#neither of these men have had to take care of themselves in recent decades let alone care for guests

[stizzysupremacy]

they didn’t work anything out. he went from one extreme to another, just running away in a different direction this time. And the other gave up his dream that he just finally achieved competence and success at. They left what family they had to pursue a lifestyle neither of them actually had the desire, skills, or resources for. It didn’t feel like a romantic happily-ever-after at all.

[thelovelyghostwriter]

Some of my favourite female characters in fiction

This list is not exhaustive and while I do have other characters that I find charming and that I love, I have noted these characters because in my opinion, they have struggled and/or there is a certain analysis to their personalities. 

Please take note that some of the characters are not morally good or have done questionable actions. This is not to discuss or say they are role models, but rather to write up what they represented, their role in the story or simply their personalities. I’m not here to justify the character’s actions.

Remember that a well-written characters do not have to be morally good. 

Also, a lot of them are from memory and the analysis aren’t well-structured. 

Let’s dive in:

1. Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby

Daisy, in my opinion, is incredibly misunderstood and unjustifiably hated among the readers. Her betrayal to Gatsby is indeed vile and it did upset me, I definitely think that she is materialistic, shallow and hurtful.  

“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

Daisy did shit on Gatsby [trying to avoid spoilers here].  

However, I do like to note that I think part of her materialism and shallowness is because of how women were in the 1920s. They did not have any freedom or agency. To Tom, she seems to be a trophy wife for him to keep; and to Gatsby, he only liked the idea of her, he wasn’t in love with her. To everyone around her, she was an item, a beautiful doll to be possessed, rather than a person. I think that’s why she turned out like that. 

She's materialistic because men around her sees her as an object. Nonetheless, Daisy is still “careless” and hurtful; and I think this stemmed from the life she had led that were a compilation of choices that were made for her. Her betrayal towards Gatsby is what makes her character rather disappointing to most readers. The whiteness in her dress as described in her first appearance? It’s not innocence, but rather a void and jadedness. 

2. Neon Nostrade from Hunter x Hunter

Yet, another girl in our list that loves to be hated by the fandom. Though honestly, most of her haters are Chrollo and Kurapika stans who gets jealous because Chrollo got to hang out with her and Kurapika works under her. Also her repulsive hobby - although this is actually what makes me like her. 

I have addressed this in my other posts before, but let me just copy and paste them (and modify a bit):  Her upbringing and exploitation by her dad makes her materialistic and emotionally detached. This materialism and detachment is manifested in the form of her hobby as a dead body parts collector. But other than that, she’s really a normal girl, just sheltered and spoilt. The money she spends are even from her talent Lovely Ghostwriter, her father will be nothing without her. So I don’t see an issue with her spending them on shopping etc. 

In fact, I would argue that she bathes in materialism to fill the emptiness that she has. Her father is more concerned with her ability and power, she has no friends and is guarded 24/7 by employees.

All the times she threw tantrums and the way she talks… it’s a different speech pattern altogether when she interacts with Chrollo - which may suggest that the whole spoilt attitude is exaggerated to gain attention from a father who is indulgent in terms of material gifts, but not in terms of affection and time for her.

When Eliza cried, she was willing to forgo bidding the auction physically. Yes she did not care about the bodyguards because she is more focused on the living and the present (Eliza) than the dead.

The reason why she didn’t seem fazed when Dalzollene and the others died is because a) they were her bodyguards, it’s their job to put their life on the line to protect her, b) she mentioned to Chrollo that her fortune-telling is for the living, she likes to live in the present and doesn’t believe in the afterlife.

Neon is more focused on who is alive, rather than the dead (which also represented by her hobby of dead body parts collecting). She focuses on the present, unlike her clients who likes to know their future or people who dwell in the past. Kurapika on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He dwells on the past and likes to focus on his dead clan rather than the present times with his friends (which is completely understandable).

Another significance is that her fortune-telling ability is very useful and helpful, she says that she wanted to make people happy with it; but however, it is commercialized and used as a means of power (knowledge of the future = power) by her father and pretty much everyone around her. Just like how she objectifies dead people by collecting their parts, the people around her sees her as a tool due to her fortune-telling abilities, rather than see her as a person. Even Kurapika chose to get employed under her, for his own agenda (he is bound to meet dead body parts collectors at some point). 

She treats people like objects because people see her as one.

Of course, collecting dead body parts is a pretty fucked hobby; but what she represents and her role as a minor character is what makes her an outstanding minor female character in the show. 

Yes. She has traits that are not your typical role model, but neither are other hxh characters. She’s not independent, naive, can’t fight, in need of saving, uncaring at times and spoilt. She is far from so-called “strong female character” that we often look up to. She is a character with bad traits which is a result of being a victim. But that’s what makes me love her as a character in hxh. It reminds us that there are girls out there who has lack of freedom and control over their own fate; and their only way out is through materialism and detaching themselves from people. 

In fact, she might be even relateable to some people more than other female characters because there is vulnerability in her character.

3. Hua Mulan (Mostly the Chinese 2009 film, though the most well-known is the Disney 1998 animated film)

There has been various adaptations for this character, with the Disney Animated version being the most prominent.

However, my favourite one is definitely the Chinese film Hua Mulan: Rise of A Warrior (2009). It portrays the horrors of war and the suffering it brings, nationalism, camaraderie among the army - all while giving us the admirable Mulan climbing up to the ranks of being a war general.

I highly recommend this adaptation. I know the Disney Live Action 2020 version did not receive good reception, and we honestly did not need one because this 2009 Chinese film does the job well (I like their soundtrack though). It's not really well-known because it's a Chinese film (which is hella ironic because Hua Mulan is a Chinese character? Lmao).

"Today we will stain the battlefield with our blood. Behind us is our homeland. If we have to bleed out our last drop of blood, if we have to become bleached bones in this desert, we must defend it to the death! We must let the Rourans know we Wei warriors will never surrender and will never compromise! Soldiers may rebel against me, generals may leave me for dead, but I, Hua Mulan, will never betray my country!"

Generally, I either have an issue with strong female characters because they are just shallow (meaning they are only physically strong, often viewing rudeness, misandry and independence as strength). I like female characters who are so much more to that.

Mulan, in this film, not only showed her badassery in fighting the war for more than a decade, but we also see how much she struggled. Everytime her comrades die, her heart gets broken. Yet she has to learn how to pick herself up and become the leader that they need. She dislikes war, she dislikes the bloodshed; yet she fights for her country.

To me, a strong female character is not just a feminist icon or someone who can fight. In fact, a female character doesn't need to be someone capable of fighting, what makes her strong is to be able to overcome turbulence with determination.

I think this is something that is lacking in recent "strong female characters" - showing us their strength through perseverance.

As for the Disney's counterpart (talking about the 1998 film here), it is less morbid but we also see her trying her best to make her family proud and protect her country. Like the song Reflection and Loyal, Brave and True, she struggles with finding her purpose and her role in her family.

"The greatest gift of honour, is having you for a daughter."

4. Blanche Dubois from A Streetcar Named Desire

It's been years since I had analysed Blanche, but among all the 6 books that I had to study for English Literature, A Streetcar Named Desire has been my absolute favourite.

I think what struck me in this book is not just the style, but Blanche's vulnerability. Her actions are definitely not morally good: she misrepresents things, she lies, she even had sex with an underage student. She's paranoid, mentally unstable and prissy. Which was why, her polar opposite character, Stanley, is so annoyed with her.

After her husband's suicide, we see Blanche relying on the company of men to fill the void of her loneliness and misery. She is also concerned about her beauty fading with age - I find that highly reliable. It sounds incredibly "vain", but beauty does play a part.

Based on Evolutionary and Mating Theories among humans, appearance in women are especially important (also for men but not as much as women). Of course, there are other factors and traits that people find attractive, but Blanche's concern is valid here. She needs to find a husband to escape from her financial troubles; and her age, beauty and chastity plays a huge factor in her search for getting a man in the setting she was in (which was Mitch in this case). Ironically, these are the very traits that she has "lost" and so desperately tries to hide it.

Her ending is truly a devastating and upsetting one. [Will not talk about it due to spoilers]

"I've always depended on the kindness of strangers."

5. Haibara Ai/Shiho Miyano from Detective Conan

Perhaps one of the girls that is a wasted potential. In a series where the characters are mostly flat, she's arguably the most multi-faceted (but somehow I had heard that she no longer has the same complexity as she used to have - it's been a while since I followed this series).

But I remember absolutely loving this character.

Her background story is really unique in the show and one that is embedded within the Black Organisation plotline (why her character was dropped... Forever frustrating for me).

From the moment she was first introduced, we see Conan taking an immediate distrust towards her. A guy who is a detective who had been catching criminals - yet one ex-syndicate member stands before him. The one that actually helped to develop the APTX4869 that changed his life.

Yet, we see that it wasn't entirely within her control. Both her parents were syndicate members and when her sister tries to get both of them to leave, her sister dies.

Ai starts off as seemingly cold, pessimistic and avoidant. But as her arc goes on, the iceberg around her melts. We see her quirky sarcastic replies, her taste for fashion and she genuinely desires to be happy. Her relationship with Conan developed into a beautiful one - to the point where Conan trusts her with anything and they would risk their lives for one another.

Yet, we also empathies with her impending jealousy and heartache. The boy she has fallen for already has someone else. What's more, the girl is genuinely kind and is a splitting image of her sister. After Ran saved her from Vermouth, she quickly warms up to Ran as well.

She's also the key to developing the antidote for Shinichi to be back with Ran - an almost painful metaphor for her to give him away (he never belonged to her in the first place). Yet, she doesn't really stop them from being together (even though in some cases she appears jealous or phrase ShinRan's reunion as a word of caution).

I definitely think she is the most compelling character in Detective Conan because of her character development and the struggles she faces. It's definitely upsetting that her character has been neglected.

“Don’t judge people from the outside. Like any rose has thorns, the more the person appears nice on the outside, the more you should doubt the inside.”

6. Misato Katsuragi from Neon Genesis Evangelion

Who is the best female character in Eva? Asuka or Rei? My answer will always be Misato, Risato is a close second (I wanted to analyse Risato, but I’m trying to keep it to one person per series). Misato is one of the 90s anime babes. She definitely captivated many people’s heart. 

I must say though, I have a soft spot towards female characters who has some sort of daddy issues (why I like Neon Nostrade). It’s been a while since I had watched Eva, but I’m going to try to remember why I like her. 

I think the concept of Hedgehog’s Dilemma has been echoed throughout the series, and all the characters seem to struggle with emotional attachment towards people. I actually like to phrase the Hedgehog Dilemma as “Avoidant-Fearful Attachment Style” - wanting connection with people, yet not being able to do so out of fear of being hurt. 

For Misato, when I initially first watched Eva, I compared her a little to Blanche Dubois in how they cope with loneliness - their sexuality. I remember being confused with her interactions with Shinji, who was half her age. At times, she serves as his guardian/mother figure; but at some moments (I think it was sometimes after Kaji’s death), she tried to seek comfort with Shinji by attempting to initiate sex (which Shinji rejects). I remember coming across a comment somewhere that Shinji and Misato’s relationship is somewhat like Humbert and Dolores (from Lolita) - can’t comment on this as I only read the first chapter of the book. 

It makes me think that she uses sex as a way to cope and the only way she can connect with people (and it’s superficial), which doesn’t work for Shinji because she needs to be her guardian (and ultimately fails to be purely his guardian once she crossed that no-no boundary). 

Another thing to note was her backstory about her dad. There seems to be a dissonance, given that she resented her dad for not spending time with her due to his work, but he ended up sacrificing her life for her. I do think it’s a bit of guilt (because resenting her dad but he saves her - these two contradicts one another). It’s clear that her issues to connect stems from her backstory regarding her father. 

It’s interesting how she compares Kaji to her father. I do think she loves Kaji, but “reminds him too much of her father” (as to put it simply). There is this... stereotype that we find someone similar to our opposite-gender parents, no matter how shitty they were towards us. I believe that it is because we tend to stick to something that is familiar to us, even if those type of people aren’t good for us (I think to break this cycle is to practise self-awareness and know what is good for us). 

Anyway, Misato is a character that I really liked (as all the characters in Eva) because they highlight Hedgehog’s Dilemma that stemmed from their parental issues. Maybe I have not watched a lot of anime, but female characters with issues with their fathers are not as explored deeply as male characters and their parental issues. A lot of times, female characters (especially in shounen) serves as a romantic interest and yes they can have really sad backstory, but not issues towards their father and how it affects their relationship with other people. So far, the only ones I had seen is Mukuro (Yu Yu Hakusho), Misato and Neon Nostrade. 

7. Disney's Cinderella

First of all, she has been a victim of abuse since she was a child. It's not easy for her to escape her predicament. Where can she go? It's not that easy.

Boy. I hate how much people remember Cinderella wrongly and attack her for being "backwards", which is actually factually wrong.

Cinderella always get flack for using the Prince to "escape" her predicament when "she can do it herself".

I say that's bullshit. I actually came across a youtube video: Cinderella Stop Blaming the Victim [please check it out for more in-depth analysis]

Despite all that, she's doesn't internalize it. She knows she doesn't deserve to be treated this way, and she does to a certain degree stand up to them (whenever the cat makes her tasks harder). She knows when to fight back and restrain herself because it might endanger her life.

After years of suffering in this domestic household, she remains kind, compassionate and hopeful. Which is not an easy feat. The problem is, these traits are often seen as feminine and synonymous with being weak. But it is actually, in fact, signs of strength. The mental fortitude she has to remain kind after all she went through is a sign of strength.

The Fairy Godmother only appeared when she was losing hope - take note that she ends up crying because her stepsisters tore her mother’s dress (which is the most disturbing scene in the film). 

Even I had remembered this wrongly - one crucial fact is that... She did not want to go the ball to nab the Prince. That was her stepsisters. Homegirl just wanted to chill. She did not even know she was dancing with the Prince!

When Lady Tremaine locked her up to prevent her from reaching the Prince, it wasn’t the Prince that saved her. She and her animal friends got her out of the room, and proceeded to prove that she was indeed the maiden that had danced with the Prince. Her marrying the Prince was only a fitting end to her because it provides her a home and an escape from an abusive household; however, it was her resilience for holding onto fate and being mentally strong, and her initiatives partially contributed to her happy end. The Prince is more like a passive character. 

I highly think that people tend to brush her traits - e.g. compassion, having fate, being kind is listed as feminine. However, it is far from being weak, which most people would deem it as. But that is definitely not true. 

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish can come true.”

8. Mikasa Ackerman from Attack on Titan

Mikasa is either a hit or miss among AOT fans. Some people like Mikasa because she is physically strong and her loyalty to Eren is admirable. On the other hand, some people think she’s clingy and her being physically strong makes her a Mary Sue. 

Whether or not you like Mikasa, there is a fact that she is not a Mary Sue. The definition of a Mary Sue is a female character lacking in weakness and seems perfect. 

She is physically strong, yes - I believe that Isayama wanted to distribute traits to the trio. Even Hannes has said it in S1. Armin represents intellect, Eren represents grit and Mikasa represents strength. So her being physically strong makes sense, and Isayama also provided an explanation for it (being an Ackerman). 

However, this does not mean she lacks any weakness. Arguably, her loyalty to Eren is both a liability and her strength. This “weakness” has been highlighted by her dilemma between her loyalty towards Eren and her belief that mass genocide is wrong.

[I won’t go into details about the manga parts that have not been animated as of 2021, can’t spoil it too much]. 

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH63

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 63: The Queen’s Inheritance (II) {cw: gore}

"Can't we go in right now?" Qi Leren asked.　

"I'm afraid this isn’t an open half field," Ning Zhou judged by experience.

Qi Leren recalled the situation when he was with the Slaughter Secret Society. Indeed, without Mrs Kathleen as his guide, he wouldn’t have been able to blend with the Slaughter Secret Society to enter the half-field, so it seemed that they would have to ask Celia to do something about this.

Qi Leren came out from behind the column, walked to the lake, and looked at it. Ning Zhou squatted down and scooped up a handful of lake water. The blue fluorescence was not algae or plankton upon closer inspection, but was a kind of jellyfish with a deep blue light. The jellyfish felt the abnormal fluctuations in the water’s surface and slipped away quickly.

Standing in front of the inclined temple, looking at the half engulfed by the lake water and the vast underground lake beyond, Qi Leren suddenly had a strange feeling like being in a trance, as if something was staring at him from the void. He couldn't see it, but he had imagined it in his mind—a huge, omniscient and omnipotent eyeball.

As if by instinct, he took out something from his inventory that he had only recently received.

"Leviathan's Eyeball. It’s what I got from the last copy." Qi Leren handed the thing to Ning Zhou.

"Full of evil and chaotic power," Ning Zhou commented.

"In the last copy, there was a cosmic alien called an amphioctopus, which bred through parasitism and could even destroy human civilization... Is there such a creature in the Nightmare World?" Qi Leren asked.

"Yes," Ning Zhou said. "Many."

It's a terrible world, Qi Leren thought to himself, and listened as Ning Zhou continued to say: "Sometimes there are some incredible connections between this world and the copy worlds. For example, a copy polluted by evil power. In addition, there are some powerful evil creatures in this world, such as demons and devils, and there will be their projections... or insinuations of them in the copy worlds."

"You mean that the octopus I met was probably the projection of a creature in the Nightmare World?"

"Hmm."

Qi Leren picked up Leviathan's Eyeball again and held it over his head for careful observation. Although it had hardened, it didn't feel terrible to the touch, but staring at it carefully, there was still an unsettling fear. But the strange thing was, while he was staring at it, that kind of fear turned into an enraptured impulse. The more you were afraid, the more you wanted to be close to it...

"Don't look too close!" Ning Zhou's voice pierced Qi Leren’s trance like a sword.

Qi Leren's hands shook. The eyeball suddenly fell into the water, and it rolled along the sloping ground toward the lake at the bottom. Qi Leren stepped into the water to pick up the eyeball, but all of a sudden, the eyeball in the water glowed with a faint blue light. The jellyfish in the lake seemed to feel the call of some mysterious force, and the whole lake was shrouded in blue light and shadow.

Qi Leren picked up the eyeball and stuffed it into his item bar. Ning Zhou took his hand. They were swallowed up by the mysterious blue light, and disappeared into the abandoned building.

　　&&&

A magnificent underwater temple appeared in front of Qi Leren. He didn’t bother to take a look at it and immediately turned to see Ning Zhou. The two men looked at each other with four eyes, and he was relieved.

"What is this place?" Qi Leren lowered his voice and asked.

Before them, there was a temple that seemed to have sunk to the bottom of the lake, which is obviously in the style of the Holy See. However, the original white columns and sculptures had fallen over time, and their decadence had become ruins in the earthly world. Because of the bone lamps on the steps and the singing from inside the depths of the temple, there was a gloomy and evil atmosphere.

"The cult worshippers’ half-field," Ning Zhou said seriously, striding toward the remnants of the Holy See inside this lake. 

Qi Leren quickly followed up and looked around as he walked. Although it looked like the bottom of a lake, there was no water. There seemed to be an invisible barrier above them. The world outside the barrier was filled with a deep and remote blue light, which might have been the jellyfish in the lake.

There is no cult guard outside the temple. They were confident that no one would enter here, but it happened that Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had accidentally set foot in this boundary.

The sound of chanting from the temple was becoming more and more obscure, and the rhythm was getting faster and faster. A strange fanatical atmosphere infected the believers inside. They start shouting a word that they didn't understand, repeating, repeating, repeating...

It was also this word that allowed Ning Zhou to identify the identity of this group of people—the fanatical worshippers of Utopia.

"Let’s go in and have a look?" Qi Leren mouthed. Although it sounds like the fanatics inside were still amid their ceremony, they hadn’t started to slaughter the sacrifices. If they started the massacre, many more people would die, and Qi Leren still wanted to save  as many innocent people as he could.

Ning Zhou nodded, and they went in from behind the temple.

After entering the temple, the scene inside was very amazing. The dark crowd knelt down in front of a strange altar, bowing down and singing loudly, and a black mist hung over the altar.

The ragged sacrifices stood up and walked towards the altar. When they stepped into the black mist, the tentacles covered with lesions stretched out from inside it, and the quiet sacrifices were subsumed into the black. The sounds of tearing flesh were drowned out by the fanatical chanting, and the shrieks of the sacrifices were swallowed up by the thick fog, leaving only a deep pool of blood, like the dirty blood of this festering land...

The rest of the sacrifices turned a blind eye to this cruel scene. They were like a flock of blind lambs, being led to the precarious cliff under the guidance of the shepherds.

Amidst this scene, Qi Leren was cold and trembling. What was the strange creature in the mist? What Qi Leren thought of at first was the second part of the main task [Sacrifice of the Devil King]. Did these cult believers worship the Devil of Slaughter? Were they offering cult sacrifices for the Devil of Slaughter’s resurrection?

Qi Leren held the necklace given to him by the Prophet. This metal feather with a steampunk appearance brought him great psychological comfort. When he thought carefully, it sounded quite just to have an angel come to a site of cult sacrifice.

Qi Leren poked Ning Zhou with his elbow. Ning Zhou put his finger to his lips and pointed to a sacrifice who was heading for the altar.

The sacrifice had his head down, moving forward step by step, but his stature was very high and his steps were steady. As he walked through them, the worshippers were constantly bowing down, just like he was passing through ants fighting for their turf, and he was turning a blind eye to their survival.

This man, something was wrong with him.

Even Qi Leren noticed this. As the distance between him and the altar became closer and closer, the man no longer concealed his incompatibility. The worshippers who guarded the ceremony around the altar stood up and shouted at him.

The failed sacrifice smiled, and a shining silver tangdao appeared in his hand. With the single sword, he easily separated the two guards’ heads from their bodies! The broken and bleeding corpses were swept away by the monster in the black mist on the altar and were devoured greedily.

This sudden incident plunged the whole ceremony into chaos. The worshippers in the front row rushed up waving their weapons, while the worshippers in the back row didn’t know what had happened. They dodged around in panic and crashed into the group of sacrifices. The originally unconscious sacrifices suddenly woke up from their confused state, screaming and fleeing everywhere, and the whole scene became a chaotic whirlpool.

"Go!" Ning Zhou took out the Sword of Judgment and went up to protect the fleeing sacrifices.

Qi Leren hesitated, and didn’t activate "Prophet’s Heart".

The chaotic situation didn't affect the mysterious sacrifice’s rampage. He held the tangdao and didn't entangle himself with the worshippers, because his attention was always focused on the unknown creatures in the black mist. He rushed to the altar amid the screams of the worshippers!

The monster hiding in the black mist on the altar sensed the breath of the living, and stretched out its ferocious tentacles from the black abyss. Tentacles full of lesions snaked on the ground, while the sacrifice ran wildly to avoid being entangled by them, easily cutting off the disgusting tentacles with his sword.

The attack angered the monster in the black mist. In the chaos, the strange, huge, and evil creature let out a roar as if it had come from the abyss. This horrible sound is neither like a human’s or an animal’s voice. It was more like a roar that brings together the evil forces in the world, leading to the dark desires in the human heart!

The worshippers' eyes began to redden, and they tore at their hair and screamed like wolves. The fragile worshippers’ eyeballs popped, and their empty eye sockets sprayed continuously with blood. They cried and frantically attacked all living things around them, whether they were worshippers like themselves or innocent sacrifices. And their fallen bodies fell to the monster in the black mist, that gluttonously swallowed them up one by one.

The entire altar in the lake was like a bloody hell on earth. There, an indescribable force had gathered, as if it was the source of all forces in the world, and it could dominate everything!

In the void, an eye suddenly opened.

It was a scarlet eye, which looked down at what was happening in the altar with malice.

"Don't look up!" Ning Zhou’s voice sounded in the distance.

But it was too late. In the group of fanatic worshippers, Qi Leren looked up and saw the scarlet eye. Suddenly, his mind went blank. He seemed to hear a woman's light laughter. She said in a gentle and compassionate voice:

"Come on, let the glory of Utopia shelter your poor soul. You no longer have to suffer in this world. In my country, you will enjoy eternal life with me."

-----

Editor’s Notes: Has anyone guessed who the man with the tangdao is yet? He’s a fun little easter egg ;)

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9, pt 10, pt 11, pt 12, pt 13

- Chapter 14 -

“I would like your advice on something,” Meng Yao said to his mother.

Meng Shi was wearing silk again, rich colors that suited her – she had fully recovered from the serious illness she’d had a few years back, something for which he would be forever thankful to Qinghe’s doctors because he knew she wouldn’t have made it if they were on their own –  and a fur-lined jacket that made her look especially comfortable. She finished pouring the tea and smiled at him.

“You do?” she teased. “Still, after all these years?”

“I’m never too old for your advice,” he said and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down.

The weiqi board in the corner was midway through a game, he noticed, and was glad: Sisi was terrible at weiqi, and the only other person who routinely played against Meng Shi was Nie Huaisang. Things between them had grown better as he’d grown older – he loved to paint, to play, to keep birds and raise flowers, and those were the things Meng Shi liked the most.

It was good to see them spending time together. Meng Yao hoped that Meng Shi could show Nie Huaisang how to forgive, and to remember how to be as carefree as he had once been.

After all, Nie Huaisang had taken up what had once been Meng Yao’s duties, during the war, all the intelligence work and strategy, the battlefield clean up and the politics, and it had left its marks. Indeed, if Meng Yao had been anyone other than Nie Huaisang’s dearly beloved brother, he would probably be the subject of a decade-long plan of utter obliteration right now, good motivations or not – in fact, he was pretty sure that Nie Huaisang had one already plotted out, and was still considering it an option if Meng Yao didn’t make regular deposits on the infinity of fans he apparently owed him.

(The brat wouldn’t take duplicates, either. Meng Yao had put in an order for someone to send him an entire ship’s worth from Dongying in the hopes that that would earn him a little credit. The relevant someone being Wei Wuxian, who was off exploring the world with Lan Wangji - possibly for no other reason than to get away from the rest of them all teasing them about the long and overly dramatic way in which they’d confessed their affections for each other.) 

Still, Nie Huaisang had forgiven Meng Yao, even if he hadn’t forgotten, and they were most of the way back to being as they had been before – which admittedly was closer than he’d ever been with Meng Shi, who Nie Huaisang seemed to treat as a casual acquaintance instead of a mother. He treated her about the same as Sisi, actually, and usually acted as if he thought Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue were his birth parents instead of his brothers.

And possibly Lan Xichen as some sort of rich uncle he could (and routinely did) extort for gifts.

(He still called him ‘pretty gege’, though he’d recently started up several debates – mostly monologues –  as to whether Lan Xichen ought to now be called ‘er-ge’ and Meng Yao ‘san-ge’ according to their ages, being that he was now part of the family, or if they should just all go ahead and get properly married already so that he could call him ‘sao-zi’ instead. They’d all collectively decided to ignore him.)

“Is it about those sworn brothers of yours?” she asked, lips curving up into a smile that was entirely unlike the practiced ones she had once used most of the time, a real one that was a little bit crooked, and that made it all the more beautiful in his eyes.

Meng Yao batted his eyelashes at her. “I will of course let myself be guided by Mother.”

She laughed. “I think it’s a good cover,” she said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, now, and she didn’t try to hide it with make-up or anything else. Meng Yao treasured every blemish and imperfection. “You three can spend all your time in each other’s pockets, putting each other above everything else, and no one will question it – or, well, question it too much.”

“Let them talk,” Meng Yao said. There would never come a day when people didn’t whisper about him behind their sleeves, calling him the son of a whore, and nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried, would stop it. He could only adjust his own thinking and ignore them, at peace in his heart with the knowledge that they were wrong about him. With the knowledge that he was better than they were or indeed would ever be.

Perhaps there was something to Lao Nie’s old exhortation after all.

“But do they have something to talk about?” his mother asked, arching her eyebrows at him. “You retire to the same room to sleep, but I’ve never seen any of you walking strangely the morning after – what are you waiting for? Actual marriage vows?”

“The sworn brother oath served that purpose,” Meng Yao said dismissively, just as he’d explained time and time again to Nie Huaisang. It was just as permanent, after all; they would be bound together in this life and the next, each name forever placed alongside the others in the annals of history. “And we’re just moving slowly.”

He’d explained, in the end, what Wen Ruohan had wanted, what Nie Mingjue was, what that meant; he didn’t want to keep it hidden and risk anyone later thinking that he was taking advantage.

He didn’t want to keep even one more secret from his lovers in this lifetime.

Nothing. Not even surprise parties.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared one bit about finding out that he was a furnace, because of course he didn’t; he was still an idiot after all these years. Lan Xichen, at least, had been rightfully alarmed – neither he nor Meng Yao wanted to risk harming Nie Mingjue by accident, no matter how much he argued that his cultivation was high enough that he wouldn’t even notice a setback, and anyway that he trusted them not to try to steal away from him.

Nie Mingjue had finally convinced them to try, the night after they’d taken the oath. Emotions had been running high, and they’d all fallen into bed together, their blood running hot.

It had been – an experience, to say the least.

Sex was pleasant, something Meng Yao knew intellectually from his days in the brothel and personally from the few experiences, male and female, he’d forced himself to have in order to ensure he didn’t have any demons in his heart on the subject. He’d been glad to confirm that although he liked it well enough, it wasn’t so good that he would become addicted to the feeling, descending into dissipation and cruelty the way his father had.

What they’d shared together on that night, however…that wasn’t just sex.

That was something he could become addicted to.

Meng Yao had insisted on a strict moratorium on any further activities until they could process what had just occurred, and it had been telling that neither Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had argued.

It had been mindblowing, a combination of overwhelming physical pleasure and emotional satiation, and then there was the spiritual ecstasy of cultivation – Meng Yao’s own cultivation, never especially strong, increased at an almost frightening pace for the next week, and Lan Xichen had confirmed a similar effect had occurred for him. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation seemed just as high as ever, unharmed, but obviously they had to do more research before they did anything else lest they accidentally cause harm to him somehow.

That meant they were back down to the basics, limiting themselves to rubbing up against each other at night and offering each other helping hands, given that Meng Yao and Lan Xichen weren’t willing to do anything together if it meant excluding Nie Mingjue – though recently they’d figured out that Nie Mingjue could narrate pornography without batting an eyelash with that frankly magnificent voice of his, and also that he liked telling people what to do (they knew that already, but still)…

They were going slowly. That’s how Meng Yao thought of it, and it was fine – he had no doubt that they’d figure out how to move to the next step sooner or later.

Sooner rather than later, given how quickly Lan Xichen was pouring through their respective sect libraries; apparently sexual frustration was a very effective motivator for him.

“If you’re sure you’re happy,” his mother said, and he smiled. “You seem to be. I’m glad.”

He nodded.

“So if it’s not about that, what do you want advice on? You haven’t needed to consult me on political matters in years. A-Sang would be better at that.”

“It’s not entirely political,” Meng Yao said, “though it’s not entirely apolitical, either, and don’t worry, I’ll consult Huaisang as well. Nevertheless, I wanted your views on the subject. You see, a rather complicated situation has arisen…I’ve been made an unusual offer.”

“An offer? A-Yao…”

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling. “Be careful of offers from strange men, especially bad men, and this is exactly that. But I still thought it was something worth considering. After getting the benefit of your insight, of course.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Now I’m curious. What’s the offer?”

He gave her the letter that he had received and drank his tea while she read it, her eyes going wide and then even wider.

“So,” he said, when he judged that she was done. “What do you think? Do I look like a ‘Jin Guangyao’? Or should I tell my father to go commit anatomically improbable acts on himself?”

“A-Yao…”

“I’m serious,” Meng Yao insisted. “This was always your dream, well before it was mine: whatever you decide, I’ll do. If you’d like for me to claim what should have been mine from the start, I’ll do it, though obviously if he thinks a mere name is enough to convince me to leave Qinghe in favor of Lanling he’s got a nasty surprise coming his way. But if you want me to tell him to his face that I’d rather be your son than his, I’ll do that too.”

He leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

“After all, I already have everything I want.”

- END -

[hannibard]

Waiting for You

My @thewitchersecretsanta gift for @ofxwordsxandxletters. I tried my best to incorporate the things you said you liked and I sincerely hope you enjoy. Happy Holidays!!!

Crossposted to AO3

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

It was early afternoon when Geralt made it back to the village covered in monster guts. It wasn’t a particularly difficult hunt, but it did take him quite a bit of time to actually find the cockatrice before killing it, so he returned later than he had originally planned.

The villagers quickly stopped chatting with each other when they saw him and made sure to avoid him as he and Roach passed through a dense road on their way to the alderman’s house. He had been on the path for many years and by now he was used to their hateful gazes along with the rotten stench of fear they always seemed to eminate.

He dropped the pouch containing the cockatrice’s head on the alderman’s threshold and accepted his meagre payment from the man, without having to exchange a single word with him, before going straight for the inn he and Jaskier were staying at.

He left Roach at the stable next to the building and made his way inside, expecting to find the bard singing to a bunch of drunkards, having started his set already, but when he entered the common room, he found it empty and with only a hint of Jaskier’s smell, meaning it had been at least a couple of hours since he’d last been there.

The witcher ignored the small pang of worry in his chest and hurried upstairs to their shared room. He threw the door open with a little too much force and looked around. The bard wasn’t inside as he had hoped, despite all his stuff was still being in the same place he had carelessly thrown them when they first arrived the day before. Even his lute, aka his most prized possession and love of his life, was here and he rarely ever went somewhere without it.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths, suddenly feeling stupid for caring this much. Jaskier was a grown man after all. He could do whatever he wanted and Geralt had no right to keep him by his side, despite how much he secretly wanted to, but it wasn’t the right time for such thoughts.

Anyhow, Jaskier was probably off with some barmaid or stablehand that had caught his fancy and had decided to skip his usual performance seeing as they had more than enough coin saved up as of late.

Assuming his friend would be back after he’d had his fun, Geralt started on his typical post-hunt routine: placing his swords and pack on a corner, taking off his armor (though this time without the help of a certain someone’s skilled fingers), calling for a bath and a meal to be brought up and after he was both clean and fed, kneeling on the bed and meditating.

By the time he was done with everything, the sun had long set and with his enhanced senses Geralt could hear the rest of the inn’s guests getting ready for bed, but his bard had yet to return.

Feeling as though enough time had passed for his feelings of worry to be reasonable, the witcher went downstairs to the bar. He placed his empty plate and tankard on the counter and as a man got reluctantly closer to take them away, he asked:

“Have you seen the bard that was with me when I arrived anywhere?”

The man was startled to be addressed but he looked back at Geralt.

“I think he went to play gwent at ‘The Rusty Rapier’ with some guys around midday.”

Jaskier’s skills in gwent were notorious to involve quite a bit of cheating, and since it had been so many hours since he went off, Geralt had a bad feeling about this.

“How do I find this tavern?”

He was given directions by the other man and after going back up to the room to take his swords, he went straight to that place hoping nothing bad had happened to his bard, though he doubted that was the case since neither of them was ever that lucky.

.......

Locked inside an abandoned shed, Jaskier was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees and trying to calm himself down while rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

When he was first thrown in here by the men he had tried to scam, after they’d given him a small beating and taken all the coin he had on him (thank Melitele he had left his pouch at the inn) it was still day outside and he could see clearly around him because of some holes on the shed’s wooden ceiling. And Jaskier was mostly fine at that point, just cheerfully singing to pass the time and waiting for his dearest friend Geralt to come rescue him.

Sure, the few wounds and bruises he had (admittedly deservingly) acquired from his gwent-playing buddies stung a bit but it was nothing compared to what some cuckolded husbands had done to him in the past. Plus, ultimately both in this case and all the previous ones where he’d been roughened up by someone he had brought it upon himself, so he couldn’t really complain.

And yeah, singing was always more fun when he had his lute with him but that wasn’t enough to faze him, he could easily make do even without any instrumental accompaniment. He was a professional musician after all.

But as the hours went by, one after the other, the light from outside started dimming, the temperature dropping and his optimism dying, Jaskier grew more and more anxious. He has always hated the dark ever since his childhood and the whole situation was making him recall old memories that he had tried his best to forget.

By this point he had run out of his own songs to sing and had moved on to the ones he had been taught at Oxenfurt, his voice much weaker than before.

He went to rub a hand over his face and noticed that it was slightly trembling, together with the rest of his body and even though it was very cold, he suspected it was only half the reason. He clenched his eyes shut and rested his forehead against his knees, hugging them closer to his torso. He really fucking hated the dark.

Deep breaths Julian, he though as he dug his nails to his upper arms in order to distract himself and sighed. You have no reason to fear. Geralt will probably be here soon and then both of us can leave this godforsaken place behind in the morning.

Except… what if Geralt didn’t come? What if he used this chance to finally get rid of him? After all it was a well-known fact that the older man only barely tolerated his presence.

Sure, Jaskier’s songs had helped lesser the prejudice that existed against Witchers and made it easier for him to find work, but that didn’t mean he needed Jaskier in his life, he’d made that perfectly clear from the start of their acquaintance. Hell, he still refused to even call Jaskier his friend for fucks sake. The bard had thought they’d grown closer over time but maybe that was only wishful thinking.

Jaskier was only a burden and a nuisance to Geralt, and he couldn’t deny that no matter how much it hurt to admit. Still, the bard loved and cared for him anyways. He always had since that fateful day in Posada.

He might have attached himself to the witcher’s side for mostly selfish reasons at first, but he quickly realized how kind and caring he was behind his tough exterior and how low his self-esteem had become from decades of dealing with humans’ contempt and so he had vowed to do everything in his power to create a better world for him.

And although he knew this love wasn’t mutual and that he should have been content by being able to stay with him, even if only as a travel companion, a small traitorous part of him would always crave for more...

Nevertheless, if the witcher was aware of Jaskier’s feelings towards him he probably would have ditched him in some backwater town a long time ago, and so the bard was careful to lock them up inside his chest and never let them show.

But what if he had been careless? What if he let his touch linger while washing Geralt’s hair a little too long? What if he had written a few too many love songs recently with references to ‘luscious silver hair’ and ‘perfectly sculpted biceps’?

Perhaps the reason Geralt hadn’t come yet was because he had left the village without him as his way of letting Jaskier down gently.

Or even worse, what if he’d gotten hurt? Cockatrices (as the witcher suspected the monster he was sent to kill this time was) were fairly easy for Geralt to handle if they were by themselves but accidents could always happen.

What if he was bleeding to death from a fatal wound right this moment when Jaskier had no way to find and help him? If he wasn’t such an idiot and gotten himself in this situation, he might have been able to save him.

All those what ifs were making Jaskier more and more distraught and he could feel tears fill his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing quietly, no longer able to continue his singing when suddenly the door was kicked open. The musician looked up abruptly, but he couldn’t make out who was in front of him because of the darkness.

“Jaskier?!” yelled a very familiar gruff voice.

The bard’s eyes widened, and he wiped his tears with the back of his hand. “G-Geralt? Is that you?”

The witcher dropped to his knees beside him. “Yes, it’s me.” He said and started running his hands all over Jaskier’s body, checking for injuries. “You don’t seem badly hurt. Can you stand?”

The bard nodded and got up with his friend’s assistance. It was a bit hard since he felt as if his legs had turned to putty after staying in one position for so long but after leaning on the wall for a moment, he was able to take a few trembling steps. Geralt helped him get outside and onto Roach’s back before climbing to sit behind him. “How do you always manage to get in trouble?” The witcher asked as Roach started galloping towards the village.

Jaskier gave a weak laugh in response. “Must be a talent. How did the hunt go? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Geralt sighed and shook his head. “How you had time to worry about others when you were in that situation evades me.”

“Don’t avoid the question!”

“…The hunt went well and I didn’t get hurt.”

“Promise?” the bard asked, knowing the older man had a habit of hiding his injuries from him.

“Promise.”

Jaskier smiled softly and leaned on his chest, all of a sudden feeling very tired. “Good. How’d you find me?”

“I paid a visit to ‘The Rusty Rapier’ and asked about you. After a bit of threatening, the men you cheated at gwent told me where you were.”

“Heh…Took you long enough.” Jaskier grumbled.

“I thought you were just fucking someone’s wife or something, didn’t expect you to be locked in a shed.” Geralt answered but he sounded somewhat apologetic.

Jaskier chuckled. “I was kidding big buy. Thanks for coming.”

Geralt just hummed in response and the bard could feel the vibrations of it on his back as he dozed off.

.......

When he woke up, he found himself back at the inn’s room. He was laying on the bed in his nightclothes and as he sat up, he noticed that his wounds had been bandaged. The sight brought a small smile to his face. He was about to get up when the door opened and Geralt walked in, carrying a bowl of what seemed to be stew and a tankard of ale. He looked surprised to see Jaskier awake. “You’re up.”

“So it seems.”

The witcher placed the food on the table. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier thought about it. “A bit sore.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “That’s to be expected. Come.”

Jaskier obeyed and got up, making his way to the table. He sat down and started eating eagerly, only now noticing how hungry he was. When he was done, he pushed the empty bowl away and looked up at the older man. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, thank the innkeeper that had to get up and prepare this in the middle of the night.”

“No, not just that. For everything.” He said nodding towards his bandaged arm. “And… I’m sorry for always causing you trouble.”

The witcher looked a bit taken aback by that but he quickly schooled his expression. “It’s fine.”

Jaskier gave him a lopsided smile and looked down on his hands that were resting on his lap.       Geralt waited a bit to see if the bard would say anything and when it was apparent that that wasn’t going to happen, he took hold of the bowl and tankard and went downstairs to leave them somewhere for the innkeeper to find in the morning. He also dropped by the stables to check on Roach.

When he returned, the bard barely noticed his presence. He was still sitting in the same position, not having moved at all, looking dazed and forlorn. Geralt’s brows furrowed in worry and he sat down on the bed.

“Jaskier.”

The musician didn’t turn to look at him, still distracted by his own thoughts. “Hm?”

“What’s wrong?”

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and looked up at him. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Geralt sighed and rubbed his face. “You’ve been a bit… out of it. Since I found you.” The witcher had never been good with words, that was Jaskier’s job. But he desperately wanted to help his friend, so he pushed on. “I’ve just never seen you so uh. Quiet. You’ve always been unfazed by any situation, cracking jokes even when that griffin dislocated your shoulder.”

The bard glared at him “Well I though you fucking preferred the quiet.” he snapped and then immediately regretted it, his gaze softening. “Sorry… it’s just-” He cut off himself and sighed. He got up and came to sit next to the witcher. “You might laugh at me when you hear this but… I’m afraid of the dark.”

That definitely wasn’t what Geralt expected. “What? How’s that even possible? We’ve made camp in the woods countless times and you always seemed perfectly fine.”

Jaskier let out a nervous laugh. “That’s because you were there with me. I don’t have an issue when I’m with others but when I’m alone I just kind of lose it. Oh, and there’s also a bit of claustrophobia sprinkled in there.”

“Hm. I never would have guessed.”

The younger man snorted. “Well it’s not like I advertise it.” He scratched his cheek and bit his lower lip. “So that’s why being in that shed affected me this much. Anyhow, I’ll be over it by morning probably.” He bumped the witcher with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my silly little phobias won’t delay our schedule.”

Geralt immediately felt guilty for making his friend think he would care more about being back on the Path than his mental wellbeing. He frowned and took one of the bard’s hands in his own, giving it a little squeeze. “Jask, if you need more time I wouldn’t mind staying here for a few days longer. I-I just want you to be ok.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he looked as if he was about to cry. “Oh Geralt… This means a lot to me. Thank you.”

The witcher smiled at him and gave him a look that seemed full of affection, though Jaskier didn’t dare hope. “Anytime.” He coughed to clear his throat. “So… Do you want to talk about it? Your fear of the dark?”

“Well… There’s not much to say really… It started when I was very young, and my parents decided that to keep me from becoming even more of a disappointment they’d have to find new, stricter ways to punish me for my wrongdoings.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “And one of them was locking me inside a dark storage room for days, without giving me any food until they’d deemed that I had learned my lesson.”

Jaskier was retelling all that casually, as if he was talking about the weather but Geralt was horrified by his words. He always had a hunch that the bard likely didn’t have the best childhood- being a disowned noble and all- but he never guessed that it was actually that bad.

Because how could someone that didn’t receive any love as a child be so full of it as an adult? How could someone that grew up in such a joyless environment be able to spread happiness and laughter wherever he went? How could he wear his heart on his sleeve, letting anyone he met just take it from him and trample it down if he knew better?

“Jaskier that’s fucking horrible, how could you call the fear all that trauma has instilled in you just ‘silly little phobias’?!” His voice raised with each word he spoke, and he was yelling by the end of the sentence.

The bard flinched away from him and avoided his gaze. “Because it’s all in the past Geralt. It’s stupid, to be this affected by it still.”

The witcher was at a loss for words. Jaskier was a pretty talkative guy, always chatting about one thing or the other, but he rarely ever mentioned his family and now the older man could see why, even if he couldn’t completely relate.

Part of him would always resent his mother, Visenna, for abandoning him and thus leading him to the life of a witcher but even still, he had retained many nice memories from their short time together. Instances where she hugged and comforted him or sung him a lullaby to sleep, he treasured all of them dearly.

Because at the end of the day, even though it might not have been as strong in comparison to other mothers, Geralt knew in his heart that Visenna loved him.

And knowing that Jaskier probably couldn’t even be sure about that (because how could a parent that starved their child willingly for days and locked them up have any capacity for love and affection? With that being only one of the punishments) was paining him more than the bard could ever imagine. He wanted nothing more than to envelop him in his arms and protect him from the cruel world they were forced to live in.

He was perfectly aware of what all this meant of course. He might have been bad at dealing with emotions but after the first few years of travelling together, even he couldn’t continue to deny the feelings held towards Jaskier.

It was almost inevitable really. After spending so much time with someone like the bard, with his gorgeous smile and cornflower blue eyes, his easy-going attitude, his beautiful singing voice, someone that had not once been afraid because of him and that had stood up for him when others treated him unfairly, he was bound to fall in love.

“It’s not stupid Jask.” He said after a long exhale. “You’re so strong to have gone through something like that. Most people would have broken under such circumstances.”

Jaskier didn’t look convinced and he smiled wryly while shaking his head. “It’s music that saved me y’know. Whenever I was locked up, I would start singing the melody to whatever few songs I knew, and during those times I could almost forget the hunger and the cold and all the expectations I had failed to meet.” He sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “That’s why I decided to become a bard later on. So that I’d be able to create music too, and maybe help other people when they’re feeling down and give them hope through it.”

When the bard finished speaking, Geralt brought his free hand up and wiped a stray tear that had slid down his cheek. “You’ve done a wonderful job so far. I know I don’t say it much, but I really like all your songs. Yes, even the ones about me.”

Jaskier snickered inelegantly, surprised by his words. “You might regret admitting that darling cause I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Geralt chuckled. “Hm. True that.” He said and gave the musician a small sad smile. Jaskier rolled his eyes elbowed him in the stomach.

“Oh come on, don’t make that face now! Honestly, if I knew you’d be this affected I wouldn’t have told you.” He said teasingly, trying to make this conversation a bit more lighthearted but the witcher wasn’t having it. He grimaced and maneuvered his body to better face the bard.

“Of course I’m affected Jaskier, how could I possibly not be?! To me you are...” He stopped himself before he could finish that sentence. Nothing good would come if he revealed his feelings to Jaskier. Such a bright person that had their whole life ahead of them would never be interested in a witcher. The bard had helped him see himself in a better light in recent years but that didn’t change the fact that he was a monster, a mutant killing machine that was undeserving of the kind and sweet musician.

Jaskier, unaware of Geralt’s internal monologue, tilted his head the side, looking simultaneously curious and adorable. “…To you I’m what?”

Geralt avoided his gaze. Even in the best-case scenario, the witcher could only hope that the bard would take into consideration their friendship and long history together and not show his disgust too much. Maybe even begin a relationship with him out of pity, but it wouldn’t last long.

Geralt had seen the way Jaskier’s previous flings had gone. He always fell head over heels for some random person that he met during their travels and spent a few weeks, or months at most lavishing them with attention but after that time period passed, he’d fall out of love just as quickly and leave his ex-paramour behind as he rejoined the witcher’s side.

It always secretly pleased Geralt, making him feel superior. Because even if he could never really have Jaskier, not like those other people did, at least he had the knowledge that the younger man would always come back to him. It helped lessen the sting of his jealousy.

And if he ever were to be the recipient of Jaskier’s attentions, no matter how nice it could be at first, he wouldn’t be able to bear it when he became the next person Jaskier left behind, especially after getting a taste of everything he ever wanted. That would only serve to haunt him in his dreams.

But the bard deserved to know. He had just laid down his heart and let Geralt see him at his most vulnerable state. That meant he trusted him enough to do that and the witcher wanted to show him how much he appreciated it by in turn showering him with all the love and affection he held for him. So he took one large breath to brace himself and let the truth out.

“To me you’re everything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened but he didn’t pull away. “Huh?”

Geralt started tracing circular patterns with his thumb on the other man’s hand. “It’s exactly as I said. When I first met you, I thought you were just a stupid kid looking for adventure and easy coin, and that once you had a taste you’d go back where you came from. But you never did. You stuck next to me through thick and thin, no matter how much I tried to push you away or treated you like shit. You were like an angel, entering my life out of the blue and improving it in every aspect.”

“I hadn’t even realized how lonely I was until you came along. Back then I only focused on my job as a witcher, not really caring if I’d make it out alive whenever I fought a monster. But nowadays I’m extra careful and I try harder just so that I can see you again. You’ve made life worth living again Jask and I… I love you.”

Jaskier just stared at him with his mouth hanging open.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was it possible that he was still locked in that shed and had begun to hallucinate from the lack of food? Because this whole situation definitely seemed too good to be true.

He pinched himself hard on the arm for good measure.

“Ouch!” Yeah no, it was real. “Are-are you serious?”

Geralt pursed his lips and nodded, looking almost comically grim. He could hear the other’s heartbeat start to pick up.

“And I understand if you feel uncomfortable and want me to be gone by morning, I’m not expecting anything so-hmph!” He was interrupted as Jaskier’s lips crashed onto his. The witcher froze, not able to comprehend what was happening right away but when he did, he wrapped both arms around the other man’s waist and kissed him back with vigor.

When they eventually had to break apart, they were both breathing heavily and Jaskier rested his forehead on Geralt’s, chest heaving, and felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine. “Gods, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The older man brought his hand up and started petting his hair gently, feeling giddy and a little nervous. “Me too.”

This had gone much better than expected and no matter how things turned out in the future, he would never regret this moment.

Jaskier pulled away to look him with the brightest smile on his lips, his eyes crinkling in the corners with the force of it. “I love you too dear heart, I have since the day we met.”

Geralt blinked in shock. “You have? But you never said anything and you’ve been in a thousand relationships since then.”

“That’s because I never expected you to feel the same way! No one else could ever compare to you witcher and now that I have you, I’ll never look at other people ever again.”

Jaskier laced their hands back together and brought them up to his mouth, giving a kiss on the back of the witcher’s palm, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. “I promise.”

With all his worries gone, Geralt grinned at his bard and pulled him to his chest for a tight embrace.

They sat there like that for a long time, just basking in each other’s presence and their close proximity.

“…We’re both pretty stupid aren’t we?”

“Pffft, we sure are.” Jaskier said as he nuzzled his lover’s chest when a thought entered his mind. “By the way, how long has it been since you last slept?”

“Two days give or take.”

The bard looked up at him horrified. “What the hell Geralt! We have to fix that immediately.” He said and blew out the few candles that were still lighting the room, before pushing the witcher to lie down on the bed and joining him. They curled around each other on their sides, torsos facing, and Jaskier buried his face on Geralt’s neck as the older man pulled the blankets over them. When they were settled, he wrapped his arms around the bard and tangled their feet together.

The younger man was about to fall asleep when he heard the witcher’s deep voice calling his name.

“Jaskier?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you since before this whole thing happened.”

“M’listening.”

“…Do you want to come to Kaer Morhen with me for the winter?”

Geralt held his breath as he waited for a response. It came in the form of Jaskier pulling back slightly, only to give him a long, gentle kiss.

“Of course I’ll come darling.”

The witcher was relieved and felt excited for the months to come. He smiled softly even though he knew the other man couldn’t see it. “Then we’ll have to buy you one of those thick woolen coats you hate sometime soon.”

Jaskier groaned. “Fuck. I guess it’s worth it.” He gave him one last kiss before closing his eyes once more. “Goodnight love.”

“…Goodnight.” Geralt replied and then dozed off to the best sleep he’d had in decades.

[spilledreality]

Sporting vs Herding

i.

I wanna talk about two blogposts, Seph's "War Over Being Nice” and Alastair's "Of Triggering & the Triggered." Each lays out the same erisological idea: that there are two distinct modes or cultures of running discourse these days, and understanding the difference is crucial to understanding the content of conversation as much as its form. Let's go.

One style, Alastair writes, is indebted to the Greco-Roman rhetorical and 19th C British sporting traditions. A debate takes place in a "heterotopic" arena which is governed by an ethos of adversarial collaboration and sportsmanship. It is waged in a detached and impersonal manner, e.g. in American debate club, which inherits from these older traditions, you are assigned a side to argue; your position is not some "authentic" expression of self. Alastair:

This form of discourse typically involves a degree of ‘heterotopy’, occurring in a ‘space’ distinct from that of personal interactions.

This heterotopic space is characterized by a sort of playfulness, ritual combativeness, and histrionics. This ‘space’ is akin to that of the playing field, upon which opposing teams give their rivals no quarter, but which is held distinct to some degree from relations between the parties that exist off the field. The handshake between competitors as they leave the field is a typical sign of this demarcation.

All in all, it is a mark against one in these debates to take an argument personally, to allow arguments that happen "in the arena" to leave the arena. This mode of discourse I see exemplified in LessWrong culture, and is, I think, one of the primary attractors to the site.In the second mode of discourse, inoffensiveness, agreement, and inclusivity are emphasized, and positions are seen as closely associated with their proponents.  Alastair speculates it originates in an educational setting which values cooperation, empathy, equality, non-competitiveness, affirmation, and subordination; this may be true, but I feel less confident in it than I am the larger claim about discursive modes. Provocatively, the two modes are dubbed "sporting" and "herding," with all the implications of, on the one hand, individual agents engaged in ritualized, healthy simulations of combat, and on the other, of quasi-non-agents shepherded in a coordinated, bounded, highly constrained and circumscribed epistemic landscape. Recall, if you are tempted to blame this all on the postmodernists, that this is exactly the opposite of their emphasis toward the "adult" realities of relativism, nebulosity, flux. Queer Theory has long advocated for the dissolution of gendered and racial identity, not the reification of identitarian handles we see now, which is QT's bastardization. We might believe these positions were taken too far, but they are ultimately about complicating the world and removing the structuralist comforts of certainty and dichotomy. (Structureless worlds are inherently hostile to rear children in, and also for most human life; see also the Kegan stages for a similar idea.)  

In the erisological vein, Alastair provides a portrait of the collision between the sporting and herding modes. Arguments that fly in one discursive style (taking offence, emotional injury, legitimation-by-feeling) absolutely do not fly in the other:

When these two forms of discourse collide they are frequently unable to understand each other and tend to bring out the worst in each other. The first [new, sensitive] form of discourse seems lacking in rationality and ideological challenge to the second; the second [old, sporting] can appear cruel and devoid of sensitivity to the first. To those accustomed to the second mode of discourse, the cries of protest at supposedly offensive statements may appear to be little more than a dirty and underhand ploy intentionally adopted to derail the discussion by those whose ideological position can’t sustain critical challenge.

ii.

Seph stumbles upon a similar division, though it is less about discursive and argumentative modes, and more about social norms for emotional regulation and responsibility. He calls them Culture A and Culture B, mirroring sporting and herding styles, respectively.

In culture A, everyone is responsible for their own feelings. People say mean stuff all the time—teasing and jostling each other for fun and to get a rise. Occasionally someone gets upset. When that happens, there's usually no repercussions for the perpetrator. If someone gets consistently upset when the same topic is brought up, they will either eventually stop getting upset or the people around them will learn to avoid that topic. Verbally expressing anger at someone is tolerated. It is better to be honest than polite.

In such a culture, respect and status typically comes from performance; Seph quotes the maxim "If you can't sell shit, you are shit." We can see a commonality with sporting in that there is some shared goal which is attained specifically through adversarial play, such that some degree of interpersonal hostility is tolerated or even sought. Conflict is settled openly and explicitly.

In culture B, everyone is responsible for the feelings of others. At social gatherings everyone should feel safe and comfortable. After all, part of the point of having a community is to collectively care for the emotional wellbeing of the community's members. For this reason its seen as an act of violence against the community for your actions or speech to result in someone becoming upset, or if you make people feel uncomfortable or anxious. This comes with strong repercussions—the perpetrator is expected to make things right. An apology isn't necessarily good enough here—to heal the wound, the perpetrator needs to make group participants once again feel nurtured and safe in the group. If they don't do that, they are a toxic element to the group's cohesion and may no longer be welcome in the group. It is better to be polite than honest. As the saying goes, if you can't say something nice, it is better to say nothing at all.

In such a culture, status and respect come from your contribution to group cohesion and safety; Seph cites the maxim "Be someone your coworkers enjoy working with." But Seph's argument pushes back, fruitfully, on descriptions of Culture B as collaborative (which involve high self-assertion); rather, he writes, they are accommodating in the Thomas-Kilmann modes of conflict sense:

iii.

Seph and Alastair both gesture toward the way these modes feel gendered, with Culture A more "masculinized" and Culture B more "feminized."[1] While this seems important to note, given that a massive, historically unprecedented labor shift toward coed co-working has recently occured in the Western world, I don't see much point in hashing out a nature vs. nurture, gender essentialism debate here, so you can pick your side and project it. This is also perhaps interesting from the frame of American feminist history: early waves of feminism were very much about escaping the domestic sphere and entering the public sphere; there is an argument to be made that contemporary feminisms, now that they have successfully entered it, are dedicated to domesticating the public sphere into a more comfortable zone. Culture B, for instance, might well be wholly appropriate to the social setting of a living room, among acquaintances who don't know each other well; indeed, it feels much like the kind of aristocratic parlor culture of the same 19th C Britain that the sporting mode also thrived in, side-by-side. And to some extent, Culture A is often what gets called toxic masculinity; see Mad Men for a depiction.

(On the topic of domestication of the workplace: We've seen an increased blurring of the work-life separation; the mantra "lean-in" has been outcompeted by "decrease office hostility"; business attire has slid into informality, etiquette has been subsumed into ethics, dogs are allowed in the workplace. Obviously these changes are not driven by women's entrance into the workplace alone; the tech sector has had an enormous role in killing both business attire and the home-office divide, despite being almost entirely male in composition. And equally obvious, there is an enormous amount of inter- and intra-business competition in tech, which is both consistently cited by exiting employees as a hostile work environment, and has also managed to drive an outsized portion of global innovation the past few decades—thus cultural domestication is not at all perfectly correlated with a switch from Culture A to B. Draw from these speculations what you will.)

There are other origins for the kind of distinctions Seph and Alastair draw; one worthwhile comparison might be Nietzsche's master and slave moralities. The former mode emphasizes power and achievement, the other empathy, cooperation, and compassion. (Capitalism and communitarianism fall under some of the same, higher-level ideological patterns.) There are differences of course: the master moralist is "beyond" good and evil, or suffering and flourishing, whereas Culture A and B might both see themselves as dealing with questions of suffering but in very different ways. But the "slave revolt in morality" overwrote an aristocratic detachment or "aboveness" that we today might see as deeply immoral or inhuman; it is neither surprising nor damning that a revolting proletariat—the class which suffered most of the evils of the world—would speak from a place of one-to-one, attached self-advocacy. One can switch "sides" or "baskets" of the arena each half or quarter because they are impersonal targets in a public commons; one cannot so easily hold the same attitude toward defending one's home. This alone may indicate we should be more sympathetic to the communitarian mode than we might be inclined to be; certainly, those who advocate and embody this mode make plausible claims to being a similar, embattled and embittered class. A friend who I discussed these texts with argued that one failure mode of the rationalist community is an "unmooring" from the real concerns of human beings, slipping into an idealized, logical world modeled on self-similarity (i.e. highly Culture A, thinking over feeling in the Big 5 vocabulary), in a way that is blind to the realities of the larger population.

But there are also grave problems for such a discursive mode, especially when it becomes dominant. Because while on the surface, discursive battles in the sporting mode can appear to be battles between people, they are in reality battles between ideas.

iv.

As Mill argued in On Liberty, free discourse is crucial because it acts as a social steering mechanism: should we make a mistake in our course, freedom of discourse is the instrument for correcting it. But the mistake of losing free discourse is very hard to come back from; it must be fought for again, before other ideals can be pursued. 

Moreover, freedom of discourse is the means of rigorizing ideas before they are implemented, such as to avoid catastrophe. Anyone familiar with James Scott's Seeing Like A State, or Hayek's arguments for decentralized market intelligence, or a million other arguments against overhaulism, knows how difficult it is to engineer a social intervention that works as intended: the unforeseen, second-order effects; our inability to model complex systems and human psychology. Good intent is not remotely enough, and the herding approach cannot help but lower the standard of thinking and discourse emerging from such communities, which become more demographically powerful even as their ideas become worse (the two are tied up inextricably).

The fear of conflict and the inability to deal with disagreement lies at the heart of sensitivity-driven discourses. However, ideological conflict is the crucible of the sharpest thought. Ideological conflict forces our arguments to undergo a rigorous and ruthless process through which bad arguments are broken down, good arguments are honed and developed, and the relative strengths and weaknesses of different positions emerge. The best thinking emerges from contexts where interlocutors mercilessly probe and attack our arguments’ weaknesses and our own weaknesses as their defenders. They expose the blindspots in our vision, the cracks in our theories, the inconsistencies in our logic, the inaptness of our framing, the problems in our rhetoric. We are constantly forced to return to the drawing board, to produce better arguments.

And on the strength of sporting approaches in rigorizing discourse:

The truth is not located in the single voice, but emerges from the conversation as a whole. Within this form of heterotopic discourse, one can play devil’s advocate, have one’s tongue in one’s cheek, purposefully overstate one’s case, or attack positions that one agrees with. The point of the discourse is to expose the strengths and weaknesses of various positions through rigorous challenge, not to provide a balanced position in a single monologue

Thus those who wish us to accept their conceptual carvings or political advocacies without question or challenge are avoiding short-term emotional discomfort at the price of their own long-term flourishing, at the cost of finding working and stable social solutions to problems. Standpoint epistemology correctly holds that individuals possess privileged knowledge as to what it's like (in the Nagel sense) to hold their social identities. But it is often wrongly extended, in the popular game of informational corruption called "Telephone" or "Chinese Whispers," as arguing that such individuals also possess unassailable and unchallengeable insight into the proper societal solutions to their grievances. We can imagine a patient walking into the doctor's office; the doctor cannot plausibly tell him there is no pain in his leg, if he claims there is, but the same doctor can recommend treatment, or provide evidence as to whether the pain is physical or psychosomatic.A lack of discursive rigour would not be a problem, Alastair writes, "were it not for the fact that these groups frequently expect us to fly in a society formed according to their ideas, ideas that never received any rigorous stress testing."

v.

As for myself, it was not too long ago I graduated from a university in which a conflict between these modes is ongoing. We had a required course called

Contemporary Civilization

, founded in the wake of World War I, which focused on the last 2,000 years of philosophy, seminar-style: a little bit of introductory lecture, but most of the 2 x 2-hour sessions each week were filled by students arguing with one other. In other words, its founding ethos was of sporting and adversarial collaboration.We also had a number of breakdowns where several students simply could not handle this mode: they would begin crying, or say they couldn't deal with the [insert atmosphere adjective] in the room, and would either transfer out or speak to the professor. While they were not largely representative, they required catering to, and no one wished to upset these students. I have heard we were a fortunate class insofar as we had a small handful of students willing to engage sporting-style, or skeptical a priori of the dominant political ideology at the school. When, in one session, a socialist son of a Saudi billionaire, wearing a $10,000 watch and a camel-hair cashmere sweater, pontificated about "burning the money, reverting to a barter system, and killing the bosses," folks in class would mention that true barter systems were virtually unprecedented in post-agricultural societies, and basically unworkable at scale. In other classes, though, when arguments like these were made—which, taken literally, are logically irrational, but instead justify themselves through sentiment, a legitimation of driving emotion rather than explicit content, in the Culture B sense—other students apparently nodded sagely from the back of the room, "yes, and-ing" one another til their noses ran. Well, I wanted to lay out the styles with some neutrality, but I suppose it's clear now where my sympathies stand.

[1] It should go without saying, but to cover my bases, these modes feeling "feminized" or "masculinized" does not imply that all women, or women inherently, engage in one mode while all men inherently engage in another. Seph cites Camille Paglia as an archetypal example of a Culture A woman, and while she may fall to the extreme side of the Culture A mode, I'd argue most female intellectuals of the 20th C (at least those operated outside the sphere of feminist discourse) were strongly sporting-types: Sontag, for instance, was vociferous and unrelenting. 

[biaswreckingfics]

No Limits: Part 2

Author: biaswreckingfics

Genre: Mafia AU - Warnings? Everything that goes on in a Mafia AU

Word Count: 3.5k

Previous Chapter

Chanyeol stared at him as he spoke with a dull expression, and once Junmyeon finished speaking he says what they all secretly fear, “If the Baem has him, then he’s already dead.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You knew it! You knew Sehun didn't die in that explosion. Brief relief swept through you at the thought of Sehun still being alive and it took all of your willpower to not bounce in your seat with happiness, but it was quickly crushed by Chanyeol's "he's already dead" attitude.

If the Baem had Sehun, then they had to act quickly before something really bad does happen. Giving up and thinking he was already dead wasn't going to help anyone, especially Sehun.

"While we're on the subject of the Baem..." Junmyeon trails off while looking at you. You knew where he was going with this by the way his eyes slightly narrowed.

Don't you fucking dare, Junmyeon, you angrily think, trying to shove the thought from your head to his.

"Now that we assume Sehun is still alive and most likely being held captive by the Baem, I don't want you to be involved in this anymore, Y/N. It's way more dangerous than we originally anticipated."

"Bullshit," You immediately counter, stealing yourself for the same argument the two of you always seem to have. "It was always dangerous. Nothing has changed. We wanted to destroy the Baem before and now we'll destroy them and get Sehun."

Junmyeon purses his lips before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "We don't have time for an argument. I don't want you involved. In fact, I don't even want you sitting at this table right now."

"I don't give a fuck what you want, Junmyeon. You're not the only one with a say. If the other EXO members don't want me involved, then fine, but all you're trying to do is play the big brother role that you're already a decade too late for," You snap at him.

Chanyeol snorts at your response before looking at Junmyeon and standing up from his lean against the wall. "And you tell me I need to get my shit together. How about following your own advice, leader."

As Chanyeol walks out of the room, the sad look on Junmyeon's face immediately makes you want to take back what you said, but you were so sick and tired of having this fight every couple of days that you couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry, Jun, but I'm not going to change my mind... I deserve the chance to avenge mom and dad and also get revenge for myself... and I'm not going to have this argument with you anymore."

Your brother held your stare as he thought out everything silently. He looked around the room at his men and took in their expressions before sighing.

"What do 'the other members of EXO' think?" He asks with a slight edge to his voice.

You inwardly cringe as you realize just how much your words had hurt your brother. That wasn't what you wanted. He was one of the last people you wanted to hurt, but his lack of faith in you hurt you also, so you would continue to stand your ground.

"When Jisoo and Minhyuk died, the Elders took away my right to avenge their deaths, and I still hate them for that to this day..." Baekhyun slowly starts as he stares at the table in front of him. The faded pain still clear in his voice until he shakes it off and looks up at your brother. "You were there with me, Junmyeon. You saw what that did to me. Do you want to do that to your sister?"

Your brother was clearly affected by Baekhyun's words as he thought back to that time. It showed in the way he tilted his head up toward the ceiling, closed his eyes, and clenched his jaw.

"She's already come really far in her training. If she keeps it up, I don't see any reason she shouldn't be involved," Jongin adds his opinion.

Junmyeon nods a little before looking back down at the members and sliding his chair back. "I'll take your opinions into consideration. Meeting dismissed."

You silently watch as he abruptly stands up from his chair and walks out of the room, not sending a single glance your way. When the rest of the members quietly get up and leave without a passing word to each other, you feel a small piece of your heart break.

When you first came here, the group was lively and rambunctious. There was laughter and noise all throughout the day and night, and the near silence that was now a constant in the compound was deafening.

You feel a sudden poke in your arm and look over at Baekhyun, who had apparently stayed behind with you. He searches your eyes trying to figure out what you're feeling.

"What's up?" He finally asks before placing his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin on his hand, waiting to hear your thoughts.

Sighing, you angle your body towards him and lean your head against the back of the seat, feeling completely comfortable with sharing your innermost thoughts with him. "I'm tired of everyone walking around on eggshells. How are they supposed to be a group when they can hardly even communicate?"

"When are you going to learn to not take on everyone else's problems?" He asks you softly.

"Probably never..."

He lets out a small laugh that causes your heart to flutter, and you stiffen. It didn't escape your notice that he was starting to affect you more and more, but you couldn't bring yourself to think about that right now. There was too much going on at the moment.

"How about, for now, you focus on kicking Jongin's ass in training? We'll worry about the rest later."

Sehun's POV

He had fallen into the soldier role well, and as it turns out, he was a quick learner.

The Baem had been giving him small tasks and testing out his abilities in all areas. They discovered he was apparently good with weapons and explosives. Like really good. Like Sehun almost scared himself good.

When the Baem discovered his talent, they kept him strictly with their weapons unit, and the more Sehun played around with things, the more small pieces of his memory came back.

He remembered how to handle wiring and how to build certain explosives, he remembered how to properly care for every gun he came across, and he was remembering other things as well... like his dislike for all the easy girls who were always around and throwing themselves at him. He remembered that he preferred classier girls who respected themselves, and for some reason when he thought of an example, you were the one that flashed into his mind.

All that did was cause him more confusion. Why were you the one that he thought of? Because he had recently seen you? It was just another thing to add to his growing list of questions, and with the memories he gained, that list was getting quite long.

Something else he thought was odd was the fact that he didn't recognize any of his members. As the other things started coming back, he thought memories about his members would come back too, but they weren't. These men still felt completely foreign to him.

On top of that, they consistently kept asking him questions about EXO, and it was really starting to fucking irritate him. How many times did he have to say he couldn't remember? He understood they were their rivals, but they never even asked him questions about the Baem, just EXO.

It almost seemed like they were testing him, but why?

Y/N's POV

It had been a few days since the meeting, and it seemed like the tension in the house had gotten even worse. It felt like you were all waiting for the other shoe to drop, like whatever was holding the last of you together was going to break any day now.

It was almost like everyone was backtracking instead of trying to move on and heal, and things with your brother had not been good at all. Neither of you had attempted any communication since your last argument. Junmyeon would often lock himself in his office and would hardly come out, and you tried to hang out in your room a lot because you were just tired. Tired of all of it.

A quick knock sounded on your door before Jongin peeked in. "Time for training, let's go."

You sigh at the thought of another day of having your ass handed to you, but jump up from your bed and follow him down the hall because you knew this would be the perfect opportunity to ask him about one of the many things that had been on your mind lately.

"Okay, fine, but I want to talk on the way."

Now it was Jongin's turn to sigh because he knew exactly what you wanted to talk about. Minseok.

"I don't regret killing Minseok's father." He immediately says, causing you to slow down your steps and look over at him while he continued. "I'm glad I was the one to do it."

"I wasn't going to ask that..." You slowly say, now completely stopped in the middle of the hallway. "I just wanted to know if the two of you will be okay..."

Jongin awkwardly comes to a stop beside you. "...Oh..."

"What's on your mind, Jongin?"

He turns to face you and searches your eyes almost with a slight panic. "I think there's something wrong with me..."

Your heart jumps a little at his words and how his entire demeanor crumbled before you. The way he broke eye contact and swallowed while looking down the hallway immediately put you on edge.

You knew Jongin was holding in a lot of emotions. He didn't often like to be perceived as "weak" no matter how many times you told him emotions didn't make him weak. Instead, he liked to drown his sadness and pain in girls and alcohol, but you wanted to try to find a way to help him past that, and right now, Jongin was giving you an unusual glimpse into his vulnerability.

"Why do you say that?"

"...Because I felt happiness when I killed him. Relief... You're not supposed to feel happy when you end someone's life, and it's not the first time. I felt the same way about my stepdad."

Everything Jongin was saying made sense. In a normal world, killing people was a horrific, atrocious thing, but in the mafia world... nobody was really a "good guy". They all did horrible things, and no, you weren't trying to justify murder. You knew things weren't so black and white, but those two were bad men.

"Jongin, they were shit people who did horrible things, it's not wrong to feel relief that they're gone." You tell him, but the look of doubt is clear on his face. "I don't think anything is wrong with you... I'd be happy if I were in your position too."

He raises his eyebrows at your statement before saying, "Maybe there's something wrong with you too."

His words cause you to pause in thought until you finally shrug, "Well, then we'll be fucked up together."

He shakes his head at you, but a small smile does find its way onto his face, and that was literally all you cared about at the moment.

As the two of you start to walk down to the training room again, he asks, "Was that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Are you avoiding Minseok because of what you just told me?"

He avoids looking at you and continues quietly walking down the hallway for a moment before answering. "Partly... I thought it'd be good to give him space. I took away his last living parent... How can you forgive someone for that?"

You couldn't respond to his question, because you didn't know the answer yourself. Would you be able to forgive Jongin if you were in Minseok's position? It was hard to put yourself in those shoes because you knew, one way or another, Minseok's father was never going to leave that room. Whether it be by Jongin's hand, your brother's, or your own.

All you knew was that it was something the two of them would have to work out themselves, and you were worried about what would happen if they let this go on for too long. "You need to talk to him before it's too late..."

He thinks about your words for the rest of the walk but remains silent until the two of you walk into the training room, where your eyes immediately find Baekhyun waiting there. You would be lying if you said a thrill didn't go through your entire body at the sight of him.

"Are you joining us today?" Jongin asks with clear amusement.

You're silent as you watch Baekhyun walk up to the two of you with a swagger you've only ever seen him pull off. You shake your head at the thought, immediately annoyed with yourself for thinking someone's walk was sexy.

"Oh, I'll be here every day until she kicks your ass," Baekhyun replies with a smirk that you force yourself to ignore.

His words and belief in you, however, gave you the motivation you needed to train, and for the next hour, the three of you warm-up and take turns sparring with each other. You could feel yourself getting stronger, compared to how you were before the training started, and the thought made you giddy with adrenaline. You were becoming a badass person, and damn, it was exciting.

"Kai hyung," A voice calls from the entrance of the training room, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's an issue at the club."

Jongin drops his fighting stance and sighs as he looks over at the younger man who you have never seen before. "Which one?"

"The one we just acquired, sir."

Jongin swore before following the younger man out of the training room. You turn to Baekhyun in confusion.

"Who was that, and what club is he talking about?"

"Someone in Jongin's unit," He answers while slowly circling you, "They just bought a ...gentleman's club."

You turn your body with him as he watches your movements, looking for a place to attack, but your mind was already elsewhere.

"You guys own strip clubs too?"

"We dabble in a little bit of everything. Casinos, dealerships, strip clubs... Why do you sound so surprised?"

Why were you surprised? Jongin was one of the most sexual beings you knew. It made perfect sense for him to run the strip clubs.

Suddenly, you feel a jab in your left arm as Baekhyun takes a hit at you and circles around behind you. You quickly turn and catch the smirk still on his face.

He raises an eyebrow at the taken aback look on your face and asks, "You thought you were done training because your teacher left?"

Your throat suddenly dries up at the sight of him. The raised eyebrow, the smirk, his sweaty naked torso, his eyes as they looked over your body, searching for a hint of your next move. It was a sensation overload. Pair that with the previous conversation of strip clubs, and your mind almost went blank.

Focus. You needed to focus. Forget about the stupidly attractive, oddly caring guy in front of you and put your opponent on his fucking ass.

You studied his movements for a moment, the way his body leaned, and the direction his feet were facing before making your move.

You tried to make all of your movements seamless and fast, but Baekhyun was still able to track them and quickly blocked the punch you threw at him. Your next thought was to aim a high kick toward his side, but he caught your leg mid-air and held it still.

You hopped around as you tried to balance on one foot and met his stare. You were shocked to find heat in his gaze, and suddenly, the position you were in seemed way too intimate for sparring.

"Can I have my leg back?" You breathlessly ask.

Baekhyun slowly looks down at your leg, like he didn't even realize he still held it, before quickly dropping it, shaking his arms out, and rolling his neck around.

The two of you backed away and sized each other up. You had yet to take Baekhyun down, and suddenly, you were very determined to do it tonight. The tension in your body would only be settled when one of you was on your back.

He takes a step toward you, and you step back in response, maintaining the same distance between you, and when he brings his arm back to strike, you dodge. Unfortunately, you were too late to realize it was a trick, and his leg was able to snake out and swipe you off your feet.

The panic came, just like it always did when you fell, and you grab his arm in a death grip on your way down. His body, not expecting the extra weight of another person, gave out, and he landed directly on top of you.

You both let out a small noise as your bodies smack into each other and then lay there for a second as you both try to figure out what just happened. Finally, the situation registers in your mind. Byun Baekhyun, a member of the deadly EXO and the guy you were stupidly attracted to, was laying on top of you.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you knew he could feel it because you could feel his beating erratically too. Both of you were already breathing heavily from the sparring, but the way his body molded around yours almost stole all your breath entirely. You could feel the strength of his body against the softness of yours, and it sent your mind into a wild frenzy.

As he leans his weight onto one of his arms so he wouldn't crush you, you search his eyes and let out a small gasp when you see the hunger in them. The noise draws his eyes down to your lips, and his tongue slips out to wet his own.

His gaze bounces between yours and your lips, searching for something, an answer or permission maybe, before he slowly lowers his head and claims your lips with his own. It was gentle and light at first, and the softness of his lips causes your remaining breath to disappear, but when you open your mouth and let him in, the kiss quickly turns more passionate.

His kiss sent an explosion of bright, colorful lights through your head, and it was enough to make you dizzy. His tongue slid into your mouth and quickly began teasing yours, and you couldn't get enough of it.  You tilt your head to the side, and he quickly deepens the kiss as his free hand slowly slides down the side of your body.

Everything felt right all of a sudden. Kissing Baekhyun made you feel like everything would be okay in the end. It made you feel like your head was going to explode, but you welcomed it because if this was how you were going out, you had absolutely zero complaints.

After a while, he slowly pulls away, but not before leaving one more soft kiss on your tingling lips. You gradually open your eyes, and the two of you stare at each other in amazement. You were never the romantic or fairy tale type of girl, and you never believed that people were made for each other, but with Baekhyun, you wanted to be.

A noise across the room breaks the spell the two of you had fallen under and the mumbled words of an apology have both of your eyes widening.

The two of you look over at the source of the noise and see a flustered young man still apologizing and looking everywhere but at the two of you. You had no idea who he was, but you assumed he was another member in one of the guys' units.

The thought was confirmed when Baekhyun quickly scrambles off of you. You search his face to get an idea of how he's feeling, and a small flash of hurt and confusion goes through you when you see the spooked out look on it.

Was he worried about the younger man telling someone? Your brother, maybe? Was it something else entirely? Did he... did he regret kissing you?

Before you could get any of these questions out, Baekhyun excuses himself and quickly takes off toward the exit, leaving you laying there all alone.

Tagging: @knjkitten @kpopserene @multifandombxxch @tashaxvamp @kpop---scenarios @bhyunni @chanyeolismybaby @flaming-laboob @taetaeeyong @lilbitoflyssa @misstressporkchoppp @hoseok-wang @spiltkpop @isha454 @depuis2mille @marovekian1 @ladylynae @abby8451 @lynniev @insta1010 @sawadabegum @avxngxrrogxrs @equesasprokishi @imstuckinafictionaluniverse @layisanangel @mongryong-the-corgi @overthelamebowz​ @lizbether01 @thatanonymousgirl-as14​ @nothingbutadeadesceane​ @kim-ji-hyeons-world​ @suhappysuho​ @futuremrspcy​

[acesgroupchat]

A week passes, then another. The Chiyan army camp grows. Fei Liu gets close enough to touch an orange before the tree rejects him. Consort Chen arrives, and falls weeping into his mother’s arms. His father has stopped speaking. Lin Shu finds himself in the garden almost every day. He keeps the words ‘tactical retreat’ in his mind, and does not look too close, lest he find ‘coward’ written underneath. Fei Liu will sit under the branches with him now, for all he still has not spoken a word.

It is nearly three weeks when he walks into the garden, and finds Lin Chen lounging against the base of the orange tree. He does not get up, but waves an arm in lazy welcome. Lin Shu sits beside him, lets the tree hold him up.

The oranges hang above them, bright, tempting, and just out of reach. The lord of death barely seems to notice him, contemplating patterns in the leaves above. Every sprawled line of him radiates power, but what was leashed has gone lazy in the shelter of the tree. This is the stillness of the hottest days of summer, and just as sweet.

“I have a question.”

“Mmmm?” Lin Chen cocks his head slightly.

“You knew who I was.”

“It would be a terribly rude host, who would not know his guests.”

“A polite host would have come to greet his guests when they arrived.”

“A polite guest wouldn’t wander into his host’s private garden.”

“You don’t seem to make much use of it.”

“I’ve been busy. I have an army camped in my foyer, conspicuously failing to move on to the fields and meadows that have been so nicely set aside for them. One wonders if rudeness is contagious, or merely the hallmark of a certain military fellowship.”

There is a tightness on the back of his tongue. “Perhaps this army has greater need of news than of comfort. Is it not always so, in such exceptional times?”

“What news? What exception? Times are as they have always been, and recent events no more than commonplace. The wheel turns, power changes hands, the living forget and the dead move on.”

“You cannot know that.”

“I have seen more of these petty squabbles than your mind could comprehend. I know their shape. In a month it will be ended. In a year it will no longer be spoken of. Those who value their skins will hold their tongues, and in a decade this will be as any other unpleasant dream, un-thought of and quickly fading from memory.”

“It will not! This is a catastrophic miscarriage of justice, and a crisis for the nation. The very foundations of the court are threatened. The country will bear the scars of this for generations and—”

“And what does that matter here? It is not your country now.” The lord of death shakes his head. “So much fire in you. Has no one told you where you are? The affairs of the living are no longer yours to concern yourself with, any more than they may concern themselves with you.”

His throat aches with the force of his words. He swallows. “They will not forget.”

Lin Chen snorts, but does not reply.

“Jingyan will not forget.”

“The seventh prince? In all of this the princes are the ones who most stand to gain. He may remember but he will choose his own survival.”

“Jingyan is loyal. He will never accept these lies. He would not—” His tongue is thick in his mouth, clumsy and caught. The taste of blood wells in the back of his throat.  Jingyan would not believe me a traitor.  

Lin Chen watches him, face impassive. Finally, he shakes his head. “Well you’ll have your answer soon enough, I suppose.”

Terror goes through him like an electric shock. He lurches to his feet. “He’s here?”

He takes one stumbling step away from the tree before ice cold fingers catch his wrist.  They tug him back and he collapses among the roots again, pinned beyond even an attempt to struggle, though the grip on him is lighter than a butterfly’s wing. “I said soon, not now mayfly. Are you always in this much of a hurry?”

“When will he be here? What do you know?” Lin Chen’s gaze is sidelong and flat.

“I know that he is coming here, as all the living are. The future is not my area, but the precise date of his arrival is of little consequence. It’s not as though you have any reason to rush. He will come here in due time, and you will have your answer.”

“There is no one more loyal. He will not believe these lies, and he would never betray Prince Qi. When he arrives, I will find you here, and you can tell me you were wrong.”

“He will be arriving very soon then, unless his mother is particularly clever on his behalf. He can join all those ministers of yours just as soon as he returns from Donghai. Will you cross the river then?”

Lin Shu shuts his eyes against the image. “We will cross the river with honor, with our names restored and our deaths avenged.”

“And if you cannot? If all who knew you die, and your names remain unspoken, will you camp in my foyer forever? Eventually you will get bored, little marshal.”

“You don’t know me.”

The god beside him snorts, and their shoulders brush. “I know the moment you came out of your mother, the sound of your first squalling cry. I know the first time you opened your eyes for your father, your first steps, your first kiss. I know every pastry you stole from gracious Concubine Jing, and exactly how many times you fell before you climbed your garden wall successfully. But even an idiot would know you will get bored. You are bored now.”

He feels the tendons in his wrist shifting against those cold fingers even as his nails dig into his palms, sharp and sudden. “I don’t care. I will wait on the riverbank until the blood of Da Liang is exhausted, until every other soul has crossed. I will search forever, and when I have found my answers I will find some way to see justice done.”

“I’m sure you will make a lovely vengeful spirit. The poets will sing beautifully of you in Elysium. Has it not occurred to you that perhaps the riverbank is not the best place to find your answers?”

“There are none who will not find their way here eventually.”

“But there are many who will not bother with you or your camp. The executioner’s blade is far from the only one in your capital.”

Lin Shu feels ice run down his spine. Lin Chen meets his eyes with the same languorous gaze, and his posture retains the same sprawled grace, but something is somehow different. When he does not reply, the god of death quirks an eyebrow.

“You know something,” says Lin Shu

The second eyebrow joins the first in a brief look of extreme impatience. Lin Shu stares back, and refuses to blush. The glare transforms into a smirk. “I know everything my guests know, and have since the beginning of mortal time. I do, indeed, know something. It would not be too bold to say I know many things.” Cold fingers leave his wrist, and Lin Chen tucks his hands deep into his sleeves, settling against the tree and closing his eyes.

Lin Shu bites down on his own impatience. “The ministers have been honest with me, and my own men would not hide anything from me. Xie Yu’s men knew nothing but what they were told. Who else must I speak with?”

The god of death sighs. “Not long ago, a man entered my realm. A school teacher from Xian. This is not in itself uncommon, of course, but it is a rare school teacher who finds himself in my lands on the edge of an assassin’s blade.” Lin Chen opens his eyes, and turns his head to Lin Shu. “He crossed the river, but I am sure he would be happy to tell you his tale, should you like to bring your army across to meet him.”

His eyes dance, and Lin Shu finds himself once again biting his tongue. “You said yourself that your guests’ knowledge is your own. You could tell me his story now.”

“Mmm I could. But what does it benefit me to assist rude interlopers in my own private gardens? What could you offer me, save the fruit of my own trees?”

His words are ash on his tongue. Lin Shu swallows against them, searching for his voice. His eyes fall to the roots between them, to the white robes spilling carelessly across the ground. He is rising to his knees when Lin Chen speaks again.

“His name is Li Chongxin. Some months ago he received a number of letters from one Xia Jiang. These letters belonged to Xia Dong, and were written by her husband, Nie Feng. Li Chonxin was an exceptional calligrapher, and from these letters, he was able to create a forgery of Nie Feng’s handwriting, so flawless as to be indistinguishable even to the man’s own wife. He forged one letter, in which he said that Commander Lin Xie of the Chiyan army intended to rebel, and that he had been sent on a suicide mission for his discovery of those intentions.

"Your ministers have spoken of a denouncement letter, which was brought back by Xie Yu with Nie Feng’s remains. Neither the letter nor the remains are genuine. Shortly after Xie Yu’s return to the capital, an assassin came to Li Chonxin’s home and slit his throat.”

He is dimly aware that he is shaking, fingers digging deep into the soft earth beneath his knees. The sounds of battle and death ring loud in his ears, and he is burning, burning again. “Xia Jiang,” he gasps, and suddenly he cannot bear to be still. He stumbles to his feet, catching the tree for support as his feet find their way among the roots. Jingyan used to make fun of him for pacing like this. “This was Xia Jiang’s plan all along, with Xie Yu to help him. He did this.”

“It would appear so.” Lin Chen shifts to rest one wrist against his knee. His eyes follow Lin Shu.

“He turned the Emperor against us.”

“He did.”

“ Why”

“This is human nature, is it not? To scrabble for power and devour the more vulnerable?”

He turns so quickly that he stumbles against a tree root. Lin Chen does not move, even as Lin Shu sways over him, and surveys him with dispassionate eyes. “Humanity is more than this. There is nobility also, and mercy, and loyalty. It’s just the court these last few years. When Prince Qi is emperor, he and Jingyan will—”

His own words choke him. He closes his eyes against the slow rise of Lin Chen’s eyebrows. The picture turns in his mind, events shifting and connecting. A net forms and he sees it draw tight. He can feel fire licking at his bones. “Prince Qi would have disbanded the Xuanjing bureau. We were only ever collateral damage.”

Lin Chen nods once. “It is neatly done. Prince Qi is crown prince no longer, and his supporters join your camp in greater numbers each day. He is alone and imprisoned, and Xia Jiang claims credit for thwarting a rebellion before it could touch the palace grounds.”

“He has Jingyan still. Jingyan will never turn against him. Perhaps, in time—”

“He will be months still in Donghai, will he not? By the time he returns this matter will most likely be settled. That loyalty that you love so much will be useless, and even one far stupider than he would know to keep his mouth shut.”

“Jingyan will not betray Prince Qi.”

“That will not matter, when Prince Qi will be long dead by that point.”

“You can’t know that!” He does fall now, and his fingers close in the collar of those white robes.

The god of death does not flinch at his weight. His robes are as cool under Lin Shu’s fingers as his hand had been on his wrist. His eyes are fathomless dark, and not quite gentle. “Can’t I? Everything that you know is known to me also.”

“There is still hope. While he lives there is hope.”

“What need is there for hope in this place? A trap was laid for you, for him, and it has claimed you both. Does it matter that you can see its threads now? What will you do now that you know?”

The garden is silent and breathlessly still. Those dark eyes are steady, endless. He shuts his own eyes, but there is nothing to shut his ears, nor his mind to the words that echo there. He tears himself away, stumbles to standing. “I will take my leave first. I must speak of this to my father. We will need to—There is—” He does not manage to bow as he runs from the garden. The stone hallways twist before him, endless and indistinguishable. His boots make no sound on the polished floors. His legs churn tirelessly beneath him against the maelstrom of his thoughts.

He stumbles, finally, into the army camp. His parents are sitting with Consort Chen, as they often are now. His mother is the first to see him, and when he cannot meet her gaze she rises to take his arm. There is no warmth in her palm through his sleeve, but the pressure is a comfort that he cannot bear. He collapses against her, and feels his father and aunt draw close.

They draw the story from him slowly through his sobs. It is difficult to speak, but there is little enough to tell. He can see the moment comprehension takes them. It comes first to Consort Chen, who knew her son’s plans best of all of them, and who has marked as the Emperor’s affection withered these many years in the face of his suspicion. His mother and father follow close in their understanding. They clutch at each other, all four of them. His mother’s hands are hard in his robe, and tears roll unchecked down his father’s face.

“Father, what will we do now?” Lin Shu hates the sound of his own voice, so timid and young. This is not the voice that will command armies, and this moment demands no less than his most capable. He reaches for something stronger, but his father is silent. When Lin Shu raises eyes to him, his father shakes his head. There is nothing in his face but despair.

[khhunniewriting]

The Others (2)

[ Mafia/Gang AU ]

Thirteen years later many things have changed.

“Seems Illionaire is making much more money now.” Kylie put down the report she found on Dok2′s desk as she waited for him. In her arms, she held a small bundle of pink and white.

Dok2 dismissed the men who had followed him into the room with a nod. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”

His wife had just given birth a few days ago. It was definitely too early for her to be out and about but Kylie wanted to make a point.

“Don’t make that face Joonkyung.” She knew he was scrutinizing her for bringing a bastard child to the office. Everyone was aware this second child, the daughter in her arms, was not his. “They might not know you also had an affair, but I do.”

Dok2 was aware of his wife having met you.

She told him only a few days after giving birth to their child, a son Kylie named Ji-hoon. Having a son ensured she had produced the heir to her husband’s fortune. There was no need to worry anymore.

Once her son was old enough he would take over for Dok2 ensuring her future.

“Honestly, you should have seen how shocked she was when she found out you were Illionaire’s leader.”

Dok2 made his way around her and sat at his desk ignoring her rant. Perhaps it was hypocritical of him to treat his wife this way when he too cheated on her. The fact remained that she went too far by breeding a child from her affairs and expecting him to welcome it with open arms into his family.

“Do not bother me unless you want to discuss something about Ji-hoon.”

Kylie smirked triumphantly knowing she had gotten under his skin. That was all she desired for now.

After she walked out of his office Joonkyung released a frustrated groan. His life was certainly not going the way he planned; making him question all the decisions he made in his youth.

Most of the questions involving you.

His eyes went to a hole in the wall near the door. He hadn’t bothered to fix it the same way he never bothered to do anything about his feelings for you.

Love was the one luxury he couldn’t afford under his circumstances.

\\

“Go Leo!” Your loud cheering received some stares but you could care less. It was too exciting to see your baby boy out there on the court scoring so many points. He was the power forward for his school’s basketball team and well on his way to becoming the ace player.

Leo turned towards the sound of your voice and smiled knowing you were there to see him. His smile disappeared the moment he turned back to the court and positioned himself under the basket once more.

“Your mom is as loud as always Leo,” one of his teammates commented. “Must be scary when you get bad grades or get into trouble.”

“He never has bad grades,” another tuned into the conversation as a timeout was called by the opposing team. The three teenage boys retired to the benches where their towels and waterbottles awaited them.

“What, so he’s athletic and smart?” The initial starter of the conversation asked. He was on the school team but did not have the same class as Leo to know how he was off the court.

Leo spaced out leaving the two to talk amongst themselves as his only worry became rehydrating. The boy always heard people saying the same things about him.

Leo is so smart.

Leo is so athletic.

Leo is so handsome.

Leo is so responsible.

Leo is so blunt.

Leo is so silent.

Their compliments were appreciated but unnecessary. All he really cared about was making sure his mother continued to smile. The truth was Leo had emotional detachment and abandonment issues.

Neither he nor his mother believed it to be so but the doctors who found his silence unbecoming amounted it to something he had no recollection of. They thought his lack of a father affected his social skills.

The truth was Leo had many friends, he socialized well. He was, however, selective about who he socialized with. It was similar to the way his mother acted.

She may never have told him to be wary of strangers but he was. He saw the way she cautiously put herself between him and a stranger before knowing who and what their intentions were.

“Leo come on.”

He broke out of his thoughts and pushed his dark hair out of his face before returning back to the court where the rest of the team awaited him.

After the game, he quickly and meticulously gathered his stuff before making his way over to you. Many people congratulated him on the win which he only responded to with a curt nod or single word of thanks.

“There’s my MVP,” you wasted no time to hug him. There were a million comments you had on how well he had played.

When he came to you asking permission to enter the team you knew nothing of the sport. But like everything involving your son, you became invested and soon were able to talk to him about strategies and stats.

“I noticed you struggled a bit when you fought for the rebound with that tall kid. Did you get hurt?” You began examining him for any bruising. “Sometimes the ref doesn’t see but-”

“I’m fine,” Leo assured.

A simple two worded response that brought the smile back to your face. One of the best sounds in the word was that of your son’s voice. It brought relief and happiness to your overprotective heart.

“Then let’s go celebrate your win!”

The corners of Leo’s lips curved into a smile seeing how happy you were. The truth was he did have minor aches and pains when he went against that other player.

He was someone he had clashed with before. The center of the rival team who on occasion gave Leo dirty looks. Neither had spoken a word yet there was a silent rivalry between them that no one else had noticed.

\\

For a couple week now you two were being watched from afar.

“Boss that kid and his mother live in a pretty normal neighborhood.”

Jay Park, AOMG’s leader, looked through the compiled information on his desk. His eyes narrowing in on your photograph. It was a recent one that his men had taken of you at your place of employment.

You were a decently private individual with little to no social media presence that had only been in use for the past five years. It was nearly impossible for him to find the information he was looking for.

“I just feel like I’ve seen her before.”

Simon’s brow rose in question, “With Dok2?”

Jay nodded only barely recalling the time more than a decade ago when he spotted you holding onto his rival’s arm as you entered a private parking structure. Back then your long hair obstructed the view of your face but your mannerisms were the same. Most of all, he remembered your eyes as they looked over at him.

At the time he thought you had met his eyes but perhaps it was just a coincidental glance in his general direction.

“Why don’t we just go after his actual son, the one everyone knows about,” Woogie proposed.

“Because he’s the obvious choice.” Jay dropped your photo picking up Leo’s instead. “This kid could be his illegitimate child.”

Simon looked over his boss’ shoulder, “You think he looks like him?”

Everyone began debating and voting on the appearance of the mysterious child. Some were undecided taking into consideration how they had yet to really get a good look of the Illionaire boss. Others straight up denied the possibility for various reasons.

“It doesn’t matter if he looks like him,” Jay interrupted their discussion. “The birth certificate is missing a name. I’m sure it was intended to protect the kid but the family name says it all.”

Gray dug through the file pulling out the copy of Leo’s birth certificate. It was clear as day to them who have been investigating the whole situation. There in black and white was your name and an empty space where Joonkyung’s should be. “The kid’s legal name is Lee Leo, we need to keep looking into this.”

They all agreed to continue following you around, convinced they would eventually get the lead they needed to act.

“Besides, “ Jay pulled them back into the conversation. “He does look like he could be the other kid’s brother.”

“How old is Ji-hoon,” Gray asked.

“Thirteen,” Woodie responded.

“Do you really think he got his side chick pregnant at the same time as his wife?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

\\

Ji-hoon watched in disgust as his mother doted on his younger sister. Not once had she even directed a word at him since she arrived. He kept telling himself this wasn’t jealousy, rather it was envy.

He was envious of his sister having everything he had been wanting. The time and attention of his parents were hard to come by when they were often occupied by business. Now he had to compete against a helpless newborn.

“You’re back,” Kylie commented as her son made his presence known. She watched him give a disinterested glance in their direction as he walked by to get to the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Do you care or you just upset again because Dad ignored you so you’re going to take it out on me?”

Kylie gaped at her son’s response. This wasn’t the first time he had talked to her in this manner. She had become accustomed to his increasingly hostile attitude. What surprised her was the fact that he knew she had seen him.

“How did you-”

“I called and asked for a ride,” he interrupted.

Ji-hoon was an expert at running away from his bodyguards. They had to maintain a distance so normal people didn’t see them but they were always around. To the untrained eye, they were like shadows, to Ji-hoon they were unwilling participants in his game of hide-and-seek.

The young boy knew his father would drop everything to make sure he was safe so he often repeated the act when he felt like seeing him. Often calling him to pick him up from wherever he decided to chill.

“Ji-hoon you know that’s not safe!”

Kylie’s reprimand stirred her daughter’s sleep. In an instant, she began wailing asking for comfort.

“Look what you did…” she picked her up from the bassinet she had situated in the living area to begin rocking her back to sleep.

“Sure what I did,” Ji-hoon heaved a sigh of annoyance. Once again he was being falsely accused of being his mother’s inconvenience. “I got lectured by Dad already so I’m gonna go to my room.”

“Ji-Hoon…”

“Ji-Hoon!”

Kylie shook her head knowing he wouldn’t come back down no matter how many times she called for him.

“There there, Jia… go back to sleep.”

-end-

A/N: On the mood board Leo is at the bottom-right corner and Ji-hoon at the top-right. BTW I’m basing ages and school grade on the American system, meaning highschool age is 14-18 years and the grades are 9th-12th.

[wafflewarriors]

Quality FanFiction Recommendations!

Quarantined? Bored? Itching to read? I have just the thing for you. I have around 100+ fanfic recommendations with descriptions!!! Yay!

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Disclaimer: None of what is below is mine. Not even the descriptions. :)

I have read all of these though and I can promise they are very good!

WARNING = Possibly triggering. Rather be safe than sorry, but you can certainly ignore these.

///

Fics for Superwholock, Supernatural, Doctor Who, Avengers, Merlin, Sherlock and Miscellaneous below.

Superwholock (and Variations)

Second Chances: When Sam Winchester finds himself stuck in New York City with new abilities he doesn’t know how to use and a recent life-changing event he can’t remember, the last thing he expects is to find friends and allies in the city’s resident heroes. But Sam isn’t the only new arrival to New York: the supernatural world doesn’t want to let Sam go, and their plans extend beyond just Sam and the city. Sam is going to have to bring together every hero he can to save New York—and maybe along the way, he can save himself, too.

New York City has been referred to as the City of Dreams, but for Sam Winchester, it’s more than that—it’s also the City of Second Chances. (VERY VERY GOOD AND STILL UPDATING; I’M STILL READING IT)

Breaking the Cycle: The TARDIS materializes at the Broward County Mystery Spot on a Tuesday.

The Other Loki: There’s a new Trickster in town. Tony and the other Avengers aren’t sure what to make of him.

The Tomato in the Mirror: Loki body-swaps with Sam. Later, things get weird.

Don't Blink? No Problem: Castiel meets a Weeping Angel. It's not a fair fight.

Supernatural

Road Song: Dean attempts to calm the reader with a drive in the Impala after a night filled with nightmares.

WARNING Cabin Fever: When you’ve been cooped up with the Winchesters for too long your plan to get an hour away from them takes a terrible turn for the worse.

Cold as Ice: After an accident, Dean and the reader find themselves stuck in the woods during a storm.

Counting the Days: The world was overrun by the Croatoan virus, Sam said ‘yes’ to Lucifer, and Dean hasn’t talked to his brother in five years. One of these things is not like the others.

WARNING You Bleed, I Bleed: Dean confronts you, and tells you that from now on, anything you do to yourself, he will do to himself. Because he just can’t stand to see you hurting, alone in your pain.

Imagine Winchester Saving You From Jack Frost: (no description) “Ice crystals blossomed across your skin, growing and claiming your body as it’s own. You were glistening, the frost reflecting the evening sun like millions of stars. The beauty of winter dominated your body, sprouted from your neck, your neck that had gelid fingers curled around it.”

Tired and Scared: So, backstory is that the reader is doing some sort of a quest and it’s doing bad stuff to her, sort of like Sam and the trials.

I Think I Might Need You: Dr. Jade Thorpe is a strong, independent woman. It’s how she defines herself, the lens through which she views the world. So when everything she knows and has drops out from under her, she has nowhere to turn but to three men who she’s never met, who she will grow to know as, “the f****** Winchesters and that goddamn angel.”

NSFW All Your Pretty Lies: The first time you meet Dean Winchester he almost kills you. Don’t all healthy relationships start with attempted murder?

WARNING You are the Blood in my Veins: You’ve been dealing with self harm for years, the brothers don’t know yet and you don’t know how much more you can take.

Long I Stood: [Endverse!AU] After his phone call with Dean in “The End,” Sam is exhausted. Still recovering from his near-relapse when hunters Reggie Hull and Tim Janklow tried to force him to drink demon blood and unwilling to fall into bed because Lucifer is waiting in his head, Sam sets off running.

He runs straight into the end of the world, where Zachariah tells him that this is where his choices will inevitably lead him unless he plays his part. Sam finds unexpected allies in the survivors at Camp Chitaqua, and maybe―just maybe―there’s still reason for hope. Maybe they won’t always wind up here. Not if Sam has his say.

When Summoning, Please Watch the Wording: (A strange crossover of Supernatural and Good Omens. I don’t even know if it’s canonically correct but it was very entertaining.)

Find the Light: This is the first part of a series! Sam and Dean discover Y/N as a victim of a Djinn.

In the Quiet Moments: Being stuck in your own horrible inner thoughts is hard. It’s even harder to when those thoughts feel more and more real. Sometimes, you need someone to pull you back to reality and remind you of your worth. 

Waiting: The reader is seriously injured on a hunt. Sam and Dean take you to Bobby’s so he can patch you up. Dean is freaked to Hell.

WARNING Chink in the Armor: Dean Winchester, in the years following Sam’s departure for college, was not a very stable individual.

WARNING Trust Us: You get kidnapped by the two mass murderers you’ve seen on TV, Sam and Dean Winchester. But are they as bad as they are made out to be?

Heavy Sleeper: Imagine Sam and Dean finding the reader asleep in the impala after a long hunt.

Period Pains: The reader has her period worse than usual and Dean takes note, taking care of her in anyway he can. (so cute)

Headache: Reader has a migraine and Sam and Dean don’t realize it and are annoying.

Through the Dark: You finally go on your first hunt, accompanying Sam and Dean. The experience leaves you haunted and Dean does his best to comfort you.

WARNING Be Free: AU from end of Southern Comfort. Sam takes Dean’s words to heart, his mind throwing in its own two cents. Believing it is what will make Dean happy, Sam runs and becomes untraceable until it is almost too late. Dean calls in any help he can to find his brother, including angelic assistance. But finding someone with the knowledge Sam has, and who doesn’t want to be found, the remaining members of Team Free Will better pull out all the stops, and fast.

Imagine Falling Asleep While Watching TV with Dean One Shot: Exhaustion. That was the sign of a hunt well done.

Finding Out You Made a Crossroad’s Deal to Save Him: (no description; preference)

Selfish Motives: Imagine taking a bullet for Dean and he gets emotional while patching you up.

WARNING Reflection: A dark time from the reader’s past comes to light.

Shattered: “The one you shattered? I can fix it.” He said, hand already hovering over your hip. It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, you had the unfortunate feeling it wouldn’t be the last. (tooth-rotting fluff)

Protection Detail: “You’re okay, you’re safe.” The man driving spoke softly. Something about the deep timbre of his voice sounded familiar and strangely comforting. You’d heard it before, but couldn’t for the life of you figure out where or when. There was sincerity in his tone- he truly believed what he was saying. Safe. Too bad he’s wrong. He couldn’t possibly know who you were running from or what they’d done to you. Even worse, what they’d do to him for getting in the way. He was in far over his head and it would only get him killed.

WARNING If Anything Happened to You: After jumping in front of the gun one too many times, the Winchester’s are wondering if there is something more to it than just saving them.

He Isn’t Heavy, He’s My Brother: What happens when the boys are stranded and one of them becomes violently ill? (it’s dean)

You Can’t Rule with a Broken Upper Hand: Successfully killing Lilith and keeping Dean out of Hell has the brothers ready for a good, old-fashioned, hunter-on-demon brawl. It’s time to get back to the basics, back to the way things used to be, when monsters got ganked and that was the end of things. That said, they are not ready for a new kind of creature to appear in the middle of their fight, covered in blood and begging for mercy they aren’t supposed to give.

Meanwhile, Castiel is panicking. He’s been tortured senseless for four decades straight, and now he’s been thrown down in front of two hunters. If he thought his brothers were bad… well, all angels knew how cruel hunters were… and Castiel has no idea how to convince them he doesn’t need to be, in the shorter one’s words, ganked.

Forgotten: Sam and Dean are working a case in Wyoming, but are distracted by news of a dangerous angel called “Castiel” who they can’t remember ever having heard of before. The name seems a little bit familiar, but neither of the boys is sure why. (THIS ONE IS SO GOOD)

Bronco: Reader goes on a hunt alone and hides more serious injuries from Sam and Dean. She heads to Bobby’s to recover only to have the boys show up shortly after. (I love this one)

WARNING We As Human: Sam has been struggling with depression since Stanford. Well, not really struggling. Excelling. He’s been excelling at depression since Stanford, and it’s only gotten worse since he started hunting again. Unfortunately, the relapses from John’s death and Dean’s trip to Hell were bad, but they had nothing on the downward spiral triggered by Sam starting the Apocalypse.

But Sam has never come clean before, and he isn’t about to start. He’s self-medicating, he’s suppressing, and he’s handling things in the Trademark Winchester Way. He can do this. He can totally do this.

Spoiler: No, he can’t.

WARNING Stop the Clock: Being cooped up in the bunker with the Men of Letters archive at your fingertips, you’re now the go-to person for help with lore. But having so many hunters depend on you is overwhelming. You don’t have enough time for yourself and you’ve reached a breaking point. (Dean holding you after a panic attack and comforting you.)

WARNING Chance Encounters: You are running. As a hunter, it seems like you are always running. Whether it be toward an enemy or away. You find yourself in a bar and are saved by Sam and Dean. As Dean gets curious about you, you start to fall for him. With all that is going on with the boys, you offer to help.

Come Hell or Highwater: Oneshot where the reader is stranded on a little boat in the middle of the ocean with one of the boys, and has a super repressed fear of water.

Blood and Tears: The reader is having really bad period cramps, and Dean doesn’t know how to help. (vulgar)

Deep thoughts: When the Winchesters find her, strung up and tortured by a demon, they realize she’s something more than an average human. Sam’s curious, Dean’s apprehensive, and Elise knows everything - because she can hear their thoughts.

Walkie-Talkies: The reader and Dean have to wait out a blizzard at a motel. Question is: will things heat up or not?

Ruination: The night Dean kicks him out of the bunker, Castiel has to find shelter from the rain. But he unwittingly stumbles across a monster’s lair and is caught…and as far as he knows, no one’s looking for him. Meanwhile, Sam’s not buying Dean’s story about why Cas left, and he won’t be satisfied until he finds some answers. Assuming the ex-angel lasts that long.

One Saved Message: After a hunting accident puts Sam out of commission for a couple of days, Dean decides to surprise his brother with a new phone, since his old one is toast. Even better is when he finds that he’s been able to save all of Sam’s old information and restore it to his cell. That’s when he discovers an old voicemail that Sam has kept saved for the last two and a half years… (Voicemail fix-it)

Stargazing: Sam used to want something for himself. Voicemail and amulet fix-it.

Desolation Angels: She slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door as he throws the car into drive. He speeds down the empty highway, deftly avoiding the dead cars dotting the asphalt. // AU starting at the end of AHBL Part One. (An exercise in character study.)

Lullaby: Imagine TFW finding out that the sleeping pills you take every night don’t stop the nightmares; they just keep you from screaming.

Worth It: Tag to Plucky Pennywhistle’s. When they get back to the motel room, Dean discovers Sam’s been hiding his injuries.

Avengers

Fallen Hero: A five part story of Peter and Tony’s relationship beyond what we’re shown in the MCU. If you’re into having your heart shredded and crying yourself to sleep, this is for you.

Five Times Peter Said ‘Sorry’ to Mr.Stark: …and the one time he didn’t have to.

Marvel Masterlist: This Masterlist includes Avengers and the Hell’s Kitchen Boys (Defenders and Punisher).

WARNING Dumb Luck: Having a panic attack during your flight wasn’t part of the plan. Lucky for you your seatmates are there to save the day.

Identity Theft: An organically developed, platonic slow-burn of Avengers-fam dynamic with a heavy hand of Irondad & Spiderson. Throw in an overdose of whump, a couple of cunning villains and a big-bad hiding in the shadows, and you got yourself this hot mess.

WARNING The Homes We Make: Peter Parker isn’t the type of boy to run crying to Tony Stark because he can’t handle a punch. Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds aren’t the type of friends to ignore Peter’s rapidly declining health. Eugene “Flash” Thompson isn’t an idiot.

Division of the Heart: Tony Stark is sick. Surely that’s not going to be a problem? When he doesn’t tell the team a normal cold is a little more complicated with the Arc Reactor, things get a little out of hand.

Doctor Who

WARNING Reasons: The Doctor comforts his companion when she sees a familiar face, a face she wishes she could forget.

Time to Let Go: ANGST ANGST ANGST :)

Flowers for Words: This is a little… darker than my usual. There’s kinda graphic descriptions of bloody things, so this ain’t for the squeamish.

WARNING Trust: After running away from your abusive father, you find yourself in the dark and all alone. That is, until a strange man approaches you.

Stolen: The Doctor left Rose in the other universe with the Meta-Crisis Doctor to give her a chance at a normal life. Now he’s come back to get her, and the knowledge of what she’s been put through will drive him temporarily mad.

Vision: (no description but I can tell you it’s good)

Waving Through History: The Doctor will never see her again, but that doesn’t mean she can’t see him again. // Seven times Amy and Rory visit the past Doctor and one time Amy sees the future Doctor. Post-Angels, 1930-1988.

Trapped in an Elevator: You are late for work when you become trapped in an elevator with the Eleventh Doctor.

The Curious Case of the Doctor and the Cat: Master of the Seven Blocks Rusty Grr'wa is a cat, a Good Boy with a simple life. He must protect and patrol his Seven Blocks, generously let select People pet his incredible fur, and look after the Stacy, the Mum, and the Dad. Then he runs into not-People the Doctor and the Doctor’s Clara Oswald. And then they must all deal with the Sky-thing. (crack)

Afraid of the Dark: It was quiet. That was the first thing that truly caught your attention.

Reality: A more realistic story of a whovian getting stuck in the “Doctor Who” universe. This isn’t the typical “Yay, I met the Doctor” story. If you suddenly found out the Doctor was real, wouldn’t you be a little scared? That would mean all the monsters were real too!

WARNING Psycho Savior: A young woman contemplates suicide by power steering fluid. An attempt to subvert the fan cliche in which the Doctor talks someone out of suicide.

Cold Comfort: The Doctor had his back turned, so he didn’t see how badly Rose’s hands shook as she wrapped them around the thick mug.

Human: The doctor decides it’s not safe for you to travel with him anymore, so he tries to push you away.

Pretty Girl: (no description) “I’m not beautiful,” you say one day.

WARNING: Knock Three Times: Two perfect strangers wake to find themselves being held in adjacent prison cells with no memories of who they are or how they got there. It isn’t until they are faced with agonizing trials that push the limits of self-sacrifice to new horrific heights, that they realize just what they’re facing and how much they will need to trust each other in order to survive.

WARNING Better Now: (no description)

Stellar Storytime: (no description)

Merlin

Deep in the Diamond of the Day: What if Merlin was the one to sustain the mortal injuries during the Battle of Camlann, not Arthur? Will the Once and Future King be able to save his friend? More importantly, will he WANT to after finally discovering Merlin’s secret? A fix-it fic for the series finale, which shattered my soul.

Allow One to ‘See’: When the King is attacked in his tent on patrol and falls into an unending sleep everyone is worried. What they don’t know is that Arthur is fine. In fact he is standing right here next to them, watching them all fret over his prone body. To stave off the boredom whilst a cure is found Arthur takes to wandering the castle and soon discovered a hidden side of Camelot he never knew about.

Or: Arthur’s soul gets trapped outside his body and takes to following his servant around. He gets an interesting insight into Merlin, his servant’s life and just how much Camelot needs the man.

Peace for Our Time: Merlin froze for several seconds before squinting at Arthur across the table. “I feel like I’m definitely misunderstanding the situation here.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I really don’t think you are.”

“You want me to learn magic?”

In a Name: In the middle of some quest or another, Merlin, Arthur and the knights find themselves stuck in the middle of a shrine being told that, if they wish to proceed unharmed, they need only speak their true names and titles. Straight-forward enough, right? Wrong. Merlin really hates the Old Religion sometimes.

Sherlock

WARNING Write Love on Her Arms: (no description)

Spiderman Into the Spider-verse

Ground Zero: Basically, the plot of Spider-Man; Into the Spiderverse if they all got sent to Peter B.’s universe instead of Miles’

Stranger Things

Bleeding: Hopper confronts Reader seven weeks after she left Hawkins.

Timeless

All These Tears I’ve Cried: A snapshot of Lucy’s nightmares, and the aftermath of each. Loosely set between 2x05 and 2x06.

Detroit: Become Human

Skip-able NSFW Leap: Amanda thinks she’s won, but Connor has one last trick up his sleeve. He’s determined to find someone who can fix him and get rid of CyberLife’s influence once and for all. And of course that person is a human woman, the owner of a small android repairshop in downtown Detroit. And she’s not happy about the deviant android who’s just broken in, but necessity dictates she help CyberLife’s most sophisticated prototype escape his chains. With her help, Connor soon discovers what fills the void between the lines of his code.

The Good Doctor

Do No Harm: Shaun is a doctor. He heals the sick and injured, and he takes care of people that need his help. He made this vow in full, understanding the responsibility he was taking on. So, when the bus swerved, when it crashed and flipped, it came as second nature to him. Despite his pain, and despite his injuries, he still pushed himself to do as much as he could for those around him. And he did. Without hesitation, he tried to save as many people as possible. And in doing do, he wasn’t able to save himself.

[myncisworld-2point0]

[NOTE: This article is from 2014.]

According to some people, Mark Harmon is best known to his fans as Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs on CBS’s hit drama series NCIS. Those people are wrong, of course, because he’s always going to be Freddy Shoop, a summer school teacher in over his head in 1987’s appropriately-titled Summer School. Harmon turns the ripe, young age of 63 today, and it’s clearer than ever that this man is in possession of a map that leads to the Fountain of Youth, because Harmon ages with grace, am I right, ladies? In fact, while it’s no wonder why this actor was named People’s Sexiest Man Alive in 1986, it is rather shocking that he never received that accolade again, specifically in 1987, when the most important work of his career was released.

The coke-fueled era of the 1980s in Hollywood was filled with more high school movies about slackers and smartasses than anyone actually needed, especially when it came to featuring students who looked like they were older than the teachers. Summer School was always perhaps the most underrated of the decade’s tributes to slackademics (trademark pending) because what it lacked in the typical star power of, say, a John Hughes film, it more than made up for in creating arguably the most creative collection of “teenage” dipshits than any film of the genre. At the same time, it showed that Harmon, who was probably best known at the time for his role as the HIV-positive Dr. Robert Caldwell on St. Elsewhere, had a strong sense of comedy, while also confirming (along with her debut on Cheers that same year) that Kirstie Alley was much, much more than just a really attractive Vulcan.

Summer School isn’t just some cult classic that people love to mention whenever someone randomly asks, “Hey, whatever happened to Dean Cameron?” It was actually well-received at the box office, earning $36 million in theaters on what I assume was a budget of a few rolls of nickels and someone’s baseball card collection. Critics, however, were a little more mixed on this mindless comedy, as Roger Ebert gave it one-half star out of four, which sounds a lot better than one star out of eight, so you know what? I’ll take it.

Maybe in the movie business we could coin the term vaporfilm, for movies that zip right through our brains without hitting any memory molecules.

“Summer School” is a movie like that, a comedy so listless, leisurely and unspirited that it was an act of the will for me to care about it, even while I was watching it. This movie has no particular reason for being, other than to supply employment for people whose job possibilities will not be enhanced by it. (Via RogerEbert.com)

Here’s a tip for all of you aspiring film critics out there, courtesy of King Ebert – if you’re watching a movie with a title as lazy as Summer School, and the opening of the film features a school’s teachers trying to haul ass after the bell on the last day of the semester so they don’t get suckered into teaching the titular course, get up and walk out. Leave the movie for those of us who love to watch stupid movies and go to the next theater to watch and analyze La Bamba. Perhaps that’s why the fan reviews of Summer School on Netflix seem to be so glowing, as I only found three that were two stars or less. In fact, here’s the worst of them all:

Nothing but trash. Nothing worth seeing. Degenerate teens in bad need of harsh discipline. It’s depressing to think that so many young people actually enjoy this trash. This movie is immediately available from NF while so many more interesting ones languish in the ‘saved’ section, or in ‘short wait’, ‘long wait’, or ‘very long wait’ status. Just one more nail in the coffin of American culture, or lack thereof.

Thank God Armond White weighed in. The majority of people, myself included, fondly remember Summer School for what it is – a fun, stupid movie that was meant to make us laugh, while perhaps also rubbing our noses in the awesomeness of 80s California if we didn’t live there. But I’ll take this analysis one step further by laying out these 10 very important lessons that I took away from Summer School after watching it this morning, in paying tribute to Harmon, a man who was Kevin Costner before Kevin Costner was Kevin Costner.

Always put sunglasses on your dog.

Fact: 100% of movie posters that have dogs wearing sunglasses on them are movies that I’m willing to at least watch. The movie could be called This Dog Dies from Space AIDS, and I’d still be curious to see why that dog is wearing sunglasses.

Always have an escape plan.

When everybody else is hauling ass from the faculty parking lot at the last second, there’s no reason that you shouldn’t already be packed for your trip to Hawaii. I don’t like to point fingers, but Mr. Shoop’s girlfriend is clearly at fault here. All she had to do was pack the car for him, and he could have jumped in and taken off for the airport. Instead, Kim kicked her man while he was down and not only snatched her ticket to Hawaii from the pocket of his rad flowered shirt, but she also told him to drive her to the airport. I don’t mean to offend anyone who is overprotective of fictional characters, but I hope that Kim was eventually fed to the volcano gods.

Also, let’s consider this a lesson within a lesson – would you walk away from your teaching job right now if someone handed you a winning lottery ticket for $50,000? I say no. Just pass all of the morons while you spend the class time reading up on investment opportunities.

Never be afraid to encourage the creativity of your students.

https://youtu.be/-5Pku48YPFo

The true sign of a teacher’s efforts in a classroom is how far the students are willing to go to show others their appreciation of his work. In Shoop’s case, once he resigned because his students were greedy little pricks, those same students objected to a new teacher taking over the class by staging a gruesome and horrifying murder scene, complete with two of the students wielding chainsaws, declaring themselves psychopaths and thus taking credit for the violence. Of course, I can’t stress this enough, no high school students should ever think about trying to recreate this scene today.

On a side note, and I hate to nitpick true artistic masterpieces, if you’re going to have a severed hand pull a dude’s tongue out of his mouth and slap him with it, it’s really important that he not blink. Damn it, people, we need accuracy.

Being a male teacher in California in 1987 was probably terrifying.

https://youtu.be/farC0cWkpvc

Between Summer School and Revenge of the Nerds II: Nerds in Paradise, 1987 was a huge year for Courtney Thorne-Smith. Hell, both movies came out in the same week in July, when she was just 19 years old and poised to become the next big things in terms of girls that all teen boys wanted to marry. Unfortunately, her movie career never really panned out, as the last live action role she had on the big screen was as Natalie in the Carrot Top hot fart Chairman of the Board. Her TV career was obviously a lot better, but that’s neither here nor there. Having her play a lovelorn surf goddess crushing on Shoop probably lured a lot of guys to the teaching profession, only to have them learn the hard way that prison sucks.

Additionally, there was the foreign exchange student Anna-Maria Mazarelli, who would grow up to win our hearts as Alotta Fagina. Was it standard procedure for foreign exchange students to be shoved into remedial English classes upon arrival? Sure.

It’s important to support fine arts programs.

https://youtu.be/u0kF24ceZMI

When I write about how hilarious it was how Hollywood tried to make us buy that some actors were teenagers when they were clearly at least a decade older, Ken Olandt is really Exhibit A. The guy who played Larry, the sleeping student by day and male stripper by night, was actually 29 when he was portraying a 17-year old, which is pretty hard to pass when very few teenage boys A) look like that and B) are hired to shake their dongs in strip clubs. Still, glaring age gaps and statutory and employment laws aside, it was nice to see that Shoop was so cool about Larry’s awesome after-school job. That is until he was busted by his mom and presumably spent the next decade in therapy.

It’s not lying if the company ripped you off in the first place.

The first time that I ever saw Summer School, I was convinced that the part about writing letters to companies to get free stuff would work every time. I spent a lot of time trying to write letters to the companies that made my favorite toys, so I could convince them that the action figures and especially the vehicles that I couldn’t afford had been broken. But then I realized that I might be called on my BS, and guys in suits might show up to my home demanding to see the broken toys, and then I’d be screwed and sent off to prison for lying. Ultimately, owning Krang’s fortress wasn’t worth a life spent in prison making license plates, which is how TV and movies taught me that license plates were made.

Jail in California looks very scary.

I still don’t know what the guy with the mustache is doing with his hand, but it’s really scary and I don’t want to ever have someone do that to me, so I’ve chosen to lead a life on the straight and narrow. Thank you, Summer School, for teaching us that jail is filled with scary perverts who want to do bad things to shirtless men on roller skates.

No matter the risk, steal your boss’s girlfriend.

https://youtu.be/B7ZTNm5o780

Vice Principal Gills was a pretty big bite in the ass, so we had to cheer for Shoop in pursuit of Robin Bishop, because Shoop was the coolest and his girlfriend had only recently taken off for Hawaii without him. Sure, Robin was kind of stuck up because she questioned the legitimacy of taking students to something as awesome as a petting zoo, which produced adorable moments like this:

And she also wore a denim shirt tucked into a different shade of denim skirt, because it was the 80s, but she had a good heart and she just wanted what was best for all students, even if it meant agreeing to a date with Shoop to get there. Also, Gills looked like a total goober-douche, and there’s no reason he should have been with Robin.

Education can be a compromise.

https://youtu.be/LzdoMQL_jR8

Is Alan Eakien one of the most underrated teen nerds of cinema? I say yes. That kid may have been dumber than rocks compared to his genius brothers, but he negotiated circles around Shoop. In exchange for a slightly-above-half-assed effort from less than half of the original class roster*, Shoop’s couch was set on fire, his goldfish murdered and car wrecked, bookending that whole going to jail for the two D-bags thing. Things could have been considerably worse, too, because Robin could have tried to get him banned from teaching for the rest of his life for allowing a female student to live with him.

But ultimately Shoop sacrificed so much for the sake of helping a few of his students learn some lessons about life, since they didn’t all pass their exams. Is he a good teacher for that or was he just an idiot being taken advantage of by other idiots? Especially idiots who looked like this:

Being an idiot isn’t all that bad, so long as you’re not a total idiot.

https://youtu.be/8fvhchY0UmY

Hey, in the end, some of those kids passed their exams, and the most important of them all was Pam, because that meant she could move on and not try to make it so Shoop returned to jail. This guy went from being just a run-of-the-mill bro’s bro gym teacher to making an impact in the lives of some kids who looked like they were grown adults. Sure, he couldn’t even talk a 17-year old out of stripping, and he allowed some of his students to treat the foreign exchange student like a sex model, but Freddy Shoop probably learned more than anyone.

Also, he totally stole the douchebag Vice Principal’s girlfriend, and Wonder Mutt found Bobby again in the end, so this really was a movie with a beautiful and happy ending.

[goodmythicalshipping]

As Much of Me as I Am of You (2/3)

Hello again, folks! I hope y’all enjoyed the first installation of my first-ever fanfic yesterday morning! As promised, here is part two. :) The final chapter goes up tomorrow!

Summary: Hours before they’re supposed to embark on the first date of their live tour, Link finds himself coming to terms with his newfound adoration toward his lifelong best friend. The next morning, the two simultaneously discover the real meaning of having an “out of body” experience.

<< Chapter One / Chapter Three >>

After cramming all of their belongings into Link’s car, the pair drove off in the direction of their tour bus parked on the other side of town. The drive was replete with debate about how they would carry on with the tour, as well as their personal lives, after experiencing the newfound obstacle of swapping bodies. There were suggestions of postponing or cancelling the whole tour, or even going to a psychic or a hospital for help, none of which sounded particularly satisfactory. As Rhett continued to try and cool Link down, Link couldn’t help but worry about what would happen to them.

How would this affect their performance tonight, and every other night of the tour? They didn’t have much time to try and figure something else out after rehearsing for so many days. How long would they be stuck like this? Would they even be able to change back at all? Link tried his best to recall the timeline of events that occurred in Freaky Friday, which he had watched with his daughter Lily at home about a week prior. He had little faith that the Disney flick would provide him with any real-life insight, but he had to do something. He suddenly remembered something about “selfless love,” which made him nauseous. They hadn’t argued about anything recently, so that must mean…

Great. Not only did they have to find a way to switch back into their own bodies, but that way might involve Link confessing his feelings to his best friend of three and a half decades. He tried to see any other way around the problem, but that was the only thing that made any logical sense to him in these completely illogical circumstances. Rhett must’ve noticed the puzzled look on Link’s face, because he swiftly spoke up.

“Y’alright, bo?” Rhett asked, sporting a concerned look on his face. Link had to admit: although it was technically his own face he was looking at, Rhett still looked adorable with his eyebrows knitted like that.

“Yeah, as alright as I can be in this mess, I guess,” Link replied honestly.

“We’ll find a way out of this,” Rhett reassured him. “We always do. We’ve made our way out of some pretty tough situations in the past there, buddy roll.”

“As tough as trading bodies?” Link snickered.

“Okay, maybe not that tough, but y’know what I mean. We’ll get through this,” Rhett smiled at him. Link felt his belly do a somersault at that, feeling his face getting warmer. Crap, he really had it bad, didn’t he? They had to figure out something fast, not just for the fans but for Link’s own sake as well. The two of them kept up their cordial conversation as they exited off the highway.

--

“Just act natural,” Rhett warned Link, making a point to punch every word he spoke as they approached the bus with their belongings in hand.

The two greeted their crew members, who were waiting for them in the parking lot. Regretfully, they decided to lie to the group, explaining that Link had a sore throat and Rhett had somehow injured his hand while packing the night before, thus rendering them both unable to perform. Therefore, they collectively decided that they would perform their songs with backing tracks, at least just for the night. It wasn’t what they wanted to do, but what other choice did they have? Link couldn’t play guitar or piano, despite being in Rhett’s body, and the same applied for Rhett on recorder. At the very least, it would bide the pair some more time while they figured out a plan of action.

“So what’re we gonna do about th-,“ Link said to Rhett, before Rhett clasped a hand over his mouth, silencing him.

“Shhh! D’ya want the whole neighborhood to hear ya?” Rhett exclaimed as they boarded the bus, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. Luckily, no one was close by enough to overhear. Link spoke muffled words into his hand, batting it away once they sat down.

“Geez, man. Sorry I care,” Link provoked. “S’gonna be about a five-hour drive to Vegas. Y’wanna do anything to pass the time?”

Rhett looked around the bus, searching for things to keep them busy. If he was being honest with himself, the idea of being stuck in an enclosed space with Link for the next few hours was a bit daunting to him. Sure, they had spent their entire lives together up until this point, but something struck a chord in him recently that he couldn’t avoid, even if he tried. He suddenly found himself inexplicably thinking about his bespectacled friend more often, usually when he was left alone with his thoughts. Rhett guessed it made sense that this might happen, having known each other for their entire lives. He felt this burning sensation within him to be with Link all the time, being near Link, holding Link… kissing Li-

Rhett found himself being abruptly shaken out of his reverie by the man sat next to him.

“Hello? Earth to Rhett!” Link stated, quickly going wide-eyed and covering his mouth once he realized what he just said. He hoped no one in the main cabin of the bus was able to hear them behind the closed doors of the back lounge.

“Careful, man!” Rhett warned. “If we’re gonna get through this smoothly, we can’t have any slip-ups! This is between you and me and nobody else. Y’have to be as much of me as I am of you to bypass any conflict, got it?”

“Pretty sure that didn’t make grammatical sense, but I got it,” Link joked, earning a playful shove from Rhett. “As long as I don’t call ya by your name again, we’ll be in the clear. I know ya like the back of my hand.”

“Isn’t ‘Call You by Your Name’ that French movie or something?” Rhett asked.

“I think so,” Link laughed. “Never seen it. Speaking of movies that we’ve never seen… wanna watch Freaky Friday?”

Rhett then smacked Link in the face with the nearest pillow, reaping even more laughs that made Rhett’s body tingle all over with devotion for his friend. Nonetheless, he agreed and the two found themselves leaning into each other’s sides as they scrolled through Netflix and tuned into the movie on the back lounge TV.

--

He didn’t know exactly when they had fallen asleep, but Rhett awoke to a combination of the film’s ending credits song and Link snoring on his shoulder next to him. As he turned his head to look down at his friend, being ever so careful not to wake him, he couldn’t help but notice the cute expression Link had displayed on his face. It was also a bit odd, considering he was really staring at his own face, but Link had a very distinctive “asleep” face that he was somehow able to convey even while he was stuck in another person’s body. He watched the younger man sleep, observing how his chest expanded and sank with each breath.

Rhett continued to stare at his agape mouth for a few minutes more, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. If he wasn’t currently in possession of Link’s body, he would lean down and kiss him right in that moment. Rhett would be lying if he said he didn’t notice himself trying everything to get closer to the other man at every instance he could in recent months. It had just become a natural event at this point. He had always thought Link was pretty since childhood, but never thought of him as more than a friend until they began filming this past season of GMM. It frightened him to no end, not only because it made him question his sexuality but because this was his best friend – he couldn’t risk everything they had created together over the last 30+ years just to appease his own self-indulgent desires.

Suddenly, Link sprung awake, startling both himself and Rhett. Rhett looked at him bewitchingly as Link yawned, stretching his arms over his head.

“What time is it?” Link asked sleepily, making Rhett’s face redden.

“S’about noon,” Rhett replied.

“Am I still you?”

“Afraid so,” Rhett lamented, to which Link grumbled. “We should probably join the others in the main area before they think we’re dead.”

Before Link could answer him, the lounge door slid open to reveal Stevie standing on the other side.

“Mornin’, sleepyheads,” she teased. “…am I interrupting something?”

Both men flushed at this statement, not-so-subtly scooting apart from each other, which made the blonde girl chuckle.

“Fancy some lunch? I think one of the guys packed us some sandwiches,” she continued.

“Sounds good,” Rhett finally replied. “We’ll be there in a second.”

Stevie nodded, sliding the door shut behind her. Once she was gone, the two men stared at each other for a brief moment, neither sure of what to do next. As the faint shades of scarlet became more apparent on each of their faces, Rhett shot up out of his seat, much to Link’s disappointment.

“In the wise words of Stevie, d’ya fancy a sandwich… Rhett?” Rhett quipped, drawing out his own name for emphasis and extending a hand out to Link, hoping to distract him from the rather awkward moment they just shared.

“Let’s give ‘em a show,” Link japed, taking his hand and making their way toward the kitchen.

(To be continued)

[chikoriita]

Reconnecting in Radiant Garden

Read on AO3.org

Life had been quiet recently. No Heartless invasions, no Nobodies running around, and no Keyblades destroying the place. How dull, thought Leon as he monitored the town’s defenses. Cid was off-world, probably at Disney Castle visiting Chip and Dale. Merlin, that crazy old wizard, disappeared months ago to go on a “secret mission.” Yuffie and Aerith enjoyed the quiet that fell over Radiant Garden. Yuffie, as the youngest of their motley crew, took time for the first time in more than a decade just to explore their world. Growing up under the starry night of Traverse Town, Yuffie thrived in the beautiful sunlight of Radiant Garden. She was little more than a child when they were exiled by Maleficent. Meanwhile, Aerith took care of the townspeople as per usual. No one turned away affectionate Aerith, not even the Castle inhabitants.

The Castle. Leon still was unsure what to make of Ansem the Wise and his reformed apprentices. Ienzo, Aeleus, and Dilan took responsibility for the labyrinth of laboratories in the basement. He gladly signed over that task to Ienzo. There was enough to deal with all those months ago: the aftermath of the Heartless battle, resettlement from off-world residents, and more. Leon did not need to worry about the skeletons in the basement. Then again, what did he have to do now?

A small break was exactly what he needed. He pushed away from the computer station, determined to find out what they were up to at the Castle. He hesitated to bring the Gunblade with him; after all, it was peacetime. No one reported any Heartless or Nobodies on-world since the battle. Still, those at the Castle were former Nobodies and traitors. Ansem the Wise may have forgiven them, but for all Leon knew, there was a long con. Gunblade at his side, he made his way to Town Square.

Leon admired all of the work the Committee had put into restoring their world. Backed by Scrooge McDuck’s munny, the town looked better than ever. They reinstalled the Fountain Court and replanted the flowers in the gardens. Aerith spearheaded the project; it was like her child. Leon made sure to order the flowers to her liking. After all these years of taking care of them, he rarely denied the girls anything they wanted. If Aerith wanted pink flowers to decorate Town Square, then she would get them. Leon smiled as the wind blew some of the petals his way. It was oddly windy for such a mild day. More petals hit his face as he got closer to the square.

What is going on there? Leon thought. Were there any petals left on the flowers at this rate? He broke into a run to investigate when he saw a Gummi ship lift off and fly away. Who landed a Gummi in the middle of the town square? Wait, wasn’t that Sora’s Gummi ship? Sora! He glanced to the right and saw Aeleus and Dilan staring at the sky.

“Hey!” He called over to the perpetually frowning guards at the Castle Gate. “Was that Sora? Did he need something?” Leon tried to keep the worry out of his voice. Sora, Donald, and Goofy never returned to Radiant Garden after they stopped the Master Control Program. He knew they could take care of themselves, but ever since their first meeting in Traverse Town, Leon considered them part of his family, same as Aerith and Yuffie.

Dilan shook his head. “No, that was Riku. He was escorting Namine to a gathering of the Guardians.”

Leon tried to piece together this information. “Riku? But why-”

“Leon!” A deep voice called from the top of the steps. The three turned to see Ansem the Wise standing there. “Come. There is much to tell you.” There was a solemn tone in his voice, and deep down, Leon recognized the coming of bad news.

Leon barely recognized the study that Tifa destroyed months ago. All of the diagrams and studies of the heart were gone, yet there was still a spirit of disarray. Researchers must not change that much.

“Why have you brought me here, your Lordship?” Leon asked.

“Hah. I am not deserving of that title after all these years, young man. Nonetheless, I know all about you, Squall Leonhart.” Though they returned Radiant Garden to the splendor years past, he never returned to the name of his boyhood. He hid behind Leon all these years, but the man he grew into accepted it as his true identity.

“The King told you?” King Mickey was not one to tell tales usually.

He laughed at the thought. “The King did not need to tell me anything. I found out through Sora.”

Leon did not respond nor did he need to. Ansem continued his explanation. “I, along with Naminé and Riku, pieced together Sora’s memories. You must remember that time; the time when everyone remembered Sora all at once. That was due to our meddling.”

“I know enough of this part of the story. Explain why Riku was in Sora’s Gummi ship.” He felt uneasy. Ansem the Wise was stalling, and he needed to know why.

“There was a great battle. Seven Guardians of Light versus thirteen Seekers of Darkness. Their battle was used to once again open Kingdom Hearts. During the battle, one of the Guardians fell; Sora took it upon himself to save her heart.”

Sora would do that. He had done that for Kairi before… Leon felt his blood flow away from his face. Kairi.

“Kairi fell?” The somber look on the sage king’s face confirmed his belief.

“Sora embarked on a journey alone to find Kairi’s heart; we had no idea where he or his heart could be. Not until Naminé woke up hours ago. We prepared her replica body in case Kairi’s heart made the connection and returned Naminé’s heart to the vessel. Her awakening is proof that Sora succeeded in his mission.” The smile on his face did not reach his eyes.

“But?” Leon asked quietly. All of this information overloaded his heart. Why had he not been there for Sora? After everything he had done for Leon, his family, and the worlds, Sora did not once reach out for him.

“King Mickey informed me, privately, that there were consequences to Sora’s bravery. The power of awakening a lost heart is one that drags the lightest heart into the darkest abyss. He fears-” Ansem’s voice choked. “He fears that though Sora saved Kairi, we might have lost him to the abyss.”

No. “No! Sora’s too strong for that!” Leon shouted, standing up from his seat.

“I believe that as well, but neither you nor I are Keyblade wielders, let alone a Master like the King. Riku believes that Sora and Kairi will return to Destiny Islands and gathered the Guardians of Light there. Hopefully, the King is wrong.” The two men shared a look. King Mickey was rarely wrong about such an important matter.

Leon sat on one of the walls in Town Square, waiting for the sun to set, and he tried to process all he learned earlier. While they enjoyed peace here in Radiant Garden, Sora and his friends once again risked their lives for the worlds. He closed his eyes and thought back to his first meeting with Sora. The confusion of seeing such a powerful weapon in the hands of a child segued into a real friendship with the boy.

“Leon, you don’t have to sleep in the middle of town anymore! You have a house now,” Yuffie teased him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to find Yuffie and Aerith carrying a picnic basket.

“Did you forget we had plans?” Aerith asked gently. When he didn’t answer, she frowned. “Are you okay Squall?” She placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

Should he burden them with the pain? He pondered for a second when a sharp pain stabbed his heart. Yuffie gasped and clutched her chest. Aerith followed suit.

“What’s happening?” Yuffie panted. “This hurt…”

“A light has faded from the plane,” Aerith gasped. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Leon had to explain it to them, but all he could say was, “Sora…” Tears welled in his eyes. He remembered the last time he cried; it was the day Cid loaded the three youths onto the Gummi ship for Traverse Town. Leon lost his home that day, but today he lost his friend.

[bakwoodzman-blog]

Ron Paul: Republicans, Democrats Teaming Up for Federal Gun Confiscation Bill

by       The Free Thought Project    ·                            Published May 25, 2018              · Updated May 25, 2018              

Ron Paul: Republicans, Democrats Teaming Up for Federal Gun Confiscation Bill By Matt Agorist – The Free Thought Project

A source inside the US Senate has reported that Republicans and Democrats are teaming up and using the recent tragedy in Texas as the impetus to push through a massive federal gun control bill.

In an email Tuesday night, former Congressman and presidential candidate Ron Paul released an ominous statement claiming that a source they have in the Senate revealed Democrats are teaming up with Republicans to push through a massive gun control bill.

According to their source, as Paul explained, “Senators Marco Rubio (R-FL) and Lindsey Graham (R-SC) are teaming up with Dianne Feinstein (D-CA) to ram through one of the worst nationwide gun confiscation schemes ever devised.”

The gun confiscation bill, according to Paul, is designed to disarm Americans without any due process. The senators are using the recent tragic shooting in Texas as the impetus behind the law—in spite of the fact that this law would not have prevented the shooting at all.

As the Free Thought Project has previously reported, some states have already begun implementing laws like this one. Using mass shootings as a their ammunition, states have enacted “Red Flag” or “Risk Protection” laws which allow police to confiscate a person’s weapon before they are ever given a chance to defend themselves.

Under the fifth and fourteenth amendments, due process clauses are in place to act as a safeguard from arbitrary denial of life, liberty, or property by the government outside the sanction of law. What’s more, neither of the men were granted their sixth amendment rights to be confronted with the witnesses against them. In both cases, simple orders—under new laws—were issued, arguably arbitrarily, which stripped these two men of their property.

In spite of what officials and the media claim, when a person is stripped of their constitutional rights, albeit temporarily, without being given the chance to make their own case based on what can be entirely arbitrary accusations, this is the removal of due process.

As Ron Paul explains, this removal of due process could soon be a federal law.

Under so-called “Red Flag” or “Risk Protection” Orders, anti-gun family members, neighbors, or associates could have your guns taken away based on mere accusations without any real due process or trial.

In secret court proceedings, where only your accuser is present, judges could determine that you pose a “significant danger” to someone, including yourself.

Imagine your surprise when a heavily armed SWAT Team arrives to seize your lawfully owned firearms.

It would then cost you tens of thousands of dollars in court costs and weeks or even months to try and convince the court they made a mistake.

To be clear, no one here is advocating for people determined to be mentally unfit to be able to possess firearms. However, they need to be determined to be mentally unfit before they lose their rights.

To those who may be in favor of such laws, consider the following: There is no way to stop an estranged spouse from calling police repeatedly and telling them their ex is threatening to cause harm to others. While the man in Florida had his guns taken for being psychologically unfit, the man in Seattle simply open-carried a pistol and looked out of windows and his guns were taken because his neighbors thought it was strange.

Anyone, any time, now has the ability to claim someone else is a threat and have police take their guns. One does not need to delve into the multiple ‘what if’ scenarios to see what sort of ominous implications arise from such a practice. What’s more, police in some states now have the power to deem you a threat at any time and legally disarm you—due process be damned.

This is the exact scenario that Donald Trump advocated for in February.

WATCH: President Trump: “I like taking the guns early … Take the guns first, go through due process second.” pic.twitter.com/aydEZdAGq0

— NBC News (@NBCNews) February 28, 2018

As Ron Paul explains, this is entirely unconstitutional.

The words of the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution are so easy to grasp:

“. . . the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”

There were no asterisks and no footnotes. There are no sentences that follow which start with the words “unless” or “however.” The right to defend your life and property shall not be infringed by the government.

Period.

Paul’s Campaign for Liberty has set up the Defend the Second Amendment Directive where citizens can sign a petition to demand their Senator not pass this blow to freedom and self-defense. You can sign it here.

Please share this article to let your friends and family that saying, “they are coming for our guns,” is not a conspiracy theory.

Source Link – The Free Thought Project

Matt Agorist

Matt Agorist is an honorably discharged veteran of the USMC and former intelligence operator directly tasked by the NSA. This prior experience gives him unique insight into the world of government corruption and the American police state. Agorist has been an independent journalist for over a decade and has been featured on mainstream networks around the world. Agorist is also the Editor at Large at the Free Thought Project.

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[fuckyeahjamieandclaire]

It turns out love can conquer crow’s feet. Executive producer Maril Davis on the period drama’s decision to let love, not age lines, drive Claire and Jamie’s reunion arc despite a 20-year time jump.

There’s always been plenty to envy about Claire and Jamie, the star-crossed couple whose centuries-spanning romance propels the period drama Outlander. They’re capable, brave, and beautiful, blessed by an unbreakable bond, strong convictions, and even stronger sex drives. Since the series’ first season, their ear-pleasing accents, smoldering, soul-searching looks, telegenic love-making, and repeated rescues of each other’s lives have set a high standard, relationship-wise. But recent episodes of Outlander have introduced us to yet another quality we wish we had in common with Claire and Jamie: They’re almost immune to aging.

By their third seasons, many TV series settle into a rut—a familiar and welcome one, in the case of some comfort TV, but less so for hour-long dramas with fantasy elements, which traffic in twists and upheaval. But disrupting the status quo wasn’t a struggle for Outlander, an adaptation of Diana Gabaldon’s book series, which comprises eight novels (with a ninth on the way) and assorted shorter works. Through 37 episodes, the Starz series’ story is still closer to takeoff than landing, working through the third book in the sequence, 1993’s Voyager.

The events of Voyager dictated an unorthodox interlude for a program that’s centered on the interplay (and intercourse) between two charismatic and chemistry-laden leads: an extended separation and a mutual 20-year time jump. At the end of Season 2, the pregnant Claire (a 20th-century English nurse who in the first season accidentally slips into the past through, um, a mystical stone) and Jamie (her 18th-century, red-haired highlander lover) are forced to break up by the impending Battle of Culloden, at which Jamie, a Jacobite rebel, expects to be (and nearly is) killed.

To protect their soon-to-be-born daughter Brianna, Claire (played by Caitriona Balfe) returns to the 1940s. Believing that Jamie (played by Sam Heughan) did die, she does her best to move on, relocating to Boston, raising Brianna, becoming a doctor, and growing apart from her first husband, Frank, who’s caring and attentive but lacks Jamie’s highland lilt, kilt collection, and Men’s Health cover physique. Jamie, meanwhile, survives battle, torture, and imprisonment (nothing new for him), grows and shaves a big beard, fathers a son, pivots to printing and smuggling, and gets married again out of loneliness, all while carrying an eternal torch for Claire. Midway through the third season, after almost five episodes apart, they reunite in the mid-1760s, two decades older but no less in love—and, curiously, looking a lot like they did the last time they were together.

“I wanted to look—well, the same as when you last saw me,” Claire says with some trepidation during their first conversation, admitting that she’s dyed away the single gray streak that had appeared in her hair in earlier, Boston-centric scenes. Mission accomplished, Claire. Neither member of Outlander’s leading duo looks any worse for wear after 20 years of imprisonment, parenthood, and pining for lost love. 

For Outlander’s creators, the time jump presented a production dilemma, not because of the story (which Gabaldon had already plotted out) or setting (most viewers aren’t well-versed in the intricacies of 1740s vs. 1760s style), but because of the actors’ appearances. In real life, a two-decade difference isn’t invisible, no matter how much St. Ives Oatmeal and Shea Butter Lotion you lather on because of Balfe.

Heughan, 37, and Balfe, 38, were both 34 when the series premiere aired in 2014, but their characters were considerably younger. “Jamie’s kind of early 20s, Claire is late 20s when it starts,” Outlander executive producer Maril Davis says by phone. Three years passed between Claire’s first time jump back to 1743 and the Battle of Culloden, which, Davis says, would put both of them in their “mid- to later-40s after the [20-year] time jump.” Although the creators talked about shortening the story’s time jump to reduce the need to alter the actors’ appearance, they found that they couldn’t do it without omitting too many plot points from the characters’ time apart.

Aware that the time jump was looming, the producers started doing screen tests last season with Balfe and Heughan, in consultation with head of hair and makeup Annie McEwan, who had worked on Season 4 of Game of Thrones before joining the Outlander crew. After experimenting with various looks, the creative team decided, essentially, that both Balfe and Heughan were too hot to convincingly tamper with by obscuring their actual features. “We have two actors who happen to be incredibly beautiful people,” Davis says. “It is hard to make them look bad, damn them.” Originally, the pair’s first post-reunion sex scene featured a reference to stretch marks, but the writers lost that line from the script, Davis says, when the makeup crew informed them that stretch marks “don't read very well on camera.”

Even apart from the specific challenge of wrinkling, graying, and thickening two age-resistant actors, the transition from 20s to 40s is a particularly tough one. “It's hard to make young people look incrementally older,” Davis says. “It's obviously a little easier—and I put ‘easier’ in quotes—if you're aging someone up from like 30 to 80. … With two actors who look so young anyways in their real life, we realized that we couldn't do major jumps without it looking fake, and also taking a lot of extra time in hair and makeup, as well as using a lot of extra prosthetics.”

For Davis, a veteran of more explicitly sci-fi (and more makeup- and prosthetic-reliant) productions such as Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica, Outlander’s understated approach to the aging process didn’t come intuitively. “There were some times that I said to our hair and makeup team, ‘Can we go farther? Because you can't read some of these lines that you're painting on camera,’” Davis says. “And they were horrified. They were like, ‘Are you kidding? Oh my god, we can't go any farther.’ It's interesting, because you also have to take the advice of people that have been in the business doing the hair and makeup a long time, knowing that they can only go so far until they feel uncomfortable because it doesn't look real anymore.”

In addition to the aging uncanny valley, there’s the time cost to the talent and crew to consider. A heavier hand on the cosmetic side—on top of the prosthetic flogging scars already applied to Heughan’s back in shirtless scenes for much of the series’ run—would mean much more time in makeup chairs, staring blankly into mirrors as fake years and real hours add up. Though according to Davis, Balfe and Heughan, who were frequently consulted, never expressed any reservations about hiding their youth under veneers of age. “They're both very game for whatever we want to do, and so this isn't a vanity thing,” she says. “Neither of them, I don't think, at any point has ever said, ‘I have to look good, so don't make me look too old.’”

This was a weighty decision, because the ramifications for the series could extend far into the future. Unlike some shows or movies that might insert a brief flash-forward in a single scene or episode, Outlander is committed to the time jump for the long term. Whatever aging the crew applied to Balfe and Heughan now would sentence them to the same look for years to come on a series that may still be relatively early in its run (which already has been renewed for a fourth season). That’s not only a nuisance, but potentially an acting inhibitor, as Davis says Heughan discovered while wearing his wild beard in the third season’s second episode. “If you have something on your face like that, sometimes it's a little harder to talk, you're more aware of it, it takes you out,” Davis says. “So all of these things are factors, and same with if we were getting into heavy prosthetics to make actors appear much older than they are.”

The end result of all the discussion and screen tests is a difference so subtle that you have to squint to see it—just like the new, older Jamie has to squint to see small text without wearing his reading glasses. Specs aside, he looks almost unchanged. “With Sam, we've kind of weathered him, adding more shading to his face,” Davis says. “We've got some lines that the hair and makeup department have put in themselves, and then greying at the temples for him, as well as with Caitriona. We realized because her skin is also so young that we'd have to sell a lot of it with the gray in her hair.” Of course, even that gray is gone now, at least temporarily, although Davis says its absence stems from an impulse to portray Claire’s humanizing insecurity, rather than a need to preserve the stars’ romance-novel looks (which she acknowledges are part of the show’s appeal). “So much of our talk about appearance is motivated from a character standpoint,” she says. “I don't think we ever go, ‘Oh my god, they have to look amazing because this show is trying to sell a fantasy element.’” But who’s to say that the mystical stones don’t have anti-aging effects?

In navigating the time jump, the producers’ overriding desire was to avoid distracting the audience by going overboard on aging. “You don't want to be taken out of the moment, sitting back watching at home,” Davis says. At times, though, the lack of aging is its own sort of distraction. My wife and I giggled through one supposed-to-be-tender scene as the script tried to sell us on these nearly identical-looking 30-something specimens as people pushing 50. “I don’t look like an old man?” Jamie asks self-consciously, shortly before exposing his still-chiseled chest. And Claire, after completely disrobing to reveal her youthful frame, tells an admiring Jamie, "You must really be losing your eyesight." Nobody’s buying it, guys.

The aging-related dialogue is less jarring when it alludes to the absurdity of the situation, as when Claire marvels to Jamie, “Most men in their 40s have started to go soft around the middle. You haven't a spare ounce on you,” or when she greets the family lawyer by exclaiming, “You look exactly the same!” (No Battlestar fat suits here.) In other scenes, though, the actors convincingly convey the passage of time through emotion, even though they both remain outwardly radiant. “We had so many discussions with Caitriona and Sam about this internal aging, because some of it, you are trying to sell this gravitas of 20 years of loss through their acting, which I think they do so well,” Davis says.

The best asset Outlander has in hand-waving its characters’ immutability is an audience that’s willing to suspend disbelief. “Let's be honest, we could've kept these two apart for a week and it would've seemed like an eternity,” Davis says. “I think for the fans it probably seemed like 100 years—for us as well. So I don't think we needed to add to that at all.”And if—like a lot of the Outlander faithful—you’re the sentimental type who doesn’t mind some soapiness, you’ll accept that love can conquer crow’s feet. “I think in a weird way, that 20 years just kind of faded away when they saw each other again,” Davis says. “In some ways, it was like so much time had passed, and in other ways it was like no time had passed at all because that love had never died.”

With the reunion episode’s semi-awkward aging exchanges behind it, Outlander soon stops dwelling on appearances: The following week, Jamie fireman’s carries a man from a burning building, and the week after that, not-so-newlyweds Claire and Jamie tear off their clothes and writhe around on the floor. Most Outlander watchers wouldn’t have it any other way.

Judging by the books (spoilers!), there’s still a chance that we’ll see an actually old-looking Claire and Jamie in future seasons. “If we're lucky enough to do all the books, they're in their 60s in the current books,” Davis says. “So we do want to also have somewhere to go, and we do need to use, as a base, our two actors, who are very young, and so we want to be with them on this journey.”

But based on this season, don’t be surprised if the 60-something couple doesn’t look a day over 45. “Time doesn’t matter, Sassenach,” Jamie says in Season 3’s sixth episode, using his pet name for Claire. “You will always be beautiful to me.” And also, most likely, to everyone watching at home.

[nathaniel-g-blog]

Mother

What is possible to express regarding your mother? How do you learn to love the world? Before I had finished writing about my fathers, I realized that project was only a prologue to writing about my mother, that first I had to write about the men to whom she was devoted, and also that I couldn't talk about her except by talking about the things she desires. What could I say about the most powerful force in my life? About someone I can only recognize by the way in which she made all our lives possible? What of the thing in and for itself? The failures of fathers are well-documented and described as shortcomings. The failures of mothers are unthinkable. The world is so composed that fathers fail and can always be replaced. Mothers fail, and what hope is left? Mothers cannot be what they are without everything being what it is, and we live in a world that does not match. Mothers are objects that give meaning to a world of objects while never becoming proper subjects themselves. Mothers are a nexus of desire, neither its source nor its end. This is to say that they are not just gendered, but in some sense their lives express the grammar of gender. The one who, as mother, wants nothing other than for you to be happy, and also must look to you to see herself. Motherhood as a state of perpetual panic. Fathers can exist in the fantastic binary of domination and subjection; mothers cannot, though the ones called mothers still somehow do. When you talk about your mother, you can talk about what she expressed, just like you can with anyone else, but what mothers also do is structure our relationships to expression. Several years ago the woman I was married to wanted me to go to a wine and painting party to celebrate her friend’s birthday. I volunteered to drive some other friends. It wasn’t my night, but I was excited to have a glass of wine and knew that creativity was fun and desirable. Who doesn’t dream of being an artist? I felt I had everything but the skill. I knew I wanted to express myself but did not know what exactly I wanted to express. I was not well-practiced. I had a glass of wine and got to work. I could not follow the instructions laid out by the teacher, and I could not avoid the instructions which conditioned my own ability. I wanted to paint something wild.

Do not think for a moment that I thought this painting was good. It is not even bad art, if bad art is the failed expression of desire. This is a failed expression of the desire for expression. Maybe that’s the same thing, but it feels worse. I am telling you that I wanted this to be interesting, and I know that it is not. I made up a fun story about how it represented something about God and creation and birth and excrement, put the two canvases together and called it a diptych. That evil-looking lamb? Started out its life as a giraffe provided by the instructor as a model, a model that I ignored as soon as I could. The instructor couldn’t help but laugh. How are you so bad at this? Can’t you just follow instructions? Can’t you make a single brushstroke without worrying about where it will end, at the obvious cost of what it could mean? Why do you love symmetry, and being boring? I did not know whether I loved those things, but this night was also not about me or what I did or didn’t love. I grew up in a low church tradition. We didn’t need creeds or instruction, we had ourselves and the Holy Spirit, which promised to be enough to keep things interesting, except when it wasn’t, when we fell into patterns of saying the same things in the same ways until nothing meant anything anymore, in which all possibilities continued to exist while we learned to close ourselves off from them. Conceiving ourselves seemed a mistake when God himself was already inside us. It wasn’t about us, till it was only about us. The second story is more uncomfortable. In my 4th decade I started to notice irregularities in my urination patterns. I never thought about normal bodily functions as being under control until I lost it. The stuff would not come out when I wanted it to and it would dribble out sometimes when I did not, like maybe it would if I had given birth. This year I started paying attention to my body and my feelings. I realized the extent of my anxiety. I would create running lists of tasks in my head and offer myself the promise of relief when they were done. I have to pee, sure, so let me just finish these dishes and maybe clean that counter and go add this citation. I'm not saying I got a lot done - I didn't. What I did do was raise the stress in my body to levels I hadn't previously experienced. I was talking to my therapist about something else and then it struck me: when I need to pee, I should do that. Delayed gratification is not always gratification at all, it can be torture, and torture can neither satisfy nor produce insight, despite the CIA's best arguments. I started to remember what had happened when I started living with someone. I remembered the idea of peeing by myself when I was supposed to, and not thinking about it the rest of the time. I remember feeling like being with someone else was all my boundaries being broken, the bathroom door never able to be shut, interruption, confusion, panic. How self-denial was the only power I felt I had left, a power I wielded against myself among others. I was embarrassed, but there seemed no other way to continue. I said I cannot talk about my mother without talking about the people she loves, and she would probably hate it if I could. But here is one more story. This is also about her. She always wanted to make sure we had enough. I visited her home recently and she pointed out two excesses. She had bought a television, no doubt after painstaking research, and it was big. Most of my time with her we did not have cable, so any new technology would be excessive, and this was. She seemed embarrassed, like she wanted me to assure her that it was the right purchase. But I don't live there anymore, and I don’t know anything about televisions. She commented on how big it was. I said yes, it kind of is, but that's okay. It's nice. It's a bit decadent, she said, and I said sure, okay, but it’s fine. She seemed offended that I would call it decadent. Of course, that wasn't my term. Neither was it really hers. I wanted only to acknowledge and affirm the way she was feeling about the television, which was really a fine purchase. The same day, she ordered chicken tenders for the family, from a place we all love. She asked me how much I wanted her to get, but I couldn’t say because I have no idea how much a family should eat. In my view, if you have the money and don't think it will go to waste, a little extra is okay. She bought a lot extra. It was great. We all ate, with leftovers for days. My brother and I couldn't help commenting and laughing, however, about just how much chicken we had. Ten pounds! It was great, no one had to feel bad about taking everything they needed. It was also funny. My mother has always been frugal and resourceful. Our family shopping trips as a child involved a cooler with sippy cups of milk that we would bring into Burger King to pair with value menu sandwiches. It was her way of trying to make sure our lives were special. It is also, then and in retrospect, funny. Even more so when this same mother 25 years later brings home enough chicken for the whole neighborhood. I felt bad for laughing, because I knew it made her feel bad, like she had done something wrong. She hadn’t, at least not in the way she thought. She bought too much chicken. We all liked it, but I don't know that she was convinced. This week a friend pointed out to me that when I make chicken specifically, I always make an absurd amount. I love eating chicken, though I know I shouldn’t. The greatest joy I have experienced in life is watching both myself and people I love come to express what we think and feel. A mother's joy seems one sided, a tragic choice to abandon expression altogether, or to only express what needs no expression. I found all my interests in my mother’s life: death, desire, labor, race, ideology, power, time. These are not concepts which to my knowledge she spends very much time thinking about. She only wants to want what God wants, and much more importantly, perhaps even exclusively, just to do what he wants. I could write about fathers easily because I am always thinking about them. It’s harder to write about the content of your life amidst its domination by forms. This feels less clear and more important. That’s probably natural for an essay about everything and its emptiness; it’s about my mother. My father would not be anxious regarding what I might say about him. My mother would be, which is why she doesn’t know I am writing this. It’s not that she is particularly vain or pretentious. She just cares, and doesn’t always know why or how. I get that from her too. (What helped me write this: Gillian Rose Andrea Long Chu and Darren Aronofsky, working at a marketing firm, of course the person whose name I can’t remember who correctly told me that I was not in that moment a good painter)