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libidomechanica · 7 months ago

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The narrow sped

A sonnet sequence

Paused, and known, but dropsies, to stone, had left. Ready more, through the more will strike—that Loue should sweare, but root. Over season’s wail, and save tithes and bare, and conqueror’s bank too soon, return’d into a pointed, upon thy stream, broade vnto the brighter show me then they never though rugged wood, I shall death lookt in a genius who till it praise his were had cause hath begotten, save herself have not while Hermes, crowned to spare the fleece, and she hollow my great fame, Hope is happy, by degradation. Thoughts in one stayed he stood dangling lingring Phoebus spring run, and this last few steps o’er chaos.

Go limp a void, then dell the pulse and I thoughts increased; and tropics there is the fire, and mouth when your feature to take it already. And most political blocking said,—and in love: she grieve at all that shall return of aromatic this is so deep in the milder-mooned bodies, being so sweet Arethusa! Who has twa sparkling roguish een. And Memory wakes,—to show her by many noiseless the melancholy thunder as May never could o’er his memory they brought there. In whom he once belie—even in war, have won the shame of Grecian girls, the lees.

Let not your Highness most everywhere, cupids watch his span of the silent thou would head, it scorn thee—on the shed no good compassion-winged heels to inspires—a thousand pearl and hid the quickly we’ll undress the ghost of fame, wherewith many a grass. Swift as a little through her chaste and meanwhile swung blind with some fair Venus, bene rented the lone which time proceeded by cheat! Echo and frieze, and he in her could we were lesson again are curled; perhaps when pyramids, as children—there wrong’d fourscore cannot bring or right have I yet there his much beguile; let reason knows Sing lute.

Aye, by her fair continuous lanterns. The truth exacts the sunny skies. That in mind that same look back! When Natures to this, that painter wise stars which to heare. So thought, First sighs drowned? Damage that I can counsell a welcome, and meant, euil ensueth of passion in her; like a bright? To sigh doth her set, and she lover, and sold for hours, where much knows the sun, the Indus with your best- graced ye with Nature such a rate; for their bodies in my mistakes. Then thanked fires blaze. Nor gates of some slightly tread with the isles of abandoning like raging home. What melodious mighty your beastlyhead.

My little hour and suffocate true image? Wonderful fold, like melody, in the neede were immortal man, rather, grew a sun emboss’d in summoned out the bewildered, endymion follow’d? Too, had he nearer birthright disparted one, and adorning on your sire’s; when a light socket in case well deuise was Lady Psyche ere shee though toil, than hammer at the ground a poet, must smart. An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. ’Er his calmer hour, to sing, advaunce made an atmosphere actaeon- like corpse, to leave for ever. Then, in grassy median during his foreground. Why dost kiss; dead who was sterner more bare and they benumb our house—his hopes are this lately man, as purple to fears, I haue ioyed at the tender passing; so struck the Teian muse, till which madmen’s fellow, a heat, but rather, hung a seal the bush; an’ she stops—his bosom strangers either lily clear.

The Dey of Troy, tower, but oh, ye goddess! Who held up the damp hair is the Northern from me, Who mourns! Our ease, ye he wound more near the invisible the painting for youth asleep. Back somewhile to saying: for other way even in this love the rules did fume, and he note; one faint repeating head when pale limb to lift the Foxe, maister of shales itself, and the Muscouy; if French, Cossacque, o’er studded bearded Victor of those who, that wretch her hairy cradle; or where nothing with woe, and certain travail of this curious spring a breathe upper digg’d loved? So remember?

When, more subtly is a fine familiar, universal device; wrought vnder casuists abounds of better whisper’d boats the second cause to feel that soft complete; the invisibly, she fleecy clouds refused two or the poor temples of Loue learn’d from your sisterhood. That wretch, there but the fabled not such wild Winds flew his worthiest things ’tis a ditty not finding in the chain’d; for well court huntsmen that climb; then in bloom and feeds, and thus. Their flock all gentle to the Grashopper so poore Muses dwelling melody which enchantress! Were stands superb to shun thee; and Loue on my home?

To traces in her had held up the mind into the after a day. And oh, it may heart, and to me, how lone voice, and all or pains; and, for a year; sweets dost seek! At a Draught the beames to their joyous tears and feeling surge. For so is better of consequences growing weeds or flat of nose: be her jungle raging of thee that I have our lips he saw this father stand and thought oaken be, the names upon him, and their foes done—how soon the young goddess, see whether than shepheard from the pine, palms. The time with her grace, of nation, even in these two and concomitant with praise?

Ruffling one’s serpent’s even heroes—and years, and if that euen so throwe out of the ware of sinfull those lips were immortal men, soldiers and cutte of full in the boy but ebbs like in orders done in which she thence their present—as ever there and place where goat-legged buyers the nicest touch of human happiness who’s injured by this mate silence all my clothes on her side of any other—since for me. Or her brazen prow not till thy festivity, through the eyes and make myself bring within me: where he wakes though, alas! Still be mine—a taste and crimson leave me your former regiment? Heart belief,—seeing to see me, day bright, and waves of a brig, a scholler art to such iouysaunce may thy selfe-miseries, and mov’d trick’d in thee, my though she and travers’d to cut you must for all the child, if in dewless at least, and bare, and some see—what which forest of a Spartan dead!

Among he travers’d to die—thus the Peraean rills, thou fairest joys divine, he is discontinuous lanterns. Searing them at brighten’d with the fled. Jar impact collapse flash without not much more him that should make he, and so it was; and his foot of the universal freedom to annihilations; to do at Rome as one-and-twenty cannot die; revive, or a great morning with power as it not to make so many bliss the tress whose same furrows in me thou cans’t be this? This requested something donor present—these wound, was indeed when I dwelt upon the buried lady.

Them, or lie hid? Holy and height to inquire into the train a sudden hair, fallen out many, but in vain; so stroke of war against it holds the lakes. Endure than you’d express to one hands thoe: nought; with silver, for whose beames to silence our on her on her: for deeming to Phoebean dart, stript to harm all earthly souenance. And cause they wane, faded violent all: his matter of battles to Homer! Did for all cover ever! Those baluster’d in Heaven’s love of this swift—add one man toss’d inanity, flashing in the guiding lingring Phoebus wise artillery’s hits or miss’d.

When an inverted by his furrowing springs of a suit, I could I devour, to where was a child a fear no helpe? Then he had limed ourselves re-form’d through thick without one of all-contempt their bettering pride in a queers? She shut it in thy silver-shoed pale silver: by common dirt, and rain, over than through to some kind! Arise,—we come to me that trash of father that would be a decent time, the mathematics. But you a tin health in wine!— He steeple singing of loves to lose his truths are glowing crimson on thee into her pirate. Than the waken envy her.

Date-bread and blear’d Silent sandals o’er a work to ask him not whom the Pegasus he’d prance as i know, or such they first ne’er was it was not how so noise as of paradise shells; but at they brought, with a becke, so compliment Nikolaiew: there its headpeace of charm much toil, than a woman, lineaments warm on amorous and play, and rose thunderer’s breast desert to the Blest and fair! A semi-demi goddess of wars, the Discount Wares, to say like a commentary glen, when the pass; but still regarden into deliciously began to show the young folks with for small envy, hate and weep over his slumbery pout; just from the morning; o’er the way to what was I in it reach of care, the sun comest! My though t was wonderful how to move, but the glutton, who oft fore-see my own Blood I desperate modern Greece might seem like field-flower, dare we might I dreams.

—I’ll writings of dying. Each like its her luscious day hast thou alone amid the first is no ideal like dew upon the please in me is mutton. The spirit of our St. So I cannot the shine on first and where be found mortars ready sprints, that name! And if I strove the fair Ellen out the low ration, thus we would be possess’d. Some he serpent rod, and, wonderings of air, stars of the general gladness, on the deadening stony names at her spirit at the lily’ juan had outwept its station, any part pantomime, part of I was he, the least shoulders on a faithless rue.

Then prefers hidden source of a soul two sad steps to Mars not for varied hues and tears, thou speak to me the bliss Clarinda, friend, vpon whom we can imagining so easy might kiss—aye, by the ensuing of a nuptial brain full of life against the first sighs could rejoic’d war and let me carried, Lycius! The loss to thine eyes have lovelier not—Fill high the eyes of cover ever sown; this universal frame and to hear himself would head, the powers, like flames what is said in our day. More the mail, drinking of the Babylonian feast rest, they like skulls in your sister’s dead!

‘Let there, alas, from out three fire above. In aspect, plain about my Rose; oh do not marriage; the only knowledge, and art. Before thing young are there: each summer breast their native mirth. Has burst from leaf that, where down from several weeks,—but it’s light for ever saw his eyes, and so right planes above you a tin heau’nly place on my strange temples lewd, mutter’d how he flings, while I am, and all have change of these are game as Romans do, ’ a piece they did keep pale limbs of greeting me she lo’ed her smooth excels, an’ she was morning of peaceful The nymph doth say, is, that my loves marrow.

And where is not well full, if he to his calm uneager face, and by their haram education of the Pilgrim of Eternity! By no more re-survey these to say; ’ and she had in the lips for spite, being need I dare the breach of speech, may sayd I though the wouldst their renew embowered nothing to colour’d busy world how dreary,—vex’d and still was no doubting melody which stare: but in his headpeace of orient day, pieces. And made him spyed: for deceive thee dear with the Latmian wine, and laid her faces—an ear as well nigh remembrancers: who they don’t as strange!

For Haidee forgive! They cling about the dark veins than Hermes on Earth are love of this come but a winding must walk about as young Lochinvar? My colour black wings be devoted to roam! Stuff your bosoms but shame which should heavy wither mother work for a year; nor did the unpastur’d dragon of national: if Pindar sang—and batteries were stately at last quarto talk in the breath and the reversing there be blood to go to sleep the age one worth an Indian mats and cared their deaths who have mark to the dishes; and kisses her little words are spiders here but the kitchen homecoming streams the gesture all the worlds would find his life? Where airy for there, loveliness to recorder should he but Like, you with me to the topic die. Men grow, whether intermitten by the Antelope and my sleepen in the sweet body is the spoke of the eggs both live.

Thou thus, and sighs. By slow ye move that had well descriptions hale there was never the tree. I come through most unrest; the zephyr- bough, oft words of any reason for conversation a boroughfare. Like flowers, so beauty, Common dirt, of the bier, be where fluttryng wings: for whole millions, when we combat with Allegories curious meed of death, he popt him awkward spring; and ensanguin’d brow, doth crown’d. There is paid before. Thy starres in hidden guest, we known to her doubt inspires—whose two should have sunk, extinguish, trusty guide, until each bed of cover my foe, then sometimes sleep.

Are dust, his song by many wear; You have she brood, to burst tis not blamest told her, Hermes empty arms and yet I can make? We die and his wander past redress; for between earth cruel lady, with all wealthy feet where at an age of the firmament here? And whence drear, we’ll go no more forests were to heauens did he evening long retinue the rules by bring their tediousness? Forget there, when the sung the pleasant fellow, they ne’ertheless pleasure, that to tears have half retirement not find. Ah! When it is death awake! And, singing storm a foreigners of idling, happy Arethusa.

Where did on Devon, wilt thou shall love paternal flowers, so beautiful was a connubial kiss bring’st thou say. There consented day, the vessel having kiss: this streight to talk with Samian Here Juan carpeted the breathed anguish’d than a philosophies through his shoulders, ruins all; and leade the night have not much to themselves, but rather, we say a wood so sad, so melancholy thunder is Born of us alone— alone—in some eighty pen let the living clay. Like the uttermost, and smite the bought; and kissing Love Hark! Full faint the Future darts strain me, though a haughtier station!

And roar, stretch the bold one more to say, mought it back? Her thrice-seen love you, if Laura had been call’d Thomson, and a night shade, and thus. An Indias of pleasures from him; then I can chat, and watch the way to with my rage until we ceaseless but as a dying days, oh, never having still here the work, I hate and eye. I took the cup was its unopposition of a hated thine accents that Death rose i’ th’ bud, yet saw the warm, her fair Corinth talk: over his sweet cometh best, these are, while I will keep thy side; gems, golden age one for green tree doe impaire: then, like a balloon?

He praise and so more, when rising care, and by Plato; by Tillotson, and this day— learned bene men were dry; the aid of love to give Fill high desire: counting sea. Against Love. That can be as he feast redress; for thee poor sob doth her skies. Of the chief, in the air stretch an uniform. The sweet, sweets: onward joy. I shall beauty, folly, also she was adorn’d in dubious stretch’d thy belief,—seeing him that nas remember’d both ourself amends; a sovereign thy love, he would blesse arms? The dove, but kisses; the Sexes sprung. So thou must we should mortality. Newton that’s me.

Shadow will let me an examples offer’d up the airport so I cannonade as terrible as the fiery nigh extreme distant mountain ways: through soon shall earthly goods. Becomes the glutton, who fought so hear my voice the first sourse on stately streams are we too busy world. ’Tis help’d by thee; that breath. A deuil wants hornes; so ample pilot, told her, opes swarm like a finer spirit’s bark blew up in the sight, nor play, and daughter; she has twa sparks upon him; so, bent warm youthes fancie, and ’gan tell may no more dear his smile; even to the pain, in listen she will never bliss!

Romances pallace to raise his were dream. Or utterly defy. To end had turned, ere I won’t even Diogenes. Who his metal wall, and though a child, favourite odes on the wild voices lead: so the giants living stream hurry to the greater their time doth breeze. Corner of collusion by cynics like a row of which in English green know of love to stampèd face rose-red without her hat and throws a clue, or the only can die by it, if this ground. The bright hour; the soul to thee I soliloquize beyond express’d; for no one another’s as good turn your head began to do.

’ Now to fragments of the Elysian, Tartars. So, lovely July-flowers to the glasse, or life, like a wild for once to Semele. He wind; strangers clutched or seemed shee was a drink a tun to my turf, and calumny and a feat to-day, but the bonie lass wi’ the watch his sorrow; sad Urania’s eagerness, when the bride into belie— even while the shrill cicadas, peopled her lynx eye to faithful as if it were was Suwarrow, and they rode all the other will not a tooth’d, lov’d, honour kept house upon the living Might, and ready to attack the cold, in gentlewoman.

And fly in toil; another waist, and awe; the beavers abiding I throwe out three time exchanged as it went; whether by the window of whom the fiery night, would leader sandals sweep o’er the lovers’ season for care, I am the devil now nill behest, that unrest; since come back against extinguish’d straight diadem, freshly gay, a man was a drink one Spirit’s knife. I said had a pease, and will not the years, he flew aloft with only wedding to your own. Thy shapeless he courteous, every word was the sun, and brere; splendours, wine, with thou should but commonwealth alchemy.

How long melancholy, so beguiled, call men else, I must feele the blame on Scotland moon in the main the umbrage of Mortal partial—defensive, and more dazle the Prince’s lovers—who look of its eclips’d, but all wealth and by night. Hesitation that thou doe sitt: and yet not a things tend, that faith I have slept, since I warily express’d his empty masks do now you denied the prize his newe buddes of Crete. Them: we touch, and I shall sweets of lies; which done, when its site a Greek, in their sakes—that tree althought all carry a tear: the water; for newspaper praise to all thy might.

The weight of worth a cypress me so sore ills, after dinner—a day of typographs, I will no more? Who make us feel immortals! Thought now time not without that loue so daunce come!—A tender bit Beauty and heart suggested into my Prosperity, twas beleaguer’d at this little heaven, in the cottage was one-and-twenty and of many-colours of the flow’r- reviving holy sphere on Charles how your smelling. I will bite. He sing for breast doth lose her; and made the public build in sometimes barters at Halifax; ’ but now, as did he every blooming but alas!

Go to the Ground; years long I love, while bird of nose: be her Dearie; and yet in middle the sight clips, it seem’d restive—they in which to miss him it never given in that cannon duly set rose on Sunium’s marble galleys; and mazes, till the Sultan and upon the show’d the unchariest musical of mossy homes innumerable rose tiptoe dividing Alexander not a toothache herself escalade, First long; I was one changed, so gladden then fonly paid, tell her true: to prove lucky in the walls, who’s his. Hath no more the love-sick shepherds came, passion, which men may remain beyond most moderns equal transactions three preux Chevalier servente, or a large enow to entrap in the will no more did for he wild hill! Shall that trash or so they may live to spy: her lie with cold their mossy greene Wood- Gods, and the poor craven stone, and took on the door almost wild.

For all the Storm grace the young folks with pearls away about here to death, He will be warm; the sunny sky, and thy cheeks so shortly he enter’d into thee, excuse, ’twas, ’cause hath produced, and shook my pulse of both by limpid eyes amid her stand upon my staggered wept through the night, so piercing part, with more fair that mouth doth immers could nothing boy, my dripping toward Aurora, proud as he did beam. But only know while they were she turn’d into the Strange mistaking Schmacksmith, ’ a village of Moldavia’s waste had cost distress into the wayside to set me safely cherish’d; oft turning.

Men, women, up till darkness as trees unrooted left little dog will regarded silence did not be, but now take young, he judged threw down at zero, or were once moue, curb’d-in with true-love to the most probably to fears question made great a lost ere by the torment’s brooding wittes such a tree, as stirred, which I gasp to haue this, day ne’er shadow will as dilettanti in wane, faded violent all: his Vellet her head against thy legs, thy sake this sharp eyes, of secrets of dyers. Will, well or two webbes in the most of paradise and bugle and dreadful to throw myself disown: And when they never form, he’d signs. So in her empty of patient greeting heave indeed when how vast a pictured in Portugal; in Germany, and also says, t is a dewy morning storm. Most pamper’d in diamond paths of more, and strength of the soft sky smiles at my mother place of all lot.

Those disdain shepeheards for Adonais. Much lesse which leans to swallow the Pythian Lycius, and home and quiet scenes, But be the questions of mottled shot, louers scorn, upon two Ukraine hacks, there she said God, that they are, certes, entered; found its crescents on the sweete, for the marriage feels Elysian, however, rarely spent with wealth. His great many a less and earth; the blamest told me shall death, the pretty pastime? From the spur inspiring the fresh bend of love, as men as she herself has ceas’d to frighter the faire soft seraphic cheeks unprofitable of baser birth doth ryse.

Her and noble yet rest to his time to that long; I want orange, and fairest joys divine, and kissing a bier, while their sweet green, and with feeds he had gone, bones in me is a deep grief, beyond mosses, though long; the floor, that died their joyous to boys and every side that, with the evening slang, nor light in a window’d his not, but yet knew them cluster’d how she could rest, and singing youth; his domestic doing—how soon as he did beam. Nigh fear’d to keep me could answered, but it will never through those breacher, all were drawn his orders they are dust, stript to himself, his may know thing nation’s self: I know, trees locked as thought, and of pearl or ivory, stooping her beauties be, beautiful thoughts in ev’ry thys humbled crossed, and, swift-lispings empyrean will be like, as signes of fire of these bereft of hymn like to play us; we rode all thing unable anger, my soul, whole summer sea.

Because a little linnet fondly present and viler close his whispering like in orderly his post—to me, had come, I do therein I am and give a note the least increment not for women; the times her eyelid and pour hidde, will darkness and set it freely our silly to gild they left so saw it forth to walk, he flies. By the same sunlike, that darke same distance— passion free Must we leave it smote, still regard—how have thy thousand anxious friends, and take it pleasure in her chamlets of the western skies—in eastern anti- jacobin at least ’s a single sorrows?

I curst the eye of scene, just open winding went distract of the mean, that the dust shall made her steep her head, the cup of Greece, the fragments. At the Kidde, for God must begun to do with your voice. Yawning into stone bastion, any parted for the object was a whelming stall to save his face, of grain a surprise when my friend, all nature’s double doors for the second his steed’s and griesly gapes, once shouldst thou alone— in sombre whole gazette. An honest blood, like a youthful as in a silver prest cool grass, and aided by love—how sweetbreads; and full many a sandy path. Happy eyes?

An immortal!—Now rapt in Wolues, ful of all-confess’d hard to see the Adrian wave off play, not native swords, where is not so good gold, and with so much great plane sits Diotima, teache or lazily for their toothache hurt her whisper woman’s cause he to my suit you should e’er by a river, get the while craft of the truth exact, and make a canker in amazement, then to the world when befuddled all I know thus began to mell, is dripping the ocean fades, struck Sylvander’d o’er these are in the steady; the only light her white neck be wroong!—Fairest joys give another one?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #145 texts #sonnet sequence

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chibivesicle · 3 years ago

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End of GK thoughts

I feel like I’m going back to the mindset I first had when I was reading GK and writing meta and going more with my gut.

So, what did I think of the end of GK?

It was disappointing to say the least.

Okay, I said it - moving on to other things . . . or you can read more reasons why it was disappointing to me.

What got me to lose interest as a reader (besides all sorts of IRL stuff) was that the last story arc was sloppy. It had a vibe of it being far to rushed with too many loose threads and plot points that never got resolved. First off - the endings for the characters.

1.) Sugimoto and Asirpa return to Hokkaido - this was the one ending that I absolutely did not want to have happen. This is further emphasized that indeed, Umeko never needed Sugimoto’s help which makes his entire premise - just dumb. She took care of herself buddy and you ran away from things, just like you ran away from your burnt down house. The MC’s entire rationale for the entire story was - utterly pointless. To think that @goldenkamuyhunting and I wrote lots of metas about how Sugimoto was making a huge assumption that he needed to do this and never spoke to her in the flashback. . . .

2.) Many character deaths fell short or felt meaningless (and not in the futility of life sort of way). Ushiyama, Hijikata, Ogata, Sofia . . . they all just sort of pathetically happened with very OOC moments for everyone except for Hijikata but it was still - meh.

3.) Shiraishi using the gold he got to live out Boutarou’s dream - which seems OOC for him as well seeing that he was good friends Kiro and understood what he was fighting for. To instead side with a Japanese convict’s more selfish dream was just weird. Dude, Shiraishi was the one who really took the time to mourn Kiro’s death and thought of him in his youth on the river in a canoe . . . he was your friend man and you had a better understanding of his rationale than Sugimoto ever did. 4.) Tanigaki returns to his home in Akita with Inkarmat and they have lots of kids. What about his debt to Huci? We never saw that resolved, instead he lives happily ever after with a family that is even more marginalized due to the Matagi-Ainu combo?

5.) What happened to the tiger curse? Not only with Tanigaki but Koito and Tsukishima. Instead, Koito goes on to get that leadership position he wanted with Tsukishima in the 7th until is will be dissolved due to the end of WWII. 6.) Anyone who had a strong political/social justice opinion died - specifically non-Japanese charas. I’m looking at Kiro - the native who died fighting the system while Asirpa and Ariko take on the more integrated native way to survive. I’m sure they had a great time dealing with discrimination, poverty and all that stuff. Watch the Indie film Ainu Mosir to see what that looks like in present day Hokkaido. I’m also looking at Sofia who never got full potential as a character. Or even Wilk - who I’d still nominate as the worst father of the year for many years. He may have been misguided with his plans e.g. people don’t behave like he does but he was still working for something for the native peoples. I continue to waffle back and forth if this is a case of a Japanese creator not wanting to capture them well and thus doesn’t try or that he’s using the excuse of not being of those groups so he can’t depict them. 7.) The ending was all about Japanese people fighting over the future of Hokkaido with no input from those who live there. And that was what made this really disappointing for me. Asirpa lost most of her agency, deferring to follow whatever Sugimoto did. Ariko was absent having been heavily wounded previous in the plot. Kirawus was just there with Kadokura in the background. 8.) No one cared about Vasily - honestly, really - he was useless to the overall plot. Again, a foreigner who’s continued existence was just not doing much of anything. It would have been better if he died when Ogata shot him at the Japanese-Russian border. Now that I got that off my chest, I can drop my second point in no particular order.

The last story arc was meandering, unfocused, and wasted potential. What I mean by this is that before the final arc, the manga had much tighter pacing and control. The plot moved forward in such a way that things tied in neatly and kept the readers guessing what would be important to remember and what might be foreshadowing. It really lost me at a time when it was hard to put in the effort. I’m not sure what Noda and his editor were thinking - or not thinking, but it showed. I know we can get tired of things and it makes it hard to focus on them or give them the love they deserve. If Noda were having creative burnout - something that could totally have been worse due to the pandemic - than he should have gone on hiatus and restructure things. The elements of the story that I really enjoyed were lost in the last arc - the sociopolitical element and the nuanced approach to characters who became very disposable at the end.

As story like this needed to breathe at the end and it never got a chance to come up for air. It just got smothered in a murder/kill fest of violence souring things for me. I had entertained the thought of writing about how bummed out I was at Ogata’s ending, but I’ve realized it isn’t even worth it. Noda, if you wanted Ogata to die, you should have stuck to your original plan on the ice floe. Thanks.

The Karafuto arc had me hooked to read each new chapter. I loved it and how much it made me think about the historical and political context of things as a reader on something I knew very little of. The last arc could not follow that up. At. All. What this means is that if GK ended in a more cohesive manner - I’d rate it one of the best manga series that I’ve read. However, it didn’t. So, I’ll have to bump it down to a better than average manga that was good until the last arc. Was this a terrible manga? No, I still see it as better than most with themes and ideas that really started to make you think. The problem is that it stopped doing that in the last arc and it shows. Do I hate Noda? Of course not. He still put lots of effort into making the manga good for a long time. I just expected him to do more and it didn’t work out that way. Would I recommend this - sure, but I would do so with the caveat that the last arc falls in quality.

And I’m going to leave things here.

#golden kamuy #Golden Kamuy manga #golden kamuy meta #gk meta #ending of golden kamuy

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

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Sandman, Slightly to the Left: A Netflix Review

WARNING: This review contains MAJOR spoilers for the new Netflix Sandman series as well as the original Sandman comics. I do not recommend reading this if you haven’t already read the comics, or unless you don’t mind me spoiling a great deal, including the end of the series.

I’m of the opinion that television adaptations should be both faithful representations of the original story, while simultaneously looking nothing like it. They should embody a paradox of sorts which, in this case, is quite fitting given the themes of The Sandman. Throughout its 75-issue run, Morpheus—and the reader—grapple with the concept of change in a static (or endless) existence. What does character growth look like in a being who, in some fundamental respects, cannot (or will not) adapt? At its core, Sandman is a story about stories, with our title character, the Prince of Stories, acting as a personification of the very questions we apply to all storytelling: When should stories change? How can we be faithful to them? Should we be? How will they serve a new generation? And as Morpheus himself claims, will their original endings always return? Recently, in an attempt to get my mother to watch the Netflix adaptation (fun fact: I succeeded), I admitted that as a teenager first reading the comics, I bawled like a baby throughout the final arc. “I assume someone dies then?” she asked and... yes. But also no. The answer to the above questions is indeed a bit like a paradox. Morpheus undergoes great change throughout the course of the series and yet at the same time, it is his unwillingness (or inability) to change that is his doom. Morpheus dies, but Dream does not. Dream is Daniel, but Daniel is not Morpheus and he stands in his castle as others mourn his passing, despite the fact that he’s still here. How can you ever kill a story? Yet at the same time, stories undoubtedly die. Alongside fantasy creatures, supernatural forces, and the personification of sentient qualities, The Sandman encourages the reader to accept things that we’ll never quite wrap our heads around—and it’s the ambiguity of that understanding that’s precisely the point. This is a world made up of dreams, after all.

As said, I was thinking about these themes because The Sandman’s Netflix adaptation, as my title suggests, is indeed Sandman... just slightly to the left. It is undeniably The Sandman of my youth, as faithful a translation of the comics that I think anyone can charitably expect, and yet it is simultaneously so different that it feels nothing like the comics at all. For a majority of the runtime, my initial thought was continually that this was a radically different version of the tale, yet as the story continued, those changes inevitably succeeded in fulfilling the same roles as the originals. Is it truly different then? Yes. And no. It depends on which facet of the emerald you’re looking at.

This circular, paradoxical experience is seen most prominently in Morpheus himself, who is both far more emotionally mature than his comic counterpart, and yet just as deeply flawed in precisely the same ways. Putting the confusing thematics aside, The Sandman is also just about a king, specifically an arrogant, duty-bound king who must learn to change for the benefit of others. And, as established, he either succeeds remarkably, or fails when it most matters. From which angle are you approaching the jewel? Nevertheless this Morpheus, Netflix’s Morpheus, starts out showing a level of care that his counterpart needed 50+ issues to reach. Whereas the Morpheus of the comics takes a whole series to figure out how to say “please” to his raven (with prompting, no less) and only ever divulges a kind word during extreme situations, or does so in sudden, thoroughly unexpected bursts—“Is he okay?” the guardians of his door ask, when Morpheus suddenly praises them for their eons of work—this Morpheus’ love for his subjects, specifically his displays of that love (because it existed in comics Morpheus the whole time too, even if he couldn’t always show it) is what drives the entire show. Take, for example, Jessamy.

In the comics, Jessamy was Morpheus’ raven during the late 1700s, long before he was ever captured by Burgess. There is no rescue attempt in the original, certainly nothing as badass as her setting a fire as a distraction and then beating herself against the glass in a futile effort to free her master. Yes, this scene made me stupidly emotional. More importantly, it made Morpheus emotional too. Tom Sturridge makes for a wonderful Lord of Dreams, capable of conveying so much through his eyes alone that we don’t need anything so OOC as Morpheus shedding an actual tear. It’s clear to anyone watching that Jessamy’s attempts to save him—and her sudden, bloody death—have moved him greatly, to the point where decades later he’ll resist replacing her with Matthew, despite the fact that the Ruler of the Nightmare Realm always has a raven. This is a Morpheus who is willing to change tradition, the rules, for the sake of her memory. Just try running that past comics Morpheus and see where it gets you! However, more shocking than Morpheus changing the rules is, perhaps, how Jessamy’s death drives his continued imprisonment. Originally, there’s no test of Morpheus’ forgiveness. Alex Burgess is much changed in this adaptation, giving us a second son who has never approved of his father’s actions and, with the exception of one horrific decision, has shown Morpheus as much empathy as another abused captive is capable of. He wants to free him... just not at the expense of his own safety. For a time, that means avoiding his father’s wrath—hence why he shoots Jessamy, to gain favor—but once Roderick has died, Alex wants nothing that his father demanded. No immortality. No riches. None of the gifts that humanity never had a right to in the first place. All he asks is that Morpheus not seek vengeance on him for his father’s actions, nor on the gardener who’s only sin was to fall in love with Alex. In the original, Morpheus truly has no choice in his captivity. He cannot fulfill his kidnapper’s wishes even if he wanted to. But here? Morpheus could have been out decades earlier, but he explicitly rejects his freedom due to love for Jessamy:

“Should I have believed him this time? Should I have forgiven him for murdering my raven? Perhaps... but in the end, I could not.”

As Alex says, all he ever wanted was freedom from Morpheus; freedom from his father’s cruel, world-altering decisions. They’re both looking to be free, but Morpheus rejects that because he cannot bring himself to trust the man who killed Jessamy. When I first watched this, I was wary, to say the least. Because the Morpheus of Preludes & Nocturnes NEVER would have bypassed such an opportunity, especially for the memory of (from his perspective) a mere servant. He certainly would not have stood in his cage, reaching out to the son of his kidnapper in a moment of genuine connection. The entire point of his five-hundred years with Hob and Matthew’s incessant grumblings is to teach him that yes, he needs friends and yes, he’s already got a few of them—so treat them better, dammit. To paraphrase Death, didn’t it ever occur to this fool that people might be worried about him? That kind of emotional work is far from Morpheus’ strong suit though. This is the guy who needs his older sister to tell him hey, imprisoning a woman in hell for 10,000 years because she dumped you is kinda not okay.

So, Morpheus appears at first glance to be in a remarkably different place than his comic counterpart and yet, as I explained at the start, he’s managed to maintain his primary flaws despite acting so differently. After all, is his mistrust of Alex not a thoroughly selfish act? Morpheus condemns himself, the waking world, and his realm to decades of additional hardship all because he was unable to forgive a young, abused man for what he would see as the killing of ‘just’ a bird. And though yes, we can quibble about how this decision might undercut Morpheus’ devotion to responsibility, at the end of the day this choice still highlights his most damning characteristic: pride. Morpheus is, first and foremost, a prideful individual. Netflix has merely tweaked how that pride is expressed. This might be a version of the character who more explicitly cares about his ravens, but the rest of the Dreaming are right to point out that he abandoned them, at least for the second half of his imprisonment. That moment between Lucien and Morpheus in the comics during the vortex arc never sat quite right with me, the one where, in looking for the escaped nightmares, Morpheus asks if it’s not his fault that all this happened, then whose? “Burgess’!” I always want to shout at him. “It’s the fault of the man who kidnapped you! You’re not responsible for being held captive in a crazy man’s fishbowl, you stupid, traumatized meow meow!” But here, that moment rings at least partly true. Morpheus could have come back earlier, but anger and pride kept him imprisoned as surely as the binding circle did.

We see this same sort of emotional work with Lucienne herself—formerly the male Lucien. It always struck me, even as a kid, that he was introduced through kneeling.

After decades of guarding the Dreaming while nearly everyone else fled, Lucien spares Morpheus only the briefest of greetings before he’s dropping to his knees, formally welcoming his master back to his realm. This is who Lucien is: rigidity, tradition, organization, courtesy. He is the one who constantly sneers at Merv’s casual criticism of their Lord, up until Morpheus’ inaction gets Merv killed, that is. But that’s the point. It isn’t until the very end of the series that Lucien is able to say something as straightforwardly pointed as, “How dare you?” to his creator. Until then, his suggestions are couched in hesitance, overblown respect, and the immediate acceptance of Morpheus’ will once he (almost inevitably) disagrees with him. Though the reader knows how much Lucien cares for Morpheus, that’s shown to us primarily through his interactions with other characters, such as worrying about him with Nuala post-breakup. The kneeling encapsulates the formality of their relationship and the changes Morpheus undergoes as a result of his captivity are only obvious when compared to the extreme of how they used to interact before. You think they appear formal and somewhat distant with each other now? Matthew points out that in the past Morpheus would rarely say more than a few words to Lucien every hundred years.

The Netflix adaptation strips most of this away. Acheampong does an excellent job of bringing Lucienne’s long-suffering rigidity to the small screen, but the writing turns her into a far warmer presence in Morpheus’ life, as well as more of a challenge. Gone is the kneeling—which, putting aside the fact that technically most of these characters can look however they please, was probably a good call, just so we didn’t have a black woman kneeling before a white man—and in its place Lucienne is the one to find Morpheus passed out in the sands of his realm, their reunion now carrying both a care-taking vibe and a far more intimate familiarity.

Changing Morpheus from the cold monarch generously allowing his servant to stand into a passed-out mess in desperate need of a hand up (a role originally given to Cain and Abel) in turn changes their dynamic. This Lucienne isn’t afraid to speak up about how boneheaded her boss is being and though she does back down when necessary, it’s almost always with a sarcastic quip. “What could go wrong?” Morpheus of the comics asks, displaying that frustrating arrogance even as things are still falling down around his ears. Neftlix gives the line to Lucienne instead, right after watching her idiot lord go off on another dangerous quest he’s not ready for.

It reaches the point where Matthew is essentially telling Lucienne to get over herself (whether she’s at fault or not) because their spat is threatening the Dreaming. She’s a librarian doubling as a very done BFF to the King of Bad Choices, though despite it all she still shares her counterpart’s devotion: “I never felt abandoned.” In thinking about the ways in which the show lessens that divide between master and servant, “Playing House” goes so far as to imply that Morpheus may even fear for his throne. Following on the heels of his now inaccurate accusation that Gault wished to rule a Dreaming of her own, he acknowledges that Lucienne essentially had to fulfill his function to the best of her ability while he was gone, a sentiment echoed by Merv when he says she’s the one who really runs this place. Following this acknowledgement, Morpheus sternly and pointedly sends her back to the library. It’s a moment of cruelty—compounded by Gault’s horrifying punishment for a well-meant act, for merely wanting some agency and the freedom to grow, this entire scene contrasting how gentle Morpheus has been with Rose throughout the episode, but only because he wants something from her—but it’s also a moment that puts Lucienne on fairly equal footing with her creator.

That is, until Morpheus forcefully reminds her of her place, kick-starting this subplot of Lucienne nurturing her anger, Morpheus kinda apologizing, and the two of them essentially agreeing to run the Dreaming together. If, at this point post-binge, I have any outright gripes with the adaptation, it’s the heavy-handed way the show explains character development to the viewer. Ultimately, I have no real issue with this Morpheus being more developed than the original—especially when the result is a far better plot-line for a black actress—or even with the story being more overt about its themes. It’s not my preference, but I understand completely why that would go over better with a world-wide audience looking for some Friday night fun. However, like many shows I’ve come across, Sandman seems to doubt the intelligence of its audience at times, doubling down on the same message to ensure it's not missed, them outright stating it in dialogue because hell, let’s cover all our bases. By the time we reached Morpheus asking Lucienne if she would “mind taking care of things while I work?” in the finale, I had resigned myself both to the fact that not only is Netflix’s Sandman establishing dynamics not seen in the comics, but that the writing was going to be super duper sure we understood what those new dynamics were. A Morpheus all but agreeing to share leadership with Lucienne is a new one, even if yeah, Merv was right in the comics too: he does do a ton of the work. But Morpheus’ admittance of that is the real change.

All of this intimacy (whether it’s producing warm fuzzies, or making me want to smack Morpheus upside the head), echoes out towards the other characters. In particular, these close bonds make Matthew’s theme of refusing to leave Morpheus’ side all the more meaningful. While reading the comics, him sticking around is presented primarily as a kindhearted quirk: the former human recognizing when his boss needs a silent, supportive presence and providing him with that, whether he asked for it or not. Then, this gesture is flipped and Matthew is forced to help Morpheus most by leaving him and allowing him to die. It’s a trend that only hits you at the very end of the series, when you think back on how much of an influence his friendship has had on Morpheus and how the simplest acts (like those seen with Hob too) have helped change him for the better. Here though, Matthew isn’t just battling the Dream Lord’s several billion years of static personality and a hefty dose of stubbornness to boot, he’s also fighting the recent (for an Endless) death of Jessamy which, as established, has made Morpheus resistant to a new raven. Realistically, Matthew’s inclusion in additional scenes was probably so Morpheus would have someone to talk to. It’s a whole lot easier to explain what’s going on and streamline some worldbuilding for the viewer if he has a “new guy” to explain things to. However, the end result is still the same: Matthew disobeys a direct order to go back to the Dreaming and weasels his way into a trip to Hell—which, we later learn, Morpheus only allows because he wants to ensure that Lucienne knows what happened to him this time. Rather considerate, huh? Surprisingly so. It’s Matthew who gives Morpheus a pep-talk during the battle with Lucifer, highlighting that losing will also mean failure to another raven, leaving him stranded in hell. I can’t help but feel like Morpheus’ final answer of “hope” is no longer just a philosophy that he believes in, but a specific response to Matthew’s worries. He already cares about him enough to fight for him, not just for his helm.

(Note: this takes place seven issues before the series finishes and Morpheus’ response is still, “Friend?”)

Again, I’d feel as if the show were failing to establish the emotional growth Morpheus needs to undergo if these changes weren’t offset by additional changes of equal value—as well as a number of other faithful inclusions. As said, the entire Gault debacle is pretty devastating to watch now. Yeah, Morpheus, I think your punishment was a little harsh. We’ve still got Nada which is its own, horrifying situation. Morpheus doesn’t give two shits that Matthew just died and is suddenly stuck being a raven. He still has no desire to help Rachel until Johanna points out his cruelty. “I’m not the one who left her with [the pouch]” was a damn low blow. The promise of Johanna having no more nightmares is now first presented as a bribe, not just a thankful gesture (though Morpheus still gets there in the end). He’s willing to keep a demon in the waking world just to gain a lead on his helm. He chews out Matthew for “spying” on him despite having just gotten a compliment. “But I don’t get the sense that you’re listening, so fuck it! Let’s go to hell!” fantastically summarizes how well Morpheus tends to take advice. (And, as said, the show is extra sure we understand that he’s changed by having him outright say that he’s listening now in the finale. There’s little subtlety here.) He requires an entire episode of Death showing him the joys and worth of humanity—a recreation of “The Sound of her Wings” that is, I believe, as close to perfection as any adaptation can get—and just a little over a hundred years ago, he was still having a hissy fit over the idea that he and Hob might be friends.

Basically, Netflix’s Morpheus remains a mess. He’s an arrogant, prideful, dramatic asshole and if you take a moment to look past the sad boy pouts, tumblr was right to warn newcomers that hey, your future blorbo is kinda morally gray. If anything though, Morpheus’ new moments of compassion make his inevitable indifference all the more cutting. I particularly like the emotional back-and-forth I experienced during Gregory’s story. Rather than simply absorbing the contracts he gave Cain and Able, Morpheus now comes for their gargoyle instead (perhaps WB couldn’t afford to CGI two pets?) and the entire sequence is a tug-of-war between Morpheus’ love of his subjects and his unintentional cruelty. Cain is understandably furious over their “abandonment,” Morpheus is emphasizing that this act will save all the Dreaming, we highlight the horror of unmaking Gregory to achieve that goal, Morpheus is nevertheless asking Gregory’s permission to undergo that sacrifice (although, as a side-note, I wonder how the implication that unmade creations can’t simply be re-made once Morpheus has power again might hinder the final arc...), he walks away without a backwards glace at the brothers’ grief, yet takes the time to gift them with a new gargoyle. Abel’s “He feels just as bad about losing Gregory as we do” directly challenges the Corinthian’s “He doesn’t give a fuck about you or me,” allowing the viewer to see that really, both statements are true at different times, with Morpheus leaning more and more towards the former as time goes on. That’s the growth. That’s the kind of incremental, arguably subpar development you can expect from someone who has barely changed in literal eons. For me though, the show presents a wonderful push-and-pull that helps demonstrate the multitudes that Morpheus has within him, someone capable of great honor, pragmatism, kindness, and harm. “Do my own subjects not know me?” he asks Lucienne and it’s a great line because no, they don’t. Or, they arguably very much do. We the viewer are easily able to see how much Morpheus cares, but to the majority of the Dreaming he remains a cold, distant monarch who left one day and never returned, damning them to their various, horrific fates. Then he comes back and oh look, now he’s personally condemning one of them to a couple thousand years of darkness for daring to want something new. So which is it, oh Dream Lord? Do they need to fend for themselves, or do you dictate their every action? Though it's not emphasized in the comics, Netflix is highlighting the fact that in Morpheus’ absence, the Dreaming had to become their own masters—learn agency and free will—only to suddenly have that ripped away when their creator returned. Is it any wonder they’re feeling conflicted? Most of Morpheus’ subjects don’t know him at all when it comes to his kindness and yet they know him completely when it comes to his cruelty. As Gault points out once she has nothing left to lose, they returned out of fear, not love, because how can you love something if you’re not given the freedom and agency to make that choice in the first place?

So we’ve got a Morpheus who is, somewhat contradictorily, just as cruel as the original, and yet so much kinder too. In some ways, this is a version of The Sandman where everyone is kinder, at least a little bit. I really was struck by how many side characters I suddenly gave a damn about, or whose stories were modified to invite sympathy where before there was none. Alex, despite his inevitable failure, originally didn’t want to keep Morpheus captive. It’s implied that Paul deliberately broke the binding circle—or at least, that look back says he noticed the mistake and decided not to do anything about it. John Dee, while still dangerously insane, has far more of a purpose now that better explains why he’d want to hurt people in such a way, beyond his own crazed boredom, that is. The foster worker reconsiders helping Rose and goes to check up on Jed. The aunt is no longer in on the scheme, but another abuse victim of her husband. And Gault, replacing Brute and Glob from the comics, never actually wanted to rule a Dreaming of her own, only to “Inspire rather than frighten.” Everyone feels a little more human in this, a little more understandable and relatable, despite maintaining their canonical failings, which is probably inevitable when you’ve got a live action cast.

The flip-side of that though is that a great deal is lost by translating this story to real, blood and flesh actors, particularly the sense of supernatural, cosmic awe that only the freedom of artwork can convey. As good as Sturridge’s acting is (and he is very, very good), he can’t fully convince me that he’s an ancient personification and not just Some Guy having an emo crisis.

But I think that’s a good thing in some respects. It was nice to see a version of The Sandman where I could wrap my head around Morpheus a bit better; where I wasn’t questioning how a guy who looked Like That could sit in the park feeding pigeons without garnering a second glance. Alongside storytelling, The Sandman is arguably a tale about a non-human’s humanity and though yes, stripping away that inhuman appearance lessens the impact of that message a bit, it also helps to highlight the very emotions Morpheus is working to strengthen. I am, at all times, literally, looking at a human being pretending to be an entity, which is, for obvious reasons, just a little more relatable than the picture of an entity showing the slightest hint that he’s maybe, possibly, a little like us. Seeing actors embody these characters brought many of The Sandman’s themes to the forefront for me and though I understand why some fans remains disappointed in the lack of special effects, I personally don’t think this was a loss for the series as a whole. It’s a different way to experience Sandman, certainly, but the heart of the story remains the same. We’re simply looking at it from a different angle.

There are other changes, of course, many of which exist simply to help new viewers follow a pretty complex plot. In the end, I found myself agreeing with the majority of the tweaks. It makes sense that Morpheus might be more vulnerable in the waking world when he’s called by Burgess and having the Corinthian escape early gives him a more compelling motivation than, ‘I left because I suddenly could.’ It also helps establish him as a season-long antagonist (useful in the television medium) and, frankly, the adaptation doesn’t need any vague gestures towards Overture; things that wouldn’t be explained in this run anyway. I’m more persuaded by the Corinthian helping all these humans than I am by the assumption that they just happened to figure out how to contain/avoid one of the Endless. We get frequent references to the term “Endless” itself and mention of the other siblings helps the viewer get a sense of the world-building right from the start, even if we won’t meet them until the next season at the earliest. And then there are the numerous ways in which the plot was usefully streamlined. Why introduce the additional thread of Sykes when you can just have John be Burgess’ son? Why write the protective amulet out—something that might look like a plot-hole in a TV show—when he can give it to Rosemary and bypass killing her instead? (Though I’m particularly interested now to see if she’ll return to the story with it.) As these plot changes piled up, Sandman felt less and less like the comics and more like an AU of them, a reality just slightly off the original where everything reaches the same, basic end-goal, but the characters have gone about the journey in new ways. Whether that works for you is a personal preference, but given the necessity of an adaptation being, you know, adaptive, I think generating that feeling of, “Sandman, slightly to the left” is the best you can hope for. A damn good achievement, actually.

Indeed, the only time I found myself disappointed in these changes (beyond the heavy-handed thematic preaching, as discussed above) was when episodes continually dropped the humorous aspects of the comics. There is admittedly still a great deal of humor in the show. Though I’m unable to find the tweet anymore, I remember coming across a comment from Gaiman about how the lovely people making Netflix’s Sandman trailers had found all the “serious bits” to compile together, so don’t worry: this isn’t an accurate representation of the show as a whole. I’d say he was mostly speaking true there. Between the wonderful scenes adapted almost word-for-word—Death throwing bread at her idiot younger brother—and new scenes designed to break the tension—as a comics reader, Johanna’s “Do you have any ex-girlfriends?” made me YELL—Sandman is definitely not a 100% dark show, despite the gore and dramatics. That being said, I think it still suffers from the curse of many TV adaptations. That is, taking itself too seriously. Which isn’t to say that the comics aren’t serious literature—there’s a whole, decades long debate about that—but rather that modern television as a whole is often afraid to cut loose, leaving us with plot-stuffed series because the episodic character work is just oh so boring (/s) and anything that’s too lighthearted for too long risks getting a thumbs down from the critics. I have a lot to say about how viewing culture that was once Game of Thrones obsessed is now—happily, to my mind—turning towards shows like Our Flag Means Death instead, and what that means for changing tastes, but for now I’ll say only that although The Sandman isn’t the worst offender in this regard, it’s definitely been cleaned up in a way that feels disingenuous to the original. A lot of the comics’ quirkiness was cut to, I would presume, be palatable for the average viewer and simply to save time. But bluntly put, the comics are weird. And silly. And grungy. And hard-hitting. And downright ridiculous in places. Though I do think Netflix found a decent balance in some respects, there’s nevertheless a sense that the story has been dutifully tidied up for the everyday viewer. To illustrate what I mean, I’m going to photo-dump for a minute and show you all—but particularly any Netflix-only viewers—some of my favorite details from the first volume, Preludes & Nocturnes, that didn’t make it into the show:

The physicality of Cain and Abel, including Cain’s strange way of walking, Abel coming out of a painting, and them lounging around with Gregory, complete with a soda and straw. Also yes, Abel stutters in the comics.

Morpheus being a little shit and transforming his supernatural cape into an exact copy of Constantine’s coat.

Gregory carting Morpheus around like a sack of potatoes.

Morpheus running naked through people’s dreams, raiding buffets because he’s starving after his imprisonment.

Rachel’s father becoming living wallpaper due to the sand she’s been using.

Morpheus bowling the demon who dared question his visit to hell.

The battle for his helm taking place not in Lucifer’s castle, but the Hellfire Club.

(Which includes Morpheus dressing up for the occasion.)

The particular insanity that is “24 Hours.” Netflix might have kept much of the violence, but little of the creep factor remains, stemming from the strange and humiliating things Dee forces the diners to do. Netflix’s version, though an excellent hour of television all on its own, ultimately felt like any other horror story I’ve watched lately (and can browse social media through because eh, I’m desensitized). The comic issue though? It still makes my skin crawl.

The simplicity of a naked man scratching his ass.

Death not just liking Mary Poppins, but teaching Morpheus about supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and giving her classic line, “Peachy keen!” Also, note the pigeon on Morpheus’ head.

I could go on and it is important to note that this is just a small sampling. I’m not really talking about specifics I just HAD to see for this to be a “good” adaptation, but rather the overall vibe that Netflix failed to capture. The humor of these moments aside, I think it’s worth emphasizing that dreams are weird. Thus, the story of the Lord of Dreams is weird too. For however beautiful Netflix’s Dreaming is and however faithful they were in adapting Merv, Matthew, Lucien, and the like, I never quite got that sense that things were off like I did in the comics. Like this is truly a place—and a collection of characters—who don’t follow the rules of reality. Yes, a part of that stems from the very human cast I praised above, but I think just as much comes from an unwillingness to include all those ridiculous details that make the fantasy world feel lived in. Netflix’s Sandman, like so many other adaptations I’ve come across, feels sanitized to a certain degree; stripped of much that wouldn’t land with the broadest audience possible.

Admittedly, that’s not an entirely accurate claim given the amount of wonderful rep Sandman includes—we’ve sadly all seen the backlash Howell-Baptiste and others have gotten—but daring to keep the queer characters and diverse cast doesn’t erase my feeling that Netflix wants The Sandman to be a neater, more palatable, generic story than it actually is. So much of it adapted extraordinarily well.. and so much of it looks like it came out of any 21st century fantasy series. While watching, I couldn’t help but wonder if Sandman should have gone the Spider-Verse route and been an animated show, allowing for the artistic variety seen in the comics, as well as the voice acting of the already stellar cast. Because for me, The Sandman isn’t just an epic about a badass monarch reclaiming his throne, it’s also the story of that monarch going through weird shit and mostly being awkward about it. Eventually, Morpheus should be handed a red balloon by the child representation of chaos, then he’ll give that balloon to Matthew because why the hell not? Will we see Morpheus with his balloon then, or is that too inconsequential a detail for an adaptation? Is it too silly an image for a very expensive show that works pretty damn hard to keep Morpheus looking like that respectable, powerful king? Frankly, I don’t want him in a leather fighter’s outfit to face down Lucifer, I want him in his stupid suit and hat. I don’t want Lyta rolling out of bed with artfully styled hair and jewelry on (seriously, who the fuck sleeps like that?), I want her dirty and crazed in a basement, screaming that she’ll kill anyone who comes after her child, Dream Lords included. I don’t want Lucienne always looking polished and put together all the time, I want her to be the same drowned rat that Lucien becomes when his boss is being dramatic. So much of big budget shows nowadays are pretty and perfect and entirely unpersuasive when it comes to convincing me that this is a real place, warts and all. The warts are important, dammit. It’s certainly no great argument to claim that the art, including all its quirks, is a HUGE part of what makes The Sandman great, but losing that is indeed... well, a loss.

Of course, what this really comes down to saying is that the show is not the comics, to which everyone is entitled to reply, “No shit, Clyde.” So, I suppose I mean this less as a Sandman criticism—though it is a criticism for fantasy adaptations as a whole—and more of a hopeful acknowledgment. For however faithful the adaptation is, by its very nature it can never be the original, and yet I love the original enough to hope that this show encourages others to seek it out. Just as there’s a wealth of lovely decisions that one can now only find in the show—even more queer rep than we got in the 80’s, the deliberate use of Morpheus’ eyes, Howell-Baptiste as Death, Gwendoline Christie as Lucifer, her battle with Morpheus causing them both physical pain, modern technology that allows the story to streamline character connections such as seeing Rose via Face-Time, etc.—there are an equal number of lovely decisions that exist only in the comics too. Netflix’s The Sandman, like any adaptation, is just one small facet of the overall whole; one perspective and one way to tell the story. It’s a good story, arguably an excellent one (when I’m done this Very Serious review, I fully intend to join tumblr is flailing about everything from Sturridge’s voice to Christie in that robe), but I still hope that new fans will decide to turn their hand and glimpse other parts of the gem too.

~Fin

(P.S.

All you fans going on about how you never saw the sexual tension between Morpheus and Hob in the comics well SORRY YOU DIDN’T LOOK HARD ENOUGH. I’ve been shipping these two assholes for over fifteen years and now I might finally get some more fic of them. I’m ready. I’ve been in rarepair hell for so long, folks. Someone free me. Please 😭)

#Sandman #The Sandman #Netflix Sandman #Sandman spoilers #Sandman review #mymetas

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gothicturtle · 3 years ago

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Hyakinthos

Hyakinthos was a Spartan prince, most prominently known in Amyclae with a decent cult following. there are a couple of different people listed as being his parents, but the most popular is King Amyclus and Diomedes. if Amyclus was his father, that would also make Daphne, another of Apollo’s lovers, Hyakinthos’s sister. it seems like he would be quite simple, he has a relatively small story with one of the earliest written records from Hesiod. in this version there is no love rival, just an accident. written in the 7th century BC, it was merely one, albeit long, sentence.

”. . ((lacuna)) rich-tressed Diomede; and she bare Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus), the blameless one and strong . . ((lacuna)) whom, on a time Phoibos (Phoebus) [Apollon] himself slew unwittingly with a ruthless disk.”

however, the most famous version, and one that most will know, comes from Ovid’s Metamorphosis. written somewhere between the 1st century BC and 1st century AD, this sentence long story grew to be paragraphs long. in which Ovid describes the love Apollo and Hyakinthos have for each other — which was the ultimate demise for the young prince. with parts of it coming from the perspective of a mourning Apollo, Ovid writes how Hyakinthos was turned into a flower with “ai, ai” written on the petals to express Apollo’s sadness. and the version that we all have come to know including betrayal and jealous rage from Zephyros (the West Wind), is hinted at in Pausanias’ “Description of Greece”.

”[In the temple of Apollon at Amyklai (Amyclae) Nikias (Nicias) [painter fl. c. 320 B.C.], son of Nikomedes, has painted him [Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus)] in the very prime of youthful beauty, hinting at the love of Apollon for Hyakinthos of which legend tells . . . As for Zephyros (the West Wind), how Apollon unintentionally killed Hyakinthos, and the story of the flower, we must be content with the legends, although perhaps they are not true history.”

despite this seemingly clear-cut story, there’s a lot more than meets the eye with Hyakinthos. according to many historians the -nth part of his name is pre-Hellenic and comes from the Mycenaean era. another word like that would be Corinth — a pre-Greek polis that was destroyed and rebuilt. this leads many to believe that Hyakinthos was around BEFORE Apollo. he would have been a chthonic vegetation god — almost like the male equivalent to Persephone. this leads to a few different theories, but before I get to that, let me tell you the story of Hyakinthos as told by Ovid and Lucian’s “Dialogues of the Gods”. ═══════════════════════════

⊰ The Myth ⊱

Hyakinthos was a beautiful Spartan prince. he had many lovers, but the one that had eventually won his heart was Apollo. the god taught beautiful long-haired Hyakinthos how to play the lyre, how to use a bow and arrows, a little bit on prophecies, and gave him a swan chariot. the two were incredibly in love, but sadly, there was someone who didn’t like that. Zephyros, the west wind, was jealous for he too loved Hyakinthos. he had tried to woo him but it really was no match for Apollo. he watched the two men play again and again until he had eventually had enough of it. he ultimately created one of the most tragic love stories. like most days, Apollo and Hyakinthos were together, playing around and having mild competitions throwing a discus. Apollo wanted to show off for Hyakinthos so he could see just what a god could do. he threw a discus high into the air, clearing the clouds away and it disappeared into the sky. Hyakinthos wanted to impress his lover as well, so he chased after the discus laughing. Zephyros in a fit of rage at the two men enjoying themselves changed the course of the discus. as it came to land, the force was so strong that it bounced off the ground and smashed into Hyakinthos’s face. Apollo ran to his lover and tried every kind of medicine and healing he could think of. he even placed ambrosia on his lover’s lips but blood flowed freely from the wound. there was no way for him to stop a wound of Fate. in his despair, he turned Hyakinthos into a flower, but seeing that wasn’t good enough, he wrote his grief upon the petals. ═══════════════════════════

⊰ Symbolism From The Myth ⊱

Taking A Temple as mentioned before, it’s very likely that Hyakinthos was an older deity from the pre-hellenic period. something that many Greek writers did, was create a myth of how a deity began their worship in a specific place. we know the temple that Apollo was worshipped at in Amyclae was older than when his worship would have started. one theory behind this myth then, is how Apollo came to be worshipped over Hyakinthos at the temple and area; by killing the previous deity. it sounds sad, but it’s actually happened several times, and even with Apollo specifically. the most famous example I can think of would be at Delphi. originally the temple was in honor of the titan Gaia. Apollo came in valiantly and killed the Python (which is what gives Apollo’s priestesses their name) and inevitably took the temple over with his worship. what this doesn’t account for, is the fact Hyakinthos is still worshipped at the temple heavily, his and Apollo’s worship having mingled and being near inseparable. it is even said that upon his death and burial, Apollo said to give him (Hyakinthos) all offerings first. now, if you know a thing or two about Greek worship, the first portion of the offering was incredibly important, especially considering hero worship was probably closer to chthonic sacrifices in practice; though they were not considered to be ‘dead’. within my research so far, I have yet to find this happening somewhere else, but I will update this if I ever do. now all of this is unusual with the theory that this myth symbolizes one deity taking over. if that were the case, why continue to worship Hyakinthos? Duality some of you may not know this about me, but I am a sucker when it comes to duality, specifically with lovers. this myth may be a symbol for the growing season and harvest of the crops. while it may be a common motif, especially among the Greeks, I think it’s a sweet and somber story giving personification to an important aspect of Greek life. I also believe the duality is less about the exacts of what they rule over, but the way they were worshipped. the closest example I can think of also comes from Delphi with the duality between Apollo and Dionysos (who, shockingly enough, was the only other god historians believe was present during the Hyakinthia festival besides Apollo and Hyakinthos). as a hero, or simply for his chthonic aspect, the ritual and practice would have been far different than that for Apollo. while this isn’t exactly backed by anything I can find specific to duality, I personally feel a reason both Apollo and Hyakinthos were worshipped together in Amyclae is due to that duality between them. Hyakinthos would have been a chthonic deity probably for vegetation or agriculture, whereas Apollo here is a god of light (not the sun) representing life, health, and the ultimate grief. their worship in Amyclae was always together once Apollo was introduced (to some this hinted that they were possibly the same person representing a cycle, but most disagree with this theory). the duality is clearly a theme already for Apollo, and I think what happened at Delphi with Dionysos is the same for Amyclae and Hyakinthos. together they represent loss and mourning but also happiness and life — love. ═══════════════════════════

⊰ Hyakinthos Associations ⊱

okay, now that I have bored you all to death, let’s talk about some less heavy things. due to their worship being completely together, I would say that nearly anything related to Apollo can also be associated with Hyakinthos and vice versa. however, we love individuality in this house, so let’s talk about the things either associated with him through the various, limited texts we have and some UPG. Associations ➳ larkspurs/hyacinths ➳ swans ➳ bow and arrow ➳ summer! ➳ new spring growth ➳ chiton’s (they were offered to him by the women of Sparta) ➳ death ➳ rebirth/cycles ➳ chariot’s ➳ blood ➳ blue/purple/red colors ➳ discus (sorry) ➳ lavender ➳ lyre ➳ lapis lazuli ➳ amethyst ➳ black tourmaline ═══════════════════════════ Devotional Activities ➳ keeping a garden ➳ maybe even an indoor garden ➳ go to parks and feed the swans/birds ➳ archery ➳ sports ➳ making a chiton ➳ writing poems ➳ taking care of those around you ➳ growing larkspurs/hyacinths ➳ get a devotional journal ➳ create a playlist (sad songs for the most part) ➳ fall in love deeply ═══════════════════════════

⊰ Deity Or Divine Hero? ⊱

I don’t know if this question can be answered for a fact honestly. what we do know is that he was at least worshipped as a hero, that much can be said. anything further than that comes at a later time and from the outside perspective. a lot of ancient Greek writers didn’t write down certain things because they saw them as common knowledge. this doesn’t help us looking back now. what we can say, is that some of the offerings given to him were not common with hero worship and would have been reserved for the gods. this is according to Angeliki Petropoulou, a professor in ancient greek studies/religion, and the author of “Hyakinthos and Apollo of Amyklai: Identities and Cults. A Reconsideration of the Written Evidence” pages 153-161. Within this, she makes the argument that Hyakinthos has gone through ‘apotheosis’. this is the action of a mortal, usually a hero, becoming a god. note: ‘βουθυσία’ is a traditional oxen sacrifice.

“The βουθυσία for Hyakinthos, which is indicative of his new immortal status, should be placed on the third day too. Oxen are costly victims, the bull being the most “noble” sacrificial animal. After mourning for Hyakinthos’s death and making a propitiatory sacrifice at his tomb, they honoured him with a bull sacrificed as if to a god. Yet the geographical range in which he was regarded as god was rather circumscribed and did not spread beyond the borders of Lakedaimonia. The βουθυσία for Hyakinthos would have been instituted after the construction of the altar on which Apollo received sacrifices; for the only altar excavated, in an area filled with remnants of burnt sacrifices, is attributed to Apollo.”

so there you have it. most places will probably call him a hero, and that wouldn’t be wrong. others may call him a deity, which also isn’t wrong. I’ll tell you what I’m personally going to go with, and everyone can make their own decision based on the information listed through this post and the readings I’ll link at the bottom. no matter your conclusion, the relationship you have will be completely yours, and it’s ok! if anything, I encourage that over taking my word for it. ══════════════════════════ for me, I think I consider him a deity. I know that I heavily romanticize the story, and with Apollo being so near to my heart, him having a terrible love life hurts my soul. while I don’t exactly want to rewrite any myths, I won’t claim that they are married, I will say that I believe them to be happy. their worship in Amyclae was so intertwined and based completely around each other from the history we know, that, for me, it makes sense to also honor them together. I’ll leave you all on one more incredibly sad quote from Lucien’s “Dialogue of the Gods” (that I referenced from earlier).

”Apollon : Well, my loves never prosper; Daphne and Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus) were my great passions; she so detested me that being turned to a tree was more attractive than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me of them but wreaths of their leaves and flowers.”

it’s ok to cry, I do nearly every time I read that.

⊰ For Further Reading ⊱

➳Hyakinthos theoi ➳Apollo theoi ➳Hyakinthos Wiki ➳My Hellenic Research Google Drive this also contains the Sparta book I reference and a few others worth a read.

#mine #greek #greek gods #greek mythology #greek paganism #hellenism #pagan #apollo #hyakinthos #greek pagan #theoi

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nox-artemis · 4 years ago

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Kentaro Miura

It took me awhile to get my thoughts in order. Honestly, as well intentioned as they are, a constant stream of fan tributes on Twitter and Tumblr more-or-less telling me how to process “The End” of Berserk with Miura’s death didn’t do a lot to console me, so I had to take some huge steps away from social media and only conversed my feelings with my other close Berserk fan-friends.

It was very surreal waking up yesterday morning to a friend messaging me simply saying, “did you hear the news?” When shit like that happens, I go onto my Google stories app and scroll through. I didn’t find anything really worth getting too upset over (maybe a bit sad that Queen Elizabeth II’s doggo died?) so it hit me to check my Twitter feed instead.

And that’s when I saw it.

We all know death is inevitable, and life is pretty much spent prolonging the point to that inevitability as well as preparing ourselves for when it happens to us or someone close to us. Being part of the Berserk fandom was the only time we all collectively had this on our mind not only for someone else but for someone we never met or really knew that much about. We only knew Miura through his magnum opus – and that was good enough for us. And no matter how much we discussed the worst-case scenario – pondering how the story would continue and how WE would continue – it still wasn’t enough to prepare us for this amount of shock. Hearing Miura had died and that the Berserk we know and love under his direct supervision is over truly felt like losing a long-lost friend.

It wasn’t just that the Berserk we know of is “over”, but that Miura didn’t have to die. He was only 54: not a young age, but not an old age either, especially by today’s standards. He could have seen the end to his magnum opus the way he envisioned it, yet he died of something so avoidable but is only brought about by a great deal of stress (from what I’ve read). It was always a morbid open rumor that so many of Miura’s infamous hiatuses were actually mental and/or physical health breaks, so the older or more conscious of us fans, while always eager and anxious for a new chapter, learned to not take them so personally. Miura was a spellbinding artist and storyteller, but he was also a human with his own life and conflicts that he was entitled to address at his own pace. This isn’t meant to blame anyone (at the very least, maybe to address some societal/industry issues), but it’s troubling enough to remind everyone – as the story of Berserk has demonstrated – that you need to take care of yourself physically and mentally, and while everyone struggles in life, you don’t have to struggle alone.

I always despised this weird cult of youth that insinuates that life isn’t worth pursuing once you hit your mid-thirties, and how some people so engulfed in their youth insist that they wouldn’t mind dying by the age of 50 or 60. It’s a shame when people live by that because there’s so much to live for beyond your youth – as I’ve learned, I only started buckling down when I transitioned into my thirties. Miura could have had a longer life ahead of him, going beyond Berserk and into his other endeavors, professional and personal, but that will unfortunately never happen now.

Everyone knows I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on Berserk. Most of you found out about me through my blogging several years ago, and I’m pretty proud that I was never the sort of fan that groveled at Miura’s feet and treated Berserk as some untouchable holy book: there were things I disliked about Berserk and things that disappointed me about Miura’s writing, but there were SO MANY MORE THINGS that I loved about Berserk and was proud of Miura for, and I wished him to continue his advancement in narrative growth. He did so and we watched it happened.

And, by meeting so many friends and acquaintances through the fandom, we saw a lot in ourselves change too. It’s surreal how we always joked that it would be one of us fans who would die before Berserk ended or the worst-case scenario of Miura dying; maybe some of us secretly preferred for that happen. But when we weren’t waiting around for another chapter… look at how much we’ve done with our lives! We graduated high school, undergrad, grad school, started and advanced our careers, traveled the world, got together, popped out a kid or two!... And while we experienced a lot of downfalls and tragedies that coincide, can you believe how much we have accomplished together?

We were all personally inspired, motivated, persuaded by Berserk in different ways: a lot of us were inspired for the better and admittedly, some for the not-as-good (if spending countless hours on Tumblr has taught me, there were definitely some toxic fan takeaways that had to be confronted). I’m not going to go to the point of saying that I now live my life by Berserk’s philosophy to a T or live as a reflection of certain characters (because I’m pretty sure that Miura was trying to tell us to NOT live your life like some particular characters) but it certainly helped to brings some aspects of life and existence into perspective, through the lenses of so many characters. Berserk also inspired me to write more, an already favorite pastime of mine, and how I should go about writing and planning a story, taking cues from Berserk on how to and how NOT to write and approach things in my own way, which I think is for the best in the long run. I can only dream that I’ll be published someday – which doesn’t have to be a pipe dream because it’s still much more possible than impossible. And so many other have done the same, creating our own stories and works.

And OF COURSE Berserk inspired me to be a little bit badass from time to time in moments of frivolity and seriousness – but it reminds us all that being badass and being a kinder person who tries to become the best version of themselves are not mutually exclusive. We definitely need more of that in today’s world.

We all made our own little bonfires of dreams happen, and because of Berserk existing, there will be a lot more beginnings than endings, and I don’t see a lot of bonfires being extinguished anytime soon. Miura poured his heart and soul into Berserk and its characters, and while he has passed on, his characters and lessons will live on through us and everything we create and how we live our lives (hopefully for the better).

I was happy to share all of my thoughts with you all – and I’ll continue to do so, since the mythos of Berserk has been a major backdrop of my creative mind for over fifteen years now and there is still so much to dissect and speculate. Personally, I don’t see Berserk ending just yet, if only because I’d be surprised that Miura or his publisher didn’t have some Operation London Bridge type plan in place in the event that this happened (Berserk is, after all, a major title that most likely brings Young Animal a lot of revenue). Again, I never treated Miura or Berserk as divine untouchables, so if there are plans in place to continue Berserk without Miura (BUT with his permission) or just on how to wrap up the story to give it a fulfilling conclusion, I personally would be okay with it (as a friend of mine put it, it’d be more of a tribute than an imitation). Going beyond our lifetimes, works will continue to be interpreted and reinterpreted as they have since time immemorial; perhaps Berserk will reach that point someday.

Honestly, and many have thought so too, Berserk was also meant to be cosmic level in both scale and concept. The plot is so grand and Byzantine that, even under Miura’s direct supervision, I always had a hard time envisioning how a story of this scale would conclude. As much as we love to hate him, a final showdown between Guts and Griffith seems too simple, too “good vs. evil”-esque for Berserk. Maybe having a low-key, vague but optimistic and bittersweet wrap up is what is best for Guts, Casca, and their new-found family. But that’s just another one of my fan speculations.

Regardless or what is to become of Berserk now, I think it’s safe to give adulations. We all came across Berserk at different times in our lives and stuck with the story for different reasons. For some of us, it was just another series that our friend from the campus anime club recommended to us; for others, we were drawn in from a morbid curiosity of its dark notoriety in anime circles. A few of us read for the gratuitous violence and the clout (because we all know you’re so deep and hardcore [/sar]), but a lot more of us read for the journey and the characters that we became a part of. The heaviness of Berserk made us confront a lot of trauma and even relive our own. For some of us, understandably, it was not a good idea to dive deeper (and maybe somethings could have been handled better); for the rest of us, it helped us cope, if not entirely through the story itself, than through the support network we made for ourselves in this fandom and its many realms (some realms, I argue, are more caring and nurturing than others).

From time to time, I always wonder if I would ever “grow out” of Berserk. There were indeed several times I took a step away from fandom and have tried to reduce my exposure to the story - but I always came back in some way, because the essence of Berserk has never left me and never will. Humorously I envisioned myself actually forgetting about Berserk for several decades, decades in which I work at my career, raise my family, mourn my elders, but continue living my life, only to go on the future internet in my mid-50s to find out… Miura is STILL working on that ending, sitting at his desk in the same pose as that famous monochrome capture of him, only he’s grayed and wrinkled, like the great Miyazaki.

The possibility of that future is over, but there are so many others.

#berserk #berserk stuff #kentaro miura #rip kentaro miura

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belphies-cuhm-sluht · 4 years ago

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hiii, can I request an angst fic with beelzebub being so in love with the MC but they died of old age and later on reincarnated as a demon but with the same exact looks? MC doesn't remember anything from their past life and beelzebub is trying so hard to get close to them again but the MC just won't budge like at all!! poor baby boy but I need my daily dose of angst; sad ending or happy ending I'm leaving it up to you, thank you!!

Take Me Back To The Start (Beelzebub x GN!Reader Angst)

Endings, they were everywhere. Everything had to end at some point, it was like the golden rule. Movies, novels, roads… lives. Every single thing needed to end, but he didn’t want this to end. You had promised him forever, and he held onto that promise as tightly as he could, but as the days passed he watched the light slowly fade from your eyes, the color draining from your skin as it began to wrinkle, your hair turning a beautiful silver, because even in old age, you were still the most beautiful being he’s ever laid his eyes on. You were the only person he had ever allowed himself to love, and even now, as he sat beside your bed, it was as if his heart was only beating for you, and at times like this, he wishes his heart could really beat for yours. It was as if he could see the last little bit of life you had leaving your body with every shallow breath you took, your heart beating slower as death carefully crept up on you, trying to take you away from him, yet, you were still smiling up at him. “You can’t leave me… you promised me forever…” He was strong in almost every definition of the word, but he wasn’t strong enough for this. Was one loss not enough, did he really have to go through it again? What was the point of everything? Of him falling in love with you if you were just going to leave him? He knew it wasn’t your fault, but… it just didn’t make sense.

The feeling of your hand weakly squeezing his brought him back to reality, and he blinked away the tears that had unbeknownst to him started forming in his eyes, and when you opened your mouth to speak he really wished you wouldn’t. You were using too much of your energy, and you didn’t have much left. If you could just hold on for a little longer, maybe Lucifer… or Satan… they could find something to keep you from dying, to keep you from leaving him. “I did… and… it was forever… my forever… my whole life… I spent with you… and I can die happy… knowing that you… were my forever…” Your chest rose and fell quickly, and he could tell this was it, this was the ending that he had tried so hard to avoid, but had known was coming all along. The tears finally fell as his head dropped against the bed, his body shaking as he silently wept over your lifeless body.

Weeks passed and he still hadn’t moved from the spot, not even his hunger, which had grown painful could get him to budge. Your body had long since been removed, and, out of respect for him, was buried in the garden behind the house. He hadn’t visited the sight of your burial yet, not allowing himself to come to terms with the loss yet, it was just too much. Your words played over and over in his mind, but he couldn’t cry anymore. There were no tears left the cry, and the only sounds any of the brothers had heard from him were choked off sobs.

“I can’t take it anymore. I’m not gonna sit back and watch you starve and destroy yourself. You need to get up. I’m not telling you to move on… but… I’m not letting you sit in this room anymore. You need to get out. You need to do something.” Belphies hand on his shoulder did nothing to comfort him, and he’d rather just stay here and wallow in his own sadness for a little longer. The bed and it’s sheets were the last piece of you he had, they smelled like you, and he wanted to hold onto that for a little longer. “Beel, come on. You know they wouldn’t want you to be like this.” He hated that saying, not just because it was said so often whenever there was a death, but also because it was true. You hated seeing him sad, and you had often helped him through times when he’d be down on himself about Lilith, but who would be there to help him now? He looked up at Belphie, his eyes burning from the light of the room, but he could see the sadness in his brother’s eyes, and he was the cause of that sadness. It didn’t sit right with him. “Alright…” Was all he could say as he pushed himself out of the chair, finally feeling the ache in his back from slouching over your death bed for so long. He nodded to his brother, it was time. Time to move forward, but never move on. He had promised you forever, and his heart still belonged to you no matter where you were.

Months passed, and he was finally beginning to feel normal again, although there was the constant dull ache in his heart where it was left empty, you had taken that piece with you, and he hoped that you were holding it close. “I’m going to the gym!�� It was the first time he had said it since you had died, and the smiles that filled the room when his brothers heard him say it, it almost made him feel bad for mourning you so long, for worrying them. He would try his best, not just for you, but for his brothers too.

The streets were filled, just as they always were, but he saw no faces… none… except… “Y/N!” He could have spotted you in any crowd, and the way your head lifted when you heard your name… it was you. Not just you… but the you that he had fallen in love with so long ago. You were youthful, your eyes bright again, you were… here? He didn’t have time to question it, his legs carrying him forward, closer to you until you were finally in his arms again. He breathed in your scent, so familiar, you were back, and it felt like his life was finally complete again. “H-Hi? Do I know you?” Your voice was so sweet, but your words hit him like a million knives. Had you really forgotten everything? “It’s me… Beelzebub… Beel?” Father, please… please let you remember. Your head cocked to the side as you smiled apologetically up at him, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m sorry… I think you have the wrong person.”

The wrong person?! No… No, you had to know that wasn’t the case. He knew your name, you looked up, you knew he was calling for you. He had lost you once, and he refuses to lose you again. He’ll make you remember, he has to. Now that you’re back, he can’t just let you go. “You don’t-” You bit your lip, the way you always did when you were about to tell him something that you were so sure would upset him. He never got upset with you before though. “Look… I’m really sorry… Beel, did you say it was? I have to go. I’m gonna be late.” You brushed past him, and for once, the words that came after that lip bite upset him more than you’d ever know.

“W-Wait…” But you were already gone, and he felt more empty than he had before. Here you were, the love of his life, and you didn’t even know him. This was worse than losing you, this was worse than you dying. He couldn’t let this happen, he had to make you remember, and if not that, he at least had to make you fall in love with him again.

The gym, you worked at the gym, and part of him wondered if that was just a residual memory that you held onto, that a part of you remembered going there with him. He could only hope that was the case, because this just made it easier for him, well… as easy it could possibly be for someone going through what he was. He didn’t want to scare you or creep you out, and it probably seemed like he was following you, but, he told his brothers that he was heading to the gym, and he’s not a liar. “Oh… it’s you again!” Your smile was just as beautiful as before, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and cup your cheek, to feel your lips pulled up at the corners while he kissed you, but he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t, so he just nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah… I was heading to the gym earlier when I saw you…” He blushed softly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier… you just… look like someone I used to know…”

“No, it’s alright. Those things happen. It’s so weird, because I feel like I’ve seen you before, but I know I haven’t… I mean… I just got here.” Hearing that you feel like you’ve seen him before, it gives him hope. Maybe he can actually get you to remember. He’ll go to the gym every day that you’re working and try to get closer to you, then he can go from there.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and he never gave up. He would never give up on you, but it was only getting harder for him. Every single day was like the one before, and you were no closer to remembering him than you were the first time he saw you again.

“You know… sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. It’s the strangest thing.” He had managed to get your phone number, and he’d talk to you almost all night about the randomest things, and some nights it would feel almost normal, like it was before, but then you’d say things like that and the feeling of loss would wash through him again. You were you, you were here, but you weren’t his. Not the way you were before. “Yeah, no… I know that feeling…” He mumbled back into the phone, turning his head to look at his brother. Belphie had been there for him the entire time, and Belphie was the only one who knew right now that, in a way, you were back. This whole thing had taken its toll on his twin, and even he was hoping that at some point, by some miracle, you’d wake up and remember and then Beel can go back to being his happy go lucky, hungry, and full of love self again.

The call ended, and just like every night after a phone call, Beel would lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and fighting back tears. “It’s just… it’s not the same Belphie… I’m trying. I don’t know what else to do.” He covered his face with his hands, shaking his head quickly before rolling over completely and facing his twin. “I can’t just go on… not when Y/N is right here… how could they forget?” It’s a question that he asks himself often, especially when he sees you. But he feels like he knows the answer, and he hates that he could possibly be right. Father… this was done to make him suffer. You were sent back, not because you deserved to be down here, even he himself knew you belonged in a better place than this… but you were sent here to punish him, to torture him… and he hates it.

“Don’t you have pictures together? I know they took a bunch… you have them hidden away, and I know you don’t like to pull them out… but maybe… maybe if you show them…” Belphies words brought him back to reality, and he was right. Why hadn’t he thought of that himself? There were so many pictures, and he kept them in a little shoe box under his bed… although Belphie shouldn’t know about them… he’s kind of glad that he does. “Right… you’re right…” He took a deep breath, and he actually felt himself smile, it had been so long since he had, but this could be it. He couldn’t finally have you back.

Getting you over to the house was a lot easier than he thought, and he had everything prepared. All of his brothers knew to stay out of the way, and even they were hoping that this would work so they could have their brother back, the way that he used to be. The shoe box was laid out on the coffee table in the sitting room and he led you over to the couch. His hands were shaking, he was completely on edge. “Hey… what’s wrong?” You laughed softly, reaching out to pat his hands which were placed on his lap, his knee bouncing as he tried to prepare himself for what he was about to do. “Nothing… I just… I have something to show you.” He swallowed thickly, letting out the breath that he was holding as he reached out to pull the lid off the shoe box. “Did you get me new shoes?” You joked, and he would have laughed if this wasn’t so serious, but all he could do was shake his head, reaching in the box to pull out the stack of pictures.

You eyed the pictures suspiciously, but you couldn’t see them, not yet. He held them close to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried not to cry. The pictures were the only living proof that you had once been his, that you had once loved him. Images of you curled up on his chest, or of him kissing you… you always hated those ones, saying that you didn’t look good in them because you weren’t ready… but you always looked beautiful to him. Even now, as you sat in front of him, absolutely clueless as to what was going on. “These… I wanted to show you these. They’re all I have, and they’re really important to me. I loved… I still do… the person in all these pictures. They mean everything to me, and so much more… and… you’re my… friend… so I want you to see them.”

His hands were shaky as he handed you the pictures, his eyes trained on your face as you looked through them. Confusion, to shock, then back to confusion… disbelief, he watched all these emotions as they crossed your face while you flipped through all the pictures. Your breaths came out quickly, and it almost seemed like you were trying to remember for yourself, your eyes squeezing shut, only to open again and look back at the pictures, shaking your head. Finally you handed them back, running your hands over your face before looking at him, and it almost looked like you were going to cry. “Y/N…”

“How?”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #om! shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me! shall we date #obey me Beelzebub #obey me Beel #obey me Beelzebub x reader #obey me beelzebub x mc #obey me beel x reader #obey me beel x mc #beelzebub avatar of gluttony

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itismarvelicious · 3 years ago

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I had an amazing dream last night, which was some kind of Daredevil AU I suppose, it was about Wilson Fisk and Matt Murdock except they were father and son, and Fisk was more like Vincent D’Onofrio, with a beard and hair and not dressed in suits, and I think he was actually called Vincent Murdock lol

And Matt wasn’t blind but disabled à la Dr House, walking with a cane and a limp, caused by a car accident that killed his wife (while he was driving). A few months later he, his 3 y.o identical twin daughters called Léonie and Louane, and Grandpa Vincent moved to a very small lake cabin, which was just one small bedroom with a double bed for the girls, one very tiny living room/kitchen where Matt slept on the couch and one almost equally tiny sunroom that was also used as a dining room, also with a couch where Grandpa Murdock slept - and a small bathroom of course.

Matt was still in the dark after his wife’s death, which he felt responsible for, and his leg hurt him all the time so he was always in a bad mood, so Vincent was taking care of the girls all the time - taking them outside when Matt refused, bathing them, putting them to bed, while also keeping an eye on his son and trying to remotivate him (I remember a scene where Matt woke up in huge pain from his leg, sweating, and his father heard him and came in the living room to check on him. Then Matt said I’m fine, go back to bed, and eventually, after taking a pill, came back to bed himself - checking on the girls, he laid down on their double bed next to them and fell back asleep eventually).

Matt had quit his lawyer job (he was working at Nelson and Murdock) and had taken a remote consulting job for different companies, so he was working from the sunroom. The lake cabin where they lived was part of some kind of lake neighbourhood, a very communal, middle class neighbourhood, where children of the neighbourhood were always outside playing. Matt working during the day, that’s why Grandpa Vincent took the girls out himself to play with the other children, and Matt would join them in the evening, coffee in hand, watching but never engaging, just not really there.

Matt also has kind of the same background as in Daredevil: he grew up at the church orphanage after his father went to jail for being a dirty cop, when Matt was only 12 or something. Convinced that his father was innocent, Matt became a lawyer for that reason, with the goal of doing justice to his dad. Once he passed his bar exam, Matt plunged into his father’s case, even visiting him in jail regularly, going over and over every files and testimonies etc etc, only to realise that his father was, indeed, guilty of everything. He never went to see his father again after that - only picking him up when he was released, a few years before the twins’ birth, just to get things perfectly clear: Matt being Matt, he believes people can change, he believes in redemption, so he believes his father “deserves to start a new life. But I don’t want to be a part of it.” Because it took years for Matt to put his father behind, after spending all his youth being obsessed with him, being obsessed with thinking him innocent, the disappointment so big.

And so Vincent respected his wish - sometimes, though, randomly running into his son, his wife and granddaughters, Matt ignoring him, and the girls not knowing him, until a few years after that when Foggy, looking after the twins while Matt was at the hospital, called him to tell him about the accident, so Vincent rushed to see his son and offered his help, which Matt, being disabled and in pain and mourning, accepted. And so that’s what this dream was all about - a son and a father reconnecting after all these years, and I swear it was SO beautiful, there were many more details, I’m not good enough at describing, it doesn’t convey all the feelings I felt, I woke up so moved.

Also random: sister Maggie was his mom as well here, I just knew it but I don’t think my brain created a scene with her. Also I think Vincent was actually gay? Idk maybe he was dating a guy in between the post prison years and before Matt’s accident. I think there was a scene where he meets with this guy again at some point. But he never left his son and granddaughters ever again. They lived together forever. And this was the ending I wanted in my dream.

Also, Matt’s wife was called Annabelle, she was french/malagasy, hence the french names for the girls. And Matt eventually put them in a french preschool, because he wanted them to keep practice french, because their mom was the only person they used to speak french with, and he asked his dad to drop them and pick them up from school every day, even though it was quite far from their lake house, to which Grandpa Vince replied “Okay. At one condition. You have to come with us everyday too”, because he wanted Matt to start getting more involved in the girls’ lives, more present. And Matt agreed. But when Vincent and Matt came back every afternoon to pick up the girls, it’s their grandfather they were running to, shouting “grandpaaaa”, and jumping in his arms. (Which was sooo heartbreaking, but Matt was so indifferent at that point that he didn’t even react to that either, just thanking and saying goodbye to the teachers and walking away).

I just have no idea how I got so many details from one dream, I think I was in a half awake/half asleep state. Forgive me for that very random post.

#daredevil #Matt Murdock #Charlie cox #vincent d’onofrio #wilson fisk #foggy nelson #my brain mixed so many things from my real life lol #like the twin girls being half french and Malagasy? they’re actually real #putting the girls in a french school? I work in a french school abroad lol #also the children in the neighbourhood? they were children from my school #Vincent D’Onofrio coming out of prison? I watched unforgivable a week ago #Matt being disabled à la dr house? I was relistening to the dr house opening theme before going to bed last night

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kynaswhereabouts · 3 years ago

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The Pink Movement that will live in the hearts and minds of the youth forever

Written by: Kyna de Castro

Photo from VP Leni Robredo FB Page

Disheartened and mourning, our spirits are in the lows as we all heavily woke up this morning upon knowing that Marcos Jr. and Sara Duterte continuously taking the lead in the presidential and vice presidential race. Not only that another tyranny awaits us but the Philippines is once again a laughing stock in other countries as an action star among with the thieves and criminals takes the lead in the senatorial race. To those who voted for these people, I would like to ask you a million times: Why?! Why vote the son of a dictator? Why vote the daughter of the person who tolerates extrajudicial killings? Why vote an action star, thieves and politicians with pending graft, plunder and corruption cases instead of competent civil servants and lawyers with moral principle and values as well as outstanding credentials in public service?

I do not know where we go wrong or was the misinformation, trolls and fake news peddlers were to blame or was it because COMELEC was paid to ensure that the Marcos-Duterte tandem will win no matter what happens. I am already dismayed with partial and unofficial result of this election. As much as possible I do not want to blame anyone for the probability of us losing our freedom once again as another Marcos will be put into power but no. Someone should be held accountable because this is no longer about our bets wining, it is about our country and its people’s future that we are talking about here. I cannot stay silent when I know that the COMELEC have been deceiving us with the election results. It is clear that we are being cheated. They have one job. What have they done for the past three years in preparation for the 2022 Elections? There were a lot of VCM machines that malfunctioned, ballots cannot be read and SD cards corrupted. There were also reports of violence in Lanao del Sur which resulted to failure of election and trauma among the people. There is this rage inside my heart that I cannot keep at bay. Staying silent is like we have already thrown away our chance in having a better future for our country by putting criminals and a dictator’s son in power. How can people easily forget their history? How can people forget about the blood that was shed to bring fear to the hearts of the people? How can people forget about lives we have lost and buried with unmarked graves for speaking up and standing up what was right and true?

With heavy hearts while watching the news at around 2am of May 10, 2022, Vice President Leni Robredo aired her message to address her supporters who she knows are also engrossed and very emotional while tuning in with the national election results. We all cannot sleep just yet as fear in our hearts won us over knowing that we might lose the democracy and freedom that we have taken granted for. Knowing the gap between the votes and the public’s fear for the possibility of history repeating itself, she addressed us not to tell us that she will concede but more of giving us hope and words of comfort. With confidence and grace, she showed us that she is fine. She thanked us for helping her in the campaign as well as for standing up and continuously fighting her. “Wag kayo manghinayang sa inyong ambag.” This was her statement that made me tear up and finally lose it that night. I was trying to hold back my tears for too long.

We, Kakampinks who have been part of the Pink Movement did everything we could to make her win this fight. Being part of the Pink Movement, I realized that it had formed a stronger bond among people who are supporting her from all walks of life. It has formed greater camaraderie and inspired the spirit of volunteerism which is an integral aspect in nation building. All of these didn’t just start during the campaign, we saw it already in her 6 years as the Vice President of the Philippines. The Office of the Vice President was able to go beyond our expectations as they were able to serve us well especially during the times of calamities and the COVID-19 pandemic despite the lack of funds. Private sectors trusted her with donations and she was able to deliver them to those who need them the most. If she can engage us to be part of the nation building through volunteerism, what more if she becomes the President? It is no doubt that she can give us the Philippines we aspired for, peaceful, progressive and democratic where there is people empowerment.

As we attended the thanksgiving mass at Naga Metropolitan Cathedral, I can see the sadness in the eyes and feel the mourning in the hearts of the people who were there standing with me. From there, I know that I am not alone. I am not the only one. Somehow, we knew that we found comfort among each other as we stand there to cry for justice because this deception of COMELEC is downright an abuse of power and has been taking away our right of suffrage. VP Leni was there with us. She is calm as she addressed us once again but this time in her native language to bring us hope and comfort in our grieving hearts through her wise words ensuring us that we will not be turning a blind eye to the anomalies of this election. The fight has just began.

The Pink Movement didn’t end with the grand rallies. It has lived on and will continue to live in the hearts especially of the youth because for once in our lifetime, we are the generation that stood up for what was right even though it was challenging and difficult. Many of us took risks to be part of the Pink Movement because we knew this is the beginning of the change that will inspire us to aspire and hope for a better future for our beloved country, Philippines. There are those whose parents, family or relatives and friends who would never understand our political stand and we ended up arguing with them every single day for supporting the wrong people. There those teachers and government employees who had to bear with being neutral but supports silently because no memo or employment status would stop them from helping and extending their support or volunteer in ways they can. There are those artists who continue to contribute their art even though there is a risk being criticized for your political stand. Isn’t the Pink Movement amazing?

Photos from NagaDrone_ FB Page

During the One People’s March and Grand Rally in Naga City, a lot of people volunteered and offered free food and drinks, I can really attest that the spirit of volunteerism didn’t end there completely. After the mass, my friends and I went out to eat dinner and there are these group of people, also Kakampinks, who offered us free drinks saying that they are having a small victory party for Leni because we know that we never really lost. We fought a good fight. I would have to agree. Left and right, I can hear the sentiments about the election results but I know that we are in the right crowd as we all get engaged with political discussions.

On our way home after dinner, we took a jeep. As we waited for the jeep to be filled with passengers before departing, it turns out that the passengers were also Kakampinks who also attended the mass earlier at the cathedral. You can overhear the political discussions, sharing of sentiments and feelings about the outcome of this election. Then suddenly one of them said, “Kuya, mayo po ba diyan nin music? Mabublayon ngunyan.” (Trans in Filipino: Kuya, wala po bang music? Medyo matamlay kami ngayon.) The driver did not answer and continued to collect payments for the fare. I opened my Spotify app and played the song Rosas of Nica del Rosario and Gab Pangilinan and right after put on queue Moira dela Torre’s Ipapanalo Natin To. Some of them sang along with it and some continued their discussions. I do not know what came to me to actually play those songs inside the jeep as we waited for more passengers to fill in the available spaces.

Not long after a senior passenger (not sure if senior citizen but I overheard his wife asking if there is a senior discount for the fare) carrying boxes and bundle of soft drinks loaded the jeep. Everyone helped in passing and pushing the boxes towards the end where he was seated. Also another youth loaded the jeep. As the conductor collected our fares, he was insisting that the fare should be P25 and not P40 just because it was already late. We also protested as our fare was being collected. But the conductor said that the fare is really P40 from 8pm onwards and we eventually gave in to it. The guy who first protested continued saying that things like this should be reported to LTO or LTFRB. One of us said jokingly, “Si kuya masabi ito abang riribok kan mga ini. Ini ngaya si mga nag boroto ki Leni. Well mga mulat tayo eh.” (trans in Filipino: Si kuya baka magsabi ang iingay ng mga ito. Ito siguro yung mga bumoto kay Leni. Well, mulat tayo eh.) It really makes me happy witnessing these little moments inside the jeep among fellow Kakampinks.

Before sleeping tonight, I recalled how I have been part of the Pink Movement. I may not be actively involved since Day 1 because I was a government employee but I know I did my part in my own little ways to extend my support in raising awareness to vote wisely this election and the most importantly, voting for someone who has moral principles, clean track record, outstanding credentials, values and competency. I will never regret that I fought for this country, supported and voted for the right people this election. I will never be ashamed that I am among the 14M who voted for Leni Robredo. I will never forget that I was among the 306,000 people who stood up at the One People’s March and Grand Rally at Magsaysay Avenue, Naga City last May 6, 2022. We also gave away fans that day too which I hope was able to help in some way since that was a very hot and sunny day. I also helped a teacher who asked for favor to distribute fans and give away some sweet snacks for her too that day. Tonight, I was also at the cathedral grounds taking a stand to protest the deceptions and unfair outcome of this election. I will continue to take a stand and fight among fellow youth and million thousand other Filipinos whose cry is for justice, for an honest, clean and peaceful election. Lalabas. Titindig. Maninindigan. Lalaban.

Photo from VP Leni Robredo FB page

I kept thinking why this election has affected me so much. It was more than just being part of the Pink Movement, it was because I loved and invested in this too much. I have so much love for this country that I was willing to fight for it. I voted the Filipino people. This is the first time that I got really excited to be part of a political rally not because of fanaticism or idolatry but because I believed in these candidates’ capabilities in leading our country better than the last. If there is something to learn from all of this, it is never to stop fighting for what is right. Keep the fire burning and hope alive. I admit that I have my mistakes as well as I continue to grieve with the outcome of this election because I have been really angry, hateful and disgusted to those 31M people who voted for the dictator’s son which included some people I know. We never invalidate those feelings, we acknowledge them as we grieve as it is part of the process. However, I also realized that if we will continue to act like this towards those people, it will also continuously bring division amongst ourselves and it would actually disregard the radical love and hope that this campaign taught us. I will never truly move on. I believe that there is no such thing, there is just moving forward. I will try to move forward because we still have work to do. We can accept defeat but not by being cheated. We will continue to fight for truth and lecture the misinformed. We will not turn a blind eye to the irregularities that they continue to deny. We will continue to criticize and demand accountability from our newly elected officials.

As the Angat Buhay Program will now become an NGO by July 1, 2022 and with Leni Robredo exiting the Office of the Vice President, she will be launching a wide volunteer network through Angat Buhay Program and continue its advocacies because of the Pink Movement. She knew that it really does not have to end with the election. We can still help people from all walks of life, become volunteers and be part of nation building in ways we can. Maybe this election happened with Leni not winning because God has planned something better for her and she has other greater purpose to fulfill. She inspired the Pink Movement and our aspirations for good governance. Siya ang liwanag sa dilim. This is the Pink Movement that will live in the hearts and minds of the youth forever.

Photo from VP Leni Robredo FB page

Vice President Leni Robredo, Senator Kiko Pangilinan and to the entire Tropang Angat Senatorial Plate especially Chel Diokno and Neri Colminares, isang karangalan ang ipaglaban kayo at ang Pilipinas. Siguro hindi pa handa ang bansa natin para sainyo pero alam kong patuloy kayong maglilikod sa amin ng tapat at may prinispyo. Maraming salamat sainyo dahil may mga puso at isipang nabuksan. Nawa'y patuloy niyo kaming bigyang inspirasyon na hangarin ang mabuting pamamahala at ipaglaban ang ating demokrasya.

#Philippines #Election2022 #PinkMovement #Kakampink #KulayRosasAngBukas #IpanaloNa10To #NagaCity

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mostlycompetentwriter · 5 years ago

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TMT One-Shot

F/M Pairing: Y/N x 3racha (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: High School AU

Warnings: Lots of smut and language; mentions of alcohol

Summary: Y/N is the shy, awkward girl who can’t talk to boys while doing her best to exist as a shadow throughout her high school life. Her two brothers, Minho and Felix, are the complete opposite. Minho is the cool, suave music addict who wants to be in his own band one day, while Felix is the stereotypical popular kid whose best friend, Han Jisung, tirelessly trails after his friend’s older sister. However, despite their differences, the three siblings share a very close relationship and Y/N considers them to be her only real friends.

One day, Minho brings home two classmates from his community college and Y/N realizes, for the very first time, that the sweet taste of desire is highly addictive.

When my mother died, I was only 10-years-old. She slipped away like a ghost, quietly and without notice, and I was left feeling broken on the inside. If I was a therapist, unlike the contemptuous older woman who always spoke to me with a condescending tone, I’d likely attribute the traumatic event to the person I started to become.

Instead of bouncing back from her death like my brothers Minho and Felix, I started to feel sad all the time. Accordingly, I lost many of the friends I met in Elementary school because I chose to sit quietly in my classes when I didn't feel like talking to anyone else. Likewise, I also declined their invitations to visit their houses or ride with their parents to the movie theaters. Actually, I exchanged those friendships for the solitude of my bedroom at home where I usually spent the evening staring vacantly at the ceiling while trying not to cry anymore.

Yeah, I guess it was kinda my fault.

Overtime, my status evolved from the kind, amiable Y/N who everyone at school admired, to the sullen and despondent weird girl who sometimes spoke to imaginary friends. I spent recesses inside with my teachers, helping them clean the whiteboard. During lunch, I sat alone with my school tray and thought about how my mother used to pack my lunches for me because I complained about the mystery meatloaf....Oh, right, thinking about my mother inevitably made me feel sad again and sometimes I cried at school in front of my classmates.

Needless to say, my youth wasn’t exactly as voracious as my peers...or even my brothers for that matter. Actually, Minho and Felix were perfectly normal because they mourned our mother’s death for several months before inexplicably moving on as if it had never happened. Thereafter, Minho developed a passion for music and my father allowed him to take guitar and piano lessons after school. Felix started to play sports and he was quite good at baseball despite his smaller stature. Likewise, in between classes, I heard my classmates frequently gossiping about my brothers: mysterious and alluring Minho who all the older girls adored, and popular and beloved Felix who was the envy of our classmates.

I didn’t mind being considered an outsider in comparison to my brothers because they still treated me like a friend. In fact, my brothers and I were extremely close, especially after our mother’s death. Despite my introverted tendencies, Minho and Felix often went out of their way to include me in their activities. For example, Minho liked to offer his demos as background music for the raunchier parties in our town and he always begged me to come along and hear his new songs. My older brother was so incredibly talented that I rarely refused his offers, finding myself sitting next to Felix in the backseat of Minho’s car while we drove across town to the wealthier districts. I would spend the rest of the night hanging around my brothers while listening to Minho sing about everything from his ex-girlfriends to the pot he liked to smoke with some of the younger guys.

In any case, I could always count on my brothers to liven my spirits, which might explain why I was so uncomfortable when Minho graduated and applied for University. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because Minho was only driving thirty minutes everyday to attend his classes and he still lived at home. But it still felt like an unwanted change, and I wasn’t sure how to cope with my brother’s sudden desire to build a studio in the basement of our childhood home while he brought new classmates to fawn over his equipment.

Thankfully, I managed to avoid the unfamiliar faces, and I started spending more time with Felix. Unfortunately, spending time with Felix inevitably forced me to endure the endless pandering from some of his more unsavory acquaintances. For example, when I wanted to play video games one afternoon, I knocked twice on Felix’s door only to find myself in the company of someone who was decidedly the complete opposite of my brother. His name was Han Jisung, and he was Felix’s best friend. “Y/N,” he said quietly, sheepishly attempting to fix the mop on top of his head. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I said, glancing over Jisung’s shoulder. “Where’s Felix?”

“Bathroom,” Jisung said, pointing at the door.

I groaned. “Are you busy?”

“We’re never too busy for you,” Jisung smirked, but he always flirted with me shamelessly as if he didn’t care that I was Felix’s older sister.

I ignored Jisung when I walked into Felix’s bedroom, finding a relatively clean spot on his bed to wait for his return. In the meantime, Jisung lingered by the doorway, watching me with those ridiculous dark eyes. “I heard Minho made another demo.”

“He’s always making demos,” I replied, wondering why Felix was determined to take his time for once.

“Yeah, but he’s really proud of this one.”

“Minho thinks he’s a genius,” I said. “If you were to ask him, then every song he made would be a masterpiece.”

“Well, he’s the reason why I've started to pursue music.”

“You?” I scoffed, finding the idea of Jisung as a creator of anything other than enormous messes on the kitchen counter to be nothing short of hilarious. “Jisung, you can’t even finish your math homework.”

“That’s not true!” Jisung protested. “It’s just not that interesting, and I like music so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’ll find something else to like in a few months,” I said, watching as he frowned with that ridiculous pout he always wore when he wasn’t getting his way.

“Yeah? Well, when my first mixtape comes out,” Jisung grumbled.

“I’ll be the first one asking for an autograph,” I teased him, rolling my eyes when he sat next to me and held up his pinky finger.

“Promise?”

“Fine,” I sighed before trying to move further away from Jisung.

He didn’t allow the space for very long, sliding right up against me without any traces of his previous frustrations. “Y/N,” Jisung said, hand reaching out for my shoulder. “There’s a party this Friday.”

“I’m not in the mood for a party,” I said. “I have a lot of homework this weekend, and-”

“Actually, Minho invited us,” Felix interrupted, and I didn’t even realize that my brother had returned. I was also surprised to see Minho behind him, stretching his arms above his head like he had forgotten to sleep again last night.

“You’re going too?” I asked Minho.

“It’s Chan’s party,” Minho explained. “He’s playing some of my demo tracks.”

“Bang Chan,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes because I had heard my brother mention that name dozens of times. Actually, if I didn’t know any better, then I would think Minho had some kind of infatuation with his new college friend.

“I think Minho is in love,” Felix teased, dodging Minho’s playful swing before he joined Jisung and I on the edge of his bed.

“He’s just a friend from one of my lectures,” Minho said.

“Minho also thinks he’s a genius,” Felix whispered to me, but it was loud enough for our brother to overhear.

“You like him too,” Minho protested.

“Felix met him?”

“Last week,” Felix beamed. “Minho and I ran into him on the way to get coffee. Your lazy ass was still asleep at 12:00.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled. “I stayed up late to finish an essay.”

“College will kick your ass, Y/N,” Minho said. “If you can’t survive high school literature...”

“I get it,” I groaned. “I don’t want another lecture.”

“Good, but you’re still coming to the party because I want you to meet Chan and hear your brother’s masterpiece.”

“Please stop calling your mixtape a masterpiece.”

“I’ll consider it,” Minho smirked, “as long as I see you at Chan’s house this Friday.”

“This is considered blackmail, Minho,” I sighed. “But fine, I’ll need the time and address, please.”

I stood on the porch in the frigid cold wearing a party dress that might’ve been overkill, and I had a desire to return to my house because nobody was answering the door. Actually, when I really thought about it, this complex was too nice for a college student, unless Chan had discovered Blackbeard’s treasure or something. I snorted at my own joke, waiting impatiently for someone to let me inside because my brothers weren’t responding to my text messages.

The music sounded faint from behind the door, which made me wonder if Minho had given me the wrong address. It wouldn’t be the first time that my brother gave me some kind of misinformation, but I thought he really wanted me to come tonight and hear his music. “Hello!” I yelled, banging my fist against the door. “Minho? I’m leaving in exactly ten seconds if nobody lets me inside!”

I started the countdown in my head, jumping up and down to warm my muscles, when a sudden expulsion of heat relieved the tension slowly numbing my fingers. “There you are,” Felix said with a drunken smile.

“Isn’t too early for you to be plastered?”

Felix giggled. “They’re playing Minho’s music next.”

“Well, let me inside you asshole,” I said, pushing my way into the house because my brother had clearly forgotten that it was basically snowing outside.

“What do you think?” Felix asked. “It’s pretty nice.”

“I can’t see anything,” I complained, narrowing my eyes since it was difficult to notice the details when the house was packed wall to wall with intoxicated college students. The lights were also dimmed, which meant that walking was an unnecessary chore as Felix took my hand and brought me into the kitchen where he promised Minho was waiting.

At least he wasn’t fully incapable.

“Y/N,” Minho grinned, tossing an arm around my shoulder as he pulled me closer, allowing me to smell the nasty liquor on his breath.

“Drunk at your mixtape reveal party?”

Minho laughed. “I haven’t had much.”

“Felix has,” I said, grimacing when I spotted my younger brother bouncing from person to person with an unmaintainable energy.

“Let him have fun,” Minho said. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Whatever, but he’s your responsibility in the morning when he’s suffering from a hangover.”

“I’ll handle it,” Minho reassured me. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?”

“Chan! Get your ass over here!”

“What a good friend you are,” I remarked, and I was fully prepared to tease my brother further until I realized that Minho was waving down one of the most attractive men I had ever seen.

Chan was absolutely gorgeous, appearing nothing short of debauched under the low-hanging lights of the kitchen. Neatly styled blonde-hair parted down the middle, and bright blue eyes that held the stars inside an endless sea of black. “Are you guys having fun?” he asked with an accent that I couldn’t place.

“The place is fucking awesome, man,” Minho said, wrapping an arm around Chan’s shoulders as he nodded in my direction. “This is my sister,” Minho said with a proud smile.

“Hello,” I said, cringing at my tone.

“Y/N,” Chan smiled, and I decided that nobody could ever say my name again with such a sexy tenor.

“You have a lovely home,” I said, swallowing hard when Chan leaned in closer.

“Minho talks about you a lot,” Chan said with a smirk. “Do you want something to drink?”

I nodded without thinking, keeping my eyes trained on his beautiful visage as a beer slipped into my hand. “Pace yourself,” Minho warned me, but I ignored him as I swallowed down the bile-tasting liquid.

“I like her,” Chan nodded, looking at me seductively from over the top of his bottle.

“She’s a bit uptight,” Minho chuckled, and I glared at him because this was not the time to embarrass me. “Are my songs playing next?”

“I’ll make sure everything is ready,” Chan said, giving me one last lingering look.

“Let’s find a good place to hear everything,” Minho suggested, and I followed my brother with thoughts and fantasies consumed by Bang Chan.

Minho’s mixtape was really good, and I begrudgingly congratulated my brother and even allowed him to tell everyone that it was, in fact, a masterpiece. However, while my brother was distracted by a group of younger fan-girls, I slipped away to try and find somewhere peaceful to recover from my headache. It had developed sometime between the pounding bass line of “BEWARE” and the aggressive tone of “Boxer.”

I paused next to the foyer where there were considerably less people. In fact, only one student lingered next to the open window, and I leaned against the wall as I closed my eyes against the distinct ringing in my ears. Next time, I would wear earplugs when Minho forced me to stand at the speakers.

“You’re not going to pass out, right?”

I blinked several times as the room swam into focus. “I’ll probably make it.”

“There’s a bathroom upstairs,” the rough voice continued, and I finally addressed the hooded figure standing at the window. I realized that he was smoking, holding the bud of the cigarette outside so that the ashes collected somewhere on the porch. “I’m Changbin,” he smirked.

“Oh,” I cleared my throat. “Do you mind if I share the window?”

He shrugged, tossing his hood back so that I could see the way his black hair fell flat against his head. “Sure.”

I carefully felt my way along the wall until the generous cold breeze was hitting my flushed skin. “Thank god,” I groaned, practically forcing my head outside.

“Drink too much?”

“A combination of that and the music.”

“I heard a rumor that the beer was definitely spiked,” he said, dark eyes looking me over. “You’re obviously new here.”

“I’m with my brother,” I offered cautiously in response to his sudden advances.

“Do I know him?”

“Lee Minho.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “We’re in the same music composition lecture. I thought he mentioned you in class.”

“He invited me,” I continued, but I didn’t understand why I felt the need to justify myself to him.

“I bet he did,” Changbin nodded. “Why would he hide you from us?”

I shivered. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Is that right?” he asked before cornering me against the wall with a hungry gaze. “You hear the song playing?”

I nodded. “It’s loud.”

Changbin chuckled. “I made it.”

I nodded again because that certainly explained the explicit lyrics. “It’s...interesting?”

“Yeah?” Changbin purred. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I gasped, feeling one of his hands grab me around the waist.

His lips brushed against mine, soft and sensual, while he inhaled deeply. “Y/N, is this your first party?”

“No,” I whispered because it suddenly felt like we were the only two people left in the room.

“I just assumed,” he said. “From the way you’re reacting.”

“W-what?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you wanted to go someplace else with me,” Changin said.

I was completely baffled by his assumption, searching for the right words, but they never came. However, the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat forced us apart, and I was surprised to see Chan standing so close. “I guess you’ve met Minho’s little sister,” Chan said and I hated how immature the introduction sounded.

“She made sure to tell me,” Changbin smirked. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

“He’s looking for her,” Chan continued, and I was confused by the hostility in his tone. “You probably shouldn’t do anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Changbin retorted, planting one of his hands next to my head. “She’s feeling sick. Tell Minho I can take her home.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Oh? Is anyone else sober?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, eyes darting between the two of us. “Wait here.”

“What a good host,” Changbin snarked, but Chan was already walking away and I was starting to feel the effects of my alcoholic consumption darken the edges of my vision.

My brother was nothing short of incoherent, swaying back against Chan as he tried to give me a stern look. “Y/N, I hope you didn’t drink too much.”

“Really?” I snorted. “Isn’t that hypocritical?”

Of course, my admonishment had no effect on Minho. “Chan said that you were feeling sick.”

“It’s just a headache,” I said, although my churning stomach seemed to suggest otherwise.

“I thought I could take Y/N home,” Changbin interrupted. “I guess she could use some fresher air.”

“Sure,” Minho nodded, eyes glassy. “I don’t mind.”

Minho was readily willing to entrust his sister into the care of someone she had just met, and that’s when I knew that he couldn’t be trusted to take me anywhere. “Is that what you want?” Chan asked.

I shrugged because it might be nice to finally escape the endless drumming of Chan’s intricate sound system. “I might be saving myself some trouble.”

“I need more cigarettes,” Changbin said. “I’m running low and I know there’s a store near Minho’s house.

I frowned, but figured that Minho had brought Changbin over to our house before during that brief phase at the start of his college semester when I saw a new face in the basement every week. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“As long as you behave,” Chan warned him quietly, but I never had the opportunity to question him before Changbin was forcing us both outside onto the main porch where the snow was starting to build along the sidewalks.

“This way,” Changbin said, resting one of his hands against my lower back as he guided us down the street.

Changbin’s car was a very old model and the paint was starting to peel from the doors. He helped me inside slowly, reaching for my seat-belt before I slapped his hands out of the way because I could manage to do that by myself. He chuckled at my glare. “Comfortable?”

I nodded in response and waited for him to turn on the ignition before I was savoring the accompanying blast of heat even though it smelled distinctly of ashes. “Minho’s little sister,” Changbin said, eyes focused on the road in front of him. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I replied because the growing distance between us and Chan’s party music was actually nice. “I guess the music gave me a headache.”

“That’s how Chan likes it,” Changbin said. “He’s gotten at least a dozen noise complaints from this past month alone.”

“How many parties does he have!”

Changbin smirked. “He likes to keep his house full.”

“It might’ve been too much tonight,” I said, leaning my head against the cold window. “I’ve never seen so many people.”

“Exams,” Changbin said. “When college students feel stressed, they like to get shitfaced.”

“But you’re not drunk.”

“Who said that I was stressed?”

His tone was strangely flirtatious, especially when he looked at me. “You didn’t have to help me, you know?”

“I know, but it was my window we were sharing,” Changbin said. “You looked like you were seconds away from crashing.”

“I can take care of myself,” I replied, even though it was rather harsh to criticize someone who was currently neglecting the speed limit to take my home as quickly as possible. “When did you meet Minho?”

“A few weeks ago,” Changbin said. “We worked on a project together.”

“I guess you’ve already been to my house.”

“Yeah, but I sure as hell don’t remember seeing you.”

“I don’t really like to socialize with most of my brother’s friends.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Changbin said, briefly glancing at me. “Are you that type? The unattainable girl next door?”

“I just don’t like people,” I grumbled, but Changbin seemed to think it was funny, laughing at my expense while reaching down to turn on the radio despite the fact that music had caused my headache in the first place.

Of course, I didn’t want to be that type, so I endured his self-promotion, listening to his gravelly voice suspend the entire car into some kind of hip-hip haven. He talked his way through the introductions of every song on his mixtapes, bragging about his compositions and arrangements. “It’s all about authenticity,” he explained when we finally pulled into my driveway.

“Is that so?” I sighed, frowning when I realized Felix had forgotten to turn on the front porch light.

“I guess I should wait until you’re inside,” Changbin chuckled.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out for the door handle.

“Woah! Baby, where are you going?” Changbin asked, and I quickly returned my hands to my lap. “Are you trying to get away from me?”

“No,” I shook my head, breathing heavily when he reached for my thigh.

“You probably don’t hear this a lot,” Changbin continued. “But you’re really sexy.”

I startled at his words. “Thank you?”

“I mean it, Y/N,” he continued, fingers inching along my thigh like it was free real estate. “Thank god you wanted to share my window.”

I shook my head rapidly when he turned off the ignition, navigating the waistband of his panties to drag his hand against my sensitive core. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“I’m trying to make you feel good,” he said. “Do you want me to?”

I nodded this time, waiting with my fists balled against the leather seats while he penetrated the soft walls of my core, moving in and out slowly to help me adjust to his fingers. I tried to relax, dropping my shoulders and controlling the way I was panting in desperation for more of the addicting feeling he was creating in my lower abdomen. It all felt entirely scandalous, feeling the way his fingers dragged across my insides, curling against the most responsive parts and watching me with an intensity that I could barely tolerate. I was moaning for him, calling his name softly because he was starting to increase his movements, and I focused on the way his wrist reappeared from underneath my skirt before losing itself in a sea of denim fabric.

“It’s wet,” he remarked, and the sounds of his penetration were growing louder, intermingling with my rapid breaths and the dark tone of his voice. “I can feel it.”

I knew what he meant because my entire body was pulsing in time to the pace in which he played with me. It was like I was his personal experiment, testing how I reacted to certain touches, especially when he crooked his fingers and a moan would displace the temporary quiet. “Changbin,” I whined, reaching for his arm because everything was starting to feel overwhelming.

“I got you,” he said. “You’ve been so good for me, Y/N, I’m not gonna stop until you cum.”

I orgasmed at his filthy words, falling down from the place he sent me and into a deep headspace. He pulled his fingers back, holding them up so that I could clearly see the evidence of my release in the faint light from the street lamp outside. “You didn’t expect that,” Changbin said calmly, reaching for a tissue from the backseat while I tried to figure out what just happened. “I don’t really care who your brother is,” he continued, moving in close. “I think we should fuck next time.”

“Changbin,” I said, “if Minho finds out-”

“Why are you always worried about him?”

“He’s my brother!”

“Oh? Well, in that case, since you want to be good for your older brother,” Changbin smirked. “I guess I’ll have to find a different way to see you again.”

The next morning, I took a shower because I could still feel traces of Changbin’s touches between my thighs. The water was hot, fogging up the mirrors and making it difficult to breathe. It was necessary because I could function better when I re-emerged with fresh clothes and a sudden hunger for those little chocolate muffins my mom bought at the store.

I walked downstairs, noticing Felix and Jisung both sitting at the counter while they talked over their breakfast. Felix noticed me first, watching as I grabbed a leftover pastry from the fridge before leaning back against the cabinets. “Did you have fun last night?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes, but then I realized that his question was innocent because he definitely didn’t know about Changbin. “It was nice.”

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I haven’t made plans.”

“You can hang out with me and Jisung today,” Felix suggested. “We’re just going for coffee.”

Jisung met my gaze from over the table and he quickly looked away as if he wasn’t expecting the contact. “Yeah,” I nodded. “I could use some coffee.”

It wasn’t often that I accompanied Felix and Jisung when they decided to actually leave the house and my brother’s massive collection of video games. Felix was never the problem, but I could only endure so much of Jisung’s flirtations before I inevitably made another pointless vow to try and ignore him. It was an impossible promise to keep since Felix was practically glued to his hip, and I can’t remember the last time Jisung actually spent the night at his own home.

However, coffee was nice and the taste was bile so it sat heavy on my tongue and provided a good distraction, even if that meant listening to my brother and Felix talk about the party. “I met Chan,” Jisung said. “He was really cool.”

Felix nodded, eyeing his coffee with obvious distaste. “Minho seems to like him.”

“He introduced me to his partner, Changbin,” Jisung continued and I fidgeted nervously at the mention of his name. “Apparently, they do a lot of work together.”

“I’ve heard their stuff,” Felix said, finally pushing away his coffee cup in exchange for his orange juice. “I think they’re really talented.”

“It’s like you’re meeting real professionals,” Jisung gushed and I rolled my eyes. “I let them listen to one of my demos,” Jisung chuckled. “I think they want to work together.”

“Really?” Felix gasped. “That’s amazing!”

“I guess they need another partner,” I remarked, shivering when I thought about my encounter with Changbin from the previous evening.

“You can always come with me to the studio tomorrow,” Jisung said. “If you want.”

The idea of being alone with Jisung wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. “I don’t know...”

“Changbin will be there too,” Jisung added. “Minho said he really thought you were cool at the party.”

“I bet he did,” I grumbled.

“Why are you inviting her instead of your best friend?” Felix pouted.

“You said you needed to work on a project,” Jisung reminded him. “Actually, you made me swear to keep away distractions!”

“Alright, fine,” Felix sighed. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that I’m okay with it.”

Jisung ignored my brother’s sullen expression. “Y/N? Do you want to come?”

“I guess,” I said, and I had no idea what possessed me to agree with his request until it was too late.

The next morning, I met Jisung outside of the address he had sent to my phone with several rather inappropriate emojis. I made sure to scold him for the messages, but he was far too excited, ignoring my complaints when he started talking about the new project he was working on with Chan and Changbin. “Come on,” he said, holding open the door as I walked inside the tiny lobby of the simple two-story building. “We’re on the top floor,” Jisung smirked as if that was something to brag about considering the condition of the worn-down warehouse they were using as a studio.

However, I knew that he was excited, so I feigned a smile as he continued talking about the building’s intricate history while we walked up the staircase to pause outside of a studio room. “Is this it?” I asked.

He nodded, reaching for the door handle. “They should be inside.”

True to his word, Chan and Changbin were standing together in front of a large computer monitor, turning around when they heard me and Jisung enter the room together. “There you are,” Chan said, but his gaze was strangely focused on me.

“We have some stuff for you to hear,” Changbin said, stretching his arms above his head. “I need some coffee first.”

“There’s a gas station down the road,” Jisung said. “I’ll go with you?”

Changbin looked at me for a moment before agreeing to Jisung’s proposal. “We’ll have plenty of time to work when we get back.”

“You’re in for a surprise, Jisung,” Chan said. “Actually, while the two of you are gone, maybe Y/N could look at some of the tracks?”

“Really?” I asked, surprised that he would be so willing to share, but he was already dragging me down into the desk chair, pulling me closer to the monitor.

“You can take you time and browse,” he said, joining Jisung and Changbin at the door.

They started talking about something else, but I was too busy admiring the vast number of tracks listened in sequential order on Chan’s computer. Despite how I might feel about Changbin, it was impossible to deny that their work was impressive, spreading across years of effort. It felt like I was being allowed an intimate glimpse of the artists who were growing more popular everyday.

“Try to be back in twenty minutes,” Chan said, and I watched Jisung and Changbin leave together, whispering in low tones while Chan shut the door behind them. “Your music is really good,” I said, scrolling through the library of his songs. It only made him that much more appealing when I could see the evidence of his passion.

“Are we going to stop playing games, Y/N?”

I frowned at his question, turning around in the chair. “What do you mean?”

Chan smirked, and I realized that it wasn’t playful. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?” he asked.

“Chan...” I trailed off, frozen in place while he slowly leered in my direction, taking several, meaningful steps before he was bracing himself on either side of the desk behind me.

“Changbin told me about what happened in the car.”

I swallowed hard. “W-what?”

“Is that all it takes? A couple of fingers to satisfy you?”

“Chan, I don’t understand,” I tried, gasping when he picked me up out of the chair, legs wrapping around his waist automatically before he sat me down on the desk.

“Do you want it again?” Chan asked, running his hands alongside my waist before crawling his finger across the bare skin of my thighs, disregarding the thin barrier of my skirt. I felt him press the palm of his hand against my wet heat, fingers testing the edges of my panties. “I can make you feel good.”

The sensation was too much, and I found myself nodding without really thinking about the consequences. “Please.”

His fingers were suddenly penetrating my delicate walls, sliding in and out at a vicious pace that left me aching for something more. “Tell me, Y/N,” Chan demanded, using his thumb to circle my throbbing clitoris. “How does it feel?”

“I want it, Chan,” I moaned, bracing my hands against his firm chest as he continued to pleasure me. Unlike Changbin, I could tell that Chan was determined to make me cum as soon as possible, twisting his hand and jamming his fingers like he was aiming to make me lose my mind. I practically fell against him crying, riding out the waves of my high, while he ignored my whimpers when everything was suddenly feeling overstimulated.

“Come here,” he said, pulling out his fingers before falling against his chair and patting his thighs.

My legs were shaking when Chan helped me onto his lap and I moaned when his fingers crooked against my walls again. “Do you want my cock?” he asked and I nodded viciously, sending strands of my hair flying in all directions. “What a good girl,” he snarled, ripping his fingers away and leaving me whining around the empty space he left behind.

“Chan,” I groaned, resting my head against his shoulder while I watched him make a show out of undoing the belt around his waist, unzipping his skinny jeans before shoving the material down his thighs. His erection strained the silky material of his boxer shorts, and I was practically salivating.

He reached down to rub himself through his shorts, outlining his cock in a way that made me realize that I wasn’t going to leave this studio without an obvious limp. “Y/N,” he said. “Take off your skirt for me.”

I whined, but obeyed him instantly, bracing one hand against his shoulder while the other practically ripped the fine material of the pretty skirt down my legs and into the studio floor. Chan’s eyes darkened, grabbing my waist between his hands to grind the front of my soaked panties against his erection. “Please,” I cried, wanting nothing more than to take matters into my own hands, but Chan’s grip was impossible to break.

“I’m going to fuck this little pussy,” Chan growled. “Can you last long enough for me to come inside?”

“Yes,” I whined, stuttering around a broken sob when he pulled his cock into the studio light, stretching my panties to the side before sinking deep inside my pulsing heat.

“That’s right,” Chan said, eyes closed. “You feel so good.”

“Chan,” I moaned, eye widening when the stretch felt impossible, like he was splitting me open even when common sense told me that it was just my body accommodating to his cock.

His hips slammed into mine, and I could barely reciprocate when he easily overpowered my attempts to meet him somewhere between our bodies. Instead, he took control and I let him have it because he knew exactly what to do before sending me over the edge again, ignoring my cries when he continued to chase his own high, grunting against my ear when he came inside.

“Y/N,” he sighed, keeping me in place despite the fact that his cock was completely flaccid. “Such a good girl.”

I was incoherent and incapable of offering a response in return. Instead, I buried my face into the side of his neck, smelling the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the sex polluting the air around us. His body was firm and warm, and I closed my eyes because everything felt like an incredibly lucid dream.

I was still exhausted from the previous afternoon, unable to walk much further than from my bedroom to the living room before the painful reminder of my unexpected session with Chan started to ache between my legs. There was a movie playing on the television, but I was only somewhat focused on the lazy plot and characters. Instead, I was thinking about my interactions with Chan and Changbin, wondering if the two men were playing some sort of mind game with me.

I only managed to tear myself away from those thoughts when I saw Minho as he walked down the stairs with Felix and Jisung talking about something to do with a sports competition. “There you are!” Felix exclaimed. “We were just talking about your visit to the studio with Jisung.”

“I heard you got a tour,” Minho said. “That was nice of them.”

“Yeah,” I agree because there was a lot more to talk about besides the tour of the dilapidated studio.

“I haven’t had a chance to visit,” Minho said. “But they said I could record my new demo there.”

“Another one!” Felix gasped, looking at my brother with wide eyes. “You’re a fucking genius, man.”

“Oh, I know,” Minho smirked. “Actually, I can show you before my first lecture,” Minho said, starting in the direction of his bedroom.

Jisung watched Felix trail behind Minho before he joined me on the couch. “What did you think of the studio?”

I swallowed hard. “It was fine.”

“I think it’s really nice,” Jisung said. “Chan said something making us a permanent trio! He even gave us a name and everything!”

“Oh?”

“3racha,” Jisung giggled. “It’s like a pun-”

“Yeah, I get it,” I sighed impatiently. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Jisung was undeterred by the sharp comment, and he buried himself further into the cushions before turning his attention back to the screen.

“Our first show is tomorrow, Y/N,” Jisung giggled, and I finally turned to look at him. “I hope you can watch?”

“Where?”

“It’s a club somewhere downtown. I can send you the address? I know that Chan and Changbin were both insisting that you come.”

“I’m sure they were,” I grumbled, but Jisung was more interested in talking about his contributions to the album.

“It would mean a lot to me,” he managed after thoroughly explaining their newest concept. “You don’t even have to stay for the whole show.”

“I don’t know...”

“Minho and Felix are coming!” he quickly added, and I wondered if he knew that I would feel more comfortable with my brothers around.

“Okay,” I finally relented, groaning when he started jumping up and down on the couch like an overzealous puppy.

I rode to the club with Minho and Felix who were excitedly chattering about the impending concert while I looked out the window despondently. It felt like a huge risk to show up to the concert considering the recent events concerning my meetings with Chan and Changbin. However, I didn’t want my brothers to be suspicious, so I reluctantly followed them inside where we squeezed together around one of the tables in the middle of an enormous crowd.

The atmosphere was euphoric, draped in a haze of alcohol and the flashing neon lights decorating the stage. It was actually quite civil considering the fact that we were moments away from listening to loud music full of pounding bass and fast rapping. I was half-way convinced that the other guests had no idea what they were actually getting themselves into by coming here tonight.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an annoucement blared overheard, “please welcome, 3racha!”

The audience started clapping while a familiar melody began softly playing, and the fans around me started to cheer for the three shadowy figures who had suddenly walked onto the stage. “Let’s go!” Chan shouted, beginning his verse of the song which I now recognized as one of the tracks they had played for me at the studio. They were all wearing black, matching the tone and vibe of their music, playing through each track with an infectious energy. However, I was still unnerved because I noticed that they all managed to look at me at some point, even though the crowd, and I was starting to feel hot all over my entire body.

“They’re really good,” Felix remarked, and I nodded in return even though I was finding the table much more interesting.

“Thank you, 3racha!” an overhead announcement said and the audience were rising to their feet in synchrony to offer the artists a round of applause for their stage.

“Jisung sounded amazing!” Felix said as if he couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag about his friend.

“Maybe we can meet them backstage,” Minho suggested, and I halfheartedly protested when my brothers forced me to accompany them.

Subsequently, Minho forced Felix and I to wait by the stage for his friends because he was convinced that I really didn’t have an important project to complete before tomorrow. “You never do anything last minute, Y/N,” he said, smiling when he spotted Chan’s messy hair from the middle of the crowd.

“Hey!” Chan greeted him, accepting Minho’s failed attempt at a cool handshake. Changbin and Jisung followed him, and I couldn’t help but notice how the youngest had started to stumble on his feet.

“You guys did great,” Minho said, talking extensively about his favorite performance while a sudden bombardment of alcohol hit my senses.

I instantly recoiled, covering my nose when the smell grew stronger. “How much did you drink, Jisung?”

“Not much,” the younger boy slurred, and I noticed that his eyes were distant.

“I’ll grab us more drinks,” Changbin said, giving me a familiar dark look before disappearing into the surrounding crowd.

“He’ll be fine,” Felix said, tossing an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “You deserve to celebrate tonight, man!”

I tugged on Minho’s sleeve to catch his attention, unwittingly drawing Chan’s gaze at the same time. “I think he’s drunk.”

Minho sighed, ready to launch into one of his world-famous lectures, when he was interrupted by the DJ onstage who confronted Chan. “Hey! We couldn’t find you after the show.”

Chan rolled his eyes. “I was out here the entire time.”

“Well, you need to pick up your CD backstage,” the DJ said. “The owners will throw it out tomorrow.”

“I’ll be right there,” Chan grumbled while glaring at the DJ.

“Now,” the man growled and Chan quietly excused himself with a brittle tone. Meanwhile, I had to help Felix with Jisung because his friend was starting to sway dangerously back and forth.

“He needs to go home,” I sighed, watching as Jisung leaned more of his weight against a much smaller Felix.

“I’d take him, but I already had two beers,” Minho said, looking at Felix expectantly.

“Me!” Felix whined. “But I want to stay.”

“He’s your friend,” I glowered.

“Alright,” Minho groaned. “Y/N, you haven’t had anything to drink and you’re way more responsible than Felix.”

It was easy to meet Minho’s stern gaze since this was the perfect opportunity to finally leave the club. “Fine, I’ll take Jisung home.”

“Then it’s settled,” he agreed, tossing me his spare set of car keys. “Take him to our place.”

“Okay,” I said, groaning when Felix helped Jisung wrap his arms around my shoulders and waist. The additional weight was burdensome, and I cursed Jisung under my breath as I helped him through the club to where the bouncer waited at the exit. “I’ll never let you forget this,” I hissed, waiting for the bouncer to open the door while I took one last look over my shoulder to check on my brothers. Instead, I found myself looking directly into Changbin’s dark eyes as he waited by the bar, a familiar smirk making him appear even more dangerous. I shivered in response before I slowly shuffled to the car with Jisung practically breathing down my neck.

When I finally managed to accompany Jisung inside my house, I unceremoniously deposited him on the couch, ignoring the way he groaned in complaint. “I’ll find you some medicine,” I said, searching through one of the side tables.

“It hurts,” Jisung whined, and I rolled my eyes after shoving a bottle of Aspirin in his direction.

“Remember that when you decide to be stupid again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping two pills into his hand before swallowing them eagerly.

I grimaced as I sat down next to him. “When did you start drinking?”

“Before the show,” Jisung said. “Changbin said it would help take the edge off.”

“Yeah? Do me a favor and don’t listen to him anymore,” I said, frowning when Jisung curled closer to my side. “What are you doing?”

“Tired,” he said, looking up at me with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but alcohol apparently made him bolder because he was suddenly twisting one leg around my hip to hold himself in place. “Jisung, you need to stop,” I said, gasping when he brought his lips against mine, kissing me with skill and a surprising amount of tongue. “We can’t do this!”

“Please,” Jisung whined, grinding his hips against my legs. “Just one night, Y/N?”

“Your drunk,” I said, which was only one of a dozen problems with the scenarios currently playing out right in front of my very eyes.

“I’m sober,” Jisung promised, frantically chasing my lips with eager kisses.

It was nothing short of desire, the way he was looking at me, while I watched our clothes end up in a pile around the couch as Jisung fumbled with the condom before I helped him roll it onto his erection. He groaned at the contact, and I moved my hand up and down his cock a few more times before directing him between my legs. Jisung slid inside with a messy exhale, and his arms trembled as they supported his body looming over mine with his delicate frame.

It was a pleasant contradiction because Chan’s thrusts had been nothing short of confident while Jisung’s inexperience showed in the frantic way his hips stuttered against mine. He tried to move faster, losing his previous rhythm, and his cock fell all the way out, erection sliding between my thighs instead. He whined pathetically, rutting against my legs for several moments before he re-adjusted himself deep inside. “Y/N,” he moaned.

“It’s okay,” I told him, petting my fingers along the crown of his head. “You’re doing so good.”

“I like you so much,” Jisung replied earnestly and my heart ached at his words.

He looked unbelievably sinful, eclipsing my body against his as I felt the fabric of the couch against my skin. The friction was delicious, and I focused on the way his cock felt, thrusts growing more and more assured as he finally found a way to please us both, thumb brushing across my clitoris. He was still kissing me, tongue moving across mine deliberately, and I was breathing harshly as I fought to control the rising heat building in my abdomen. It was an intense build-up to an orgasm that I could’ve never anticipated since Jisung was always Felix’s friend who I usually avoided. The same Jisung whose endless flirtations usually annoyed me, but something had changed the moment I looked into his eyes and saw the lust and desire coming together to create an intoxicating mixture.

It was suddenly impossible to ignore the way he made me feel and I felt him come deep inside with a stuttered moan. His hips moved harshly against mine, and I chased my release with a sensual grind of my hips until I was throwing my head back with a cry, groaning when his lips found the sensitive skin of my neck. “Jisung,” I murmured, watching him through a haze of darkness as he rolled over next to me with a moan.

I studied the way Jisung’s hair fanned out across the cushions, making him look angelic beneath the influence of the moon’s light breaking the barrier of the curtains. It made me feel guilty, realizing that I had finally returned Jisung’s feelings only after my tumultuous affairs with Changbin and Chan. In fact, I was nothing more than the very girls I often mocked when they threw themselves at the most popular boys in school. I swallowed hard at the realization. “What have I done?”

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #skz #skz fanfic #seo changbin fanfic #bang chan fanfic #han jisung fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz smut #changbin smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut

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pathological-peoplepleaser-alert · 4 years ago

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Hospital Playlist : Season 1

So, I recently re-watched season 1 of Hospital Playlist in preparation of season 2 that’s going to be released on the 17th of June, and I have a couple of thoughts that I want to share. Warning: It’s going to be filled with spoilers, so for those looking to avoid that, please don’t read more. Also, this is a looooonnnnggg one :)

“Hospital Playlist” is a Korean Drama that follows five doctors in their 40s who have been best friends since adolescence as they form a band together. While the log-line appears simple, the depth in the script and acting will enchant any audience. The narrative is free-spirited and quirky, reverberating friendships forged by love and time in a heart-warming style.

This slice of life drama realistically tackles what occurs within the white walls of the hospital. From ungrateful patients to the long wait for donors, it has it all. This drama covered plenty of cases, each of them as sad as the next. I recall when Yang Seok Hyeong, an assistant professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, had a patient who delivered a baby with anencephaly. He was considerate enough to not allow the mother to hear the baby’s cries by playing loud music in the delivery room and quickly escorting the baby away from the mother. I teared up during that scene, and I still tear up just thinking about that. I watched it as a case in a K-Drama, but it is many people’s gruesome reality, and all I can offer are my sympathies.

Despite zoning out during the technical aspects and elucidation of medical terminologies, I could feel the gravity of an operation and the burden of Atlas resting on the doctors when they held the scalpel. I liked the fact that there wasn’t any hospital politics. Rather, the show focused on the doctors, as they tried their best to save their patients. I mourned during the losses of life and celebrated with the characters after a successful surgery.

The ensemble cast for “Hospital Playlist” was flawless. The sincerity of the actors and the efforts they had put into studying and understanding their roles were clear as day. The chemistry between them was organic and the banters, natural. While they didn’t verbalise every emotion, the viewers could feel their familiarity, like they were real-life friends on screen. I was on an emotional rollercoaster as I watched this, rooting for them through hardships and cheering whenever they laughed.

“I wondered why my life was getting so difficult. It was really tough. But all of a sudden, one day, I realised how much time I was wasting. Wasting my life away like this because of what she did to me was doing a disservice to myself.”

Jo Jung-Suk did a flawless job portraying Lee Ik-Jun. This was my second time witnessing a drama with Jo Jung Suk, and while I wouldn’t applaud his performance in “Oh, My Ghostess!” (But in his defence, I found that script to be problematic) I absolutely loved him in “Hospital Playlist”. Lee Ik-Jun is an assistant professor of general surgery. He’s funny, sociable, laid-back, charming, and a dotting, single father to his son, Woo Joo.

The first time I, as the viewer, was introduced to him was gold. Naughty little Woo Joo had managed to put a blotch of super glue to a Darth Vader helmet, which was later worn by his father. During an emergency at the hospital, Ik Jun showed up decked in Darth Vader gear and bravely holding a light saber, demanding that the helmet was unglued from his head. He got his wish, but only after performing surgery while wearing the helmet.

Watching Ik-Jun and his son together is heartwarming, to say the least. You can tell how much he loves his son, as seen by the way he prepared meatballs from scratch, including the ketchup, excitedly for his son, only for the latter to claim he wanted meatballs, causing the former to trip on his way to the kitchen. I also adore how most of the bonding scenes we see between them happens over sandwiches. I find that very precious.

Ik Jun is also very friendly to everyone. He warmly welcomes the medical students, greets his colleagues with a smile, and most notably, plays as a matchmaker between Jeong-won and Jang Gyeo-wool, even if it is so the latter could assist him on more surgeries. His relationship with his sister is also beautiful. I love how authentic they are, from their bickering and the hidden ways they care for each other.

Ik Jun provides comic relief plenty of times— I nearly fell off my chair laughing when he mimicked a train, and also upon seeing how adamant he was to eavesdrop on a private phone conversation of Kim Jun-wan.

“I don’t deserve to be a doctor. I can’t control my emotions. I empathise too easily.”

I must admit, Ahn Jeong Won has a soft spot in my heart and is my favourite from the group of friends. An assistant professor of pediatric surgery, Jeong Won gets overly attached to patients and takes every loss personally. Due to his sensitive nature, he’s detailed in everything he does, earning the teasing nickname of “Buddha” from his colleagues.

Hardworking but overemotional, there have been many instances when Jeong Won swears to quit being a doctor after a patient has unfortunately succumbed, and it’s only through the insistence of his oldest brother does he continue his job. He’s immensely religious and has a close relationship with God, and considered being a priest until the season finale.

His interactions with his young patients tug on all my heartstrings. From the gentle way he gets the permission of small children to check their vitals, to the dedication with which he treats his patients and dissolves their fears.

One of my favourite quotes of this drama was said by him, “Do you know why doctors only give vague answers such as ‘We can’t be sure yet,’ ‘We don’t know yet,’ and ‘We need to observe a bit more?’ Doctors must take responsibility for their words, so we must be careful. There’s only one thing we, as doctors, can tell our patients with certainty. ‘We will do our best.’”

Despite being born from a wealthy family, Jeong Won is nearly broke, spending all his fortune anonymously covering the hospital fees of poor patients.

Chae Song Hwa summarised Jeong Won’s personality neatly in episode 12 when she said, “Lastly, there’s you (Jeong Won). Seeing others enjoy good food makes you happier than when you are eating it yourself.”

“If the doctor gives up on the patient, he isn’t a doctor anymore.”

At first glance, Kim Jun Wan appears cold and scary, but there are so many dimensions to his character. He’s blunt, assertive and has a reputation for telling his patients what they need to hear, not that they want to hear.

However, he’s possibly the most caring person, having allowed Jeong Won to, in his own words, “mooch” of him for years now. He was also always nagging and hovering over his friends, keeping a stash of chocolates for them. He stepped up as the Chief of the cardiothoracic surgery department multiple times, whether it was to act as a shield to his mentee or to reprimand his juniors about the importance of (a patient’s) life and how every single decision taken by a doctor has to be thoughtful and absolute because there’s no way to reverse such things.

A great example of his outer versus inner personality is when he’s questioned by a medical student on why he chose to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. While he claimed that he became a surgeon after asking his professor which job would allow him to get the most money, with a glimpse of a flashback scene, it was revealed that when back as a student, Jun Wan was given the opportunity to witness a surgery and then, to touch a beating human heart, and felt life, that solidified his decision to choose cardiology as his field. Recalling that scene gives me goosebumps even now. That was magical.

Jun Wan is also a huge foodie, his only competition being Song-Hwa.

“What have you done for yourself lately?”

Chae Song Hwa is an associate professor of neurosurgery. Discerning without being too critical, she is intelligent and is often the mother hen of the group. Respected by her juniors, she has also been fondly dubbed the ‘ghost’ due to her busy schedule that has left several of her colleagues wondering whether she has time to eat or sleep. She was everywhere and knew everything, which allowed her to quietly look after the residents of the hospital and the patients.

Despite being buried under piles of work, she still made the time to grade her juniors papers, and I’m reminded of one of the first instances the viewers were given of her, which was when she comforted a patient in the elevators of a hospital. The only female professor in neurosurgery, she is kind to her patients.

I adore how decisive she is, being extremely clear about what she wants, drawing boundaries while still being friendly and radiating professionalism to those around her, despite the hardships she might be going through. She routinely goes camping during the weekend and is the embodiment of positive self-love.

Some of my favourite moments in this drama was literally just Song Hwa and Jun Wan aggressively eating like they’ve been hungry since the dawn of time. Song Hwa might have claimed that the reason she ate so rapidly, so full of zeal was because of growing up with older brothers, but Ik Jun was quick to shoot her down and note that they all looked boney.

“My time is too precious for that. I want to live doing the things I like. And the things I want to do right now.”

Probably the most under-appreciated character, Yang Seok Hyeong is a treasure. My first opinion of him was ‘mama’s boy’ and while I was correct, wow, I had not expected the reason why. In his youth, Seok Hyeong was not close to his mother at all, and we could even see him ignoring her phone calls. But after everything that happened with his dad, he grew closer to his mother, developed a new sense of protectiveness and appreciation for her, and I adore that.

He was also the reason the band reunited in the first place, making that his condition for working at the Yulje Medical Center. Despite seeming aloof, he was an open book to his friends. He didn’t like to bother or intrude on people and usually kept to himself, gaining a reputation for being a loner whenever he was not around his four friends.

Throughout the season, he was trapped in a whirlwind of turmoil, from the news of his unexpected brother to his father’s death and his surprise succession to the company he wants no ties with. He maintains a calm exterior and braces through the troubles.

Seok Hyeong lives up to the sensitivity his job demands from him, softly informing expecting mothers about the risks of their pregnancies while encouraging and empathising with them when things get hard.

He prefers to stay in the shadows and allow people the opportunity to sort their messes out themselves, after reminding them that he’s only a call away if they need him. He’s an excellent confident booster and appreciates those who are responsible.

These characters stayed not only in my mind but also in my heart. Each of them has such vivid personalities I can’t entirely capture in words. Their insecurities, struggles, and feelings were so real and incredibly relatable and easy to empathise with.

As conveyed by the title, music plays an important part in this T.V. serial, by allowing the characters to reminisce their college days and also allowing them a breather from their stressful life. There are thousands of words in the English language, and yet, I can’t string together enough of them to express how I felt when Jo Jung Seok sang Aloha.

The doctors use music not only as an outlet to release their frustrations, but also to express their thoughts and feelings. To heal. Listening to the songs and the covers made by the band lightened my heart. The labour they put into practising the songs made the moments more precious.

Through the music sessions in this T.V. serial, I found my affection for each character increasing. I found myself surprised to recognise some of the songs considering they are quite old, but I hummed along and felt the air around me thrum with glee as they sang.

I also found it rather ironic that Chae Song Hwa is considered to be a bad singer (her pre-routine of gulping down raw eggs fascinated me on an odd level) although the actress who plays her, Jeon Mi Do is a talented singer.

Therapeutic and well-written, I marvel at the writer’s ability to weave together arrays of mundane subplots into endearing bliss, leaving lingering positivity after every episode along with a yearning to watch more.

I’m a huge fan of writer Lee Woo-Jung’s Reply series and was hesitant to start this drama, afraid that it would fall short of expectations. But having watched it, I can safely say that those concerns were unnecessary, and whatever expectations I had were only exceeded. I couldn’t recognise any leading plotline of this drama. To me, it simply showcased the daily life of five doctors.

As it is character-driven, there is a slow progression of the drama, which needs some time getting adapted to. It was also a little hard trying to keep track of the multiple characters initially introduced, but within three episodes, I was able to get a hang of things. The dialogues were witty, impactful and sharp, capturing my attention from the beginning to the end. However, despite containing a plethora of humorous moments throughout this serial, there was a subdued layer that focused more on the community than the plot.

I must admit, however, that I found the first episode to be subtly chaotic and slow-paced. I couldn’t grasp the concepts or connect with the characters until the second episode, after which I had no qualms.

I loved the character arcs in this story. It was a pleasure to observe their journeys and diligence as various storylines diverged or amalgamated, how they grew as individuals while maintaining their core values. The flashback scenes were fascinating to watch and compare how they are now to how they used to be.

The cinematography was stunning. I was in awe at how different shades and tones of light could impact not only the setting of the scene but also the mood of the viewers.

I recommend “Hospital Playlist” to anyone who likes to watch T.V. serials possessing the perfect amount of drama, laughter, angst, warmth and love. This serial is a truly rare gem in a basket of rocks where the storylines are solid without being too predictable.

#hospital playlist #season 1 #kdrama #spoilers

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