#my interests allow me to be a solitary person

[maychorian]

Dungeon Meshi has fully consumed me, especially a certain tiny union man, and I want to ramble about Chilchuck's traumatic backstory for a bit. Mild manga spoilers under the cut.

The first time I read the manga I missed this bit, since I was reading an online version that didn't have all the extras included. Since I've come across this litte omake, though, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It just explains so much about why Chilchuck is the way he is.

First, at a surface level, it's interesting that this backstory only comes out in the framework of talking about a monster. Chilchuck is offering basically an anecdote about succubi, adding to the conversation he and his party are having about a monster species. It's all very casual and offhand. No one even remarks on what that experience would have meant to Chilchuck on a personal level, and he doesn't dwell on it, either. You have to wonder if Chilchuck would have ever mentioned it at all if they weren't specifically talking about succubi.

But holy heck, just think about this for a moment. On one of Chilchuck's first outings as an adventurer, possibly the first time he joined a party, his fellow adventurers were planning to feed him to a monster. He's only alive now because he had the instinct that something was wrong and had the speed, wisdom, and stealth to run away. He could have died. He could have been murdered. And it's implied that this happens to half-foots frequently in this world.

How traumatizing would that have been for a young adventurer? The people he should have been able to trust to have his back were literally planning his death, all for monetary gain. He was treated as disposable, a resource to be exploited, not a person. Not only is there the trauma of narrowly escaping death here, there's also the trauma of being mistreated and abused by other thinking, intelligent beings.

No freaking wonder he has trust issues. He's been working with Laios and his party for three years at this point and he's never shared a single solitary personal detail about his life, not even his age. He can't bear to allow any vulnerability to show, because he can't allow himself to be taken advantage of again. No wonder he's so prickly and wary. No wonder he's so sensitive to being viewed as anything other than a capable, skilled, fully realized and autonomous adult. No wonder he shies away from affection and any hint of closeness, especially in the early chapters of the manga.

I'm amazed that Chilchuck had the strength and fortitude to stay in the business at all. He considered his options and took steps to keep himself safe, including only accepting pay in advance and starting a union to protect himself and other half-foots. (Another tidbit you don't get at first in the story--Chilchuck is not just a member of a union or the leader, he started the whole dang thing to begin with.)

But what's so lovely, and wonderful, what makes this story take over my brain so completely and utterly, is that Chilchuck doesn't stay this way. Over the course of the manga, he opens up more and more. He allows himself to be emotionally vulnerable; he shares more and more details of his life. He treats Marcille and Izutsumi like daughters, Laios and Senshi like brothers. He loves them and allows himself to be loved in return.

And that's one of many reasons that Dungeon Meshi is one of the best found-family stories I've come across in a long, long time.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 1

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Your art is finally put on display at a local gallery, and Klaus has a vested interest in it.

Warnings: Klaus Being Klaus, No Personal Space, Alcohol, Flirting, Almost Kisses, Art Interpretation, Dark Themes

Word Count: 1.2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Your first art show in New Orleans isn’t nearly as extravagant as you thought it would be, despite the small jazz band in the corner and the free champagne being served at the door. The jubilant music seems to fade off into the distance as you stand just a few feet away from one of your pieces, silently stalking the patrons as they walk by and observe it, muttering amongst themselves. You try to hone in on what they’re saying about your work, about how it makes them feel, or if they’ve caught onto any messages you’ve hidden in your mixed medium on canvas. So far it’s just been a mixture of silence and solitary comments like “interesting” or “hmm” as the glass of champagne warms to room temperature in your hand.

“Which one’s yours?” A man’s eloquent voice pulls you from your anxious thoughts, forcing you to look over at his delicately handsome face as he walks toward you with a confidence that could rival royalty.

“Huh?” You take a sip of your lukewarm champagne in order to gain some liquid courage to engage with this gorgeous man who seemed to appear out of thin air.

“I’d recognize that look anywhere,” he starts, touching one of the sculptures he clearly wasn’t supposed to. “Will they like it? Will they understand it? But most importantly, will they buy it?”

“That obvious, huh?” You take another sip, letting the bubbles take their time to crinkle your nose as the rest of the carbonation slowly fizzles out.

“Painfully, I’m afraid.” That smirk of his warms into a coy smile as he takes a step toward you, his own glass of champagne nearly empty. “Yours isn’t the landscape with the sailboat, no… those waters look far too calm for you.” He stands next to you and continues to guess, letting his fresh clean scent surround you as hints of a bergamont settle into the air. “Not the still life either, you don’t strike me as someone who focuses on something as mundane as coffee and beignets.” He pauses and looks at you briefly, taking in your features. “No, a work of art from your hands has to contain something different, something much… darker.”

“And what makes you think that?” You chide in return, enjoying this little game he’s created for himself. “Maybe I love coffee and beignets.”

“Well, darling, who doesn’t? But that’s not why you became an artist, now is it?” He raises his eyebrows, giving you a chance to notice the hints of green and gold in his blue eyes.

He was good, you’ll give him that.

“My money’s on the portrait of the faceless woman drenched in blood.” His tone drops to the level of darkness he previously described as he steps behind you, his voice like butter as it melts down each vertebrae of your spine. “It’s beautiful, really; the way you captured the themes of the tortured and macabre while still maintaining an intimate beauty of the feminine experience. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

His change in tambre and location freezes you in place, forcing you to look at your own painting through his eyes as he hovers behind you, making you shiver with the anticipation of his intentions. The fact that you’ve allowed him to get this close so fast makes you wrestle with the idea that you may already desire this stranger based on nothing more than the words he’s chosen to speak with that velvety voice of his. Are you that subject to flattery? That desperate for validation? Longing that deeply for some level of intimate connection? Perhaps you are...

After what seems like an eternity of moral gymnastics, you no longer resist the temptation to turn toward him as he guesses correctly, noting the triumphant look on his face as your lips linger mere inches away from his. You barely notice the still breath that remains inside your lungs, expanding your rib cage for far too long as you stare at his plump lips, taking heed of the single droplet of champagne that rests on them.

“And what makes you such an expert on the feminine experience?” You manage to ask as he allows you to stare at him a little bit longer before answering your question.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m merely a curious third party who’s invested in the local artists that my charitable donations help support.” He confesses with a step back.

“You’re a benefactor?” You don’t mean to sound so judgmental, but he doesn’t exactly look like most of the ancient relics who usually pour money into the city. If you’re being honest, he looks more like one of the musicians you’d find on the street corner playing a cover of ‘Wonderwall’ on guitar for tips.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, love, we come in all shapes and sizes.” He laughs, looking you up and down while the shock of his financial status slowly begins to wear off. “Now, tell me, was I right? Is that your painting?”

“Maybe.” You cross her arms over your chest, trying your best to resist his evident charms. “But you already knew that, being a benefactor and all; that’s cheating.”

“Cheating is such a harsh word. I merely used my astute powers of observation to put two and two together.” He casually places his hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in order to keep you near. “Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Your heart races at his sudden touch, the gleam in his eyes barely hiding the raging fire behind them. He’s going to be trouble, you can already tell. “Do you flirt like this with every new artist you meet?”

“Just the morbidly disturbed ones that I find deeply enchanting.” His strange compliment is oddly personal, hinting that he might know a little bit more about you than he’s currently letting on.

“You think I’m morbidly disturbed?”

He gives you a knowing look.

“Oh, it’s all over the canvas, love. It doesn’t take an expert to notice the hurried brush strokes in the busy background, the aggression with which you plastered the feminist news clippings together contrasted against the time you took to purposefully pour the viscous, slow drip of blood on it until it’s nearly spilling onto the floor.” He closes the gap between you, his hand now in your hair.

You swallow hard as he fishes around in your psyche for an accurate interpretation of your work, his proximity nearly turning your insides to quicksand as his cologne dizzies you on the spot. Good god, he’s beautiful.

“You know there are other ways of releasing all that pent up rage and aggression… all that passion.” He leans in so that his lips ghost over your cheek as it blushes against his stubble. “Although they aren’t quite as lucrative as this.”

“And what would those be?” You ask coyly, eagerly daring him to show you.

But instead of going in further for a demonstration, he leans back with a satisfied grin, as if he’s already gotten everything he wants from you at that moment. He grabs a pen from a nearby table and takes your hand, writing his phone number on your palm. “Find me when you feel like it gets to be too much, when all those emotions make you feel as if you’re absolutely about to burst.”

[arealtrashact]

Mind if I ask if there was anything that led you to cast the characters as the specific animals you did for the Saw zodiac piece?? Like I KNOW you had to work with the animals within the Chinese zodiac, but...why the goat for Kramer, the monkey for Amanda, and so forth??? Was it based on birthdays or character traits, or something like that??

I really like that piece and I want to give u a platform to talk about it more lmao

Like you said, my choices were limited to the animals within the zodiac. It was a fun little challenge mixing and matching each animal to a character that I felt suited them (personality-wise in some cases, appearance-wise in others.) More under the cut, for those interested.

Amanda (Monkey) - Jumps between mischievously playful and sadistically cruel. In possession of ten clever little fingers, perfect for rigging traps…

John (Goat) - Stubborn + stoutly adheres to his beliefs. Sporting a pair of curving horns that play into the spiral motif very nicely. Enjoys playing God and doling out punishment, much like a certain other horn-ed fellow who spends his days disciplining ‘sinners’. 

Jill (Sow) - Seemed like an easy choice considering the Tuck family’s pig farm. I also wanted to call back to Gideon and what could have been.

Hoffman (Tiger) - Large, imposing and solitary. (Almost) always one step ahead. Tigers having illusory eyes on the backs of their ears to throw off stalking predators feels extremely Hoffman to me. Getting the jump on him is nearly impossible. Nearly. 

Strahm (Dog) - Not just any dog, a GSD. Sharp as a whip, wary as a watchman. Commonly used by law enforcement. Loyal to those he considers friends, aloof and standoffish to just about everybody else...

Cecilia (Dragon) - Much like a dragon, Cecilia would be right at home curled atop a mountain of treasure. Even what she promises / advertises seems mythical - the kind of miracle that only exists within a fantasy...

Logan (Ox) - ‘It’s cause you’re always in that damn BARN.’ A farm animal through and through. He's John’s heir apparent, a faint outline of him, complete with a similarly horned silhouette.

Lawrence (Rabbit) - Larry was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, and what's more lucky than a rabbit's foot? ( Do you think he carries his severed foot around on his keys in this AU ? )

Adam (Rat) - I mean…

Schenk (Snake) - People will probably assume that I picked a snake because he’s ‘deceitful’ (I actually think his rage was justified. ACAB.) but I actually just wanted to incorporate spirals onto him in an organic way. Snakes, with their intricate scale patterns, allowed me to do just that.

Who’s left? Zep Hindle screams 'chicken' to me and Lynn has beautiful flowing hair that lends itself perfectly to a horsey.

🤙

[puzzled-pegasus]

Social norm things I hate an irrational amount as an adhd person

Meals. The fact that there's so many rules for an activity that should really just be about putting stuff in my face so my body can continue carrying out its functions.

Like how im socially not allowed to eat until anyone else has their food?? F that shit. We know there's gonna be enough to go around. If u are so hungry that you can't stand to watch someone else start eating then u should have gotten ur plate faster idk what to tell you

Also eating is supposed to be social?? Not sure abt you but I feel like it's a solitary activity. Id like to eat by myself because Ive never been able to fully grasp table manners and would rather not be a heathen in front of people why is that rude

The fact that u cant tell someone to just leave u alone unless they did something wrong. Bro I have an hour between being done with chores and bedtime and youre gonna waste half of it by lingering near me so I can't watch my show without judgement

Apparently there's a way you're supposed to end a conversation besides just walking away whrn you're done talking. I haven't figured out when that is yet and I don't plan on it

Wtf do you mean an apology over text doesn't mean anything. They're just words aren't they. Why do you care. If i say it over text and don't do it again is that not valid

You're not supposed to say anything to people in public who are already having a conversation. If it's a private conversation why are you talking in public. Not even like gossip or provate info like ppl will be talking about if it's supposed to rain on Saturday and youll be like "yeah I think it will" and they'll look at u like you just shot them in the leg

If you find a common interest you have with someone apparently you're not supposed to talk about only that with them? Like if I find out u like dogs and we talk about them and then you're like "why do you only talk about dogs" bitch wtf else is there, im not gonna talk about something you dont care about 😭 but I guess you get bored either way so where's the winning

[crosshairlovebot]

turning pages (crosshair!reading headcanon)

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n)

warnings: n/a. it’s just fluff bc i love soft crosshair.

i just couldn’t get the image of crosshair reading out of my head. so this is very self-indulgent. i got VERY carried away with the drabble, it ended up being like 2k words but i’m only posting the second half. i’ll post the extended version if that’s something people would be interested in! let me know!

when his brothers are overwhelming or irritating him, he likes to go off alone, find a secret corner, and read. 

it started when he was a cadet, being forced to read by his instructors as a way to cool off when he got too frustrated during training exercises.

but he ended up enjoying it, finding solace in the solitude of reading.

tech liked to read too, but whilst tech prefers nonfiction, crosshair reads fiction -- mostly mysteries or thrillers. 

he downloads them onto his datapad so he can read them on particularly long missions and travels through hyperspace on the marauder. 

he had to ask tech for help in setting up the books on his datapad, and when tech questioned him further, he evaded answering.

reading is something that he likes to do alone. 

it’s a solitary activity for him that he’s not particularly keen on sharing with anyone.

when he reads on the marauder, he’ll chew on a toothpick and read chapters to pass the time, or calm down after a disagreement with hunter. 

he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s reading.

when crosshair is undisturbed, he can really get engrossed in the book. it allows him to forget everything that’s going on for a moment, and re-centre himself.

he prefers silence, but since it’s often hard to find with his brothers around, he’ll settle for the ambience of the ship and his brother’s low chatter -- as long as they’re not too loud.

he’ll get annoyed if wrecker is being too loud because he can’t concentrate on the words.

he’ll grumble and lock himself away in the fresher just to get a moment alone with his book, the walls softening his brother’s booming voice more than the openness of his bunk.

he’ll often be forced out when wrecker inevitably knocks on the door an hour later complaining that he needs to use the privy. 

crosshair will hole up in there as long as he can, just to punish wrecker for being noisy earlier.

does wrecker ever learn?

no.

but if you disturb crosshair, well...

“Hey.”

Crosshair flinched and looked up to see you, brow creasing further as he attempted to shield his datapad with his arm. “What do you want?” he seethed, he felt his face heating up, annoyed and a little embarrassed that he was interrupted and caught reading.

But you were undeterred by his tone, and instead nodded at the poorly hidden datapad. “Is the book good?”

Crosshair scowled at you, moving the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. No one had ever asked, so he wasn’t sure why you were. “Why do you care?”

His defensiveness rolled off you and you only shrugged. “I’m looking for recommendations. I need something to do in my downtime.”

His frown deepened as he studied your expression. You had been with them for almost half a cycle, and over that time, he’d grown used to your inquisitive nature. At first, he didn’t know what to make of it, but over time he realised that that’s just who you were, and your questions and conversations were because you enjoyed their company. And over the past months, he’d grown fond of you; sharing amused looks when Tech and Wrecker bickered and exchanging remarks over the comms on missions. He considered you not just a colleague, but a friend.

But reading was something personal to him. It was his and his alone. He had to share everything with his brothers, and there was hardly a moment or space that was truly his own. Except when he was reading. Then, he was unreachable. His brothers knew this, and he knew that you knew it too. So why were you asking?

Why were you trying to reach him?

He tore himself away from your gaze and looked down, pulling out his datapad again and opening up the screen. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished.”

“Thanks, Crosshair,” he heard the smile in your voice before your footsteps move away. He raises his eyes to watch you leave, stopping as Hunter pulls you over to his spot at the computer to ask you about a report.

Curious.

Several days later, after the squad was deferred from their initial return to Kamino and instead rerouted with another mission, meaning that they’d been stuck on the Marauder for several days in hyperspace. Though everyone was feeling pretty cagey having been in such close quarters for longer than they planned, it had given Crosshair the opportunity to finish the book without many interruptions.

He’d been wanting to talk to you; tell you about it, but he didn’t know how to. It was such a small thing, yet it was big to him.

On his way to the ‘fresher, he watched you push back the curtain Echo had installed on your bunk to give you a bit of extra privacy amongst five men, and jump down from your top rack. You smiled at him when you landed and as Crosshair approached, he took the opportunity to rip the bandage off and tell you.

“It was good,” he said stiffly as he brushed past you.

You stopped and turned to him. “The book?”

His hand was already on the ‘fresher’s door panel, ready to escape your warm gaze, but he stopped. He took the toothpick out of his mouth and hummed. “You’ll like it.”

Then he stepped inside the fresher and locked the door. He took in a breath and ran a hand over his face, wishing the heat in his cheeks would disappear. Crosshair looked in the mirror and rubbed at the centre of his chest, wondering what the feeling was that nestled there and why he didn’t hate it.

When the squad finally made it to Kamino almost a week later, Crosshair sat in their barracks, in his self-secluded corner bunk, and was cleaning his rifle after a training evaluation. He’d scored perfectly, of course, and his subdued happiness was felt by everyone in the squad, including you.

You arrived at the barracks to let the boys know that the final day’s meal service was ending in half an hour, as they’d all forgotten as usual. Everyone except Crosshair – who had already eaten on the way back from his evaluation – ran out to grab something before it closed. You stood at the door with an amused expression on your face, which he returned before continuing to clean his weapon.

He heard your footsteps fully enter the barracks and come closer. That feeling blooms in his chest again, but he elects to ignore it. “What is it?”

“I finished the book.”

He looked up to see you leaning on one of the crates that acted as a makeshift half-wall. You had a smile on your face that looked like it wanted to stretch further, but you were holding it back. Like you didn’t want to scare him with your excitement. He felt that knot in his sternum pull.

He pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “And?”

“You were right. I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

His stomach flipped over itself, and he forced himself to hide how glad he is that you enjoyed his recommendation, realising now that he was scared that you wouldn’t.

Perhaps a small part of him correlated the book with himself – if you didn’t like the book then you didn’t like him, or you wouldn’t want to know him. But you did, so maybe you liked him, or could like more parts of him than the ones he’d already revealed to you. The most personal parts of himself.

“I’m not often wrong,” he smirked.

The grin you’d been holding back erupted and your whole face and posture lifted. Crosshair felt his whole body go warm.

“Do you have any other recommendations?”

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, surprised and taken aback that you want to read more of what he likes. He watches your expression, searching for any insincerity. But your smile is earnest and eager and that knot in his chest tugs again, harder this time, and that warm feeling returns and unfurls.  

He places the toothpick back in his mouth and reaches under his pillow for his datapad. For the first time, he didn’t mind sharing his solitary act of reading. But only with you.

this is the first time i’ve written something bad batch related, so i hope it was okay and you enjoyed! let me know what you think and if you’d like to see more soft crosshair <3

tags: @mrs-grumpysniper​

[jaim-inhothekid]

⚓︎ 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

[ W.C ! ] : 2k

[ Summary ! ] : Former admiral Aokiji Kuzan was captured by fleet admiral Akainu Sakazuki, abandoned by his crew and on his way to marineford – where he is due to be executed, Sakazuki decides to stop by and bid his goodbye. | NSFW ; Canon x Canon

⌗ ✎ Author's Note : This is a work commissioned by the lovely @uminozerol !! If you're interested in commissioning me as well, here's my sheet!

Kuzan has never been one to regret his own actions. Free will allows people to choose the paths that better resonate with themselves, either they are ‘good’ or ‘bad’. It doesn't really matter because facing the reality of things, more often than not, you are forced to make choices you normally wouldn't want to make and take paths you'd rather not go. Paths that you'd never see yourself going, until – by one of life's accursed twists – you see that you have no choice.

So maybe there's no free will, after all.

Kuzan did not regret the stupid things he had done in his youth, golden years spent under the unforgiving sun of the south, laughing until the corners of his mouth stung and living each day like the next would never come. Kuzan recalled the rotten crowds and questionable friendships that have gotten him in too much trouble to count, but also gave him the best core memories. The first bottle of booze he thought he could down – and that had him vomiting his guts out in a dim lighted alley. The redhead who lived two blocks away from his house, who kissed him like she was trying to rip a chunk out of his lips but at least let him sneak a hand under her shirt.

Kuzan did not regret joining the marines, neither did he regret the life that he chose for himself. Kuzan fools himself into thinking that he does not regret what happened in Ohara and what he did to Saul, or at least he tries, empty attempts of reassuring himself with the fact that what has been done cannot be undone, what was done needed to be done. Because living in denial proves itself again and again to be easier than holding oneself accountable, guilt spreads itself like a cancer, so it's better to pretend you're just another victim of unfortunate circumstances. The executioner desperately seeks to be guiltless, even though he knows he does not have anyone to blame for the blood on his hands.

Kuzan does regret ever having anything to do with Teach, regrets stepping foot on that ship, regrets shaking the man's filthy hand – no amount of drawn out, icy cold showers seemed to wash away the feeling of wrongness left behind by that exchange, palms together, rings made of brass painted gold with equally fake gemstones biting into the leather of Kuzan's glove, a lecherous smirk lacking teeth, you are just as bad as me.

But nothing could ever compare to the regret he felt when he saw the warship approaching in the distance, the sky and the sea morphing into a hellish scenery of scarlet hues, magma falling from the sky in the shape of meteors – a pair of severe brown eyes, glaring down at him with the fury of a God, as if seeing Kuzan still alive was a personal insult, worth of revulsion. The raft was destroyed, and Teach, cowardly pest he is, didn't think twice about running away with the show of horror he calls a crew. Leaving Kuzan behind at the mercy, or absolute lack of it, of Sakazuki.

The saddened looks from the marines weighting on Kuzan's back were akin to having his skin prickled with several tiny needles all at once as he was all but hurled into the ship, a feeling of incoming doom trailed behind him like a devil as he was guided across the deck and down the stairs leading to a solitary cell. Something ugly and heavy curled inside his chest and dropped to the pit of his stomach, for a second Kuzan thought of himself wearing the skin of a lamb being led to its slaughter, watched with great despair by the remaining herd.

The ones who looked at him with anger and indignation were easier to ignore, the ones whose faces he recognized from years of service alongside, not so much. A small part of Kuzan was grateful that Garp was nowhere to be seen – he was sure that having to look the man whom he owed so much in the eyes as a foe, would've broken him. Once a protégé, now just another one to serve as proof of Garp's insistent habit of raising enemies.

And now, restrained by sea-stone chains and sitting on the dirty floor below deck of a warship headed to marineford, Kuzan starts to come to terms with the fact that maybe he is indeed just as bad as Teach. By willingly walking into his lair, by willingly following his orders, by willingly making himself an enemy of what once he stood for like a loyal dog – treachery has been mankind's most unforgivable crime since the dawn of time.

Kuzan was shaken out of his descending spiral by the sound of heavy footsteps trailing down the hall, growing steadily louder as they approached the heavy door that guarded his cell. Something jingled from outside of it, then came the rattling of keys against the metal, Kuzan winced and grit his teeth as it was forced open with a loud screeching noise, the wooden flooring below it scratched beyond repair from what seemed to be years of repeated damage. The person stepped into the cell, and the door made the same agony inducing noise as it was slammed shut. Kuzan tilted his head up to assess his visitor, begrudgingly and sluggishly slow, he was never good at feigning interest – facing the current circumstances, he just couldn't be bothered to try.

His gaze went up, up, and up. Like trying to search the eyes of a titan, Sakazuki's figure stood big and imposing inside the cramped room, making it seem even smaller. The look Sakazuki was giving him made his skin crawl with the need to hide, eyes as dark as whiskey at the bottom of the barrel – burning with hate, like a raging volcano. Kuzan tried to pull his chained arms to his front, succeeding only on making the sea-stone dig further into his back.

“You,” Kuzan sighed heavily, eyes falling shut in a hopeless attempt of escapism, interactions with Sakazuki were always unbelievably draining, and he was already exhausted. “What do you want?”

“Watch your fucking tone around me, scum,” Sakazuki all but spat the words at him, lips pulled back in a grotesque snarl, exposing clenched teeth. “After the stunt you pulled, you should be thankful I'm being merciful enough to dignify you with a proper execution, instead of letting you sink with that joke of a ship.”

Kuzan let his head fall back until it thumped against the wall, only then opening his eyes again to stare at the ceiling. Once again he thought of himself as a lamb being led to the slaughter, only now, his neck was bared to the butcher. “How sweet. Didn't imagine you, of all people, to be so caring.”

“Don't get cheeky,” Sakauzki scoffed, approaching Kuzan with firm steps, Sakazuki shoves two fingers under the collar chaining Kuzan's neck and pulls. Kuzan is forcibly risen to his knees, coughing and sputtering as the pressure of the sea-stone combined with Sakazuki's force crushes his windpipe. “That tongue of yours is too loose for a man who'll be dead within the next few hours.”

Being on his knees in front of Sakazuki brought back memories that felt centuries old, times of conflicting feelings and troubled relationships, because there never was a resemble of normalcy between the two. Like cats and dogs, always lunging at each other's throats – engaging in hurried, no-strings-attached flings in deserted hallways kept them from tearing each other apart. Kuzan can tell that Sakazuki's mind must be straying as well, being eye-level with the growing bulge in the older male's pants.

“Did you come here to say goodbye?” Kuzan asks, a cheeky hint of smugness in his tone, lips quirking into a fleeting ghost of a smirk. The ridges of Sakazuki's neck became dangerously pronounced at the provocation, square jaw visibly tensed, but instead of denying – the older male squeezes his bulging cock with his free hand.

“To remind you that the only thing you were ever good for was being my bitch,” Sakazuki let go of Kuzan's collared neck with a careless shove, hands moving to unbuckle his belt. Unzipping his pants and tugging them down along with his boxers to fit snug under his balls. Sakazuki pumps himself to full hardness, swiping a thumb over his tip and smearing precum up and down the thick shaft. “You know what to do.”

Kuzan leans forward to dip his tongue at the weeping slit, earning a sharp exhale from the other man, Sakazuki twitches against his tongue and Kuzan is eager to take the first inch of his cock into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down to take a feel of it. Hollowing his cheeks, Kuzan works his tongue on the underside of Sakazuki's cock to trace the sensitive vein that runs along his shaft, snorting when the older male bucks his hips and groans. Still got it.

“Did you put that mouth to work while on that disgrace of a crew?” Sakazuki growls, taking a fistful of Kuzan's hair to pull the man further down his cock, crushing Kuzan's nose on his pelvic bone. Kuzan shoots him a heated glare from under his lashes, Sakazuki scoffs. One hand tightly tangled on Kuzan's hair, serving as leverage for the older male to fuck his mouth, while the other wrapped itself around his neck, thumb pressing down to feel the outline of his dick bulging through the other's throat. “Wouldn't surprise me, knowing how much you love to choke on a dick.”

Kuzan scrapes his teeth along the shaft in response, making Sakazuki hiss and rip Kuzan off his cock. Kuzan takes a deep inhale, grimacing when it immediately starts to burn in his lungs. “You jealous?”

“You wish,” Sakazuki barked, giving himself a few rough pumps before kicking Kuzan in the chest to make him lie down, Kuzan bites back a pained groan as his skull hits the ground with an unnecessary amount of force, he isn't spared a second to recover – as Sakazuki's hands immediately fly over to his pants, tearing through the fabric to expose his hole to the room's stale air.

Sakazuki lets saliva pool in his mouth before lowering his head to spit a fat glob onto Kuzan's winking rim, wasting no time on pushing it in with the leaking tip of his cock. Kuzan grit his teeth and scrunched his eyes shut – saliva was a terrible substitute for lube in any scenario, but especially this one, where Sakazuki only made sure to get his dick wet enough to prevent chafing. The first few inches felt like they were ripping him apart, chopped clean in the middle like a log, Sakazuki threw his head back with a deep groan as his length sank into Kuzan. Kuzan let out a long exhale when Sakazuki finally bottoms out after what seemed like forever. “Fucker.”

Sakazuki only granted him a self satisfied smirk as he pulled out slowly, until he could barely see the tip of his dick inside Kuzan's hole, then slamming back in with a downright punishing force. Ripping out a shout from Kuzan.

Sakazuki immediately fell into rhythm, harsh and cruel thrusts that punched the air out of Kuzan lungs, bullying his prostate and making his eyes roll to the back of his head. The heat of Sakazuki's scorching palms digging into his hips drove him crazy, along with the dizzying pain that watered down into masochistic pleasure – chest to chest, looking into each other's with the same raging urge to bite and scratch and claw at the other from so many years ago, Sakazuki's sharp brown melting onto Kuzan's plain back.

Their mouths clashed into an animalistic kiss with more teeth than tongue, snarls and broken moans melding in the same breath, Sakazuki bit his lip and sucked at the cut – Kuzan clenched around Sakazuki like a vice when the taste of his own blood hit his tongue.

He didn't regret a damn thing.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

I think a lot about Chiyoh’s arc, and how it aligns with the broader topics season 3 is touching on wrt justice, prisons, and moral responsibility.

Because what’s so striking to me is how unapologetically ruthless she is in her handling of the prisoner, in a way that even Will calls her on:

Chiyoh: He wants you to look at him, speak to him. But you’re not going to. Will: You’ve cast aside the social graces normally afforded to human beings. Chiyoh: He’s cast them aside. All he’s allowed is the sound of water. It’s what the unborn hear. It’s their last memory of peace. Will: You’re keeping him like an animal. Chiyoh: I wouldn’t do this to an animal.

The kind of solitary confinement she subjects him to is, effectively, torture. And yet she feels so strongly about murder! Her self-defense murder of the prisoner and its immediate aftermath marks the only time when she’s truly emotionally rattled, and everything about the situation suggests that not killing is a very stringent moral standard she’s held herself to. And no matter how wearying the prolonged imprisonment is to her, it’s not one that she has a moral objection to - she believes it’s justified by the severity of the prisoner’s crimes. (It’s questionable whether she considers her treatment of the prisoner to be violence, but if she did, she’d certainly term it “necessary violence”.)

(There is something similar to consider about the random mooks she shoots to ensure Hannibal and Will’s escape in Digestivo - is this “necessary” violence to her? Apparently, but if so, she considers protecting the man she considers to be family something for which it is worth taking lives. And the fact that those murders are far-off sniper shots suggests that perhaps she is averse to violence when it’s up-close, personal, and bloody, but is still willing to enact it when she can distance herself somewhat from its effects.)

All of that is to say - I am convinced that Chiyoh’s insistence that she only commits violence when it’s necessary, and her repeated disavowal that she is anything like Will, despite having actively undertaken vigilante justice, is pretty hypocritical on her part! I don’t say that to demonize her - the jumble of contradictory ethical principles is one of the aspects of her that I find fascinating to crack open despite her limited screen time, and Will himself by season 3 (and almost certainly post-canon) is also pretty capable of hypocrisy. And of course she’s not entirely like Will. She doesn’t seem to take much righteous satisfaction or sadistic pleasure in her handling of the prisoner - her line that “we have been each others’ prisoner” suggests that the situation wears on her just as much as him. But it is pretty clear to me that there are truths about herself, and her capacity for violence, that she is pointedly refusing to acknowledge, and that she’s clinging to some pretty narrowly defined moral principles so as to preserve her self-concept.

And I think the question that that arc involving Chiyoh invites us to ask - whether the bare life conditions she subjected her prisoner to really were all that morally superior to murder - constitutes one potential thread between 3A and 3B. Because what it brings to mind for me is Hannibal’s line to Alana in WOTL: “Any rational society would either kill me, or give me my books.”

And like many of Hannibal’s statements… it makes a twisted kind of sense.

To be clear, I absolutely do not think NBC Hannibal is trying to articulate a thematic statement against carceral justice - it’s too apolitical a show to bear that kind of weight. (And it’s certainly not interested in rehabilitation, either). But it is a show that is very interested in how our moral beliefs as well as our darker urges and fascinations define our selfhood, and the kind of moral doublethink we all engage in. And that kind of thematic backdrop does appropriately pair with the show’s general slant towards murder as not even necessarily more ethical than imprisonment, but more honest. As something that constitutes truly owning our moral judgments, feeling for ourselves the full weight and impact of delivering them.

Alana being the recipient of that line from Hannibal - and her overall role as his jailor - also has a certain kind of irony, given that she herself has to learn this lesson in 3A. She and Margot, as per their dialogue in Dolce, intend to have Mason arrested. But when that plan goes awry and they can’t rely on FBI intervention, Alana ends up having to pay the price of getting involved with Mason by getting her hands dirty. Notably, in the cases of both Alana and Chiyoh, Will has a hand in pushing them both towards murder (and in the case of Alana, Hannibal also plays a role in that - an interesting example of the aligned-but-divergent ways Will and Hannibal might exert influence on others post-canon). The situations are somewhat different in that Chiyoh has shouldered more personal responsibility in taking on the role as jailor, rather than ceding that authority to institutional higher powers. But her situation does still overlap significantly with Alana helping Margot murder Mason, in that the result Will engineers from her feels geared to force her to face what she’s taken on, to get up close and personal and really see.

(And of course, both murders bring some sort of freedom or moral catharsis, along with an intense self-recognition that can’t be found through the complacency of more socially acceptable forms of justice.)

Furthermore, in 3B, Will himself is engaged in a similar kind of thought process. In his conversation with Walter, he’s pretty firm on not killing Dolarhyde, and sending him to a mental hospital instead. And given Will’s arc at this point in the show, it’s pretty intuitive that this intention is a product of Will not wanting to be the kind of person who kills - an intention that is arguably also present for both Alana and Chiyoh. All three do have genuine ethical objections to murder as well, of course - I can pretty easily formulate all of them feeling that fewer people dying is an optimal outcome. But their personal conceptions of themselves are certainly also a factor in their disavowal of murder.

But the culmination of the Red Dragon arc, in which Will and Hannibal jointly kill Dolarhyde, is clearly much more preferable end for Dolarhyde. The way it’s cinematically rendered, with the blood fanning out in the shape of wings, suggests that murder constituted his ultimate transformation, in which his true sense of himself was fully realized. Although defeated, undergoing change to fuel our main characters’ radiance is a much more poetically resonant and satisfying ending, and it’s hard to imagine any other way he’d rather lose. Aesthetics > ethics.

Of course, in real life, I don’t believe that killing people - even genuinely bad people who’ve caused serious harm - is a remotely acceptable ethical solution. But within the world of Hannibal, a world in which the killers conceive of themselves in terms of artistic vision, for whom psychiatric language and its corrective purpose is nowhere near sufficient - by the internal moral logic of that universe, murder is often more merciful, and displays much more genuine understanding and empathy.

All of this is to say, I think Chiyoh’s arc can be figured within these broader themes in season 3. And the lesson she learned from Hannibal - and by extension, Will - from her intervention with justice is much the same as the lesson that Bedelia learned from Hannibal: that observing and participating are the same. Taking on the responsibility of enacting justice, in the world of Hannibal, requires becoming the executioner.

[rhetoricandlogic]

Review: Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis

By Nathan May 23, 2024

Dreadful is a hilarious fantasy that is both a loving, gentle satire of the genre’s many tropes while also being a poignant exploration of how we get to decide who we are going to be in this world. It is perfect for fans who love deconstructions of fantasy books (think a gentler Discworld) and anyone looking for something on the more action-oriented side of cozy fantasy (and without a cup of coffee/tea or bookstore in sight!). I quite enjoyed my time in Rozakis’ world, and this is an impressive, if not perfect, debut novel – one that should be on your radar if you like your fantasy both funny and just a bit saccharine.

Dreadful begins with Gav waking up without any of his memories intact….and quickly discovering that he is one of the big-bad Dark Lords that are so common in epic and heroic fantasy. The issue – he doesn’t know how to be a Dark Lord and is actually a pretty nice guy. Gav has a host of terrified goblin servants and a captured princess and a whole coterie of other dark mages he is supposedly working with on some diabolical plan…and he has no idea how to deal with any of it.

Rozakis’ wit, style, and humor really shine in the early pages of the book, and nothing that came after really enamored me in quite the same way. As Gav awakens with no clue who he is or where he is at, we readers, with our in-depth knowledge of fantasy worlds, come to a much quicker realization of what is going on than Gav does. We understand the oppressed servants, the kidnapped princess, the castle with the creepy aesthetic, and more. This was so much fun because readers, for once, had more information than the main POV character himself, and Rozakis hilariously impales so many of the standard villain tropes. Gav is shocked by the condition of his castle – why is it so ugly? – and how inefficient the whole system is. He laments his surroundings and why the peoples that his castle controls (a single solitary village that can only grow garlic) are so destitute and poor. Why would anyone be proud of this? Why would anyone want to be surrounded by this? Everything you think while reading about any stereotypical fantasy villain is put on full display here, and I had such a wonderful time laughing along with Rozakis’ observations!

If you are a fan of villainous characters and are perhaps a bit disappointed that this book’s main character is trying to live a less villainous lifestyle, don’t worry! Rozakis packs the book full of various villainy characters – characters that all have their own goals and lengths that they are willing to go to achieve their evil plans. Rozakis also has a lot of fun “inverting” the traditional dynamic between heroes and villains. The “villains” in Dreadful are given names, personalities, backstories, etc., while the heroing party coming to save the princess are glorified background characters. They don’t have names and readers can barely distinguish between them, which was such a clever way of exploring the character archetypes in epic fantasy, while also allowing Gav and co. to shine in their own ways as the book moved through towards its conclusion.

I did find that the book lost a bit of steam after Gav starts to figure out who he is and how this world operates. Dreadful isn’t able to maintain its momentum and humor as the book becomes a bit more plot-based, and the initial hilarious observations about fantasy tropes starts to fade into the background. The biggest issue here, and with many cozy fantasy (or cozy fantasy-adjacent books) is that the plot isn’t all that interesting. It is fairly simplistic and cannot sustain or support the book as it moves into its second and third acts. Rozakis occupies Gav’s world with a bevy of fun and memorable characters, but doesn’t quite him them enough to actually do. Some potentially exciting moments (like quests for some MacGuffins) are completely skipped over, and so the book just eventually becomes a bunch of characters explaining things to each other without actually having them DO anything. This is what ultimately bumped this down to a four star book from me; the book is nearly perfect, but it stumbles in its middle section.

As the book reaches its falling action, I was back on board again. As Gav and the rest of the crew reconsider everything that they thought they’ve learned about themselves, Rozakis finds a way to reach through the humor and pull at some heartstrings. She beautifully explores the concept of identity – is our identity predetermined for us? Are we allowed to change? Are we allowed to take control of our own destinies and assert our own agency? At the beginning of Dreadful, it seems like everyone has some predetermined role to play that fits into the tropes of the fantasy story – the evil villain, the put-down henchmen, the damsel in distress. And yet through the book the characters realize that they don’t actually fit those archetypes, that what they want out of life is so much more than the boxes that they had initially been put into. I loved this ending so so so very much and made the whole book worth reading.

Dreadful was such a fun read that was relaxing and cozy, but made sure to insert an actual plot. I definitely enjoyed my time with it, and if a cozy comedy with heart sounds good to you in your fantasy reading, then make sure to put this near or at the top of your TBR. It’s not perfect, especially for readers who are looking for dense or complex plotting, but it is a fun send-up to so many of the villainous fantasy tropes.

[vyrim]

Eino, the Wayward Spirit

Sitting at 7'3 with a solid 300+ pounds of muscle and fur, Eino is one of the few true mysteries of the world, with researchers unable to confirm if they are a singular creature or a currently undiscovered species roaming the untold depths of the druid forests. Regardless, Eino began making herself known throughout the country, with sightings of her wanderings being recorded in massive frequency. Several voiced concerns of allowing such a creature to wander freely however, as a great many of her appearances included the bloody aftermaths of her bouts with other creatures.

Eino herself is a normally solitary creature, who sates her curiosity by exploring whatever peaks her interest, including people. While not aggressive, Eino shows little restraint against those attempting to harm her, or against creatures that have become chosen as her next meal. Thankfully, this has not ultimately lead to the consumption of human and other sentient populations.

Attempts at direct conversation with the local cryptid have failed, however testimony from a druid that supposedly has come into frequent contact with Eino has stated that they are, "soft spoken, and absent minded when not currently distracted by something." and also "a pain in the ass who wont stop trying to groom me and needs to stop going along with my girlfriend's schemes".

Important things that have been noted is that while immensely strong, having been seen crushing whole vehicles in half with ease, Eino is extremely gentle towards non hostile creatures, and easily amused by those afraid of her. Recordings of her eating have confirmed that she has a bite strength capable of crushing whole portions of bodies with ease, regardless of any exo or endoskeletal body type. The fur lining the entirety of her body is said to be surprisingly soft, with many theorizing that Eino maintains a high level of personal hygiene despite her more gruesome killings.

[1yyyyyy1]

don't know if you're taking a break on this blog, but your posts have helped me a lot and there is – ironically, i am sure some would say – something comforting in your writing and in the ways you express yourself. you have mentioned multiple times about your decision to remove from your life women who do not add anything to it. my question is: regarding relationships with women (platonic or not), how do you deal with loneliness?

i have always been a very introverted person, partially because i always knew there was something wrong with this world, even before i could name it. the more i grow, though, and the more i learn, my loneliness grows with me. it really does feel sometimes like we're the only ones in the fucking planet. the chances of us meeting one another are almost insignificant. i always knew men were empty but now i have to admit to myself that also every woman i know, see and talk to is a walking corpse. i am not interested in romance (i am a lesbian but too fucked up about sex itself and its implications), but part of me still wants friendship, in a way that my younger self did not.

is this also a thing you feel, from time to time? something you have encountered before?

As always, I am happy to know that my writing is helpful or even comforting in some way :) I know that these are some heavy topics I talk about on my blog and proving that they are not necessarily hopeless is what I care about. I am not on a break right now and I have actually been writing a lot lately, it's just that none of it is enough to wrap up even a single answer and I have been very frustrated by that. I'm still working on answering the messages in my inbox, even if it is something that was sent to me months ago, so please be patient with me.

Regarding loneliness, the truth would be that I'm a very solitary person and I tolerate loneliness or even isolation extremely well, to the point where I'm hesitant to give advice on how to deal with it to someone who is only slightly more sociable. I would be lying if I said that coming to certain realizations about women did not make me feel alienated at first because it did, and I used to be heavily bothered by the fact that the number of women who I had the potential to get along with was much smaller than I had anticipated, but ultimately I felt great relief after allowing myself to recognize that most women were harmful for me to be around and that I no longer had to pressure myself into socializing with them. The more pressing issue I was dealing with at the time was a "certain" ideology making me feel like I was stuck up or bigoted for wanting to distance myself from something that was clearly damaging to me, especially anything that involved obvious abuse and coercion. "Stuck up" for maintaining boundaries, figure that... Shutting down this line of thought alone was enough for me to start getting better and to move on to building connections that were actually productive for me.

I think that dealing with loneliness starts with discerning whether it is a temporary thing for you or a personal quality. You already mention being introverted, but I would take it even further and really allow myself to consider that it could be a genuine preference. Being confident in your introversion is a big deal because I know how unwell the world can make you feel for not being outgoing and how much people pathologize it! I myself used to wonder if my reclusiveness was some kind of trauma response that would go away once I met the right company and was more at peace with myself, which made me feel and act desperate when I look back at it. Nowadays I get a lot of positive interactions on here and I am on much better terms even with people in real life because I no longer get as frustrated by their worldview, but I still find myself in my own company more often than not because not being overtly social is where I am at my best.

With that said, I would not be where I'm at without my current friend circle and I genuinely attribute my mental stability to the friends I've made over the past year. I used to feel extremely unheard and alienated due to my fringe worldview and, having met like-minded people, this kind of isolation is just not something I struggle with anymore. To answer your actual question, I resolved my loneliness by making friends online and by recognizing that my social needs are met through less outgoing activities, like playing multiplayer games or curating an online blog; I was not going to figure this out without acknowledging that I am as reserved as I have always thought myself to be first, which is why I mention making peace with your introversion in the previous paragraph. Even if you end up being discontent with anything other than a long-term real-life friendship, talking to people online is still a good starting point that will give you a general idea for what it is like to be around someone with a similar outlook. I did feel infinitely better after connecting with like-minded women on social media (actually messaging them and interacting with their posts, not just reading or liking them) and it is one thing I recommend doing.

How weak or strong your sense of isolation is really depends on how far you are into coming to terms with the reality of this world's dynamics and there is a very high chance that you will be inconsolable at first, even with the right people in your life. I remember feeling down well into newfound friendships simply because such a major worldview shift was a lot to take in and I suggest not giving up on building connections with people even if it feels like nothing is working out for you. All in all, I choose to build friendships with like-minded women on the internet while maintaining more impersonal contact (professional or otherwise) in real life and I prefer to keep it that way.

[juliatulia]

I didn't pay attention to the Housman bit on Autobiography, so I would love to hear your thoughts on that :)

Sorry for the late reply but here it is.

The * followed by parenthesis are my thoughts, the rest is directly from Morrisseys Autobiography.

Excerpt from Autobiography:

and, wrongly, unnecessarily, this child weeps, full of the foolish

embarrassment that his father has clearly marked out. New air is discovered

in the words of A. E. Housman (1859–1936), scholar-poet, vulnerable and

complex. On the day of his twelfth birthday his mother dropped dead,

sealing a private future of suffering for Housman, who was said to be a

complete mystery even to those who knew him. *(Whom are we talking about??) With no interest in

applause or public recognition, Housman published three volumes of

poetry, each one of great successful caress, each a world in itself, forcing

Housman into the highest literary ranks. A stern custodian of art and life, he

shunned the world and he lived a solitary existence of monastic pain,

unconnected to others. *(Again, whom?) The unresolved heart worked against him in life, but

it connected him to the world of poetry, where he allowed (in)complete

strangers under his skin. *(One know others by how one knows oneself) In younger years he had suffered from the

unrequited love of Moses Jackson, the pain of which was so severe that it

doomed Housman for the rest of time. *(Swap the names and it could be Steven Patrick talking about himself) All of his work would be governed

by this loss, as if life could only ever offer one chance of happiness (and

perhaps, for every shade and persuasion, it does?):

*(So, Morrissey introduces Housman as someone who has unhappiness thrust upon him (but he could also have been a moody melancholic from birth, who knows?). Life delt him bad cards, but used the unhappiness to create art that others found comforting. He clearly identifies with him. And the last part of the paragraph….. Words fail me. )

When the bells justle in the tower

The hollow night amid,

Then on my tongue the taste is sour

Of all I ever did

Housman suffered throughout his life, and therefore (and not surprisingly)

his life became an unyielding attempt not to cooperate. The black horizon

never shifted, and his emotional lot never mellowed.

*(Moses Jackson was very aware of Housmans feelings for him. If I remeber correctly when Moses married his wife, they didnt tell Alfred Edward until after the event (They also left the country). Jackson knew it would crush Housman. )

He would not stay for me; and who can wonder?

He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.

I shook his hand and tore my heart in sunder

and went with half my life about my ways.

At his Wildean lowest, Oscar’s personal sadness had never slumped to such

leaden fatigue; Housman suffered and accepted, death always close in his

mind’s eye – but not regrettably so.

I did not lose my heart in summer’s even,

When roses to the moonrise burst apart:

When plumes were under heel and lead was flying,

In blood and smoke and flame I lost my heart.

I lost it to a soldier and a foeman,

A chap that did not kill me, but he tried;

That took the sabre straight and took it striking

And laughed and kissed his hand to me and died.

The published poetry makes the personal torture just barely acceptable. The

pain done to Housman allowed him to rise above the mediocre and to find

the words that most of us need help in order to say. The price paid by

Housman was a life alone; the righteous rhymer enduring each year unloved

and unable to love:

Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all’s over:

I only vex you the more I try.

All’s wrong that ever I’ve done and said,

And nought to help it in this dull head:

Shake hands, here’s luck, goodbye.

But if you come to a road where danger

Or guilt or shame’s to share,

Be good to the lad that loves you true

And the soul that was born to die for you

And whistle and I’ll be there.

*(The poem is so true to the Morrissey folio. A strong friendship/connection/relationship is no longer what it once was and distance is imminent between the object and the subject. But should anything happen, "danger or guilt or shame to share" you know I will be there for you. )

It’s easy for me to imagine Housman sitting in a favorite chair by a barely

flickering gas fire, the brain grinding long and hard, wanting to explain

things in his own way, monumental loneliness on top of him, but with no

one to tell. The written word is an attempt at completeness when there is no

one impatiently awaiting you in a dimly lit bedroom – awaiting your tales

of the day, as the healing hands of someone who knew turn to you and touch

you, and you lose yourself so completely in another that you are

momentarily delivered from yourself. Whispering across the pillow comes a

kind voice that might tell you how to get out of certain difficulties, from

someone who might mercifully detach you from your complications. When

there is no matching of lives, and we live on a strict diet of the self, the

most intimate bond can be with the words that we write:

*(Here author and subject almost merge into one. Drawing the line where subject and author meets is almost impossible. I become you and you become me. When there is no one to whom one can bestow all ones affection on, the page becomes the active listener. )

Oh often have I washed and dressed

And what’s to show for all my pain?

Let me lie abed and rest:

Ten thousand times I’ve done my best

And all’s to do again.

I ask myself if there is an irresponsible aspect in relaying thoughts of pain

as inspiration, and I wonder whether Housman actually infected the

sensitives further, and pulled them back into additional darkness. Surely it

is true that everything in the imagination seems worse than it actually is –

especially when one is alone and horizontal (in bed, as in the coffin).

Housman was always alone – thinking himself to death, with no matronly

wife to signal to the watching world that Alfred Edward was now quite

alright – for isn’t this at least partly the aim of scoring a partner: to trumpet

the mental all-clear to a world where how things seem is far more important

than how things are? Now snugly in eternity, Housman still occupies my

mind. His best moments were in Art, and not in the cut and thrust of human

relationships. Yet he said more about human relationships than those who

managed to feast on them. You see, you can’t have it both ways.

*(We have to wonder why Morrissey included this in the book at all. When most authors writes their autobiography, they chronologically write about what happened to them, who they saw, or write about details about their life in descriptive detail (which in my opinion is quite dull and very little engaging as a reader). But Morrissey deviates from this enormously. He includes pieces of what made him the way he is(!). Why would he include long pieces about Melanie Safka, Buffy Sainte-Marie or W. H. Auden? Not interesting in itself to read about someone some person read a long time ago, but all these pieces gives us hints of who Steven Patrick Morrissey is.

The interesting part about including A. E Housman is how much Morrissey writes about his life, not just the poetry. I think this is the key to understanding the excerpt above. He both admire and recognise how life and art blend together and how they affect each other.

About Housmans later life, Moses Jackson died before him. Jackson suffered from cancer I think and knew he was going to die. Housman later wrote in a letter to a friend where he said: "I could not leave him behind in a world where anything might happen to him". He was a wealthy man from his academic work and became a patron of Jacksons son. He paid for his education when he didn't have to, but probably felt an obligation.

Why do we have such a lengthy part in the book about an unhappy man who lived all his life inlove with a man he fell in love with in his youth???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ You tell me 🤓🤓

)

[quietbluejay]

The Solar War One

tldr: if you like florid descriptions of preparations for space battles, space battles, and the aftermath of space battles, this is your book

Emperor POV oh right I was thinking about doing The Master of Mankind and seeing what all the fuss was about at some point

yeah this is French all right …the author

okay i know we're supposed to be like "ooo horus evil" but lmao

also look i love cheese as much as the next person, probably more, but I cannot take this seriously

truly the primarchs inherited the emperor's braincells

ok anyways

i dunno if it's just because I'm in a bad mood and have a headache but this is not doing it for me

why do we need this long worldbuilding digression about timekeeping

augh Mersadie :(

this is getting better

i mean writing wise not…for her man solitary confinement is pretty brutal to the brain

french im going to lightly gnaw on you for that dream fakeout

oh hey it's another moment where you can tell what the writer was listening to

hello darkness my old friend

ooo dramatic a space hulk i think this is the first time one has shown up in a book

a pearl of sorrow? really i mean overall the prose isn't bad but still

AUGH FRENCH WHY ALWAYS WITH THE HUMAN TALLOW CANDLES ALWAYS it's always French!!! with the human tallow candles!!! does anyone else use them!!! NO man i forgot to add that to my bingo card, i had blissfully forgotten about them until this moment oh hi Ahriman, been a while who else would quote poetry at this meeting

I'm 14% of the way in and most of this has felt like padding

i gotta say, if they have to sacrifice this many like every time they do anything (and it seems like they do lol…) i do wonder how they don't run out oh wild I guess Euphrati's new powers allow her to dreamwalk Euphrati is giving Mersadie a warning though we had to spend like half a page talking about astrology to get there

okay this is actually kind of interesting

the child soldiers are even more child soldiers than usual however it'd be nice if we didn't have one sentence of plot for every 3 paragraphs of background their first battle and one dude dies immediately this is actually kinda reminding me of that MTMTE flashback with Getaway's first time on the battlefield it's the same kind of idea OKAY finally something as Mersadie escapes the prison ship this is actually good Mersadie and a Navigator

oh we get to see the admiral lady again she's got a birb

i love him rip Su-Kassen in her 2 hours of rest she is being visited by Jaghatai

jaghatai, is this really the time

ah some context: she and Dorn worked on the plans together

I feel like Su-Kassen would have preferred to meditate with her spice tea okay i mean that's some insight into Dorn I guess but I'm still a bit hmm

I'm a quarter of the way through the book and barely anything has happened was this man paid by the word was he possessed by Victor Hugo

oh it's the famous Jubal Khan SIgismund is still being haunted by that conversation with Dorn, huh I don't know if Layak stalking Abaddon is meant to be funny, but it is

yeah I don't know if I'm in a bad mood but like I think I'd normally be fine with this? but the entire book has been like this i dunno it kind of feels like an iteration of what ADB was doing with the World Eaters okay the biggest problem with this book is how remote it is from the human element most of it has just been like…florid descriptions of ships moving and setting description

oh hi Forrix! Perturabo is worried things are going a bit too well

this really just is Forrix's life, isn't it but also Perturabo I think you might be projecting a bit there back to the Mersadie subplot at least that's probably the most exciting thing in this book

as usual for a French side character, I like Nilus I liked the admiral too lol

he's a fun dude

why couldn't we have a nice book about this

not a bad line but french do you need to start every chapter like this every. chapter. oh hi little horus

hm

YESSS MY GIRL

THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN OF ANDROMEDA-17 so a repeated element is that Dorn Just Does Not Get Warp Stuff

this is using a lot of pretty words to describe something only slightly more advanced than human wave tactics Sigismund blew up a moon! okay that's fun ah the admiral found out that her daughter, who was with Horus' forces…

it's a good moment and scene

we spend about 2 paragraphs describing how Sigismund doesn't really do emotions before finally getting to

if you like florid descriptions of preparations for space battles, space battles, and the aftermath of space battles, this is your book

okay some of the fight scenes have rights Sigismund vs the Sons of Horus is one huh abaddon is getting a lot of flashbacks to his childhood

hot take i don't think the siege of terra series was handled well and yes i know i'm less than halfway through this book okay i guess it's not really a hot take ^_^;

also huh i guess abaddon kept his name

[thenecropolix]

I see I've garnered some interest on my last post regarding vampires and speculative biology, therefore I'm happy to share my thoughts and the conclusion I've reached in terms of vampire anatomy

So to preface this, I actually am not a huge fan of vampires in terms of how modern media has portrayed them; compared to more fascinating yet gruesome concept of lycanthropy and its metaphorical parallels to humanity, identity, and horrific transformation, Vampires just... lacked that appeal to me with the simplicity of an otherwise abnormal human with pointy ears and having a thirst for blood.

When you look at it from the biological lens in regards to actual vampire bats, it's fascimating but incredibly ridiculous to think that a creature could subsist entirely on blood; it's an extreme specialization that only works in oh so many critters due to how unsustainable it to just live off of a liquid diet.

There's also the matter of just the overall appearance; as fun as it is drawing winged humanoids that still retain human limbs, a quick descent into anatomy made me realize how heavily modified the skeleton had to be to accommodate for a naturally mult-limbed vertebrate because at the end of the day, bat wings (and bird wings as another reference) are modified arms and hands that, with the addition of normal arms/hands, would be an anatomical nightmare.

In trying to come up with a plausible explanation as to how a living vampire would anatomically work, I came to 2 separate conclusions: the vampire would either have a modified keel (an expanded sternum in birds) that would allow for the place of grasping limbs positioned lower along the body in addition to a pair of wings (thus making them 4 limbed), OR (the more plausible idea in my mind) they would be more anatomically similar to a pterosaur in which only 1 finger is modified to act as the wing, allowing the other 4 fingers to be free at the cost of reduced strength (but which is then made up for in the back limbs, which would be anatomically similar to that of a primate with the bonus of human hand flexibility).

There's also the matter of sociability and behavior in vampires that I think is rather ironic; often, older media portrays them as brooding figures that live solitary lives and compete with another, but funnily enough vampire bats are highly social (well the females are at least) and have been documented sharing food and participating in allogrooming; ergo, I like to think they'd be more sociable, perhaps even on par with the modern wolf in terms of social dynamics (albeit modified).

Lastly, the food issue came to my attention and it occurred to me that perhaps rather than being obligatory sanguivores, vampires are instead facultative sanguivores and live more akin to scavengers or carrion eaters like vultures; that is, they stalk prey that's injured or on the verge of death. The prey in question I imagine would consist of medium to large ungulates like wild boar, deer, and elk as opposed to humans (I think "attacks" would be misinterpreted much like those of other apex predators e.g. perhaps the vampire was feasting on a human that was already dead or was extremely desperate for food); regarding their hunting hours, naturally they are nocturnal, but I think moreso cause they're sensitive to sunlight in the way any nocturnal critter is: the eyes are better suited for the night (light won't kill them, it's just not easy on the vision nor, perhaps, sensitive skin).

For a more modern interpretation regarding the whole thing with blood, I had the thought that as opposed to vampire bats who go for fresh blood, I thought that perhaps they could consume coagulated blood as it's a common ingredient in blood sausage and soups in other countries (contrary to American media). This actually then made me realize it seems no one's thought of the word building concept of vampire farmers who raise their own livestock for personal consumption (imagine if you will, a vampire farmer hiring human farmhands with livestock maintenance cause you can only do so much with hands on your legs and only 4 working fingers attached to a wing). Alternatively there are those with hunting licenses permitted to stalk the environment for prey around certain times of the year).

I think... I think I've gotten most of what I had in mind out of my head (although knowing me, I most likely forgot to note a thing or 2), jumbled as it is; if anyone is further interested in the anatomical concepts, I'd be happy to post them on my other blog where I mostly post conceptual work

[buildarocketboys]

Frankenstein notes chapters 15-18

These are my notes for last week's @tumbleclub Frankenstein chapters! I've got a lot to say this week, apparently...

Chapter 15:

“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and generosity were ever present before me..."

Sort of similar to what Frankenstein says his feelings about evil were prior to Justine's death - parallels between Creature and Victor

I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I was a listener. I sympathised with and partly understood them, but I was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none

Neurodivergent Mood™️

The patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with different sensations.

I feel like this is very astute/self-aware of the Creature

Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.

I always find the Adam parallels/contrasts very interesting, especially considering the biggest difference is that the Creature is not loved or cared for by his Creator

"...the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. ‘Hateful day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred."

:(

"...sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed smiles of consolation."

Oh he's daydreaming...

I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.

More Adam parallels

to see their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost limit of my ambition

Crying about it..

Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung, in a transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently with a stick. I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when, overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.”

All he ever wanted and it's taken from him so cruelly, without any chance for him to explain or be treated as an equal, intelligent being :(

Chapter 16:

All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and finding myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin.

Yeah, it can be like that

The mildness of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall and bitterness.

The thing with the Creature is. His emotions are so deeply human and sympathetic. How can you not feel bad for the guy?

no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food

Oh yeah, been there too, buddy

She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour, from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore. She was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, I hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at my body and fired. I sank to the ground, and my injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.

He saves her!! And gets shot for it! Oh honey, not only did the world do you dirty, the movies did you so dirty as well (thinking specifically of the 1931 one here where this scene sort of happens but he accidentally drowns the girl himself)

Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this little creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him and educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in this peopled earth.

Bro's really doing the best with what he's got here. It's not good by any means but. He didn't want to hurt anyone, not really

The crime had its source in her; be hers the punishment!

About Justine - which doesn't even make sense! He's kind of losing his logic faculties at this point because of, well, *gestures* everything

one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species and have the same defects. This being you must create.”

I totally get why this is the conclusion the Creature comes to, and it seems like the only option to him, but like... what if she just didn't like you, dude? What if she resented you for forcing her creation so she could also be rejected by human society?? Something something expectations of women to just bow to the whims of men; they don't get a choice

Chapter 17:

“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union.

He kinda went off here ngl

if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear

This is such a good, sends shivers up your spine "I've been treated badly for too long and now I'm a villain" line. Very Flint "Everyone is a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced that I am yours. I will be it."

If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold

:( I would be friends with you, Creature! Psst psst psst come here, be my bestie bro

the gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me

Just wondering - do we believe the creature here? Would it have contented him? Would it have contented HER, or would she have been equally outraged at the creature for precipitating her creation for his own selfish (if understandable) needs?

I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument.

I'm glad Victor isn't COMPLETELY heartless

The picture I present to you is peaceful and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the wantonness of power and cruelty

Yeah...yeah..

How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man, persevere in this exile? You will return and again seek their kindness, and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of destruction.

I do think old Vicky boy has a point here tho

His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him and sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle these sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathise with him, I had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which was yet in my power to bestow.

I think this chapter, and this bit in particular, does a really good job of showing that the Creature is actively repulsive to humans as he says he is, whether that be a natural instinct that can't be changed or is more of a commentary on the prejudices instilled against The Other from a young age (see William's reaction to the Creature, even though the Creature assumes he will still be innocent; he's already poisoned against him). As much as I sympathise with the Creature and joke about being his bestie and wish/don't fully understand why at least some humans can't hear him out and at least learn to tolerate him, this quote demonstrates why that's not possible in the world as it's presented in the book (and why Frankenstein feels obliged to agree to the Creature's request)

Chapter 18:

I clung to every pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to me.

Me when I don't want to do something

I knew that a thousand fearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me with horror.

Just imagining a world where Victor stays home and makes the Creature's bride in his basement, having shenanigans as he tries to stop his father and Elizabeth from finding out

I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

Love Victor being like "sorry my story is so boring and depressing, Robert. You'd probably like Clerval's version much better

Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country.”

Landscape in comparison to humanity/lack of humanity, since those glaciers and mountains are where we saw the Creature last

And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for ever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator;—has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your unhappy friend.

Spoilers! Being haunted by Henry

[khensaptah]

Today is Wesir's birthday in my festival calendar.

I use a fixed time calendar: Wep Ronpet is the first Saturday of August. There's no liturgical reason for this. When I was practicing with others, it was easier to get a fixed Saturday together than a rotating day. Even though I am largely a solitary practitioner now, I have carried this over for simplicity's sake (simplicity may as well be a core tenant of Kemetic Humanism).

I have a lot of complicated feelings today: about the nature of my practice and of the community, about the big news out of the House. I never know when to say or what to say regarding the House, or Dr. Siuda, because my feelings are so contradictory.

In light of Dr. Siuda abdicating, I want to explore these feelings. These are grounded in my personal experiences, and I recognize they are not shared by others around me.

I knew Tamara as a variety of things. She is a knowledgeable Egyptologist. She was a good teacher to me. She filled a maternal role when I was hurting the most after the loss of my biological family. But she also acted as God-King, a role that involved an incredible amount of emotional manipulation and financial abuse. Realizing how much she was hurting people I loved in her capacity as Nisut tore me apart. It was the final straw for my ability to stay in the House.

Dr. Siuda has elected to step down as Nisut of Kemetic Orthodoxy, and I think this is the right call both for the organization and her as an individual.

My less charitable self grits their teeth at this. More than once I witnessed Tamara claiming that if she gave up the role of Kingship, she would literally die. Reneging on that indicates that it was, as I suspected, more manipulation that allowed her to retain power over others. Power that harmed my friends, and that nearly destroyed the temple I loved.

But I don't deny - the part of me that loved her as a mentor and mother is full of hope. Tamara, if you are reading this: I hope you will be able to be a full person again. I hope you are able to heal from whatever drove you to act in the ways you did. I hope you are able to recognize those you hurt, to make reparations where wanted, and to take steps to be a better person. I know you are capable of so much good: I've seen that person!

The House of Netjer is on a precipice now. There is an opportunity for it to turn away from the cultic leanings it has developed over recent years and grow into a new organization. On a theological level, it will be interesting to see how the rites of passage - all tied to Dr. Siuda 's role as Nisut - will change here. RPDs, Namings, the Shemsu-Ankh system, the priesthood: all were controlled directly through Siuda. What will happen now?

I have a vested interest in the House, both as a former member and as a Kemetic. It remains the largest and most public organization in our community. When it does wrong by its members, it harms us all. We are - like it or not - all judged by outsiders by its actions.

What comes remains to be seen. May ma'at prevail.

[lenawin4]

this is really random but i think a fic where jongho and doil interact as future brothers in law would be so funny (you don't have to write it obviously but the scenario is so hilarious to me). one is so soft and unassuming and the other is intense and guarded bcjfjfjf the future Oh family get-togethers would be entertaining as hell

Do-il & Jong-ho interactions would be SO gold and very adorable... like can you imagine a second season where In-joo & In-kyung just run around completely unhinged and their boyfriends just follow them everywhere trying to calm them down??

I'm replying to these like almost a month later, but I'm still mentally here even after the drama ended like ~1.5 months ago... glad y'all are still clowning with me

anyway this inspired me to write something extremely self-indulgent and fluffy, it's on ao3 and down below

Do-il knew his way around New York City very well. When he attended Wharton, he drove two hours back and forth for meetings, the occasional party, and scheduled, solitary escapes he needed for his sanity. He knew every business, bar, and back-alley like the back of his hand. This knowledge, unfortunately, was deemed not useful enough to In-kyung and In-joo, which was why he was sitting on a bench in Central Park with Ha Jong-ho at eleven in the evening.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon.” Jong-ho had that nervous look on his face and a tic of adjusting his glasses that told him that he didn’t actually believe that. “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”

He was wrong. Do-il’s watch told him it had been seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds since the sisters had told them to wait here while they bought food at some hot dog stand In-joo had heard of from social media. Do-il had no idea that she wanted to try it, because if he did, he would have factored this potential distraction into his plan, and he would have taken her somewhere else.

“So.” Jong-ho fiddled with a loose strand on his pants. “How have you been?”

Eighteen minutes was a long time for strained small talk, and they had already been through the usual topics of conversation when he and In-joo arrived in New York for the week. So, now, they were left with… whatever they were to each other. Future-in-laws? Do-il didn’t want to put too much hope in that, if tonight wasn’t going to go well.

“Just fine.”

“You two were in Greece last month?”

“Seoul,” he corrected. “We switch back and forth.” They spent the weekends together, making their apartments homes, and after two years, there were pieces of her at his place, and traces of him at hers. There was a terrifying amount of comfortability in it, and it didn’t terrify him until he realized he was somewhat content.

“Is it hard, going back and forth?”

It was harder to have this conversation, with Jong-ho actually expecting him to give honest responses. He shrugged and checked his watch. Twenty minutes and counting.

“I wouldn’t like being away from In-kyung every week. I tried forgetting about her for a while, but that didn’t work out.”

“Jong-ho, it’s not that difficult. I’ve lived alone my whole life.”

“Well, that’s why it’s hard now. Because you know what it’s like to have somebody in your life.”

Do-il glared at him. Jong-ho scratched the back of his neck and muttered a half-apology, half-complaint that trailed off into nothing. But the pause Do-il was granted was too brief to be classified as nothing.

“You know,” Jong-ho started, “you’re very different from the person I heard about in college.”

Do-il sighed. “Really?” He tried his hardest to sound interested, but Jong-ho’s side-eye informed him his attempt at enthusiasm was unsuccessful.

“All I heard about was a criminal who got his girlfriend killed and spoke Russian to impress the professors.” He tilted his head, allowing him this, as the descriptions were fairly accurate. “But now that I know you, and I see how you treat In-joo, I can see what kind of person you are.”

Someone who only cares about money. Do-il smiled, and remembered what In-joo thought about him now: “I know what kind of person you are,” she told him once. “You’re someone who cares about me.”

It was irritating that with a small amount of honesty came an infinite amount of transparency, and suddenly, Do-il found himself being seen through by people like Jong-ho. People who never had to lie their way out of anything. Unfortunately, these people were the most truthful, and a voice, In-joo’s voice, asked him to meet his truth with sincerity.

“Sometimes, the distance does make me unhappy,” he admitted, and tapped his watch again. It was fifteen minutes to Christmas, and it reminded him of why he was only somewhat content after the years of stealing weekends in Seoul and Greece and the US. He wanted more — when he was in Greece, he wanted the pieces of her to ligate and complete him, but the only way that was possible was with her presence. He wanted one life with her, not this delicate balance of hers and his; he wanted everything to be theirs.

When they decided to come to New York for the holidays, and he and In-joo talked about flight plans and getting off work and picking out souvenirs for In-hye and Hyo-rin, the only word in his mind was domesticity. Domesticity, and with the thought came the desire for commitment. The next day when In-joo went to work, he went to the most expensive jewelry store in Seoul and bought a ring. Maybe when she was a child, she had passed by the store and wanted that same ring, the way she wanted a winter coat or a birthday dress.

Then the question was where in New York. In front of the Statue of Liberty? Not pretty enough. On top of the Empire State Building? That was an option, but In-joo liked gardens, despite their shared aversion to orchids, so he wanted it to be in the park. He’d have to figure something out quickly if he was going to get this done in the best place for her.

“Jong-ho, I think I need your help with something.” He reached into his pocket and although he had kept his hand there all day, and he knew he was about to open up to some guy from college, his heart jolted when his fingers closed around the box.

He showed it to Jong-ho. His eyes bugged out and he gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a drowning fish. This was why he never told anyone any secrets. “You cannot say anything.”

“Uh, um — ”

“This is supposed to happen at Christmas, which is in ten minutes, and In-joo still isn’t back yet. Can you please distract In-kyung and tell In-joo to meet me here?”

“I mean, this is such short notice, and maybe I’ll just take In-kyung and run away?”

“If you act suspicious and throw this off, I’m going to tell In-kyung you ruined her sister’s proposal.”

“Understood.”

That worked well. If anyone threatened Do-il with In-joo’s wrath, he would cave immediately, too.

Finally, Do-il had some silence to prepare for his next moments. They had discussed marriage in the beginning of their relationship, when they were both unsure of what the other expected. They’d seen their parents’ marriages fall apart because of circumstance and tragedy, but they had also seen them reunite and turn back to love after everything. For them, it was always a someday, maybe. He found himself thinking about it more often than not, these days. When his mind wouldn’t rest and millions of plans began to form like constellations, there was no stopping Do-il.

From across the park, someone shouted his name. He looked upwards to find In-joo standing near a lamppost, smiling at him before breaking off into a run, leaving empty footsteps in the snow. Sudden panic passed through him like a shiver — he cataloged where everything was — the ring in his pocket, the white ground where he would kneel, the steps where she would be standing —

She crashed into him, arms around his sides. “Do-il-ah, In-kyung and I almost got lost, and then Jong-ho came to find us. Then he stole In-kyung away.”

“So, now you’re stuck with me?” She said yes, like it was a bad thing, but the light on her face spelled out happiness. “You didn’t get your hot dog.”

“We can always come back tomorrow.”

“I thought we were staying in tomorrow before our flight?”

She frowned and insisted, “We’ll come back tomorrow; who knows when we’ll be here next?”

“I’ll take you back here anytime you want.”

“I know that,” In-joo said, “but it depends how busy we are.”

“Okay,” Do-il said, to say anything to mask the way her casual trust still made him flustered, after all these years. He could never argue with her, not when she talked about them as a pair, like it was a guarantee that he would be where she was, wherever she decided to go. This really wasn’t going to plan, was it? He was the one who was supposed to be the one with all the lines, but In-joo was emptying his mind of any fully-formed thoughts.

He pulled them towards the steps nearing the bridge of the Shakespeare Garden. Two minutes to midnight, and she was holding his left hand, while his right hand had made a permanent home in his pocket.

“There’s a garden here,” he said. “Do you want to see it?”

“Look at those.” She pointed to the daffodils near the entrance. “They’re so pretty.”

“Those are amsonias next to them. They usually plant them together because they help the other one grow throughout different seasons.”

“Like partners.”

Of course, she understood immediately.

Midnight — he let go of her hand and knelt like a knight swearing honor to his king. It was colder than he expected. “Merry Christmas, Oh In-joo,” he said. He saw her thoughts and expectations connect, eyes frozen on the open box in his hands, hands coming up to cover her mouth. “I never thought I needed a partner. I never thought I would be able to have one, to support me, to help me grow. But now, I know, I am fuller, happier, and a better man with you. I want to do the same for you. Will you let me?”

“Yes. Of course, yes. I’ll tell you why.” She wiped happy tears off her cheek and held her hand out for him to claim. The ring slid on, and she released a giggle. She scrunched her nose at him and said, “That was a better metaphor than saying that you’re a horse.”

This was a complaint he had heard many times. “Is saying that I’m a flower really any better?”

“No, but don’t worry about it. You already do the same for me.” She pulled him closer, and her lips pressed against his neck. She muttered against his skin, “I am fuller.”

A kiss to his cheek. “I am happier.”

Another to his lips, and he felt complete. “I am a better woman with you. You are my partner, in all but name, and I would be happy to change that.”

A distant cheering broke another kiss, and they separated to see two nosy people filming their scene from the bench he and Jong-ho had been stranded on. “Congratulations, In-joo-unnie!”

Suddenly, they became four grown adults yelling in the middle of the park like obnoxious teenagers. “There are two people who got engaged, you know.”

“If you ever hurt my sister, you’ll never see the light of day again.”

“We’ve been together for two years; isn’t this warning a little late?”

Jong-ho stopped recording, and they ran closer. In-kyung squealed and hugged In-joo, sweeping her away from him. Jong-ho stood a bit awkwardly, like he was scared to say what he was most certainly going to come out of his mouth anyway.

“Spit it out while I’m in a good mood.”

“A thank you would be nice?”

He rolled his eyes and patted him on the back. “Thank you, Jong-ho.”

He beamed back. “No problem, brother-in-law.”