#who gets the credit for the whole thing

[boiiiko]

fyi the creator of blue eye samurai is a zionist. definitely shouldn't be supporting that.

I see people are making the rounds to stop the growing enthusiasm for the show. I get it.

Seeing Green's posts (via tumblr, since I don’t have twitter or X or wtv the fuck it’s called today) admittedly made me wince. I don’t agree with or support his views. I also feel their dissonance with the show’s blunt criticism of colonialism.

But.

This will be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t actually agree that condemning a show that has been made by a HUGE team of people, who are most certainly as diverse in their political beliefs as in their cultural backgrounds, because of one person’s few posts on social media is entirely fair or fitting.

Yes, he’s one of the creators, sure, his name is slapped onto the lid, but the show is not him. A show is never one person. AND I’m a Death of The Author believer besides, so. There’s that. 

So I for one will keep on celebrating the show and what it stands for and the themes it explores, because I feel it’s important to have them out there. While also disagreeing with one of its creators’ views. After much thought, I’m comfortable with that complication. You, and many others, may not be. Which is fair. And I urge you to block the tag or unfollow me if the distinction makes you uneasy. 

[crystalpallette]

so I finished side order recently

[memen18-m5r3]

hello surviving centricide fandom...I bring you some wacky food

(i'm also animating a small portion of Centricide 3.5 but since I can't tell how much more time it's gonna take I'll show you some sneak peeks! :3)

((since I'm a certified yapper, I added some additional info + translations to all the images descriptions! not sure if it qualifies as ID so feel free to add upon it if necessary))

[butwhatifidothis]

it annoys me so much when people say "edel had no other choice" as a thought terminating cliche. like even IF that were true, how one goes about that is still a characterful thing that gets minimized to "so it's not her fault stop being mean to her she just did what she had to". like. does she feel regret? does she apologize ot the people she's hurting? does she view it as righteous? who knows, becuase the argument is only ever used as a "stop being mean to my wife" line and not a character thing.

Yeah cuz like. Okay so let's say that starting the war was absolutely not her fault because xyz circumstance robs her of any substantial say in the matter.

What about using Demonic Beasts? What about her siccing her army and different set of Demonic Beasts on her own "friends" so that she could make more Demonic Beasts? Stealing from a gravesite to do so? What about starving her citizens, and being the only lord TO starve her citizens in their route? What about killing Judith as she ran away from her? Hell, invading the neutral Alliance in the first place? What about helping the Death Knight get away with stealing Flayn if 25 turns pass? What about saying nothing about Kronya even after Solon reveals himself at Remire? What about giving Jeritza a hunting ground to enable his bloodlust and not, like. Professional help?

She couldn't even mention a means she's working on to do anything about her starving citizens? Did she have to blame Claude (and everyone really) not immediately bowing down to her as to why the Alliance was violently invaded, and not her violent invasion being the reason it was violently invaded? What about persecuting Church followers who didn't do shit to anybody, did she have to do that shit too? Never freeing Brigid and instead stationing her men there on her route and sending Hubert there off of it; that was forced on her too? Taking Byleth's credit during the siege instead of letting them get the recognition they deserve - what, just, fate forcing her hand once again?

Are we really going to sit here and say because the war "needed" to happen, Edelgard was forced to do literally all of that (and more)? That because Edelgard was "forced" into war, she was also forced to do literally anything involving the war?

Like you said, her stans saying that she "had no choice" but to start the war does nothing to say anything about her as a character, because they also reject everything else she did regarding her war as having anything to do with her agency. They treat "she had to do this" as a means to protect the moral purity they want her character to have so they don't feel bad rooting for the villain to win, not as something that goes on to mean anything for her.

And I'm not asking for her to save literally every single person ever from any harm ever to prove her care about not going to war exists, I'm asking for LITERALLY ANYTHING. Because she quite literally does nothing to mitigate harm from anybody in this war, and regardless of whether the war was "forced" on her hands or not she absolutely could have done something to make sure her people suffered as minimally as possible. Which damn sure isn't seen in her hiding behind them as she sits in her throne room (a thing Dimitri and Claude absolutely don't do, with either similar or less time to prepare to protect their people). Or starves them, a thing uniquely said about her route (as literally all the other ones have the army go with lacking food supplies). Or allows Thales to conscript them under threat of death. Or openly saying that she thinks weak people would only stay weak after her war because they're "too used to relying on others" - because when her war takes everything away from people, it'd be THEIR fault for staying weak, which is *chef's kiss* so kind and caring amiright guys. Definitely shows off that she understands and/or cares about the ramifications of her war onto the people, and not that she has her head shoved squarely and firmly up her ass.

What does it meaningfully mean for the war to not be Edelgard's fault, if she's not going to do anything to indicate that she cares about other people enough to want to not force war on them? Hell, when she very explicitly shows she doesn't particularly care about how it'd affect people, if it affects people in a way that doesn't align with her beliefs? When she very explicitly says she's perfectly willing to sacrifice her people for her higher cause, and then goes on to sacrifice her people for her higher cause? If she doesn't even try to help others because the war was forced on her, that at best makes her one of powerless victim or uncaring defeatist - neither of which fit the resolute caring ambitious revolutionary they paradoxically also want her to be. So, again, what does it actually mean for the war to not be a result of Edelgard's agency, if she regardless of that still shows callous indifference to those harmed by the war?

It's a question no one who posits this about Edelgard is able to answer, because as you said, it's not meant to be anything more than a shallow defense against her own actions. Letting Edelgard have even the slightest smidgen of agency in her own actions means accepting that she is a massive fucking penis. A huge gaping asshole. A plain ol' jerk. Which again! Is INFINITELY more engaging to watch than this marionette strung along by literally everyone around her into "looking" like a villain, only being her "true" self when she's feeding kittens and dwawing her cwush and burping her googoo gaga babyass girlfriend they also tend to make (f!)Byleth over her shoulder

[crossedwithblue]

random thought bc I've been listening to Six on repeat: the queens claim that the only reason they're remembered is because of Henry, but would Henry be one of the most iconic and well-known English monarchs if not for them?

[muninnhuginn]

The good thing about this being a weekly airing series is that I'll get to see pretty quickly if I'm on the mark with this but rn am thinking of how pre-amnesia seven was unreadable and so people presumed the worse. Like, we know this part already. His (relative) silence and lack of clear expression let people read into him what they thought fitting.

With post-amnesia seven meanwhile, one of his main characteristics is how *chatty* he is. Someone will charge at him and he'll start commentating.

So, like, now he's getting his memories *back* (albeit in dribs and drabs), the first thing we notice is the whole earnestly trying to murder some guys (as opposed to half-heartedly fighting and/or being on the defence the whole time). But, we actually see in his mind during this. We see that he's been instructed to react in this way. That he's literally superimposing skulls/monsters(?) over the Stan guys in his head (#healthy coping mechanisms). But he doesn't say anything to anyone there and they sure can't see into his mind and so all *they* see is an unleashed killing machine. He's back to not explaining himself.

And, it's just, they presume the worst this time too. Dai Bo, especially, is clearly wondering if he's going to lose the Seven he knows. And sure, we don't have the whole picture as the audience yet, but we can still see that Seven's first *action* after being set off was actually to *protect* the healer. It was only after he'd acted to save that he got swept into the bloodlust.

I'm guessing a lot of this season is going to be us watching Seven acting more like his pre-amnesiac self, but this time, we'll be getting the inside scoop on what's going on inside his brain. So as the audience, we can see how he's both his past and present (how his past was never as different as it seemed), but those around him won't get that insight. They'll be forced to trust in the bonds Seven built with them previously. And it'll either come down to them seeing through Seven to the root of his actions or to Seven actually being able to *communicate* this time, now he's actually been able to make connections of his own. Connections his past self was sorely lacking.

[13reasonstoeatthatcake]

I really want to know how Lilith Sorrengail feels about trying her best to get her youngest daughter away from whatever it was that her dad supposedly found in the Archives after Brennan 'died', just to get said daughter even more involved with the tyrrish rebellion two: electric boogaloo.

[3416]

1634 make me genuinely ill because there are just.... so few bonds in this sport where you look at them and go. that was 100% meant to happen like that and no one else could've slotted in. like yea, so many of players across the league form close bonds and friendships bc that's the nature of spending a whole part of your life sharing a common goal and space when you're like.. doing this team activity... and guys are constantly befriending ppl and moving on... but auston and mitch it's like. it's almost like THEY feel that they were supposed to have that bond... and go out of their way to reaffirm it at every turn... like they met and got along and loved each other immediately and were so excited to get to play hockey together only to NOT get to for a long while and while they waited, they ??? developed all these rituals. and these things together... their personal routines, things to communicate to each other that they have each other's backs and are building each other into their visions and superstitions and dreams, some of which we'll never know about (unless they'd so kindly like to tell us a la mitch's interview with cabbie where he says maybe some day he'll share the gifts auston's gotten him w the world. tell all book when mitch).. but their gloves and their handshakes and their warmups and even the way they walk into road games and it's jsut. like it's friendship, for sure, obviously. they get along off the ice and make each other laugh the most and have a good time, but it's also the inextricable linking of their own careers. BY THEIR OWN DOING. like they want their names jotted next to each other and that's PART of the chase for this greater goal. yes, they would have been talked about in tandem anyway bc they're out here being the best leafs ever and hitting milestones like 500 points.... 600 points... just weeks apart from each other season to season. but also it's their commitment to each other that makes them talked about too. it's commentators saying they love to play together bc they can see it. they've heard them talk about it. they watch it. "marner to matthews" "matthews to marner". they're always gonna know where each other are.... it makes me . feel. violent with love, lol. makes me feel like some things are definitely meant to be.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Miles,Hobie and Gwen are SO Nico,Percy and Hazel i love them so bad and they make me insaneeeee

[gravitywonagain]

House Party

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

.

The house is very easy to spot. The building itself doesn’t stand out in any way on this street full of giant, expensive interpretations of log-cabin-chic. Upper Biling is full of this style of architecture. No, it’s the cars in front of it, in both sheer number and apparent condition. Almost none of them were made in the last decade. Almost all of them are plastered with bumper stickers (Wei Ying’s favorite is the white silhouette of a snowboarder on a chairlift that says “Do you even lift?”). 

The music is loud enough that the beat can be heard from the driveway, but not loud enough for lyrics. The combined smell of weed and beer filters through the pine trees from, presumably, the back patio, along with wood smoke and happy voices. 

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan walk up the stairs to the front door and scrape their feet off on the snow grate to the right of the welcome mat before entering. 

It had been surprisingly easy to convince Lan Zhan to come to the Peruvians’ house party once they’d invited him. He hadn’t previously understood that the invitation was open to pretty much all of the employees at Cloud Recesses, including all levels of management. Once Wei Ying told Diego to ask Lan Zhan in person if he was coming (“make it casual as fuck,” he’d said and Diego had nodded along and delivered spectacularly with a “hey, Boss, you like any particular flavor of fizzy waters? I’m stocking up for the party on Tuesday”), Lan Zhan had a very hard time saying no. 

Stepping inside, Wei Ying immediately realizes it’s too loud in here for Lan Zhan. Realistically, it’s too loud for Wei Ying, too, but he’s used to it so he’d live with it for the warmth and the friends. Lan Zhan has no problems with the cold so they decide to keep their shoes on, wipe them off on the ratty, pink towel that’s been laid out like a mat for this purpose, and stay off the carpet on their way to the patio -- via the kitchen, of course. 

Wei Ying makes a point of saying hi to almost everybody they pass. Quick little greetings, nothing that will drag him into a conversation, but just enough to make his and Lan Zhan’s arrival known. 

He finds Ben and David in the kitchen. David points Lan Zhan to the fridge where he pulls out a can of carbonated water, just as Diego had mentioned (loquat flavored, because the man fucking follows through). Ben offers to make Wei Ying a mixed drink, but Wei Ying begs off.

“Nah. Nothing hard for me tonight,” he says. 

“Cool, man,” says Ben, entirely unbothered. “Beers are out back!”

The thing about winter parties in a ski town is you never run out of ice. 

As they walk out the sliding-glass door to the back patio, they see there is a berm built around one side of the fire pit area with many varied cans of beer sticking out of the snow. It’s super easy to build your own backyard refrigerator as you shovel over the course of the season. And it’s always fun to see what melts out of it when spring rolls around. 

It’s quieter out here, but still very much part of the party. There’s an Alexa speaker playing the same music as is playing inside and a handful of other people out here either to smoke or to escape the noise. They snag a couple of chairs by the beer wall and sit down next to Remy and Elizabeth. They’re both instructors in Juniors’ Club so Wei Ying pulls them into conversation easily, placing Lan Zhan between them and himself so he feels included. And he is included. The women ask him his opinions, they prompt stories from him. They don’t make him feel weird either for being there or for not being there before. It’s good. It’s easy. 

The fire is close enough that Wei Ying doesn’t even need to keep his hands in his pockets. He gestures when he talks and it only gets worse the more he drinks. The vanilla porter he’d grabbed when they first sat down is almost gone already and he contemplates his next drink. He’s just decided to see what the fuck Luponic Distortion tastes like when he hears his name. 

“Hey, Wei Ying,” it might be Nick from Rentals, “is that an 805 by your head?”

Wei Ying turns his head to survey the cans in the snow, finds the black and silver label he’s looking for, and tosses it easily into maybe-Nick’s waiting hands.

“Thanks, man!”

“You got it!”

Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan and grins. “Usually I get tipped for that kind of service,” he says with a wink.

“Do you work at a bar?” asks Lan Zhan, head tilting slightly to one side. It’s an absurdly cute look on him. 

“Only sometimes. Yanli-jie lets me pick up a shift or two when I ask.”

“Why would you need to ask?”

“She’s not a mind-reader, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows are unimpressed.

Wei Ying cracks up at just how bitchy he looks. “Okay, sorry, sorry,” he says and then continues, “The resort pays me enough to cover food and rent and to pitch in for the car, but sometimes I want a little extra. So I pick up a shift at the Lotus Tavern and whatever I make in tips, plus some under-the-table hourly, I can spend on whatever I’d like.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, you know what I like, Lan Zhan.”

He’s not sure if he’s matching the heat in Lan Zhan’s eyes or the other way around, but they lock eyes either way. It’s intense. 

Wei Ying is so into it. 

“Snowboards,” he says finally, still not looking away. 

“Mn.”

“Mhm.”

Remy clears her throat subtly. Wei Ying hears it but doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until she says something about her dogs and Wei Ying jolts out of whatever trance Lan Zhan had trapped him in. 

“Okay,” he says, “I need another beer.�� He stands because suddenly he has all of this energy with nowhere to put it, but realizes that he does not, in fact, need another beer as he’s barely started in on this one, the can still heavy and full in his hand. He doesn’t let that stop his momentum. “Do you want another water or anything, Lan Zhan?”

“I’ll try a beer.”

“You --? You don’t have to. If you don’t want to drink, it’s fine.”

“Can you drive us back?”

“Uh... yeah. I’ll stop after this one,” he says, gesturing with the mostly-full can. 

“Then I would like to try a beer.”

“O-okay. Sure. Yeah. What do you want?”

“You’re the bartender. What do you think I’ll like?”

Wei Ying laughs off the flirtation in Lan Zhan’s voice because he is trying, okay? Lan Zhan is stepping outside his comfort zone, even more now, and Wei Ying needs to respect the boundaries that have been set. No matter how hard Lan Zhan wants to make him. It. It, not him. Obviously. Pull yourself together.

Lan Zhan’s lips curl in a tiny, almost-smug smile and Wei Ying knows he’s doing this on purpose. He hates it. He loves it. 

“Let’s start you with something a bit mellow. You’ve never had beer before, right?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan confirms, “I tried baiju once, on my twenty-first. I don’t remember it.”

Wei Ying laughs and says, “Okay. Beer will be easier on you, I think.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying selects a Fat Tire from the wall and wipes off the top of the can before he hands it to Lan Zhan. 

“Alright,” he says after the crack-hiss of the tab being opened, “this is an amber ale. It’s not too hoppy, but it’s not sweet either. It’s a pretty average beer. A good quality, average beer.”

Lan Zhan waits until Wei Ying is finished explaining before he lifts it to his mouth. 

He takes a sip -- a tiny sip -- and immediately scrunches up his nose at it. 

But he goes again. Another sip, slightly bigger this time. His nose wrinkles only slightly less. 

Wei Ying laughs, his smile stretching his cheeks. “You don’t have to like it, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I’ll finish it for you if you don’t want it.”

Something not unlike a pout begins to form between Lan Zhan’s lips and he holds out a finger, “Give me a moment.”

The faces don’t stop over the course of the next few sips, but they don’t seem to impede Lan Zhan’s determination so Wei Ying leaves him to it and drinks his own beer. 

He’s adorable, Wei Ying thinks as he watches Lan Zhan, so fucking cute. 

The alcohol works fast in him, it seems, as it’s not very long before Lan Zhan begins to slump in his chair. His eyelashes flutter as if trying to stay open. They fail. Wei Ying catches the beer can as it slips from Lan Zhan’s long, loose fingers. 

It’s a little bit insane, but Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan might be asleep. 

He lifts the can of Fat Tire and shakes it gently in his hand: half of the beer is still left. Did Lan Zhan really just pass out after half a can of beer? Half a can of pretty tame beer? 

Lan Zhan’s lips are slightly parted and, as soon as they are free of the beer, his hands settle clasped together in his lap. The firelight dances across his sleep-slack face and Wei Ying can’t help but stare a little bit in wonder. 

He’s aware he should probably wake him. This cannot be what Lan Zhan expected from this night. Not that anybody has even really noticed, but it could be awkward, Wei Ying supposes, to have fallen asleep at a party surrounded by coworkers -- if Lan Zhan is still Lan Zhan and hasn’t realized that he’s One of Us yet. 

But just as Wei Ying makes the decision to stop staring and Do Something, Lan Zhan’s eyes blink open. 

He looks a little glassy. Wei Ying thinks that maybe he’s just groggy from the surprise nap he just took. But then Lan Zhan looks up at him and Wei Ying knows -- despite the composure he maintains as he rights himself in the chair, despite the perfectly stoic set to his face -- Wei Ying knows immediately that Lan Zhan is -- actually, really, in real life, somehow -- drunk. 

It’s in the subtle tilt of his body, leaning toward Wei Ying like he’s leaning into a turn. And then… and then he starts becoming… a little bit… clingy. 

It wouldn’t even be noticeable were it anyone but Lan Zhan. Just a few small touches: knees bumping together, elbows, shoulders. Lan Zhan’s full attention focused on Wei Ying. But it’s not obvious to anyone else, it seems, and it’s nice. Wei Ying is enjoying it, possibly a little more than he should. So he’s prepared to just let it ride for the time being. Let Lan Zhan be comfortable with himself for a moment. 

That is, until Shawn shows up. 

When Shawn walks out onto the patio, it’s clear to Wei Ying that he’s there with a purpose. Wei Ying can even hazard a guess to what that purpose is. He’s not surprised when Shawn spots him and nods before making a bee line for where he’s sitting with Lan Zhan. He is surprised, however, to see Lan Zhan not quite glaring at Shawn as he approaches. 

Shawn notices it too and makes a small, uncertain wave of his hand, like he’s trying to convince Lan Zhan that he comes in peace. When nothing changes, Shawn shrugs it off and squats on the other side of Wei Ying’s chair. 

Wei Ying knows what he’s going to ask, he knows why he’s getting so close to ask it. The hot chocolate machine in question is still a secret, after all. 

“It broke again?” he asks and Shawn nods. 

Shawn leans in closer, presumably to give details, and Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan’s hands close around his forearm and bicep. His head whips around so fast, he almost smacks his chin into Shawn’s cheek. Lan Zhan never initiates this kind of touch. It’s jarring and wonderful and so not the time. 

Wei Ying turns back to Shawn, schooling his face into a cool nonchalance and trying to block Lan Zhan from his view. He missed whatever details Shawn had given him, but he doubts that it really matters. 

“Yeah, man,” he says with an easy smile, “I can take a look on Monday.”

Shawn takes his cue and stands to leave. He says his thanks and grips Wei Ying’s shoulder before he goes. When he does, Wei Ying looks back to Lan Zhan and sees… well… 

Since their conversation on the chairlift, Wei Ying has noticed certain changes in Lan Zhan’s behavior. There’s been a playful undercurrent of flirtation. It’s subtle, a look from across the room or a murmured comment by the lockers. This is… not that. This is possessive. Pouty and jealous in a way that seems specifically designed to break Wei Ying into pieces. Hot and suggestive in a way that has Wei Ying’s pulse racing. 

Lan Zhan looks like he wants to crawl into Wei Ying’s lap, right now, in front of all these people. And, while Wei Ying would absolutely love that, Lan Zhan has very specifically said that he would not, so Wei Ying needs to… do something. As soon as he can get his brain back online. 

“Let’s,” says Wei Ying, giving himself a moment to think, “let’s go for a walk.”

He stands and Lan Zhan looks up at him with eyes like honey. He holds out his hand to help Lan Zhan to his feet and, though Lan Zhan takes it, the man stands with a fluidity and grace that can really only be called seductive. Wei Ying just hopes that he’s the only one to notice. Somehow he doubts that he is. 

He pulls Lan Zhan back inside and through the house back to the front door. He makes excuses as he goes but whether anyone actually buys them, he has no idea. He stops by the fridge to grab another fizzy water for Lan Zhan, waves his thanks to Diego, and gets himself and Lan Zhan back out onto the street. He’s fairly certain he manages to play off Lan Zhan’s drunken clinginess as drunken instability, but he’ll probably never know. He just hopes Nie Huaisang will help him out with that one. 

-

Wei Ying takes a deep breath as they step off the driveway. The night is cold away from the fire, but Lan Zhan is warm against his side. Their breath condenses into small clouds that waft away in the light breeze. 

They walk together down the twisting streets of Upper Biling, past houses that Wei Ying couldn’t even guess the price of, and through neighborhoods that lay almost empty for three-quarters of the year. Summer homes and winter homes to people who can afford five houses and put snow tires on their sportscars. 

While they walk, Wei Ying rambles. 

It’s easy to talk to Lan Zhan. He’s a good listener, a good friend. When he does choose to interject it’s always with something relevant and often with some new perspective that pushes Wei Ying out of his own spiral. 

Or, at least, he is when he’s sober. 

Drunk Lan Zhan still listens -- actively even, nodding and humming at appropriate intervals. But he also wanders off mid-sentence to try to climb his way to the top of a very icy snow berm. 

When Wei Ying directs him away from the potential death trap, Lan Zhan pouts again, harder. 

“Boring,” he says, and Wei Ying can’t help but laugh. 

“Oh, ‘boring,’ is it?”

Lan Zhan nods. 

Wei Ying laughs. “Is this what you secretly want to be like all the time?” he asks. “Clingy and flirty and cute?”

“I am not cute,” says Lan Zhan, sounding almost offended at the implication. 

“You are adorable.”

“No. No, I’m cold and ‘hostile.’” He says it like a quote. Like something he’s heard before. Wei Ying wants to find out who it was who said that and throw them off a mountain. 

Since that is not an option available to him, he jokes instead. “Ah, yes. So hostile, Lan Zhan.”

“People are afraid of me.” 

Which, annoyingly, is true, but, “People are idiots.”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

Wei Ying scoffs so hard he thinks he might hurt something. “I was a little afraid you were going to jump into my lap and claim me when Shawn was just trying to ask me for a favor.”

Lan Zhan looks at him and hums. It’s not dismissive or in any way negative. A smirk even starts curling in the corner of his lips. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” says Wei Ying. “You’re secretly possessive, too.”

“That’s not much of a secret.”

The intersection is one Wei Ying recognizes. If he’s honest, he’s maybe a little lost. But he is pretty sure that up this road is a park that he has walked to with Jiang Yanli, his sister, and Jin Ling, her son. Like eighty percent. Sixty-five. It’s fine. Lan Zhan follows him easily as he steers them toward it. 

“Oh no?”

“I’m rich. Doesn’t that automatically mean I’m possessive?”

“I think the only thing that automatically means is that you have money.”

“I don’t want it.”

“The money?”

“It’s my parents’ money. It’s still supposed to be theirs.” 

Dead parents are not a super fun topic of conversation at the best of times. At the drunk of times, the tone can get very sad very quickly, and that very much is not where Wei Ying wants this to go. Lan Zhan doesn’t need to get maudlin drunk, preferably ever. So Wei Ying deliberately brushes past that. 

“You’re twenty-six. Wouldn’t your trust fund have kicked in by now, anyway?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Ah?”

There are swings in the park. The black rubber of them is dusted with snow, easy enough to brush off. They sit, turned toward each other still in a way that, once they start swaying a little, causes that awkward torsion in the swing. 

“It was my birthday last Sunday.”

Wei Ying’s mouth drops open. “Lan Zhan! Happy birthday! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?”

“Whatever you wanted me to.”

“Hm… Whatever I wanted?”

Suggestive. But it’s not Wei Ying’s rules they’re following tonight. “Anything.”

Lan Zhan cocks his head to the side. “You wouldn’t have told everyone?” he asks. “Thrown a big party?”

“No,” Wei Ying laughs, “you’d hate that.”

“But I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh. Oh no. 

Does Lan Zhan think that this is what Wei Ying wants from him? Did Lan Zhan agree to come just because he thought it would make Wei Ying happy? 

Oh fuck. 

Wei Ying stops swinging and grabs hold of the chain of Lan Zhan’s swing too, turning him, forcing their eyes to meet. 

“Lan Zhan,” he starts, “I’m not trying to change you. I just want you to see that you’re welcome here. That people like you. Not that you have to want this all the time. Just… that you can have it… when you want it.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow with something that’s probably skepticism but might be genuine curiosity. He repeats Wei Ying’s words, “When I want it.”

Wei Ying nods hard and fast. And then, “Which you don’t have to! I just--” he takes his hand back and wraps it around his own swing chain. “You seemed so lonely.”

Silence settles between them. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable, either. It just is. The kind of silence in which words are processed. Feelings are processed. Wei Ying doesn’t want to rush it, but there’s an emptiness to it that crawls under his skin. 

He pushes against the ground with one foot, swing creaking back into motion. 

“But I would never force this on you for your birthday!” He gestures vaguely in the direction he thinks the party might be. “That would be absurd.”

“Absurd?” Lan Zhan’s voice is warmer around this repetition. A genuine question, this time. 

“Yeah! Your birthday should be about you. Not anybody else. If all you wanted was to drink tea and read, then you should have that.” Wei Ying shakes his head, “I would just like to have bought you the tea.”

“What if I wanted you there?”

“Then I would be there.”

“What if I want you now?”

Wei Ying tenses. It’s not so much that Lan Zhan’s tone has shifted or his voice has changed. He still speaks with the same smooth baritone, the same stoic serenity, that he’s had all night. But it’s like the air around them charges with electricity. A chill shoots up Wei Ying’s neck. He drags his toe to slow his swing again. 

“Ah… haha. Now is a different story. You’re drunk now. After,” Wei Ying raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, still in disbelief, “half a beer...” Like that’s a thing that happens in real life. 

There’s a sound like a pine bough cracking under too much snow and then Lan Zhan is standing in front of him. His long fingers wrap around the chains on either side of Wei Ying’s head, arresting his momentum as he looms, beautiful and radiant in the soft light. His eyes are bright with intention. He’s so close, Wei Ying can feel the heat of him. 

“Ah… And because you’re drunk,” Wei Ying says very carefully, “I have to stick to guidelines as previously discussed.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t look convinced. He drops to his knees slowly, fingers dragging down the chains. The sight and sound send shivers down Wei Ying’s spine. Without asking, his thighs spread wide as Lan Zhan settles between them. The snow beneath Lan Zhan’s shins crunches and then starts to melt. 

He smiles and it’s devastating. “So you don’t want me to…”

Lan Zhan’s palms are hot on Wei Ying’s thighs, searing even through the thick denim of his jeans. Wei Ying bites his lip to keep from whining at the touch. They slide higher and higher until Wei Ying draws on all of his meager self-control and stills them. He takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut against the stunning vision of Lan Zhan, wanton and willing, looking up at him from his knees. 

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” he groans. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me the responsible one. I’m not good at it.”

He opens his eyes and that small, infuriating pout has returned to Lan Zhan’s face. Wei Ying has to take another breath before he can move. 

He grips Lan Zhan’s hands and brings them both to their feet. His arousal is obvious in his jeans and Lan Zhan definitely notices, but Wei Ying ignores it, ignores Lan Zhan’s raised eyebrow, ignores the way he licks his fucking lips. (The man is a menace, truly.) 

Wei Ying clears his throat against the lust threatening to choke him. He walks Lan Zhan back over to the other swing and gets him sitting down on the cold rubber again. He moves behind him so he doesn’t have to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, wraps Lan Zhan’s hands around the chains, fingers lingering longer than strictly necessary, then starts pushing him. 

The motion is good, distracting. Something to do that doesn’t involve actively ignoring the heat in Lan Zhan’s gaze, the pout on his lips. If he holds Lan Zhan’s waist a little too tight, nobody else needs to know. 

When Wei Ying regains control of his body, he lets himself chuckle a little. “You’re probably not even going to remember this in the morning, are you?” he says, watching his breath condense. 

Lan Zhan just shrugs and hums a non-committal sound. 

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and says, “I bet you only had one shot at your twenty-first.”

The night is quiet except for the metallic scrape of the swing as Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan in an easy rhythm. He tries not to think about other rhythmic activities and to focus, instead, on the cold air biting his cheeks and on keeping Lan Zhan upright on the little plastic seat. 

The cold is good. Sobering. Wei Ying breathes it into his lungs and lets it soothe him. There’s woodsmoke in the air, too, from somebody’s fireplace or backyard pit. 

He looks down at Lan Zhan who is listing to the side like he’s falling asleep. His jeans are wet-dark around the knees and down his shins and Wei Ying realizes that he needs to get Lan Zhan inside somewhere before he freezes or becomes too tired to walk. Wei Ying is strong, but he’s not sure he can carry a passed out Lan Zhan up Northwoods Blvd. Or down Northwoods, to be honest. 

Wei Ying still doesn’t remember how to get back to the Peruvians’ house from here, but he does recognize this park as the one he’s visited with his sister and nephew. Jiang Yanli’s house is actually fairly close and Wei Ying is pretty sure he knows the way. 

Lan Zhan is pliant and amenable when Wei Ying asks him to stand. He’s still listing to the side so Wei Ying gets an arm around his waist and tries to think about anything but the press of Lan Zhan’s body against his own. It turns out to be easier than he thought because the worry takes over. Lan Zhan is cold. He’s leaning hard into Wei Ying’s side and even if he is playing it up a little -- as Wei Ying suspects he might be -- he still needs to get to a bed soon. 

It’s only about four blocks to Jiang Yanli’s house from the little park. Wei Ying sees her mailbox sooner than he expects and points it out to Lan Zhan. Wei Ying and Jin Ling painted the little silver and gold stars on it together. 

Lan Zhan smiles at them and Wei Ying’s knees buckle, which is sweet, but they’re about to climb the driveway and Lan Zhan still requires support so Wei Ying really has to pull himself together. 

Jiang Yanli’s house is huge. Wei Ying always kind of forgets until he’s standing in front of it, but it’s an obscenely large house. The driveway climbs almost fifty vertical feet from the street and the house rises two stories from there. Hidden from street view, the back of the house drops another two stories down the side of the mountain with a wooden deck that gets near-panoramic views of the valley. Floor to ceiling windows in the living room. High, vaulted ceilings. All pine and granite. A fucking elevator. 

It’s way too big for a single family but Jiang Yanli married Jin Zixuan, scion of the Gold Peony Resort Jins. A family that owns hotels and golf courses in three countries. Jin Zixuan, himself, owns the Lanling Golf Course in Caiyi Town. 

Bad enough he’s a golfer, but Jin Zixuan was a real jerk to Jiang Yanli when they were teenagers and Wei Ying has never forgiven him for it. He can admit, however, that he’s treated her well since he managed to get his shit together and ask her out properly. They’ve been married for more than five years now. It’s fine. 

He texts Jiang Yanli instead of ringing the doorbell because children have bedtimes, Wei Ying, and it’s like 11pm and that seems awfully late for a four-year-old to be awake. Lan Zhan curls closer into Wei Ying’s arms as they stand in front of the door and wait. 

Jiang Yanli doesn’t text back but Wei Ying can hear movement inside the house and sees a light turn on inside before the porch light attempts to blind him, and she opens the door in her slippers, a pair of sweats, and what Wei Ying assumes is Jin Zixuan’s high school mascot t-shirt. (A wolverine, he thinks.) 

“A’Ying?”

Her voice is thick with sleep and guilt churns his stomach until he remembers that he’s not really here for himself. 

“I’m so sorry, Yanli-jie,” says Wei Ying, “I know it’s late, I just didn’t know where else to go and hypothermia was becoming a concern.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyes go wide and she takes in the man who may or may not be asleep on his feet in Wei Ying’s arms. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” Wei Ying says, quick to reassure her but still trying to keep his voice down. “He’s fine. Just drunk. And a massive lightweight. Seriously, I’m never going to let him live this down.”

It’s then that Jin Zixuan pokes his head around his wife’s shoulder, eyes squinting against the (really, incredibly bright) porch light.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks, recognition and concern screwing up his face. 

“Okay…” says Wei Ying, looking to his sister. “Why does your husband know my boss?”

Jin Zixuan, not as useless as one might be tempted to think, steps out and gets his arm around the other side of Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wakes up at the new contact but seems to recognize him and allows this so, together, the three of them start moving toward the guest bedroom, following Jiang Yanli down the stairs. 

“We were rich kids on the high school downhill team together,” says Jin Zixuan, and Wei Ying struggles not to laugh.

“See,” he says, “that’s the kind of thing I would have guessed, but I would have done it in a mocking way. You just said that with so much aplomb that I can’t even make fun of you for it now.”

“Oh great, he’s using words like ‘aplomb.’”

Wei Ying can’t actually see Jin Zixuan in their current configuration, but he knows an eye roll when he hears one. 

“Shut up, I’m more literate than you are, Business Degree.”

“A’Ying,” Jiang Yanli chides from below them. 

“Sorry, Jie.”

They settle Lan Zhan on the guest bed which, because Jiang Yanli is a real adult, is a real bed with a real comforter and far too many useless pillows. Wei Ying kneels to take off Lan Zhan’s shoes which, along with his own, have tracked road dirt and snow all through Jiang Yanli’s beautiful house. Lan Zhan is no help in this, but he does, to Wei Ying’s great relief, agree to take off his own pants. 

Wei Ying gets him tucked under the covers and Lan Zhan falls asleep almost immediately. 

Wei Ying sets a glass of water on the nightstand. He fishes Lan Zhan’s phone out of his jeans and sets it next to the glass along with a pair of ibuprofen tablets. He has no idea if Lan Zhan gets hangovers or not -- if someone can even get a hangover from half a beer -- but better to be prepared. 

Wei Ying takes off his own shoes and carries them with him as he goes to meet his sister and her husband out in the kitchen. He sets them by the door, next to Lan Zhan’s. He tries not to think about his and Lan Zhan’s shoes together in his sister’s shoe rack, like they’re dinner guests or visiting on purpose rather than too drunk and too lost to find their way back to the car. 

In the kitchen, Jiang Yanli has a kettle on the stove already and is plating what looks like rice cooker bread, because she is a literal angel. Jin Zixuan is sitting at the counter helping her sort through their many teas. Wei Ying does have to admit that he is a very good husband. Golf course or not. 

“Oh no,” says Wei Ying, eyes widening with a startling realization as he sits on the counter next to his sister and looks imploringly at Jin Zixuan, “please don’t tell me he golfs. I like him too much to stop now.” 

It’s a joke (mostly) that Wei Ying hates golf. And golfers. Environmental concerns aside (which they really shouldn’t be), it’s a mind-numbingly boring sport. Wei Ying loves to poke at Jin Zixuan with this particular stick whenever it comes up.

Jin Zixuan huffs. “Why would--? Nevermind. He does not golf. You’re safe.”

“Oh, thank god,” says Wei Ying with an exaggerated sigh. He turns to cover up the even more startling realization that he would probably still like Lan Zhan even if he did… occasionally golf. Wei Ying elects to keep that to himself.

The bread melts in his mouth. It’s so delicious that his eyes actually close on their own. She’s a goddess, his sister. 

Even though it’s clear that Wei Ying pulled them out of bed, both Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan stay up with him for a little while as he finishes the bread that keeps appearing on his plate and the water that keeps refilling itself in his glass. 

“I’m fine, Yanli-jie. I only had two beers. It’s Lan Zhan I’m worried about.” 

Which, unfortunately, prompts a conversation about why he and his boss were wandering around Upper Biling together while drunk -- “Not drunk!” -- and courting hypothermia. 

Wei Ying is not subtle in his diversion as he directs the line of questioning away from how he feels about Lan Zhan. How Lan Zhan feels about him. It’s not-- It’s not the time for that talk. Not now. Not when Jiang Yanli is stifling yawns behind her hand and Jin Zixuan is still right there for some reason. 

If they were friends, though, Wei Ying does have a question for him. 

“Were you at his twenty-first?”

Jin Zixuan nods, looking uncomfortable at where this might be going, but still answers, “I was.”

“It was only one shot, wasn’t it?”

There’s a pause, and then Jin Zixuan sighs and nods again, “It was.”

[thepringlesofblood]

don't make me tap the sign

[image id: screenshot of the simpsons "don't make me tap the sign" meme, where the sign is edited to read "“Hastur was a Duke of Hell. Crowley wasn’t even a local councilor” - Good Omens (1990)" /end id]

update: re-read the book lately and realized they spell it "counsellor" bc they're british. this makes sense but it also means my american ass can't help but read "counsellor" as the american "counselor" which is like a therapist or mental health consultant (the way i spelled it originally is like. someone who sits on a council. which is what i'm sure they meant). just wanted to share the fun image of crowley as a therapist ("I see I see. have you tried yelling at plants?"), or even funnier, that "Duke" as a title is like. a level above therapist. grand therapist. high throne of therapy. tier 1 therapist hastur la vista.

[lesbiansanemi]

Sometimes I just think about Soi Fon. Like that shit was so insane. Easily one of The characters of all time. You’re going to give me a woman who hates the physical manifestation of her soul because it’s loud and explosive and she doesn’t think it’s “proper” that it suits her, but it’s so obvious it does because she’s angry and stubborn and loud and explosive!!! And then the fact that she never ever calls upon that physical manifestation of her soul until things are so dire it’s practically that or death? The fact that in so many ways she lets her emotions build and build and build until they quite literally explode???? And then!!! AND THEN!!!! Add in that she hates her bankai because it’s “inappropriate” for an assassin… for her role as captain of the Stealth Force… the position she inherited from Yoruichi after she abandoned Soul Society for Urahara�� She despises the physical manifestation of her explosive nature, the nature she hides until she can’t, just like she shoved down her feelings for Yoruichi, the betrayal, the hurt, the love, until she quite literally couldn’t anymore and it all came back up in a BANG!!! Like god… oh my god, no one will ever do it again and kubo did not deserve such a cool fucking character in the least

[catominor]

another thing about the c. martinus and l. furius scholarship too is that their story gets received into the historical record with some. significant differences to what Actually happened so i get to have soo very much fun with that...

[rubberduckyrye]

I feel like people give Shuichi a lot of shit for not noticing Kaede's behavior since he's a detective and like

Bro she wasn't being as obvious about her intentions as you guys think

[fictionadventurer]

Guide to PBS Kids writers:

This is an early episode of a quality animated show and is one of the most hysterical things I've ever seen on children's television = Joe Fallon

This is an early episode of a quality animated show and is very funny = Ken Scarborough

This episode has strong, vivid and realistic female characters = Kathy Waugh

This is an episode of an animated show that has undergone a notable quality drop where the characters get lessons preached at them and seem to exist only in a very narrow urban upper-middle-class worldview = Peter K. Hirsch

This is an episode of that show that has undergone a notable quality drop but the characters are believable and I'm actually laughing at several really good jokes = Ken Scarborough

[redbean-nom]

Rebel Admirals Rex & Kalani from an au where the clone and droid rebellions were a bit more successful

Rex's fleet (rebel fleet Remembrance) - the whole 'ahsoka's not actually a jedi' thing worked and most of the 332nd got dechipped. (maul still escaped, but they managed to patch up the maul-damage before he got to the hyperdrive, so the Tribunal is mostly okay). the extra resources & manpower allowed the clone rebellion to operate on a much larger scale, and they eventually allied with pantora as a whole with the backing of senator chuchi. cody and later wolffe brought their imperial fleets to join the rebellion about a year later (after the chips started wearing off).

the fleet (one venator (the Tribunal), four star destroyers, associated clones, gunships, fighters, and tanks, plus a handful of stolen imperial walkers and shuttles) formally joined the rebel alliance around 10bby.

(rex got put in charge of the fleet because he's the least traumatized out of all the surviving officers. cody ran off to live with obi wan on tattooine.)

Kalani's fleet (rebel fleet Independence) - something happened and he and kraken managed to steal a chunk of dooku's ships (and later a good chunk of whatever was left of grievous' fleet on utapau) after his death. they essentially got lost in the chaos of o66, since the rest of the separatists thought they were deactivated after the shutdown order, and escaped with essentially a full separatist fleet. since they were active instead of stuck on agamar, kalani noticed that the leader of the empire happened to be the republic's supreme chancellor, and decided the empire was the new target of the CIS army. he later encountered the clone rebellion and decided that since the clones had effectively deserted the republic and were now fighting the empire, they were therefore allies.

the fleet (one dreadnought, three cruisers, one stolen imperial carrier, associated droids, fighters, transports, and tanks) formally allied with the rebel alliance around 10bby, with the backing of serenno and raxus secundus.