was a child. He used to bring the whole family out for a swim.”

You hum and silently make your way closer to him. He still dashes from one stone to another, calm and in thought. “My earliest memories of training began here. It was the best, surrounded by natural sounds and protected by the rocks. It isn’t too deep, just about perfect for my height and age. Eventually we started coming here less and less as my Dad took up calls and schedules. We all grew older and busier, till we just abandoned it. But sometimes I come here when I need to give myself a break and really think.”

You’re brushed shoulder-to-shoulder together now. Your balance isn’t as good as Chan’s, and you end up slipping and stepping into the creek every other second. He happily keeps a hand near your waist and hoists you back up whenever needed.

“Do your neighbors ever come here?”

“They’ve got their own gardens to tend to,” he nods towards the houses. “No one other than me has come here in at least a decade.”

He eyes you as he says this. It’s his own little safe haven. And if he’s so sure that no one has snuck in yet, that means you’re the first to enter it.

The realization makes you bow your head, flustered. Chan hums satisfactory by your side. You both listen to the birds coo and the bugs chitter, soaking in nature’s creations. When Chan notices you finally getting a bit restless, he takes your hand and leads you to the rocks. Your legs slightly dip inside the creek, its water soaking through your clothes, but you don’t mind. It’s coldness is welcomed as the sun soars higher into the sky.

“Here’s not like the pool,” Chan says, fingers toying with the ends of your hair.  “There’s no chance anyone will catch us here.”

The implication is not lost on you, especially with the way he looks into your eyes as he speaks. Incidents of the past come to mind, but they’re quickly replaced by thoughts of the future, such as: his lips on yours, your hands in his, and most importantly—

“I know,” you hastily respond, “I know.”

And the moment is clear. His lips are definitely on yours, and your hands are in his, but also on his; and over his arms; and grasping his shoulders. And most importantly, his body surrounds you and he’s hugging you to his chest. Your breath runs low, and you can’t tell if it’s because of his arms or his lips.

Either way, you embrace it all.

He leans you on the rocks. He’s grinding and you feel something…hard, brush against you. It fills you with heat, both subtle and scorching and when he presses that against you again, his hand slowly travelling down your body, you stiffen and pull back.

“Chan, I—” You gasp, “I’ve never done this before…ever… and—”

“Hey,” He says, “It’s fine. We can stop if you want to.”

And he pauses, slightly moving backwards to give you some air to breathe in. You listen to your heart beat in your chest, use that rhythm to help calm you down. Once it slows, you’re still hot as before, though it spreads from somewhere deep in you.

“It’s—,” you stutter, “I want to do this. Now.”

A knowing grin spreads across Chan’s face, and he gently lowers himself over you, settles a kiss, quick and harmless, on your lips, then pushes onward.

It’s rough and gentle all at the same time. Both overwheling and manageable. You’re up to your hips in water, having slid down the rocks, but you can feel that you’re wet for other reasons.

Chan pulls backs and mouths at your neck, fingers unfastening the buttons of your clothing and tossing them haphazardly. You’re pretty sure you hear a couple splashes as he does so. He kisses down your chest, your tummy, and then hooks his arms around your bottom and lifts you. He helps you back on the rocks and holds you in place as he focuses on you.

“Turn over,” he commands. He’s still standing within the creek itself, chest level with your waist. The request takes its time to settle in your mind. When it does, your face starts to burn, but you follow his order nonetheless.

Like this, you lay flat on your stomach on the grass and your legs swing over the rocks and into the creek. Chan softly tugs your pants down, just far enough to expose you. He delicately places his hands on your cheeks and spreads them. And—

Oh.

That’s his tongue. And he’s dragging it over you in a way that makes your toes curl. You tighten around nothing, not until he does you the favor of adding his fingers to the mix. He slides them into you easily, pumping them while his tongue does its work on your clit.

And now you’re clawing at the grass and dirt and rocks. You can feel yourself lightly kicking Chan in the chest and shoulders, but he only squeezes your hips back, invitingly.

Soon, you’re cumming around his fingers and can’t help yourself from slowly sliding down the rocks and into the creek. Chan does his best to soften your descent, then turns you around to face him. His face is glimmering with both your and the creek’s wetness, hair laid down by sweat, lips plump from how much they’ve been pressed against you, God he just looks so erotic and amazing like this that you tug him in for a kiss. You taste yourself (at least you think that’s you) and it’s not the most pleasant, but you don’t mind because he doesn’t mind.

“Do you…?” You breathlessly motion for his member. He grins and looks down at you as if you’ve just asked him a silly question. And similarly, he plants a light kiss on your nose before diving for your lips again.

“Next time, baby,” he says, “Right now I just wanna feel you.:”

So he pulls you flush against him, arms roaming around your body. When you’re both red-faced from kissing the lights off each other, he helps you climb out of the creek.

Neither of you are really thinking when you hit the ground, him on top of you and his length sliding over your folds. He’s teasing, but you’re too excited to hold off for any longer, so you wrap your arms around him and pull him chest-to-chest, crying with your impatience.

With a chuckle, he gives in, sinking into you. You’re surprised at how well you take it. He fills you up so nicely, so intensely. Each thrust sends you into another fit of heat, your core burning and tightening around him. Chan nuzzles his face in your shoulder, and with every pump of his hips, he teethes at the skin of your neck.

Every feeling is amplified when he’s folded around you like this, and as time runs out, another orgasm makes its way through your body. Chan groans appreciatively and leans on his arms to plant kisses all over your lips, face, and neck.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Let it all out. Let me feel you.”

You cry out when he abruptly pulls out. He kneels beside you and wraps a hand around his length, hastily jerking himself to completion.

You watch in entrancement, the way his face scrunches up, and the way his whole member and fist shines and you’ve suddenly got a craving to put your lips on his dick.

You hesitantly bring a hand over to it first, to test the waters. His movement stutters, then slows down once he realizes what you’re trying to do. You sit up and bring your other hand to his cock. Cautiously, you start to pump them.

“Don’t be scared,” Chan chuckles, “You can squeeze harder.”

Your grip tighten, but not too much, and you try again. Small, airy grunts fall from his lips. His hips start thrusting with your hands. You watch as the head of his cock disappears and reappears into his foreskin, shimmering with the mix of you and his pre-cum. It’s strangely appetizing.

You lean down to put you mouth on Chan’s dick without much thought. His hardness is cushioned by your lips, and his skin is silkier than you initially imagined. But it’s at this moment you realize you have no idea what to do.

You look up at Chan, and he groans at the sight of you at this angle. But then, a fond smile makes its way on his face and he lifts a hand to gingerly comb through your hair.

“It’s okay,” he laughs affectionately, “I’ll teach you another time. For now…”

He brings his hand back to his cock and finishes himself off. You deflate a bit, disappointed you weren’t able to give him his orgasms that he so desperately deserves, especially after getting you there twice. But he’s already on the ground alongside you, holding your face in the palm of his hands and pulling you into a loving smooch.

“That was amazing,” he moans, drawing out the loudest kiss sound from both of your lips. You both giggle in response. “I couldn’t be more happy you decided to give yourself to me.”

“Wasn’t planning on giving myself to anyone other,” you say. You climb on top of Chan, squealing as you try to indulge in the high-famed post-sex cuddles you’ve heard so much about. Chan squeezes you back with the brightest and most-dimpled grin you’ve ever seen.

Eventually, the mirth wears off, as the wind picks up and you’re immediately reminded that you’re both outdoors, off-campus one might say, but most definitely not on school grounds, when you absolutely should be.

You lay back, groaning when you check the time. Late. “My mom is going to kill me.”

It seems as though you can’t stop making mistakes and screwing your chances. The school year is almost ending and you feel like your life might end with it. You try to think more positively, but as the seconds tick by with neither of you racing back towards the school, the worse you feel.

Chan shuffles about. “Your mother isn’t going to kill you.”

“How would you know?”

He pauses; takes a moment to inhale.

“I told my dad about what’s going on at home, hope that wasn’t intrusive,” he says, and your heart stops. “He understands what you’re going through and regrets acting that way. He’s willing to take it all back. In fact, he says you’ve gotten so good at swimming lately, that he wants you to help mentor the kids. It’s a paid opportunity.”

His hand falls over yours. “I’m also seeking ways to get you away from there. My home’s got a guest bedroom, and I’ve been convincing my mom to clear it out.”

“You mean…”

“I do,” he says, “Some of us are not blessed with the most supporting families, and that’s okay. Because you have people that care for you, we care for you, I care for you, even if your family…cares for you a bit less.”

It hurts to hear him say it. Hurts even deeper to know it’s true. But the warmth in his gaze soothes you even just a little bit.

The dangers of going home is always a threat that hangs over your head, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since meeting Chan, it’s that you don’t always have to go alone.

When the time is clear, when you’ve found support and built up confidence, you confront your family.

You tell them that you’ve had it. You no longer keep your whereabouts a secret, you no longer let them intrude on you anymore. You tell them that you’ve found a job, that you’re now able to support yourself from here-on-out. You are no longer financially, emotionally, or physically bound to them whether they like it or not. When you’re done, you don’t even stay to observe their reactions, though you can hear your sister snickering over your shoulder.

Chan’s there to give you a ride to his house, once you’ve packed up enough for a week. He says he’ll accompany again next time. Or maybe there won’t be a next time.

You are rewarded for what you have achieved, rather than what you can, and you can leave the past remnants behind and rediscover yourself in a new way, confidently.

I must salute smut writers, because every single time i’ve attempted to write smut I’ve struggled, ugh… but anyways………….

hope you guys liked this! if you made it this far, that is. ^^ this was edited by @jaeminlore​ who was really kind enough to do so!

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXIV

Parts I-XXII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

Part XXIII

XXIV.

(Author’s Notes: I noticed a slight mistake in my last post. Thomas would be Lucie’s second cousin, not first cousin, because he’s the cousin of her cousin. They are not in fact related at all, only Anna and Christopher would be related to Lucie, James, and Thomas. Ugh, it’s all very confusing. Anyway, Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays! I hope whatever you and your family celebrates, it was wonderful and special. Thank you for being patient for this update. Next update is coming Jan 3.)

James pushed their horse and carriage through the streets at a blinding speed, taking corners on two wheels at times that had Cordelia gripping the sides of the carriage and bracing herself at the velocity; filled with too much concern for Lucie that fear for herself could not fit. Once Magnus had successfully removed the block on her memories, a flood of terrifying images filled her mind.

The demon that had attacked their carriage.

Alastair bleeding on the brick pavement.

Lucie running towards her through a cloud of orange sand and Belial greeting her with a malicious grin.

Lucie could see ghosts. No, not only see them. She could command them. Conjure them. And he wanted to use that ability to command an ultimately unbeatable army.

James took a turn up on the sidewalk, nearly removing a postal box in the process. Luck be it, Magnus glamoured the carriage so that as they flew by and around the crowds of people moving through the congested streets of London, all the pedestrians felt was a harsh gust of wind that gently scooted them out of the way or immediately stopping them so that James could maneuver around in time. When James had begged him to come along, Magnus insisted that he needed to find James’s parents and tell them of Belial’s interest in their youngest child. It was imperative that they find Lucie and bring her back to Magnus’s cottage where he could form guards around her.

Somehow Cordelia knew that if Belial wanted access to her, he would find it. For he had somehow found Cordelia in the middle of London and held her life and her brother’s in his hands.

Alastair. The warmth evaporated from Cordelia’s face as she reached for James’s wrist to look at his watch. She cursed when she found that it was already thirty minutes past three. Alastair would be on his way to look for her now. This would not help James’s standing with him, but she didn’t have enough time to concern herself with her brother at the moment. She’d deal with him once Lucie was safe.

James had barely brought their horse to a slow trot before he jumped from the driver’s seat of the carriage at the front of his Aunt Cecily’s manner.

He ran around the carriage to assist Cordelia, but she was already on the ground and ahead of him.

The garden door was open. There was a chill in the air that was usually absent in the presence of Cecily Lightwood’s quaint cottage. It felt as if it’d been cloaked in darkness- the way she felt when she’d been dragged to the shadow realm by Belial. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of it. Perhaps it was just fear for Lucie that she was allowing her worst thoughts to enter her mind.

James stayed beside her, taking the stair two at a time in a way her skirts wouldn’t allow her. She heard a terrible rip and suddenly her legs had more room to stretch. She didn’t slow or care even as her hair spilled from the delicate coronet her maid had done her hair in as she kept pace with James.

They barreled down the hallway just as two figures stepped out from the room at the end of the hallway.

“Thomas!” James yelled as he skid to a stop. Cordelia behind him reached out for the figure beside Thomas.

“Alastair!” She screeched, nearly colliding with him when she noticed a dark patch across the front of his shirt. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Alastair and glanced between her and James. “I was, but I’m not anymore.”

“What happened?” asked Cordelia as James pushed his way past Thomas into the bedroom. “Where is Lucie?”

Thomas and Alastair looked between each other and before either one of them could say a word, Cordelia felt the warmth drain from her body. “No.”

“He was going to kill Alastair,” said Thomas, shame filled his voice. “She gave me no other choice. She nearly broke my nose escaping.”

“He has her?” asked Cordelia as she moved past them into the bedroom to see for herself.

James stood in the center of the room staring wildly at Grace and a boy, no older than the rest of them, kneeling on the ground besides Tatiana Blackthorn. Cordelia’s hand went to her mouth as she realized the woman was dead.

“What did you do?” James demanded of Grace who hunched over her dead mother. “What did you do!?”

“Don’t speak to her in that way,” said the boy.

“Who are you?” asked Cordelia, coming beside James.

The boy slowly rose to his feet. He stood nearly as tall as James, with dark hair and eyes the most beautiful shade of green. “My name is Jesse. Jesse Blackthorn.”

“Impossible,” said Alastair with a hand still clutching his chest. “Jesse Blackthorn died a long time ago.”

Grace sobbed into her mother’s corset. “Yes,” said Jesse, “I was— I was brought back through a bargain my mother had with Belial. An exchange of sorts. My mother thought she was only bringing him the items he needed to resurrect me, and she was so desperate to achieve it she never suspecte what she was actually doing was collecting exactly what Belial needed to create himself a temporary physical form. It didn’t last long, just long enough for him to take Lucy and leave.”

“Why bring you back to life then?” asked Alastair. “If he got what he wanted then why bring you back?”

“To keep Lucie compliant, I suppose,” said Jesse.

“Why would you keep Lucie compliant?” asked James, tightening his grip on a knife Cordelia hadn’t seen him draw. “Did you have something to do with this? Were you working with Belial too?”

“No,” said Jesse. “No, I was trying to protect her. She— she was the only one that could see me; could talk to me.”

“And you took advantage of that,” said Alastair.

“No,” insisted Jesse. “We formed a friendship. We helped each other. I saved your life James, I gave away my last breath after the first attack with Belial, and because of that Lucie made it her mission to bring me back to life. I didn’t realize until it was too late that she had formed an alliance with my sister who was under the control of my mother and Belial.”

James looked down at Grace.“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“There is no getting to him,” said Jesse.

“I’m not asking you,” whispered James in a way that sent a chill down Cordelia’s spine and fear that if he were to ever use that tone on her, even she might cower. “Where can I find him?”

Cordelia felt as if she might faint. She took several steps backward until her back hit the wall.  

“I don’t know,” shuttered Grace, still clutching her mother’s mink coat.

James stood straight and dragged his hands through his hair until tuffs of it were sticking out from between his fingers. He turned to Thomas and the two began whispering to one another in low voices. Cordelia felt Alastair come to stand beside her, but couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge him. The memories of him lying on the brick ground bleeding were too fresh in her mind, confusing the way that she felt about him when she left the Institute earlier that day. She’d been so angry with him; she hadn’t known that they were moments away from losing each other.

She couldn’t think about that now. There’d be time for forgiveness later, for now, she needed to help find her friend.

Grace pressed her mother’s hand against her cheek. Her tears poured over her mother’s rings, one on nearly every finger. A memory flashed before Cordelia’s mind of Belial twisting a ring around his finger while he spoke to her. A thick, silver one on his boney thumb.

“Grace,” said Cordelia, pushing herself away from the wall and stepped towards the mourning girl who looked so much like a child curled up on the floor. She dropped onto her knees and brushed Grace’s lovely soft curls that she’d once envied away from her face. “I am so terribly sorry for the loss you’ve suffered.” Grace closed her eyes as more tears rolled down her cheeks. “I cannot pretend to imagine how you feel, nor will I, and I want you to know that no one blames you.”

She heard a scoff over her shoulder.

“They’re going to blame her,” said Grace. “She was just trying to save me and my brother. She didn’t want to be alone, and they’re all going to vilify her for it— and me.”

Cordelia understood all too well wearing the sins of one’s parents. Her father tainted their family name long ago. A stain that she’d have to shoulder and battle everyday.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” said Cordelia patting her gently on her back. “Your mother trusted you over everyone else. Did she ever tell you how she conversed with Belial? There had to be some way that she contacted him or he contacted her and if you can help us learn this information and save Lucie, perhaps we can restore some honor back to your mother. Perhaps she can leave this earth having saved your brother and helped to defeat Belial.”

The room grew quiet around her and Grace sniffled. “She never told me directly.” Cordelia held her breath and Grace lowered her mother’s hand and held index finger. “One day, I saw her playing with this ring and thought it peculiar because I’d never seen it on her hand before nor have I ever noticed her playing with it. She dismissed herself from the room and went to her study. I heard her talking rather loudly with someone inside, but when I tried to open the door it was locked. When I mentioned it later, she suggested that I must have been hearing things, but I know that I heard a voice with hers. A male voice. The kind of voice that you do not forget.”

They all stared down at the ring on Tatiana’s finger; everyone too fearful to touch it.

Thomas was the first to speak. “Should one of us put it on?”

“No,” said Alastair. “No one touch it. We should wrap it up and bring it to the adults.”

“We don’t have time for that,” said James and reached for the ring, but Cordelia slapped his hand away.

“Alastair is right,” said Cordelia. “We don’t know what this ring could do if one of us puts it on. It could kill us or something worse.”

“But Lucie,” insisted James.

“Lucie would not be much better if the ring kills one of us and our one chance of finding her is ruined,” said Cordelia as she ripped a piece of her skirt and used it to carefully remove the ring from Tatiana’s stiffening finger. “We’re taking it to Magnus and we’re going to pray he knows what to do with it.”