#which. at the time of reading this may be just...boundless? or at least without real restrain

[fettery-fetterie]

(at the verge of deep sleep) wouldn't it be fucked up if both teo and peka bonded over the idea of being hlev. Wouldn't it be fucked if both were jealous of him as he was a living incarnation of their desires. Wouldn't it be fucked that while teo decided to step in and take from him and ultimately finally get control over her life again as she understood the wake-up call, peka stagnates and just decided to take it all over in an attempt to feel fulfilled

Would that be fucked up or what

[sturrpz-hme-weekly]

Week 2 - What is graceful?

I chose graceful because gracefulness is such a fascinating expression, and I love everything that is smooth and flowy, especially when it comes to music.

It was really exciting trying to demonstrate the gracefulness of my examples. I experienced and saw details that I had never noticed before, and that further showed me how exquisite and beautiful these paintings were.

Each week I will try to read an article from Course Resources, then note down what stuck with me and give my thoughts on the article. Emphasis on try.

I took some notes in class. We watched a video of a woman in distress today, and that scared the hell out of me. It felt so real.

In the first part, I noticed that she was in a really small space, with the wall literally falling apart, with nothing but herself and a small phone, which gave me the sense of stuck, confinement, dead end. The lights turned red as she spoke louder, signifying mental distress. There were screeching noises in the background, but as soon as the phone hung up, it stopped. To me, it felt like the noises in her head had literally got shut down. She was going through really intense moodswings.

In the second part, the desaturated purpleish background just intensifies the bruises on her body and evoked a very uncanny feeling. Similarly to the first part, there were screeching noises when she was screaming, but this time, the lights were flashing, creating an extremely intense atmosphere. It's almost like the lights were flashing in accordance to her heartbeats, and as she calmed down, the lights stopped flashing and the noises stopped.

In the last part, she went from raging to acceptance. Raging is probably not the right word, it's more like desperation. Her desperation is so strong that it just exploded, however, followed by immediate acceptance. It was like she forced that desperation down, because she felt like she was stuck, and the settings became similar to the beginning of the video, which made me feel like it is going to be a cycle: from desperation, trauma to acceptance, and repeat.

In Praises of Shadow (Junichiro Tanizaki)

For so accustomed are we to electric lights that the sight of a naked bulb beneath an ordinary mild glass shade seems simpler and more natural than any attempt to hide it. An insignificant little piece of equipment, when one thinks of it, has had a vast, almost boundless, influence on our culture. Modern man, in his well-lit house, knows nothing of the beauty of gold; but those who lived in the dark houses of the past were not merely captivated by its beauty, they also knew its practical value; for gold, in these dim rooms, must have served the function of a reflector. We find beauty not in the thing itself but in the patterns of shadows, the light and the darkness, that one thing against another creates. A phosphorescent jewel gives off its glow and colour in the dark and loses its beauty in the light of day. Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty. The curveless body may, by comparison with Western women, be ugly. But our thoughts do not travel to what we cannot see. The unseen for us does not exist. The person who insists upon seeing her ugliness, like the person who would shine a hundred-candlepower light upon the picture alcove, drives away whatever beauty may reside there. I would push back into the shadows the things that come forward too clearly, I would strip away the useless decoration … perhaps we may be allowing at least one mansion where we can turn off the electric lights and see what it is like without them.

My thoughts

While reading, I can’t help but feel a general theme of bias throughout the book. It is clear that the author has deep love and respect for his Japanese culture, but it also seems like he regards Western culture as something very superficial and flashy yet insipid, which in my opinion is not necessary. Both have their own kind of beauty. Regardless, I am fascinated by how the author describes the subtle yet mesmerising beauty of Japanese culture. He has such a beautiful way with words and portrays such a detailed picture of Japanese architecture.

After doing some more research, apparently Junichiro was very fascinated with Western culture when he was young but returned to his Japanese origin as he got older. He saw how the influence from the West was slowly deteriorating the Japanese tradition, and this was one of his essays expressing this issue.

[gazrgaley]

A Day at the Park (chapter 20)

Richard had put a fair distance between them and the beast, but it stalked its prey with the infinite patience of a hunter who knew nothing but hunger. By the time the sun set, it would be too late; it was already too late. Its quarry, and everyone around him, would be helpless to stop it.

Without a word Grendel left the wagon, leaving Richard to another fitful slumber, making a break for the edge of camp—or he tried to, but Molly gave chase. "Wait! What is happening?" she called after him. "Will Richard be alright? Is it over? Where are you going?"

"Home," Grendel said. He couldn't look her in the eye. He settled on her boots, built for work but of a polished black leather that would be a shame to see muddied. They wouldn't all make it out alive. It would be too fast. At least they wouldn't be in pain for long.

Molly's cheek twitched. She gripped him by the lapel and pulled him close. "What are you not telling me?" she said sharply. "Is it the curse? You know something, don't you?"

All the love Grendel had felt for Molly when he and Richard were connected was gone. She was just another person, just another face in a millennia-long stream of passersby. She would be fine on her own. Richard would protect her... or he would try.

He sighed. She and Richard were family. Nothing could change that.

"You're not safe," he said quietly. "None of you are." He looked around the camp. It would take a lot out of him—it would have even if he wasn't exhausted from the unusual bonding process—but it was possible. "We need to get everyone out of here. Tell them to hitch the wagons and dig out the wheels. I'll pack everything I can. We're leaving in an hour."

Her mouth worked soundlessly. His ever-present smile was gone. All his boundless joy had left him. He stood hunched like a cat before a bear, ready to fight or take flight, and even he wouldn't know which until it happened. She nodded and ran.

Less than an hour later, Grendel had tossed anything of use or of value into the nearest wagons and had already set the lead horses of the caravan into motion when Richard burst into the evening light. "How was it this time?" he barked as he approached.

"An hour," he said. "The front is already moving. We still have a few hours until nightfall, which should give us plenty of time to—" He paused and sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

There were a few things Richard wanted to say. There was no way his people had packed the wagons that quickly. A few hours wasn't enough time to put any distance between them and the devil. He should have listened earlier, when it mattered. Instead he nodded up to the sky. "It's dark today," he said. "We may not even have that."

Grendel sighed and slapped another wagon into motion. "Damn English weather."

A blanket of blue-gray clouds shifted slowly above them. The sky looked as if it would burst at any moment. With luck, it would hold out.

Grendel didn't believe in luck, either.

Soon the circus was in motion. They had sent Molly to the front, where she set a pace that threatened to break a wheel. Grendel had told her it was so they had eyes at both ends. He'd left out some important details, like the fact that if it happened to catch her scent, it would most likely come after her first.

She was handling it better than Grendel had thought. Richard was as well; Grendel had thought the truth would terrify him, but it had only seemed to harden his nerves. He was finally sure that it was real, that he wasn't crazy. The truth had turned an unknowable devil into an opponent, something he could fight, or even hurt. They would run, they would flee as fast as their carts would allow, but Richard knew the truth. The chase could only end in one of two ways; either way, Richard would be free at last.

The two men watched the land and sky eat away at each other from the back of the last wagon. Every glimpse of motion tightened Grendel's knuckles around the hilt of his strange dagger, from trees waving their farewells to roe deer in flight across the river. Storm clouds danced in front of the setting sun, turning the world from burning orange to gray and back.

"What chance do we have against this thing?" Richard asked. The two of them rode out a bump in the road, neither seeming to notice. "Realistically speaking."

Grendel looked down at his trembling hands and laughed silently to himself. He would have done anything to be anywhere else just then—anything short of leaving his family. "Don't let it cut you," he said finally. "The oils on their skin are toxic, especially to young Kaw-Sekhmu like yourself. Even a scratch could be fatal."

The sun had set, plunging the world into shadows that grew darker with every minute. Thunder rolled across the plains. Grendel shivered. "You don't like storms?" asked Richard.

Grendel shook his head. "It wasn't the storm."

It swept toward them on its leather wings, diving in from the woods at their side, and hit the road with a cannonball thud that sent the horses rearing into the air. It let out a roar like a lion from the abyss, exposing teeth like mottled razors. Its skin clung tight against its ribcage, tight enough to show every movement of its muscles as it clawed at the dirt as if challenging the men on the fleeing wagon. Its wings blocked the fleeting light of sun and moon, making the beast appear as little more than a patch of darkness upon a darkened sky.

Richard had seen glimpses of it before, across a field or through the treeline, but to be face to face with it... To see how tall and grotesque it truly was... He took a step back.

It took two steps forward and prepared to take flight.

Grendel reached for the dagger at his belt.

It was gone.

Richard leapt from the cart, twisted blade held high in his fist, and plunged it into the skin of the oncoming beast.

A moment of silence passed upon the road, numb to the sounds of spooked horses and toppling carts. Richard stared up at the monster, and it stared down at him. It rumbled deep in its throat, a low gurgling sound.

Laughter.

It lifted its arm and swatted Richard across the chest, knocking him through the air to hit the ground behind Grendel.

Without a moment's respite, Grendel picked him up and set him back on his feet. "Probably should have mentioned its skin is tough as iron."

"You don't say," Richard wheezed. The earlier ache was back with a vengeance. He might have cracked a rib. "Then how are we supposed to fight this thing?"

Grendel snatched the dagger from his hand. "Leave it to me."

Before he had a chance, though, they were knocked flat onto their backs by the lunging beast. It flew through them and past, weaving between the wagons and tearing at horseflesh and human as it passed.

Richard heaved himself up a second time, and the two of them raced in its wake. "I thought you said it wanted me!" he shouted over the screams.

"It did!" Grendel yelled back.

"Well, that doesn't seem to be the case, does it?"

Grendel cursed under his breath. "I was hoping it wouldn't notice her."

The thing was still moving, tossing wagons out of its way, crushing Richard's family beneath their own livelihood. It didn't care about Richard, and it didn't care about the circus...

He nearly missed a step. "Molly!"

He redoubled his pace and broke through the madness to reach the front of the caravan. The lead wagons were already broken and thrown to the side. The thing was flying twenty feet above, circling the carnage it had wrought. Molly was nowhere in sight.

[writing-in-april]

Dr Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (3/?)

Part three: the gift

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The next meeting rolls around and Reader tries to get Spencer to open up in baby steps. Turns out he was more willing to let her in than she first expected.

Part One, Part Two

Series Masterlist

A/N: Heyyy this is my third part for Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde!!! It’s also the fifteenth installment of my 30 fics in 30 days for April event! The plot is finally about to pick up y’all!!!! I’ve got so many plans where this series is headed (though I don’t know necessarily where it’s going to end) and I’m really excited!!! This chapter brings in other references from non gothic literature as well which was fun to do- these references and metaphors are really fun to craft. I’m curious to see y’all’s reaction to this part- leave me an ask if you want here (I promise I won’t bite 🧛🏻‍♀️) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Soft dom Spencer that turns back into slightly mean dom Spencer, Public sex, Masturbation (F), Oral sex (M receiving), Face fucking, Reader has a nickname- I think that’s it let me know if there needs to be anything else

Main Masterlist Word Count: 4.1k 😱

A meeting of the classics was once again scrawled on the whiteboard when you entered the library. It had the usual time 7pm to 11:30pm written right underneath. Instantly you fell down the rabbit hole and into another world, reality was turned on its head whenever you opened those wooden doors. Every encounter you had in the shelves, in the reading rooms, and even at the information desk seemed like you were walking into a world crafted by a surrealist. Everything was just slightly twisted and turned to feel slightly off from the reality outside those doors. It oddly made you feel more at home than your own apartment.

Each time a meeting rolled around you’d get an email notification a few weeks prior, informing you as to what the theme would be. The book club was already more extravagant than any other you had ever heard before, adding to the surrealist nature of where you were located. Last time was a somewhat lavish affair, this time it was coated in fleeting luxury.

Sure, the 1920s theme with the undeniable tinge of influence from The Great Gatsby would always lend itself to luxury, even with cheap decorations. But, the way the decor around you almost felt real told you exactly what your monthly entrance fee was going towards. You could complain about the steep price of admission, it could burn a hole into your wallet if you weren’t so careful. At any rate it did not matter, you were sure they wouldn’t care if you complained, and besides this was the only thing you really every splurged on. Plus there was the added aspect of the person you would no longer be able to indulge in if you let your membership lapse.

It was nice to treat yourself, get a taste of what it would be like to live basking in luxury 24/7. Flutes of champagne were passed around like hot cakes, admittedly they were non alcoholic after an incident a few months prior before you joined with some whiskey. It could have been a rumor fed to you by some of the vapid attendees to stir the pot so the library may cave to make their guests happy. You were going to keep your mouth shut because truth be told you didn’t mind that they were non alcoholic. You wanted to be sober for this. You wanted to be sober for Spencer.

Normally whenever a meeting rolled around you’d gladly be mingling with everyone around you. Even if personally you viewed some of their insights on whatever book they wished to discuss as shallow, seeing another’s perspective was always intriguing.

Something, namely someone, lurking in the shadows had your attention instead. It felt strikingly similar to the night of your first encounter, his eyes piercing into you, undressing you with them. The only thing that had changed is that you knew his name with some small added details. You didn't even know what type of Doctor he was, let alone what kind of man he was. But, you hoped tonight might change your prospects.

You had gotten a peek underneath the mask each time, just enough to pull you in closer. Whatever might lurk beneath, which still may be dangerous, for right now made you thrum with excitement. Spencer was just as surreal to you as the rest of the library, though he was definitely more shadowy than the others. It wouldn’t surprise you if he wasn’t real outside of here.

He could possibly just be a ghost trapped to roam the halls that instead of wanting to scare you, pleasured you. It was a silly thought for sure, but until he divulged more you struggled to convince yourself that he was real, even though his touch certainly did. The world was very different outside the library’s doors and you’d be content to be locked inside of it, that is if Spencer opened his own doors.

You circled each other for a while, neither of you talking to anyone, just staring with lust in your eyes. Tired of this cat and mouse game that you were unwilling to break out of stubbornness, he set down an empty ‘champagne’ flute to weave through the crowd to meet you.

No small talk or pleasantries came out of his mouth when he started your first conversation of the night, “At least you fit the theme this time.”

He had gestured to the dress you had chosen, a simple fringed red dress that very obviously was inspired by the era. It definitely gave you a sense of allure that leaned dark along with your dark lipstick, giving you your own cloak of mystery to match Spencer’s. At least there was a cloak for everyone else; Spencer could read you like an open book even with all your secrets. Spencer just had the ability to speed read them faster than any other human.

There was still depth to you, seemingly boundless, and certainly much more than the staple embodiment of a 1920s woman at a party being eyed at by man. You were no Daisy Buchanan that’s for sure, and Spencer was no Gatsby from what you have seen.

“As I told you last time I did fit the theme, Spencer.” You kept your lips shut tight about the fact that you had partially chosen this dress for him, picking a much more historically accurate style within your budget. Skating around the topic with ease you then teased, “Was that your way of complimenting my dress?”

“No…” That definitely meant yes, just by going off of the way he eyed your curves.

“At least you have it easy, you only have to throw on a suit, which is boring.” He snorted at that and didn’t disagree with your stinging jab at men’s fashion.

“That’s true, I don’t think I would want to see you in a boring suit, Shelley.” Inching closer to you so he possessively put a hand on your waist. He was close enough now that you could feel his breath on the exposed skin on your neck, a shiver trickling down your spine at that. His next words had a different reaction from you, your panties getting damp immediately after, “A dress has easier- access.”

The conversation turned from your typical banter into innuendos covered in mystery just like you both, with Spencer’s not being an act like you were trying to put on. You could let him do whatever he wanted to you again, which you thoroughly enjoyed, but there was a lingering fantasy you hadn’t voiced that had been in your head since he pinned you against the shelves.

“You didn’t let me reciprocate last time.” You whispered into his ear, your dirty intentions hidden by innocent words. The people around you had no idea what was going on, still milling about while you leaned in closer, only a few people looking over at you both curiously before moving on. Your next move was bold, wrapping your hand around his tie to pull him in closer, so you could keep your request a secret for his ears alone, “Will you allow me to return the favor?”

By the way his face twisted up at your words you knew you were testing a limit. All of your encounters thus far had been him touching you, not you touching him.

“Thought you would have forgotten about that by now.” This was his attempt to change the subject, to move on and expect that you’ll drop it just like him.

Everyone you knew called you stubborn for a reason, gripping his tie even harder you then doubled down, “Will you let me?”

It was highly unlikely that you were going to get a verbal response to your request, most likely you were about to get rejected, hard. You had tested your limits throughout your small time together. This however was entirely different and potentially over the line as to what Spencer would willingly allow.

Instead of shutting you out and shutting down he surprised you by opening his mouth to form the word, “Yes.”

With that you started to tug him out of the room, discreetly of course to not attract any unwanted attention and you didn’t pull him by his tie. Your fingers were wrapped around his wrist delicately, his first taste of you touching him while you guided him to a spot for your clandestine affair.

Your eagerness made you too impatient to wait and find a better secluded spot away from the crowd. The corner you chose was beyond risky to say the least, only a wall separating the both of you and the club guests. If you were lucky and went quickly you’d avoid being caught.

You wondered how long it had been since someone had offered to do this for him, instead of him probably forcing them to their knees while he continued to control the encounter with their consent. His steadfast control over each time he touched you had never wavered up until this point.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.”

He gulped hard, giving you a look like he was considering stopping you. Ultimately he kept his mouth shut, letting you drop to your knees and begin to unbutton his slacks. You worked quickly, unsure how much time you had without being caught in this little corner barely off to the side you chose or how long Spencer would let you touch him with impunity.

You hadn’t been able to really get a good look at his cock, either you had been facing away from it or it was trapped in the confines of the slacks he always wore. When you freed him from his boxers you could not help but admire it, even if only for a second.

Beautiful was an odd way to describe a cock, but there was no other word you could really find in the moment while you were on your knees. He was already hard, even leaking at the tip, and all from a few teasing words from your mouth. You’d have to test your affect on him more in the future, it obviously excited him.

When you held it in your hands and licked him from his base to tip, he had to bite on his fist at the suddenness of your touch. You pumped him a few times languidly before bringing the head to your lips and letting it slip into your mouth. He was allowing you to explore without fear of any repercussions. His hand that now rested at the back of your head being the only signal that he could take back the control anytime he wanted.

When you began to bob your head a wave of new precum hit your tongue. The taste of Spencer on your tongue was to put it lightly, intoxicating, you’d be content to taste him everyday if he let you.

Hoping too much would be your downfall if you let it, you pushed it out of your mind so you could be content with the baby steps forward you were taking. This right here, was him being vulnerable, even with you on his knees. You’d have to tread carefully if you wanted another crack in his mask to see even his darkest features, not a chink in his armor that would have him running away injured.

You weren’t sure what made the energy shift in the corner you were on your knees in, you suspected it was the soft caress of your hand along his thigh. He clammed up, suddenly wanting to take back control of the situation, no longer content with being vulnerable. It was quite clear to you that he saw giving up his control as a moment of weakness, just by going off of the once content look on his face that had twisted and seized up in frustration. Whatever he would let you do to him or whatever he wanted to do to you would always leave you wet with desire. It would however, be a lie to say that you didn’t want to see him back in a similar position one day. Getting him to be vulnerable for any extended period of time, even if it was while you were on his knees for him in a typical position for submission, was a form of progress. A little bit twisted, yes, but it still was progress.

Control fell back easily into his hands, now wasn’t the time to fight him on it; you’d be a good girl for now. The hand that had been resting gently on the back of your head tightened its grip to start controlling the pace.

You let your hand let go of his cock, resting them both on his thighs now instead. Your eyes were glassy as you tried to meet his sable irises while he began to thrust into your mouth. All you could really see was his Adam’s apple bobbing, curls falling as his head tipped back with his jaw slack. At first his thrusts had tested the waters, to see how much you could take. They then became more forceful when you gripped his thighs through his slacks and tried to pull him close.

The corner you had pulled him into was more exposed than any previous dalliance. Last time, even though it was out in the open, the stacks of shelves piled high with books shielded you along with his body pinned on top of yours. In comparison, this time you could hear the people laughing and mingling about in the next room over.

That only made you keen, moaning around him softly when you heard someone start a conversation close to the shared wall. Spencer, ever astute to your actions, picked up on what had you moaning around him. He forced your head down as far as you could go, your nose almost nuzzling the hairs at his base. He held you there harshly for a moment while he spoke, “You like it when we’re close to getting caught don’t you? That’s why you chose this spot isn’t it? You aren’t just satisfied with sneaking around, you want to get caught doing it.”

Before you could confirm or deny his questions you had to pull off of him so you could catch your breath. A string of spit connected from your mouth to the top of his cock remained unbroken until he brought his thumb to your mouth so you could continue to suck on something. He bent down to look at you, inspecting your makeup melted by tears and your spit covered lips. When he then moved his thumb from out of your mouth to grip your cheeks hard you whimpered, wondering what you did wrong, “Answer my questions.”

You scrambled to answer to avoid any type of punishment. You couldn’t make him feel good the way you wanted to if he was angry at you. Trying to muster up some conviction failed as your answer still came out shaky, “Y-yes! I-I liikeee it, Doctor!”

Satisfied with your answer and the amount of time your break had been he let go of the grip on your cheeks to resume. He slipped back inside your mouth swiftly, seeing no need to start out slow again. This time when you looked up, you found him meeting your irises with his own making you squirm underneath his piercing gaze.

“Touch yourself, we don’t have time for both of us.” With any other man you would have been irritated because mostly likely they were unwilling to finish a girl off. Spencer however, had proven he was consistently capable of that from you two previous interactions. He was also right, the place you had chosen was going to be flooded with people soon as they left the party. It was around this time that a group of people got bored and left which you didn’t understand. Why would they pay the money if they were just going to leave early?

You maneuvered your hands underneath the fringed edge of your dress, then bypassing your panties by pushing them to the side. There was no need to tease yourself, sucking off Spencer had you soaking through your flimsy lace panties. You pushed two of your fingers inside your entrance, curling them to deliciously hit at that sweet spot inside you. Even though you were enjoying the way he fucked your face in combination with you touching yourself, your fingers didn’t feel as euphoric as Spencer’s long fingers that could pull an orgasm out of you in seconds.

Spencer was nearing his release, his hips stuttering as it came closer. More tears prickled at the corner of your eyes out of frustration that you were having trouble reaching the edge with your own fingers. Spencer of course saw your frustration and began to coax you to the edge,

“Come on Shelley I know you can do it, I know you can make yourself cum for me.” Spencer’s words weren’t nearly as good as your fingers, but it did help that final push towards the edge. Falling over the edge together was a heady feeling, pleasure sparking through your veins while Spencer filled your mouth. You focused on swallowing it all down as best as you could, only a bit escaping the sides of your mouth.

When it was all said and done Spencer tucked himself back into his boxers, then rebuckling the belt holding his slacks up. He then outstretched a hand towards you, who was crumpled on the floor looking absolutely ruined. It was a simple gesture, taking his hand so you didn’t wobble on your heels as much. To you however it seemed like a weighted moment, subtly showing that you were willing to take whatever he may give to you.

He then suddenly pushed a book in your hands, which came seemingly out of thin air, only soon after you had cleaned up the corners of your mouth by licking your lips. You had been just about to clean the remnants of your makeup that was streaming down your cheeks with a makeup wipe that had been in your purse. He had other plans, putting the book in your hands and grabbed the wipe from you. He began to use the wipe to clean you off, caressing your cheeks softly this time. His movements were gentle as the cleanser in the cloth, every gentle touch that came directly after the hard made you want to fall into the dark abyss with him. You had almost moved forward to kiss him until he unintentionally stopped you by starting to wipe your smeared lipstick off. Once he was done with that you then looked down at the book he had forced you to take.

“What is this?” Your brows furrowed in question at the unexpected gift. Your relationship had a loose definition, really none at all, to get a gift felt like it was supposed to mean something. He had gifted you something in the past, the nickname you now couldn’t seem to shake, and you supposed the multiple orgasms could be classified as gifts to some.

This felt bigger than that, at least to you. But, how were you supposed to know what his train of thought was when you didn’t know anything about him. Most of what you did know contradicted each other anyway. There was no way to predict a man who had two distinct sides of him, neither of which he’d divulge more than surface level information about.

“I thought it was quite obvious, it’s a book.” His nonchalant response through you for a loop, causing you to stammer a bit. However, he did not let you form a complete thought, steamrolling you with sudden excitement, “An old copy of Frankenstein to be exact, Shelley.”

Looking down you traced your fingers over the spine on the vintage book. You weren’t sure how old the book was, you’d have to check that later. It wasn’t that you didn’t see the potential value in owning an old edition of a book, but the gesture still confused you. Instead of dwelling on a question that you weren’t going to get a straight answer for if you asked, you tried to tease him, “But I have already read it, you know that.”

He took your jab at his listening skills in stride and again was cagey as always with his response, “I do know that, that isn’t why I bought it for you.”

“Why?”

“That is for me to know, and for you to potentially figure out.” He was now moving to leave the corner, about to leave you hanging in the wind scrambling to figure out whatever he was talking about. You scrambled to follow, which caused you to almost crash into him when he abruptly stopped. “I’ll give you a hint, flip to page 56.”

Flipping it open to the page you noticed that it wasn’t a page of any significance, no famous quotes were highlighted or major climactic scenes happening.

“There isn’t anything in here.” Exasperation was evident in your voice, he was too hard to read, certainly not as hard as the book in front of you. His intentions were the hardest to figure out, he could be stringing you along in his web, bringing you closer until he devoured you like a spider with a fly.

The air itself was filled with monsters, more like potential monsters lurking waiting to reveal their intentions. The dark was often desirable, but it would be naive of you to trust it without question. There was still something about Spencer that made you want to blindly trust without question that his monsters had beauty in them. You couldn’t deny that being devoured by him sounded enticing.

“Look again.” And with a fleeting kiss on your lips that he was gone, slipping back into the party like nothing had happened. It left you to wait until he graced you with his presence next with no way to contact him. At least that’s what you thought until you followed his suggestion and looked again.

There, nestled in between two pages of the book rested a strip of paper. The handwriting on it was messy, slanted heavily in one direction and partially smudged as if written rapidly. You could still make out the ten digits written in navy blue ink, your breath caught up in your throat at that.

At the bottom there was a simple dash then right next to it read his name, Spencer. With no titles or anything else written.

The simplicity of his name written sloppy in pen ink made you want to clutch it to your heart in disbelief. The book already was too much, to big a gesture for what was supposed to just be fucking in the library while saying clever things. You wondered if he had thought this through, thinking that by the state of how it was written it was done impulsively without thought. Though you hoped that was just how he always wrote, it would be another small slice of information of who he truly was.

In reality who knows what he was thinking, a mask was still firmly over his face in front of you. It may have had cracks that gave you glimpses at the man underneath, but it would be a lie to say you even knew the slightest bit about him beyond his name. There were some dots you could connect that may lead to somewhere or nowhere. You didn’t even know what his job was, so you weren’t going to pretend that you could properly analyze his handwriting. He could even be lying about every piece of information given thus far, only using it to pull you in quicker by the spider’s silk he was potentially spinning.

All that was still locked up there in his mind, not unlike when Jekyll locked himself up in his laboratory. You only hoped this phone number signaled that he may be willing to open up his mind to you, even with the serum that could turn him into something dark. He could shut you out, insisting that what he had done was a mistake, then sealing the cracks in his mask closed. But, you were too curious for your own good, you wanted to shatter the mask, to pull away the shroud of mystery, to tell you about the monsters lurking. All you had to do was call him, and maybe he’d let the monsters free.

Part One, Part Two

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill this out to join): Strike through means tumblr won’t let me tag you

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @boxofsparklingmuses @takeyourleap-of-faith All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr @ashcakes1918 @reid-me-a-story Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat Dom!Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde: @rainsong01 @dreatine @secretpickleprofessordean @evlfknb

[makeste]

the mortifying ordeal of being known... and rejected

or, how to create a self-fulfilling prophecy and get yourself stuck in a hole you’re too scared to try and pull yourself out of (by Bakugou Katsuki).

here is an observation: Bakugou often processes/hides/disguises fear...

uncertainty...

and even grief/guilt...

as anger.

the why, obviously, is because like most humans, he’s afraid of opening up and being vulnerable. but this post isn’t really about discussing the why. rather, it’s about the natural conclusion we can draw from this: that if the majority of Bakugou’s anger is in fact just his way of covering for his “weaker”, more vulnerable feelings, his doubts and fears, then that says a ton about Bakugou’s relationship with the one person he has always displayed the most hostility and aggression towards throughout his life.

so let’s talk about Bakugou’s actual feelings towards Deku.

disclaimer: I am not a therapist, or someone with any kind of psychology expertise; I am just a person that likes to read manga and think too much about fictional characters. so please keep in mind that even though I might not preface every single sentence here with “I think...” or “in my opinion...” obviously these are still just my guesses and interpretations and they may very well be wrong! the only one who knows for sure is the guy over in Japan drawing doodles of sentient flowers in his spare time, and I can’t very well ask him, so for now this will have to do.

so Katsuki and Izuku were childhood friends. let’s take this all the way back to the start. here we have two very young children who are introduced to each other at an age when they’re still young enough to have absolutely no secrets. they’re young enough to have not yet learned to be shy or self-conscious, or to downplay their enthusiasm so as not to let others know they care. kids that young don’t hide anything. they don’t lie or deceive. they don’t have agendas, and they assume that others don’t either. it is, in short, a very pure type of relationship in the sense that it’s honest and uncomplicated, that it is exactly what it appears to be at face value. their personalities are fully out there with no attempt at reining anything in. Katsuki witnesses the full force of Izuku’s boundless hero-worshipping energy and enthusiasm. Izuku witnesses the full extent of Katsuki’s relentless confidence and Peter Pan cockiness. both boys see each other for who they are in their entirety, and accept each other.

this is a fundamental bond. there is trust built between the two of them at a critical, formative age. it’s a relationship formed so early on that it’s likely that neither of them can actually recall a time before they met the other. they are and have always been a constant in each other’s lives. they’re a lot like siblings in terms of that kind of closeness and complete understanding of the other, both the good and the bad. in fact I’d say that Izuku’s use of “Kacchan” (and Katsuki’s automatic acceptance of it) isn’t that different from a younger brother’s use of “Niisan” for his older brother. it’s very revealing of the type of relationship they have. and that includes the typical sibling squabbles as well. it’s very much a relationship that’s taken for granted; there’s no filter, no effort to hold back, no attempt at trying to tone down their behavior around one another. there is whining and bragging and squabbling and name-calling and tears, just as much as there is cooperation and respect and trust. because at the end of the day, the assumption is that the relationship will endure no matter what, so they can go at each other as hard as they can and it doesn’t matter. the other one’s presence is just a given. that’s the kind of relationship that this term “childhood friends” really encapsulates, I think.

what I am trying to say here is that although it’s often viewed by fandom as an imbalanced relationship at best, and a toxic/broken one at worst, I think this is an incredibly important bond to the two of them. this is a relationship that has deep, irreplaceable value. the value lies in being known without having to suffer through the whole mortifying ordeal part. in the absolute, taken-for-granted surety that the other will always be there; in the constant, reassuring, and familiar presence; and in the security of knowing where they stand.

and what that in turn all means is that when four-year-old Bakugou Katsuki is struck by the thought that this relationship is being threatened, that the status quo may not always be quo, that the bond he’s come to rely on may have been built on a crumbling foundation, the emotional response which we are actually seeing here is not anger.

it’s fear.

this is the person who knows him better than anyone else does, and who, knowing all that, has always seemingly found something to admire in him. this is the person who’s always followed him no matter what. this is someone who looked up to him and believed in him, and whose belief and admiration perhaps more than anyone else’s filled him with pride and confidence. so the sudden fear, however ridiculous or unfounded (because at the end of the day he was just a preschooler, and that’s important to remember -- the fact that this fear, misplaced as it is, was based off of a scared four-year-old’s logic, and was incredibly real and overwhelming to said four-year-old), that Katsuki might lose this relationship -- or worse, the fear that the relationship was never real to begin with and was based on a lie and was unreciprocated and he was being strung along and laughed at behind his back the whole time -- is absolutely crushing to him.

because what he realizes in this moment is that in some ways, Izuku is already better than him at being a hero. and this realization, along with the fact that Izuku tries to help him and Katsuki misinterprets that as a gesture of pity or scorn, leads to a sudden cascade of other disastrous fears, including (1) the fear that Izuku is a sudden obstacle to his dream of becoming the number one hero, (2) fear that Izuku is looking down on him and not taking him seriously, and (3) fear that he won’t be able to catch up, because he doesn’t understand this mysterious quality that Izuku has, because that something isn’t physical strength, and that’s the only thing he’s ever considered up until now. and the one thing he does understand is that whatever it is (hint hint, it’s actually heart, and the determination to save and protect others), it’s something he himself lacks.

these are the fears which rise to the surface in this instant, and the fears which Katsuki is on some level at least aware of, and subsequently these are the fears which actually get confessed during Deku VS Kacchan Part 2 and are finally addressed. so all this is stuff we more or less already knew. 

but here’s another thought: I believe that this whole time, there was actually a fourth underlying fear which has actually been at the core of all those other fears from the beginning, and which has stayed with him this entire time, and which is such a profoundly upsetting thought to him that he refuses to consciously acknowledge it at all, and yet at the same time also reconstructs his entire personality around it. and that fear is simply this: that Izuku is going to leave him behind.

that’s it. he fears being left behind and discarded by the one person who has always been there. and yeah, okay, I do realize that this is a particular take that will probably have some people going, “uh, what” and gesturing towards THE ENTIRETY OF BAKUGOU’S BEHAVIOR TOWARD DEKU THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE SERIES and raising their eyebrows. and look, yeah, I get it. the fuck kind of fanficcy, melodramatic “deep down the two of them were closer than anything” take is this. “you’re telling me Katsuki’s absolutely reprehensible behavior toward Izuku for a full ten years of their lives had less to do with him being full of himself and hating on Izuku for being quirkless, and more to do with him being sad and fearful and upset over the thought of losing his closest friend?”

but... yeah. that’s exactly what I’m telling you. because for starters, his reaction is about 50 times too over-the-top for it to be anything else. but because also, his reaction to this one fear is so starkly different from the way we’ve seen him react to all of those other fears. usually, when Katsuki is faced with a challenge, he has a very specific response:

so why, then, would his reaction toward Izuku throwing down the gauntlet be any different? hell, we’ve seen how he reacts toward people that are stronger than him (Todoroki), and towards people he thinks aren’t taking him seriously (again, Todoroki), and it’s completely different from how he treated Izuku. his entire personality shifted from being cocky and confident and nearly always having a grin plastered on his face, to him being hostile and defensive and antisocial and almost never, ever smiling. in fact he doesn’t ever really seem be happy at all.

so yeah. this is my take. he fears being left behind. it’s not just that he fears losing to Izuku; it’s that he fears losing Izuku. because of course he does, because given the significance of that bond as explained above, that’s the natural thing to fear. the two of them have always been together. he’s never not had Izuku there. and so he might bitch about it and act like he doesn’t care about it, but in truth it’s because he fears the loss of it so much that he lashes out defensively -- no you can’t push me away, if you even try I’m going to push you away first so you can’t hurt me.

because that’s what it is, isn’t it? bullying Izuku every time he gets too close. telling him over and over again to stop following him, and to not try and get into UA. Izuku, from his perspective, is looking down on him, so at the end of the day it’s just easier for him to convince himself that he doesn’t even like Izuku, that he’s just someone who’s in his way, and that Izuku isn’t the one leaving him behind, fuck that, he’s the one who’s going to leave Izuku behind. that it’s his choice. it just hurts less. fear as anger, because anger is just easier to deal with; anger gets you fired up and helps motivate you; and anger doesn’t leave you feeling as hollow inside. or at least it can help distract you from that feeling.

so. this is all pretty goddamn miserable, all things considered. and so it goes for the next decade of their lives. except Izuku never does go away. and then one day he goes and saves his life, and from there on out we basically know the rest.

fast forward to the present! or I guess technically three months ago, since as of chapter 257 the present is now Late March/DAWN OF THE FINAL DAY (24 HOURS REMAIN), apparently, and what I actually want to talk about now is the internship, and its impact on their relationship as seen since then.

I’ve already talked about the internship’s general impact on Katsuki in a previous essay, so I won’t really get into it at length again here, but basically the short version is that I think (or am at least hoping) that over the course of this whole thing, Katsuki finally started to broaden his perspective to be a little less self-focused. and as a result of that, I think that seeing Endeavor’s broken relationship with his family, and in particular watching Endeavor apologize to Natsuo and tell him “you don’t need to forgive me” (and Natsu being all WELL YEAH, I WASN’T GONNA) was kind of a much-needed kick in the pants for him as far as making him realize that his relationship with Deku, newly renovated and given a fresh coat of paint after the whole Ground Beta fight, and finally starting to look a bit like its old self again after all this time... maybe isn’t actually quite as sound as he thought it was.

and isn’t that a fun thought. because here they were finally starting to fix that shit after all this fucking time. after a decade of constantly worrying about Izuku surpassing him and passing him on by, he finally realized that this fear was unfounded the whole time... only to subsequently realize that there’s another reason now why that relationship might still be in jeopardy. that being the small fact that, oh right, Katsuki has been a straight up dick to him for the past ten years. oh shit.

this is something he never once thought about before. because previously he was too blinded by his own fears, and his conviction that he was the one being looked down on, and that Izuku was the one who instigated everything. and then once he finally realized he’d gotten it wrong, I think there was a delay before it finally hit him just how much hurt and harm he actually caused, simply because he’s not used to examining things from anyone else’s perspective other than his own. and then there’s also the fact that this entire time, Izuku has never once really shown any kind of lingering bitterness or hostility toward him in spite of everything. in fact he’s been seemingly overjoyed to finally have that friendship rekindled again, and he’s been more admiring toward Katsuki than ever.

in short, I’m pretty sure that up until very recently, Katsuki has just sort of been taking Izuku’s forgiveness for granted. just assuming that he already had been forgiven, even though yeah, okay, he was pretty bad. he just had no reason to think otherwise, because Izuku’s personality is so kind and accepting and understanding that he never even showed a hint of harboring any kind of bad feelings toward him over it. not to mention that all of the really bad stuff happened so long ago -- going on two years now! -- and Izuku has never once said anything about it! and so Katsuki, being the dumbass he is (and also subconsciously wanting to avoid the guilt, no doubt, because hoo boy, that is not a pleasant emotion at all), just sort of assumed that it was all right. that they were past it.

but... is that actually true? are they, really? or is he just telling himself that because it’s what he wants to think? after all, he did recently learn that he interpreted every single one of Izuku’s actions pretty much 100% wrong for about a dozen years. so fair to say he might not be so good at reading him. and, well... what he did to him was really bad. he was really fucking awful. regardless of how generous and kindhearted Izuku might be, Katsuki really has no right to just expect forgiveness, actually. he has no idea what kind of feelings are actually lurking there beneath that freckly surface. just look at all the resentment Endeavor’s kids have bottled up toward him for what he did. and maybe Izuku is only trying so hard to get along with him now because of what All Might said, about how the two of them are supposed to try and learn from each other. and isn’t it possible, and maybe even likely, that deep down he actually hates him as much as Natsuo hates Endeavor?

so there’s the bitter irony: Katsuki spent a dozen years believing that Izuku spited him, and trying his best to push him away so as not to feel the hurt of being spited, only to finally realize that the enmity between them was all in his head, and that in truth, he was the one driving the wedge in between them and chipping away at the cracks the entire time. that in reality he was the one doing the damage. that the thing he was so afraid of was never actually a real possibility until he brought it into existence, but that it does exist, now -- the possibility that their bond really might have been destroyed. and that it’s entirely his fault. that he created his own demons and dragged them into the light.

so now he’s afraid all over again, except that this time, he has absolutely no idea what to do. if he tries to push Izuku away again, he’ll only bring about the worst-case possible outcome that much faster. not to mention that he already played that song for more than a decade, and if there’s one thing it taught him, it’s that he hates that tune almost as much as the alternative.

so then what he should do, clearly, is apologize. that’s the right thing, obviously. the heroic thing. and I don’t think he’s incapable of moving past his pride in order to do it. and on top of that, I think he probably wants to apologize because he actually is sorry! but I do think there is something else that’s currently holding him back. and that something, once again, is fear.

Katsuki is normally one to face his fears head on. in fact, I’ve previously gone on record as saying that he would apologize without hesitation once he realized how badly he fucked up, because he’s not one to shy away from accepting responsibility no matter what the consequences. but now, though, I think that I was wrong. it’s not that he doesn’t want to take responsibility, or that he doesn’t think an apology is owed. rather, I think I underestimated just how great this one, last, biggest fear of his is. the fear of that possible rejection. the idea that Izuku might not accept. that he might say no. that it might simply be too little, too late.

it’s the one thing Katsuki has never been able to face. the fear that started this all to begin with. it’s the one fear that has shaped him since his childhood, and the one fear that he stands frozen and powerless against. the fear of having the one person who’s always admired him no matter what revealing that in truth, he doesn’t. the fear of having all his deepest doubts and fears confirmed. if he isn’t seen as redeemable or worthy to Izuku, who knows him best, who’s seen him at both his highest and lowest and understands him to a degree which one else does, not All Might (whose approval, by the way, also runs through Deku and which he also stands to lose) or his parents or teachers or his other friends... if he’s seen as beyond forgiveness by him, then that’s a blow he can’t recover from.

so now he’s stuck here in this precarious position with Izuku where he doesn’t want to take a step backwards again, but is too afraid to try and move forward. which brings us to the current chapter, where for the time being it seems like he’s decided to simply embrace the status quo, which in his mind is “rivals.”

so he’s leaning hard into that now, and simply pretending like things between him and Izuku have already been fixed, without actually taking the steps necessary to really move past it, because in the end it’s just easier. and I think that he will continue as is until that status quo either becomes too difficult or painful to maintain (i.e. the guilt becomes too much to bear), or until something happens to finally trigger a boost of courage in him, or a realization that he needs to stop being selfish and own up to his actions.

but eventually that will happen. and I think he knows that deep down. if nothing else, this is something that’s currently standing in the way of him becoming the number one. he has no right to ever call himself a hero if he can’t even muster up the courage to apologize, and to accept whatever consequences may come with that, just as Endeavor did, even if it potentially means being shut down and cast aside. he has no right to expect or demand anything else.

but at the end of the day, Katsuki is still only human, and still a young one at that. and he has only just gotten his friend back. and I can tell you right now that Izuku is not the only one who feels relief and even gratitude at being able to have a “normal-ish” conversation with the other after all this time, regardless of whether or not Katsuki might deny it. and really, there’s no rush. he’ll have to face it soon enough, and he knows.

but for now, this is nice.

[kuuderekweenfics]

Canción de Cuna

Two in one week? I’m on a roll! (Actually, I was just late to post my last fic, so I thought I’d hit ya with a double whammy.)

Well, if you wanted an emotional roller coaster, you’re in for a real treat.

Because the turmoil is strong in this one. This is a follow up to my previous Dabi fic, although you don’t necessarily have to read that one to enjoy this piece of work. 

Now that I’m three fics in, I want to start opening up the polls to you lovely readers. I don’t necessarily have to stay on the MHA/BNHA train. I’m free to venture into other territories.

I’ve been thinking about maybe a Levi from AoT/SnK fic. But we’ll see. :)

Anywaayyyssssss, back to the point of the matter:

Dabi x Female Reader

Explicit Warning: non-con, and angst sex, as well as psychological abuse and trauma. A lot of adult themes here, people. You’ve been warned. (18+)

Manga Spoilers! Not anything that hasn’t already been put out there, but if you are only watching the show, beware!

El que no sabe de amores, llorona,

no sabe lo que es martirio.

(He who does not know love, weeping woman,

does not know martyrdom.)

Tápame con tu reboso, llorona,

por que me muero de frío.

(Cover me with your shawl, weeping woman,

Because I’ll die of cold.)

He has red hair.

Your child has red hair and you’re not entirely sure you’re seeing this right because, boy, is it red. 

Like brick red. 

Like fire-truck red. 

You blink, rub your eyes, then blink again.

Not a trick of the light. It’s still very red.

Well, at least he’s no longer bald.

You lay him down in his crib, a melodic, yet cracked, lullaby stringing its way from your lips as sleep attempts to overtake you. You run a finger against his puffy cheek, and watch him breath silently. 

Up, down. Up down. 

Sometimes, you stare at his chest for several minutes at a time to make sure he’s still breathing. To make sure he’s still there. He’s a miracle; a glowing ember in the dark void from which he was borne. 

For weeks after your discovered pregnancy, you contemplated aborting. He was a product made not from love but fear. No one would blame you. But the day you heard the whirred sound of a quick and steady heartbeat, your love became boundless. And thus, you gave birth to your baby boy. 

His red hair must come from his paternal genes.

You learned a lot about his father recently. Although, you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter since he hijacked the entire broadcasting network to air out his family’s dirty laundry. If he hadn’t broken you over a year ago, you’d probably feel bad about what he went through. It sure explains a lot of those inner demons he has. 

A small part of you almost wishes that his child inherits some of that apparent intelligence he has before deciding against it altogether. You want him to be nothing like that monster. He will be a good boy. The thought of the great man he will surely become etches a smile on your face. 

You scan any signs of distress before heading back to bed. If you can manage to get in an hour of undisturbed sleep, you think you’ll be able to keep the patisserie running for a whole day tomorrow. While money isn’t necessarily tight, being a single, new mother in a bustling metropolis can be expensive. Not long after your eyes close are you alerted by a high pitched coo. He’s not crying. But he’s awake. And being awake equates to needing attention. 

You don’t register the shadow standing in the corner of his room as you make your way in, your eyes closed and only your deeply ingrained memory of the layout of the nursery to guide you to his crib. It is when your fingers meet an empty bed, growing cold from the lack of a body, do your eyes finally fly open. 

Another coo raises the hair on the back of your neck. This one is deeper, much calmer. You crank your head. Nausea creeps up, pinching every nerve in your stomach with a ferocity that leaves you quaking.

You shouldn’t be surprised to find Dabi there. Part of you had always known that he may come back. Out of sheer curiosity or some bitter resentment, perhaps. But you desperately locked the thought into the depths of your mind, hoping that he might possibly be arrested, or eradicated before then. 

He holds your child, his child, gently, a whisper of a smile almost odd against his otherwise rough demeanor. He is slightly illuminated by the blue hues coming from a small night light. Cerulean eyes flicker at you before settling back down at the small human who sleeps soundly in his arms. 

Your breathing is forced and shallow. Have you blinked? The stinging pulse at the corner of your eyes is a good indicator that maybe you should. But you don’t dare to. Not when he’s around.

“I’m surprised you kept him,” he starts, his low voice rumbling through your core. “It didn’t take long for my hounds to find you. I thought you’d at least put in a bit more effort to hide.”

The silence rings in your ears. You’re not sure if he wants a response or if this is just another villainous monologue to add to his collection. But as the seconds crawl, slow but steady, your confidence grows. You clear your throat. Did your tongue always feel this dry and heavy? You grip the crib with white knuckles. An anchor for the fury you’re about to unleash.

“You changed your hair.” 

It comes out small and tired. Of all the things you could have said, all the icy venom you could have spat at him, you decided to comment on his white hair. His. Hair. You mentally plead for a do-over, as if the earth would spin backward to take the last minute and give you another opportunity to rain hellfire. 

He smirks at you, reading your inner turmoil, but decides to drop the matter. “What have you named the twerp?”

You tell him. He nods a bit, and you wonder if it’s a mark of approval as he walks toward the crib. He leans forward to gingerly place the baby back in and you feel the tension in your body cave, your rigid muscles releasing almost sorely.

Another pregnant silence.

“Sometimes, his eyes scare me,” you admit finally, chipping away at the stifling quiet. “Not because I believe he’s capable of ever doing what you did; what you do...but because they look just like yours. And then I see you.”

He doesn’t turn to you. Doesn’t react. He keeps his attention on his child, and, for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s heard you at all. 

“Do you regret it?”

Do you regret being there that day? Do you regret not calling for backup? Do you regret keeping your child? His question can apply to so many things, but the answer to all of them remains the same. 

You look down at the sleeping boy and finally answer, “Never.”

You hadn’t noticed he closed the distance until his hand was pressed against your lower back and your lips met. 

Oh no. No, no, no. Not again. Your heart thunders in your throat as you push him away. But his other hand wrenches your arm down and he pulls you in, deepening the kiss.

A sob escapes your trembling lips. You use your free hand to grab hold of his jaw, the skin thick and scarred, and shove him from you. You reach for the baby, your alarm blaring for you to get out, to create any distance you can from the danger before you, but his arms wrap around your waist before you can attempt your escape. 

“Don’t do this,” you plead, hoping the fragment of kindness he had shown toward his son would extend to you. 

He rests his forehead in the crook of you neck and holds you tighter. You can feel him shake behind you. Is he crying? Is he remorseful?

The blood drains from you as you hear it: laughing. Softly at first, a quiet, tired chuckle cutting into the dark, turning into loud cackle which startles your son into a tearful wail. 

You reach out in a feeble endeavor to comfort him. Your hand is pushed back down by your captor. 

“He’ll be fine. I think we should focus our efforts on giving the little tyke a playmate, what do you think?” He growls into your ear. “Maybe we can try for a girl this time. She’d be pretty, like her mom.”

You swallow the hot bile back down. It’s so unfair; him speaking to you as if he’s ever the doting father, as if he was around during the most crucial moments of your pregnancy, or in the months thereafter. He threw away his opportunity of being a family man long before he met you. Not that you wanted him there at all. Another child wouldn’t change him, wouldn’t change the fact that you didn’t, had never wanted, a family with him.

You don’t know what made him decide on you. What made him believe you were the perfect candidate to bear his children? You failed at having a useful quirk for power-breeding.  You were a shell among the rest of them. How long had he wandered along the shore, surpassing all others before reaching down into the sand and picking you? 

He breathes you in, the mere scent of you encouraging his cock to harden and rub into your ass. How did you get to this point? What could you have said differently? It goes without saying that you have no means to fight. He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and bites down on your shoulder. You hate that he elicits a shiver in response. 

You lean forward on your own, letting him rut against you as you take a pacifier and place it into your son’s mouth. 

You hum a lullaby as your shorts and panties are pulled down and fall in a heap on the floor. 

You stroke his cheek as Dabi stroke his length against you, the precum coating your folds and the tip just barely grazing your clit.

You choke down the sob as he claims you, for the second time, just as the boy slowly submerges into another warm embrace of sleep.

He grips your shoulder and drills into you, and despite not having any form of stimulation, your arousal awakens hot and electric with each pulse. You close your eyes in a vain attempt to shield your son from seeing you this way: broken and needy. 

But he’s fallen back asleep. No, what you’re really shielding yourself from is the shame enveloping you as your legs squeeze together and your back arches. Because you want Dabi to hit that spot; you want him to pound into that button that shoots a wave of pleasure up your spine and into your skull. And as his thick cock finally strikes home one, two, three times, and your pussy becomes a soppy mess, you’ve realized he’s found it. 

You let out a raspy moan. This only invites him to reach over and rub your clit.

How embarrassing. How unbelievably mental you are. You bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough to taste a metallic tanginess. You just hope he decides against his previous notions and pulls out at the last moment. 

But It’s different from before. He holds you close, bending down and grabbing the crib’s railing with one hand and tucking the strands of your hair behind your ear with the other before bringing it back down again to play with your bundle of nerves as he whispers obvious fantasies against your cheek. 

Teaching his son how to control his quirk.

Learning how to braid his daughter’s hair.

The tears fall freely from you now. Because each dream sounds so perfect. So delightful. But that’s all it will ever be. A dream, wrapped nicely with a polka-dot bow. Because Dabi cannot be the man of your dreams. Not when he’s stolen so much from you already. Not when he is devoid of any basic human decency. He licks your tears and fears away and plants a sloppy kiss against your clammy forehead as he pounds almost endearingly into your tight, obedient cunt. 

And maybe that alternate reality is how you let yourself fall deeper into the abyss of want. You mask moans with whimpers to deny the immense pleasure you feel. Each squelch, squelch, penetrating the night’s stillness in sequence with your bodies. Cruelly tethered to one another until death. 

He growls, signaling his close release. His hand latches onto your hip as his thrusts become erratic. His balls, heavy and begging for release, slap up against you. You let out an open-mouthed gasp, closing your eyes as you hone in on that feeling that sends you deep, so very deep, into oblivion. 

Unlike the first time, you both cum together, your groans a harmony in the night.

You don’t remember what came next. Either from lack of sleep, mental exhaustion, or both, you fall into a deep slumber. You could have also fainted. But trying to figure it out now was simply futile.

Only, you’re not sure how you made it into bed, or how you opened the blinds to let the sun shine brightly through the window. And you’re not quite sure how long you’ve slept either. But you snap back to reality and run to the baby’s room, only to see not one, but two sleeping figures swaying back and forth on the rocking chair.

You can almost hear the crack, crack, cracking as you surrender, the fracture in your mind severe and unmendable.

You walk quietly, reaching for Dabi’s shoulder. His eyes flutter open, and immediately close as your lips meet, tender and sweet.

And you allow yourself hope, just for a bit longer, that maybe, just maybe, it may not be so bad after all. 

[kitreadsbirdmen]

Birdmen Finale Thoughts

A Reflection on the End

Birdmen checked a lot of boxes for me. The most superficial being wings and flying, concepts that I would imagine from the window of a speeding car or subway train. I can’t say I was attracted to the freedom of the idea, that frankly scared me silly. But it was fascinating enough, and it preoccupied this small part of my imagination from time to time with the pull of the absolutely inexplicable. What if… What if something happened? What if I were different or strange? How would everyone react? What would I do? How would I change or what would I do to fight that change?

These thought experiments often led me to self-indulgent stories with fantasitcal premises that would only halt the speculation and sweep their characters towards their own plots and narratives. They would only glance over to the vastly more interesting human fallout of the [insert truly miraculous phenomenon] for the sake of episodic drama or a comedic take. These would deep down be very disappointing to me because they failed to give weight to the mind-spinning concept of the supernatural. By brushing past it, the story would dismiss my biggest questions, the ones I felt a morbid curiosity to see explained vicariously. That’s probably why I was so hooked to Birdmen at first. 

Birdmen was and is... rather mundane if you think about it. Grounded, set in a recognizable reality, gave nuance to very human quirks and details of life and society. Kinda dull-ish, slightly charming, and depressing, with all the same desire for something more that we feel when we watch the clock tick away. And even the murmurs of the supernatural had this incredulous air. Something amusing and perhaps hard to dismiss nevertheless. And as our cast is thrust into this new spin on reality, it’s given weight and time. Growing pains full of stumbling youth shenanigans and strife. The Introductory Arc is some masterful execution of humanity as the line of a new species skirts more and more into a diverging reality. It’s here that a very different kind of strength is capitalized on. The limitless potential found within limitation itself.

The core concept and primary conflict of birdmen comes from the subtle utilization of a grounded scientific and philosophical school of thought. This limits the entire narrative to concepts inspired not by the dramatic needs or visual aesthetic, but by the imagination of existing science itself. While a lot of things can boast this particular source, I think Birdmen is very conservative with where it could go. The most outlandish things are noted but not abused. Nothing is absurd no matter the demand. It’s the reason why I found the lore behind the growing science and discovery of the Seraph abilities to be immersive. It’s why I could create a million 1st ability ideas, headcanons, and theories (some of which would actually get confirmed) in one sitting. The source material existed within limits and therefore opened the door to boundless potential. 

To put it in a word, it’s realistic.

Realistic characters, events, ‘villains’, powers, relationships, conflicts… the list goes on. When we pick up a story we suspend our disbelief to welcome the basic empathy and logic to engage us through the world. But I felt a strange relationship with that process on so many levels for Birdmen. It’s why talking about it in-depth is such a hard to explain feeling. When fictional characters have all the nuance and depth as a real person. When wide-scale event scenarios start reflecting the common trends of the current mediascape. When manga-panels start echoing peer-reviewed articles… It becomes hard to see the need to suspend disbelief. At least not in the same way. It makes things seem so much more possible. Everything feels so much more personal.

The current pandemic has helped in this process of course. My life has been turned upside down and I often find myself asking ‘dude is this (still) happening???’. It makes a lot of stories and speculative fiction narratives seem a lot closer. But then the final arc of Birdmen introduces its own pandemic SEVERAL months before covid-19 is first spotted and we see a roll-out of cultural fallout that is eerily familiar. WHO press conferences following the resignation of Eden’s director. Forgetting your mask as you leave to greet your son’s arrival home. Teachers taking a sick day for themselves or perhaps out of caution (if only that worked state side lol). Misinformation and tension across social media. Unrest and riots in the street. (that image of Robin’s flock watching the riot from a distance got me big time. Mostly because I was thinking about the Capitol riots at the time). I think I just needed a chapter devoted to a successful and seamless vaccine distribution to set my resonating heart at ease.

...I’m not kidding there actually. We can’t just assume it went off without a hitch Tanabe. Can I get some wish-fulfillment here??

That actually brings me to a big takeaway as I read the final chapters. In my initial reflection, (and entire year ago) I talk about how I was certain Birdmen was prematurely cut short. And while there is probably a world Takayama could witness in his multiverse seeing eyes, where Birdmen runs for several more volumes and the playout of years of arcs goes much longer, I ultimately want to rescind that thought. 

I don’t think the ending was rushed. I don’t think Tanabe was racing against a clock to wrap things up. I don’t think she was dropping million plot threads into the void out of necessity. It is very clear at every point toward the end that Tanabe knew exactly where she was going and was taking a straight shot to that destination at every point. 

Yes, there are some characters that did not get a long enough time in the spotlight. Yes, there is a boundless potential to explore with many characters and concepts. Yes, there is an element of fallout that was left unaddressed. But this doesn’t make it unfinished or unsatisfying. The mundane, realistic nature of the narrative, allows this lack of tangible book-ends. It has uncertainty. The resolutions are not perfect. Not every person in your life is going to shine in the same way (no matter how much you like them). Their purpose in the narrative may seem small but has ripples of effects on the characters and chemistry of the collective. This is not wasted. I knew this wasn’t rushed because the primary themes of these characters came through and they were given all the space and time and panels they needed to tell that story. I noted this most when Robin was having that discussion with Agent Leo about her address to the media at the White House. The back and forth and revelations of Robin’s entire arc were expressed in this one conversation and it lasted several pages. This is the final volume of the story and this nuance is getting the full dry clean treatment. How can I claim that this was rushed? If I had to claim any ill intent I might say we would have gotten a few more chapters of proper fallout, but that would only be for the sake of neatness. But as I mentioned there is something grounded about taking that away and leaving that to the imagination. 

And thus, I’m left feeling incredibly satisfied. So impossibly satisfied. Birdmen has become something so integral to my life and I feel changed having known and loved it. To see it take a bow as gracefully and profoundly as it did fills me with a personal satisfaction I cannot put into words. This is and will forever be, one of the finest stories I will ever read. 

There is a part of me refreshed. Inspired by the daring embrace of reality. Charmed by the beautiful characters. Intrigued by the possibilities still to be discussed. I am almost left a little overwhelmed with how much I want to do as a response, both for the sake and honor of Birdmen and for my own personal motivations. It’s a kind of weightlessness, burdened by crippling fear. 

It’s a lot like flying really. 

[veliseraptor]

a kindness you can’t afford

[READ ON AO3]

Written for the anon prompt above, originally tried to post it as a response to an ask, then Tumblr fucked up all my formatting and I deleted the post, forgetting that I cannot just recreate an anon ask. Anyway! It’s a fic! It’s for an idea that I’ve been meaning to write eventually and ended up doing for this!

I wrote more rambly notes the first time I made this post but it’s probably for the best they’re gone. Thanks to @ameliarating​ for edits, as always, and to the Tumblr user who kindly indulged my request for “Chinese obscenities that could pass for a name.” The one Xue Yang uses here is literally “chrysanthemum” but also “anus.” This may be anachronistic, but I’m going with it.

content warnings: none, actually?? I don’t think??? other than, you know, the knowledge that this ain’t going anywhere good

What Xue Yang thought when the first sword went in was motherfucker finally did it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d known for a while that sooner or later Jin Guangyao would decide he’d outlived his usefulness and try to get rid of him, or else Xue Yang would decide he was done playing Jin Guangyao’s game and cut out his tongue to feed it to him. And then kill him.

Until then he’d just figured he’d enjoy the luxury of Lianfang-zun’s boundless resources, access to the Yiling Laozu’s notes, and willingness to provide Xue Yang with the opportunity to experiment.

But with the old man dead, and Chifeng-zun in pieces, he’d figured that probably sooner rather than later Jin Guangyao would decide he was too much of a security risk and not enough of an asset to keep alive. Jin Guangyao still beat him to the punch. And he didn’t even have the courtesy to do it himself.

Bastard.

The Jin assholes cut him up pretty bad before he managed to get away; least he managed to make sure at least three of them wouldn’t walk away, and a fourth was going to be down a hand. So that was something, even if he was bleeding pretty badly, feeling it in the cold heaviness of his limbs and the spinning of his head. The wound in his leg was the worst, cutting deep into the thigh.

There was a distinct possibility that he was well and truly fucked.

Well, he thought when his body finally gave out and all he could do was slither into the grass on the side of the road so he wasn’t quite so exposed, it’d been a pretty good run, all things considered. Still sucked, and he would’ve really liked to show Jin Guangyao the color of his own intestines right about now, but you couldn’t get everything you wanted.

It wasn’t the death he’d imagined for himself. But it was better than some he could’ve anticipated. Hopefully he’d make a nasty fierce ghost and could go torment Lianfang-fucking-zun for backstabbing him.

Even if that was exactly what he’d expected him to do.

Xue Yang fought losing consciousness for a while, but there was only so long he could hold out before his body surrendered for him.

**

He didn’t expect to wake up alive.

When he did, still fucking hurting and with someone touching his face, at first he was just too tired and sore to try to move like he should, still feeling wrung out and half-dead and figuring maybe playing helpless would be better than trying something when he didn’t have the strength to back it up. Then his vision cleared a little and he recognized who he was looking at.

You, he thought, eyes widening in alarm, and tried immediately to scramble back regardless of the fact that his body screamed furiously at him, because some random stranger who was either trying to help or trying to loot his body was one thing, but Xiao Xingchen-

Who was assuring him that he wasn’t going to hurt him. That he didn’t mean him any harm, and was just trying to tend his wounds.

There was a white bandage over his eyes.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know.

Well, Xue Yang thought, staring at him. Well, well, well.

We’re fated to meet again, he’d said, years ago, but he hadn’t figured for it being like this.

You aren’t going to ask me my name? he asked warily, and Xiao Xingchen smiled at him, utterly clueless, and said I have my own things I’d rather not talk about.

Fucking shit. Unbelievable. The blind idiot, just taking in someone he’d found on the side of the road who he knew nothing about, not asking any questions, tending his wounds…

Xue Yang had never believed much in good fortune. Not for himself, anyway. But this opportunity just getting dropped in his lap, and when he needed it most-

It certainly seemed to qualify.

Good. Fucking fantastic.

He could work with this.

**

He could work with this.

There was something funny about the girl with Xiao Xingchen - a-Qing, or whatever her name was. At first he’d thought she was just pretending to be blind, which would’ve been a problem, but she seemed to really not be able to see. She certainly wasn’t a threat of any other kind. A nuisance, it was becoming clear, and for whatever reason she didn’t like him, but she wasn’t actually dangerous.

And Xiao Xingchen... Xiao Xingchen would be dangerous, was dangerous, but he was also blind, and nice, and didn’t ask questions. Xue Yang had worked out a whole story, an elaborate lie he’d use, but Xiao Xingchen hadn’t asked. He nursed Xue Yang, helpless and useless, like he was a friend.

Motherfucking idiot.

At least it was serving him well. Xiao Xingchen took good care of him. Perfectly solicitous. Admonishing him when he tried to get up and walk too soon. You’ll make it worse, he said, with that sugar-sweet smile. Be careful with yourself. If you want to heal cleanly you need to rest.

It was all working great, absolutely perfect, he couldn’t’ve asked for better.

It wasn’t going to last.

It couldn’t, obviously. Xiao Xingchen would get sick of this magnanimous act and kick him out, or he’d figure out who Xue Yang was somehow and one of them would have to die. There was always a flip side, a catch, a trap, and that it hadn’t shown itself here yet just meant it hadn’t shown itself yet.

It would, sooner or later, and Xue Yang just had to be ready for it.

It’d be easier to feel ready for it if he could stand for longer than half a joss stick without feeling like he was going to collapse. His leg hurt like hell all the time and while he was clawing his way back to his usual strength, as far as he was concerned it couldn’t happen fast enough. It was fine, though. For now, he was safe. For now.

If he kept telling himself that maybe he’d stop feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin.

At least it gave him plenty of uninterrupted time to watch Xiao Xingchen. He was nice. He was patient. He didn’t raise his voice or lose his temper, as far as Xue Yang could tell. He was so impossibly, infuriatingly good and it couldn’t possibly be real.

“What is it?” Xiao Xingchen asked, and Xue Yang realized he’d been staring at him for a while, congee forgotten and getting cold.

“Nothing,” Xue Yang said quickly, and then narrowed his eyes and said, “you’ve got something on your face, by your nose. Big smudge of dirt.”

“Oh,” Xiao Xingchen said, and laughed a little. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t exactly check in a mirror.”

That was something Xue Yang found very interesting. It wasn’t Xiao Xingchen he’d blinded, and yet here he was. He hadn’t asked any questions about it, but he did wonder what he’d missed while he’d been working on rediscovering the secrets of demonic cultivation and creating a fierce corpse for Jin Guangyao.

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said, and then on a whim, “here, let me help you get it off.”

A-Qing scowled at him. “Xiao-daozhang can clean his own face, asshole.”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said, and then smiled at Xue Yang. “She is right, though. I don’t need the help.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Xue Yang said. “Whatever. Come on, it’s bugging me.” He got up and limped over, dropping down next to him and reaching out, using his sleeve to scrub at an imaginary smudge. Xiao Xingchen reached up and caught his arm, but he didn’t knock him away, and he didn’t seem angry. His grip was firm but not hard; Xue Yang just kept himself from yanking violently away or lashing out.

“Stranger,” Xiao Xingchen said, “Please. I can attend my own appearance.”

Xue Yang pulled back slowly. He glanced at a-Qing, who seemed smug, and then back at Xiao Xingchen, and held up his hands.

“All right,” he said. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Xiao Xingchen said. He smiled, the expression warm and fuck, he really was intolerable. “But it should be clear that even though I am blind, I’m not helpless.”

“Guess that’s obvious,” Xue Yang said after a brief pause. “If anyone’s helpless here it’s me. I’m the one you had to scrape up off the side of the road, huh?”

That made Xiao Xingchen laugh. For some reason Xue Yang found that sort of satisfying; for some reason a-Qing glared at him.

“You’re not funny,” a-Qing said.

“Daozhang thinks I’m funny,” Xue Yang said. Xiao Xingchen shook his head, but he was smiling again.

Too easy. Blind - literally - fool. It suddenly seemed sort of amazing that he’d stayed alive this long.

At least it was working in Xue Yang’s favor. He’d be ready for when that changed, but for now-

He could enjoy it, for now.

**

The smart thing to do would be to kill Xiao Xingchen before he put two and two together and came up with Xue Yang.

He’d do the girl too, obviously, but Xiao Xingchen was the one who could really hurt him. He might be playing nice now but Xue Yang had fought him before. He knew what he could do. He wasn’t going to assume that his being blind had changed that much. The way he moved mostly hadn’t. He didn’t use a stick like a-Qing, anyway.

So, yeah. The smart thing to do.

He still hadn’t done it. Mostly because the smart thing to do was sometimes also the boring thing to do, and Xue Yang would take not boring over stupid most of the time.

“So when are you gonna leave, anyway,” a-Qing asked loudly.

“Dunno,” Xue Yang said. “Every time you ask me that it gets further away.”

A-Qing scowled at him. “Why are you even still here? Do you like living in a coffin home?”

“Maybe I do,” Xue Yang said. “Maybe I’m not even alive. Maybe I’m a really animate fierce corpse. Like the Ghost General.” He thought of Wen Ning, briefly, chained up with nails in his head. Absolutely useless. Completely uncontrollable, which had really been just the most disappointing. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

For a moment a-Qing looked a little uncertain. Then she scowled harder. “Daozhang would know. Obviously.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” a-Qing said firmly. “Besides, fierce corpses don’t bleed.”

“How do you know,” Xue Yang said. “Met a lot of fierce corpses?”

“Have you?”

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said. “I killed one once.” Its name was Nie Mingjue and its head is probably still in Lianfang-zun’s treasure room. He leaned back on his hands, flexing his leg and wincing at the pain that shot up into his hip. Fuck Lianfang-zun and his entire fucking life.

A-Qing shook her head. “You’re lying.”

Xue Yang shrugged one shoulder. “Believe what you want,” he said. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

He heard Xiao Xingchen’s footsteps a moment before he appeared and turned toward him, tensing reflexively and then scowling when that hurt, too. “What are you talking about?”

“Daozhang, do fierce corpses bleed?” a-Qing asked. Xiao Xingchen’s eyebrows rose a little.

“No. Not like living people do, anyway.”

“I knew you were lying,” a-Qing said to Xue Yang. “This asshole says he killed a fierce corpse, but he didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know. I said you wouldn’t.” Xue Yang grinned at her. “If you’re going to call me names you could at least be more creative, Little Blind.”

Xiao Xingchen shook his head. “Why would you lie about such a thing, Stranger?” he asked.

“Came up when I was telling Little Blind how I’m a fierce corpse myself,” Xue Yang said.

“Don’t call me that,” a-Qing said. Xiao Xingchen seemed startled for a moment, and then smiled a little.

“I see,” he said.

“Well,” Xue Yang said. “You don’t, actually.”

A-Qing looked furious, but Xiao Xingchen let out a bright and full-throated laugh, like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Xue Yang blinked. He hadn’t really thought about saying it, and if he had he’d’ve thought Xiao Xingchen would be touchy about it. But he was smiling, and still chuckling a little, when he said, “no, I suppose not. Perhaps you have us both fooled, though I suspect my sword would know.”

Xue Yang’s ears pricked. “What do you mean?”

Xiao Xingchen set down the basket of groceries he was holding and paused, seeming to be thinking. “My sword, Shuanghua,” he said. “It is able to sense resentful energy, and thus direct me toward beings like ghosts or demons. Or, presumably, fierce corpses. It is how I can still go night hunting.”

“Huh,” Xue Yang said. That was interesting. And he had sort of wondered. He hadn’t heard of anything like that before.

He wondered suddenly how discriminating Xiao Xingchen’s sword was. Did it detect any amount of resentful energy? Or type, or concentration?

Xue Yang tucked that question away for later. It wasn’t important right now.

“How is your leg today, Stranger?”

“Fine,” Xue Yang said. Lied. “Are you just going to keep calling me ‘Stranger’? You could just pick a name and go with it. Or guess. Or use a different name every time you talk to me.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled again, obviously amused. “Or,” a-Qing said, “you could just say what you’re called. Why won’t you, anyway?”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Sometimes a man’s history is his own business.”

Wasn’t that a nice idea, Xue Yang thought. He doubted Xiao Xingchen would still say that if he knew who he was harboring.

“Yeah, all right,” Xue Yang said. “I’ll tell you my name.”

A-Qing looked suspicious. “What is it?”

“Ju Hua,” he said. Xiao Xingchen let out a strangled sound, like a laugh disguised by a fake cough. A-Qing recoiled, her face crinkling up in disgust.

“You’re disgusting,” she said.

“Hey,” Xue Yang said. “It’s rude to make fun of peoples’ names,” but he started cackling a second later, hard enough it hurt his cracked ribs. A-Qing got to her feet and flounced off, taking a swing at his head with her stick he was sure was deliberate.

Xue Yang grinned at Xiao Xingchen, who still looked like he was trying not to laugh. “You shouldn’t tease her,” he said.

“She can take it,” Xue Yang said easily. The turn of Xiao Xingchen’s mouth and the set of his eyebrows was reproachful, though both offset by the amusement that was still there.

“You still shouldn’t.”

“Ah, Daozhang,” Xue Yang said, dragging out the second syllable. “Ruining all my fun.”

Xiao Xingchen’s expression faltered for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, and Xue Yang realized that his voice had slipped, a little. He held his breath, tensing, waiting, something almost eager jumping in his stomach.

Here it comes.

Then Xiao Xingchen shook himself and let out a faint laugh, though it sounded a little weak. “I know,” he said. “I’m merciless.”

Xue Yang pictured Xiao Xingchen as he’d seen him first, almost glowing in white, a pinched expression of displeasure on his face. He would’ve seen Xue Yang executed. Not done it himself - couldn’t get those pure robes dirty - but still. He thought merciless wasn’t as far off the mark as Xiao Xingchen probably believed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Absolutely. Those vegetables you bought don’t stand a chance.”

Xiao Xingchen laughed again, and smiled, and Xue Yang blinked at him, something funny twisting in his chest under his heart.

You know I’m going to kill you someday, he thought. Not yet, but I’m gonna do it. And I’ll make sure you’ll know how I tricked you, how stupid you were, when I do.

**

Xue Yang usually slept pretty well, if lightly. He’d learned the trick of it - a need to wring rest out of the hours he got when it was safe, but the ability to wake up fast when he needed to. Usually he could get through the night without waking up, and if he dreamed, he never remembered them.

At first he wasn’t sure what had woken him up this time, just that between one moment and the next he was awake, wide awake with his senses shrilling an alarm, something wrong. His heartbeat picked up and he started to reach for Jiangzai only to stop himself.

Then he heard it: quiet but still audible through thin walls. A soft, distressed sound from Xiao Xingchen’s room.

He held very still, waiting until he heard another. A whimper, almost. Quiet and pathetic, wounded animal. He rose, slowly, on quiet feet, and walked as silently as he could while still limping, out of his room and into Xiao Xingchen’s.

He was lying there on the bed, under a thin blanket that was now tangled around his body. One of his arms was flung outwards, his head turned to the side, face crumpled in a frown. There were red stains on the white bandages over his missing eyes. His chest rose and fell unevenly and too quickly.

As he stood there, watching, Xiao Xingchen made another sound, one of pain, and Xue Yang almost felt it in his chest, in his gut. He took a step forward, and another, and another, until he was standing right next to the bed and looking down at Xiao Xingchen, lips parted, in the grip of a nightmare, so vulnerable, so beautiful in his suffering.

What was he dreaming about? Losing his eyes?

Maybe he’s dreaming about me, Xue Yang thought, and had to bite down on a laugh.

He could see the big vein in Xiao Xingchen’s throat throbbing with his rapid pulse. It’d be so easy. He could draw his knife and plunge it in in less than a second. He could slide it between his ribs and up into his heart. He could slice him open like a pig and pull his guts out through the gash. It’d be quick. Or it wouldn’t, and he’d make Xiao Xingchen scream before he died.

Xue Yang cocked his head to the side and thought about it. What it’d look like. How it’d feel.

He pressed his tongue to his teeth and thought about licking Xiao Xingchen’s blood off his fingers.

His body snapped taut at a sleepy, “Daozhang?” and he moved immediately, dropping down into a crouch next to the bed and reaching out to give Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder a gentle shake.

“Daozhang,” he said, pitching his voice low but gentle. “Xiao Xingchen, wake up.”

Xiao Xingchen was a cultivator. He woke up quickly too, with a sharp inhale. “What,” he said, and Xue Yang let go of him quickly in case he lashed out.

“What’s going on?” a-Qing asked behind him, voice clearer. “I heard noises.”

“Your Daozhang was having a bad dream,” Xue Yang said. “I was just waking him up.”

Xiao Xingchen’s lips pressed together. “I’m sorry for waking both of you,” he said, and his voice sounded - not shaky, exactly, but shaken, and subdued. “I’m all right. You can go back to sleep now.”

“Thanks for the permission,” Xue Yang said. “But I’m good.”

“A-Qing…”

“I’m good, too,” she said stubbornly, but Xue Yang heard her yawn.

“You’re young,” Xiao Xingchen said. He sounded exhausted. It was so - human. Which of course he was, flesh and blood just like the rest of them, but there was still something sort of weird about hearing it. “You need your rest.”

“But-”

“You heard him, Little Blind,” Xue Yang said. “Go to bed. Your coffin’s going to get cold.”

“But-”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said, and after a moment she made a disgruntled, frustrated noise and shuffled out. There was a brief silence, and then Xiao Xingchen said, “you, too.”

“Nah,” Xue Yang said. “Like I said, I’m good.”

Xiao Xingchen reached up to his face and touched the bandage, then stiffened with a sharp breath in and turned his face away. “Oh,” he said. “I-”

Shame, Xue Yang thought, with a little thrill. He was ashamed. Of the blood, or what it meant? How it revealed what he so carefully covered up?

“Looks like you need a fresh bandage,” he said, carefully matter-of-fact. Xiao Xingchen turned his face further away.

“I’ll - take care of it.”

“Want help?”

“No,” Xiao Xingchen said, his voice sharp, and then quickly added, softer, “thank you. And...thank you for waking me.”

Xue Yang shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Which it was. He hadn’t done anything. Wasn’t doing anything. Wasn’t going to kill him. It’d be too easy, he decided, doing it when he was sleeping. He wouldn’t know. Xue Yang wanted him to know.

Xiao Xingchen took a long, deep breath. “I’m all right. Really.”

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said. “I know. Want to go for a walk?”

If Xiao Xingchen had eyes, Xue Yang thought he’d be staring at him. “What?”

“A walk,” Xue Yang said. “You know. That thing you do outside sometimes.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t laugh. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Not like it makes a difference to you, does it?” Xue Yang said. “I do it sometimes. Helps clear my head.” He stood up and stretched. “Up to you. But I think I’ll go regardless. And who knows what’ll happen if I’m out there on my own.”

“Your injuries-”

“Doesn’t have to be a long walk.”

Xiao Xingchen was quiet for a while. Then he said, “all right. I need to get dressed.”

“Great,” Xue Yang said with a grin. “See you outside.”

He put on his robe and went out, stretching his arms overhead and looking up at the sky, the stars. The moon.

Now why, he thought, had he done that? Xiao Xingchen’s nightmares were none of his concern.

It was sort of funny, though, wasn’t it? Comforting him. Helping him. It’d twist the knife harder when he eventually found out. Make it cut deeper. Maybe he’d cry, blood tears running down his cheeks, and Xue Yang would trace them with his finger, lick it clean. Xiao Xingchen, he’d say. Looks like you need a fresh bandage.

**

“You know your roof is leaking,” Xue Yang said. Xiao Xingchen sighed.

“I’m aware,” he said.

“Just making sure,” Xue Yang said.

“I keep meaning to fix it,” Xiao Xingchen said.

“Daozhang,” Xue Yang said with exaggerated patience, “meaning to fix it doesn’t mean fuck if you don’t just do it. That’s like saying-”

He cut off before he said that’s like saying you’re going to kill someone and not following through.

“Like saying what?”

“Like saying you’re going to go night hunting and then sitting at home on your ass,” Xue Yang said.

“Are you calling Daozhang lazy?” a-Qing said. “You’re the lazy one here. Useless.” Xue Yang’s face dropped into a scowl.

“You’ve really got a talent for interrupting conversations that don’t involve you,” he said. Xiao Xingchen frowned in his direction.

“Our guest is just pointing out that I should have done something about the roof leak before now,” Xiao Xingchen said. “And he is right.”

“Course I am,” Xue Yang said. “I’m right about a lot of things.”

A-Qing snorted. “Yeah,” she said. “Name one.”

You’re an ugly little brat who ought to get slapped. “Xiao-daozhang is the most beautiful cultivator in the world,” he said. Xiao Xingchen’s face went red. A-Qing scowled.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “So I’d just have to take your word for it.”

“It’s not true,” Xiao Xingchen protested. “Our guest is just teasing.”

Xue Yang shrugged. “One against one, Daozhang. Too bad we don’t have a tie breaker.”

Xiao Xingchen’s face was still flushed bright. Like he’d been slapped, all the blood right under the skin, and Xue Yang wondered if his skin would feel hot if he touched it. If he’d bleed faster if he cut into his cheek.

He’d started to think maybe he shouldn’t kill Xiao Xingchen after all. It might actually be better to leave him alive. Dead people couldn’t suffer like living ones.

He leaned back on his hands. His leg was feeling better these days. His other wounds were well on the way to healing. He could probably leave, if he wanted to. Slip out in the middle of the night.

Maybe he’d cut a-Qing’s throat to leave a message. That’d probably hurt Xiao Xingchen worse than anything Xue Yang could do to him.

It was an idea. He tucked it away for consideration.

“Anyway,” he said. “You should definitely do it before winter or Little Blind will freeze to death.”

“Why don’t you do it,” a-Qing said loudly.

“What’ll you pay me for it? I don’t do that kind of work for free.”

A-Qing scowled harder. “You’re eating our food and sleeping in our house,” she said. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“A-Qing,” Xiao Xingchen said, “our guest is still injured. You wouldn’t want him to aggravate his injuries further.”

“Says who,” a-Qing muttered under her breath. Xiao Xingchen seemed to pretend not to hear.

“I’ll get some supplies tomorrow,” he said. “It is starting to get colder. But don’t worry about helping, Stranger. I can manage.” He gave Xue Yang a horribly gentle smile. Why are you like this, Xue Yang thought angrily.

Yeah. He wouldn’t kill Xiao Xingchen at all. Just cut up his face so he couldn’t smile like that anymore. He wouldn’t even know how awful he looked until people started recoiling from him in horror, exclaiming with disgust.

Yeah. That was an idea. Kill a-Qing and ruin that pretty face.

He’d get around to it before winter, once he was fully healed, and find someplace nice and warm to set up in for the cold months. No reason to stay in this miserable dead city when there was a whole world to explore.

**

Xiao Xingchen did not have any idea how to patch a roof.

Xue Yang ended up mostly doing it for him.

**

There was an itch under Xue Yang’s skin, in his bones. He didn’t know why, exactly. He just got like this sometimes, tense and restless and jumpy and he didn’t like it. Usually he dealt with it in one of two ways: killing someone or fucking someone. Or both.

He hadn’t killed anyone yet today, but he was thinking about it. It’d probably be a-Qing. She was getting on his last nerve, and he kept thinking if he killed her quick and quiet and dumped her body in the river Xiao Xingchen would never need to know.

Though why it’d matter if Xiao Xingchen knew was another matter.

He didn’t think he’d really kill a-Qing either, though. Maybe one of the merchants in the market. The one who’d tried to sell them half-rotted turnips. He’d deserve it. Yeah. Him. He’d make a good target.

Itch, itch, itch. Fuck. He was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t-

“Stranger?”

Xue Yang whirled around, knife in hand, and just checked the movement before he put it through Xiao Xingchen’s neck. Or, he would’ve checked it, but Xiao Xingchen caught his arm first.

Xue Yang froze. His body coiled tight, ready for the retaliation. Briefly, he wanted to laugh. The first time he really got close to stabbing Xiao Xingchen since waking up here and it hadn’t even been on purpose.

Xiao Xingchen felt down Xue Yang’s arm to his hand, his fingers wrapped around the knife. Least it wasn’t his left. He paused for a moment, then let go and stepped back.

“I startled you,” he said.

Xue Yang blinked. “I was thinking about something else,” he said cautiously.

“Apparently so,” Xiao Xingchen said. He smiled, barely, and bowed. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re - for what?”

“Startling you,” Xiao Xingchen said. Xue Yang stared at him.

“I almost stabbed you,” he blurted out, and then grimaced.

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “But you didn’t. I suppose this might be a different conversation if you had.” His voice was still even, calm. Xue Yang stared at him harder, hating the confusion that was starting to overtake the itch for violence.

“Probably wouldn’t be a conversation,” he said, before he meant to. Xiao Xingchen smiled a little.

“I suppose not,” Xiao Xingchen said. “A good thing I have quick reflexes.” He paused, the smile fading. “Stranger...I know that you have...a history. That there are shadows in it you don’t want to discuss. For all your good humor, you are tense, and watchful, and wary. A man - a cultivator - does not end up on the side of a road in your condition without having made dangerous enemies.”

Xue Yang opened his mouth, then closed it, getting tenser by the second. He still had his knife in hand, but Xiao Xingchen had shown he could catch him, and while Shuanghua wouldn’t be able to sense him the way it did ghosts and the like-

“Whatever you might have done,” Xiao Xingchen said, his voice quiet and serious, “it doesn’t matter now.”

Xue Yang’s voice was locked in his throat. Speechless. He wasn’t speechless very often. There was a laugh in there, too, thinking wildly really, is that really true, Xiao Xingchen, would you still say that if I told you my name-

“Pretty generous of you, Daozhang,” he said. “I might’ve done anything.”

“Perhaps,” Xiao Xingchen said. “But you have not done anything to me, or to a-Qing, or to the people here.”

Not yet, anyway, was his first thought, and then oh. Oh, that was rich, that was hilarious, that was-

He felt sort of weird, suddenly. Not sick, and nothing was hurting, just - weird. Off-balance. The itch was completely gone now, leaving something else in its wake that he couldn’t quite pin down.

“Xiao-daozhang,” he started to say, and then stopped. Xiao Xingchen gave him a small smile.

“Most people, I think, have shadows in their pasts,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I am not a magistrate. I would rather not act as one.”

Xue Yang thought of Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s eagerness to deliver him to justice, and wanted to laugh. But only for a moment.

He sucked on his teeth. Cocked his head to the side.

“Call me Chengmei,” he said. And waited. Waited to see any sign of recognition, of memory, of understanding.

Xiao Xingchen smiled, slightly. “Chengmei,” he said. “Thank you.”

Xue Yang huffed a laugh. “For what?”

“For telling me your name.”

Huh. Xue Yang wanted to laugh, would’ve laughed, did laugh, a little. “That’s not telling you much, Xiao-daozhang. It’s just a name. It might not even be my real one.”

“I know,” Xiao Xingchen said. He didn’t reach out, just smiled that warm smile that Xue Yang hated, that set off that strange and twisting feeling like a worm winding through his insides. Nobody had made that face at him before. Not like that. “But at least now I don’t have to call you ‘Stranger.’”

“You still could, if you wanted,” Xue Yang said, which made Xiao Xingchen laugh. Everything made him laugh. He had a stupid sense of humor, Xue Yang was starting to realize.

Such an idiot.

Xiao Xingchen gave him one last smile and went back inside. Xue Yang looked after him, eyes narrowed.

He should’ve gone by now, probably. He was getting comfortable, and comfortable was dangerous.

But he had a good thing going, here. And he could end it whenever he wanted. The second he got sick of this game, he could finish it, and Xiao Xingchen, too.

There was no reason to hurry, though. No rush.

And he had some ideas for how to keep things fun.

He had time.

[dwellordream]

“Pandarus has suffered much, at the hands not only of the general reader but of the critic too. He has been called hard names not a few, none of which really fit him, and his own name has undergone one of the worst degradations in the history of word meanings. Whatever he became in subsequent English literature and in popular tradition, in Chaucer he is neither a pander nor a parasite nor a dotard nor a "battered man of the world." He is a man of the world, but he is neither battered nor old. He is perhaps not even middle-aged.

He is Criseyde's uncle, it is true, but one need not be old, or even middle-aged, to be an uncle. And though his age is nowhere specifically mentioned, the impression one gets from a careful reading is that he is of much the same age as Troilus, Deiphobus, and Hector. He is great friends with Deiphobus as well as with Troilus— Save Troilus, no man he lovede so. And he is himself still a lover, ardent though unsuccessful in the service of his lady. He touches upon the subject lightly and jokes about it with Criseyde, but he is a bit wistful and pathetic, too—as when he refers to himself as one who has never in all his service of love felt A frendly chere or loking of an ye.The fires of youth are by no means dead in him.

So far from being a parasite, Pandarus is a Trojan aristocrat, a member of the Trojan parliament, a counselor to the king, who on at least one occasion is closeted with the king all day. That he is one who commands a large following is shown by his offering himself and all his kin to back any attempt Troilus may be willing to make to carry off Criseyde from Troy by force. His relations with Troilus are not those of a sycophant but of a friend, and his capacity for friendship is one of his great virtues. Indeed, this friend- ship between the two men is one of the real beauties of the poem. It is a friendship bluff, hearty, disinterested, whole-souled, and true to death. When in Book I Pandarus is pleading with Troilus to tell him the secret of his love, he asks, "Wostow nought wel that it am I, Pandare?" And we are reminded of Montaigne's description of his friendship with Etienne de la Boetie, "If a man should importune me to give a reason why I lov'd him; I find it could no otherwise be exprest, than by making answer, because it was he, because it was I."

Pandarus is not a pander, because, for one thing, he is not in the business. What he does, he does for neither covetousness nor gain but for the love and salvation of his friend. And so great is his love for Troilus that on one occasion, before he learns that it is Criseyde with whom Troilus is in love, he vows that "Were it for my suster, al thy sorwe,/By my wil, she sholde al be thyn tomorwe." This suggestion, however, was not such an offense against morality in ancient Greece, or even in fourteenth-century England, as it is today. Instances of men offering their own sisters to a comrade are not unknown in early literature. Moreover, this readiness to go to such an extreme is not typical of Pandarus. His words here must be taken, I believe, as a rhetorical exaggeration, thrown off in the heat of his eloquence, in his eagerness to discover Troilus's secret and ease his pain.

Pandarus is not without conscience, and in one passage—in a conversation with Troilus warning him of the necessity of secrecy in order to guard the fair name of Criseyde—he shows that he understands with perfect clearness what he has done and how it would appear to the world were it known: "For thee have I bigonne a gamen pleye/Which that I never doon shal eft for other,/Although he were a thousand fold my brother./That is to seye, for thee am I bicomen, Bitwixen game and ernest, swich a mene As maken wommen unto men to comen."

He bemoans the fact that Criseyde is his dear niece, and he her uncle—and her traitor too. "Were it known," he says, "that I had put this fantasy in her head to do all thy desire and be wholly thine, the world would cry out upon it and say that I had done the worst treachery, that was ever done in the world." So he doubly cautions Troilus to secrecy, to avoid all vaunting, and all will be well. And this faith in the sufficiency of secrecy runs through his conversations with Criseyde and is present indeed in Criseyde's mind itself as she weighs the pros and cons of an affair with Troilus.

It is, of course, simply an illustration of one of the "laws" of Courtly Love. He protests to Criseyde that in urging her to have pity on Troilus he is not forgetting her honor and that he would rather all three of them should be hanged than that he should be Troilus's bawd or that Troilus should injure her honor. What is "her honor" here ? Is Pandarus simply disguising to her his real intent? Or is love, illicit love, consistent with honor, provided it be kept secret? Obviously the latter, in the thought of Pandarus, Troilus, and Criseyde, all three. Pandarus seems to be double-faced —pretending to Criseyde that all he asks is that she make Troilus a little more cheer, while he and Troilus are thinking of her complete surrender. But if our view of Criseyde as a mature woman of the world rather than as an innocent is correct—if she is wise, as Chaucer says she is—there is in reality no double-dealing here at all, for Criseyde understands that "saving her honor" is not a matter of stopping this side of physical surrender but of maintaining perfect secrecy.

…There is nothing low about Pandarus, and it cannot be justly maintained that his offices bring any harm at all to his fair niece. He is not the author of her ruin—not even indirectly, for his maneuvering and plotting aim simply to bring to a consummation what promises to be a noble, pure, and perfect love. He believes in the sincerity and discretion of Troilus, and is convinced that with secrecy all will go well and Criseyde's honor as well as her name be safe. Thus Pandarus's motives in playing the role he does are mixed. He is serving his friend and prince. He is serving his niece, in a way that by his philosophy and the philosophy of Romantic Love her youth, beauty, and charm demand. And he is serving himself, for, as a lover himself, he takes delight in helping two other lovers to the realization of complete happiness.

Still more, perhaps, Pandarus undertakes his difficult and delicate task because it is one that suits him down to the ground. It is a task such as he came into the world to perform, one that appeals to his native love of intrigue, his genius for management and maneuvering. He is a born strategist and diplomatist. Consider his subtle handling of Troilus in Book I, or of Criseyde in Book II when he goes to tell her of Troilus's love and again to take her Troilus's first letter. He is in his glory in arranging the first meeting of the lovers in the house of Deiphobus, Troilus's brother. All his resources of plotting, stage management, and plausible speech are here called into play. His invention is exhaustless. At dinner there he tells them all a cock-and-bull story of the supposed wrongs a certain Poliphete is plotting against Criseyde. He rong hem out a proces lyk a belle, Upon hir fo, that highte Poliphete,/So heynous, that men mighte on it spete.

Such is his readiness, his mastery of detail, his circumstantial eloquence that he not only persuades them of the truth of the story but engages their support of Criseyde's cause. So convincing is he that they are ready to spit upon Poliphete and his evil designs. Again, consider his busy ingenuity and contrivance in getting the two lovers to bed for the first time —on that night of rain and wind at his house after the sup- per. He anticipates everything, overlooks nothing. His gusto is enormous, and when he has finally brought them together, he remarks with sly humor ". . . for ought I can espyen, This light nor I ne serven here of nought;/Light is not good for syke folkes yen." Pandarus finds zest in his very sweating. Once he rushes off to his niece's house and finds her just risen from meat. As he sits down he exclaims, "O veray god, so have I ronne! Lo, nece myn, see ye nought how I swete?" And he expects his niece to share his gusto in his admirable sweating. Does it not prove his zeal in her behalf?

His energy is boundless, of body no less than of mind. He is full of gayety and animal spirits, as lively as a cricket. His conversation is endless and always interesting, varied, and humorous, well sprinkled with saws, "olde ensamples," and shrewd wisdom. Only once is he speechless—when Troilus tells him of the finding of the brooch on Diomed's coat of mail. But this is only momentarily, for "at the laste thus he spak and seyde." His omniscience is second only to God's —"But god and Pandare wiste al what this mente." His resourcefulness, his agility of mind and tongue, know no hindrance; he shifts and tacks and turns with every wind and tide. He is full of news, of diverting small talk, and at times of sage advice. And Chaucer's reproduction of his conversation has all the vitality, naturalness, and sparkle of life. It is one of the greatest triumphs in the handling of dialogue in all literature.”

- Percy Van Dyke Shelly, “Troilus and Criseyde.” in The Living Chaucer

[like-i-need-a-hole-in-my-head]

Psychopolitics and Surveillance Capitalism

I queued this post quite a while ago and it posted last night while I was asleep. I’m reposting because I’ve been thinking about this a bit more since I first saw it. I’ve shortened the original quote here:

[H]ealing ... refers to self-optimization that is supposed to therapeutically eliminate any and all functional weakness or mental obstacle in the name of efficiency and performance. Yet perpetual self-optimization ... amounts to total self-exploitation. [...] The neoliberal subject is running aground on the imperative of self optimization, that is, on the compulsion always to achieve more and more. Healing, it turns out, means killing.

and had a look at this review. From the review: “[W]hat capitalism realised in the neoliberal era, Han argues, is that it didn’t need to be tough, but seductive. This is what he calls smartpolitics. Instead of saying no, it says yes: instead of denying us with commandments, discipline and shortages, it seems to allow us to buy what we want when we want, become what we want and realise our dream of freedom. “Instead of forbidding and depriving it works through pleasing and fulfilling. Instead of making people compliant, it seeks to make them dependent.” 

I’m adding a break because this got long.

(review, cont’d)

And, while not Orwellian, we net-worked moderns have our own Newspeak. Freedom, for instance, means coercion. Microsoft’s early ad slogan was “Where do you want to go today?”, evoking a world of boundless possibility. That boundlessness was a lie, Han argues: “Today, unbounded freedom and communication are switching over into total control and surveillance … We had just freed ourselves from the disciplinary panopticon – then threw ourselves into a new and even more efficient panopticon.” And one, it might be added, that needs no watchman, since even the diabolical geniuses of neoliberalism – Mark Zuckerberg and Jeff Bezos – don’t have to play Big Brother. They are diabolical precisely because they got us to play that role ourselves.

At least in Nineteen Eighty-Four, nobody felt free. In 2017, for Han, everybody feels free, which is the problem. “Of our own free will, we put any and all conceivable information about ourselves on the internet, without having the slightest idea who knows what, when or in what occasion. This lack of control represents a crisis of freedom to be taken seriously.”

“Did we really want to be free?” asks Han. Perhaps, he muses, true freedom is an intolerable burden and so we invented God in order to be guilty and in debt to something. That’s why, having killed God, we invented capitalism. Like God, only more efficiently, capitalism makes us feel guilty for our failings and, you may well have noticed, encourages us to be deep in immobilising debt.” 

I think I’m going to get this book. This would make a great pairing with Surveillance Capitalism by  Shoshana Zuboff. (I’ve linked to a review; the book is available on Amazon and elsewhere). I have the book but haven’t read it yet. Think about this:

“Surveillance capitalism unilaterally claims human experience as free raw material for translation into behavioural data. Although some of these data are applied to service improvement, the rest are declared as a proprietary behavioural surplus, fed into advanced manufacturing processes known as ‘machine intelligence’, and fabricated into prediction products that anticipate what you will do now, soon, and later. Finally, these prediction products are traded in a new kind of marketplace that I call behavioural futures markets. Surveillance capitalists have grown immensely wealthy from these trading operations, for many companies are willing to lay bets on our future behaviour.” 

From the review: “The combination of state surveillance and its capitalist counterpart means that digital technology is separating the citizens in all societies into two groups: the watchers (invisible, unknown and unaccountable) and the watched. This has profound consequences for democracy because asymmetry of knowledge translates into asymmetries of power. But whereas most democratic societies have at least some degree of oversight of state surveillance, we currently have almost no regulatory oversight of its privatised counterpart”. 

Part of my job is related to the regulatory oversight of the private sector, and I definitely think that it is an absolute mess. Countries have vastly different rules, but data doesn’t respect borders. Different countries have different goals. The EU’s data laws protect the individual. China’s data laws protect the state. The US’s data laws protect the economy. (With a few exceptions, the laws are really about what can be monetized and what can’t.)

So what is an individual supposed to do? I struggle with the best way to protect my own privacy and personal data, and to teach my teens to do the same, let alone put it into a socio-political context. 

I don’t think it’s possible to completely opt out of the surveillance and participate in modern life. It’s a bit easier for old people like me to opt out but I see younger people whose peer group socialises to such an extent through apps and phones (snapchat, instagram, etc). The problem is that if they are not on these platforms, they are to a very large extent excluded from social life, and humans are social animals. It’s not healthy for them to be isolated.

OTOH, we can make some choices. For example, I have a Facebook account (I have 3, actually), but the one with my real name is just for an online course that uses a FB group for discussion. One is for testing. One is my “real” account that does not use my real name where I keep in touch with family since I live half a world away. I log out every time I use it. I never gave FB my phone number or location or work place or hometown etc etc. I opted out of any advertising that I could, particularly adverts using my own Likes. I opted out of all third party platforms so I cannot accidentally log into a third party site with FB. I do not upload photos of my children. I cannot be tagged. I opted out of facial recognition. I check settings once a week in case they are “accidentally” reset. I check after upgrades and so forth. I don’t use FB messenger. I don’t use the FB app. I log out and clear my cache and cookies regularly.  I download all of my FB data from time to time (I think a lot of people did this after the Cambridge Analytica scandal) and check that it’s accurate and I’m ok with what’s out there. (btw, one of my professional highlights was writing about Cambridge Analytica in 2017, before the scandals broke in early 2018, w00t). 

Also, I do not have any google accounts. At all. I don’t use gmail. I cannot sign into google maps. If someone sends me a google doc for editing, I ask for a copy, edit it and send it back. (This is rarely an issue though; I think it’s happened twice.) I used to have a Youtube account, and when they changed the settings to log in with a google account and not just an email, I created an account on a separate computer, logged in, deleted all of my videos and then deleted my youtube account, then deleted my google account and then cleared my cookies and cache. I think this was 2008. 

But truth be told, this is not much. I know that. Amazon knows which Audible books I listen to, which Kindle books I read, and which paperbacks I buy. It goes on and on. 

Is there a balance? Are our choices to opt in -submit- to this surveillance or live off the grid? This isn’t simply a matter of updating data privacy laws. The issues that need to be resolved underpin the entire economy and political order.

Food for thought, anyway. (So how’s your quarantine going?) 

[joyfulsavagery]

Prompt #10: Foster

Delgernandjil was a girl with a most peculiar habit. Or, more precisely, a woman with a peculiar habit owing to her twenty two years of age, but her remarkably youthful features, short stature (though you'd best not let her hear you remarking upon that), and marked lack of maturity did tip the needle into the girlish, rather than the womanly direction. Besides that, she thought of herself as a girl, and it's most often not in one's own best interests to argue with someone who has both a short temper and a large axe.

This was all quite besides the point of course, which was that she had a habit, and that this habit was peculiar. How peculiar, you might ask? The answer, I confess, is 'rather peculiar indeed' but owing to the subjective nature of such assessments, it's perhaps best we simply elucidate the nature of the habit and permit you, dear reader, to reach a satisfactory conclusion. Which, should you deem it peculiar, then we'd quite agree on that point. Wouldn't that be nice?

Now, the habit! Delgernandjil collected uncles. Not literal uncles, mind you - she only had one of those. Nor metaphorical uncles, for all her uncles-who-were-not-uncles were, in point of fact, genuine individuals. To be precise, some of those individuals were uncles, but not her uncles, so perhaps the literal versus nonliteral uncle is the wrong tack to take entirely. Whatever the case, she collected them and it was peculiar.

It wasn't out of any real need for a father figure, for hers was quite hale and hearty, despite being the entirety of an ocean (plus change, when one accounts for land mass) away. They even had a good relationship, past the typical assortment of little misunderstandings, bad days, and the awkward elephant in the room of her going a bit barmy every so often and nipping off for a murder or two. Or three. Or... well, you get the idea. She meant well and he respected that. Most of the people she murdered deserved it anyway, and she always gave them a chance to fight back, so it was a fair and equitable sort of murder arrangement he didn't hold against her in the least.

So why then, the not-actual-uncle collection? She wasn't quite sure. It wasn't any real conscious decision, it just sort of happened. Perhaps it was her charmingly youthful demeanor. Perhaps it was her irrepressible good cheer. Perhaps it was the occasional fit of screaming altogether too loudly while seeing how much of that gooey red stuff the latest subject of her ire can do without. The answer, for those inclined to reading ahead, was "more than you'd think, less than she'd like."

But we've gone off topic again, haven't we? Uncles. Yes. Specifically, the peculiar collection thereof. Not to say the collection was peculiar - though now that we're discussing that matter, they were - but rather the act of collection. Specifically, older Xaela gentlemen. Her overweening enthusiasm for the time-honored art of phlebotomy really ought to have turned people right off, but wonder of wonders, it did not. "Such a lovely girl," they never actually said. "Very violent too, that's always a plus," were more words which never rose from any of their lips. They may as well have however; such was the regard in which her not-literal-but-also-not-metaphorical uncle collection held her.

Which is to say a motley collection of older fellows from the Steppe thought that a bit of a grin with a screech was charming. Who's to judge them, really? Not I. It does lead one to wonder, however, what it was she gained out of their interactions, despite the occasional approving smile and pat on the head*. Were you to ask her, she wouldn't be quite able to answer. Perhaps she seeks a mirror for the boundless affection she lavishes upon the world. Perhaps she seeks security so far from her native land. Or, just perhaps, she seeks 'adult' figures to perpetuate her own childish mindset - dispensers of kindly indulgence to support the bulwark she's built against a more responsible approach to life.

Surely she couldn't be seeking to counterbalance something, some frantic attempt to tip the scales away from a fitful, ravening hunger that only grows the more it's fed. To soothe a slumbering beast that wakes every so often to hurl itself against the bars of its cage and snap with greedily salivating jaws at the faltering hands which tend it. Innocence was just that, wasn't it? A lack of knowledge, rather than its denial.

Anyway, to return to the thrust of the matter, Delgernandjil was very much fond of her uncle collection, and they of her. In the end, that's what matters, isn't it?

*Patting Delgernandjil on the head is not, under any circumstances, recommended. At best she will smile so giddily that you will have a heart attack from the sweetness. At worst, the doctor will have to retrieve your hand from the next postal code.

[zdbztumble]

Build A Better Buu Saga

Oh, the Buu Saga...from initially getting passed over in Kai to almost getting passed over by TeamFourStar, it’s almost as if the collective understanding of all corners of the Dragon Ball community is that this is a saga that just...didn’t. It didn’t give a proper cap to the overall series, it didn’t stick the landing even on its own terms, it didn’t have the best fights or villains or character moments...it just didn’t.

For myself, the Buu Saga actually has my favorite beginning of any storyline in Dragon Ball. Gohan being my favorite character in the series, I was happy to see him take up the mantle of Series Lead (a fact that the manga pointed out in asides multiple times), and the huge shake-up in the status quo made for some exciting possibilities. Videl and Goten were wonderful additions to the cast, the current timeline’s Trunks was quite the contrast with his future self, I think the Great Saiyaman was amusing, and the lead-up to the World Tournament is some of the best material out of the entire series. The middle section of the saga, while uneven, is a fun and wild ride too, with Majin Buu being a very distinct villain from his immediate predecessors and concepts like the fusion dance giving a jolt of new energy (no pun intended) to battles. Gohan’s development as he tries to regain the power he’s lost since the Cell Games during this part of the story doesn’t get enough credit either.

Yep - the Buu Saga, in my books anyway, is a solid arc full of fantastic characters and moments...in its first two thirds. The moment Super Buu becomes Buutenks, the story rapidly deteriorates, as Akira Toriyama decides to arbitrarily reject or ignore every bit of set-up and development he’d laid down up to that point and goes on auto-pilot, ending the conflict with tired retreads of old ideas while using characters whose story this has not been. It’s not even that anything in the ending of the saga is all that bad; it’s just such an about-face, such a divorce from everything in the story up to that point - material that I really liked - that it feels more disappointing (to me, anyway) than if it had been more poorly produced.

I’m not the first, or the last, to think about how the Buu Saga might have had a stronger ending, and more coherence overall. Over on the Kanzenshuu forums a few years ago, I even wrote up some my thoughts on what I would’ve liked to see. Thanks to TeamFourStar’s release of their “Day of Fate” remix, though, I’ve been thinking about this more lately, and my ideas have changed quite a bit from the last time I wrote them down. With that, I figured I’d lay out my outline for an alternate Buu Saga, one that I think would’ve given the series a stronger cap and paid off its initial set-up.

Before we get started, I’ll make three caveats plain:

- Goku isn’t here. This isn’t out of any dislike of the character. I'm actually quite happy with Goku serving as a supporting figure, and a mentor to Goten and Trunks, in the middle third of the Buu Saga. But I think it’s ultimately detrimental to a story that purportedly follows the successor protagonist to have the original hero pop up as early, and for as long, as Goku ultimately was in the saga as-is. To see what Gohan and the others would make of a world totally devoid of Goku is a more interesting idea to me anyway.

- No Old Kai. He may be fun, he may have unique abilities, but Old Kai and his powers offer too many cop-outs. Which is not to say that there isn’t a place for a mentor figure like Old Kai in the saga, but...well, keep reading.

- I don’t care about post-manga interviews. Yes, I am aware that Toriyama retconned Buu’s origin, among other things, in interviews he gave after finishing the manga. I am ignoring these, and I’m ignoring anything from Super. What was in the manga, and the anime, back in the 90s is all the material I’m drawing from.

- You know the story, right? For brevity’s sake, I’m just going to point out where I would’ve made changes, not writing up the full series of events. I assume anyone crazy enough to read this knows at least the gist of the Buu Saga anyway.

All that said - here we go:

There isn’t much I’d change about the very beginning of the Buu saga. Gohan’s high school days and Great Saiyaman antics are both a great change of pace from the heavier material preceding them. If I were to change anything, it would be to have the manga expand on this section slightly - no more than the anime did, but just that little bit extra to mine the concept for all it’s worth.

Assuming that expansion happens, then the impression can be given that a significant number of months pass - let’s say an academic year. Thus, when Videl learns the truth about the Great Saiyaman and blackmails Gohan into competing in the World Tournament, they’re right at the start of summer vacation, with the tournament set to begin at the end of summer. This provides three months of training, not one.

Removing Goku from the story doesn’t require as big an adjustment to Vegeta’s character as you’d think on first glance. Remember that in the saga as-is, Bulma tells Gohan early on that Vegeta wants to make Trunks stronger than him, Vegeta chides Gohan for not training during peacetime, and when news of the tournament reaches him, Vegeta’s keen to enter to fight Gohan, before he knows that Goku’s coming back. Just push all this a little further, and you get a Vegeta who’s transferred his great rivalry with “Kakarot” onto Gohan - whose lack of interest in combat for its own sake or in feeding that rivalry really gets under Vegeta’s skin. The tournament, in Vegeta’s mind, is his first chance in seven years to compel Gohan to duke it out.

The extra months for training gives real opportunity for Videl. In the series as-is, her ability to learn to fly in a day is considered remarkable, and she expresses an interest in learning more about ki. With more time, she actually could. It’s straining credulity to expect her to be at Krillin or Tenshinhan levels by the time of the Tournament, but she could at least pick up the Kamehameha. As I would like her to stay action-relevant once the real conflict emerges, however, I’d go ahead and give her some unique ability too, to off-set her limited raw power. Perhaps something akin to re-directing lightning in Avatar - she could figure out how to channel and re-direct ki attacks aimed at her. I don’t think that’s too ridiculous - again, the series as-is has her figure out the basics of ki control and flight in a single afternoon, so using that as a springboard for her demonstrating unusual ki manipulation is a fair expansion on that IMO.

Videl’s curiosity about ki (and the cute dork she’s learning from) could also lead to her learning about the dragon balls during her training. This could amount to a brief, lighthearted ball hunt that doubles as as a more active training regimen, with Goten and Trunks coming along as well. It would be the four members of the new generation off on a fun-filled adventure, like the opening of this saga seemed to promise. Gohan and Videl’s bond is strengthened, Goten and Trunks’s friendship is shown off, and the dragon balls are conveniently collected and ready for use later on. And this would also be the way that news of the World Tournament spreads to the other Z Fighters - assume that each of them holds onto one of the dragon balls as a safety measure. A tad more time could be spent at Kame House and the Lookout, and through the eyes of Videl - the new human character and a great candidate for a reader/audience stand-in - we could be introduced to the new status quo for all the old cast in a (slightly) expanded way.

The World Tournament would play out largely the same, with the odd minor to adjustments due to Goku’s absence. The senzu beans would get delivered via Mr. Popo and his carpet, for example. Probably the most significant change I would’ve made would be to have Gohan’s anger at Videl’s pain cause a flash of power that, while brief, tells Vegeta that Gohan’s potential remains as boundless as ever even despite his lack of training, feeding into Vegeta’s frustrations with Gohan.

Without Goku, Yakon would be cut from the line-up of Babidi’s warriors; we’d go from Pui Pui to Dabura. Vegeta’s anger at Gohan’s sloppiness would remain, though he’d be shouting at Gohan directly, instead of at Goku about Gohan. In this case, Vegeta gives in to Babidi not to acquire sufficient power to defeat Goku in a limited time frame, but because all the preparation for the World Tournament, Gohan’s “unworthiness” as a surrogate rival for his father, and disgust that someone uninterested in fighting has the potential that Gohan has, all fuel Vegeta’s midlife crisis about finding himself settled on Earth. Basically, the ticking clock of Goku’s 24 hours is replaced with a slow burn of identity conflict and irritation.

Of course, this means that instead of a Goku/Vegeta rematch, we’d have Gohan vs. Vegeta. I would leave the immediate set-up for it largely untouched in the broadstroke, but of course the details would matter. I can’t imagine Gohan feeling so determined to fight that he’d be prepared to blow Supreme Kai’s face off, for example. I would have him ask to be brought back into the ship, to give Supreme Kai a better chance at getting at Buu’s pod. It would also give a backdrop for the fight other than Generic Wasteland #47. The fight itself would naturally have a different character. I imagine Vegeta being more unstable and manic while Gohan remains evasive, trying at all times to minimize the energy released. As in the series as-is, Vegeta’s words spur Gohan to realize the price to be paid for not staying prepared for danger in the seven years since the Cell Games, but in this case, Gohan’s evasiveness keeps shooting Vegeta’s anger and irrationality higher and higher, and it’s through this process that his motives come out. At a moment when Gohan’s pleas to look at the big picture fall on deaf ears, Vegeta calls Gohan “Kakarot.” Hearing that name, and fully appreciating how much Vegeta has projected his old rivalry, Gohan snaps for a second, gets the drop on Vegeta, knocks him out, and heads deeper into the ship to help Supreme Kai.

From there, things would largely play out as they do as-is, with minor adjustments. Vegeta would come to inside the ship, get a sense of what’s going on up above through ki detection, and have a quiet moment of realization of what he’s done before he heads up to try and make amends. And when he sacrifices himself...that’s it. That is the end of Vegeta’s character. This is a point I feel strongly about, because nothing that’s been done with Vegeta since justifies undercutting his sacrifice here IMO. To fully appreciate what he’s done, to recognize the one tactic he has left to try and set things to rights, and to be aware (thanks to Piccolo) just how total the price to be paid will be, and still go through with it for the sake of his loved ones, is as fitting an end to Vegeta’s character as I can think of.

Instead of Bulma summoning Shenron, she collects the balls from Chi Chi’s house with the intent of summoning Shenron, until someone in that group - possibly Yamcha, possibly Videl, possibly even Master Roshi - perceive that they might be needed for an even greater emergency, and the decision is made to retreat to the Lookout to try and get news of what’s been going on. They bring the balls with them, sparing the need for the radar incident later on. Piccolo and Krillin are tasked with filling everyone in.

Without Goku, how is the Fusion Dance brought up? Well, Namekians practice a form of fusion (more like assimilation), and Piccolo has (in the anime, at least) demonstrated knowledge of Multi-Form; what if it’s a technique he and Dende have devised in the seven years since the Cell Games, making use of natural Namekian abilities and Earthling ki manipulation techniques? “But wait!” you say. “What about Piccolo’s embarrassed reaction to the dance in the series as-is?” Simple - don’t have him be embarrassed. I never found that “gag” to be all that funny anyway - it’s not like the dance looks that ridiculous. To whet Buu’s appetite for the fight the way Goku did, Piccolo could just communicate the promise of a fighter telepathically.

So, we still have the Z Sword, but no Old Kai. What to do about Gohan’s power then? Well - what if the Z Sword was sentient? Similar to the Byakko from Dairanger, it can talk once drawn. I imagine it having a cantankerous and impatient personality, but in addition to being heavy enough to serve as a training tool, it can also bond and manipulate Gohan’s ki, letting it serve as a power-up device and a mentor. Part of that mentorship involves helping Gohan through his hang-up at not keeping his strength from the Cell Games. As Old Kai does as-is, the Z Sword could feel that the strain of transformations isn’t worth the power boost, and could also conclude that relying on saiyan rage and battle lust isn’t the best course for Gohan. So as they train, the Z Sword works to rearrange Gohan’s ki to bring all his power into his base form - so yes, there still is an Ultimate/Mystic power-up.

The Z Sword could also suggest a strategy for defeating Buu, and here’s where it becomes necessary to ignore Toriyama’s later statements. To go just off of the original manga, Bibidi created Buu. So if Buu is a magical creation, a force of chaotic evil energy - roll with that. Don’t treat him as a flesh and blood creature who can be killed. Treat him as negative ki manifested, that can be manipulated and dispersed. Videl’s ability helps Gohan grasp the concept, but it’s the Z Sword that will be key to him being able to pull the same manipulation on Buu.

The process of Gohan’s training would involve taking a look inside his own head. Imagine scenes where, while Gohan’s body performs fencing maneuvers, his inner self communes with the Z Sword and reviews and experiences these concepts in visually interesting ways. Besides being more dynamic than sitting on the ground while an old man holds his hands out, this could also sell the idea that this process would take a while.

Things on Earth would play out largely the same once Goten and Trunks are taught the dance. My one change would be to have Videl unaccounted for along with Dende during Buu’s candy attack.

Nothing against Goku, but when Gohan returns to Earth, I’d have him keep the Kai get-up; I really like that costume on him. Gohan’s demeanor would be more cold and silent in fighting Buu than brash, and instead of just treating Buu like a punching bag, he’s focused on catching Buu’s attacks with the Z Sword and turning the blade on Buu. When he does this, the wounds don’t regenerate. Buu finds this horrifying, and it’s this realization that triggers his self-destruct feint.

Videl’s with Dende. They got away together. Why? I’ll tell you why: I like Videl. But there is actually a reason, that we’ll get to in a second.

Buu absorbing Gotenks and Piccolo is less to do with getting stronger than Gohan (though there is that); it’s on the calculation that, if Buu absorbs people that Gohan loves into his being, then Gohan can’t channel ki to disperse Buu. Remember, that isn’t the same as being killed, so who’s to say the dragon balls could revive them? Gohan essentially has no choice but to get into a conventional fight with Buu - a much more even fight, but one he knows is ultimately fruitless. To make things worse, the grouchy, insensitive Z Sword keeps insisting that they finish Buutenks off anyway, and Buutenks keeps targeting Dende and Videl. That’s partly a distraction tactic, but he’s also looking to neutralize the dragon balls. Dende is protected in part by Gohan’s efforts, and in part by Videl’s redirection abilities. This would also open up comic moments, with Mr. Satan gaping in shock at his daughter’s skills. But a hard limit on those abilities becomes quickly apparent, when dealing with that much raw power at her level starts to destroy her body. Eventually, it proves too much, and saving Dende causes Videl to pass out - and in the second that Gohan is distracted by that, Buutenks seizes the Z Sword and breaks it.

The heroes look screwed now, but when the fusion runs out, Buu starts to react strangely, as if he’s getting beat up from the inside. Cut to inside of his body and, sure enough, the fusion running out has caused Goten and Trunks to be freed from Buu’s control. They wreak havoc inside of Buu in an attempt to find away out, and end up finding Piccolo and Fat Buu. Severing Fat Buu sets off the chain reaction leading to Kid Buu, and the kids make it out with Piccolo just in time.

Kibito teleporting in is how the heroes get off of Earth once Kid Buu decides to blow it up. And he actually saves everyone. Without Goku there, that bit of faux drama and guilt is even less justifiable, so don’t bother with it. The entire planet being lost is enough of a gut-punch to the heroes as it is.

As Kid Buu rampages through the universe, Kibito restores Videl and Piccolo. As bleak as things look, a conversation happens that triggers memories of Namek, and Gohan and Piccolo quickly devise a plan. They ask Kibito to bring King Kai to the Sacred World of the Kais, to facilitate communication, then send him to Namek. Those dragon balls (which cannot suddenly revive as many people as you want and still grant three wishes) are gathered. Gohan wants Porunga to restore the Z Sword, but that is a feat beyond the dragon’s power. Instead, he restores the Earth (and other destroyed planets) and, with the second wish, assembles Earth’s dragon balls at the Lookout. Kibito returns to the heavenly realm, takes Dende back to the Lookout, and Shenron is used to revive everyone (who Shenron can still revive) killed by Buu. Shenron also can’t mend the Z Sword, but Gohan and Piccolo expect that Babidi was revived with the first wish. They have Kibito track Babidi down and bring him to them. Both dragons are kept on stand-by.

Gohan wants Babidi to cast a spell to get rid of Kid Buu - not seal him up again, but to decreate him entirely. Unfortunately, Babidi doesn’t know any such spells - if they ever existed, they went to the grave with his father Bibidi (again - forget the later interview retcons. All we’re told originally is that Babidi was Bibidi’s son.) What Babidi can do, however, is reforge the Z Sword with his magic. Not unlike Buu’s awakening, it’s a spell that requires a tremendous amount of energy be released, and meanwhile, Kid Buu is laying waste to worlds. To gather the energy, and to keep Kid Buu from destroying anything else, Gohan, Goten, and Trunks all power up to lure him to the World of the Kais. While Piccolo stands guard over Babidi and the others watch, Gohan and Gotenks keep Kid Buu occupied. The effort doesn’t go as smoothly as Gohan and Piccolo had hoped - partly because Kid Buu is so violent and unpredictable, and partly because Gotenks gets carried away yet again, resulting in far more damage to the planet than necessary.

At a certain point, Videl has to re-direct a blast, and Mr. Satan yells at Kid Buu for endangering his daughter. Kid Buu targets them both, but can’t bring himself to attack, and expels Fat Buu. Just in time, too - Gotenks’ carelessness gets Gohan seriously injured, and the fusion wears off. Goten (and, after some hesitation, Trunks) continue to fight on with Fat Buu while Dende tries to heal Gohan. Babidi, meanwhile, has one last bit of treachery up his sleeve. He tries to take control of Gohan in a moment of anger. A lot happens all at once - a fierce blow by Kid Buu that puts Fat Buu down for the count, Gohan reacts to Babidi’s efforts, Piccolo slays Babidi - and the Z Sword re-forges. Kid Buu, recognizing the re-forged blade, panics, but Goten and Trunks keep him distracted, and Gohan is able to disperse Buu’s energy, finally ridding the universe of him for good.

Everyone returns to the Lookout, where unfinished business remains. Vegeta, Krillin, Roshi, and Chaotzu (and technically, all the people who were killed by Cell) are still dead, and for Krillin and Chaotzu, there's bad news: no dragon can ever grant the same wish twice, so even with Porunga around, they're still dead. Roshi sends word through Baba that he's ready to move on; Vegeta’s spirit has already met its final judgment. So, with the last Shenron wish, the memory of Buu is taken from the world; with the last Porunga wish, someone gets something stupid (Goten gets an ice cream sundae? Something comedic.)

Gohan has a conversation with Piccolo that basically summarizes his journey through the arc: that even if he doesn’t like fighting for its own sake, power like his carries a responsibility, and he has to be prepared for future threats. Fast forward to the same year that DBZ ends, only instead of another Tournament, there's a reunion at Capsle Corp. Some new threat comes, and the new lineup of Z fighters, led by Gohan, go into action. End of show/comic.

[veganismstuff-blog]

Vegetarian Cooking Made Easy

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Normally, these cookbook suggestions just start to expose what's out there. We keep up a page at Vegan.com highlighting all the best and most recent veggie lover cookbooks.

Eating Out

Quite a long time ago, veggie lover eateries were rare, and the vast majority of these cafés covered for all intents and purposes all that they presented with cheddar and eggs. Today most moderate sized towns have in any event a couple of veggie lover well disposed eateries. What's more, there are many all-veggie lover eateries around the globe. The quickly growing Veggie Grill and Native Foods Café chains each have in excess of twenty eateries in the United States, and Loving Hut has more than thirty.

In the event that there are no vegetarian eateries close to you, odds are you can in any case locate an extraordinary veggie lover feast at a neighborhood café. The simplest method to discover veggie lover neighborly nourishment in your general vicinity is to hit Yelp.com and type vegetarian into the searchbox. That will raise audits referencing the vegetarian contributions of each café close to you.

By a long shot the most veggie lover agreeable of all foods is Middle Eastern, but at the same time you're probably going to discover incredible vegetarian alternatives at Italian, Ethiopian, Mexican and Indian eateries. These cooking styles may incorporate concealed creature fixings, so make certain to look at the previous connects to learn of the entanglements and potential outcomes.

Vegetarian Nutrition

Regardless of where you purchase most your staple goods, remember that a great many people—veggie lovers and meat-eaters the same—don't eat almost enough organic products, vegetables, and entire grains. Make a special effort to accentuate dull green verdant vegetables, which calorie-for-calorie are maybe the most supplement rich nourishments you can eat.

On the off chance that you don't will in general remember enough products of the soil for your eating regimen, here's an extraordinary shopping for food propensity to develop: before you approach the sales register, look into your truck and check to guarantee that it contains a significant measure of produce. On the off chance that you've missed the mark steer your truck back to the produce area and get some more! All things considered, it's difficult to eat enough foods grown from the ground on the off chance that you don't get them in any case.

A few veggie lovers work under the backward presumption that, only by being vegetarian, they're absolved from contemplating nourishment. While there's a trace of legitimacy here, in that vegetables are commonly pressed with supplements, it's still very conceivable to build up a lack on a vegetarian diet. Indeed, regardless of whether you fill your eating regimen with sound nourishments, you can even now miss the mark on key supplements. It's exceptionally significant, for example, that veggie lovers either take a B-12 enhancement a few times each week, or eat a considerable measure of B-12 sustained nourishments. What's more, there are various different approaches to entangle. Supplements like calcium, zinc, iron, and iodine are for the most part worth focusing on. Our nutrients page has connections to supplements that are of extraordinary enthusiasm to veggie lovers.

One of the keys to steamrolling through your initial not many weeks as a veggie lover is to give yourself ordinary tokens of why you've chosen to roll out this improvement. The more enthusiasm you feel for your new way of life the simpler it will be. Books and films can go far toward wrenching up your degree of eagerness.

For some new veggie lovers nothing is a more noteworthy spark than finding out about processing plant cultivating. Regardless, everybody should be well-educated about the methodical vegan blog savageries rehearsed by creature agribusiness. Two incredible books regarding the matter are Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer and Bleating Hearts by Mark Hawthorne. Eating Animals is a delightfully composed and generally non-damaging read given its emphasis on meat creation and industrial facility ranches. Bleating Hearts is a progressively exhaustive examination of animal savagery, on processing plant ranches, however in each space where people raise or limit animals revenue driven (research centers, carnivals, zoos, pup factories, etc.)

Books like these are not just unbelievably promising for individuals amidst moving to a plant-solid eating routine, they can give important data with regards to doing the switch in as empowering way as could be expected under the circumstances.

I trust this article is offering you some indispensable data, however you'll get significantly increasingly out of perusing a book-length prologue to veggie lover living. This article was refined from my book, The Ultimate Vegan Guide. Likely the most far reaching book on the theme is Kristy Turner's But I Could Never Go Vegan!. Notwithstanding heaps of extraordinary counsel, Turner's book highlights 125 plans, and there is exquisite full-shading photography all through. Two other well known acquaintances with veganism are Main Street Vegan and How to Be Vegan. Any of these books will give you a degree of nature with being vegetarian that would take a long time to accomplish without anyone else.

In the event that there's one segment of vegetarian living that truly profits by book-length controls, it's veggie lover support. There are a wide range of systems and potential outcomes for ensuring creatures that aren't at all self-evident. Two of the best starting titles incorporate Striking at the Roots, and The Animal Activist's Handbook. After you've perused one of these books and you're prepared for a further developed book, the book to peruse is

[taeheyhey]

Tell ‘Em You’re My Lady

Hoseok x Reader - Fluff/Angst - 6.6k Words

A/N - Just a little Hobi one-shot that has been whirring around in my brain for a bit. Might be a bit of a mess as this is only the second story I have written! I'd love any feedback. Thank you in advance for reading! :) PS I'm REALLY awful at summaries.

Warnings - None

Summary - Newly single, your friends try to convince you that maybe your friendship with Hoseok could be a little something more.

The club was far too dark and far too loud, and between your retinas being assaulted by sudden intense beams of light, the bass pounded obnoxiously in your ears and promised a night of tinnitus long after you escaped to your bed.

No one had forced you to come here, you reminded yourself. It wasn’t like you had been persuaded to leave your self-imposed isolation by concerned friends who were worried you had been alone for too long for it to be healthy. No, they had given up on that a week and a half ago now.

Jenny, the closest of your friends and the last one to deem you a lost cause – at least for the time being – leant over the bar and topped up your drink, free pouring vodka in to your glass with a wink, completely ignoring the fact that it still contained the remnants of rum and coke from your previous drink.

“Won’t you get in trouble if you keep giving me free drinks?” you asked, inclining your head towards Laura, Jenny’s manager and the owner of the club as she eyeballed the two of you from the glass wash area. You waved sheepishly at her while wafting your other hand haltingly in the direction of the bottle to stop her topping up your glass even more.

She blew you a flamboyant kiss, a habit she had picked up from her boyfriend which had started off as slightly cheesy and off-putting, but had somehow become quite endearing over time, and you grinned warmly at her despite yourself. Jenny gestured a ways down the room as she placed the bottle back on the shelf with the other liquor, out of view and reach to the patrons on the other side of the bar. “Courtesy of the gentleman in the check shirt,” she announced with a smirk.

You lifted your glass gratefully in acknowledgment to the man standing about fifteen feet away, tilting your head with as genuine a smile as you could muster. He harrumphed and walked swiftly away back in to the crowd of people in response, and you realised that while he may indeed have been responsible for buying the drink, you were certainly not the intended recipient of it.

You couldn’t really claim to be surprised, you hadn’t left the comfort of your home with the intention of attracting anyone’s attention, and you knew your unkempt and cosmetic-free appearance projected that quite clearly.

You raised an eyebrow accusingly at her and she shrugged. “I’m not allowed to drink while I’m on shift,” she offered by way of explanation, and then suddenly began jumping up and down on the spot before dashing through the gap at the end of the bar and throwing off her apron while in motion.

That could only mean one thing. Jin. You turned on your stool to confirm your suspicion and found your best friend literally wrapped around her boyfriend, arms round his neck and legs at his narrow waist, drawing bewildered looks from all around them.

You were too far away to hear their exchange, but you imagined it was similar to every other greeting you had ever witnessed between them, and you watched as he gently lowered her to the ground and began to gesture giddily and emphatically at her, his face animated as he cradled your friend’s face in his hands before dropping what could only be described as a dramatic kiss to her forehead and leading her back towards the bar with his arm curled protectively around her back.

Even Laura, who was currently standing impatiently with one hand on her hip and the other outstretched with Jenny’s apron dangling from her index finger, was close to powerless when faced with Jin’s exuberant charm, and her expression softened the moment he leant on the bar and started to chatter enthusiastically at her.

Jenny rolled her eyes affectionately at them, tying her apron back around her waist and observing as her boss began to almost literally melt at Jin’s attention. You turned back towards the bar and rested your chin in your upturned palm. Her reaction was unsurprising to you, it was near-impossible to not be swept up in Jin's magnetism, he was one of the most charismatic men you had ever met, not to mention how attractive he was.

He ended their interaction with a suave wink before turning to face you. “And how are you then, y/n? It’s nice to see you out in the real world again, we missed you.” His tone was sincere even though his eyes still sparkled with mischief as he spoke.

You patted the hand he had placed on your arm dismissively before taking a sip of your drink, wincing at the liquor to mixer ratio. “Sure Jin, I bet it was terrible to have my best friend all to yourself for the past three weeks,” you responded sarcastically with a wry smile.

He pouted, his eyes widened in mock-offence that you would even consider that he may be not be being honest. “What? Why would I lie? My Jenny was inconsolable without you around, even while looking at this face,” he made an incredulous sound at the back of throat and framed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Can you believe it, y/n? This face. Wow.”

You smirked down in to your glass and once again thanked whichever god that was listening that Jenny had found Jin, and you clinked your glass against the bottle of beer Jenny had just placed in front of him. You saw him take a long drag of his beer out of the corner of your eye before he tilted his head and eyed you pensively for a moment. “What is it, Jin?” you asked, not looking at him to focus on swirling your drink around the bottom of your glass in an attempt to mix the concoction in to a more palatable one.

He shrugged, too nonchalantly to be convincing, the beginnings of a smirk starting to tug at one side of his lips. “Oh nothing. Well...I think Hoseok might have missed you a little too.”

You sighed and knocked the entirety of your drink to the back of your throat before coughing at the taste and dropping the now-empty glass on to the bar surface with a bang. “Do we really need to get in to this again? I’ve been single for all of five minutes and you’re already trying to pair me off with one of your friends?”

To be fair to Jin, you would have had to have been blind, crazy or both to not want to be set up with one of his friends. Now there was a group of young men who had won the genetic jackpot, both in terms of looks and demeanour, and it had always seemed to you that the only logical reason that any of them were single – with the exception of Taehyung and Jungkook who were far more interested in gaming than dating – was because it was just plain intimidating to be around them sometimes.

Your ex had always resented the fact that you were friends with them, even if it was only by association through Jenny’s relationship with Jin, and he would make a fuss if you were ever in their presence without him. He especially took issue with your friendship with Hoseok.

It was fairly safe to say that Jin’s personality was unique, he had boundless energy and a predominantly positive outlook on more or less every aspect of life, but if anyone came close to mirroring Jin’s optimism and joie de vivre, it was Hoseok.

The moment you had met him you were drawn to him. He was warm and kind to anyone and everyone he came in to contact with, and you had become fast friends.

Friends. That was all it had ever been between you. That wasn’t to say he was unattractive, far from it. In fact, sometimes the sun caught his skin just the right way and you would swear he glowed.  Other times you would find yourself staring at the defined line of his jaw and wondering if it would feel as sharp as it looked if you were to run your fingers over it.

Okay, so maybe you had had a tiny thing for him when you first met – you were only human, after all – but it didn’t take long for your admittedly healthy crush on him to dissipate, until all that was left was a deep, affectionate, and wholly platonic relationship.

You hadn't seen him since your break up. He had sent you messages of support and his usual ridiculous selfies to cheer you up, but he had been away competing with his dance troupe and had been too far away to visit you, a regret he had expressed repeatedly in his messages.

“Jin, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that Hoseok and I are friends, that is it. Anyway, he’s been seeing that girl from his troupe for months now hasn’t he? Last I heard they were getting pretty serious,” you ran your finger around the rim of your glass, your throat starting to ache from trying to speak above the music.

“Well he’s not seeing her anymore,” Jin declared loudly, just in time for the music to come to an abrupt halt as the DJ announced that his set had come to an end.

“Who isn’t seeing who?” The familiar voice came from behind you and you scrunched your face up in embarrassment, closing your eyes in an effort to escape reality.

You craned your neck to return the bright, heart-shaped smile you already knew would be gracing his features. “Hoseok, it’s so good to see you! It’s been so quiet without you around,” you said honestly.

He curled his arm around your shoulders and squoze you in greeting, resting his chin a atop your head for a moment. “Quiet? Even with Jin-hyung?” He quipped, earning an offended glare from the older man.

You untangled yourself from his hold, suddenly shy as you pondered how much he might have heard before he made his presence known. “Hm, good point now you mention it,” you tried not to meet his eyes but you didn’t miss the perplexed look he shot you as you moved away from him.

“Ya, how can you two gang up on me and offend me this way, you wouldn’t even know each other if it wasn’t for me? Hoseok-ah I can’t believe you are being so disrespectful, how could you do this to me? And in front of my girlfriend? You really have no shame at all!” Jin was prone to dramatic but good natured outbursts whenever he felt affronted or wronged in anyway, and his lips pouted and he pointed at the two of you emphatically in turn as he ranted, lifting himself off his seat as though preparing to storm off, firing the two of you a theatrically injured expression as he do so.

He was, in fact, moving to the other end of the bar to order drinks for the three of you and flirt shamelessly with his girlfriend’s boss in an effort to get her to allow Jenny to finish her shift early, a feat that he attempted and achieved so often that you were surprised Laura still allowed you all to drink at the club while Jenny was working.

Hoseok took up residence in Jin’s now-vacated seat, smiling warmly at you as he shifted on the stool, leaning forward on his forearms resting on the bar. “So,” he began, lowering his head to examine your face, “how are you really?”

You returned his concerned look with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m honestly fine, it’s just...disappointing, I guess,” you huffed out a sigh, exasperated with yourself and the fact that your ex was still managing to take up so much focus even after you had escaped him. “It just seems like so much time wasted, you know? It wasn’t as though either of us were particularly happy, I can’t help but wonder how much happier we’d both be by now if we’d have called it off ages ago.”

He made a small humming noise, seemingly in agreement, meeting your eyes for a beat too long before blinking rapidly and looking away. “You’ll get there, y/n,” he assured you in a quiet voice that was entirely antithetical to his usual manner, and you were grateful the music volume had reduced enough since the DJ left, otherwise you most likely would have been unable to hear him. “You deserve to be happy.”

His words were loaded with meaning even though he was unable to meet your eyes, and for reasons you were unable to fathom butterflies began to pool in your stomach as you tried to read his face for any indication of what that meaning may have been. You saw his jaw tighten for a second or two, his vision straight ahead to the plethora of bottles lined up at the back of the bar, before he suddenly huffed deeply and turned to face you again, the bright smile returning as though it had never vanished.

The abrupt shift in his countenance threw you for a moment, and you were temporarily blinded by that smile, blinking rapidly in an effort to regain your equilibrium before trying to speak. “How come you're back? I thought the competition went on for like another two weeks yet?”

Before he could answer, Jenny appeared on the other side of the bar, placing a drink down before each of you heavily, her eyes flicking between you, an odd expression on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but seemingly thought better of it and hurried away.

Hoseok, his eyebrows furrowed at the strange almost-interaction, shook his head a little before he spoke, wrapping his slender fingers around the bottle of beer in front of him. “Jimin got hurt, something happened to his back and he could barely move,” he lifted his drink and took a small swig, and you saw concern lace his features. Hoseok was soft for pretty much everyone, but he was especially fond of Park Jimin. “He said we should carry on without him, but that’s never going to happen. Even if you ignore that routine changes we’d need to make, it wouldn’t be the same without him there.”

You smiled warmly at him, touched by his loyalty, but disappointed on his behalf that they’d had to give up after getting so far. “It would have been a pretty big deal if you’d have won thought, right?” They had been preparing for the competition for months, it was a fairly prestigious event with the prize money totalling more than all their previous competitions combined, not to mention the sponsorship deals that could have potentially arisen from their victory.

Despite that, Hoseok merely shrugged in response. “It would,” he simply stated. “But not if we’re not all there to win it. Not everyone agreed with me though.”

“Oh,” you drew out the sound as realisation hit you. “Is that why you and Mieka broke up?”

He froze for a moment and then looked at you strangely, placing his bottle back down on the bar as amusement began to take over his features. “How did you hear about that?”

“I told her,” Jin appeared behind you as though right on cue, his arm draped around your friend’s shoulders, clearly having succeeded in his task of getting her out of finishing her shift. “That okay?”

“Sure,” he answered carefully, eyeing Jin suspiciously, before returning his attention to you, a forced laugh leaving him. “What else did he tell you?”

You lifted your eyebrows at his tone, unsure of the implications that were lingering just beneath the question. “Um...nothing, I think. He just talked about his face for a bit.”

Hoseok visibly relaxed at your answer, disregarding your poor attempt at humour either to spare your feelings or because he hadn’t really heard it, it was unclear which. He began to pick at the label on his bottle, his face a picture of forced concentration as he slowly peeled the damp paper away from the glass. “Yeah, that’s why we broke up,” he confirmed before tilting his face towards you and giving you a lopsided smile.

His smile had always been ridiculously infectious from the moment you met him, and this time was no exception even though you noticed a slight melancholy beneath it. You beamed back at him but did not miss the look the passed between Jenny and Jin before the latter of the two placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Finally, the music increased in volume again as the in-house DJ began his set and Jin was clearly becoming restless. “Come on then, we need to celebrate y/n’s first night out in half a million years,” and, before waiting for anyone to respond, he pulled Jenny towards the dance floor and began to shake his shoulders haphazardly in a dance that was so quintessentially Jin it never failed to make you laugh.

After watching Jenny attempt to simultaneously remain upright while in a fit of hysterics and avoid her boyfriend’s flailing limbs for a few moments, Hoseok drained his bottle of beer and hopped down gracefully from his stool, holding his hand out to you. “Shall we then?” He asked simply, curling his fingers around yours with a genuine grin after you placed our hand in his without hesitation.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you responded, and as clichéd as your response was, the sentiment still rang true.

You always loved to watch Hoseok dance, his movements somehow powerful and graceful in equal measure, even now as the four of you danced with an almost reckless abandon and disregard for how you may look to other revellers in the club. Despite the fact that he joined Jin in his un-choreographed and almost spasmodic movements, the strength and control beneath every move was apparent and your eyes were abruptly drawn to the muscles in his thighs flexing as he danced and the apparently tireless movement of his hips.

You felt your mouth become unbearably dry and you suddenly felt near-hypnotised by his proximity, and Jin's claim that Hoseok in particular had missed you began to whir around suggestively in your mind. You thought about the way he had looked at you tonight at the bar, the expression on his face as he told you that you deserved to be happy, and how he hadn’t seemed quite able to meet your eyes on several occasions since his arrival.

So preoccupied were you with replaying and analysing your interactions with Hoseok that night and thoughts of his undulating hips, you hadn’t noticed Jenny approaching you, and you were startled as she softly touched your shoulder and whispered in your ear.

“Are you alright? You’ve been doing the school dance two-step for about half a song now.”

Her words shook you from your thoughts, and you were jolted back in to the present, re-focusing your eyes to find Hoseok observing you, concern lacing his fine features.

You struggled to tear your eyes away from his, feeling your face become hot at the images your mind had been subjecting you to. You finally turned to Jenny, your words weak as you answered. “I’m okay,” you insisted, and you knew that if the music was quieter she wold have heard the contradictory squeak in your voice. “I just need to go to the bathroom.”

Before Jenny could respond, you saw Hoseok beginning to move towards you and decided to make a hasty exit, taking off in the direction of the relative safety of the restroom before you gave anything away, irrationally concerned that he would suddenly attain psychic abilities and know all the thoughts racing hotly through your head.

You fought your way through the crowd clumsily in your hurry to try and escape, irritated at yourself for allowing your imagination to run away with itself the way it had, and surprised at just how potent the feeling of desire was that had travelled through you as you had become entranced with the movement of Hoseok's body.

He was your friend for crying out loud.

This was all Jin’s fault really, filling your head with suggestions that Hoseok may harbour feelings for you that went slightly beyond platonic. Mind you, Jin had only really said that he had missed you a little, anything after that – any assumptions or interpretations – had been down to you entirely.

You groaned aloud to yourself, resolving to splash your face with cold water and carry on with the night without acting like a horny teenager, it had just...been a while, that was all. Hoseok had just been kind and sweet to you in a way that you hadn’t experienced in a while, and you had decided to start fantasising about him like some kind of deviant.

As you patted your face dry with the rough paper towels you examined your reflection. It might not have hurt to put on a little make-up before you'd left the house. Under the fluorescent lights, the bags under your eyes looked even more pronounced, and you noticed a stain of unknown origin just beneath the neckline of your t-shirt.

You reached over to the dispenser and pulled out more paper towels, running them beneath the faucet for a few seconds before trying to fruitlessly scrub away at the mark. You exhaled loudly at the futility of the attempt and leant forward with both hand braced on the sink, feeling tears begin to prick at the back of your eyes.

Why did you come here? You were obviously not ready to reintroduce yourself to the real world if you were just going to start salivating at one of your closest friends at the slightest inference that he may have been interested in you. You balled up the napkin in your hand and lifted it to rub at your eyes in an effort to stop the tears that were threatening to spill out.

You felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and turned to see a pretty girl in a slinky black dress holding out a tissue to you. “You’ll hurt yourself with those,” the girl said, nodding her head towards the paper towel dispenser.

“Thanks,” you replied shakily, taking the tissue while sniffling and smiling gratefully at her, duly reminded that in times of distress, sometimes the ladies restroom is the nicest place to be.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled warmly at you, snapping her purse shut and turning to fluff her hair in the mirror. “Do you have some people out there to cheer you up?” You nodded in response and she gestured towards the door. “Let’s go then,” she said simply once she was convinced you weren't about to burst in to tears, holding the door open for you and wishing you a good evening as she wandered off back towards the seating area beyond the dancefloor.

You watched her as she made her way back through the crowd, drawing admiring glances from more or less anyone who noticed her. She didn’t have to be kind to you, but if she hadn’t the likelihood that you would have spent the rest of the night in the bathroom hiding from Hoseok was fairly high.

You took a deep breath and began to walk back to where you had left Jenny and the boys, your eyes flicking over in the direction of the booth where the pretty girl had just retaken her seat to offer her a grateful smile or wave or something, stopping in your tracks as you saw the face of the man who wrapped an arm around her shoulder and leaned towards her.

No. It couldn’t be, could it? Why was that nice girl from the bathroom suddenly engaged in a passionate kiss with your ex? You felt your eyes widen and jaw drop as you stood motionless in shock for what was probably seconds but felt like hours. Right, you definitely shouldn’t have come out tonight. Still unsure of what to do with the newfound knowledge that your ex had apparently moved on unfairly rapidly, you felt panic begin to set in as you spotted one of his friends recognise you as you stared at their table, reaching over to tap him as his eyes remained trained on your location.

You turned on the spot so your back was to them, looking around for an escape route and finding your only viable course of action was to retreat back in to the ladies room, halting once more as you realised the entrance was blocked by a large group of girls trying to carry their almost impressively inebriated friend back in to the club.

You pivoted again, the feeling of dread increasing as your ex started to look around in your direction. You really didn’t want him to see you right now. You had no desire to get back together with him, but you would have really preferred to maintain some semblance of dignity and unfortunately in your present state that didn’t really seem like a viable possibility.

“Y/N?”

The voice sounded concerned yet far away, your ears buzzing with a combination of the loud music and the fear of losing face in such an embarrassing way. 

“Y/N, what happened? Are you alright?”

Just as you were sure you were about to make eye contact with your ex-boyfriend for the first time in three weeks, Hoseok suddenly appeared in front of you, placing his hands gently on your shoulders and blocking you from being able to see the booth where he was sitting.

You arrived back in reality just in time to see him follow your line of sight to see the cause of your temporary near-catatonic state, and you saw comprehension cross his features as he tightened his grip on you and steered you back to lean you against the wall, using his frame to shield you from the eyes of your ex and everyone else in the room.

“Just look at me, okay?” His voice was barely audible above the pounding of the music, but you could just about hear the pleading in it. “You’ll be okay, y/n, I promise.”

You were stunned in to silence for so many reasons, and you felt overwhelmed by the plethora of emotions that were coursing through you at that moment even as your vision was completely taken up by Hoseok’s chest at your eye level.

You struggled to wrap your head around a number of thoughts at once. Firstly, your ex was here and with a beautiful girl he was evidently comfortable enough with to have been with her a while. Given that you only broke up less than a month ago, he either moved on incredibly quickly and without much trouble, or he had been seeing her a heck of a lot longer than that. Secondly, you weren’t entirely sure you could blame him for his decision given how beautiful and likable his new love interest seemed to be, especially when compared to what an absolute hot mess you were at that moment.

Just as your mortification at the situation threatened to cause you to run screaming from the club, your thoughts were then pulled in to an entirely different direction as Hoseok stroked his hands calmingly down your arms and you were reminded why you had ran off to the ladies room in the first place. You were all of a sudden incapable of thinking about anything other than the man standing in front of you whose thumbs were stroking soothing patterns in to the bare skin of your upper arms.

His closeness overtook your senses completely, and your heart pounded in your chest as you lifted your eyes to find him staring at the floor between your feet.

“Please, just look at me,” he repeated softly, although it seemed as though he was speaking to himself.

“Hoseok,” you said simply, and his eyes instantly snapped up to meet yours.

The heat in his gaze was so fierce you found you were unable look directly at it for too long, choosing instead to focus on his mouth, until realising that was also a mistake as he licked his lips unconsciously, leaving them slightly parted as he continued to stare down at you.

An unseen force suddenly thrust him closer to you, and you assumed a member of the mostly drunk throng had bumped in to him, causing him to brace his weight on his hands on the wall either side of you. Your hands reflexively flew up in front of you to press against his chest, and you felt the firm muscle there shift beneath your fingertips and his heart beating almost in time with your pulse which was pounding rapidly and restlessly in your ears.

Any thoughts of your ex vanished as quickly as he had appeared that night as you realised just how close Hoseok’s lips were to your own, and you tilted your face up towards his almost involuntarily. All it would take was the smallest dip of his head...

“Oh what a surprise,” a voice cut sarcastically through the moment. “Just a friend is he, y/n?”

You both turned towards the voice to find your ex standing next to you, his face a mixture of disdain and triumph at his perceived discovery.

Hoseok moved to place an arm protectively around your shoulder, raising the other out in front of him in a halting motion towards the upset looking man. “Just go back to your table, it doesn’t concern you any more.”

He knocked Hoseok’s hand away and snorted derisively. “Like hell it doesn’t, I always knew there was something up with your friendship,” he made quotation marks with his fingers at the word. “I always saw you checking her out when you thought no one was looking.”

You rolled your eyes at his accusation. “Seriously, as if he would – ”

“So what if I did?” Hoseok retorted defiantly, cutting you off.

Wait, what?

“I never acted on it, did I? She was your girlfriend. You’re the one that broke it off, so stop blaming other people for your actions, it’s childish.”

You stood, your mouth agape, staring at Hoseok. Had he just admitted to liking you? Since when? Did everybody but you know about it?

The girl from the bathroom suddenly appeared behind them, blatantly confused, yet still smiling in greeting. “Hi again,” she directed at you, causing your ex to stop glaring at Hoseok and turn his attention to you returning her smile. “What’s going on babe? Are you okay?”

He at least had the decency to look sheepish at her question, and he opened his mouth to speak, although no sound followed the motion.

You stepped in, for her benefit rather than for his or your own, it was fairly evident she had no idea of your previous ties to her now-boyfriend. “Yeah, sorry. I thought he was someone else,” you said simply, wrapping your arm around Hoseok’s narrow waist and looking up at him. “Are you ready to go sweetie?”

He blinked down at you, confusion etching his face before he spoke. “Uh...sure,” he finally managed, allowing himself to be pulled towards the exit with only the slightest encouragement from you.

The two of you waved to a very confused looking Jenny and Jin in the middle distance, your arms still curled around one another, and Jenny made a phone shape with one hand and mouthed ‘call me’ at you excitedly.

You had relinquished your hold on one another bashfully as soon as you had exited the venue, and after ten minutes or so of walking towards your house in near silence and barely being able to look at one another, Hoseok spoke first.

“Are you alright? Seems like you’ve had a pretty eventful evening out, considering it was your first one for a while,” he smiled down at you warmly, nudging you jocularly with his elbow.

You laughed humorlessly in response, but did not answer. Your mind had been mulling over what your ex had said about Hoseok checking you out while you were still in a relationship with him, and you were still struggling to get your head around Hoseok’s admission to it. Still, people made false confessions all the time, right? He was probably just doing it to spare you any more embarrassment.

Undeterred by your lack of response, he spoke again. This time his tone was more measured and subdued, and he slowed his pace and softly took hold of your wrist. “Why did you let him off the hook like that?”

You allowed him to pull you to a stop and face him, puzzled by the forlorn expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

He released your wrist from his grip and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “I mean with that girl before. It’s pretty obvious that he’s been seeing her for a while, why didn’t you say something? Why were you protecting him?”

You were surprised by how peturbed he seemed to be by it, and you tried without much success to work out a logical explanation as to why he seemed to be so angry at your ex on your behalf. “I wasn’t protecting him,” you began, “I was protecting her.”

His eyebrows knitted together at your response and he pouted his lips together, his face the very image of confused.

“She was sweet to me when I was upset in the bathroom,” you continued to explain. “It’s not her fault that he apparently screwed me over, why should she suffer for it? Hopefully he’ll be more honest with her than he was with me.”

Hoseok narrowed his eyes at your answer, looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. He stepped towards you and wrapped his arms around you drawing you in to his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You are the most amazing person I have ever met,” he mumbled in to your hair, squeezing around you tightly for a few seconds before releasing you, causing you to stumble backwards a little, both at the sudden action and the sincerity of his words.

You continued walking again, this time in a much more companionable silence.

“Why were you upset?” He asked once you finally reached the small gate at the front of your house, and then as if he had only just remembered, “why did you run off?”

You quickly diverted your gaze to your feet, unable to maintain eye contact as you recalled being entranced by the tireless moving of his hips and the muscles of his thighs shifting beneath his torn jeans, and you felt your face heat up as the same tingling sensation that had had you running scared earlier that night began to take up residence in the pit of your stomach once more.

“I, um...I just...”

You had no idea what you should say to explain your swift exit an hour or so ago, you weren’t exactly adept at thinking on your feet, and you chewed on your lip as you attempted to formulate a feasible answer.

So intent were you on trying to think of an excuse, that you didn’t notice Hoseok taking a step towards you and closing the distance between you again until he lifted your chin gently with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“Did Jin tell you how I felt about you?” He asked lowly, breathing deeply after the question, his eyes searching yours for your reaction.

“How do you feel about me?” You responded, your voice barely more than a whisper as you tilted your face closer to his.

He dipped his head lower, slowly but surely decreasing the distance between you. He sighed as he felt your hands travel up his arms, settling at his biceps, his mouth no more than three centimetres away from yours. “Have I not been obvious enough?”

“Show me,” you pleaded breathlessly, a split-second before he pressed his lips hungrily to yours.

The force of the kiss would have sent you careening backwards had Hoseok not splayed his hand against the small of your back and held you flush against him, his lips working in perfect sync with yours, his mouth swallowing the soft whimpers that left you at the intensity of the sensations he was pulling from you.

He shifted his free hand and lifted it to caress your face as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, parting his lips and licking gently at yours to encourage you to do the same. You eagerly complied and sagged further in to his arms as you felt his tongue stroke in to your mouth, and you heard him groan as you pressed your body impossibly tighter against his.

Finally – reluctantly – Hoseok broke the kiss, keeping a firm hold on you until you seemed more able to steady yourself. He smiled his heart-shaped grin at you, and – true to form – you were utterly incapable of resisting returning the expression.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked, laughter bubbling just beneath his voice.

“I should say so,” you answered, touching your fingers to your lips as though checking you hadn’t imagined what had just transpired.

You felt conflicted. Despite the fact that you had just shared easily the most passionate kiss of your entire life with him, the fact remained that Hoseok was first and foremost your friend, and you began to worry that he may be confusing his affection for you as a result of his recent break up. You were terrified of jeopardising your friendship when you were both only so very recently single. “Hoseok, I –”

He lifted his finger to your lips to stop you, allowing himself just one moment to stroke the pad of his index finger against the softness of your bottom lip. “I know things are a little bit up in the air at the moment, I know you just broke up with your boyfriend, but you should know how much I care about you. I have from the second I met you.”

You felt your pulse race and your eyes prick hot with tears at his confession, wanting so desperately for the situation to be so much simpler than it was. “You’ve only just broken up with Mieka too, Hobi.”

He smiled at the nickname, and shook his head, knowing that you assumed he would need time to get over her. “Y/N, I broke up with Mieka the second I heard you were single, it wouldn’t have been fair to stay with her after I found out, even if I never got the chance to tell you how I felt. How I feel,” he corrected himself. “I certainly never thought I’d get to kiss you. Now that I have...” He shook his head as he tried to work out how to articulate what he wanted to say. He sighed again. “I have waited a really long time for you, y/n. I can wait a little longer.”

You stood in complete shock as you took in his words. He had been waiting for you? Your head spun as you imagined a relationship with him, how happy he would make you, how much time you would spend laughing with him, how he would take care of you, and your heart swelled at the thought.

He hugged you to him tightly once more before kissing your forehead lightly and relinquishing his hold on you. He nodded towards your front door to prompt you to go inside, smiling happily as he began to walk backwards away from you. “As long as it takes.”

[sunyoonandstars]

BTS Scenario 3.3.: Them seeing your evident self-harm scars (for the first time) || You x Hoseok

So ... since this is kind of close to home for me and it helped me deal with some issues of my own, I wrote and published this same scenario for Seokjin and Yoongi already a while back. I aim to do the same for all the members. And here comes the Jung Hoseok edition. I hope reading it will give you as much strength, hope, and comfort as writing it did me. 😌

Scenario

You are in a serious relationship with them but have somehow managed to hide your self-harm scars up to this point. However, for some reason they are coincidentally faced with your scars. These are their reactions:

angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

! Disclaimer/trigger warning ! The following text contains mentions of self-abusive / self-harming behavior and scars. Do not read if it may trigger you!

If you are currently struggling and need someone to talk, know that you can always contact me.  I have personal experience with mental illness and self-harm. I don’t know what you may be going through, but I know you can make it! Love yourself! 💜

Mental health matters! You matter! And you are truly beautiful! 

Hoseok would most likely be overwhelmed by the situation at first. He wouldn’t be able to understand how you could mistreat yourself like that. As soon as it all would sink in, he’d probably be disappointed with you for being dishonest with him and blame himself for not having been observant enough to see through your facade… However, most of all he would be hurt by your pain and suffer with you, wanting nothing more than for you to be able to love yourself as much as he does you.

The two of you had been practicing intensely all day long already, trying to internalize a complex new choreography. It’s the middle of summer and scorching hot outside. Even though the air conditioning is running at full blast, the heat ultimately creeps into the practice room, leaving both of you bathed in sweat. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Hoseok taking off his light sweater, continuing to dance only dressed in track pants and undershirt, secretly envious of his relief since you have no choice but to keep on exercising in your long-sleeved jumper. 

Another hour passes, and you notice the heat, thanks to the heavy fabric of your shirt unable to escape your body, slowly but surely taking a toll on you. Your head pounds as if it’s about to explode, your face is covered in beads of sweat, your hair sticking to your clammy forehead, a salty taste in your mouth. You can feel your heart hammering in your throat which is gradually tightening, it’s desperate beat booming in your ears. Eventually, a sudden but strong dizzy spell hits you unexpectedly, sending you staggering to the ground. 

„Y/n!“, Hoseok exclaims as he sees you fall, all life apparently having left your limp extremities, sheer panic coating his voice which you can barely hear over the sound of your own heavy breathing. Instantly, he is by your side, his angelic features distorted by profound concern. 

„What is it, y/n? Is it the heat? You must be dehydrated!“ Carefully, he helps you sit back up and puts a bottle of water to your lips. You empty it eagerly, Hoseok all the while watching you intently, nowhere near becalmed, reassuringly stroking your sweaty head and back. 

„Are you a little better, y/n, honey?“

„Hm-hm“, you hum in reply, not daring to nod your head in fear of another dizzy spell, since even the slightest movement seems to cause the world to spin before your eyes once again. 

„Jeez, y/n, you scared me! Why didn’t you take your sweatshirt off? It’s far too hot in here to be practicing dressed like this! Your body must’ve been overstrained, working too hard to compensate the heat. Come on, let me get you out of this thing.“ 

Too weak to fight him, you are unable to prevent Hoseok from ridding you of your oversized sweater. And inevitably getting a first glimpse at your scarred forearms in the process. 

Gasping for air, he stares at the pink lines disfiguring your skin, some of them fading already, some of them fresher and still bright red, without even making an effort to hide the tears starting to fill his rounded eyes, Hoseok’s face as pale as ashes. 

„Y/n, what did you do to yourself? How …? When …? Why …?“ 

In horror and disbelief, he keeps on shaking his head, the sight of him being this hurt by acts you committed against yourself breaking your heart.

„How … How didn’t I notice?“, he mutters under his breath, his voice shaking, gone almost, and his eyes, widening by the second, still fixed on your scars.

„It’s not your fault, Hobi. I’ve just gotten pretty good at hiding them with time and practice, that’s all.“

You try to move away from him, to cover up your arms, remove them from his sight for your sake and his, but Hoseok’s hands remain tightly clutched around your wrists. 

„So that’s why you never got fully undressed“, he now hisses, more to himself. You can’t help but notice the dangerously angry undertone to his voice.

„Y/n, we’ve been dating for over four months now, we were intimate almost from the beginning and all this time you were intentionally covering up, hiding this from me!? I thought it was simply because of your insecurities and didn’t wanna push you. How could you knowingly fool me like that? When were you planning on letting me in on this, y/n, on showing me this part of you? I thought we were in a relationship. I thought we were in love. No, we loved each other.“

„We are, Hoseok!”, you snivel. “And I do! I love you!“

You free one hand from Hoseok’s grasp to reach up for his face and brush away his tears, but he slickly dodges your touch. His reaction stings your heart like an icy dagger. 

„I really do love you, Hoseok, more than my own life“, you insist, your eyes quickly filling up with tears.

„Please, don’t be angry at me, Hobi“, you continue to beg. „I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I just …“

„I’m not angry at you, y/n“, he shakes his head, sweat-drenched hair falling into his eyes that are avoiding your gaze. „I’m just … frustrated. With myself for not seeing what was right under my nose. For not noticing that you were hurting all the while we were together. I’m angry at myself for not seeing it in your eyes. For not being there for you. For not being enough, obviously. For —“

„But that’s not true, Hobi!“, you cut him off in mid-sentence, your voice shrill, shaken by uncontrollable sobs at this point as you get up on your knees and finally manage to shake off Hoseok’s hand still clutched around your wrist, going on to climb onto his lap and cup his face with your palms. „You’re more than enough, Jung Hoseok. Seriously. You’re my everything. You’re my sun, my hope, my inspiration. You’re what made me stop this.“

You point towards your scars.

„So don’t put the blame on yourself, Hoseok. Please. Put it all on me. You didn’t do anything wrong here. I wasn’t ready to show you yet. Because, yes, I was scared. So many people I held dear have been alienated by those very scars before. I just couldn’t let that happen this time, with you, with us. Because I need you, Hoseok. You’re my drug, my medicine, my light. I just got so frightened at the mere thought of losing you because of —“

„Because of who you are?“, he finishes your sentence, his eyes locked with yours now, the expression in his deep, dark brown ones unusually grave. You can feel your heart skip a beat, your last breath getting stuck in your throat. 

„You know, y/n, now that I think about it I actually am a little angry at you“, Hoseok continues, wrapping both arms around your waist to pull your body closer to his, his gaze into your soul never once breaking. "Because you were apparently so afraid of my reaction to your scars that you thought you’d rather endanger your health than show me this part of you? Don’t you trust me, y/n? Did you honestly think I’d abandon you, just like this? Just because you’re not a ‚perfect angel‘? I’m a little hurt, to be honest. Well, at least disappointed.“

„I’m so sorry, Hoseok. I —“

Your voice trails off when he leans his forehead against yours, breathing out a sigh. 

„No, don’t apologize, y/n. There really is no need to“, Hoseok softly whispers, placing both his hands on each of your cheeks, fixing his eyes on yours once again, a fond smile playing on his rosy, heart-shaped lips as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your temple. „I get it, y/n, I really do. I, too, have always been afraid to let my darker side show, to burden those around me with my sadness or worries. But you should know, you have to know, that you can always be yourself with me. At all times, unapologetically you. Because I love you, y/n. With my whole heart and soul. For exactly the person you are, with scars and all. They are no flaw. They are solely evidence of your incredible strength and the journey you have mastered so far to become the person before me. Never change. Never hide. Not for anyone. Not even for me. Because you are perfect just the way you are. And I literally love every single thing about you, even those you consider unlovable. So, please, try and see what I see in you, y/n. There is no real reason for you to be hateful or destructive against yourself. Just talk to me whenever you feel the need to. And I’ll help you forget the pain. I’ll gladly be your pill, your remedy, for as long as I can.“ 

Incredulous, tears of relief freely streaming down your face and coating your cheeks, you look at Hoseok, your man, your hope, who merely smiles at you, his eyes showing nothing but sincerity and boundless love. 

„Thank you“, you sniffle, making an effort to hide your face behind a curtain of hair as you blush under Hoseok’s tender yet vehement glance. However, he doesn’t let you, instead lifts his hand to brush your silky locks behind your ears and tilts his head to the side to be able to look at you from a better angle, his face beaming with affection. 

„Honestly, Hoseok. You have no idea what this means to me.“

„I do, baby, I do“, he smiles, slowly closing the gap between you to put his lips to yours. „Just promise me that you’ll never ever hide anything like this from me again. Because I want to see it all.“

I hope you liked it and could maybe, hopefully, even take some comfort from it. 

Thanks for reading! Take care, have a wonderful day and never forget: You are loved! 💜

Here you can find my Masterlist if you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction!

All GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

[apenitentialprayer]

I think I’m just going to keep posting the editorials for the Catholic newsletter here. This one is about Acts of Reparation (and the First Friday and Saturday devotions)

As I mentioned last week, one of the goals of the Newman Center this year is to foster a sense of community and responsibility among our Catholic members. Last time we spoke a bit about prayer, and our duties as Christians to pray for one another. I’m going to shift gears slightly now, and talk about charity. The particular form of charity I am talking about is nonetheless close to intercessory prayer in that it is a type of prayer. And that means we need to talk about it a little more than we do about other types of charity. The type of charity I am talking about is the act of making reparation to God. This can be a very controversial form of charity; the more materially inclined among us may deride it as pointless because we do not see the effects of our work. The more ethically lazy amongst us may see this as an alternative to more physical and interpersonal forms of charity, even though this should be a supplement to and not a replacement for more commonly recognized forms of charity work. Some will wonder what the point of trying to make reparations to God is in the first place, if it is true (and it is true) that we can never repay God for the infinite mercies that He shows us. I guess we should first define what “reparations” are. Under the normal sense of the word, to act of making reparations to someone is the act of paying them back for an injury done against them. Following that understanding, most Christians reading this will be quick to point out that it is impossible to fully repay the debt that we incurred when Christ liberated us from Original Sin on the Cross. They are correct; the act of redemption was completely unmerited on our parts, and an act of God’s infinite love. So what is this reparation that we are speaking of? These prayers of reparation that I am mentioning are not so much attempts to “repay” God for what He has done for us, but rather signs of acknowledgement of His boundless gift of grace and an attempt to grow ever closer to Him in love. An act of reparation is an explicit expression of our sorrow at having contributed to Christ’s death, and an offering of ourselves entirely to Him in gratitude for His redemptive sacrifice, made for our sake. They are acts by which we remind ourselves to tell God that He is good and deserving of our love So how is this an act of charity? Well, oftentimes we perform acts of reparation in atonement for our own sins, but we can also do it for the sake of others. I’ll give you an example; in the past week, I have seen at least three instances of blasphemy against God. The first was a youtuber’s comment which stated that he’s more thoroughly convinced of the divinity of his own bodily waste than the divinity of Christ. At least, he says, he can look into the toilet and see that his own bodily waste is a real thing. The second was an article on a pagan website that encouraged the appropriation of Catholic rosaries in order to pray to “Mary the Mother Goddess;” it recommended removing the crucifixes from Catholic rosaries and replacing them with medallions, while switching the usual rosary prayers with paganized forms. Finally, last night I came across a blog post made by a Satanist that contained an image of a demon performing a lewd sexual act on the Crucified Christ. I could have reacted to these instances in a myriad of ways. In fact, I did go through a “stages of grief” type process. I was shocked upon seeing each of these things, and that shock quickly gave way to a visceral disgust and a violent anger. To witness the degradation of the Person of Christ, and to see someone encouraging the desecration of sacred items, was deeply troubling. Beyond deeply troubling, really. But then I remembered what I had written last week; we are under orders to pray for our enemies. So here’s the thing about acts of reparation. When we look out and see forces in our world that express a hatred towards our God, who actively mock our God, who try their very hardest to degrade the very essence of our God, acts of reparation give us a way to respond to these forces. We react not by striking outward in anger, but by turning inward to purify ourselves further. We respond to expressions of hatred towards Gods by expressing our own love for Him. Rather than sinking to their level, we rise, essentially telling God “I know that people have greatly insulted You, but I want You to know that there are people who love You very much.” And while we express this love to God, we beg the forgiveness of those who are blaspheming, the same way that Christ asked for the forgiveness of those who were crucifying Him (Luke 23:34). So, I have just mentioned the purpose of the acts of reparation, but I haven’t actually mentioned any methods so far. I am going to talk about three of them here. The first is a daily prayer that was revealed by the Angel of Peace to three Portuguese visionaries one hundred and one years ago. This is a prayer that we can say daily, or whenever we see an instance of blasphemy in our everyday lives. The wording is: “Most Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I adore You profoundly, and I offer You the Most Precious Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ, present in the tabernacles throughout the world, in reparation for the outrages, sacrileges, and indifferences by which He Himself is offended. And by the infinite merits of His Most Sacred Heart, and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I beg the conversion of poor sinners.” You’ll notice that there are three aspects of this prayer. First, there is an explicit expression of love for God. Second, this act of reparation is made not to be used as a replacement for, but in conjunction with the Holy Sacrifice of Jesus. Thirdly, we’re not just apologizing for the blasphemies that have been performed, but we are praying on behalf of the blasphemers themselves. This is thus an act of charity to God (remember, our love is the only thing that we can truly say that we “give” to God) and also an act of charity for the rest of the world. Our initial repugnance gives way to our desire to include them in our loving relationship. The next two acts of reparation are the reason why it is so essential for me to include this specific topic in this week’s editorial; today, October 1st, marks the beginning of the first week of October (duh). Which means this Friday and this Saturday are the first Friday and first Saturday of the month. I am going to introduce you guys to the First Friday and First Saturday devotions. Both of these could probably merit a whole essay on their own, but this editorial has gone on for a while already, so I will only be talking about what you have to do for them, not the stories behind them or the promises attached to them. Just know that they are acts of reparation. The First Friday Devotion is the longer devotion of the two, and it takes nine months to complete. If that sounds scary, don’t worry; it’s actually pretty simple. All you have to do is go to Mass and receive the Eucharist on the first Friday of every month for nine consecutive months. On those days, however, you should be especially focused on God. Some priests recommend spending at least ten minutes before Mass meditating on the Eucharist and Christ’s True Presence, and because this devotion is especially linked to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, I would recommend praying in the name of the Sacred Heart on that day as well. So, why Friday, and why nine months? Remember, just as how every Sunday is an “anniversary” reminder of Christ’s Resurrection, Friday is an “anniversary” reminder of Christ’s death. That is why Friday has traditionally been a day of fasting among Christians. The question of nine months highlights the Marian quality of this devotion; a pregnancy takes nine months to reach a healthy conclusion. So in this devotion, we take on that aspect of Mary’s life, “carrying” Jesus within us for nine months before bearing the fruit of God with the conclusion of the devotion on the final first Friday. In a world that can be dark and cruel, you gestate and bear the Light of God. The First Saturday Devotion is the shorter devotion of the two, taking five months to complete. Again, the active aspects of this devotion are largely limited to the first Saturdays of these months. This one does require a little more activity, however. In addition to going to Mass and receiving the Eucharist on the first Saturday of each month for five consecutive months, there are three more requirements. First, you must go to Confession sometime during the week before you receive Communion. Second, you must prayer five decades of the Rosary (essentially one set of mysteries) on the first Saturday of the month. Second, you must spend fifteen minutes contemplating a mystery of the Rosary of your choosing. So you have two opportunities coming up to express your love for God in a special way. Some of you may argue, “But Aidan, the content of these devotions are stuff that we could be doing anyway. Do we really need to practice the devotions themselves if we express our love of God through similar means already?” And that’s a fair question. But let me ask you something else; do you actually go to Mass every Friday and Saturday without having to be asked? In a way, you can compare these devotions to holidays like Father’s Day and Mother’s Day. Of course, you’re supposed to express your love towards your mother and father on all days of the year. But Father’s Day and Mother’s Day (and the First Fridays and First Saturdays) are about intentionality; you are purposely taking the initiative to set aside time specifically for expressing love in a way that you might just not consider doing on a “normal” day. So really take the time and think about whether these devotions are something that you would want to do. If they are, email us, and we’ll even help you out; tell us which ones you’re doing, and we’ll even send you reminders at the beginning of each month to help make sure that you continue to perform these devotions to their completion. Together, we can show our love to God and intercede on behalf of the whole world. We are called to be the light of the world (Matthew 5:14) and the salt of the earth (5;13), aren’t we?