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songsofadelaide · 2 months

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HELLOO!!! me again teehee i was wondering if u still accepted requests or if theyre closed for now but i still wanted to share my ting!! moment but its totally up to u whether or not u’ll accept.

in part two of the cbffs hoshina x reader series, hoshina mentioned reader should write him letters if there are anything reader cant say to his face and i was wondering if we could get like a moment where that happens im thinking uhh since hoshina is pretty important member of the force maybe he gets too busy/ preoccupied/ spending too much time w work and while reader understands this it doesnt mean she doesnt feel lonely sometimes… maybe add a bit of jealousy w hoshina spending alot more time w/ okonogi or whoever/ whatever scenario if thats up to ur liking and reader just gets distant?? and decides to leave a letter to hoshinas table telling how she feels as she cant say what shes feeling to his face

idk theyve been so cute and happy i wanna ruin it EMZ!!! lowkey theres already a number of good jealous hoshina we need more of jealous reader imo. thank uuu!!!

ANON WHY?! Like why ruin a perfectly good thing LOL BUT I GET! 😂 I'm all for fluff, but maybe the reader should go apeshit sometimes. 🤭

This will be the final part of my Radiant Point series, which took on a life of its own after I received so many lovely requests for more parts of it! 💛

My apologies too that this took so long! There's balancing life in real-time. (I just quit my job and am now hunting for a new one lol! 😂)

flare — another side story to radiant point. ✧ refulgence | candor

cw: vice captain soshiro x platoon leader (f) reader, fiancee reader, childhood friends to lovers, jealous + mean reader, no use of 'yn', happy reunions.

Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro of the Third Division was perhaps the second most admired person in Tokyo.

Not only that, but perhaps he's also the second most busy person in your division.

You learned about that the hard way one day when you found Soshiro conversing with one of the Operations trainees Konomi assigned to him during low-risk missions while on your way to the Captain's office. You just wrapped up from a mission yourself when you nearly walked in on him and the young but pretty girl. She had a neat look to her person and evidently took everything he said to heart, jotting down notes as he spoke to her about pointers you had no idea about. If you remembered correctly, too, she must be one of Konomi's best and brightest since she had no issue assigning her to the Vice Captain, of all people.

"Well? Did you get all of that, Tateyama? It's a lot to consider, but Okonogi-chan thinks you're capable enough."

"Yes, boss! I-I mean sir!" The Operations trainee, Tateyama, eagerly nodded her assent as she closed her notepad and slipped it back into the pocket of her white coat.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"D-Do you have a girlfriend, Vice Captain?!"

"I'm engaged to Platoon Leader Koganei," Soshiro replied with his usual cheer. "You must not know about it since we've just recently announced it."

"O-Oh, I see! One of our Platoon Leaders…"

"She and I are childhood friends, too."

"Ah! And childhood friends, too!" The younger girl remarked with a look of complete surprise on her face. "How romantic!"

You left them to their conversation after hearing just how harmless it was and decided to pay no thought to it afterwards. A young girl with a silly crush on your fiancé was nothing to feel threatened about. More than anything, it was rather flattering to know just how well-sought-after Soshiro was and that he still chose you out of all the people he could be with.

But then you realised the young girls around him may not be as harmless as you initially thought.

The young Operations trainees were taking a break from weapons calibrations when you overheard their conversation at the mess hall that afternoon. You didn't mean to, of course. You and Tae were there for a break yourselves, but something in the tone of their voices made you do a double-take.

"I can't believe you actually asked Vice Captain Hoshina if the rumours were true!"

"I-I know! It's too bad that they were. That means he's off-limits," said the girl you recognised as Tateyama from the other day. "B-But that doesn't mean we can't daydream about him a little now, can we? He's just so cool!"

"Exactly! And he's got a cute side, too. Maybe if we show him just how good we are, he might cave in and even consider enterta—"

"Well, that's not a good w— O-Otome-chan?!"

Your fellow Platoon Leader was unable to stop you from marching towards their table, where you unceremoniously slammed down your favourite iced drink.

"P-Platoon Leader K—!" The girls hastily rose to their feet to meet your smiling yet furious gaze. "We—"

"You're… Tateyama, aren't you? The one assigned to the Vice Captain," you said, not even allowing them to speak. "And you are?"

"A-Akabane, ma'am," the other girl stammered.

"My, you must think so little of Vice Captain Hoshina if you think he'll consider entertaining little brats like you," you stated with a wicked grin on your face. "How… funny. I seem to recall the Vice Captain telling you that he was already engaged, Tateyama. But that doesn't bother you at all, does it?"

"I-I…"

"This isn't high school, children. We aren't in the business of stealing other women's boyfriends here. Even more so that he's engaged. We're all about saving lives and subjugating Kaiju here. If you're really as smart as Konomi-chan says you are, you'll know what's more important."

How scary, Tae thought to herself, though she couldn't blame you for reacting that way, too. Then again, these kids are way too brazen!

Captain Ashiro Mina of the Third Division, a pillar of strength and a beacon of light for the people of Tokyo, has been reduced to matchmaking duties because she's had just about enough.

Because two of her best officers were acting like idiots.

She was supportive of your relationship with Soshiro at first, but now that you were unable to coexist in the same space whenever the Vice Captain was around, she thinks it's borderline ridiculous. You couldn't even deliver reports without glaring at him wherever your eyes met! (And you admit that it's totally unprofessional on your part.) Mina is forgiving, but your situation begs the question now.

Can loving someone really fry your brain that much?

She heard about how you scolded the younger Operations trainees and even had Konomi apologising for their "brazen" behaviour, as Tae also mentioned.

Soshiro's not-so-subtle teasing and flirting aren't helping your case, either. Everyone knew he liked throwing around little endearments, but the way he spoke to you was different— his voice hushed to a whisper and a string of endearments he'd rather not let anyone else hear—and it made sense to the rookies that you were a blubbering mess afterwards.

But they all noticed how you avoided the Vice Captain like he had the plague even though he just whispered yet another light-hearted sweet nothing to you. It was clear to them that you were annoyed, but the way your lips quivered in embarrassment gave you away and you might as well just combust on the spot.

"I'm acting like a fool…"

The final straw was when you were taking your bath late in the night. Mina realised you were purposely avoiding everyone else by volunteering to be the last one to take a bath and mop up the floors. You thought you'd be all alone by then, but you were shell-shocked by the dark silhouette that appeared behind you as you groaned to yourself.

"C-Captain! I-It's late! Wh—"

Your Captain held her belongings in one hand while the other had a finger gun pointed at you. "You need to tell me if you're acting like a fool for a reason."

Soshiro has had just about enough of your attitude lately.

Your jealous outburst was cute when he first heard about it, but the Operations trainees wanted nothing to do with him anymore after that. And he couldn't have that happening since they had to practise analysing vitals and situations and calibrating weapons with someone. He will have to pass on the task to the Platoon Leaders, but he needed to speak with them— and you.

You avoided him as much as you possibly could and everyone else picked up on it now because no one else spoke up whenever you two were in close proximity, as if they were waiting and anticipating for the two of you to reconcile. You didn't mention anything about leaving Tachikawa, too, since he found out earlier this week that your platoon was assigned under Ryo and Tae in the meantime.

"I gave Koganei an assignment. She's at Ariake," Mina told her Vice Captain as he inquired about your whereabouts. "She… didn't want me to tell you about it."

"Ah, I see," came Soshiro's flat response. "I apologise for draggin' the entire division in our…"

"She'll be back tomorrow. When she arrives, I'll need you two back here in my office to discuss something," she stated. "In the meantime, Hoshina, have you considered organising the files at your office?"

Letters were among the many things you and Soshiro shared, especially when you went to France to further your fencing skills. For the young man who loved to read and devoured nearly everything that had words on it, your letters to him were always a source of delight. When you were still in France, it took around 10 days for your letters to reach each other, so you always had something new to read almost every week.

He was utterly elated when he found yet even more letters from you addressed to him, though you never sent them his way because of how candid they were. It pleased him to no end to find out that his feelings for you were reciprocated. In your letters, he could trust you to give voice to the very depths of your emotions, even more now after he told you to write to him whenever you wanted to.

On his office desk sat a single letter in your familiar and favourite cream stationery, and it was only then he realised that his Captain's cryptic comment was meant to be a sign of sorts pointing to his most favourite means of communication with you, his most favourite person. The letter sat atop a number of document folders that had to be sorted out, but he'd figure those out later.

"To Hoshina Soshiro-副隊長,

I suppose I'm still at headquarters by the time you find this letter. I remember you once told me that I could write to you whenever I could, whenever I wanted to, especially if there were things on my mind that I couldn't speak out loud. It's embarrassing having to write something like this, but I feel like I can be honest with you here.

It was only recently that I realised that Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro of the Third Division is perhaps the second most admired person in Tokyo. I say second because Captain Ashiro is still at the top of the list. Imagine that— your fiancé, one of the most admired persons in the city. The whole of Japan, even, now that I think about it.

You always claimed to be nothing special, but I can confirm with you that it wasn't true at all when I heard those little girls prattling about impressing you. They speak about you like you're some monolith meant to be worshipped… and the worst part is I completely understand them. I, too, look up at you in awe of your silent strength and skill and still hope that you will turn my way— even though I know that your gaze rested solely on me and that your heart is mine, even from long, long ago.

Truth be told, I can't handle the way other women speak about you. And it's beyond my control. You are just so amazing like that— And have you heard the way they talk about your body??? You've been objectified so many times now, I might as well burn down the base—

I know I must have been a brat this past week, but I promise you that my antics end now. Captain Ashiro scolded me in the bathroom sometime last week and told me to sort things out with you. She even said you must hand over my remaining brain cell because I clearly wasn't thinking straight these past few days.

I apologise for being such an insufferable person. I hope we can talk once I return from Ariake. The Captain of the First Division requested a blade master for close-quarters training, so Captain Ashiro sent me, claiming I am the second best Tachikawa can offer. You are, of course, a knife she can't afford to lose.

She also told me to beat up Captain Narumi in her stead, so there is that.

I'll bring back some Mont Blanc from that shop at Jiyugaoka. Let's have them with coffee and tea when I get back.

I love you dearly."

Soshiro was nothing but happy to see you back at Tachikawa a day later, the box of Mont Blanc you promised him nearly dropped in the process when he welcomed you back with a hug. He didn't let go despite your struggling and urging and whimpering at how embarrassing this was.

How could he let you go when you were holding him just as tight in the first place?

You both had barely set down your salutes when your Captain welcomed you into her office with a simple declaration, an order you couldn't refuse.

"I need you two to go on a vacation for me."

✦ Thank you for requesting! Nothing makes me happier than writing a request I know I can work with. 🍹 You can read more about requesting here. (Requests are closed at present. Thanks for your kind understanding!)

#songsofadelaidewrites💛#love notes to mari 💌#mari answers requests 🍹#kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 spoilers #hoshina soshiro x reader #starry divider by @/cafekitsune

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lurkingshan · 1 year

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Finally, I thought of a question! What shows, if any, did you rate a 10 on MDL, and why? And if you haven't rated any a 10, why not?

Oh snap! Yes thank you, I will take the opportunity to promote some extremely well-executed dramas. First, a note on how I think of drama ratings: I try to always judge shows by their own standards and I think primarily about the execution of the story rather than my own personal emotional reactions. For me, a 10/10 means the drama executed its own vision and purpose with a high degree of fidelity and is virtually without flaws in that execution. So for me, a short kbl romcom can get a 10 and so too can a 70 episode cdrama historical epic. I am not comparing them to each other, but rather to the standards of their own genres and the scale of their own ambitions.

That said, I'm a stingy b (@bengiyo, @waitmyturtles and @neuroticbookworm can attest) and dramas without significant flaws are actually pretty hard to come by. Calibrating a story perfectly to fit within all the constraints of filmmaking is actually an extremely difficult balance of art and science. Drama creation is hard work! As I was discussing with @sorry-bonebag the other day, most dramas are either too short or too long and it throws off the pacing and results in some questionable story decisions. And there are often other motives and considerations that have nothing to do with art getting in the way (hello capitalism!) Some of my personal all-time favorites do not get a 10 because I have issues with choices they made somewhere in the storytelling (waves hello to my beloveds Bad Buddy and Coffee Prince). I have completed 346 dramas that are trackable on MDL (with another 9 currently in progress) and only 10 of them have received a 10 from me. There are a whole slew rated 9 and 9.5 though, and those are all excellent and you should check them out. And of course I must include the caveat that there are some rumored all-time bangers that I have still not had the chance to watch and may someday become a 10.

So, which 10 dramas succeeded in passing my very high bar for a 10/10 rating? Drumroll please…

Ein no Kinou (Eternal Yesterday)

Go Ahead

Happiness

I Told Sunset About You

Kinou nani tabeta (What Did You Eat Yesterday?)

La Pluie

Old Fashion Cupcake

Our Dating Sim

Semantic Error

The Rebel Princess

#eternal yesterday #go ahead #happiness #i told sunset about you #what did you eat yesterday?#la pluie #old fashion cupcake #our dating sim #semantic error #the rebel princess #10/10 dramas #shan answers #shan recommends

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fallowhearth · 4 months

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Book Review - Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett

A fun but undemanding heist novel which ended up being the right kind of palette cleanser following my recent reading. I found the first third to be a bit underwhelming, as I wasn't really gelling with the character voices, but it picked up significantly through the middle and stuck the landing.

The setting is quite interesting, and is one of the rare cases where magic is taken seriously as both a technology and as part of an economic model. While it wasn't the main focus of the story, I enjoyed the moments where scientific advances proceeded from a need to solve technical problems in magical item development. It takes place in the metropole of an explicitly colonialist society whose economics rely on the exploitation of subjugated people/lands. All of this was portrayed fairly accurately in my opinion, even if the narrative did not dive particularly deep. You get the impression well thought out, coherent worldbuilding, even if it is only being lightly surfaced.

The cast of characters were perfectly likeable but unfortunately landed a little flat to me. The main character, Sancia, had the misfortune to fall into an archetype that I'm personally a little tired of. Emotionally-repressed highly-competent hard-done-by teenage lesbian thief. It sounds niche but it's surprisingly common. Though to the book's credit, the budding romance between Sancia and her prospective love interest was refreshingly forthright. There was blushing but blessedly little. And they moved past that with clear communication. So small mercies. It's not the kind of story shape to call for deep nuanced characterisation, so the cast do their job.

This might be another personal issue, as I've read a lot of this kind of story, but I did find the reveals and twists to be a little delayed - I'd worked them all out well in advance of the characters, both on an overall plot and scene-to-scene level. I wonder if other readers experienced the same, or if it was just right for a younger/newer audience.

Overall, would recommend, as long as you're going in with calibrated expectations. I definitely don't regret reading this and will pick up the sequels.

#robert jackson bennett #foundryside

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twstgarden · 3 months

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✰ ❝ match-up trade for @quimichi ❞

━ match-up trades are open. for more information, please visit the catalogue and the rules. commissions are open. ko-fi is available if you want to support me. ━ a florist sorting through the flowers to find your perfect match. according to the red tulip’s petals, your matches are…

━ 𝙘𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙨 / 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙯𝙚𝙧 ━

➻ the courageous trailblazer of the astral express appears to be your best match! believe it or not, he's actually an option as a match. his composed yet somewhat endearingly eccentric personality may suit your tastes well.

➻ to start, your fashion sense is something he might take a liking to. casual and comfortable styles tend to be somewhere in his fashion calibre and your tastes suit him perfectly.

➻ caelus would first be drawn by your polite and helpful personality, thinking you are some light in people's lives as you leave your way to treat people kindly.

➻ he also loves your sense of humour. you make him laugh and you're a sweetheart, what is there for him not to like?

➻ finding out more about your personality is what keeps him intrigued. you tend to be sleepy most of the time? he'd make sure you get proper rest at the end of the day. sarcastic AND has dark humour? you just made his heart flutter even more.

➻ he'd love to take you out on dates, especially late at night when most of the city is asleep. he'd sit on the benches with you while having some ice cream and a conversation to go with it. other times, he'd sit in a luxury speedster - a car model in penacony - and have a little date while looking up at the stars or have a snack while laughing and sharing stories.

➻ overall, you'd have a heartwarming and peaceful relationship with caelus, with a hint of "silliness" here and there.

━ possible matches: ➻ gepard landau (loyal and kind, neat and has a great temperament, may suit well to your tastes) ➻ jing yuan (responsible, kind, and respectful ; great partner ; literal green flag) ➻ boothill (honest and loyal, can make you laugh)

━ 𝙖𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 / 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙧 ━

➻ the renowned traveler of teyvat is your other best match! he is also a part of the choices, surprising as it seems. his blunt yet humble front appears to be compatible with your own.

➻ at first glance, aether thought you were fairly quiet and reserved, but with a kind heart. after getting to know you more, he adores your sarcasm and rather endearingly talkative attitude. he would sit and listen to all the things you had to say with a smile on his face.

➻ he loves sitting in windrise with you, feeling the breeze in the air while having a hearty conversation and sharing strawberries and watermelons.

➻ he makes sure to spend quality time with you every chance he gets, and he spends it in a variety of ways - walking together, lying on the grass while looking up at the starry sky, listening to songs, or even taking a nap. the comfort and peace he finds in you makes him feel safe, and he hopes you feel the same way.

➻ on his travels, he would occasionally collect mini cacti or pictures of ducks that he may come across, wanting to show them to you on your meet-ups or dates.

➻ knowing your preference to stay indoors, he loves spending his not-so-busy days resting at home with you.

➻ overall, you'd have a wholesome and healthy relationship with aether. a proper definition for what you both share is comfortable, peaceful, and full of wonderful surprises - after all, he is a traveler, so he is bound to have new experiences that he'd love to share with you.

━ possible matches: ➻ diluc ragnvindr (a gentleman ; the standard ; protective, loyal, and caring ; his line of work may not suit to your tastes, however, even if he is repulsed by alcohol) ➻ wriothesley (charming and strong ; appears to be a great partner) ➻ lyney (friendly and full of surprises ; would make you laugh and feel contented)

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aliscntcrres · 5 months

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task 03 ; the euology

Alison is wearing a simple black dress ... from Prada's Fall 2004 Ready to Wear line. Paired with a simple, light weight, black cardigan. The golden crucifix and Tank Louis Cartier watch she always wears, paired with simple small golden hooped earrings. Sensible black heels. Hair and make up kept simple but elegant. And I know you're all wondering: Benito is not present for the funeral, he's inside the house probably Alison's room enjoying some peace and quiet xx

" I'd like to start by thanking everyone for being here. Coming together on such short notice. As well as Mrs Tristan and her team, all their tireless hard work to put this together in a matter of days. A wildly impressive feat even for the best of the best. "

What the fuck was she doing. A thought that runs constantly through her mind as she stood in front of the crowd of mourners, beside Richard's new grave. Aside from the way she clutched a card in her hands, the quickly written notes upon it, she held herself impeccably well. Like she always did. Politely mingled with guests before the service started, tried to keep an eye on everyone as they faced Richard's death in an undeniable sense– tried to get an idea of what they intended on saying as well, obviously. But she felt insane for it. She felt insane for every conversation she had, every politeness she regurgitated– even the stupid outfit she'd put together. Thank god she was capable of doing what she had to on auto-pilot.

" A man like Richard Woodrow is infinitely rare. To be intelligent and ambitious is one thing. Without them, the career his hard work earned him, many of us may have never crossed paths with him. Certainly we would have never had any of the opportunities he was able to offer us. But to be those things, and then also as kind as Richard was? To have as open a heart as he did? I've never known anyone else even capable of it. And I'm not sure I ever will again, I'm not sure any of us will. "

His name felt like glue and sandpaper in her mouth each time she said it. She knew the formal way she had usually addressed him was entirely inappropriate in this setting. It would be off putting to hear her called him Professor Woodrow and then say the words that were expected of her, and then hear the other wards she spent so much time with share anecdotes and memories of him. But to her? It made her sick to her stomach. That flicker of anger she'd felt when she'd first read Mrs Tristan's letter had been ignored but truthfully it hadn't dimmed. The act she put on so well only fanned the internal fire.

Pause came as she looked at the next note on her card. It told her to share her own anecdote. She'd written down the words 'first meeting' but standing here, staring at those words, feeling the rage burn in her stomach – there was no way. She knew it would make her seem a better person, more relatable, more empathetic. But why did she owe that? Why did she owe it now? So, Alison detoured. If she could escape vulnerability even at a funeral, she might just survive the next few days.

" I won't speak for the others, as you'll hear from them all too. But I can only say how grateful I am for everything he gave me and everything he gave to all of us. From the most basic necessities like a roof over our heads, to education, to health, to confidence, to purpose, to belief in all of us. And to connecting us to one another. "

She could feel her act. Perfectly practised and perfectly in place, it usually felt entirely effortless. Usually it felt real. Her posture, her features, her perfectly calibrated words. Usually her greatest strength, her greatest protection, it felt like her greatest weakness. She wondered if she came across as much of a fraud as she felt. She wondered if she cared what anyone here thought of her. She wondered how much longer the flood gates would hold back the rage and sorrow within her. She wondered how heartless she seemed for not sharing any sort of personal story, no matter how short. She wondered if Professor Woodrow even really liked her, or if she was the start of something that changed when he met Estrella. She wondered it all with a sadness delicately coating her features. Showing that she had the appropriate, solemn feelings about this, but that she was good at holding them back. Exactly what any guest, any of the fellow wards, would expect from her.

" I idolised him endlessly, and I'll miss him dearly. "

#if you see silly errors know im writing it at 2am and i cannot be held accountable xoxo #sometimes i am possessed by a demon at an ungodly hour and thats how i complete tasks why how do yall do it #wrhq.task #self para ;

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thedramanotes · 2 years

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What are they doing to Naksu in Part 2??!

When Alchemy of Souls dropped its first trailer back in June, a lot of viewers were very taken with its assassin female lead. We were told that she's the greatest, most feared assassin in the land. The concept of such a person temporarily finding herself trapped in the body of a gentle country girl was hilarious and we couldn't wait for the show to start.

Cut to the end of season 1. While a large section of the drama's viewership were bummed out that Jung So-min would no longer be portraying Naksu, a seemingly larger segment were thrilled to be finally getting the athletic, lethal Naksu they were promised in Go Yoon-jung. After all, it was her introductory scenes that really sold us on the calibre of this character way back in episode 1.

Between stunning visual effects and a perfectly choreographed fight scene, we watched as Go Yoon-jung flew and danced in battle with an army of mages. A few minutes later, a wounded Naksu entered Jung So-min's body and all of us settled in to watch the comedy of errors that would surely ensue. We were satisfied to wait, since we were sure that when Naksu returned to full glory, we would get action scenes worthy of the assassin from the opening scene.

Alas.

We did not. Season 2 (or Part 2) is now underway, and the great assassin is once again in a weak, new body - although this one looks like her old self.

At this point, the audience probably expected that she would be slowly getting back to full power after such a long period of hard lessons and heartbreaks in another woman's body. But, Naksu is now permanently caged in a new identity, with an untrained body, and no memory of her old self.

She is Jin Bo-young now, because her new body was formed from the real Jin Bo-young's flesh (Mudeok), using Naksu's magic. (There is a whole other essay boiling in my stomach about the erasure of another woman's identity with nary a thought, but we won't go into that right now.)

Alchemy of Souls is a 30 episode drama spanning two parts. We had exactly 10 minutes with the original Naksu, portrayed in gallant form by Go Yoon-jung, and then over 19 episodes where Jung So-min won our hearts as the intelligent and witty Mudeok.

Regardless of my affection for the series (and my affection runs ridiculously deep), I can't fathom why the writers are determined to keep Naksu hobbled until the very end. One reason that struck me early on is related to story arcs. An over-powered character quickly becomes dull since they can solve all their problems by using their powers.

Just look at Jang Uk with his ice stone magic. There is no problem he can't solve with brute force, except his own heartbreak.

Giving Naksu her powers and athleticism back would likely make it harder to keep the story going for 10 more episodes in Part 2. But that's a problem of limited imagination.

There is a lot of conflict the writers could plumb between two powerful main leads. They could be put on opposite sides for one. Imagine a scenario where Naksu is brought back in Bo-young's body not by Lady Jin but by the evil Jin Mu. And with her mind wiped clean, he gets to re-create her identity as an assassin - but this time an even more powerful one, with Jin Bo-young's divine magic running through her veins.

And as Jang Uk faces off with this new improved Naksu with no memory of their time together, it falls on him to remind her and bring her back to the side of good.

Meanwhile, Naksu is piecing clues together and regaining her memory by bits, and with each charged interaction with Jang Uk, and every fight where he uses moves she had once taught him against her, she falls back in love with him.

Like, come ON!

What we are now getting is not a continuation of the embattled Naksu's storyline. We are getting a whole new love story with a whole new love interest.

Think for a moment, how the plot for Part 2 would have gone if instead of Naksu coming back to life, the real Jin Bo-young was the one waking up with the assassin's face after being possessed. The beats for the first 4 episode would have been the same, however, the stakes of the game would have been completely different!

If the real Bo-young had met Jang Uk while escaping her over protective mother's clutches and fallen in love, and then found out that the man was still pining over the assassin who had possessed her body for months...

Just. Think of the pathos there for a moment! But to bring Naksu back in Bo-young's identity through Frankenstein magic and then have her go through useless pangs of jealousy towards her old self that will be resolved in a couple of episodes is the biggest waste of opportunity in such a situation. Not to mention what Naksu has been reduced to at this point.

The great assassin of Season 1, episode 1 is now a lost child, desperately waiting to be rescued by a man, unable to fight, unable to use her magic, unable to act in her own interest without help.

She's become inexplicably soft in every way. Visually, she's draped in pale pastels and layers of gauzy materials. She calls herself "unparalleled in beauty but not very intelligent". She seems even less physically adept than when she was in Mudeok's body (which is unsurprising with the heavy skirt she now wears). And she's easily hurt by Jang Uk's coldness, since he's the only one she looks to for affection and guidance.

This is not the Naksu we have come to know. Even at her weakest, the woman would never insult her own intelligence. She would also rely on her own strengths first, not on a man.

Someone pointed out on twitter that it was nice to see Naksu without her traumatic past, but we become the people we are because of our past. By erasing her self-reliant past, the writers have changed the character entirely.

And so we come back to my conclusion that Alchemy of Souls: Light and Shadow is not a continuation of Naksu's character arc, it is the story of Jang Uk finding a second love. And she happens to have Naksu's old soul.

I realise that writing this essay 4 episodes into Part 2 may be pre-emptive. Perhaps, they are planning to give us Naksu with all her memories re-instated next week.

But I don't think that will happen. Because they have laid out the foundations of a new romantic dynamic. They want Jang Uk to be pulled towards Bo-young as she is now, because that indicates how they are fated.

If Naksu is to regain her memories in full, it won't happen until the last 3 episodes. At which point I expect a separation trope to kick in just because it can.

And even then, she can't be what the original Naksu was since by the show's own explanation, she no longer has the original Naksu's body (which was said to be taller and more athletic).

I just want to know what the writers were thinking when they created her at the very start. What was the point of this character?

Was she supposed to be a cynical, lonely assassin learning the truth of her past and finding family and friends after she lost her powers? Or was she supposed to be a beautiful love interest who existed first to help the male lead mature into a powerful hero, and then came back from death to reward him for being a nice powerful hero, who didn't turn into a tyrant even though he could have?

Alright. I'll stop here. Let's talk more once the show is done.

#naksu #jang uk x naksu #alchemy of the soul #alchemy of souls season 2 #alchemy of souls: light and shadow #Go Yoon Jung #Lee Jaewook

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celestie0 · 7 months

Note

(sending you an ask as a reply to your response to my reblog, because my network is being a bitch and idk if it went through the first time, it showed it failed to go through to me, and also because it’s easier this way, to type it out in the comment section or reblog)

ANYWAYS(

think i’ve said it before but i’ll say it again; gojo loves reader so passionately, so devotedly and even unconditionally. he fell so much harder, it’s heartbreaking that she doesn’t know, but it’s even more heartbreaking that he’s suffering alone, i’m genuinely waiting for the day she gets to hold him through the night and reassure him that’s it’s fine, that they will be fine. idk perfect, but i think they will be the nearest thing to perfection. perfectly splendid.

there’s nothing sexier than a man who loves passionately and consensually. idk about the rest, but personally him looking at her with so much desire and still letting go of her hands when she interlocks it because she might regret when the sun comes up is undeniably one of the most passionate moments ever. i cannot really explain how it is tbh, but there’s something so strong over there. it’s angsty, it’s heartbreaking, and there’s so much selfless love. he’s so good AND he does it so well. iykyk. also that was indeed a “slut” reference because isn’t gojo a gentleman? a man who loves you more than himself? id dedicate all my favourite ts songs to him! any day.

my favourite part about you showing her vulnerability is how it all came together since the beginning, like there were always hints and words of it and they fall together so elegantly. the pacing, the eloquence, everything has been so well put together.

her problems are so relatable…like i get that feeling when you question your calibre, your career choice and everything you’ve ever done. the inner conflict about your cv and if it’s even acceptable, unique, extraordinary? the world is so fast paced and theres only so much we can do,. it’s been refreshing to read about a character who does express their vulnerability regarding their career. i personally think we lack that substance nowadays. even in published paperbacks.

im screaming that i could make an impact on you with my words, because your words definitely made a huge impact on me. they’ve not only refreshed me, but also inspired me, i obviously cannot write a story this well, but i can write poems, i’ve done that most of my lives. i struggle with keeping up with the pacing in stories tbh. and dialogues. (and insecurities)

i’m keeping your fic in my favourite reads ever!

🫶💌

hi dear aaa im not sure if the reblog went through for me so im glad you sent the ask!!

ouu your analysis of gojo’s emotional wellbeing has me tearing up 😭 i think it’s sad too how he struggles to open up quite yet and im sure it feels like two steps forward one step back w reader so far, but im hoping that w more scenes reader can show him she’s trustworthy and can be someone there for him ☺️💕 its going to be a joy to build more of their connection. i’m suuuuper excited for gojo’s last pov chapter which i wont spoil which chap it’ll be but im alr so curious how you will receive it dear reader given how deeply youve given his character thought 🫶🏼💕

haha i LOOOVE the wildest dream ref n just all the ts refs in generaaaal i listen to folklore/evermore when i write each chap <3 and thank you it’s so flattering that you could pick up that energy btwn them in the writing i was rly hoping i could capture it 🥺

and yesss i really resonate with that! i think ive read a lot of works that do have aspects of career and romance but for kickoff im really trying to marry the two :) both w gojo grappling w his focus on soccer due to his father’s legacy rather than his focus on the more “important” things in life such as love n happiness (which his father only rly learned after he couldn’t play the sport anymore), but also in reader who holds on very tightly to her dreams & has only had them in mind since the beginning (her “terms & condition” from gojo) but she’s struggling in dealing w her fears of failure. i think that the two of them have valuable insight that they could offer each other and help them trust one another more bc of these two situations theyre in :) and could build to a more healthy and genuine romance

and yesss to all of the career doubts and wondering if you’re good enough 😭 thats something so universal and also something i genuinely wonder if it will ever go away

THANK YOU AGAIN SM FOR YOUR WORDS I HAVE SM FUN TALKING AB KICKOFF W YOU omg its got me out here emotionallll. that’s so lovely you write poems my dear i could TELL honestly haha you have such a breathtaking way w words n deliberation

also i’ll respond to your reblog of the writing tips post here but you are so very welcome im really rooting for you and awaiting your tag <33

so much love 💕

#ahhhhhhhh #love u dear reader #kickoff #asks

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onceandfutureoshainspector · 2 years

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- welcome to the COMMONWEALTH OF LOGRES! i am (sometimes) CATHERINE PENDRAGON, the ONCE AND FUTURE O.S.H.A. INSPECTOR, and here is the sparknotes version of the road so far:

- CAT is my character, created at the start of the game with a focus on PERCEPTION, AGILITY, INTELLIGENCE, and LUCK as my highest ability scores, as i am Not Very Good At Video Games and needed stealth/ranged mechanics under my belt. since then i have levelled my CHARISMA from 1 to 11 (mostly for the purposes of lying to the BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL), but continue to have STRENGTH and ENDURANCE scores of BAD, which semi-frequently vexes me in various ways.

- HOWARD-TODD (not to be confused with my nemesis, the vile villain TODD HOWARD) is my beloved late husband, whom i-the-player named as a joke in the absence of any canon name i could find. i later discovered that the game refers to him as NATE, so i’ve decided that that’s his middle name. i miss his gaunt, kinda sickly-looking face so much.

- my LAWYERLY QUEST, upon which i stumbled in the RADIOACTIVE WASTE-FILLED CAVES under the RED ROCKET TRUCK STOP (sometimes referred to as the PIZZA PLANET TRUCK STOP), is to return a GUIDING HAND of WORKPLACE HEALTH AND SAFETY to the WASTELAND, and usher in a NEW ERA of RESPONSIBLE HAZARD MANAGEMENT to lift us from the ashes of our destruction.

- this originated as a joke based on the female player character having the pre-war occupation of “lawyer”, which seems like maybe the least useful skillset to bring into a LAWLESS WASTELAND, especially in contrast to HOWARD-TODD’s military career. as far as i can tell there’s not even any elaboration on what kind of lawyer i was, let alone tie-ins to the story. i am now fully committed to the bit though, lawyers for the win BETHESDA can go fuck themselves.

- the ARTHURIAN LEGEND bit also originated as a dumb throwaway joke (there’s a pattern here), wherein i jokingly referred to myself as the ONCE AND FUTURE O.S.H.A. INSPECTOR and then got carried away with connecting dots - the situation with lying dormant for centuries in a VAULT to return when the wasteland needs me the most, SANCTUARY being on an island at the far western end of the map, the fact that i’d named my first gun the CALEDFWLCH 10 CALIBRE as a HIGH NOON OVER CAMELOT reference, and so on. really i know that FALLOUT 4 wasn’t exactly intended to map directly to any particular version of ARTHURIAN LEGEND, but i’m enjoying trying to make it fit anyway.

- other recurring bits include:

- the game seeming to continually be leading me to the CORVEGA ASSEMBLY PLANT for unknowable reasons - nothing so far has indicated to me that it’s the most important location in the game, yet all roads seem to lead there, so i don’t know what to think.

- any time i find a JANGLES THE MOON MONKEY toy, it always seems to be in a location where something especially terrible either has happened or is about to happen. this plus his incredibly disturbing visage has led me to dub him the HARBINGER OF CALAMITY, and i take his presence as a generalised warning to be on my guard.

- sometimes characters will gift me with a heavy item as a reward for some quest or other, immediately maxing out my carry weight due to my weak noodle arms. i guess they think it’s funny to watch my knees buckle or something.

- discovery of several GIDDYUP BUTTERCUP parts early in the game led me to get my hopes up about the completed item potentially being some kind of NOBLE STEED. although it seems that i can’t in fact ride a ROCKET-POWERED ROCKING HORSE around the wasteland, this plus the existence of MOTORCYCLES as apparently unrepairable junk items continually vexes me.

- i have an infrequent yet annoying problem with the variable solidity of exposed rebar, which sometimes can be walked upon perfectly safely and others causes me to fall to my death. this is because TODD HOWARD is victimising me personally and not at all because i need to look where i’m going.

- everyone in the COMMONWEALTH and beyond seems to know and revere TAKAHASHI’s noodles, so i’ve decided that he is the wasteland’s PATRON DEITY OF COMMUNITY. not sure if i’m really one of his flock yet, but i fully support him and his endeavours.

- to start from the beginning (if i’ve finally gotten the link to work), click here. hope you enjoy as much as i am!

#FALLOUT 4: THE RESURRECTION OF OSHA #fallout 4

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thesinglesjukebox · 10 months

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MILEY CYRUS - "FLOWERS"

youtube

We may prefer to have flowers brought to us in the pouring rain...

[4.60]

Edward Okulicz: Something about this song clearly resonated with a lot of people, and months later I'm still unsure what it is. My best guess is that the self-confidence of the lyrics is given a mournful undertone by the melody and delivery. Now twice the people going through a break-up can relate! Good work, Miley; it's a strong melody. [7]

Tara Hillegeist: Fucking Miley. [1]

Frank Falisi: What's in a voice? Intention with friction, and then time. To write about Miley's voice in terms of its recognizability risks the redundancy of writing about the sun's warmth or the grass blade's cool. Listen: she sings with one of the seminal grains in pop music. In spite of this fact or because of it, the voice has jostled through myriad transforming forms, since Hannah Montana, since Breakout. Sometimes a singular instrument bargains too recklessly with the free market, and while the chameleonic pop path is far from exclusive to Miley, her voice has been aggressively strip-mined by trends and forecasts, by its singer. And like a Fielder-Safdie-Stone curse, that Billboard cover story where she forced the voice to renounce hip-hop as a regressive and swear fealty to respectable family/blasé liberal politics, the changes have felt like market calibrations rather than aesthetic ones. She apologized, and to be sure, no pop presence deserves to be read one way: part of a stardom's symbolism is that it speaks in a voice all on its own, in fact has no choice in the matter. But the voice's grain has turned to game (show). Everything since has been a reduction: upraising "authentic country", a half-hearted dalliance with Joan Jettness, eventually embracing life as a jukebox quartering out covers; the plastic glam-gloss possibilities of Bangerz barely warble out in the fricatives. "Flowers" is ostensibly a kiss-off, but all it does is reaffirm the transfiguration of a pop arc into a loop. It trades "Malibu"'s domestic bliss for independent womanhood, a similar and familiar commodity de rigueur for re-branding icons. One wonders what the song would do if it rose to the occasion with real venom, if it let the voice (which is to say, the feeling) jab through the veneer of canned narrative. It doesn't. "Flowers" doesn't go anywhere, its chorus maintaining the same no-go goop groove that its verses offer. Not stuck in your head but just plain stuck, a voice circles. [2]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: So labored in its delivery that the message starts to make sense. Yes, I start to think, the sluggish melody has the semblance of pushing through pain. And then those harmonies arrive to shove the Inspiration down your throat. I don't like self-love when it's obnoxious. [3]

Ian Mathers: One of the few faint silver linings of TSJ gracefully exiting the stage is I thought I'd never have to reveal certain shameful secrets once I wasn't writing about certain pop stars. But I have to face up to it: I just don't enjoy Miley Cyrus's voice. It's a perfectly fine voice! And I'm not talking about her performance or anything. There's just something about the timbre of her voice that doesn't work for me. I've never exactly striven for the illusion of objectivity in these blurbs (C'mon. C'mon!), but I admit I've caught myself humming the chorus here enough that I'm trying not to hold my irrational and visceral dislike of Cyrus singing against it. [6]

Jonathan Bradley: As she's grown older, Miley's grainy voice has gathered more charm and personality, not qualities it had been lacking in her youth -- even as a Disney Channel actor she evinced a sharp sense of performance savvy and comic timing. She's also learned that the public will punish her if she gets too outré, which is why her big hit of 2023 was a song of low-key melancholia colored by gestures towards independence that resonate faintly without being at all disruptive. No one's ever going to be troubled if she buys her own bouquet. The result is this year's answer to "Cold Heart": a song catchy enough to become omnipresent and wan enough to quickly wear out its welcome. [4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Honestly if we had reviewed this when it came out I'd probably be a few points higher on it -- but everything that seemed charming here upon first listen has faded with time. That disco groove feels stiffer and more focus-grouped the more times it loops, Miley's insouciance has morphed to laziness, and that Bruno Mars quote has lost what little cleverness it had to begin with. What remains is a thoroughly under-written event single, a nothing of a song in the vague outline of a hit. [2]

Alex Clifton: I've heard this song so many times and I can easily hum it, but I can't remember any lyrics beyond "I can buy myself flowers/write my name in the sand." Am I just bad at paying attention? I mean, kind of, but I think it speaks to how I view Cyrus's work overall: really catchy, memorable melodies, but weak lyrics that wash away. It's a shame as it's a neat hook, but acts as a six-second intrusive thought, built more for bite-sized consumption. Added a point because I will never be able to buy flowers again without thinking of this song, in much the same way that my brain automatically turns to Katy Perry whenever I see plastic bags. [6]

Leah Isobel: Arid guitars, parched Miley vocals, lyrics so terse they might as well be mirages: this is global warming pop. So when she says "I can buy myself flowers," it's not just aspirational in the sense of being over someone's bullshit; it's aspirational in the sense that flowers will someday cost as much as a house in Malibu. [5]

Nortey Dowuona: It's a little surprising that Miley Cyrus is now a respectable pop singer who makes convincing country pop, mainly cuz for a while she was off following her own weird muse into any direction and making albums with her Dead Petz and singing with Lil Nas X. But now she's making conventional guitar pop with either neatly mixed drums or very lively drum programming that launch each chorus into a brightly lit croon that lights up at the tail end, Miley's last searing "than you can" lingering before the song ebbs and stops. And it's a little surprising because it's actually pretty good. (It ain't Slide Away tho.) [8]

Brad Shoup: I'm more appreciative of ballads than I used to be, and a disco ballad is a great change of pace. Miley is aiming this at the dive bar; there's no show-stopping bit, just a constant smolder goosed by guitar and electric piano. (The strings should've gotten to sob a little!) When the high-stepping chorus comes in all I can think of is "When I Was Your Man": partly the melody, partly the flowers. [7]

Taylor Alatorre: I don't know whether the thing about "When I Was Your Man" being one of Liam Hemsworth's favorite songs is just a cop-out to avoid having to pay royalties to the Smeezingtons, but Miley doesn't seem very determined to disprove that theory here. Her unbothered, above-it-all delivery could stand to be a little more bothered, and parts of the song's structure are just plain frustrating, like the stubborn, senseless pause that precedes every chorus and forces its already-limited stock of momentum to restart back at zero. The wobbly contours of Miley's voice are arresting enough to prevent a complete collapse of listener interest, but it's hard to fashion a convincing portrait of liberated selfhood out of an earlier song that's built on woeful penitence. [4]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Miley's music as of late has evolved to genuinely interesting places steeped in introspection and authenticity. It's a disappointment, then, that "Flowers" is the biggest hit she's had in years. It retreads ground she's covered in a format that can only be described as maudlin, drab, and too on-the-nose. [4]

Jeffrey Brister: I don't listen to terrestrial radio, like, ever. Haven't in years. All of my music consumption comes exclusively from RSS feeds, social media, and hallowed sites like the one you're reading right now. My only exposure to "what's on the radio" is in segments of seconds as my wife's alarm goes off, notes wafting from a tinny speaker at a progressively louder volume. In those moments, immediately after waking, I'm groggy and confused, unable to form higher level thoughts. This particular song has been a part of that ritual of gaining awareness, and every single time it has come on, my first truly coherent thought is, "man, this Lady Gaga song is not good." [3]

Katherine St Asaph: I know that after the "Blurred Lines" case songwriters reportedly got paranoid about receiving vibes-based lawsuits and started changing or crediting anything that even kind of sounds like another famous song, but is that even true? Have they stopped? Because this is just Cher's "Strong Enough." [5]

Scott Mildenhall: Clever writing, textually appropriate plagiarism and memorable melodies -- but while these flowers are neatly arranged, that just means they've been dispassionately stuffed into a panel. Perhaps it sounded better on first listen, but at this stage it's flaural wallpaper. [7]

Alfred Soto: After a flop album that I enjoyed, Miley Cyrus returned with -- what exactly? Why and how "Flowers" resonated for millions in the first half of 2023 baffles me. Her nasal Stevie Nicks-indebted goat-warble is its own attraction, the hook is pretty good, and... well, what? Combine her timbre with the line "I can buy myself flowers" and presto -- a yearbook quote if yearbooks existed. [7]

David Moore: I'm a digital download pump-priming truther, so I guess if the alternative is fascists getting to #1 for a week or two I'll take a full calendar year's slow and steady drip of Miley's mids as a form of pop chart harm reduction. And this is one of those songs like Bebe Rexha's "Last Hurrah" that I appreciate the personal connection to without it affecting my sense of how dumb it is. My youngest really likes this one! We both laugh about the part where she says she could talk to herself for hours (that seems weird!), and he is fascinated by the idea that writing your name in the sand is something that people who are dating might do, because he also likes to write things in sand and does not yet fully understand dating, but he did, unbeknownst to me, download an app on his tablet to practice kissing, and he also downloaded a "love app" and correctly noted that in one picture the two people are in love with each other even though she's his crush, which means technically she shouldn't love him back (he's six... to her credit, Miley Cyrus has always deeply understood six-year-olds, the low end of her old Radio Disney demo). And hey, speaking of Bebe Rexha and endearing constitutional midness, isn't it kind of funny that the one person in the world worse at being a pop star than Miley Cyrus happened to put out the best Miley Cyrus song of the year and no one cared? They should have paid for more digital downloads! [5]

Will Adams: EDITOR'S NOTE: To prevent attracting attention from Ms. Cyrus' passionate fanbase, this review has been amended for the writer's protection. Ten years on from being a twerk-pop provocateur, Miley has firmly cemented her status as a C-list an A-list pop star who releases some of the most boring iconic music put to tape. From the zen lite-rock of "Malibu" to the shiny-leather pop of "Midnight Sky" to the disco of "Flowers," it seems she's never always had anything something interesting to say, no matter the outfit. Perhaps that's what helped "Flowers" become Spotify's most streamed song globally this year: it sounds like nothing everything. The arrangement is terminally limp serve. The self-love imagery is beyond basic vivid. Miley pushes her voice as usual, but with such staid slay surroundings, the song's failure legend behavior becomes that much more apparent; the flowers have already wilted outsold Ariana. [3]

Michelle Myers: Personhood is fundamentally lonesome, and we should all seek ways to break free from ourselves. Dance, drink, laugh, make music together. Make music that isn't boring nu-disco! You can buy yourself flowers, but a dandelion from someone who loves you means so much more. [3]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#music #pop music #music writing #music reviews #the singles jukebox #music criticism #Youtube

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adventuresinclientservice · 1 year

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How to be critical.

Years ago, when I was a starting out account person at Digitas, I had a visit from John Fletcher, a former Boston Consulting Group consultant now overseeing strategy for our shop as the founder of his own firm, Fletcher Spaght. He had not come to bury me in criticism – now that I think about it, he actually did (sort of) come to bury me – but not in the way you‘d expect.

I had been less than stellar in a client presentation of which he was a part, and he wanted to point out a couple of my more significant shortcomings (there were many). Instead of launching into a withering critique, he started with some praise:

“You have an opportunity to be really good as a presenter Robert, but there are a couple of things you might want to think about the next time you’re in front of a client.”

This was perfectly calibrated criticism. Rather than engaging in a frontal assault on my performance, he instead acknowledged what I did well, putting me at ease rather than on edge. By following this with some constructive guidance, he got my attention.

Did I listen? You bet. Did I get better as a presenter? It took like, forever, but yes. I slowly improved.

According to a New York Times story, “The Case for Criticism,” the author points out, “Reluctance to provide helpful feedback is, in fact, commonplace.” The reason: “we underestimate just how much other people want it.”

In my early days as an agency person I was not anything like John Fletcher; my criticism was a one part brutal, one part insensitive, and one part tone-deaf, so much so I wrote about it in Chapter 34 of The Art of Client Service, “Respect What It Takes to Do Great Creative:”

“I didn’t understand that my job was to improve the work, not approve it. If I had made that one small adjustment in language and attitude, it would have made a big difference in the way I looked at creative work.”

I got better at delivering criticism in large part because people like Mike Slosberg and Christine Bastoni called me to account whenever I screwed up, which, especially in the early days, was often. I also observed the work of people vastly more accomplished at this than me, including, in particular, one example, from a very senior client I describe in that same Chapter 34.

I didn’t cite him by name in the book, but the person was Morris Perlis, then Senior Vice President overseeing American Express’ “Personal Card” division – most cardmembers refer to it as the “Green Card” -- by far the largest in its portfolio of charge cards. The chapter points out,

“Creative people love this client and would do anything for him. We [meaning our agency, Digitas] did work for him that was the very best the agency could do.

“What was the client’s secret? It was simple. No matter what we presented, no matter how great, how good, or how average it was, this client invariably expressed respect for the work and the people who made it. That was a great lesson for me.”

Respect for the work and the people who made it. Great lesson indeed.

As the Times story points out,

“most people were wary to share feedback that would ultimately be useful to the other person — even though, the same study found, most people genuinely did want to hear it.”

People who are driven to get better tend to welcome criticism that’s constructive, supportive, and actionable. What they don’t want to hear is criticism borne of anger or frustration; diminishing, deflating, and destructive, such criticism defeats the very points being made.

The next time you are about to lower the boom on someone who makes a mistake or shares work that falls short, I suggest you pause for a moment to consider the consequences. It might make you feel, for a fleeting moment, better, but at what cost, to the person receiving it, to the agency that needs to get better from it, and to yourself as a colleague?

I used to think input like this was worth it. I thankfully no longer do, and nor should you.

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Human GPS

Pairing: c!Technoblade x f!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Technoblade really needs some books of mending, and you just happen to be the daughter of the village cleric.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: this a repost of the first ever story i posted when i first made my blog. this story takes place back when technoblade was still allied with pogtopia. i hope you like it as much as i did! <3

Technoblade blinked, his eyes squinting up at the clear, cerulean sky. It was about midday now, and the beating sun sat in the center of the sky, almost taunting him from where it hung.

If the sun is directly above me, he thought, then west must be… He frowned. Somewhere. Maybe.

He groaned and swung his legs off of Carl, the horse letting out a soft whinny as he hopped onto the ground. He had been travelling for what must have been close to an hour now, and he still hadn’t found a village. It was almost like the universe was trying to waste his time. All he wanted was to get his hands on some books of mending so he didn’t have to worry about any of his armour breaking, yet the world was sending him on a wild goose chase, anyways.

“Seriously,” he muttered, irritation gnawing away at his already dwindling patience, “how hard can it be to find just one cleric? It’s not like I’m asking to find a woodland mansion, or something.”

Letting out yet another long groan, Technoblade flipped open the pack he attached to Carl’s saddle. He pulled out a baked potato and bit in, allowing himself a few seconds of relief as he ate.

For a brief moment, he considered digging through his bag to look for a compass or—better yet—a map. But then he remembered that just prior to leaving, he had reminded himself that he was a human GPS and that “Technoblade never fails.”

He sighed. No compass, it is.

He took another bite of the potato in his hands, looking around at the terrain around him. There was a lush birch forest to his left and a barren desert on the opposite side. Just a little to his right was a river and—

Wait a second.

Technoblade froze, his jaw freezing halfway through chewing another bite of potato.

He recognized that river.

A wide grin split across his lips.

He totally knew where to find a village.

Doing his best not to choke, Technoblade stuffed the rest of the baked potato in his mouth and buckled his pack shut. With a grunt, he pulled himself back onto Carl, picking up the reins. “Like I said, Carl, who even needs a compass? I’ve got the map memorized, and my inner compass is perfectly calibrated.”

Carl looked back at him and let out an almost sarcastic sounding neigh that seemed to say, “Sure.”

Technoblade’s face rolled his eyes. He snapped the reins once, and Carl charged forward.

The human GPS never failed.

You let out an ecstatic cry as you pushed the last book in your hands onto the creaky bookshelf, stepping back to look at your work in pride. You’d been organizing the library for a little over half the day now, and you were almost finished. Each shelf was now in alphabetical order.

Dusting off your skirt, you took one last glance at the shelves before settling down at the table in the corner of the room, looking over the to-do list you had set out for yourself the night before. “Let’s see,” you hummed to yourself, “I already dusted all the tabletops, mopped the floor, and delivered that order to Mr. Hart. Now I can check ‘organize bookshelves’ off the list, too.”

You set the quill down on the table. “Meanwhile, dad’s out trading with Mrs. Lee and said he would be back soon.” You stared down at the page for a moment longer before sighing. A frown etched itself onto your features. You leaned your elbows on the oak tabletop as your gaze trailed out the church window and up at the cloudless sky.

You had lived in the village your whole life with your father, the village cleric. Everything was peaceful and you loved the familiar environment you resided in, but things had also become so… boring in the village. So bland, so dull. You can’t even remember the last time you did something fun. Sure, you were productive and made sure to help your father around his workspace the best you could, but you wanted more than this.

Please, you thought to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut in a silent prayer. Please, please, please let something new and exciting happen. At least just once in my life.

All of a sudden, you heard a distant rumbling.

You sat up straight, blinking awake from your reverie. What’s that sound?

The rumbling grew louder, and you could now recognize it as the galloping of a horse. Your thoughts were only confirmed by the loud whinny you heard right after the rumbles stopped.

You pushed your chair back, standing up from the table and walking over to the front window, crouching down to peek outside. You squinted, your eyes scanning around outside before they landed on an unfamiliar shape.

Your heart suddenly barrelled over in your chest.

Sitting atop a horse wearing diamond armour in the center of the village square was a stranger.

His back was facing you, but from what you could see of him, the first thing you noticed was the crimson robe hanging off his shoulders, cascading down his back like a scarlet waterfall. An axe was strapped to his back, tinted with a murky, violet hue. His hair was a vibrant shade of cherry blossom pink like nothing you had ever laid eyes on before, and on his head sat a golden crown encrusted with glittering gems. You wondered what his face looked like, curiosity bubbling in your chest.

Just then, he slid off his horse, landing on the ground with a small thump. He stood tall and proud, turning his head this way and that as he looked around at the houses around him, an air of regality surrounding him.

Then, he turned.

Your eyes only met for a fraction of a second before you immediately ducked down, hiding your figure from view in the window. The moment you were out of sight, you stilled, doing your best not to give yourself away.

He was handsome.

His face was calm and demure, reflecting his royal air almost perfectly, and his eyes, like his robe, were a piercing crimson red. They almost seemed to stare into your soul, laying every part of yourself bare for him to see.

He looked like a king in every sense of the word, and you just had to meet him.

Your heart was thrumming wildly in your chest as you struggled to regain your breath. You peeked over the windowsill carefully, glancing past the glass outside once more. The stranger had tied his horse to a post in the square and was walking around, glancing at the villagers here and there. Most of them seemed to be slightly wary of him—after all, it wasn’t everyday a king showed up at your doorstep. He seemed to be looking for something with the way he kept looking around him, his eyes sweeping over every inch of the village. Perhaps you could help him.

Slowly, you slid away from the windowsill and carefully clicked open the front door, stepping outside. The sun shone brilliantly on your face as you made your way toward the stranger. Once again, his back was turned to you, and you stopped a few feet behind him. Taking a deep breath, you mustered up what courage you had before speaking.

“Hello.”

The man turned at the sudden sound of your voice, his scarlet eyes piercing into yours. “Oh, hello.” His voice was deep, laced with a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your offered him a warm smile. “Welcome to our humble village. I’m [Y/N].” You extended your hand, and he took it in a friendly handshake, smiling back.

“The name’s Technoblade.”

Your eyebrows quirked. “Technoblade,” you repeated. “That’s a unique name.”

“Thanks,” he said, jokingly adding, “I got it for my birthday.”

You giggled at that. He may look regal and intimidating, but right off the bat, it seemed that his personality was far from it. “You know what they say, a bad joke is always the best way to leave a good first impression.”

He frowned, feigning sadness. “Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”

Your lips twitched. “Well, I laughed at it, so I’ll give you that.” His face lit up once more, and you felt your stomach churn with warmth. “Well, what brings you here?”

He gestured to the pack he had clipped to his belt. “Just looking to do a few trades, really.”

You looked at him in confusion. “A king? Trading with commoners like us?”

He blinked for a moment. “Ah, about that, I’m not really a king, per se.” He plucked his crown from off his head, tossing it casually in his hands. “The crown and robes are more for… aesthetic purposes, to say the least. I don’t really rule over my own country or anything.

Your tilted your head at him. “Where do you come from, then? I can only imagine you travelled for a while to get here.”

He shrugged. “It was kind of far, but it wasn’t a big deal, really. I never got lost.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Never?” you said.

“Never,” he confirmed. His grinned smugly, your heart reeling at the sight. “I’m a human GPS, if you will.”

You stifled a laugh but couldn’t hide your smile. What a dork. “Totally.”

His grin only widened. “Anyways, I’m from this place called Pogtopia.” You must have made a face at his words, because he laughed at you and god, even his laugh was pretty. “Yeah, it’s kind of a funny name, isn’t it? Well, I didn’t come up with it. My friends Tommy and Wilbur did.”

“They must be…” You looked for a good word. “…interesting people.”

He laughed. “It’s okay—you’re allowed to say they have bad taste in names.”

You giggled, your cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment. “Okay, yeah, their taste is pretty poor.” You glanced at him. “Are they the kings of your country then, since they named it?”

“Kind of. I guess you could call them kings, but they’re more like self-instated presidents, even though that kind of defeats the whole purpose of having a president.” You nodded, following along in agreement. “They’re trying to win back some land they were exiled from a while back called L’Manberg, although it was recently renamed Manberg, but there’s also Dream and his SMP, and—” He sighed, running a hand through his rosy locks. “It’s complicated. Basically, we’re sort of in the middle of this war, and I just kind of got roped into it.”

Your eyes widened in alarm. “A war?! Surely we wouldn’t get involved, right?” Your village, like many others, was a pacifist group of people, having no source of defense or battle skills to protect yourselves with. If this supposed war came all the way to your little village, all of you would surely perish.

Technoblade raised his arms in front of him, quickly shaking his head. “Oh, definitely not. You’ve got nothing to worry about, I swear.”

You pressed a hand to your chest as you let out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.” Technoblade smiled at you from the corner of your eye, amusement lacing his lips. You suddenly straightened, another thought popping into your head. “What about you, then? Aren’t you worried?”

He laughed again, though it sounded more like a cackle. “Me? Worried? Nahhh.” He swung his axe off his back, being careful to point it away from you. “I may not look like it, but I’m actually one of the most feared warriors in the land. Tommy and Wilbur basically begged me to join their side so I can help them win.” He gestured to himself. “You don’t have to believe me, but I think it’s pretty clear to see I’m pretty much a god at PVP.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “No, I believe you. You do look like you could seriously teach someone a thing or two with that axe, but I really don’t think I need to feed your ego anymore.” You smiled bemusedly. “It already seems to be quite large on its own.”

His grin dropped. “Wait, please, feed my ego, I thrive off complime—”

A giggle escaped your mouth as you waved your hand at him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Your expression grew a bit more serious. “But honestly, you’re not scared? Even a little?”

Technoblade shook his head. “Nope. A war is just a lot of fights lined up one after the other, and I’m great at winning fights. Heck, I could probably wipe out the other side in a heartbeat with what I’ve got in my arsenal. Tommy and Wilbur might just send me out by myself to do just that.”

“They would?” you said in disbelief. “Aren’t they worried for you, either?”

He snorted. “They were the ones who wanted me here to help them win, so they definitely aren’t worried.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Well, that was no good—no good at all. Wasn’t a single person concerned for this man’s safety, not even just one? No matter how powerful he may be, this was a war you two were talking about, and wars don’t always go according to plan.

Suddenly, it hit you.

“I see,” you murmured. You raised your chin, resolve filling your veins. “Then I’ll worry for you.”

Technoblade stared at you for a long moment, stunned into silence. Panicking, you began to ramble. “You and your friends may have overwhelming confidence in you and your abilities,” you said, “but it’s still important that you recognize that sometimes things don’t go according to plan. That’s why you should worry, and if you won’t, then I’ll do it in your stead.”

When he still didn’t say anything after yet another moment, you felt embarrassment rise up in you. “I’m sorry, we just met and that was totally uncalled for of m—”

“No, no, really,” he abruptly said, shaking his head. “It’s all good. Seriously.” There was a slight pause. Then, he softly added, “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

His lips curled to form a smile, but this one was different from the ones he gave you before. Those ones were proud and teasing, full of mirth and some level of arrogance. But this one was softer, kinder. More genuine and real.

You liked this one more.

Still feeling slightly embarrassed from having just rambled about caring about a near stranger to his face, you quickly shifted gears. “W-Well, I should probably ask what exactly you wanted to trade for,” you said as your cheeks flushed pink. You lowered your gaze to the ground, trying to avert your eyes from his. “I can probably help you find whatever it is you need.”

Technoblade hummed. “I have a bunch of stuff with me that I can use to trade, but I’m looking for a cleric to get some mending books from.”

Your head shot up in recognition. “A cleric, you say?” Your lips curled into a small grin when he nodded. “I know just where to find him. Wait here for a minute, okay?”

As soon as he nodded his head once more, you had already taken off, bounding down the grassy path with your skirt trailing behind you. Technoblade’s gaze followed you as you rushed down the path, a pleasant warmth bubbling in the pit of stomach and he watched you run off.

Usually whenever he came to a village, the people he met were wary of him and hardly ever spoke more than the bare minimum to him. Most of them were intimidated by his appearance, others thrown off by his cockiness. And yet here you were, treating him like a friend when so many before you had done the exact opposite. You were kind, compassionate, and you saw more than just his arrogant exterior. You genuinely cared for the person he was underneath the crown and the robes. Not to mention, you were quite the sight for sore eyes.

Warmth blossomed in his chest and something fluttered in his stomach.

He was glad he came to this village.

To say your father was more than pleased to trade some books of mending for the stacks upon stacks of emeralds Technoblade had was an understatement.

“I thought you said you weren’t a king,” you said to him, your eyes nearly bulging out of your head when you saw him open his pack.

“I’m not,” Technoblade said, twirling an emerald between his fingers. “I just happen to be very wealthy.”

You shook your head at him, a smile gracing your lips. “You’re a maniac.”

He shot you a smug look. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

After he had traded for some mending books with your father, he had asked you if your village had a fletcher.

“Oh, I made a delivery to Mr. Hart earlier today,” you said. “Here, follow me.”

The trek to the other side of the village was short enough, and you were content to wait on the sides while Technoblade made some negotiations. Just then, Mrs. Lee spotted you and strode up to you.

“Good afternoon, [Y/N],” she greeted, her lips tilting into a familiar gentle smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Lee!” you chirped happily, turning to face her. “Thank you for the pumpkins, earlier today! I’ll be sure to give you some of the pumpkin pie I bake tomorrow.”

“Why, there’s no need for you to do that, dear.” She leaned close to your ear to whisper, “You know you’re my favourite of the youngins here.”

You blushed. “You know that’s not true.”

She held a finger to her lips. “It’s our little secret, alright?” She looked over your shoulder at Technoblade, who was still debating with Mr. Hart. “Looks like you’ve become acquainted with our visitor, haven’t you, dear?”

Your blush deepened. “Y-Yes! I have. His name is Technoblade and he comes from a country called Pogtopia. He traded for some books with my father just now.”

Mrs. Lee wrinkled her nose. “Weird name, the both of them, but never mind that.” She smirked at you, glancing just behind you. “He’s quite the looker, isn’t he?”

Your face exploded like a bright red tomato. “I-I, um, he’s. Um.” You took a deep breath and fanned your face, lowering your voice. “He’s handsome.”

Her smirk only grew larger. “I hope the two of you become even more acquainted then,” she said cryptically, patting your shoulder. “I’ll be on my way now, but do let me know how it goes, okay?”

You nodded dutifully, too embarrassed to say anything else. Mrs. Lee turned away and continued her way down the grassy path, smiling to herself.

If only you had seen the way he had looked at you.

Hours had passed since Technoblade had first arrived in the village, and the sun was just beginning to set. The two of you had visited just about every working person in the village, chatting away as Technoblade traded for whatever he needed from each person you two saw.

The two of you learned a lot about each other in the time you spent together. You learned that Technoblade wasn’t a huge fan of government and much preferred anarchy. He learned that you longed for something much more than your normal life in the village, but you had yet to discover what it was you wanted to do. You learned that he owned a dog named Floof. He learned the location of your favourite spot in the village. By the end of the day, it felt like you two had known each other for ages.

You secretly hoped that he would stay, but you knew that he couldn’t. The village wasn’t his home, after all.

You stood nearby as Technoblade strapped his pack back onto Carl’s saddle, chewing the inside of your lip. He climbed onto Carl, securing his axe on his back and picking up the reins in his hands. “Well, [Y/N],” he said, a hint of disappointment tinging his voice, “it looks like this is goodbye.”

“I guess so,” you murmured sadly, casting your gaze down at your feet. You had only known him for so long, but an overwhelming sense of loss filled you knowing that Technoblade was leaving and may very well never return. He was funny with his dry, dorky sense of humour and charming with his sharp grins and deep voice.

You weren’t sure you were quite ready to let go just yet.

“Um,” you spoke up, your voice cracking a little, “will you…” You peeked up at him, nervously biting the inside of your cheek as you fiddled with your fingers. “Will you ever come back?”

Something in Technoblade’s chest seized at the shy look on your face, your cheeks rosy and your gaze darting back and forth between his eyes and the ground. While he had originally only come in search of this village to trade with a cleric, he supposed he might always need more mending books in the future. Not to mention, he would also get to see you.

He smiled, letting out a soft laugh. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll be back, so wait up for me, yeah?”

Your eyes lit up and an elated grin spread across your face. “I-I will!”

He chuckled at your giddiness, his own heart beating wildly against his rib cage. “Good.”

Sharing one last look with you, he snapped his reins and held on tight as Carl dashed forward, his gaze trailing behind him as he watched you wave your arms frantically at him. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at your enthusiasm, raising his arm to wave back at you himself. He kept waving until he could no longer see you, and only then did he face forward to find his way home.

The journey back was significantly shorter than the trip to the village, and before he knew it, he was tying Carl to his usual fence post. He was a human GPS, after all. How else would he have found the village—and you—with so much ease?

He tilted his head up, looking up at the rising moon in the east. Now he knew that the village (and you, his heart helpfully supplied once more) lay to the west, just beyond the birch forest, desert, and river. Above him, he could make out the shapes of a handful of constellations, the stars twinkling and winking down at him from space. He wondered if you were looking up at the same starry sky as him. He wondered if your stomach was full of butterflies, too.

“So,” he mused to himself aloud, his heart thump-thump-thumping in his chest, “[Y/N], huh?”

He was definitely going back.

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asherlockstudy · 3 years

Text

Rhett and Link’s problems with the Enneagram

I have now watched both Enneagram EBs and the second one actually set my gears to work (So Anon here it comes! I promise it was spontaneous).

After listening to Link and mostly Rhett talk about the Enneagram again and again, I realised I have a problem but I can not place its exact root. There is either something fundamentally wrong with the Enneagram itself or maybe it’s Rhett and consequently Link who talk about it in a way that made me feel a little uncomfortable.

My problem and cause of concern was that everything that was said during the two podcasts had a clear negative tone to it. I will have to bring in myself to it to give you an example so bear with me for a paragraph. I did the test and I am a 5 (Investigator - Observer, something like that) which suits me rather well, especially since it agrees perfectly with my Myers-Briggs INTP type. The results said I was a 5w6 (essentially an emotionless analytical robot) which is definitely wrong as I am clearly a 5w4 (a sad mess who analyses the world and searches pointlessly for the true meanings in life and wants to come up with the ultimate all-encompassing philosophy). I mean, OK, they are not described exactly like that but trust me, that’s the point. But despite all the flaws associated with it, especially in the fields of socialising and tremendous procrastination due to an insane fear of failure, I am actually very much in touch with it. I revel in analysing, in trying to see the bigger picture, to make up my own theory about life and the world. It gives me fuel to go on, it fills me with excitement, it gives me a purpose.

Now, what I kept hearing from Rhett and Link are the things they would hope to run away from. I can’t seem to remember a single positive thing they said about their personalities. All traits they mentioned ( which were all pretty one-dimensional for both I dare say) were presented in the context of torturing them and having to confront them. With these insights in their personalities and the spiritual deconstructions earlier, their old (surprising back then) statement that they are “fundamentally sad people” makes more and more sense. Some of their traits, like Link’s care for perfection to the smallest detail and his moral concerns could have been neutral or positive but, no, they are almost all given as clear negatives or at least as things that have an emotional toll on them.

This gives me the impression that Link and especially Rhett have found comfort in studying the Enneagram and try to find an explanation for what they are like, to feel part of a group, represented in their misery. In short, they focus on the analysis of the flaws of their personalities as a part of who they are and avoid dealing with the root that caused said flaws. Link is more self aware while Rhett still struggles to reach the root of it, which is his childhood. Not that he doesn’t know it but he can’t just deal with the people and the situations that impacted him enough to make him a three. For instance, Rhett seems to believe that he is a natural three that his parents made manifest even more strongly. It could be the case or the threeness we observe in him is the direct product of his parents’ constant judgement. By keeping chanting he needs to “be” instead of “do”, I am not sure Rhett will achieve much. Honestly, the one impactful step he needs to take is to stop caring about what his father thinks and I am sorry to say he is still not near achieving this. Especially when I take into account how scared he was during his videocall with his dad in GMM and how relieved he looked after the call was over without drama. In short, my problem with their take in the Enneagram is that it seems that Three is Rhett’s pack of unresolved issues rather than his complete personality type.

Furthermore, Rhett speaks knowingly about all numbers / personality types which proves he consumes passionately all Enneagram information that is available. For a man of his level of active lifestyle, hectic schedule and impatience, this shows that he indeed seeks comfort in finding a detailed description and an explanation for his personality, for the way he feels and acts. What does this mean? Well, that he does not like the way he feels about himself a lot. Not only that, but he is actually in a search of self. At this point, he is no longer cryptic about it but it is more serious than he lets on. He tries to make sense of himself and he tries desperately to find something in himself to love. I hope there are people in his life who let him know that he is worthy of their love, friendship and appreciation even though he is so deep inside his head that even the affectionate feedback can only help so much. Rhett will start finding some peace only if he takes the one step I mentioned above.

And then it seems that Link’s personality type is also exclusively a byproduct of his childhood and is aggravated by his relationship with Rhett. Link’s perfectionism doesn’t cause him enthusiasm - he just dreads the disturbance of his supposedly perfectly stable world. In all honesty, Link doesn’t strike me as an ambitious person. Link would just love to have his dear routine and a loyal person to share it with. Link needs stability and companionship. He is fine with just one person as long as this person contributes to the stability of their bond. Who that one person is in Link’s life is another story…

Link doesn’t care that much about the creative process and, frankly, he doesn’t care all that much about the comedy. Link cares to keep the environment Rhett and he work stable and safe. For Link, judgement from the audience is not as alarming as Rhett’s frustration because of it. Link cares to ensure that Rhett’s idea will be successful enough to keep working and to keep working together. So Link’s entire self-identification as a one seems to stem from his fear of abandonment and worthlessness only. Link fears he has not much to contribute to Mythical and he tries to counteract that by becoming the ultimate source of management and control. Because if he didn’t even manage the company, then what would Rhett need him for? Hence, Link’s obsession for control is a consequence of his fear, he doesn’t necessarily love to be in control for the sake of it. This is proven by his plane example, which shows that he finally relaxes when he does NOT need to be in control.

Link has been working hard most of his life to ensure his position next to Rhett. This brings even more insight in his resentment for Rhett that explodes from time to time. Link resents Rhett because he tries so hard to be always by his side but due to Rhett’s opportunitism, he can’t tell whether Rhett wants his companionship or he simply needs it for their brand. Even worse, Link dreads that the reason Rhett is his friend is because Link feeds his ego with his loyalty and admiration, because he takes Link for granted and not because he loves Link for who he is.

“Do you care for me or do you revel in the fact that I care for you?”

Now, I can’t get inside Rhett’s head but I doubt he uses people. I believe his genuine care for Link can be found in the weirdest examples - those from which Rhett has nothing to gain i.e getting frustrated when Link doesn’t enjoy food as much. Yes, this is a sign of love. Rhett enjoys food so much that he wants to share that enjoyment with Link. He can’t realise Link’s tongue works differently - he thinks Link is missing out and it frustrates him. Another silly example is Rhett buying Apocalypse equipment for a clearly disinterested Link and probably never getting its money’s worth back. This is important to Rhett for some reason and he is concerned enough to protect careless Link as well despite having no personal gain from it.

The truth is that these two men feed off each other; Rhett keeps Link attached to him to always feel worthy and Link keeps Rhett attached to him to always feel safe. However, the fact that Rhett is almost his entire source of safety and that Link is Rhett’s biggest calibrator of worth is indicative of the levels of love and need. Nevertheless, Rhett and Link are not independent people. They were constantly in search of support from one another and they lost themselves in the process of satisfying others or being safe. This is something they are realising only now.

Link’s fear of abandonment is so big that it frequently leads him to an almost paranoid behaviour. It is crazy that he felt left out when Rhett communicated with the audience during a podcast whose key purpose is to… communicate with the audience. His fear here has two sides: 1) that Rhett didn’t consider him an equally important business partner so he preferred to speak directly to the audience and 2) that Rhett isn’t emotionally invested in him in order to open up to him. And by saying he can deceive people if he needs, Rhett doesn’t help Link overcome his huge insecurities. This is why Link begs Rhett to talk to him about his feelings more. He does not understand whether Rhett loves him or uses him. The notion that Rhett doesn’t truly love or appreciate him is one of his biggest fears in life.

As for Rhett, it is certainly huge growth that he starts opening up and being vulnerable to a few thousand strangers yet it all still derives from his need to be accepted by said strangers as I am afraid that the late disproportionate criticism he gets for silly stuff on Twitter and Tumblr surely don’t help him deal with his issues, no matter how hard he tries. Therefore, Rhett is trapped in a vicious circle. Besides, Rhett was overly sensitive to be hurt when Link stated the obvious; that he was being vulnerable in hopes to be understood and accepted, because that was clearly what Rhett was openly doing. However, having someone discussing openly his vulnerability immediately made Rhett retreat back to his shell because no matter how hard he tries, Rhett hasn’t managed to separate vulnerability from weakness in his mind yet.

Long story short, Rhett and Link might be Three and One respectively but I am not sure they have a good understanding of themselves anyway. They may have figured out their types correctly but they certainly narrow their entire sense of being to their unresolved issues and phobias. They entirely lack a sense of self-worth and they probably have not realised the extent of the traumas in their youth. In the Enneagram language, the nine personality types have nine levels of development. I believe Rhett and Link are either in the average levels or the mildest unhealthy level. They are certainly not in the healthy top three levels.

Their obsession with the Ennegram helps only superficially but they seem to have based an illogically huge part of their self exploration on it. The Enneagram might offer some insight but won’t offer the resolutions they long for and badly need in order to find some relief. The ones that come when you confront your environment instead of overanalysing yourself and beating yourself up because of it.

#Rhett and link #ear biscuits #Rhett McLaughlin #link Neal #Enneagram #randl #r&l #mythical

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

Text

The Earl (13/13)

This was a labor of love, and I can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with me. For Lin, my science editor, to Fiona and Amanda for beta-ing like champions, you guys were my rocks. Finally, thank you to you readers for keeping up the enthusiasm for this story for far longer than it probably should have taken me to write it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I do hope its everything you wanted it to be.

To read this in its entirety on AO3, you may do so here.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mulder, on his horse Hercule at the lead of what amounted to a well-outfitted cavalry, pounded down the stretch of road that led to Harwood Hall, the manse just coming into view. It was all thundering hooves behind him, and he could hear grunts of the horsed men that followed, could feel their thrilled energy at his back, and he was half-compelled to let out the war whoop of his Celtic forebears, riding into battle as they were, ready to save their damsel in distress. If it hadn't been for the generations of genteel decorum bred into him, he probably would have.

The fields lay long on either side of the narrow road, dotted occasionally with sheep and ancient stone fences. The sea shone far to the right and came into the land at an angle, pushing in toward the thumb-sized house like a shining sapphire buttress.

He was armed to the teeth, as were the men with him -- two pistols strapped to his hips and an old but perfectly balanced sword tight to his waist, the sheathed end of it tapping into Hercule’s flank and spurring him on. Walter and his Runner colleague Doggett were each carrying pistols — Doggett carrying an English flintlock blunderbuss in his left hand. Langly, who looked queasy on horseback and was not keeping his seat well, had what looked to be a long flintlock Kentucky plains rifle (said to be favored on the American Frontier), and Frohike, sturdy as a barnacle on his steely grey pony, had the intricately carved handle and stock of a Prussian target percussion rifle sticking out of an odd holster on his back. Byers carried a saber. Mulder couldn't help but wonder what a sight they made rolling along the English countryside at full gallop, their armory glinting in the sun.

As they barreled closer, Mulder could see that the manor itself was not overly large, but had a long fence and tall gate. They would have to get through it just to get on the property. Perhaps riding in like the Roman Legion hadn't been the best idea, but his wife was close -- he could feel it -- and his heart would have nothing but war until she was by his side.

Hercule had energy and heart to give, and Mulder could feel the animal ranging further and further ahead of the inferior horses giving chase behind them. In fact, when he looked back, he could see nothing but road dust and the occasional glint of metal.

Looking ahead, he could now see the house clearly, its brick the color of the sand on the shores surrounding it, and his eye caught movement at the building's entrance. Perhaps the fight was coming to them -- so be it.

He eased back on the reins and murmured a low command to Hercule, who slowed his steps only enough for the cavalry behind them to ease closer, and the figure from the manse -- Mulder could see that it was single figure now, dressed in white -- was moving quickly toward the gate. Perhaps it was a servant who thought Mulder was the post.

He wouldn't give them the chance to discover otherwise.

He pulled his pistol out from his hip and cocked it, skidding Hercule to a halt on the slippery gravel, and throwing himself from the saddle as he did so to land in a crouch in front of the gate. He could hear the other riders pulling in behind him as he rose and raised his pistol to point at the person who had just swung open the weir. He could not yet make out their identity, blocked as they were by the ornate iron lock.

"Stand and deliver," he said with calibrated fury.

And then he saw her face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Stand and deliver,” said a voice with the steely edge of violence. There was a pistol aimed directly at her nose. It took her only a moment to look past the barrel to the man holding it.

“Mulder!” she gasped, and launched herself at him. His arms came around her with the feeling of home and she allowed herself one brief moment of transcendent euphoria before she pulled away from him.

“Good God, Scully, I-” he fumbled. She had clearly taken him by surprise. The men mounted behind him were all wearing equally shocked looks.

“Away!” she said quickly, “Mulder, we must away!”

Upon the heels of her statement came a calamitous blast, followed immediately by another. The horses threw their heads nervously.

A balding man she didn’t know squared his jaw up and turned his horse away from the house, shouting, “On me!” before spurring away.

Mulder practically leapt upon Hercule’s back and grabbed Scully around the waist, lifting her easily up into the saddle in front of him, and they were away before a third and fourth detonation burst from the house behind them. The other riders, Sir Byers and his associates among them, followed, their horses spurred along by fear. They were barely away when there was an absolutely massive explosion. Frohike’s pony screamed.

Hercule was in the lead, despite having the added burden of a second rider, and rode on, unfazed. After several hundred yards, Mulder slowed the creature, holding Scully tightly to him, and turned the horse to look back on the estate.

There was nothing left. Where once stood a large country house there was now just a smoking crater. Scully felt nothing but satisfaction. She supposed she should feel something for the life that she had taken, but her God believed in an eye for an eye, and so help her, when it came to that man, she did too.

The other riders caught up with them and turned their horses to look as well. The balding man had fine, wire rim spectacles and looked at what was left of the house and then at her, giving her an assessing once-over.

“My lady,” the man said, “you did not, perchance, happen to find munitions somewhere on the estate, did you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Scully said, leaning back into the warm bulk of Mulder, “I did.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Well,” said Frohike as he dismounted his pony in front of the stables at Ashford Park, swinging his Prussian rifle over his shoulder, “we’re all dressed up and we’ve nowhere to go.”

A groom helped Scully dismount, then Mulder swung down behind her, handing over his reins, refusing to let his wife get so much as an arm’s length away from him. The other members of the rescue party were dismounting around them, scattering gravel at their feet and shaking hands.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the manor and Suzanne came careening down the steps and running towards them.

“You’ve done it!” she said, skidding to a stop in front of Scully and then wrapping her up in an embrace, “you’ve saved her!”

“Nay,” said Byers, stepping forward, “the lady has saved herself. We were but an armed escort bringing her home.”

Mulder felt a swell of pride momentarily override his intense sense of relief. His wife; intelligent, capable, resourceful. She had described her escape to the men on their slow ride back to Byers’s estate to the impressed astonishment of the horsed collective -- how she used her extensive knowledge of chemistry to escape the small cottage in which she had been imprisoned, how she found stores and stores of gunpowder and munitions in Spender’s stables and used them to ensure that the man never hurt anyone else ever again.

Frohike himself had asked many questions, and with each answer, he would shake his head and look at Mulder, no doubt wondering what the Earl had done to deserve such a remarkable paradigm of a woman.

Mulder wondered that, himself.

As the group began wandering back toward the house, Mulder pulled Scully aside.

“This must all be overwhelming. And I would like to hear all that happened to you -- when you are ready to share it -- but first, I must know one thing: Did he hurt you? Did any of them hurt you?”

She reached up and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

“Not in the way you fear,” she whispered.

He reached up and put his hand over her own, holding it close. “I would take whatever suffering you have endured and make it my own.”

“Something tells me you already have,” she said. She was more right than she knew. “I would like to go to our chambers now, Mulder, and change out of this soiled and ruined dress. And I would like to take a bath. And then…”

“Then?”

“Will you hold me?”

“I can do that,” he said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder gently fingered the uneven ends of Scully’s shorn hair from where she lay tightly spooned up into his side. It felt so wonderful to be back in her husband’s arms.

“Does it look horrid?” she mumbled half into the pillow they shared. She knew he had loved her long tresses.

“You could never look horrid. It’s actually quite fetching. It highlights the elegant column of your neck. And if I’m honest, I can’t stop touching it.” He placed a soft kiss to the place where her jaw met her neck and she shivered, finally turning to face him.

“Whatever will the ton say?”

“They’ll say ‘what an extraordinary woman is the Countess of Wexford, and what an undeserving wretch she has for an Earl.’”

“Never.” She reached for his face and he kissed the tips of her fingers.

“I should have saved you. I should have done something about Spender, long ago. I never should have-“

She shushed him. “Mulder, I am frequently underestimated because of my sex. For once, I was able to use that fact to my advantage. I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself for the reprehensible actions of another. You were not to blame. For any of it.”

He reached out and ran his fingers once again through what remained of her hair, looking at her with reverence. She was silent for a moment before reaching up and touching it, too.

“I suppose my hair will have plenty of time to grow out before we attend any events in Town,” she said.

“You don’t wish to return to London?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.

“Most ladies I know retreat to their country homes for the duration of their confinement.” She watched closely for his reaction, and saw it in his eyes the moment realization hit -- they went from confusion to elation.

“Your… your confinement?” he asked breathily. She nodded, smiling.

He grabbed her face in two hands and kissed her soundly, then pulled back the covers on the bed and moved down until his face was level with her abdomen. He lifted her shift until the bare skin of her belly was exposed, and leaned in to place a reverential kiss there, too. His mouth lingered. He whispered something she could not make out.

She felt a rush of yearning wash over her. “Mulder,” she whispered, and he looked up, his mossy eyes connecting with hers. They didn’t have to speak. He crawled his way back up her body slowly and kissed her softly, his weight resting on his hip, one hand in her hair, the other caressing her with a featherlight touch. She felt desire pool between her legs.

He pulled back and nosed his way gently down the curve of her jaw, flicking his tongue slowly as he eased his way along the column of tendons in her neck. Her head fell back on a blissful moan, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, letting the silken softness play about the skin of her hands, wanting to feel him -- all of him -- reveling in having him back at her side, within her grasp.

He drew back momentarily to pull his white lawn shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. The space between them felt like a sea, and she realized in that moment that however deeply she thought she had loved him before she’d been taken by Spender was a pittance. The love she felt for him in this moment threatened to overwhelm her. She longed to feel him against her, inside of her, every unyielding edge and hard plane of him; she wanted to take all that he was and absorb him like water, like air.

She reached for him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He marveled at her. The soft contours of her body called to him; her pliant skin, her lush, pearl-pink-tipped breasts, her soft seawater eyes. None of which compared to the rapier-sharp intelligence of her beautiful mind. It was like she was moulded from clay by the gods specifically for him. He was a hopeless wretch in love. And now there was a babe inside her belly.

He felt an overwhelming tenderness toward her, at her resilience and strength in finding her way back to him, and he felt himself marveling at the miracle of life they’d created.

He sat back on his haunches, roving his eyes over her, struck dumb.

And then she reached for him.

“I need you,” she whispered, beseeching him, “I need to take you inside of me. Please.”

The blood thrummed inside of him.

He reached down and delicately parted her legs, taking himself in hand and gently thumbing the soft bud at the crest of her sex. She hissed a breath through her teeth and he guided himself, sliding straight home.

Scully reached under his arms with both hands and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him tightly to her. He thrust up into her slowly, tenderly, keeping his weight on his elbows, framing her face with his arms.

He could feel her pulse as it beat in her slick sheath and he took a breath, trying to control himself. He wanted this to be sweet, tender lovemaking -- a homecoming -- but with every stroke, he felt more and more desperate for release.

A sob wrenched from her throat and she turned her face into his neck, pressing her teeth into the skin there.

“Mulder,” she panted, her voice hungry with yearning, with palpable, unabashed need.

He turned and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and then leaned back, grabbing her hips in both hands. He began to snap into her with more force, and her hips rose with each plunge, as desperate to meet him as he was to be buried deep inside of her. And then she threw her arms over her head, her hands pushing against the carved headboard of the bed, her head thrown back, and she keened an almost inhuman sound, her muscles gripping him in an endless, pulsing clutch.

He ascended to a place beyond thought.

XxX

Mulder awoke once again with the smell of lavender in his nose, the soft curve of Scully’s behind pressed into him. He inhaled deeply and pulled her more tightly to him.

He would stay here all week, all month, all year, if he could. But he needed to send word to Henwick Priory that he and the Countess would be arriving soon, and staying for the duration.

He rose and gently extricated himself from around Scully, dressing as quickly and quietly as he could. He was just pulling on his Hessians when his wife inhaled deeply in the bed and rolled over, cracking an eye to look at him with a small smile on her face.

“What time is it?” she croaked, her voice rough with sleep.

There was an ormolu clock on the mantle of the bedroom, and Mulder peered at it before coming to sit on the bed next to her hip.

“It’s just past nine o’clock. If you wish to go back to sleep, please do so.”

She stretched, brushing a hand down his arm to thread her fingers through his own.

“I shall rise,” she said, “I’d like to write to my mother and visit with Suzanne. Would you mind calling for Prudence?”

Mulder hesitated briefly, but then rose and pulled the cord. It seemed only moments before the door to their chambers opened.

“My lady!” Prudence came rushing into the room, a joyful look of relief on her face.

“Prudence,” said Scully fondly, reaching her hands out to recieve her.

“Oh, my lady ,” Prudence said again, taking Scully’s hands. She seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion.

Mulder stepped forward. He had not spoken with Prudence since calling her in to meet the Bow Street Runners, and charging off the second she gave them the location of Spender’s Kent estate. The young woman eyed him warily before glancing back at her mistress.

“You need not call the Countess that anymore,” he said calmly to her.

Both women swung their eyes to him; Scully in confusion, Prudence in something close to fear.

“And what should she call me?” Scully asked.

“Sister,” Mulder said simply. “For that is what she is to me.”

“My lord?” Prudence queried.

“Come,” Mulder said, pulling the envelope scrawled with a large X out of his pocket. “I’ve something to show you both.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

EPILOGUE

Several Years Later

The spring air was deeply fragrant, the mossy banks of the ornamental lake a dazzling shade of green. The sun was so bright she sneezed.

"Bless you, my lady," said a gentle voice from behind her.

Scully turned to thank Sir Byers from where he sat on a large blanket spread out on the grassy embankment just under an ancient oak on the north lawn of Henwick Priory. Byers was cradling a sleeping babe -- he and Suzanne's second, little Reynard, named for his Godfather.

Scully turned back to where she had been watching -- peering at the arbor twenty yards away for the child's namesake. Mulder had taken three-year-old Clio into the vast gardens to look for butterflies, but they had been gone near to thirty minutes -- it was likely the child had been distracted by something or other in the terraced space -- she had, after all, inherited her mother's scientific curiosity.

Just as she was about to turn away, she saw movement, and Clio came running out from the garden, her skirts flying out behind her. She wore a gleeful smile and her bright red curls glinted in the sun.

"Mama!" she shouted as she approached, "we found a caterpillar!"

Scully swept the girl up in her arms and pressed a kiss into the child's pink cheek.

"Oh, you must tell me the color! We'll identify it."

"Papa said it was a Cinnabar moth," Clio said, dropping her heavy head sleepily onto Scully's shoulder. The child had a tendency, like her father, to drop off at a moment's notice and it was nearing time for her afternoon lay-down.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Scully said. Mulder was getting better at taxonomy, but he had a habit of misidentifying the things he classified for their children, if only to get a playful rise out of their mother.

Scully looked for said Papa and found him emerging from the gardens, walking slowly with his hands behind his back, patiently trailing William, the future Tenth Earl of Wexford, who had learned to walk only the month before and was toddling along jerkily, like a sailor in his cups. Scully caught eyes with the boy's father and he grinned at her, the smile crinkling the skin at his eyes.

"I see your father found your little brother," Scully said, smoothing out Clio's pinafore. "Where is your Auntie Pru?"

Samantha had offered to take William along on the garden expedition when the boy began crying that his father was walking away.

"She and Monica are cutting flowers for the picnic!" Clio answered, and turned in Scully's arms, wanting down.

William finally toddled up and flopped down on the blanket next to Byers, and Mulder strode up to Scully smelling of grass and sunshine with an underlying trace of clover. He leaned down and captured her lips in a quick kiss.

"My lady," he mumbled into her.

"My lord," she said, then looked down to see William attempting to dive into one of the baskets the footman had set out for their afternoon picnic.

"O-ho!" said Mulder as he swept up William away from the temptation, throwing the child into the air and catching him a moment later. The boy squealed in glee. "Not until everyone has arrived, little one," his father gently chided him.

In what amounted to rather perfect timing, Frohike, Langly, Suzanne and the oldest Byers child Emma at that moment came tromping down the steps on the north side of the estate, just as Samantha and another woman emerged from the garden, each with an armful of pink tulips.

"Oh, what a lovely addition to our picnic!" Scully said to Samantha's bright smile. She kissed her sister-in-law's cheek.

"It looks like Cli is about to drop off," Samantha grinned.

"No I'm not, Auntie Pru," the child said on a large yawn. To the day, both Mulder and Scully sometimes called Samantha by her middle name out of habit and the children had latched onto the idea.

"Do you want me to take her up to the nursery?" Samantha whispered. Scully shook her head. Samantha had been welcomed into the family without reservation, but at times was still not used to her elevated rank and attempted to do various tasks best left to the staff. It drove Mrs. Paxton batty.

"Sit, Samantha," said Monica Reyes, Samantha's hired companion, who was arranging the flowers prettily in an empty basket, "put your feet up. Have a cup of tea."

Initially Monica had been hired as companion, chaperone and etiquette tutor, drilling Samantha in the ways of the ton , but the ladies were now very good friends and, thought Scully wistfully, perhaps something more.

Mulder set his son down once again on the blanket and came up to Scully, putting his arms around her from behind. "That's good advice," he rumbled in her ear. She shivered slightly. He still had the ability to give her gooseflesh with a mere touch.

"Perhaps I will," she sighed happily, leaning into him.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived!” said Mulder as the group from the house approached.

“Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people,” Frohike quoted, letting go of Emma’s hand. She and Clio -- who had found a second wind of energy upon seeing her friend -- darted off to play on the spacious lawn.

“I count myself in nothing else so happy,” Mulder quoted back, “As in a soul remembering my good friends.”

“Shakespeare is all well and good,” said Langly, whinging ever so slightly, “but can we eat?”

“Champagne first!” Mulder announced, nodding to a footman who had been waiting nearby with the refreshment.

Frohike’s eyebrows rose as he took the proffered glass and he peered knowingly at the lord and lady of the house, who still stood in an embrace. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’ve an announcement,” Scully smiled, and Mulder reached down to caress the bump in Scully’s belly that was just beginning to make itself known.

“I knew it!” clapped Suzanne.

“Again?” gaped Langly.

Mulder winked at his bespeckled friend and raised his glass. “To good friends reunited,” he said, “and the blessing of another child.”

The gathered party raised their glasses in a toast.

Frohike looked up, thoughtful. “A third Wexford babe, and I’ve yet to find a wife.”

“My friend,” Mulder said, pressing a loving kiss into Scully’s hair before looking up at him, “never give up on a miracle.”

THE END

#The X-Files #Fanfic #MSR #AU #Regency #The Countess #The Earl #Sequel #My Fic

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