#lin market set

[nedgis]

Découvrez la douceur du lin dans les luminaires pour une atmosphère printanière !

Matière star du dressing en été, le lin fait son grand retour et trouve également sa place dans la décoration intérieure. Avec son charme naturel, le lin s’engouffre dans ce besoin ardent d’authenticité et de réconfort. Également poussé par l’engouement pour les métiers artisanaux, le lin est propulsé sur le devant de la scène. Issu d’un savoir-faire ancestral, il est aujourd’hui retravaillé…

[mothtral]

to you, the rain had not stopped rising since geshu lin disappeared. most would tell you at this point, to try and move on. that you'd planted a flower--the first flower--in the field jiyan made, so didn't that mean you'd accepted it, at least a little bit?

you hadn't. you won't accept he's gone until some trace of him was found. his necklace, the one you made for him before he left you behind the first time to head for the front lines. scraps of the armor that covered his arm.

jiyan used to approach you, in the beginning. though well-versed enough in consoling people in grief to not push you until you were ready. jiyan never told you, but it wasn't hard to figure you weren't the only one who would see geshu lin whenever it rained.

(though, you have a feeling what he sees is a different geshu lin to yours.)

you weren't part of the midnight rangers, or work for the magistrate. you meeting geshu lin was by chance, or fate, as yangyang used to say. you were a small seller, taking up crafting jewelry or fashioning clothing from scraps of fabric and yarn. it was during a large market that the midnight rangers returned home to, years ago.

that was the night you met geshu lin. you didn't know who he was at first, apart from clearly being a member of the military. it was something geshu lin would tease you about, unaware that the big bad general was haunting your doorstep. he was heavily bandaged, with scars covering the slips of skin you could see.

you crafted him a set of earrings after urging him to choose the beads he liked best, and sent him on his way, refusing to take his money. you said it was thanks for protecting the city. the next day there was a welcoming ceremony, and you nearly fainted once you discovered just who you met the night before.

and somehow, it carried on from there. little meetings and small gifts between you two. one late night you showed geshu lin how you made your jewelry, and woke up the next day to him sliding a ring onto your finger, something he spent the entire night on. the crown jewel was from the original earrings you made him.

you hadn't taken it off. the only change was that you wear it on a chain now, scared it might slip off your finger when you weren't paying attention one day and it's lost forever. just like--

today was the anniversary of geshu lin disappearing, and no one has done anything. you knew popular opinion these days is that he got what he deserved, refusing to fall back. as if these people knew what the midnight rangers went through everyday, with the limited knowledge on retroact rain back then.

the celebrations today are for the other rangers that fell that day, and it planted a bitter root in your heart. you hid in your home that day, waiting until the flower field was deserted to visit. you won't pay your respects, as everyone else did. instead, you will sit with the flower you planted and watch the stars, something you did every time geshu lin came home.

(something else jiyan never said, biy you knew once a certain time hit, he would usher people away from the field to give you a moment alone. whatever you did to gain a friend like that, you'd never know.)

there's a watering can set to the side, and you take it to gently trickle water onto geshu lin's flower. you were about to start with your ramblings of the day, when soft footsteps crept toward you.

"come to finally join me?" you asked over your shoulder, assuming it was jiyan making his way to you.

"yes," an achingly familiar voice said, low and rough, like it hasn't been used in years, like it's been torn apart from screaming.

your head snaps up as your body twisted around, almost falling over into the grass. there, standing at the edge of the field, was the man that stole your heart and disappeared into the rain with it. but... something is wrong.

maybe it was the strange light in his eyes, or the heavy air that surrounded him like a second skin. his clothes traded from the standard black with accents to gain red and white, and his arm almost tucked behind him, like he was a child trying to hide the vase he broke. this was not the same man that left for battle and never returned. "i'm sorry it took so long for me to come home," geshu lin said. he took a step closer, and it was then that you saw what became of his arm. it had turned to blacken scales, glimmering in the starlight. purple glowed from the cracks, like his ability couldn't turn off. "i never meant to leave you alone. i'm home."

[chiqelatasblog]

In the Middle of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part Two is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x You, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x You, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x You

Tropes : Slavery, Past Sexual Abuse, Canon-Typical Violance, Emotional Hurt Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, True Love, Foursome, F/M/M/M, Dark Magic, Eventual Smut

Summary : After a mission gone wrong, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas find themselves sealed inside a book as love slaves. Whoever discovers the book and utters the incantations within will not only become its owner but also the master of the Lin Kuei’s three deadliest assassins.

For you, grappling with the weight of a solitary life and enduring a particularly rough day, stumbling upon this mysterious book was an unforeseen twist. As you bring the book home, unaware of its contents or the events that led to its creation, the ensuing chain of events will shatter the tranquility of your world, forever altering the course of your life.

Title and work inspired by the “Elley Duhe-Middle Of The Night” song

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CHAPTER ONE : (READER)

You were enduring one of the worst days of your life.

Your alarm didn’t sound in the morning because you were too fatigued to remember to charge your phone the night before. With its poor battery life, it ran out quickly. Living forty-five minutes away from the city center, you should have caught the subway at least an hour ago to make it to work on time. Despite the pressing need for money, uncertainty loomed as you grappled with the inevitability of firing. The job, despite its dreadful conditions and an insufferable boss, stood as your best opportunity in months - too valuable to risk losing.

Although you had graduated from college with a commendable degree, the job market proved bleaker than anticipated. Your once-bright dreams faded as the harsh reality of post-graduation life set in. Most desirable positions demanded experience, yet securing experience required entry into these very positions. While a diploma opened a few doors, the conditions were often as harsh as modern-day servitude, albeit with insurance and a predictable late salary.

Your current role as a programmer at a gaming company offered no respite. Long hours in front of the screen left your eyes bloodshot, encircled by dark rings, and your neck perpetually aching. Despite the hardships, a promise to your distant family fueled your determination to stand on your own. Abandoning everything and returning home was not an option after coming this far. You had shed too many tears to surrender now, enduring the suffocating loneliness of solitary dinners in your cramped kitchen as you pursued your dreams.

Thus, with a reminder of your purpose, you hurriedly left your apartment. Despite the packed subway and the frenzied rush, you managed to trim your commute from fifteen minutes to a mere seven and a half. Yet, upon arrival, your efforts were futile. Summoned to your boss’s office, you were promptly instructed to collect your belongings and leave the company, denied even the opportunity to provide an explanation.

You were keenly aware of the disdain your boss and coworkers held for you; it was an open secret. They resembled vultures, poised to oust you at any moment. As the lone rookie, you were perceived as nothing more than a liability. Despite your efforts to avoid seeking their assistance by tackling most tasks independently, being in your first year of the profession meant there were occasions when you needed guidance or support. Yet, camaraderie was a foreign concept in this office. Compared to other workplaces, the only semblance of unity stemmed from shared breaks and lunches.

A part of you felt relief at the prospect of bidding farewell to a workplace where you found no joy. However, the dominant part, fueled by anxiety, fretted over how you would cover rent and expenses. Although you had a modest emergency fund tucked away, it would only sustain you for about a month. Urgency gnawed at you as you roamed the streets with a cardboard box containing your few office belongings, scouring for job advertisements. Picky was a luxury you couldn’t afford; you were prepared to take on any role, even as a barista or waitress, until you secured a position closer to your aspirations. Survival necessitated prioritizing money above all else.

As the day wore on, you lost track of time. With the setting sun casting a dim glow and street lamps flickering to life, tiny raindrops began to graze your cheeks and nose, soon escalating into a downpour. Despite the onslaught, you mustered the strength to suppress the curses threatening to spill forth. Rushing back to the subway, you braved the rain without an umbrella or proper clothes, mindful of the looming threat of illness. With no funds to spare for hospital bills or medication, resuming your job hunt from the shelter of your laptop seemed the safer option.

Arriving at the subway, drenched from head to toe, you collapsed onto the nearest available seat, your legs barely able to support you. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion bearing down on your body. The simple act of sitting down was a luxury, a stark reminder of just how fatigued and stressed you had become over the course of the day. You rubbed your weary legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, soothing the cramps and chasing away the chill brought on by the rain.

As the subway doors slid open with a ding, a wave of commuters flooded in, filling the once-empty seats around you. Seizing the opportunity to rest your eyes until reaching home, you leaned back against the seat with the cardboard box resting on your lap. Tired, cold, and hungry, the numbing effect of the rain provided a brief respite from the stress, deserving of a well-earned nap.

When the ache in your neck became unbearable, you reluctantly opened your eyes, realizing that your stop was approaching. Glancing down, you noticed a book lying on the seat beside you, as your grip on the box was dangerously close to slipping from your grasp. Picking it up, you scanned the faces around you, expecting someone to claim the book or acknowledge its presence, but no one seemed to react. Confirmation dawned upon you, the book had been left behind, seemingly forgotten by its owner.

Although the book appeared hefty, its weathered cover hinted at years of use and handling. Despite its age, it felt surprisingly light in your hands, its once vibrant hues faded to muted tones. Adorned with a pale gold cover devoid of any text on the back, the book bore the scars of countless readings and journeys. Turning the book over to avoid catching your tired reflection on its worn and shiny surface, your lips parted in mild surprise. Three striking male figures graced the cover, their details rendered with such realism that they almost seemed tangible, despite the signs of wear and tear. Your finger traced over the hyper-realistic features with impulsive curiosity, only to retract abruptly as if scalded, suddenly aware of your surroundings.

As a sweet ache pulsed between your thighs, you found yourself unexpectedly aroused by a mere image, prompting you to shift uncomfortably in an attempt to quell the throbbing sensation. It had been quite a while since you last shared intimate moments with someone, but even that didn’t entirely account for the sudden surge of desire sparked by a simple picture. Stirring memories long buried within you, igniting a hunger you hadn't realized existed until now.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you examined the figures once more. The trio bore the semblance of warriors or assassins, albeit clad in scant attire. The man on the left possessed a sun-kissed tan, his muscular frame adorned with a large scorpion tattoo on his left arm. His black hair was artfully swept across his face, his golden mask veiling a stern gaze as he brandished a flaming kunai, its rope end poised for action.

Your attention shifted to the figure at the center, whose face remained partially obscured by a silvery black mask. Despite the concealment, a strange sense of familiarity emanated from his features, mirroring those of his companion. His complexion was pale, revealing blue-green veins beneath the surface, while his dark eyes emanated cold, dominating arrogance. Black hair, tied in a low bun with a few tufts escaping to frame his strong features. Massive biceps framed his imposing stature as he wielded a sword of ice, poised to strike with lethal precision.

In stark contrast, the figure on the right differed greatly from his counterparts. Towering slightly above them, he bore little resemblance to an Asian individual, exuding a distinctly European air. His skin was also light, and he wore a grey-colored mask covering half of his face. A thin, light grey smoke emanated from his body. His short gray hair and softer gray-blue eyes lent him a gentler appearance, juxtaposed by the lethal aura exuded by the carambite adorning his finger. Despite his softer features, his lethal prowess was undeniable.

As you scrutinized the cover, a perplexing question lingered: why would the illustrator depict warriors in such a manner if not for a romantic context? Their barely dressed and provocative poses hinted at a fantasy narrative, reinforced only by the presence of their weapons. Without them, the figures might have appeared more akin to love slaves than skilled warriors. “An intriguing choice,” you murmured to yourself, pondering the illustrator’s intentions behind such a depiction.

As you opened the book to look at the chipped pages, curiosity piqued about the contents within, you suddenly realized that your stop had arrived. Hastily tucking the book into your box, you sprang to your feet with a muttered exclamation.

“Oh, shoot!” With a swift maneuver, you barely managed to slip through the closing doors of the crowded subway. Amidst the post-work rush, the mingled scents of sweat and cigarettes engulfed you as you navigated through the throng. Minutes later, emerging from the subway, you drew a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Your journey to home passed in a blur, your body moving on autopilot along familiar streets and corners. Before you knew it, you stood before your fifth-floor apartment, a small abode consisting of two rooms and an American kitchen. Its most prized feature was the balcony, a sanctuary where you relished summer evenings, savoring the view with a glass of wine by candlelight.

When you arrived home, it was already nine o’clock in the evening. Leaving the box in your hand at the entrance of the door, you went straight into the shower to wash away the fatigue and grime of the day, and to replenish the warmth your drenched body had lost. You lingered under the hot water until it thoroughly enveloped your body, and finally, when the steam filled the small bathroom and you felt like you might faint from the heat, you emerged, clad in your well-worn and hardened bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around your head.

Pouring the last remnants of the red wine you opened days ago into a glass, you placed it in the microwave to heat up the leftover Chinese food you ordered a day ago. As you waited for your meal to warm, your gaze wandered to the box in the corner, reigniting your curiosity about the mysterious book. Crossing the room in a few strides, you retrieved the book and placed it on the kitchen island, settling into your chair with wine and warmed food. “I’ll worry about unemployment later,” you declared, raising your glass in a toast. “Today was stressful enough, and I definitely deserve this wine.” With a sip of wine and a mouthful of noodles, you flipped open the book’s cover with your free hand, eager to have a look at what it held.

‘’What…?” You stared at the glossy golden pages, brows furrowed in confusion, surprised to find them empty. “What kind of book is this? I don’t understand the purpose.” you muttered in disbelief. The worn-out appearance of the book added to your confusion, making you question whether something had happened before it was finished.

As you reached the middle of the book, a shocking revelation left you speechless. Lines, equivalent to about a paragraph, materialized on the previously blank pages before your eyes, causing your entire body to freeze in shock. Tremors coursed through you, as if jolted by electricity, and you grasped desperately for reality, unsure if what you were witnessing was a dream. Gasping for breath, you struggled to comprehend the surreal sight before you.

“I haven’t even had that much wine—I just took a sip.” you mumbled, your voice strained with the effort to contain your rising panic. “I’ve seen enough movies to know where this is going. I’m not reading whatever’s written here,” you declared, the thin timbre of your voice betraying your attempt to stifle a scream.

You closed the cover of the book hard and attempted to get up from your chair, but found yourself unable to move. It was as if an unseen force held you in place. The cover of the book opened again, and as the pages flickered before your eyes, the one you had just turned to was laid out in front of you once more, sending shivers of fear down your spine.

“Read it,” a demanding male voice echoed in your mind, freezing you in terror. Despite your frantic desire to flee, you remained immobilized, unable to move a muscle.

“I-I was just curious about what it says. I didn’t mean any harm,” you pleaded weakly, few tears streaming down your cheeks due to the immense fear you felt at the moment. Another voice, speaking in a foreign tongue filled the air, his tone scolding but directed elsewhere, not at you.

“We won’t harm you, master,” another voice reassured, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the fear.

“Say the words aloud, and we will serve you,” urged yet another voice, prompting a realization of the three distinct voices corresponding to the figures depicted on the book’s cover.

“W-What the…! Are they…”

“Yes, that’s us you see on the cover. We’ve been trapped in this book for a long time. You have to say the words to get us out of here,” one of the voices explained.

“You’re talking as if I had a choice,” you replied in a timid, low voice.

“Read the words, woman,” another voice commanded. It was the coldest and harshest of them all. Despite lacking a physical form, his dominant aura was unmistakable in the way he emphasized his words. His voice resonated with a deep, chilling tone, unlike anything you had ever heard before. You attempted to steady yourself, swallowing hard and clenching your trembling hands into fists on your legs.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me? Each of you had a weapon on the cover; it’s clear you’re some kind of warriors.”

“We are bound to the master of the book,” another voice interjected, his tone notably more welcoming and kind than the others. “We cannot harm you.”

“God, I must be losing my mind. I’m talking to a book,” you muttered, glancing at the pages with audible trepidation. Fear and panic constricted your throat, rendering you speechless.

“This is no illusion—it is the truth,” the same younger voice asserted after a brief silence. “Read what is written, master, and we shall pledge our service to you.”

“I-I’m not anyone’s master. Don’t call me that; this situation is already too surreal for me,” you protested weakly.

“As you wish, master,” came the compliant response.

“You won’t hurt me, will you? I’m too young to die; I haven’t even begun to fulfill my dreams…” you pleaded, your words abruptly cut off by a snarl. If not for the invisible force holding you down, you might have leaped in fear.

“Read these damn sentences!” the voice commanded, his tone harsh.

“Bi-Han, don’t frighten her!” another voice intervened.

“Fine, fine, I’ll read it!” Tears continued to trickle down your cheeks as you began to recite the words aloud, hoping to end the ordeal. And as you prayed to the god or whatever deity might be watching over you, you couldn’t shake the dread that you might be leading yourself to your own demise. “Rise, my servants, from the depths of slumber and bind yourselves to me with your souls, revealing your names. Embrace your new purpose ensnared by passion.’’

As you finished speaking, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the room, causing the towel around your shoulders to unravel and fall. Soon after, you heard the voices of three men speaking in unison, their words echoing loudly.

‘’We rise, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas of the Lin Kuei, bound to your will, for in your presence, we find solace and purpose. We protect and we please, however you see right, however you seem fit. We’re your slaves, and you’re our master, surrendered to your every command, body and soul.’’

With a surge of energy, the wind intensified, knocking over the glass on the counter, spilling wine onto the robe and floor. The glass shattered at your feet, scattering shards across the kitchen. A brilliant light emanated from the book, forcing you to shut your eyes against its intensity.

Then, as suddenly as it began, everything fell silent and still. The wind vanished as if it had never been, and the light that had filled the room dimmed into darkness. Summoning the courage to open your eyes, you were met with the sight of three imposing, completely naked men standing a short distance away.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” You attempted to gather your thoughts, tearing your gaze away from the men to focus on the scattered glass on the kitchen floor. “There are three naked men in my living room. And—and they emerged from the book? I must be losing my mind. I really must be losing my mind.”

As the words tumbled from your lips, sounding like utter madness to your own ears, you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself. But when you attempted to rise from your seat, your numbed feet betrayed you, causing you to stumble and fall to the ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain through your knees and feet as shards of glass embedded themselves into your flesh, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Shh, it’s okay. Calm down, you’re only hurting yourself,” came a gentle voice.

Your gaze was drawn to a towering, bronzed figure looming over you, his powerful physique making you feel small and vulnerable. Sensing your escalating panic, he gently cupped your face in his large hands, the touch of his calloused fingers both rough and tender. With each contact, warmth spread through your body in soothing waves.

“Look at me. Take deep breaths and exhale, just like I do,” he instructed in a soothing tone.

“I can’t,” your voice broken with fear.

“Of course you can. Follow my lead, I’ll show you,” he reassured. As you turned your gaze to his face, you were met with a pair of slanted light brown eyes, framed by long black eyelashes. His gaze exuded warmth and understanding, matching the sensitivity of his touch. “Breathe with me. Now.”

As your brain somehow focused on his instructions, you found yourself synchronizing your breaths with the mighty man before you. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a wave of calm wash over you, dissipating the last shreds of your strength. He effortlessly supported you, preventing you from collapsing to the floor, his touch gentle yet firm. Despite the pain throbbing in your flesh and the warmth of blood trickling down your skin, you remained in a state of confusion and fear, unable to muster the will to move from his grasp.

“Tomas, find something to clean the wound,” commanded the one with the authoritative voice, resonating with incredible depth. The man who held you gently lowered himself onto one of the double seats in the living room, maintaining his firm grasp on you. A faint warmth spread across your face, but you remained ensnared in his hold, feeling as if your mouth were filled with dry cotton.

Your gaze shifted to the man cradling you, his expression clouded with concern as his amber eyes scrutinized you closely as if he feared you might suffer another attack. Despite his gray hair, you were taken aback when a youthful visage suddenly filled your vision. The man was tall and imposing, his large build casting a formidable shadow over you. Feeling intimidated between these two towering figures, a timid whimper escaped your lips as your body instinctively recoiled, yearning to escape despite its weakened state.

“Calm down, master. We won’t hurt you. Let me tend to your wounds; you’ve cut your knees and feet badly. I can ease your pain,” reassured the silver-haired man, his voice carrying a surprisingly gentle tone given his imposing stature. As you swallowed and tried to shift again, a cold sound from across the room froze you in place.

“If you move again, I’ll—” began the menacing voice.

“Bi-Han, enough! She’s already frightened, no need to add to it.” Intervened the man holding you, his voice commanding authority. Though Bi-Han’s threat remained unfinished, its effect lingered, rendering you motionless, afraid to even breathe. As the silver-haired man tended to your wounds while taking advantage of your stillness, the man holding you attempted to comfort you with gentle pats, drawing soothing circles on your back.

Gritting your teeth against the pain as the glass shards were removed, you fought the urge to appear weak and helpless in their eyes. Though you couldn’t see yourself from their perspective, a sense of self-consciousness gnawed at you. In an attempt to shift your focus from the pain, the man holding you soflty interjected, “I am Kuai Liang,” he introduced. “May we know your name?

Struggling to articulate your name through clenched teeth, you managed to utter it in one breath. A faint smile graced Kuai Liang’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n).”

“Speak for yourself,” growled Bi-Han from across the living room. “Just another fucking master we’re bound to serve.’’

‘‘I thought you wanted to get out of the book.’’

Kuai Liang’s sharp retort silenced Bi-Han, prompting Tomas, who was tending to your wounds, to interject. “And so am I, Tomas. Thank you for calling us into your service.” he said with a small smile that seemed forced, his dull greyish blue eyes lacking genuine emotion. As he carefully tended to your wounds and wrapped them in bandages, a sense of unease washed over you, causing you to squirm away from Kuai Liang’s grasp and retreat to the corner of the seat, eyeing the three men with a mix of confusion and discomfort.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” you croaked, avoiding their look as your gaze involuntarily dropped to their lower parts for a second before you could prevent it, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “And please cover up your bottoms. You can use the cushions.”

Complying with your request, all three men concealed their private parts with cushions. Tomas took a seat in the opposite double seat, while Bi-Han settled into the single seat. Despite your small apartment being already cramped, the presence of the three burly men made the space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Where would you like us to start?”

“From the beginning,” you replied, addressing Kuai Liang. “Who are you? How did you end up in that book? And why are you here now… Please, tell me everything from the beginning so that I can understand.”

“We are members of a clan called Lin Kuei, known for training assassins, and we are brothers,” he began. “Bi-Han is the eldest, serving as the grandmaster of our clan in the past. I, on the other hand, am the middle one, and Tomas and I served as his second-in-commands.’’

The revelation that they were assassins drained the color from your face, confirming your suspicions from the book cover. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the chilling reality of being in the presence of trained killers.

“Many years ago, we encountered a demon named Quan Chi on a mission. As you can imagine, the mission went awry, and he sealed us inside this book. Whoever owns the book and says the words becomes our master, and we are compelled to fulfill their wishes and desires.”

Even if you sensed that the information was being presented with some omissions, you refrained from voicing your suspicions. They were strangers to you, and you to them, so expecting complete transparency without trust seemed unreasonable. While you had the authority as their master to demand the truth, approaching the situation in this manner didn’t sit well with you—it didn’t feel right, nor did it feel humane.

For God’s sake, the idea of being anyone’s master was abhorrent. The twenty-first century had arrived, and the notion of a master-slave relationship had long since vanished. It felt nauseating and profoundly unsettling.

“I am not your master. I can’t—I can’t be. No.” You attempted to stand up in panic, desperate to escape the situation, but your injuries held you back. Kuai Liang gently grabbed your arm, urging you to calm down.

“Calm down (y/n), your wounds are very fresh. You’ll make them bleed again.” You clung to his wrist, pleading with your eyes for assistance.

“Is there no way to set you free? I can’t accept this. This is—this is against humanity!”

With your words, a deep silence enveloped the room. As you observed their stunned reactions, it became evident that this sentiment was new to them. Your heart ached at the thought of witnessing these powerful men stripped of their freedom. Despite your fear, the realization knotted your stomach. They appeared intimidating and deadly, yet the severity of their situation suggested that past experiences had shattered them and stripped away their dignity. You couldn’t fathom how long they had endured as slaves within the confines of the book, but the outcome seemed all too predictable, casting a somber shadow over the room.

“Set us free?” Tomas’s voice echoed with longing, his desire palpable.

“Such a thing is possible, isn’t it? If you tell me what I should do I—”

“Why would you do that? What do you want from us in return?” Bi-Han’s voice sliced through your words, sharp and menacing. You fought to maintain your composure, avoiding freezing in your spot as his icy demeanor chilled the room. As your agitated gaze shifted to his pale, muscular arms, you were astonished to see a thin layer of ice extending from his hands. Were they truly made of ice?

“As I said just now, I can’t be anyone’s master, it’s in defiance of human ethics. If there’s any way I can help you, I’d like to do it. I don’t want anything in return except for this situation to end as soon as possible, I’m sure you want the same.”

“Do you expect us to believe that you are just a fairy godmother?” Bi-Han’s mocking half smile sent waves of unease through you. “You are not convincing at all, woman. Favors are done with an expectation of something in return.’’

“Favors are done for nothing; you don’t expect anything in return. That’s why it’s called a favor.” Emboldened by a hint of defiance, you met Bi-Han’s stern gaze head-on. “I can understand why you don’t trust me after what you’ve been through—”

‘’Don’t you dare,” Bi-Han shot up from his seat, his movement swift as a shadow. Suddenly, he was close enough for his breath, cold as winter air, to brush against your face. “Don’t try to empathize with what we went through. Do you think you know us now just because you’ve learned a few things?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” you said quickly.

“Brother, please sit down. If you talk like that, we won’t get anywhere.” Kuai Liang intervened, putting one arm between you and Bi-Han. Bi-Han glared at you intensely, his eyes slanted like those of a predator, then he took a deep breath. Watching the mist of his cold breath in the air, everything still felt like an endless dream—or nightmare. When he finally returned to his seat, Kuai Liang’s gaze turned to you.

“Thank you for offering to help, but unfortunately, we don’t know how to undo this dark magic.”

You ventured a suggestion that you hoped wouldn’t sound foolish. “We could try burning the book. I’ve seen it work in some movies.”

“We’ve tried that,” Tomas chimed in, joining Kuai Liang. “Several times. Whatever we’ve done, the book has never been destroyed. It’s protected by some kind of magic, just as it protects its master from us.”

“You spoke as if you had tested the last part before.”

In response, silence enveloped the room. Despite your efforts to stave off panic, the realization that they were assassins and the precariousness of your situation made you feel threatened.

“We have tried to kill several masters before,” Kuai Liang admitted frankly. “But there’s some kind of seal that protects them—you can think of it as a shield. It renders any attack ineffective. That’s why we were telling the truth when we said we wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Of course, if things were different, it wouldn’t mean you wouldn’t try,” you said, averting your gaze and clasping your hands in your lap. Another solution came to mind, prompting you to straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath before continuing.

‘’ If I can’t set you free, then you’re free to do as you please, go where you want. You don’t have to be stuck here.” you offered.

“You won’t give us orders? Isn’t there something you want us to do?” Tomas asked, surprised.

“No, as long as you don’t start killing people, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

“We’re not mindless killers,” said Bi-Han harshly, sounding offended that you would even think of them in that way. Kuai Liang interjected, softening his brother’s tone.

“We serve a noble purpose. We were, until we were sealed in the book… Our clan has been dedicated to protecting Earthrealm from dangers for centuries,” he explained, his gaze softening slightly as he made eye contact with you. “Thank you for the opportunity you’ve given us, but we can’t be away from you for more than a few hours. We have to get back here, to you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How so? Why? Do I have to say something else?”

“No, it’s part of the magic. It was designed to prevent us from escaping. When we’re away from our master—you, and this period becomes longer, we become weaker and weaker.”

“So at the end of the day… God, what cruel magic this is,” Gulping, you scanned all three men with a heavy heart. It must have been torture for them to endure this existence. Even as you spoke, your heart ached with empathy, imagining what they had been subjected to. Anger and sadness gripped your body as you contemplated their plight. “Is there anything else I can do for you? My house isn’t too big, but I want you to be comfortable during your stay here.”

It was Bi-Han who responded, his narrowed gaze resembling two thin lines, as if he were dissecting your sincerity. You couldn’t help but feel a pang as you tried to discern whether he believed you. While you understood his skepticism, winning their trust seemed like a daunting task.

“You can start by finding us clothes.”

[potatothots]

U do dark, yandere👀??? Can I request Grandmaster Bi-han conquering a village and taking virgin!reader as concubine😗 (I'm sick I know🙃😐)

I hope this lives up to expectations! Sorry it was so late. You're not sick, either! It's fantasy!! :D Let me know how I did.

Genre: Drama 

Rating: Porn with plot - NO MINORS

Pairings: dark!Bi-Han x virgin!reader

Warnings: Loss of virginity, breeding kink, talk of death, concubines, non-con

Summary: Bi-Han takes what he wants. The Lin Kuei are always repaid.

Note - I'm not your guardian. You read what you want. I can't stop you. If you don't heed the warnings, too bad for you, not me.

I wrote it, didn’t like it, rewrote some of it, and finally found something I kind of like. Edited by me, however, potatos aren’t the best at editing their own work.

It was a sunny, beautiful day when it happened. There was a chill in the air and a threat of snow on the wind, but it wasn't out of the ordinary for this time of year. You were walking the market street. The smells drew you to various vendors selling dumplings and sweet rice balls. Along with the staples you'd need for the week for yourself and your aging parents, you decided to indulge in some of the sweets. Your dad had a sweet tooth like you; he wouldn't mind. 

As the sun set low on the horizon you started your journey home. There suddenly was a thundering sound. Like horrid storms, but it was coming closer too quickly to be natural. You held your bags to your chest and turned to the noise. The sight made you stop in your tracks. 

More than a dozen men on horseback were charging through the street. They wore gear and masks that signaled their affiliation with the Lin Kuei. You'd never seen them in person but had heard tales of their might and savagery when they wanted something. 

The villagers ran this way and that way, trying to avoid the men on horseback along with the flying debris they left behind in their wake. They smashed stalls and trampled over those unlucky souls who couldn't get away fast enough. Some had bows and arrows and took down more innocent civilians. 

It wasn't until a child ran to you, tears streaming down her cheeks, that you came out of your shock. You threw down your bags and grabbed her, pulling her to safety. Only, it wasn't enough. An arrow pierced her neck. It went so far through that it stabbed your chest. The sight had you screaming in terror. You let the dead child go to run yourself. 

You found yourself in an alley. Pressing your back to the wall, you watched the riders ride past the opening, paying no mind to the dark alley. 

You let out a trembling breath. Your whole body shook in fear. Moving away from the wall, you turned your back to the alley entrance. You had to get to safety. You had to get home. Your parents were in danger. 

As you started to run, you smacked right into a wall - no, not a wall. A giant of a man in the Lin Kuei garb accented with blue. His mask was ornate and hid everything but his expressive brown eyes. 

Those eyes trailed down your face to your chest. He reached out to touch the bloody spot. His fingers were ice cold as they moved your jacket away to inspect the wound through your shirt. You shivered, backing away from him. His other hand grabbed your upper arm to hold you in place. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked in a deep, gravelly voice. 

Your eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Yes! You're destroying my home! Of course, I'm hurt!"

He made a face behind his mask like he was smirking. You tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. 

"Let me go. I owe you nothing." You said, trying to pull away again. 

"That's where you're wrong, y/n. You owe me everything. Your family and your leader can't pay what they owe us. Instead, they hid the things most precious to them. You, I've decided to spare. You're no son, but you can be very valuable to me in other ways."

"You're wrong about my family. Maybe our leader, but my family would never do anything to be indebted to the likes of a low-life clan like the Lin Kuei."

"You have no idea, do you? I've watched you these last few years. You indulge and never ask where the money comes from. You're either naive or choose to be ignorant. Your father has land, a title, a good job, and somehow has more money than others in his position."

You pause, mulling over his words. Yes, your family might be wealthier than most in town, but your father always said it was that he was good with money. Doubt clouded his words in your head now. Was it true? Why else would they come after you?

"What will happen to the leader's family? His children? Their children?" Your voice is tiny, sticking in your throat with fear. 

"We will get rid of those who won't fall in line." 

His words are so casually spoken that you have to look away. Tears pour down your cheeks at the implications of his words. 

You sniffle, looking back at him. "I'm no fighter. What use would I be to you?"

"You're so innocent." He cups your cheek with the hand that had been inspecting your shirt. "You don't have to be a fighter to warm my bed."

A wave of panic shot through you at his statement. You cried out a sharp "No!" before you finally managed to yank yourself away from him. Only so far could you go before you felt his cold touch again. He held his hand over your nose and mouth. His other arm was tight against your throat. The more you struggled, the more your vision went hazy. 

"Yes. Fight back. It'll make this easier for me." 

He kept talking, but your brain was no longer listening as you fought to keep conscious. 

—

You felt yourself come to. Women were chatting in whispered voices. A few glanced your way. An older woman with gray hair moved over to the bed you were lying on. She held a kindness in her face and movements as she helped you to get up. 

"You'll be Grandmaster Bi-Han's prize tonight. I need you to take a bath and clean yourself everywhere. Make sure to use the oil for your skin. Once you're done, put the robe on and come find me back here." The woman instructed while the two of you went to the bathing room. "Do you understand?" 

You nodded, tears forming in your eyes again. 

"Good. Now, stop crying. He wants you natural and if you keep this up your face will be blotchy and swollen."

She opened the door for you. You stepped in, stopping in the doorway to admire the beauty of the room. 

"You have thirty minutes until the grandmaster is finished with his day. Relax while you clean and pamper yourself. The grandmaster has a temper. It's best not to upset him. 

Here," she put some towels, washcloths, and a robe in your hands. "Calm yourself and get clean so I can dress you."

She didn't give you time to respond as she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

Alone, you realized how quiet it was. The cold air was making you stiff. With a huff, you set to your task: washing and massaging the oil into your skin until you felt soft like silk. No matter what you did you couldn't stop the anger and depression. You threw on your robe and headed back to the busy room. You hoped the woman wouldn't notice your face was still puffy. 

She noticed. Other than a sigh as she wiped around your eyes, she said nothing. A little powder, a simple hairstyle, and some sheer gloss highlighted your face. She dressed you in a silver cheongsam with various blues making up the embroidered bird pattern. Next, she placed a long, white fur cloak around your shoulders and shooed you away with instructions on how to get to where you needed to be. 

When you reached the door it flew open, revealing a hulking presence. He peered down at you, his face set in a scowl. You shifted from one foot to another as he lazily took in your form. 

"Inside," he quipped, grabbing your arm. He pulled you into the room before you had a chance to move yourself. 

He walked you to the center of the sparsely decorated bedroom. 

"Take off the fur." 

You didn’t want to. He noticed the hesitation. Bi-Han narrowed his eyes. His hands flew up to your shoulders and pushed the cloak off. 

His eyes seemed to warm as they trailed over your form. “Where did you get this outfit?”

“The old lady in the - “

“Shush. It’s perfect. Birds suit you. My colors suit you even better.” 

Bi-Han took your hand in a tight grip and led you to the bed. His eyes undressed you as his hands did. You were trembling in fear. You’d never laid with a man, never even let a man see you without clothing on. As your dress fell to the floor you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. This was not how you thought your first time would go. 

The grandmaster slid his hands down your sides, pausing to grip your hips. You shivered, goosebumps rising on your skin from his cold touch. His hands moved back up to your breasts. He squeezed them. A hum of appreciation sounded from him. 

“You’ll do well in producing heirs.” He said flatly. His tone seemed at odds with his lust-filled expression and his exploring hands. 

You bit your bottom lip and looked away. “What if I don’t?” You’d heard about women who couldn’t give male heirs. They didn’t last long. 

“I’ll allow you to keep my bed warm.” he shrugged. 

It wasn’t the answer you were expecting. However, you didn’t have much time to process it as he pushed you onto the bed. He crowded you, kissing and biting at your skin. It was overwhelming. There was some pleasure, but mostly pain. He was harsh in his fondling of your body. There was a slight reprieve when he sat up. You were hoping it meant he was done for some reason, but when he simply took his clothes off you knew it was going to be a long night. 

He was barely any nicer to your body when he pushed his cock into your pussy. It stung and you tried to move away from him, but he held you tight. 

“Stop pulling away,” he growled as he grabbed at your ankles. 

“It hurts!”

Bi-Han let out a huff, repositioning himself so your legs were over his shoulders. The intensity of the new position had you crying out in shock. It hurt, but something else was taking over. Your eyes found the grandmaster’s. As cold as his touch was, his expression was burning. You’d seen boys drunk outside of alleyways, their glassy eyes a dead giveaway. That’s how Bi-Han looked. Like he was drunk and needed more. He shifted his hips slightly and you let out a shocked squeak. 

“Gods, right there!” The words tumbled from your lips faster than you could even think of them. 

Bi-Han smirked. “Anything for you, little bird.”

That yearning feeling in your gut was turning your thoughts into white noise. Everything came to a head all at once. The feeling seemed to explode inside of you. Your eyes squeezed shut and you were sure you said something, but it sounded like babbling to your ears. Then, you felt a wet coldness inside you. Bi-Han fucked you through your orgasm, his own triggered by yours. As his hips slowed, your brain was able to catch up with your situation. Tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Hush, now.” Bi-Han cooed, kissing the tears. “You did well, little bird. I knew you would. You were always going to be mine.” He captured your lips in a consuming kiss. 

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine the beast pirates learning you are a criminal mastermind

Kaido: *going over a cargo manifest* we will sell these in Port Chugal, prepare them for shipment.

King: Port Chugal won't buy pirate goods anymore, the world government found out they've been trading with us, so they replaced the king there.

Kaido: That's the third distribution market I've had to change in the last month. First the Bourgeois Kingdom, then Ballywood, and now Port Chugal. How are they finding my warehouses?

Queen: we don't know at the moment, but we're working on it

You: *King's assistant* I would like to point out something that all three have in common.

King: Silence.

Kaido: let em talk, I want to hear what they have to say.

You: they were all common stops on Captain Rondow's transport route, who was captured almost three months ago by the world government.

Kaido: You think the poor bastard broke under torture?

You: It appears so, and from the other reports we're getting I'm guessing they have figured out how you conduct your exportation operation. *Hands King the reports*

King: *Skims them* we spent years building this system.

You: which means building another will be faster this time. I'm guessing how they're locating our goods is by the fact that while it's labeled under a company that doesn't have any paperwork officially filed in countries we claim it's from.

Kaido: what are we supposed to do, get a business permit?

You: yes, but actually no. Now any new businesses from any nations in your territory will come under scrutiny by the world government. So I think we should find any failing, but long-established companies, and bail them out in exchange for slipping our illicit cargo into their product distribution.

King: that... might actually work, but there's no way we can guarantee their loyalty.

You: that's why you give them a small percentage of the profits and gather blackmail material. Most rich people are sick fucks will have skeletons in their closet, you just have to look for it.

Kaido: I'll entrust the task to you, and in the meantime we'll have Yamato fill in for you with King.

King: what! No! Your son is... not great at paperwork.

Kaido: Sorry bud, but I'd like to see what they can do on their own, so I'm setting them loose.

Returns from setting up the new network seven months later

Kaido: I just got the finance report for the last quarter

You: *literally just got off the boat* Sir?

King: Your network is more efficient than what we had set up.

Kaido: you're getting promoted, so you can manage it from here.

You: But I was really looking forward to working with King again.

Kaido: then you'll work under him not me.

You: I'm keeping my desk in your office.

King: For someone who ruthlessly castrated a man to get him to do what they wanted, you are very clingy and sentimental.

You: I was well within my rights to revoke that man's dick privilege, you had no idea how man people he's assaulted. I did that town a fucking favor by pickling that man's junk

Kaido: you pickled it!

You: Yes I did, how else, so you think I got an entire town to look the other way about our ships coming into the harbor?

Kaido: I never would have thought of that... You know when I met you I never would have guessed you'd be an asset to my operations. You seemed too soft and naive, too kind.

You: *shrugs* Well thank you for thinking I'm kind, but I just so happen to hate you less than the world government, and you have more money than the revolutionary army. And Lin Lin and her family freaks me out.

King: don't forget Akagami and Whitebeard won't hire you since you've worked with us.

You: *clicks your tongue* and I regret it every day.

Coming Soon

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

What Gatsby musical do you think is best?

The Great Gatsby : A New Musical

Gatsby : An American Myth

And depending on which you pick, why did you choose that one?

I have been outspoken in my criticism of The Great Gatsby: A New Musical to the point where it's kind of marked me as an asshole to fans of said musical, but I'm not backing down. Read my opinions boy

No, but seriously. Let me begin by saying that I came to this point already worn down by so many heartless, obnoxious, cash-grabby adaptations of prior works (Mean Girls, Beetlejuice, Heathers, etc) that bank almost entirely on nostalgia and spectacle and, in some cases, the unknowing of their YOUNG target audience, in order to blind said audience into just calling the music a bop and moving on.

And I'm tired of it. Yes, I'm aware musical theater has always run on adaptations—Chicago and Little Shop of Horrors are among some of my favorites! But I approach every single adaptation of ANYTHING with the same baseline question: is this adaptation justified?

You could take the very moderate opinion of "having more musicals to listen to is a good thing!" but I think that's naive, and falling right into the trap set by creators who are only here for Lin Manuel-level Tony's and that's it. There's no dedication to actually making something new with something already established. Nothing transformative. It's lazy.

That's what I mean by 'is this adaptation justified'. Does the adaptation in question engage with the source material in a way that refreshes it, dives deeper into it, and takes advantage of the new method of storytelling (in this case, from book to stage musical) to showcase how the new method of storytelling benefits the source material? Like in the case of Little Shop of Horrors, it uses satire to highlight deeper issues that are barely skated across in the source material while also pulling forth factors of the source material that were more relevant at the time when it was released.

I for one am exhausted by adaptations at this point. It's always been a backbone of musical theater but now, even outside of theater, we are awash in them. it's been said before that pretty much everything you see now is a remake or an adaptation or a sequel or a prequel or a cinematic universe or something derivative, and that tends to punch down on the smaller, more creative, original ideas that might've flourished if the market wasn't oversaturated with mass-produced corporatized shiny flashy garbage.

This is where the two Gatsby musicals come in.

If you're here, you know that I...dedicate a lot of time to this novel. I could have gone to college and got a degree with the time I have spent on this novel and its study. Unraveling every single sentence, every character motivation, every real life factor that plays in to Fitz's writing of the novel—every draft, every movie adaptation. The entire history of this novel and its creation is carved into the inside of my skull.

Now, one thing you should know about gatsby is that Fitz wrote it when he was just coming off the massive failure of his play The Vegetable. That's not the full title, but I'm not going to bother typing out the rest of it. Because it was bad. It was not good. No one liked it. So, naturally, Fitz wanted to improve on his playwriting skills. Up until then, he was good at short stories and he was good at long, descriptive novels, but he couldn't quite understand how to condense and reformat his novel-writing style into something more like a stageplay.

Gatsby was sort of his attempt. You'll note that Gatsby is only 47,043 or so words, which is less than half of most of his other novels. The action and dialogue are snappy. There is, shockingly enough, less purple prose than prior releases (in spite of Nick spending 23984798347928374 words, approximately, to describe his new neighbor's smile). Scott was trying desperately to pare down his writing and see if he could slowly shift his formatting toward something that could translate to the stage.

Many of you know that The Great Gatsby was a total major uber flop.

There went his dreams of making this a play. And there have been many attempts since, all with very limited success, because for the most part, there is a total lack of understanding concerning what makes this novel a novel instead of play material. All too many times, there has been a disconnect as to what would translate effectively onto the stage as it is written in the book, like the themes of being dazzled by a spectacle but not, as displayed in the novel, the downside of such a thing.

As I said. All too often, there is too little thought given to the advantages of adapting a written work to musical theater. This leads to much of the deeper shades of the story being left to the wayside in favor of shallow spectacle just to keep the masses entertained without actually translating the stunning symbolism and figurative work Fitz put on the page.

This is what happened to The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. They took the most barebones understanding that most viewers would have of the story (that it's a love story, just like Romeo and Juliet!—side-eye), and made everything as loud and as fast and as bright as they could to make up for any lack of exploration beyond what is very plainly written on the page.

This does not work with The Great Gatsby.

I've mourned the gooberfication of Nick Carraway before. I love the 2013 film, as I'm sure many do because it was many of our first experiences with any Gatsby adaptation, but you can see it with Tobey Maguire and you can see it here in The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. So many times I see people call him an unreliable narrator but it's very clear they don't understand exactly why he's unreliable.

This 'gooberfication' I speak of is Nick's attempt to convince us that he's the innocent one here, in every single situation, and everyone around him is a liar and he's always telling the truth so you can trust him. He's the only honest person he's ever known.

Red flag central.

So from that line alone, you have to understand that everything Nick says or does, leaves in or leaves out, is suspect. He's out of his element in New York but he is absolutely not some baby-cheeked little goober who is SO TOTALLY BLINDED by his infatuation with Gatsby that he's just willing to go along with everything and doesn't pass judgment. We joke "Nick says he doesn't judge anyone then proceeds to judge everyone in the novel!" Yeah, no shit. That's the thing. He is a hypocrite made only lesser by the way he plays up the evils of everyone around him, and that's how he gets by. That's how he sleeps at night.

You can cast that into whatever light you like, whether it's the hypocrisy of saying he's so poor when he's living in at LEAST a two bedroom cottage with a maid and modern appliances and his dad is paying for a full YEAR of his life after paying his way through an Ivy League school. Or you could say he does this to throw suspicion off himself and possibly his sexuality, which is a whole can of worms involving Fitzgerald's constant projection onto his characters that I cannot bear to crack open.

Point being, Nick isn't just the passive bystander in all of these situations. He makes it sound like he is, like he's just doing favors for people who are worse than him, and how he disapproves of even everything Gatsby does despite his evident fascination with the man, but at the end of the day, he's just passing the buck. Washing his hands clean. There are so many clues in the book to this sort of thing that should tip you off to the fact that Nick Carraway is not just some silly sweet guy who gets swept up into a life of chaos and crime just to come out cynical. He was already a judgemental, cynical individual who was forced to come all too close to the realization that he, too, is more 'one of them' than he can bear to admit—even in spite of how he attempts to obscure his own hypocrisy.

Nick is not innocent. No one in this book is (besides Pammy, though she's a ticking time bomb if we're meant to understand the wealth she will inherit). That's the whole point of the fucking book. There are a thousand hands each pushing a tiny bit to keep these impossible shades of class division moving, and condemning one person (like Nick does with Daisy or Tom) doesn't solve the problem. Jay still dies. The American dream is still a nightmare. Nick still has a father to fall back on.

Which is why it's so impossibly perplexing to me to display Nick as some sort of lapdog who just seems honored to spend time with these people. Why Jay is just some quirked up white boy who is, quite literally, just too quirky and obnoxious to bear. He and Daisy are so in love and they're so close to each other and isn't it just tooooo saddd to bearrrr?? So romantic????

There's nothing deeper to it. No asking why Fitz wrote any of these characters the way he did. No understanding of the deeper implications of what he was trying so desperately to convey, on both a social and personal level. Yes, it's a love story, but it's also a commentary on just how fucked everyone is by the cages of tradition.

And there is just no trace of that in the Broadway musical. Everything is simple and easily digestible. There is no deeper interaction with the source material, no drive to have produced it at all except, perhaps, to cash in on the new public domain. They got the biggest names they could with the biggest cult followings, knowing so many would just eat it right up and call each song a bop and it would trend on tiktok and they might get a tony and then they'd move on. No integrity. No passion. No justification.

Gatsby: An American Myth is much the opposite.

After hearing a Totally Legal version of the Broadway musical, I was terrified of what ART would do to this book. Now that I had seen just how fearfully easy it was to just slap some 'art deco' and glitter on the stage, write a painfully obvious love song, and move on, I was really concerned that this trend of bloodless, toothless adaptations would continue and I'd have to sigh and move on with my life.

Fortunately, everything I mentioned that bothered me about the Broadway musical is set right in Gatsby: An American Myth. I really should have expected nothing less from Florence Welch in terms of the music (which is, of course, one of the most show-stopping elements of the musical, as it should be) considering her prior works and how they relate to the Great Gatsby. This is someone who has been obsessed with the book longer than I have been and has woven it into so much of her body of work that I'm surprised this musical didn't drop the day it became public domain. I cannot think of a better contemporary musician to handle that facet of a Gatsby musical.

This adaptation itself does exactly what I would have hoped. I am, of course, someone who holds the book and all its drafts to a very high regard—if this is a religion, that's my bible. What's in there, goes, though it's open to interpretation. Typically I would be against adding things at all.

What they added, however, was brilliant. Nothing massive—just, again, ways to take advantage of the musical theater method of production, and ways to modernize and acknowledge more contemporary understandings of the source material. Where the Broadway musical carefully tiptoed around any indication that nick was anything other than straight and in love with Jordan Baker, Gatsby: An American Myth leaned right into the idea that he was made an outsider by his sexuality, and that was part of why he related to Jay so hard. Because otherwise, why would he? He's a middle-to-upper-middle class Midwesterner whose father is paying for a year of his life while he works a little for-fun job in the big city. What does he know about being an outsider?

Gatsby: An American Myth shows you that. Shows how everyone is an outsider to each other in this story, and how individualism destroys a community that would otherwise support you. You can take that on a society-wide level or personal: Jay being totally disconnected from even himself, or the wealthy pretending they don't live on the same planet as the poor.

Another miraculous addition was a sort of bridge between Myrtle and Wilson that just makes sense. I don't want to spoil it too much, but everything they added or rearranged or re-highlighted just goes to display the depth and breadth this story really reaches. They read between every line, proudly displayed the complexity of every single situation and character—how all of them are the victim and all of them are the perpetrator—while STILL making it sound fantastic in my opinion.

It's by no means a flawless work and I saw it early on its production. It's changed since then and obviously I haven't been able to hear it since I saw it live, but I have total faith in the creative team to have not completely thrown away their good intentions in favor of trending on tiktok.

To conclude I would just ask anyone reading to please inspect the media you consume. Inspect the motives of the person feeding it to you. There's not really any sort of Nobility to art, but at this point, with so many shallow attempts to cash in on our desperate search for community and contentment, quality and passion have been thrown out the window. Shoveling this hot shit at us day and night (remakes, sequels, prequels, adaptations) has become another tool of capitalism to keep us just satisfied to not ask for more.

Ask for more. Ask for better. You deserve it.

[flowers-inverted]

I've got a theory...

(spoiler warning for s1 & s2)

So the lesbian noodle couple right? My theory is that their story is parallel foreshadowing for Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi.

Lil' recap: Lin Zhen (the chef) and Yu Xia (the marketer) started a business called Xialin Noodle House (literally a combo of their names) with a very successful signature recipe. Eventually Yu Xia strays from the path and Lin Zhen says she's leaving. This prompts the money/growth focused Yu Xia to go to our boys for help in finding the secret ingredient to their famous noodles. Turns out it's the ingredient that she herself introduced which is only made in her home town. So, coming to her senses, she goes to find her wife¹ Lin Zhen waiting outside a house for her where they then hug and assumedly live happily ever after. At the end of the episode there is a parallel event where our boys only have one bowl of noodles for them to share. They both look at eachother a lil stun locked because the it reminded them of the time Lin Zhen and Yu Xia had a Lady and The Tramp moment that had Cheng Xiaoshi coughing in fear.

So what am I saying? Obviously the noodle scene is a parallel but what if it's put in as more than just a 'hey they're queer too'² funny haha? What if it's meant to be a flashing neon sign of "hey their whole story is similar"? Keep in mind this is all under the assumption that Cheng Xiaoshi has died and Lu Guang has tried numerous times to change that unchangeable node.

Here's my points of parallel:

Obvious one out first: Yu Xia & Lin Zhen are business partners with a special secret recipe. Lu Guang & Cheng Xiaoshi are business partners with a special secret method they never intended to share with anyone else. This feels like the beggining knot to the noodle's end one connected our strings. It's also made to make you compare the two pairs.

Yu Xia strays from the path. Lu Guang strays from the path. In Lu Guang's case, it's probably supposed to be the rule set he drills into Cheng Xiaoshi's head.

Lin Zhen doesn't stray, neither does Cheng Xiaoshi. When CXS thought LG died, he contemplated going back in time to change his fate but decided against it. He thinks LG would be displeased with the idea.

Lin Zhen gives Yu Xia a reality check and then waits for her to come back to her senses. She literally and metaphorically waits for her to come back home. So what if: Cheng Xiaoshi does the same thing with Lu Guang?

Now I have a few ideas for how this story could play out as a parallel:

The Happy Ever After idea. Cheng Xiaoshi finds out what Lu Guang has done before the time of the crucial event (CXS's og death). CXS's previous deaths are the equivalent to Lin Zhen leaving and LG finally saving him is the equivalent of the lesbian reunion.

The Oblivious idea. CXS doesn't find out what LG has done. His previous deaths are the equivalent to Lin Zhen leaving. LG's attempts, and eventual success, to save him are the equivalent of Yu Xia returning home to her partner. LG's abandonment of the rules to do this would be too. The strict adherence to the rules would've been his 'straying from the path'. Perhaps this is what resulted in CXS original death. CXS living is the parallel for Lin Zhen waiting for Yu Xia at home and their hug (return of togetherness) at the end.

The Argument idea. CXS finds out what LG's done and they have an argument. This would be the parallel to Lin Zhen's push. CXS also lives, same parallel as #3. Bonus if CXS has never found out in previous attempts.

The Doomed By The Narrative idea. I... don't wanna explain this one. It's pretty self explanatory. Basically, despite LG's best efforts, he can't change CXS's death. The hug could be death bed forgiveness. Might include a CXS finds out argument too.

The Religious idea. They both die. The lesbian reunion is a parallel to them meeting again either in another life or in the afterlife.

Now here's where I've gone and gotten spicy and off course:

The Trade idea. Lu Guang dies instead of Cheng Xiaoshi, purposefully taking his place. This could draw comparison to the hostage situation where CXS trades himself for a silenced LG. The silenced part could relate to CXS's previous death, LG never telling him what he's done, and/or LG not telling him what he's doing. Maybe LG's already tried this tho given both how he gets into that situation and how it would be a very basic idea to at least attempt it with other people.

The Attempted Trade idea. The trade idea except CXS doesn't let him.

So what am I on about?

Well I think The Argument Parallel (Lesbian)³ Theory is the most likely of all of these. I think, assuming we're correct that Cheng Xiaoshi has died, it's highly unlikely that the show will end with him being dead. Normally I'd say it'd be boring to have an ending like that but honestly Link Click is good enough to make it work... So unfortunately for my heart I can't rule it out but still.

Anyway, thanks for listening to my nonsense. 'Till next time friends!

—————

¹ striked out words are: her wife

² striked out words are: 'hey they're queer too'

³ striked out word is: (Lesbian)

[silent-words]

cherries + gale 💜

I had to make a research on different kinds of cherries, so it took a long time to write. But now I'm prepared to present you a little fic that got suggestive in the second part. Nothing explicit, but you can count it as a foreplay.

The Intricacies of Cherries

Gale x F!Tav, Druid Tav, suggestive. Post-canon, Waterdeep.

Who would think a summer day in a coastal city would be utterly unbearable? In moments like these Tav really missed her faraway forest home. Hot and humid air with a scorching sun made her think Grymforge had been a comfortable place to exist. She didn’t miss the tadpoles and bedrolls though. In fact, she was hurrying towards her new home – a nice tower cooled by magic (and thick stone walls, of course). Today was her day off at work. She had just been to the market – the hottest place with sweaty people around, which was awful in itself. But she didn’t endure it all for nothing. She was carrying a tasty surprise for her husband.

When she entered the tower, a cool breeze made her dizzy at first. A slight heat stroke, but nothing her druid magic cannot heal. She heard a distinctive smell of delicious food being cooked and heard a melody hummed by a familiar voice. That meant Gale had returned from Blackstaff academy and was making them dinner. When she entered the kitchen, he turned to her and smiled:

‘Hello, my love! Where’ve you been today?’ He looked back at the stove to control the food. She started unpacking her bag of holding:

‘I’ve been to the market, love, and look what I’ve found there! My favourite berries: raspberry, blueberry, blackberry, cloudberry and cherry. I hope we’ll enjoy them together.’ She pulled little wicker baskets filled with berries of one kind each and put them on the table.

Gale strode towards the purchases and grinned: ‘What do you think about adding them to the ice cream? Ah,’ he looked at the cherries and furrowed his brow. Then he put his index finger uo and continued: ‘It seems you mixed up the cherries. This is the sour sort,’ he pointed towards the cherries in front of him, ‘they are used for baking and brewing cider. You should have bought the sweet sort, they are suitable for consumption as they are.’

‘Who are you that you should teach me, a druid, what kind of cherry this is?’ she crossed her arms. ‘While you have always been a city dweller, I spent a big part of my life in the forest. And these are the cherries we consumed, not the saccharine kind you call “cherry” here. You just need to get used to the taste.’ She was offended that this magic man didn’t want to understand the obvious.

‘Get used to?’ Gale laughed. ‘I beg your pardon, but I remember, when I was a very young boy, I stormed into my mother’s kitchen, took a mouthful of cherries and tried to eat them. It was so sour that tears started running down my cheeks. Then she told me that these cherries were meant to be a filler for cherry dumplings. The dumplings were still delicious, but I learnt the lesson that day.’ He gave Tav a warm look. That charming look that made her forgive him for anything. ‘Every time I see them I remember that day and that acidic taste in my mouth.’

‘Okay, Gale, I can never properly argue with you. I was taught to eat them since before I could remember, that must be the reason why I enjoy eating them. I can think of making you a better memory to associate with sour cherries. Teaching you properly to eat them, so to speak.’ She gave him a mischievous smirk. ‘But only after dinner.’

‘Your wish is my command, my lady.’ He put the fire off and started to dish out the food.

* * *

It was not long after dinner when Tav was sitting on a balcony, a bowl of thoroughly washed cherries on the table by her side. She had already changed into the silken summer dress she wore at home, which was coloured in pink and orange by the setting sun.

‘What a sight to behold,’ she suddenly heard Gale saying. When she turned to the door, she saw her husband leaning on the door-post. He wore his linen shirt, half-unbuttoned and with his rolled up to his elbows. His skin, even more tanned in summer than usual, was a stark contrast to white linen. She looked wistfully at his forearms, his damp hair fresh from a bath, his smile and his eyes that seemed to devour her.

‘I remember you wished to show me something about the sour cherries,’ he chuckled, ‘I promise I’ll be an obedient student.’ Gale walked towards Tav and sat beside her. She resisted the urge to kiss him immediately. Instead she took a cherry and held it between her thumb and middle finger.

‘At first you need to watch carefully,’ she said and slowly brought the cherry to her lips. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gale swallowing hard but never looking away. She bit through the skin of the cherry and felt the sour juice run into her mouth and down her chin. Her husband’s breath quickened. She threw the kernel into the bowl and said:

‘Now you can taste the juice on my lips.’ He didn’t need to be told twice. He licked the juice from her lips and kissed them. But the kiss was short, for he was too excited about what would come next. Tav smiled and ran her clean hand through his hair.

‘Good boy. Now, to the next part of our lesson.’ She took another cherry and popped it above the neckline of her dress. The juice ran down her hand, but a few drops reached the destination and made their way under the fabric. When she looked at Gale, his pupils were dilated. He swallowed again. ‘Now you can taste the berry with my fingers,’ Tav whispered, for Gale was very close to her now. He took her fingers into his mouth obediently, and, while wincing at the sour taste, he still shut his eyes and moaned with pleasure. Soon she withdrew her hand. ‘You did so well. Now as a bonus you can catch those droplets that escaped under my dress.’ Gale licked a stripe between her breasts.

‘As much as I enjoy the lesson,’ he looked into her eyes with burning desire visible in them, ‘I think I’ll never enjoy raw sour cherries. However,’ he gave her a mischievous grin, ‘I am all too curious to find out where those droplets might end up. And for this thorough analysis I would require a special environment,’ he stood up and extended his hand towards her, ‘so I suggest we go to the bedroom, my lady.’

‘I’m thrilled at the prospect of bearing witness to such meticulous research.’ She took his hand and stood up. ‘Shall we?’

[jrwi-headcanons]

mk so I have a couple (all are based on wonderlust so bare with)

music: Runt would have so much Lemon Demon on her playlist, she would live, breathe, and die the songs Modify and Cabinet Man. at the same time, Blink would listen to Mitski and specifically the song Icarus by Luvbug because it reminds him of his times with Aeon and Candle before the accident. Troy would listen to Femininomenon x The Greatest while steam sledding using the illegal steam speakers he had his dad invent for his sled.

hobbies: I feel like Troy had a music phase in his late teens where he convinced his dad to let him have an electric guitar or a drum set (if those even exist) and spent maybe a couple hours trying to learn it but ultimately gave up because his steam sledding schedule was too busy for hobbies. Blink would so write poetry or songs that he keeps in a journal on him at all times. how else do you think he keeps himself entertained on his various courring trips he does a week. while walking and delivering things he hums lyrics and then once he has a moment copies it into his journal. Nobody but him knows about it and he intends to keep it that way. Runt loves doing karaoke nights with Uncle Three-Strings and occasionally invites Doppler, Pinch, and the other street rats over to sing with her. Only a few can make it most times, but some of her favorite memories she has are ones where it's just her and Uncle Three-Strings. I also feel like she would hate cooking food and is really shit at it unless it's a cheese-related meal, in which case she's the girl to go to.

other things TW!! abusive parents and trauma: this is kind of sad, but Troy headcannon. The reason he shits himself so often in the show and why it's like a "normal thing" to Troy is that when he was really little (from the moment he could walk until he was old enough to not go to events) he was basically forced to go to every press conference and event with his dad and during this, he wasn't allowed to go to the restroom or really even ask. Because of this, he basically got used to having no choice but to shit himself because he would literally get like yelled at for even asking. this followed him into adulthood, and while he's better at controlling it now, when he gets in stressful situations, like the semi-finals in episode one, there's not much he can do to stop it as it's his subconsciousness's natural instinct. (end of TW here)

Holidays: All holiday parties in the trench are organized by Runt, including the Secret Santa (or whatever the trench equivalent of that is). For some reason, her gift is always to Uncle Three Strings. Each year, she saves all her money, and in the time leading up to the exchange, she goes and scours the markets for a really cool cup. In his collection of cups, Uncle Three-Strings has a special shelf with all of his precious Runt's cups on it. He has them all in order of when he got them, starting with one she made for him when she first moved in with him and leading up to the ones she got for him on her trip to the surface in episode one. I also think Runt has tried teaching Uncle Three-Strings how to make the machines she makes and has gone on hour-long tangents about it before, with Uncle Three-Strings just happily sitting there listening. Blink only has Granny Granite as family, as, after the Candle situation, not many of his family members will talk to him, let alone spend holidays with him. He goes to her shop during the holidays and eats one of the many slices of cake she hoards in her cabinets. He doesn't enjoy the holiday times as it reminds him of how much he fucked up back when he was younger, but being with Granny Granite makes him feel a little bit better about it. Troy spends his holidays at the holiday house his dad owns. He spends it practicing his steam sledding since his dad is too busy most of the time to actually spend time with him. The few holidays he hasn't spent around his absent father have been spent either drinking, with Lint, or both. Lint's family is rather nice, but he hates being a burden to them even though they've said that he isn't.

ima stop myself here even though I have more I could write because it's midnight and I think if I spend any more time writing this I'm gonna explode

!

[accio-victuuri]

from this article with WoF’s screenwriter Weng Liangping! this person contributed alot to make the drama what it is, especially the plot and it’s nice to know that WoF is his debut work! <3

i’ve added some excerpts from this interview about him + of course more on mentions of Wang Yibo & Ruolai.

Weng Liangping, who majored in drama, film and television literature at university, entered the TV drama production center of Jiangxi Radio and Television Station after graduation and worked as a planner and editor for ten years. He has served as the script coordinator for many popular film and television dramas such as "Azalea" and "Feng Yun 1911".

Speaking of his first screenwriting work, Weng Liangping smiled and said: "Because of the artist's reasons, this drama has not been broadcast yet."

In 2018, Weng Liangping resigned from his job in the system and became a full-time screenwriter. "War of Faith" is the first script he wrote independently.

The inspiration for the script came from his work at a television station. When he was looking through materials on the history of the revolution, he accidentally discovered the history of the Soviet State Bank. "Most of the previous dramas that wrote about the history of Jiangxi's revolution (screenwriters) wrote about front-line battles and the story of the barrel of a gun. The money bag, that is, the logistics support such as money and food, was rarely touched upon. "Weng Liangping immediately felt that this was a story worth exploring, but considering the setting of the plot and the shaping of the character's growth, he finally targeted the protagonist at a fledgling young man in the central bank established by the Kuomintang.

Then there are the joining of several young actors. When it comes to starring Wang Yibo, Li Qin, Wang Yang and other actors, Weng Liangping was full of praise. "Wei Ruolai was portrayed very well, like the drunken scene when he was out of the circle, and the scene where he was tortured by Captain Lin in prison. Also when Wei Ruolai's brother passed away, the actor performed the panic and sad feeling. I myself It made me cry.”

The actors' outstanding performances made the characters in Weng Liangping's script come alive.

There is a lot of discussion about the character online. The audience called Shen Tunan a financial tycoon, and gave Wei Ruolai an affectionate nickname: Financial Milk Crocodile.

There were also many enthusiastic viewers who analyzed the historical archetypes of Wei Ruolai and Shen Tunan. Weng Liangping also responded positively to this matter, "Actually, these characters have no fixed prototypes." Talking about the character Wei Ruolai, "He is a little man in the background of the times, smart and stubborn. When facing his master Shen Tunan , and he is very sincere. But behind the sincerity, he has his own opinions and plans for many things."

In addition, the constant output of golden sentences in the play also prompted "War of Faith" to continue to break out of the circle. A set of golden sentences produced by Wei Ruolai in his speech to recover the custody rights of tariffs were also one of the most impressive scenes when Weng Liangping wrote the script. "When I first wrote it, I was thinking about why Wei Ruolai could persuade others. In fact, the people present gathered together for nothing more than profit. And the manifestation of profit was to seize the market. Then I checked various population data at that time , economic data, and with the continuous support of the director team, this speech will be gradually improved."

In the final TV series, Wei Ruolai stood on the stage and gave a passionate unscripted speech, which not only aroused the resonance of the 124 members in the audience, but also burned into the hearts of the audience.

interview source.

[roseeycreates-blog]

Back to playing Stardew Valley because I'm not feeling great, haha. ANYWAY, I had this Linzin idea for the Farmer AU. So, imagine this: there’s a traveling merchant fleet docked at Republic City, with merchants from all nations. They’ve got shows, different cuisines at the food stalls—it’s a whole vibe!

Tenzin asked Lin to join him, and she eagerly agreed. They headed to the night market, and Lin was buzzing with excitement. There was so much to explore: free samples, clothing, food, and even seedlings, farm tools, and decorations. As they strolled through the bustling bazaar, Lin’s eyes sparkled at the sight of seedling displays with a variety of herbs and vegetables. She paused to admire a booth selling heirloom seeds and farm tools, chatting animatedly with the vendor about the best techniques for growing tomatoes and cucumbers.

Tenzin couldn’t help but watch her with a smile, noticing how Lin’s passion for farming lit up her face. She picked up a few gardening tools and excitedly demonstrated their features, as if she was right back on her farm. Tenzin couldn’t help but watch her with a smile, feeling his affection for her deepen with every moment.

They stopped to watch some performers bending and trying out a variety of delicious foods. Tenzin noticed a small, intricate clip at one of the stalls and decided to buy it for Lin. She tried to insist on paying, but Tenzin waved her off. “It’s a gift,” he said with a smile. “Celebrating your first time at the night market.” They continued their adventure, visiting a booth showcasing crafts from the Air Temples. The booth also offered refreshing juices and veggie rolls. To Lin’s surprise, she recognized some of the young acolytes from the Air Temple Island who had been with Tenzin the first time they met in Republic City (link).

One of the acolytes offered Tenzin some veggie rolls, and he took them, offering Lin a bite. She hesitated at first but noticed Tenzin waiting expectantly and decided to try it. “It’s delicious,” she said, as Tenzin finished off the rest of the roll.

The acolytes, however, weren’t pleased with the scene. They shot sharp, disapproving glances at Lin. Then, one of them “accidentally” spilled juice onto Lin’s shirt. She said, “Sorry,” but it was pretty clear it wasn’t an accident. The juice stain made her binder more noticeable and highlighted her chest. Tenzin noticed and quickly looked away.

Tenzin handed Lin his handkerchief and took off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. He then led her to a booth that sold shirts and bought one so she could change. The merchant handed him two shirts, saying they were a couple's set. They ended up buying both shirts. The shirt design featured two flying bisons that form a heart when worn together by a couple.

Lin changed quickly, and as she walked out of the ladies' room, she saw Tenzin wearing his shirt. Lin chuckled at the sight of Tenzin in his shirt and said, “You know, you really didn’t have to wear it.” Tenzin grinned and said, “The design wouldn’t make much sense if only one of us was wearing it.” He tried to hide his blush as he added, “Besides, it’s a nice reminder of today.”

Lin reached for Tenzin’s arm and said with a teasing smile, "Well, I guess we’re a couple now." Her playful comment made Tenzin blush even more. Although they had been dating for a few months since Lin arrived in the city, Tenzin hadn’t formally asked her to be his girlfriend, so hearing Lin say it made him feel overjoyed and his heart skip a beat. Lin then pulled Tenzin over to where the group of girls was and made sure they saw the couple shirts. She flashed a smug smile at them, while Tenzin was still processing Lin’s words and the feeling of her arm around his, along with the fact that they were both wearing couple shirts.

[sunnylaurels]

Finally managed to sort out some of my thoughts on how marvel fumbled the marketing for iron fist 2022 and ugh I am SO mad about it now

Like first of all why the hell would you try to keep the identity of the new iron fist a secret

Not only is it obvious to anyone familiar with Lin Lie and/or read DODS: White Fox but the bigger problem is that. Well.

Lin Lie is an obscure character. There's no denying that. And you put the set up for him becoming the next iron fist in a tie-in featuring another, slightly less obscure character.

Ami's never really been pushed so most people aren't going to read her tie-in (which does a great job of introducing both Lie and Ami whilst endearing them to the reader as well). The result is too much exposition needing to be crammed into Lie's story.

What marvel really needed to do was give both Lie and Ami more publicity. Like, maybe give Ami an actual book instead of a four-issue infinity comic (that could tease Lie's return as the new iron fist)? I'm 99% sure that Alyssa Wong wants to write one. Or at least admit that DODS: White Fox is borderline required reading to make sure that the readers know what happened?

You know, since iron fist 2022 isn't a continuation of the previous iron fist storyline? It's a continuation of Lin Lie's story (and Ami's, to a lesser extent) so marvel should have been upfront with that.

But just focusing on the fact that marvel is finally making an asian iron fist simply feels lazy and gives the impression that they're only doing this for free diversity points.

At least they could still fix it with a White Fox & Iron Fist team-up series. You know, just like Power Man & Iron Fist. Except with Ami Han and Lin Lie instead of Danny Rand and Luke Cage. And a bigger focus on the mystical side instead of the street-level one.

Edit: AND the fact that Ami is an actual demon should get more attention. Just imagine Lin Feng trying to turn her into a demon with his magic and she just. slaps him

[wilcze-kudly]

Ships you like and dislike for a few characters and why ? I’m interested in your thoughts and analysis. Don’t have to answer all of them I would just love to see some. Tysm and have a good day 💗🤍.

Bolin ( obvi)

Wei

Suyin

Lin

Asami

If you don’t ship Bopal who do you ship Opal with ?

Bumi II

Huan

So for Bolin, I don't have many ships I like for him other than weilin? I think a lot of his canon ships share the theme of either enabling his infantilisation or patronising him. Bolin needs a partner that would support amd challenege him into maturing, but the writers won't give that to us because writing character development is hard.

At least with weilin I can work with my own ideas?

Mind you it's not that I can't get behind other ships, in the right setting,I'm just very picky about how Bo is characterised.

As for Wei, he doesn't have a lot of interactions with any characters outside of Bolin, so I really don't have a lot of ships with him.

One thing I'm sick of seeing is Beifong family incest? If my daily scouring of the web for weilin crumbs is interrupted by a threesome between Wei, Wing and THEIR FATHER, I will blow this solar system into smithereens.

I'm pretty vanilla when it comes to Suyin ships. I adore Sutar they're adorable and I wish we could've seen them when they were younger. I adore the idea of Suyin finding someone to build a life with, I adore the theme of carving out and building a place to call home together, I adore how they're the poster children for malewife/girlboss.

Though one of my crackships is Suyin x any member of the Red Lotus. This would probably place itself somewhere in my Red Lotus! Beifongs AU.

I'm not too fond of Suvira? Like I absolutely get the appeal, in theory. And while Kuvira doesn't consider the Beifongs family, she has been under Suyin's care since she was 8. Most mentor/protégé ships aren't my cup of tea. There are very specific exceptions, but as a rule of thumb, I shy away from this theme.

For Lin, I'm very partial to Linzolt, thanks to my wife. Very interesting dynamic. I also like shipping Lin with women of course; Kyalin, Linsuko, Lin x Buttercup Raiko - all bangers. I like Linzin for what it could've been. I also think Lin x Pema is a fun crackship. Maybe they saw Korrasami and were like: 'hey why not?'. I do however like Lin with Tenzin and Pema together? They'd be a cute throuple. I have a tendency to enjoy shipping Lin with married couples because I tend to ship Lin with San and Naoki as well (Mako and Bolin's parents)

Asami. Like most of the fandom, I adore korrasami. Though I'll be honest when I say... masami was kinda cute? Honestly, any ship where Asami is happy gets a thumbs up from me.

That being said I'm always in the market for some toxic yuri, so Asami x Kuvira or Asami x Jargala are both very intriguing to me.

Another one of my favourite guilty pleasure ships I'm much too invested in is Opal x Asami.

Think about it. They're both rich girls who were isolated from the world. Imagine them sharing stories of the wide world. Imagine Asami upgrading Opal's wingsuit and Opal bringing Asami trinkets from all the places her Air Nomad journeys take her. Imagine Asami getting a real family as the Beifongs adopt her. Her getting a father that would never betray her in Baatar Sr.

Idk I think they'd be good for each other. I think I need to make a longer post on Asami x Opal.

Opal is my favourite female tlok character (Bolin being my fave male character) and tbh I hate her being demoted to a love interest.

That doesn't mean I don't ship her with anyone.

Sapphic Opal has my heart and soul. I ship her with most female characters of the show. Korpal? Exquisite, did you see the synchronised airbending scene? Opalvira? Love their divorced vibe in rote! Opal x Asami? Unsung favourite! Opal x Eska? Opal x Ginger? Yesyesyes!

My one straight ship for Opal is Mako x Opal because I think they'd be good for one another.

Bumi II x Suyin Beifong's chef is my horrible creation. I think this post I made months ago explains it perfectly:

I don't have any particular ships for Huan. I'm quite open to most ships with him, since in my personal opinion he's the most romantic of the Beifong siblings. I can see him with Desna or Eska, Tahno or Ryu the airbender. Mako x Huan is also sweet when you think of it. I think if them both as such big brothers.

I'm not very into Huan x Ikki. Like, I do get why people like it. And I'm not that against age gap relationships. One of the healthiest relationships i know irl has a huge age gap. I just see Ikki and Huan as having such a big brother/little sister relationship it's very hard for me to swap to seeing them as anything romantic. Perhaps as a onesided puppy crush on Ikki's side but anything more is a big big no no

Thanks for the ask, anon, I had fun answering this one! And if you want me to elaborate on any of the mentioned ships, I'll be happy to ramble!

[synergysilhouette]

Diversity in fantasy: How Disney could've done better in the live-action department

I've talked about it before, but what's one more time? Something I--and other people--have found grating is Disney's desire to remake all their films, thanks to the financial success of several of them. It's worth noting that Disney has struggled to corner the live-action market with original content, as they often flop critically and financially, and remakes (and in the case of "Pirates of the Caribbean," adaptations of their rides) seem to be their strongest bet. That said, Disney has shown both a desire to try something new while advertising the films as the same thing. One of these changes includes the racial/ethnic diversity of actors in the story. The most notable example is "The Little Mermaid," which not only uses a black actress to play Ariel (whose human form definitely looked white), and the setting of the film moved from a European land to the Caribbean, both of which sparked controversy to fans. For those who supported or didn't mind the change, there was the question of why Ariel was played by a black woman, but Eric was played by a white man, with the argument being made that Disney wanted diversity but wasn't fully ready to commit to it. Certain things like this made me realize that if Disney wanted to really to diversify, they could have, while telling original stories--well, not entirely original, but not remakes.

The Little Mermaid told in the Caribbean--IDK if Disney would wanna get into the history of Afro-Caribbean people and how they arrived in the area due to colonization, but it'd be interesting to see diverse casting like Disney did with their 2023 film, prioritizing black, Indigenous, and French actors (not sure where the film takes place, but if I was making this, I'd probably put it in a French-speaking area over a Spanish one). And I've heard that many mermaid stories in the Caribbean are African-derived, so perhaps the king of the seas is one of many powers in the ocean and coming to the islands from Africa to safeguard his people. I'd also toy around with the idea that his wife was a human and that it ended badly, thus explaining his daughter's fascination with humans and why he so vehemently tries to curb her interests. Nothing specific planned, but it'd be amazing for Disney to make a 100% new take on the fairy tale unrelated to Ariel and co, with Lin-Manuel Miranda doing all the songs. And while I'd love for a more sea-like design for the mermaid over her semi-human appearance in Disney's version, it plays into the "she wanted to be human because of body dysmorphia" misconception. I would like her to have a unique, distinct design like Ariel's sisters did in the remake, though.

2. Cinderella (or any fairy tale) set in Spain--To my understanding, 2015's "Cinderella" takes influence from the Victorian era for their unnamed kingdom, though a significant suitress for the prince's hand in marriage is Princess Chelina of Zaragoza, an obviously Spain-coded kingdom. Most often, Disney (and other American fantasy films/shows) use a generic European influence that may have some British hints to it due to historical connection to the land, making it unique and rare when other European influences are used, ie Scandinavia with "Frozen" and France with "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" and "Beauty and the Beast." Every country is different, but a Southern European story would be unique among the fantasy genres in western media. Disney attempted this with "Wish" (though I don't know how culturally accurate it was), but the film itself was middling, regardless of cultural accuracy. I think that offering a Spanish take on Cinderella would've offered a unique perspective on fairy tales.

3. Snow White in South America--Rachel Zegler's casting as the first Disney princess was met with similar reaction to Halle Bailey's, with everyone noting Rachel's complexion not being correct for the role, and even going as far as mentioning that due to being partially Latina (her father is Colombian if I recall; Colombia's a very diverse place, so I can't speak on his racial background). It wasn't helped by concerns that Zegler didn't actually appreciate or even like Disney's first film, but that's another thing entirely. In any case, Zegler mentioned how big Blanca Nieves is in Latin America, and it makes me wonder why Disney didn't do a Latin-American take on the tale. To my understanding, filming took place all the way from 2021 to 2024. In 2021, "Encanto" came out and was a big hit. While it'd be a monster for production, changing the setting early on to ride off of that success wouldn't be shocking. I don't know if Disney would want to do Colombia again so soon, but it's an idea that wouldn't feel out of place. I don't know if they'd want to do a story during Spanish colonization, or a fictional kingdom post-colonization during the 19th century.

[vintagegeekculture]

RIP John Jakes, Pulp and Fantasy Author

A man who’s career began in pulp scifi, then was one of the greatest group of fantasy fans turned authors, and who finally ended it as one of the most commercially successful “men’s adventure” paperback novels of the 1970s, John Jakes died at 90 last week. What a life! He started his career in scifi pulp of the 1950s, switching to sword and sorcery action in the 60s, and finally, ending the 70s as one of the top selling authors of the decade. In one guy’s life, you can see the ebb and flow of trends in men’s adventure fiction over the decades.

Let’s start the John Jakes story at the end, and then work our way back. Does this book series above look familiar to you at all? 

If you have grandparents and they live in America, I 100% guarantee the Kent Family Chronicles (also called the Bicentennial Series) are in your Mee Maw and Pep Pep’s house right now. You probably handled them while visiting their house and went through their bookshelves as a child, right next to their Reader’s Digest condensed books, Tai-Pan and Shogun by James Clavell, copies of the endless sequels to Lonesome Dove, and old TV Guides they still have for some reason next to the backgammon set. If your grandparents are no longer with us, you probably found this series when selling their possessions after death. That’s because these things sold in the millions, back when the surest way to make money in writing was to write melodramatic, intergenerational family sagas of grandiose sweep set around historical events. Weighty family sagas, ones critics call bloated and self important instead of “epic,” were a major part of 70s fiction as they were four quadrant hits: men liked them for war, action, and history (every guy at some point must choose between being a civil war guy, or World War II guy) and ladies loved them for their romance and melodramatic love triangles (after all, the Ur-example of this kind of book is Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind). This was the kind of thing turned into TV event miniseries, and ably lampooned in the hilarious “Spoils of Babylon” series with Kristen Wiig and Toby McGwire, which, decades after the fact, did to this genre what Airplane! did for the formerly prolific airport disaster movie: it torpedoed it forever by making it impossible to take seriously.

This genre eventually went away because men stopped being reliable book buyers and book readers in the 1990s (or at least, were no longer marketed to as an audience), Lonesome Dove’s insane popularity was the last gasp of this audience. I’ve said this before, but men and boys no longer reading is the single most under remarked on social problem we have. “YA books” now basically mean “Girl Books.” 

John Jakes did not suddenly come out of nowhere to write smash hit bestsellers set around a family during the American Revolution. He came from one of the weirdest places imaginable: a crony of L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter in fantasy and weird tales fanzines like Amra, he was one of the original “Gang of Eight,” people drawn from fantasy and horror fandom to become pro-writers now that fantasy fiction had a home at Ballantine Publishing, just before the rise of Lord of the Rings and the paperback pulp boom, which is an incredible case of being in the right place at the right time. There, John Jakes, a fanzine contributor and ERB fan, wrote “Brak the Barbarian,” which is amazing as L. Sprague de Camp and Ballantine hadn’t even reprinted the Conan stories yet and Conan was as well known as Jirel of Joiry or Jules de Grandin. Only superfans of pulp knew who that guy was at all, there was no audience for it. He wrote Brak the Barbarian as a superfan, and was lucky the paperback market found him. 

The tireless work John Jakes, Lin Carter, L. Sprague de Camp, and the Gang of Eight did in preserving fantasy novelists of the pulp age into the 50s-60s is one of the great historic feats of preservation and keeping fandom flames alive. It’s no exaggeration to say that you know who Conan the Barbarian and HP Lovecraft are right now because of them, fans who kept the flame alive tirelessly and thanklessly in the ultra-rational 50s that had no place for dark horrific fantasy. 

Like his friend in fantasy and pulp fandom, L. Sprague de Camp, John Jakes started as a scifi guy in the endless scifi pulp magazines of the 1950s. Unlike his friend de Camp or Hugh B. Cave, who were full of humor, characterization, and satire, Jakes was often pessimistic, dour, and downbeat, and he disliked to laugh.  

It’s shocking to lose someone with a connection to, in one lifetime, the first great group of fantasy fandom, 50s scifi pulp, and 70s men’s adventure. John Jakes’ life spanned all of them. 

[mariacallous]

Given that many of Europe’s populist parties have Russia-friendly inclinations, it is perhaps not surprising that they often like to parrot Kremlin talking points. These days, that includes calling for an end to Western sanctions against Moscow, as many European parties ranging from the far right to the far left have demanded.

The usual narrative behind the demand to lift sanctions against Moscow is basic: France’s National Rally, Germany’s Alternative for Germany, and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban all argue that sanctions have backfired, harming European economies while not hurting Moscow. With populist parties across the European Union gearing up for elections to the European Parliament in June, such narratives will only gain in prominence. That makes it high time to debunk these erroneous claims.

The most popular talking point for Russia-friendly politicians is that sanctions are ruining European companies and consumers. The most widespread of these claims—that sanctions have caused high energy prices (and inflation) in Europe—is the easiest to disprove: It was Russia’s attack on Ukraine and gas blackmail against Europe that set off the spike in global hydrocarbon prices in early 2022. Western countries only began to impose sanctions on Russia’s energy exports in November of that year, when oil and gas prices were already in retreat.

Another claim is that sanctions are penalizing the EU’s export-oriented firms, which have lost access to the Russian market. The reality, however, is probably more benign: Russia has never been a major market for EU firms, with Russian businesses buying just 4 percent of EU exports in 2021. Considering that about half of EU exports to Russia fall under sanctions, this means that only 2 percent of EU exports are affected—hardly a make-or-break figure.

Country-level data from Centre d’Etudes Prospectives et d’Informations Internationales, a French research center, confirms this assessment. It shows that the impact that sanctions against Russia have on the French economy is almost negligible, with only 0.8 percent of French exports, or about 4 billion euros ($4.4 billion), affected. For perspective, this represents 0.1 percent or so of French GDP. The study only covers France, but these findings would probably not be drastically different in other EU economies. Alongside German companies, French firms were among those in Europe that had the deepest ties to Russia. This suggests that firms in many other European countries are even less affected.

Another version of the Kremlin-friendly claim that sanctions are crushing European economies rests on the idea that EU firms were forced to abandon their investments in Russia because of sanctions. The Financial Times, for instance, calculated that between the start of the full-blown invasion of Ukraine and August 2023, European businesses recorded losses of around 100 billion euros ($109.4 billion) from their Russia operations.

This figure may be accurate, but the idea that it has much to do with sanctions does not hold up to scrutiny. At this stage, sanctions do not prevent European firms from doing business in Russia except in some specific sectors, such as defense. Instead, European companies’ losses in Russia have two other causes. The first is that many companies have chosen to pull out—for fear of reputational risks or because they do not want to pay Russian taxes and thus contribute to Moscow’s war.

The second cause of losses is a spike in asset seizures, with the Kremlin forcing many European firms to sell their assets under value—in some cases for just one ruble. In other words, even in a hypothetical world without sanctions, European firms that once bet on the Russian market would now face large-scale losses. Of course, the Kremlin argues that expropriations are just a means of retaliation against sanctions. This line is only one more item in the long list of Moscow’s bogus claims that it only seeks to defend itself against Western aggression.

Another talking point that European populist politicians like to peddle is that European sanctions on Russian energy are not just costly—a false claim, as we have seen—but useless. There are several versions of this myth, but the most popular one is that the EU oil embargo and the oil price cap agreed upon by G-7 and EU member nations do not affect Russian oil producers because they were able to reroute oil shipments to India.

Indeed, Indian refiners now absorb the bulk of crude oil exports from Russia’s Baltic ports, which previously served Europe. Yet this view eclipses the fact that for Moscow, selling oil to Indian refiners is far less lucrative than selling it to Europe. Sea routes to India are far longer (and therefore costlier) than those to Europe. In addition, Indian buyers are able to drive a bargain: They believe they are doing the Kremlin a favor by compensating for the loss of the European market—and are therefore entitled to steep discounts on Russian oil.

A study from the Kyiv School of Economics shows that the damage to Russia is far from negligible. Over the past two years, the Kremlin lost an estimated $113 billion in oil export earnings, mostly due to the EU embargo on Russian oil. Last year, when both the EU embargo and the G-7/EU oil price cap became fully effective, Russia’s overall trade surplus shrank by 63 percent to $118 billion, constraining the Kremlin’s financial resources to wage the war in Ukraine.

This year may not be any better for Russian oil exporters: Last month, the Kremlin announced that oil firms would need to give up part of their profits to compensate the state for lower export earnings. For the likes of Russian oil company Rosneft, this is the first time that Moscow is asking domestic energy firms for direct help in financing the war effort.

As sanctions enforcement steps up, the idea that sanctions are useless will hold even less water. Since October, the United States imposed sanctions on 27 tankers that had been transporting Russian oil in circumvention of the G-7/EU oil price cap, a measure that makes it illegal for any firm based in either bloc to do business with these tankers. This highlights a drastic change in Western sanctions interpretation. Until recently, the price cap only applied when a G-7 or EU-based shipping or insurance company was involved in transporting Russian oil. Washington now interprets the link to Western companies far more broadly.

For example, Liberia-flagged tankers, which make up a significant share of Russia’s ghost fleet, are now liable to the oil price cap because Liberia outsources its flagging operations to a U.S.-based company. In parallel, Western countries have stepped up pressure on Indian refiners in a bid to prompt them to ditch Russian supplies. To the Kremlin’s dismay, these efforts appear to be effective: Since the start of this year, Indian imports of Russian crude have gradually dropped by about one-third from their May 2023 peak.

The populists’ argument that sanctions harm Europe more than they hurt Russia does not hold up to scrutiny. The reality is that the impact of these measures on European companies is small, whereas Russia is facing increasing headwinds as it tries to reroute its crude away from Europe.

The claim that sanctions are costly and ineffective is easy to debunk, but this narrative does not appear likely to go away any time soon. As Russia-friendly politicians step up their campaigning for the European Parliament and other elections, one can only expect these talking points to become ever more prevalent in the coming weeks. That may be yet another sign that these myths are wrong: If sanctions were not having a serious effect on Russia, the Kremlin and its allies in the West would probably not spend as much energy trying to undermine them.