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#i cannot imagine taking fictional characters that seriously on either side???

theyanderespecialist · 3 months

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Base Yandere Riz Headcanons (Beastars)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! First off yes I am a furry, second off no I do not have a fursona. Not all furries have fursonas, I am the furry that appreciates, simps for, and would frick/yiff anthropomorphic characters! Let's be honest if they are sentient and of legal consenting age then I am going to smash in fiction (I have fictophilia which is a kink for fictional characters)

Now that, that is out of the way let's get to the disclaimers!

DISCLAIMER: RIZ IS EITHER 18 OR 19 IN THIS NOT YOUNGER THAN THAT HE IS AN ADULT

Disclaimer number 2: Riz is not yandere in canon this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! just do not be illegal or gross about it. Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you, all my muffins!)

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Riz From Beastars-

.Riz is a bear that is over 2 meters aka 6 feet and 7 inches for My American viewers

.Since he is over 2 meters he has to take government order strength suppressing pills. The same one that all bears had to.

.He had a love for you, the stunning beast you were.

.He is very obsessed with you and wants to have a life with you.

.He is protective of you and does what he can to keep you safe.

.He ends up at some point thinking he does not need his pills anymore.

.This ends up having him eat his herbivore friend.

.This messed with his taste of food.

.At this point he becomes delusional that not only did his friend consent to being eaten but also that he enjoyed it.

.This affects his yandere side where he is delusion about your feelings.

.That you love him and want him to take you.

.So it does not matter how much you say no to him.

.He knows how you Air quotes around "really" feel.

.You just are not safe enough to admit your feelings to him.

.He is a very protective and possessive yandere.

.Doing what he can to keep you safe.

.He may even be tempted to eat parts of you, he cannot help himself.

.He also will want to breed you (Me imagining him when he was beefed up "OH HELLLL NO" XD) that is if you have the parts to be bred

.he does not like to share you with anyone so, be ready for him to isolate you from friends and possibly family.

.He will deal with rivals by trying to be aggressively polite and if that does not work?

.He will then threaten them, and if that does not work? Well, then he will kill them and eat them, and probably have you eat parts of them as well.

.Knowingly or not!

.He also is a very good cook and loves to cook for you, he can be a real papa bear who wants to provide for you and take care of you!

.He would confess over a meal, and if you turned him down?

.Well you are just not ready to confess your feelings yet.

.If you do he is over the moon that you accept your feelings and now, nothing can keep you two apart!

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed this and stay sexy all of my sexy muffins!]

#yandere #yandere riz #yandere beastars #yandere headcanons #headcanons #beastars #riz beastars #riz #riz x reader #gender neutral reader #=

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alluringjae · 3 years

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all i do is wait - kdy

All I Do Is Wait | So Close

⤑ summary: one day, kim doyoung was alive. the next, he wasn’t. he left you and the world too soon, but he made a promise: to look out and wait for you until the very end.

⤑ pairing: doyoung x female reader

⤑ word count: 22.7k

⤑ genre: angst (so much longing), major slow burn, fluff (if you squint really well), slight unprotected smut (not my forté) | ghost!doyoung, hotel del luna!au, slight college!au, 40s to 90s!au (loads of flashbacks)

⤑ warnings: death, grief, explicit language, sexism (screw the patriarchy omfg), mentions and scenes of alcohol, drinking, smoking, war, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, and abortion, ghost possession of humans (in like one scene only tbh)

⤑ long author’s note: minors, beware of the warnings! i highly recommend you watch the kdrama beforehand so you would understand the universe, even if majority of the characters are from my imagination. i also did some prior historical research. though there are inaccuracies, this story is just fiction. importantly, i don’t own the hotel del luna series; they serve as the main inspiration but with some of my twists. i’m also bit rough with writing lately, so there’s also room for improvement. overall, prepare your heart.

i cried so much in the process.

italicized texts symbolize conversations in a dream call. *wink* *wink*

⤑ gif above not mine, ctto! leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

After all decades of waiting, it’s finally time.

As a soul still wandering in the living world, Doyoung’s options were limited. To peacefully go ahead into the afterlife or wait for his lover by working in the hotel for ghosts until she passed.

He’d chosen the latter, the betrayal he felt from the deities to have gone so soon.

And leave you behind.

But first, let’s take a trip down Doyoung’s journey; life, death, and after it.

1948

Kim Doyoung came from a well-off family. He was a university student, taking up journalism as a pre-law course. He wanted to right the wrongs and let justice prevail. Blessed by his privilege, he wanted to be of service to others who cannot afford it.

Both of you crossed paths at a university in Busan as seatmates. Right after the South Korean constitution granted women’s rights to education, immediately you aimed high and applied for the top universities in the city. After being homeschooled and self-studying under the books, the opportunity to go to an actual school was like a dream come true especially when you received acceptance letters from all of them.

Your first impression of him was that he was moody and quite snobby. When you politely asked him once if you can take a peek at his notes because you lost track of the professor’s lecture, he refused with an annoyed glare.

“You should try harder then.” You nodded in gratitude anyways, taking those words to encourage you. Though it still stung.

When classes that day concluded, you were so ready to return to the women’s dorm and take a breather from men. Since you were far from your village, maybe you would give a call to your father, your mentor all your life to seek his guidance on your professors’ lessons. Once you found your bike and placing your books on the basket in front, a light tap on your shoulder caught you off-guard and almost made you topple over.

“Oh, sh-”

“Oh my, I’m sorry for scaring you like that.”

When you directed your body to the source, it was none other than Kim Doyoung. He removed his blazer from class, resting it on his arm. He wore these suspenders and leather loafers, sporting the rich, preppy boy look. His eyes looked softer, apologetic by the way he gave a slight pout.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. It was rude of me to shun you like that.”

Unfortunately, it was rare to find young men like him to own up to their mistakes When you’re the only woman in that class, the majority of the boys are either snickering with judgment at your presence.

“Women are only meant to stay at home.”

“She’s weak. She won’t last here with the deep, legal terminologies the professors use.” Those insults aren’t new to you.

Doyoung seemed like a plot twist in the social narrative. You were surprised, to say the least, yet relieved.

“Oh, it’s okay. Considering I interrupted you from listening to the professor, I could’ve waited after class or as you said, study harder.” You accepted.

Doyoung still felt awful for his attitude, fiddling his briefcase. He struggled to express himself through words, understanding why many had this impression of him being cold. If he were to be honest, his actual initial impression of you was that you were hardworking and resilient, setting a new example of the modern woman. He thought that being too soft on you in class may look degrading, thus his statement from the class was just him treating you the same way as other boys who don’t study hard enough. Unfortunately, it backfired completely.

As a man who grew up with the belief to always pay respect to everyone without discrimination, he had to make it up to you somehow.

“It’s still wrong of me to say that to you, (Y/N). So-” He trailed on, opening his case to bring out one of his notebooks. Without hesitating, he handed it to you. “I took as many notes from the lecture on fallacies here. If there’s any way I can help you in the future, I’m more than willing to help you.”

This newfound kindness from a boy in this patriarchal university may be the silver lining in your current stay. You weren’t too sure if you would get a chance like this in the coming years, so you gladly took it. Noticing the engraved “K.DY” on the lower right side of it, which were his initials, it’s easy to identify that he was rich. But his attitude was different than the others.

Placing it carefully in the front basket, you steadied your body to the handles and pedals of the bike. “Thank you for this, Doyoung. I will return it to you as soon as possible.”

Knowing he was of help to you, he flashed a gummy smile. “No problem, (Y/N). If you want, we can review it before class too just in case the professor gives another surprise quiz.”

You let out a laugh, being reminded of your horrified face on a previous surprise quiz in the past. “Oh god, I flunked that quiz! Damn him.”

Ever since that conversation, it’s where your friendship started.

Going to university became more enjoyable and less daunting, having Doyoung defend you from other boys (even if you’ve told him so many times that you can handle it). After you found out that Doyoung’s status was more elite than you assumed, a lot of boys wouldn’t want to try and test him since their family lines would be at risk. You had a better focus on your academics, and if it weren’t for you, other girls attending university with you would’ve never thought women students would befriend the men. You were the shift in the narrative.

As lucky as you are to have a female support system in the patriarchal university, you found yourself always hanging out with Doyoung. He was filled with so much compassion in his heart and there were beliefs that you both surprisingly shared in your conservative society, deepening your bond. One of them was the sexist view of women as low-status people. He told you one time that thinking that way is like thinking his loving mother is undeserving of things in life. It’s an unacceptable concept, he added. You even met his mother at some point, and she’s a sweetheart.

Another was having the frustration towards those who shame on women who want to study and learn rather than to submit to the power of men so early in their lives.

“I’m so sick of people telling me to stop studying and settle down with some random boy. There’s just so much to learn out here!” You complained. It was one hot weekend that time, and you were both relaxing under the shade of a big tree by a flowing river. That spot is hidden, thus claiming it as your spot. Doyoung leaned by the tree reading while you rested on his lap. At this point, you’ve grown very comfortable with him. Doyoung sighed, putting his book to discuss his thoughts.

“Agreed. You seriously deserve so much better, (Y/N). People today just don’t get it.”

Huffing away that stress, your head tilted to get a better view of Doyoung.

“Doyoung, do you think things will get better for women in the future?” He admired your hopefulness in times of trouble. Stroking your hair to soothe you, he gave a positive reply.

“If we keep fighting for it, then we’ll progress. So let’s not give up, okay?” Your heart couldn’t help but leap.

As he looked at you with blooming flowers from the tree in the background, it was a matter of time where your initial feelings for him diverted into something more. The concept of butterflies in your stomach was only introduced to Doyoung in novels, but he wondered if it’s the exact feeling he was getting from you. From your intelligence to your sharp tongue to fight back the rude boys, the list goes on all the traits that he liked about you.

Weeks later, the questionable status of your friendship changed after he unexpectedly kissed you for the first time while stargazing at your special spot. It caught you off guard at first as your lips froze, him pulling away immediately. He rubbed the nape of his neck out of embarrassment, struggling to maintain eye contact with you.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I screwed up everything, didn’t I?”

As much as the heat in your cheeks increased, you couldn’t deny that you liked it. You’re bold enough to do it again.

“Nope,” you shook your head at him. “Kiss me again, Doyoung.”

Like a movie, the first snow of the season drizzled down on the two of you.

Feeling braver, he leaned forward again to meet your lips again. You may not be experienced physically since it was your first, but that’s what all those romance novels you’ve browsed through are for. Forget the fireworks, people would compare the ideal kiss. It was more like everything paused so this moment can run on its momentum. Lips still locked, Doyoung gripped your waist so you can sit on his lap. As the friction intensified, his lungs needed to breathe for a second. Pulling away slowly, it was an opportunity to take a good look at you. Flustered, messy hair, swollen lips, he would’ve never known that the feelings were mutual.

“First kiss under the first snow? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

1950

Dating Doyoung gave you the best two years of your life. He’d bike with you to your spot, recommend you new books to read, cook for you when you’re too lazy to at the dorm, and take you around the city he was ever so familiar with.

“Oh c’mon, let’s try this out!”

You dragged his arm to this new contraption that can take your photos in a flash. This was at an annual city fair, your first time to attend one. Because your small village couldn’t cater to these kinds of events, you beamed with excitement with all the amusement outlets such as rides, games and more. All Doyoung wanted was to eat and play few games, then return. He wasn’t much for photos, but because it was your first, he decided to go for it. Two people couldn’t fit the cushion, so you settled on his lap. One arm wrapped behind his neck, you inserted a few coins to activate the machine.

“So we have a few seconds before it starts, so you better smile, okay?” He ordered you based on the instructions of the machine.

The first shot was matching grins, the second showed your bright smiles, the third let your creativity wild with silly expressions, and the last was him pecking your cheek unexpectedly. The authentic surprise was captured.

“Let’s take another one so you can have a copy.” You insisted, searching through the small pockets of your purse for more coins.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. I don’t want-” He was cut off by the machine activating again as your coins entered inside.

“Too late, smile!” The first shot almost caught Doyoung in a frenzy, but he pulled it off with an open smile. The second expressed your laughter from your slyness, him sporting crinkled eyes when you let your tongue out and placed your hands near the temples of your head to mock him. To sort out your playfulness, Doyoung surprised you by grabbing your wrists to place them back on his shoulders. Without a breath, one free hand tugged you closer and his lips shut you up. You deepened your kiss by leaning forward and fisting the hems of his buttoned-up top. Kissing back was natural, not caring where you were and if the camera snapped your moment of intimacy. Doyoung always liked taming you with his kisses. You didn’t mind making out for a bit in the booth if it weren’t for the loud knocking from the side put a stop to your risqué antics.

“Yah! Take your making out session someplace, other people are waiting outside!”

The both of you could care less, laughing mid-kissing at the disturbance you’ve caused. It’s a thing when you’re young and in love, perhaps. Eventually, innocent kisses ignited an invitation to his bed.

“I’ve never done this before, but I want to do it with you.” You gave your full consent, laying on his soft bed in your undergarments. His entire family went on vacation, so you took advantage of it.

The way he crawled on top of you, his slender hands spreading your legs wide open like another novel waiting to be unraveled. Erotica was a genre you never explored, but Doyoung finds it as his guilty pleasure. Who would’ve known that the most prestigious, gentleman-like man of the university found amusement in sex? His lingering touches intoxicated your entirety, allowing him access. His tongue did you wonders, releasing these sensations you’ve never known was possible. Tugging on his hair as he passionately devoured your core for the first time, this knot in your core unwound and your vision went white for a split second. This rush of pleasure and exhaustion filled your veins, yet you craved more.

That night, giving each other your virginities, marked the first time you declared your love for each other.

Though there are times when dating wasn’t easy either, having prying eyes around you with judgment and the unavoidable stress from university, you’d sort things out in the end. After all, it’s in fights and arguments where you learn more about each other and grow from it.

If someone asked you to settle down already, Doyoung is the first candidate for your hand. You’ve sent letters to your parents talking about him and met his family.

“You’re the only girl who softens him up in this society of uptight men.” His mother whispered when you helped her wash the dishes after dinner.

As much light he brought to your life those two years being together, it turned into the worst and something questionable when the Korean war began.

You vividly remember the day Doyoung admitted to you his enlistment in the South Korean army. It was mandatory for men his age to serve. His dream to pursue law was to be put on hold, especially when schools were closing down. Though he’d try to confide with himself that serving in this war is another way to help his country, his nationalism outweighed his fear of death. Just as long as it brings them closer to a better tomorrow, he was willing.

Unfortunately for you, you were terrified shitless because again, it’s a war. If your childhood wasn’t enough to recall all those painful emotions from the past world war, you didn’t know what would. Being able to survive is a miracle, so there was no way you would let Doyoung go. The ignorance you gave towards him to protect your heart, moving to your aunt and uncle’s home in the same city after the university suspended classes since going back to the village was a big struggle.

So many villages have been bombed already, increasing your anxiety. All you hoped now was to be reunited with your family safely. It’s a good thing though they already left as soon as they could and are on their way to the city. One normal day while you were teaching your younger cousins how to read, there was a knock on the front door. Since your aunt was busy cooking dinner, you took charge to open it in hopes you’ll find your family on the other side.

However, it was none other than that someone you still couldn’t face just yet. He wore the familiar dark green uniform with black combat boots, his fluffy hair fully shaved even it’s covered by his hat. By the dirt on his face, he must’ve trained earlier that day. With a heavy backpack behind him, he’s on his way somewhere but you didn’t know where. You closed the door behind you so you can speak to him privately.

“What are you doing here, Doyoung? How did you find me?”

“I knew you didn’t want to talk for a while, so I gave you space. But today, I found out that I’m going to be stationed in Seoul tomorrow.”

Seoul was where most of the war was happening. Your heart was shattered.

“So I went to your dorm, but your roommate told me you moved out and gave me this address here.” He answered honestly with this new burden to top it off, not having the courage to look you in the eyes to avoid crying. “I needed to see you, (Y/N).”

“Doyoung,” within those times of separation, you re-evaluated if running away from him was the right choice. Even if he tried to convince you of the good things about being in the army, everything always comes at a price. War meant his life was uncertain daily. You just wanted him to yourself, to stay by your side, to help out in the war in other ways, but it would be selfish to stop him from his goals. So you gently embraced him, making him drop his bag to the side. With extreme fear comes your soft whimpers against his chest. Rather than running away so fast, you should’ve mustered all those remaining bits of courage to spend it with him. He must be feeling terrified too.

“I’m just scared for you. War doesn’t guarantee anything. Us surviving world war two is still miraculous.” Doyoung winced at your truthful words as he returned that embrace. There go his tears that he shed almost every night since he told you about his enlistment.

“I had no choice, (Y/N). My family and I would be in big trouble if I didn’t follow orders.”

“I know. I’m sorry I ran away, Doyoung.” You continued to sob as you feel him stroke your hair from behind. He knew well that it was one way to calm you down.

“If only we didn’t live in harsh times like this.” He sighed, longing for the same thing. He cursed whoever decided to make him exist during a painful time. He would trade anything for a more peaceful life.

“Stay here for the night, please.” You pleaded, not wanting to waste any more time.

Your relatives were aware of your relationship, allowing such a request. They trusted you enough to sleep in the same room, knowing all too well the struggles of being love during times like this.

Neither of you held back from the tension that crept into the room. This time, you led him through the first kiss while his body laid flat on the cushion bed. On top, straddling him fully. Leaving him soft kisses on his neck while teasingly unbuttoning his pajama shirt, your fervent lips trailed from his neck, lowering to his sculpted abdomen, until you reached the waistband of his pajama pants.

Only in books did you learn about how to please men, so this may be the only time you can test it out. Doyoung stiffened on your soft kisses on his hard-clothed member, glancing him seductively back and forth when you stuck out your tongue.

“Please,” He begged, tugging on your hair. “Touch me.”

Your lips wrapped around his tip before gently going lower to your limit, and slowly sucked on it back and forth. Whenever you’d want to catch a breathe, you’d lick the tip teasingly. Doyoung groaned, threading his fingers along with your hair. He’s so used to be a giver that receiving these sensations by you beats his hand. It was heavenly, yet so vulgar. The way you swallowed his cum rather than spitting it out even if the taste wasn’t favorable, you were too much in a daze to process how sudden he switched positions. While you sprawled devilishly under him, your fingers looping on his dog tag necklace to bring him lower for a kiss while feeling two of his fingers go under your panties to teasingly play with your slick.

“Don’t t-tease...” You stuttered, clenching at how fast he can get you stimulated with his fingers.

The whole night long was consumed with his body against yours, the wet sounds of deep thrusts and muffled moans praising each other. The following morning, your naked bodies remained entangled. He was still in deep slumber when your body clock alarms you to wake up. though you couldn’t move when he had his arm around you. The love marks on his chest that you’ve made were more exposed when the sunlight hits him, your fingers carefully trailing on it so he wouldn’t be startled. He needed all the rest he can get.

If only you can have mornings like this when war wasn’t in the equation.

Bidding goodbye was tough. Breakfast was too quiet, just like how he packed his remaining belongings and dressed back to his uniform. You watched him by the patio as he waited for the bus to pick him up. When one finally arrived, he turned around to face you once more. He understood that neither of you wanted to say anything. It would make things harder.

You had to stay strong for him because he was fighting the scarier people. But as he waved goodbye, this was your only exception. Just before he boarded the bus,

“Fuck it.” You mumbled to yourself, running to him as your life depended on it.

“(Y/N), what are you-” Doyoung stopped at his tracks, awaiting your sudden move. You shut him up by desperately placing your lips against his, having that a tiny sliver of hope that it won’t be your last. His hands cradled your face while your arms tangled behind his neck.

It wasn’t until the annoyed coughs from the bus driver stopped your actions. Patting your dress from crinkling, Doyoung left a kiss on your forehead.

“Wait for me, alright? I’ll be back before you know it.” He reassured you.

“Fight strong and stay alive, Doyoung. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I love you, (Y/N).” He caressed your cheek one last time, your hand cupping it.

“I love you too, Doyoung.”

Both of you made sure to write to each other, just anything to keep in touch from being apart.

Oh, if only you knew how long you’d have to wait before seeing each other again.

1951

Doyoung was stationed in the infantry division, always staying prepared for the plans his side made and the active attacks started from the enemy side. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s gotten critically injured and knocked out, but he fought through it with his upcoming plans in mind. How he must fight for the country and stay alive to see the change. How he wanted to have a future with you when everything settles down. It was his motivation every time.

But it took one surprise attack many months later from the enemy side to take it all away. When one of the senior officers was shot, he shielded him without hesitation. All these firing bullets were shot on his back, his legs wobbling from the impact. Due to the non-stop bleeding and lack of urgent medical attention, he painfully lost his life while holding on to his officer.

“Please tell my lover that I love her and I’m sorry.”

Those were his last words before he took one final breath and flatlined.

Seconds later, his soul flowed outside his body and froze at the trippy feeling while witnessing different officers and people on the medic team mourn in front of his dead body. Taeyong, one of the people he befriended from the medic team, tried to wake him repeatedly.

“Doyoung, please don’t joke around. Wake up, please.”

Even if he knew it was hopeless, he did his best to the point his entire team had to pull him away from his best friend’s lifeless body.

“No, he needs to live! He has a family, big dreams, and a girl waiting back in Busan!” He sobbed in his chest. Out of all the people he tried to resuscitate, Doyoung was the first friend that he came across on this occasion. Doyoung ached at this vulnerable sight, wanting so badly to be by his side. With these surprise attacks, death is more prevalent than ever.

“Kim Doyoung?” An unfamiliar voice called for him from behind. He spun around to find one woman in war uniform, though he’s never encountered her in the field, and a man in all black.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Manwol, and he’s the grim reaper. I believe you just died a few minutes ago, correct?”

The truth was piercing to accept, glancing at his lifeless body on the side with Taeyong and another close friend he made, Jungwoo, crying his heart out.

“Are you going to take me already?” He asked.

“Unless you still have things you want to accomplish in the living world, then you can freely go to the other side.” The grim reaper answered monotonously, very much used to this question.

“From the looks of it, you have a lot you want to do still,” Manwol observed from afar, all too familiar with the feeling. “If you come with us, I can help you accomplish them.”

If something stayed with Doyoung until his last breath, it was his skepticism with the supernatural. He was unsure if he can trust them because according to the books, once you’re dead, that’s it. It’s up to the people around him to speak good or bad of him.

“You’re uncertain with our intentions, aren’t you?” Manwol easily read through his stoic expression. “You’ll be surprised with how many things can debunk from the books if you let us, Doyoung.”

For the first time, Doyoung had no clue what and where to go next. No one wrote a book on how to act like a cold, wandering soul. His dreams were limited, meaning he has to find new ones or tweak them a lot to make it possible. Despite her reserved nature, he figured that Manwol looked like someone who knows what she’s talking about. With the grim reaper he’s read in children’s books, he wasn’t as frightening as he was portrayed.

This was his last shot.

“Guide me, please.”

The car ride alone there was messy and bumpy since it was peak war season. He wasn’t the only person who lost their life that night and riding in the vehicle. He recognized a few of them. It was saddening to find the playful Donghyuck, his youngest companion, beside him.

“I sacrificed myself to protect two unarmed nurses in the medic tent when some enemy soldiers charged inside.”

Another was the wise Taeil, who was stationed by the barracks. He was one of the people in the front of in line for battle.

“I thought they were fooling with us, and then suddenly fired multiple attacks. I caught on to it quickly, but they still got me.”

Doyoung remembered all those times he used to ask for love advice from him when it grew hard to be far from you. But that advice is no longer useful when he’s further away from you. He was dead, you weren’t.

Once the three of them arrived at their destination, it was an inn that looked destroyed from the outside, but very organized on the inside. Donghyuck and Taeil decided already what they wanted to do before they cross the other side. Doyoung, on the other hand, was still contemplating.

Manwol knew well how to spot a heartbroken person, being one herself. She wasn’t one to interfere with these affairs, but maybe she’d make an exception. Seeing right through him, he lived a fruitful life. She saw his sacrifice, picking up on his last words being dedicated for you, his lover. He didn’t die in vain.

When the two men were off to follow their plans, Manwol took this chance to approach the downcast man again.

“Is something you holding you back from going…” She questioned, staying by his side for a moment. “…or a special someone?”

“I promised my lover to fight strong and to stay alive while she promised to keep waiting for me. But here I am. She has yet to know that I didn’t make it and I can’t bear to see her in utter pain.”

“Death during a war isn’t new, Doyoung. A lot of promises become broken.”

“But I had so much I wanted to do with her after, Manwol. I can’t just leave her yet, I want to stay by her side even if we can’t see each other physically.”

Based on the information Manwol received about Doyoung from the inn staff, it came to her attention that he was fond of books. Thus, it gave her an idea.

“Doyoung, you’re very similar to the staff here. They all have goals that take years to accomplish, so I gave them a job here.”

“What are you offering me then, Manwol?”

“I have a library here in dire need of a librarian. With your interest in books, would you like to take it? After all, I’m implying that you’d want to wait for your lover to make up for your broken promise.”

Doyoung can’t deny that she was wrong. This was where his journey at Manwol Inn (then became Hotel Del Luna) started. Time worked a little bit differently as a ghost, but it’ll be worth it until you return in his arms one day.

On the day you regrettably received the letter from the military about the tragedy, life has turned for the worst. Upon seeing a soldier by your front step, it was only an innocent habit to give him letters for Doyoung and receiving new ones. However, his hand halted you to hand over a military logo imprinted envelope addressed to you alongside his tidy military uniform other letters from Doyoung.

His last letters.

You had no courage to even complete reading it when the first few lines weren’t enough to taunt you. Nothing could prepare for this dreaded moment.

“We regret to inform you that a report from the war office has confirmed that Kim Doyoung was a casualty of the sudden attack of Seoul. this letter formally declares that he was killed in action....”

Dropping the god-forsaken letter in your hands, you instantly locked yourself in your room. Your parents, who picked it up to read, came running to your door and tediously knocking for you to open it. But you didn’t listen, the heartbreak being too grave.

You tried so hard to keep it together these past months. but this kind of grief resulted in your feeble figure pouring into a heap of salty tears and loud sobs. Your back against the wall smoothly slid down until your butt landed on the floor. You clutched on to your gut that continuously stabbed you back and forth.

Betrayal was an understatement, yet it was beyond his control. War guarantees nothing.

But not when you needed him more than ever, especially when the biggest yet most unexpected news came upon you. All nausea and wild mood swings in the weeks that followed after he left weren’t normal, only to find out that you were expecting his child.

It was a secret you didn’t know how to confront through letters because it was best to tell him in person. Due to the situation, it was impossible. Only in your latest letter did you finally come clean about it, but it was now never to be sent because he has already passed away. Your entire family wasn’t pleased with this outcome but they didn’t shame you for it either. It was your choice and body after all.

They were concerned about how others will perceive you in the long run. An unmarried woman carrying a dead man’s child is taboo in this conservative society. Yet abortion is seen in a bad light too. You were stuck in a double edge sword, but you knew from the beginning that you wanted to keep the child. It’s a struggle, for sure, and your plans will have to wait.

Amid this bad luck, this unborn child is the last closest piece of Doyoung.

Amongst your unavoidable flow of tears that you knew must be stopped so it wouldn’t badly affect your child, you placed a hand on top of your lower belly. There was already an evident swelling bump, but your choice to continue wearing loose clothing to swerve from the public’s judgment covered it fine.

Well, for now. Only in the last trimester, it was going to be a challenge.

“I’m sorry you won’t be meet your father....” You spoke, rubbing it upwards. “....But I’ll make sure to take good care of you. You’re all I have left of him.”

Ever since Doyoung accepted Manwol’s offer, he never left his spot at the library. He was amazed at the endless arrangements of books. Even the western books his parents banned him from reading as a child were there. All this entertainment can distract from the long time he has to wait.

Except for today specifically, he asked Jeno, a new friend he made who also lost his life during the Korean war, to take over for a few hours when he found out that mail was to be delivered in Busan.

“Hyung, are you sure?”

“I just need to see her, Jeno.”

Doyoung expected the heartache when he saw you cry in your bedroom after finding out, and he couldn’t refrain from crying with you. Even as a soul, he’d do anything to cradle you in his arms and say that things will get better in time. How he wanted to tell you to take your time in life and that he’s willing to wait until your time comes. Whenever it could be.

Sadly, he was right there listening to you talk to your unborn child. The disbelief of in his reaction; he was supposed to be a father. Sure, he was relatively young. People won’t approve of it because you were unmarried. But it was an early start to settling down with each other.

It took him a while to accept his unfortunate fate, but for him to be robbed of this meaningful part in life was more unbearable to deal with.

From that point, he made sure to watch over you even if he was invisible. Even if Manwol advised him not to so it won’t complicate anything, he reassured that he has it under control. As a ghost without any grudges, what’s there to throw a fit at? He could retaliate at the enemy soldiers who shot him fearlessly, but they are nowhere to be found and he had no interest to turn into ashes.

The only time he assisted you was when you were giving birth. It was an excruciating process, sweating and breathing intensely. You let a scream every time you pushed, like any of the herbs or medications you consumed were wearing off. Your body wanted to give up as it weakened at the loss of blood.

Childbirth is no joke, having high mortality rates during these times. It was a tempting choice you’d want to take as Doyoung is no longer alive. But you knew it was selfish to leave your child as an orphan.

Doyoung couldn’t withstand watching you struggle anymore. If there was a trick Manwol taught him, it was to possess people. It’s often portrayed as a negative skill, warning him to only use it when it’s an emergency.

The pitiful way your eyes were drained off energy, he had to step in. Observing the midwife panicking on your side even if she was giving you support, he took his chance to possess her. Adjusting to this body, it made him glad to feel your warm hand again.

“(Y/N), your child is almost here.” The doctor positively announced.

“I want a breather. The grim reaper should just take me.” You complained as your mother wiped the endless drops of sweat on your forehead. Doyoung took it to heart, knowing death firsthand was no joke.

“Yah, don’t say stuff like that, (Y/N). This child is bound to be an amazing addition to your life.”

You didn’t know how your timid midwife would straighten you up, but it motivated you a lot more to finish the process. Little did you know.

She gladly accepted your firm grips on her hand, giving affirmative responses to keep you going. In moments you closed your eyes to push, you couldn’t help notice in the corner of your eye how from the physique of your midwife, you swore you saw him. His hand holding yours instead of the midwife.

Was this in the medication? For a moment, you let a tear not from pain but from happiness to catch a glimpse of him in your weakest moment. Every day, you were missing him.

It took almost half an hour before a small set of wails bore in the room while you harshly threw yourself back in the bed to recover your breathing patterns. It knocked you out for a while. Doyoung, still possessing the midwife, was handed the newborn by the doctor and tasked to clean her up.

“It’s a healthy baby girl.” the doctor confirmed as he wiped away the blood on the floor.

He was then brought by your mother to a designated room to bathe the relaxed newborn in his arms.

His newborn.

His desire to phase out of the midwife and use his skill to be visible while holding his child was strong. But it’s too risky since the midwife can catch him. He sucked it up and proceeded in what the books taught him on bathing a baby. During his break time, he’d read all the parenting books he could find. It’ll be rare anyways for him to use the tips, but he always wanted to stay prepared.

As the bubbles of the soap surrounded the relaxed baby, he washed her delicately to avoid her from waking up. He was just mesmerized at how you and he created something so precious. He used to be the type of man to be awkward around kids, but after catering to many children in the library and now his child, it started to change.

“Hello there, little one. Your mother needs you, so you better be good to her.”

Ghosts were highly discouraged to make any more emotional connections with the living because they’ll just end up being hurt, making it harder to move on. Exactly what Doyoung is doing was that, and the more he bonded with his daughter, it was a rekindled kind of pain. The kind when you separate family from each other. The same one he felt when he bid his parents good-bye before joining the war, only to never come back.

To top this off, the tiny hand of his sleeping daughter, whom he finally dried off with a small towel and wrapped in a fresh blanket, sleepily grasped on his pinky finger. Technically, it was the midwife’s, but he was in control.

Nonetheless, the innocent gesture got him both feeling on top of the moon and disheartened at the same time. As he curled it in a silly manner, noticing the size difference, he leaned down to leave a kiss on top of her forehead.

“I’m sorry I’m going to miss out on your life. But I’ll always be here for you, even if I’m in the shadows. Don’t ever question my love for you. Because I do love you, wholeheartedly.”

Kim Areum.

That was the name you settled with when your daughter was finally in your arms. It’s ideal to give Doyoung’s last name too because she is half of him. After resting for quite a while, you noticed how the midwife suddenly shook her body and took a loud deep breath when she helped out cleaning the area up.

“Are you okay?” You question, noticing her state of confusion.

“Uhm, yeah....” She narrowed her eyes to her environment. “Oh wait, you gave birth already? Wow, that was pretty fast...”

“Yes, you were right beside me the whole time...” You glanced sideways at her, suspicious.

“Oh wow yeah, I was.” She tried to laugh it off. “It was like I had an out-of-this-world moment or something. Oh whatever, I sound stupid.”

That brought you back to your early doubts. Whether or not he showed up or you were somewhat hallucinating. But not wanting to reflect too much on the impossible, you merely refocused to the peaceful newborn nestled in your arms.

She’s the only one keeping you alive in these hard times. She served as a reminder of him, thus you’ll hold on to her. From the outside of your window, all Doyoung can do now is to continue watching from afar every once in a while.

1954

Not much has changed in the past few years. You were either reading or taking care of Areum. Your family was lucky enough to have good housing, but getting important necessities such as water and food was a constant struggle.

With the war leading to lots of souls in the inn, he had to fulfill his mandatory orders to prepare souls to move on. He was joyful to be of service to others like he was back in the day.

Though lately, it’s still unavoidable for him to ponder how exactly are you and his daughter are doing. Once Donghyuck and Taeil went ahead for the afterlife, the loneliness began to creep in. Then a while ago, Jeno introduced him to a new group of children today checking out the library. Caught in a deadly car accident on their way home from school, he pitied how such bright kids left the world too soon.

These factors sparked his longing, plus there was still something above that: it was your birthday soon. Much to his luck, Manwol just received a new gift from the deities that might be his biggest help in coping.

“A dream call?” Doyoung inquired once he was summoned by Manwol to the meeting room, sitting across her.

“Yes, a call to anyone from the living that you wish to talk to in their dreams. Though this can only be used once per visitor. The deities pitied those with loved ones who want to see them physically. Thus, they invented this.”

“What are you implying?”

“Doyoung, you know well how easy I can read people even through their fake smiles. You miss her very much.” Manwol replied, holding up the phone to his ear. “This is your chance, Doyoung. Even if you can’t see them, they will see you.”

The first dream started with you sitting at your old spot by the river, in a simple dress Doyoung bought for you on your last ever birthday celebration with him. The forest looked breathtaking as if it was still pre-war times again. The river was still clear of blood and pollution. It must be spring, the flowers above you on the tree were in full bloom.

The sound of bike wheels stopping to park in the grass and someone humming changed your point of interest. There was the only person in your mind who would do that. Jumping from your seated position, you looked behind the other side of the tree only to find him picking up flowers from the branches. He was tall, not having much difficulty getting them.

The way he looked so peaceful and well-rested. This beauty and peace of mind he radiated, it was unreal.

“Doyoung.”

He clenched on the phone with his hand, his concealed yearning to at least hear his name on your lips again urged a tear to go down his cheek.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

He handed you the flower bouquet he made for you. Meanwhile, he suddenly dropped it when you didn’t hesitate to sling your arms around his waist. Your head pressed to his chest, pulling him closer you could care less if you lost your breath. Doyoung felt that tight hug, gripping on the part of his uniform where you placed your head. He rubbed it as if it was your hair.

None of you spoke a word and gracefully paused to take a moment.

Time in a dream call works a bit differently than in the living world. Once you’re in session, one minute alone of talking is equivalent to 30 minutes in the living world.

Doyoung took his first call to catch up with you and say everything he never got to before. It was also where he confessed how he knew about your daughter. There were guilt and regret at how you could’ve told him in your earlier letters.

“You were scared, (Y/N). There’s no way I can blame you.” Laying against his chest, he comforted you. “By the way, she has your nose, you know.”

There was this wave of relief that splashed you after this big burden lifted. You can live a more untroubled life now.

“She has your temper though.” You jokingly say, putting you in a fit of giggles. It’s been too long since you experienced genuine humor.

“At age 3? Yah, I’m impressed.” He remarked with pride.

Since Doyoung wasn’t capable to be physically affectionate in the dreams, he was more on receiving them from you. In return, he gave sincere conversations even if they were a yearly thing. Talking about your daughter was one of your favorite topics. adolescence, teenage years, to university, there was so much to talk about. Doyoung would only use his dream calls on you on your birthday, making them more meaningful. Each one, you were both back to your twenties with different outfits and settings based on the differing decades.

“Don’t you feel burdened to wait for me?” You asked as his fingers brushed some of your hair back while you watched the sunset from a wooden bench.

“No, I’m not. there are still many things I want to fulfill before moving on. I also want to watch Areum grow up and help you in any possible. Only when these goals of mine and others are cleared, then I‘ll be able to rest well.”

“Will you be okay until then, Doyoung?”

“I broke a promise with you, (Y/N). and I want to make up for it.”

“What will you do when my time comes?” Your hand interlocked with his, squeezing it tight even if he couldn’t reciprocate it.

“I will shout out your name and hug you tight, my love. But until then, appreciate your life. Live it to its fullest. For me.”

Doyoung sensed your worry but comforted you that it’ll be okay. He wasn’t lying either when he said he wanted to do a lot of things too. Every dream call, his gut feelings were strong to know what you were going through in every call, giving you any advice to get you through them.

To count, he gave you almost 50 dream calls.

The late 1950s-1960s

After returning to university to finish your undergraduate studies when the war ended, you continued to pursue law school and taking the exams as you’ve wanted. But this meant moving to Seoul for better opportunities.

Doyoung celebrated with himself when he found out, not having to take the bus or ride the hotel car to Busan every time he wanted to see you two. Now, he could simply walk back and forth, managing it with his shifts.

Currently, he was taking a break in his office. The deities gifted him with a bunch of murder mystery books from the West, fully immersed in the storylines. Leaning backward from his chair, he was abruptly disconnected by a knock on his open door.

“Hyung, you have a special visitor in the lobby.” Jeno urgently informed Doyoung as he leaned on the side of his office door, out of breath. “It’s quite important if you ask me.”

Doyoung removed his reading glasses and put down his novel. Putting back his blazer on, he approached his younger friend and made their way down the hallway together hastily.

“Is it a family member who’s passed?” He questioned, slightly folding his blazer sleeves then adjusting the hotel pin on his chest pocket. By the tone Jeno spoke, it must’ve been serious. Although there’s no way it can be you just yet, he has no idea who was looking for him then.

The lobby was bustling with numerous souls. Some still fresh, some just roaming around, while others were preparing to pass the other side. Nothing new to it, until Jeno pointed out a specific scene in one corner of the room.

“Hyung, over there.”

Like an obedient puppy, Doyoung looked over to where Jeno’s finger directed. At first glance, by her long black hair, he recognized Manwol, who was kneeling in front of someone seated. It wasn’t until she stood up and shifted her body to the side to reveal that someone, patting her young head kindly.

She wore a ribbon on her hair, matching with the colors of her floral dress while carefully holding on to a piece of paper with her drawing. Due to the distance, he couldn’t make out what she drew. Though with her dazzling eye smile formed by her small eyes, he knew her too well.

“Areum.”

Right on cue, the young girl caught his entrancing gaze. With the widest smile, she exclaimed “Daddy!”

Manwol, who was right beside her, held her hand and graced their way to Doyoung and Jeno. The two knew she despised children, ordering them to keep a keener eye on them when they wander around so they don’t access the hallway leading to her office. Unexpectedly, Areum didn’t burden her the slightest. She brought a different aura, a very pure and full of love kind.

With the full moon shining at its peak, becoming present to the eyes of the living, she must’ve spotted the hotel from afar and her interest grew wild for it. Typical for girls her age. Not afraid of the risks, she followed any directions to get here. Coincidentally, she encountered Manwol in the front gate.

Manwol recognized her straight away, even when she glimpsed the drawing of her family she treasured in her chest. She still included her father, whom she was very much acquainted with. Though, she was puzzled by her sudden appearance. When Areum explained that her father lived in the hotel according to your stories, her heart fell to her gut. Indeed, she was right, but again, ghosts are discouraged to have connections with the living or anything related to it. However, her strong senses couldn’t disregard how much Doyoung yearned for his family. Lately, his only daughter when numerous children arrived at the hotel. He didn’t want to voice it out however because the other staff shared the same sentiments, so it would be insensitive so he just kept it to himself. But Manwol sensed it all too well.

She won’t tell anyone this, but she has quite a soft spot for Doyoung. She empathized with him the most since he came to the hotel, willing to do what it takes to make his coping and waiting worthwhile. She was still brash at times, but only when necessary.

Areum’s presence didn’t seem to harm anyone, charming anyone around with a smile and her words. Especially that smile, it shows enough of how much she’s Doyoung’s daughter. With a rough internal debate, Manwol welcomed her inside the magical hotel Areum described it as and tasked Jeno to call for Doyoung. It was a risk, but a needed one.

With Manwol innocently holding the young girl’s hand, she looked her down and asked her, “Is that your father from your drawing, Areum?”

Areum lit up as she tilted her head upwards to see her tall father, nodding proudly. “Yes, that’s him! The one my mom talks about in her dreams too!”

Doyoung’s heart swelled at her pride for him, not hesitating to kneel to her height. Arms wide open, he loudly called her out for the first time. “Areum!”

The young girl, letting go of Manwol’s hand, ran as fast as her short legs could like nothing can stop her, even if the lobby was packed. Soon enough, she’s at the grasp of her father, carrying and hugging her in circles. Light as a feather, he took in her scent and warmth. The racing beat of her heart pulsated against his chest, reminding how much life she’s filled with. It was liberating that she found him, even when he stood behind the dark shadows.

Once he put her back down, “What brings you here, Areum? Isn’t it past your bedtime already?”

She pouted, sulking at disobeying your rules. “I know, but as soon as I was ready for bed, I saw the hotel in bright lights just like mommy described. She said that only during the peak full moon it’ll be shown to very special people who are alive, and it turns out that I’m one of them, daddy.”

Hearing that title from her lips was something he would’ve never get sick of. He felt the validity more than ever.

The odds of being a human spotting the hotel during peak full moon was rare, earning perplexed looks by those who don’t see it. Doyoung never encountered a human waltzing in the hotel out of the bloom, so for his daughter to have this mystical ability was a gift in disguise. Maybe the deities knew how to cut off some slack and agony for wandering souls. This was an excuse to stop cursing them now and then.

“Wow, aren’t you a lucky girl for that?” Jeno, whom he forgot was by his side, patted her head similarly to Manwol. “Your father missed you dearly, you know?”

“Well, Mr. Jeno,” She picked up his name from his nametag. “I missed him too.”

Doyoung processed the features of the angelic girl in front of him, astonished at how you and he created someone so cheerful during a time of trouble. Aside from her eye smile, she had his gummy smile and curiosity, while she inherited your nose and intelligence. Cupping her chubby cheek, he pinched it with a cute sound effect from his mouth.

“Daddy!” She protested, slapping his hand away and dramatically covered her reddening cheek. “Not allowed to that, ever.”

Oh, you weren’t joking when you said she had his temper too.

Before he could defend himself, Manwol reentered their interaction. Like common sense, Doyoung got back on his feet but helplessly giving side glances to his daughter. Manwol giggled at his sudden formality before instructing Jeno to lead Areum to the carnival room. As Areum waves him goodbye for the meantime, Manwol added on.

“There’s a rise of kids checking in the hotel, unfortunately, so I wholeheartedly requested the deities to create an area dedicated for child-like fun. Just today, it’s finished in construction so it’s a great place for Areum to explore.”

“Manwol, I-” He was feeling overwhelmed, stumbling his words. “Why did you this for me?”

“You used your dream calls for (Y/N), but there’s never been a way for you to reach out to your daughter. And the way her glimmering eyes wanted to come in when she shouldn’t, I couldn’t refuse a chance for the two to reunite.”

“But what about the deities?”

“I’ll handle it. What matters is that you have tonight to spend with Areum. It’s the least thing I could do as you are one of my beloved staff,” She reassured, yet looked at him in a downcast manner. “But as much as possible, everything tonight must feel like a vivid dream to her. She’s not allowed to keep any knick-knacks from tonight either.”

Everything always came at a price. Doyoung was acquainted well enough, but he can’t lie to say that I didn’t ache. Nonetheless, Manwol having such a selfless side was completely new to him. That’s why he never asked for favors like the other staff since he’ll just get turned down or scolded like a child. Maybe she wasn’t as scary as to how they labeled her all these years he’s worked for her.

Manwol took Doyoung’s silence under the impression of internal conflict. In true Manwol fashion, she clapped her hands right in front of his visage, snatching him back to reality. “You’re wasting time, Doyoung! Don’t think about it too much right now. Now come on and dress up more casually, your daughter is waiting for you.”

Following her order, he bowed respectfully before zooming to his hotel room. She was right, he has to enjoy whatever is given. Demanding for more when you’re already dead is disrespectful to the eyes of the deities, considering that alongside your past life when you step into the afterlife.

From his uniform, he changed into a white long sleeve buttoned-up, which was layered under a lilac knit sweater, and black trousers. He styled his hair in a dandier way, applying gel then combing it upwards. He was only following the trends of the decade, basing it on the recently checked-in souls. Deities must’ve liked him a lot to give him a lot of gifts from time to time, making him completely disregard the money from the living world Manwol gives during his off days. Most of the time, his off days are spent either secretly observing you and your daughter, or reading more books in the library.

This one was like a change of scenery, his heart pumping once he exited to the elevator and rushed to the carnival room. And just as he entered the doors, the wave of nostalgia hit him instantaneously. It felt like he was in university again, bringing you around the bizarre contraptions and games for the first time for your amusement. A spark in your romance, so full of young love and naivety of what was to come.

He spotted his young girl wrapped around in the arms of Jeno, explaining to her about the wide range of rides as she licked on a rainbow lollipop. Once he showed up to the both of them, Jeno cautiously put her down so she can hold Doyoung’s hand.

“You deserve this, hyung. Make it worthwhile.” Jeno placed his hand on his older friend’s shoulder before leaving the room. Keeping it in mind, Doyoung kneeled again in front of his daughter. Her smiles were contagious, fascinated by everything she’s surrounded in.

“I’ve never seen anything like this, daddy.” That line sounded familiar, chuckling at the precious memory.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have fun tonight!”

The bliss in tonight was never-ending, like the two of them were in their own world. Areum wanted to ride on a horse in a carousel first, which Doyoung agreed to. Lifting her, he held her by the waist as the ride started to go. She pointed out every object that she can see while Doyoung avidly listened, then telling her what each ride and game consists of in return.

Once they got off, her short legs scurried off to the game booth where rows of bottles were laid in front of her. Right beside her were the rings. Doyoung properly described the instructions, and on the dot, Areum went ham and started throwing the rings in random directions. By the way, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed, her competitive side was evident. Doyoung observed as she either hit or miss, finding another trait of his in her.

You’d find it hard to believe, but she would’ve been a total daddy’s girl.

To her success, she squealed victoriously as she won and hugged her dad. One of the staff in charge rewarded her with new candy to munch on, and off she went to look for the next attraction to divulge in. Doyoung struggled a little catching up to her, but anything he would do for his daughter.

From a one on one balloon dart game, which Doyoung willingly let Areum won because she’s a fussy one, roaming through a mini house of mirrors, riding the indoor Ferris wheel, and many more, Areum was ready to move to the next venue after telling her father that she wanted him to read to her.

“Mommy said you’re a librarian here because you like reading. I like it too, can you take me there?”

Just like you, he was charmed by his daughter. “Alright, Areum. Let’s go there then.”

Before they made it through past the wide doors with the bright red sign above saying “Exit”, Areum’s attention was distracted by a black kiosk near the Ferris wheel. She followed her gut, changing her direction. Doyoung quickly followed her footsteps, only to turn up in front of a photo booth.

“Wow, are these where you can take instant pictures, daddy?”

Waves of nostalgia hit Doyoung as if he were on the beach, totally unprepared for the emotional impact. With Areum, he missed your presence more than ever. Having you there completed your family, and it could’ve been quite a reunion.

“Yes, Areum. How about you go inside and daddy will insert some coins so you can have your pictures taken?”

“But daddy, I want to take pictures with you! It’s only mommy that has pictures with you, and I don’t want to feel left out.” She threw a tantrum, crossing her arms.

Here she goes again, making it difficult for Doyoung to refuse. Even with Manwol only giving him one rule to follow for the night, he doesn’t want any bad memories to be made with his daughter. He’ll have to work it out one way or another later. In the meantime, he smirked before carried her out of the blue inside the booth. Her shrieks increased in volume, only softening after she settled on her father’s lap. Doyoung inserts a few coins, and swiftly enough, the contraption started to operate.

“Okay Areum, one photo strip has 4 solo photos in it. 4 smiles or poses, okay? You’re going to look at the lens there, in the shape of a circle. Then, the flash is going to show in 3, 2-” Right on time, the two smiled.

They had less than 10 seconds until the second shot, so the two pulled random funny expressions. Doyoung pouted his lips, while Areum stuck out her tongue. For the third photo, Doyoung kissed the top of her head while Areum poked her cheeks with her fingers. Lastly, Areum instructed her father to lower his head to her level so she can peck his cheek. His shock was perfectly taken, filling his heart with adoration.

Areum hating getting affection but loves giving it? Another trait of his.

The look of amazement Areum gave once she stepped foot on the endless library was priceless. She described how it was bigger than the national library in Seoul. While she strolled around the near shelves, Jeno, taking over his night shift, approached him with a bottled treat. But it wasn’t just a normal one.

“Manwol and I overheard that she liked strawberry milk, so Manwol told me to give it to you. It has the dream spell potion from Johnny’s bar mixed with flowers from the deities so she can’t see ghosts or the hotel anymore. Make sure she drinks it before she leaves this place.”

While Areum settles on the small couch with her chosen books, she patiently anticipated for her father to read to her before her yawning takes over her. She never tracked the time, but she’s gone way beyond her average curfew.

“Sleepy already, sweetheart?” Doyoung asked as he sat beside her, inspecting her drowsy state.

Areum shook her head, displaying all the books she got on the table in front of her. “Nope! Not until you read me a bedtime story.”

Doyoung scanned through her book selection, amazed by her choices. The Little Prince, Winnie the Pooh, Goodnight Moon, and a bunch of Madeline books from the series, he couldn’t decide! If only he could read them all for her.

A lot of those books he read growing up, and the same goes for you. Especially Madeline, which he discovered through you as one of your childhood favorites. By instinct, he chose the first book from the series, simply entitled “Madeline”.

“This one.” He patted his lap so she could sit on it, which she did without wasting a breath.

It was ironic for a librarian to have never read aloud for anyone during his stay. Maybe because no one asked him to nor he wasn’t into reading aloud. He preferred reading to himself, only helping those looking for specific books or recommending if anyone has a favorite genre. Maybe he’ll give it a shot now. This first-hand experience opened his eyes to a new type of intimacy, hearing the adorable reactions from his daughter as he read the life of Madeline in Paris.

“In the middle of one night, Miss Clavel turned on her light and said, “Something is not right!”.” Doyoung flipped the next page. “Little Madeline sat in bed, cried and cried-”

“She cried to get attention, huh?” Areum commented mid-reading.

“Areum, if she didn’t, she could get even sicker. We don’t want that, right?”

“If I cried like that, would that be enough to bring you back to me and mommy, daddy?” She wholesomely questioned, twisting her body weight so she could face him. “Mommy already has a way to reach to you, and I want something like that too”

Doyoung knew she was a smart girl, but she often denies the reality of some things. In this case, her father’s passing still hasn’t hit her, even if she possessed the mystical skill to see ghosts and the hotel. Doyoung felt cornered, so before he could think of a reply, he kindly asks her,

“Hmm, what do you have in mind, sweetheart?”

“Well,” She pouted as she fidgeted with her index fingers. “I read all your old letters to mommy, so maybe I can write you one every year.”

“What a great idea, sweetheart!” He cheered. “How will you give it?”

“Uh..” She paused to think, then a bright idea came to her. “During your birthday, daddy! Mommy and I still celebrate it if you don’t know, so I can offer it alongside the food.”

Doyoung played along, knowing that tradition of yours. Although it still aches him to show up on his death anniversary, he compromised by showing up on his birthday. He’d see his and your families celebrating, talking about the positive and fun things about him in his life. He observed his daughter a little more later when she got older and started talking. Whenever you praised him for something, there was hope and inspiration in her young eyes. It’s uplifting to discover that his legacy was seen in a good light. He’d never wanted to be seen as a bad guy to anyone.

“I’ll look forward to it, sweetheart. Promise?” He stuck out his pinky to her, getting curled in response by hers.

“Promise!”

Both of them chuckled, appreciating the moment. His long arms embraced her from the back, nuzzling his head on his shoulder. How blessed to have a daughter like her, but from a glance, the bottle of strawberry milk situated beside the pile of books gave a remembrance of one of his remaining tasks. It had to be done, but he hoped she won’t at least forget to write to him.

“Look! Miss Manwol wanted to give this to you.” He handed it to her.

Ecstatic, she cranked open the bottle cap and took tiny sips of it. “It’s so good, daddy!”

Doyoung softly laughed as excess milk drops dribbled in her lips, wiping it with his thumb. “Aigoo, you messy girl. Let’s continue, shall we?”

Cozying up to him again, Doyoung resumed his storytelling. Once he said the words, “The end.”, the small head of his daughter completely leaned against his chest. Snuggling for more comfort, he checked her current condition. Knocked out like a light, he puts the book down and cradled her for a second. The last time he did something like this was when she was born. She was tiny then, and now, she’s bound to outgrow his lap sooner or later.

This was his sign to bring her home.

He boosted her small figure, her head now planted on his shoulder and his hand resting behind the nape of her neck. Her legs were entangled in his torso when he showed up at the lobby again. It was much more serene, everyone checked in already.

“Aigoo, fast asleep already?” Manwol made an appearance without warning, alongside her personal driver Yuta and the bartender Johnny.

“As expected from my magic.” Johnny commended himself, stretching his fingers. That easily gave him a slap from Yuta.

“Can’t you be more sensitive to Doyoung?”

Not caring about those two, Manwol caressed Areum from behind. Inside her cold heart, she brought so much amusement. Even if she embodied traits from Doyoung, she stood out from his usual reserved nature. She had so much energy, and it’s a fresh sight. Manwol secretly peered at their father-daughter time in the library, and she sensed the love the two had for each other. Even if it’s unbearable to separate them, having tonight was a pleasure for all.

“Yuta,” She summoned him. “Drop these two to her house safe and sound. It’s too dangerous to walk in the dark right now.”

Bowing in response, he led the way to the elevator for Doyoung to follow. But before he took the first step, Manwol halted him by the arm. “You better come back, or the deities won’t be pleased.”

He nodded before he was sent on his way. Wasn’t this brutal?

The silence in the car ride is deafening, though he didn’t want to disturb his little girl either. Yuta peeked from the mirror now and then to check on the two, sharing the gloom of his fellow friend. Having something or someone so valuable from the living world makes it hard to leave it. He understood as he suffered a similar fate to him.

When they’ve arrived at their destination, Doyoung was quick to notice that the lights from your living room were still on. It’s too risky to waltz in through the front door, squinting for other ways to go inside. To his luck, the window of Areum’s bedroom was wide open. That must’ve been how she escaped earlier.

“Be careful, Doyoung. Her neighbors may be watching.”

“It’s around 4 am right now, Yuta. I’ll be fine.” He reassured, clicking open the car door with his daughter peacefully asleep.

Entering inside her bedroom, he gently put her down on her soft bed. Covering her body with the duvet so she wouldn’t get cold, he took one last lingering look before taking his leave. Manwol might be looking for him already. Pressuring even to know that Yuta was waiting outside for him and that the deities are looking down on him too.

“Daddy,” Her tiny hand tugged on his sleeve, stopping his movements. Her droopy eyes faintly ajar, wanting to capture these last dreamy moments. “Don’t leave me and mommy again.”

This retouched attachment between the two made things much more stifling to accept reality. Doyoung understood her fright and sighed, kneeling to her again. Patting her head, “I’m sorry but I have no choice, sweetheart. We don’t want daddy to get in trouble, right?”

She lazily nods, tugging on his sleeve again. “Can you sing me to sleep, daddy? You used to do that for mommy.”

He grinned, accepted her last request. Holding on her hand, kissing it, he quietly sings.

“Eonjebuteoinji geudaereul bomyeon….”

When the song reached its end, the soft snores from Areum filled his eardrums. Her eyes are fully closed, and her tiny head fell to the side of her pillow. Kissing her forehead, he whispered, “Good night, sweetheart. Daddy loves you so much.”

A cute sight to Doyoung, she occupied a huge part in his heart. Even if everything tonight will feel like a complete dream, it’s a memorable moment for Doyoung that he’ll treasure.

Initially, he planned to leave her bedroom the same way he came in, which was through her window. That’s all Manwol tasked him to do when he arrives at your house, but his heart selfishly desires to see you. Even if he was invisible now. His powers were weakening, twitching from being visible to invisible back and forth.

Never has he stepped inside your new house, and this could be his only chance.

The first thing he saw after leaving his daughter’s bedroom was the dining room. Tidy and organized, as expected from you. For the living room connected to it, the simple decorations invited him inside. Assorted photos hung in the wall and by the table near the front door, with a fresh bouquet of asters in a vase there too.

Alluring as it is, the only thing Doyoung couldn’t keep his eyes off the most was a sleeping you in pajamas, hunched over the coffee table on top of books and numerous paperwork. An empty coffee glass neared the edge, so he caught it before you squirmed again from your sleep.

The exhaustion from your life was constantly piled up one after the other. You’ve been studying hard at law school, balancing it with a part-time job as a teacher’s assistant at your university for undergrads and being a mom to Areum. Even seeing the pile of bills right by your side, you didn’t just need the help of your families. You needed him, as a friend, lover, and father.

Men were still viewed as the main breadwinners of the family, but you juggled both positions as mother and father. It was a vicious fate, and he’d do anything to share that challenge with you. For now, the only thing he could do is bring you to bed at least.

Taking you into his arms bridal style, completely knocked out, he only assumed the remaining door in front of Areum’s bedroom was your bedroom. Carefully kicking it, he graced your bed and laid you down elegantly so your sleeping flow won’t be disturbed. He put the covers on top of your body so you’d feel comfier.

Right in front of your bedside was a breezy open window, the moonlight creeping in to highlight your sleeping face. The wrinkles on your forehead started to show, a side effect of immense stress. It’s a trait no one wants, yet it symbolized aging and moving forward to the future. Doyoung envied you for it.

Besides that, you looked youthful as ever, seeking internal peace from the outside world in your deep slumber. His index traced the outline of your face, appreciating your glow. Trapped in amazement, leaving you will be more difficult. It’s been a while since he saw you up close in the flesh, but Manwol’s words daunted his mind. Just like his daughter, his lips softly pecked your forehead and to your ear, he said in a hushed tone, “Good night, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

Getting back on his knees to exit, he’s convinced that you and your daughter can detect a leaving presence and catch it before they do. On cue, your hand unconsciously grabbed his wrist. Your mind couldn’t make up what mental state you were in, but something in you vibed a known presence. One that you’ve yearned, one that you struggle to wait and see until your birthday arrives. Is he actually here?

Doyoung reacted immediately, his feet shuffling to face you again. Eyes still shut close, but your lips released a satisfied moan as you stretched your arms slightly.

“Is it my birthday already?” You mumbled incoherently, gripping on the unknown wrist. “Or am I just lucky enough to get a free pass?”

He rolled his eyes at your nonsense. “If this was a free pass, what would you want me to do?”

You weakly took a peek. It was blurry, probably caused by your sleepiness. But you recognized the silhouette of this stranger from the back of your hand. You clutched his grip, bringing his face closer to yours. Doyoung didn’t expect such a jerking action, almost falling limp if his other free hand didn’t grip on your duvet.

“Kiss me before you go again, my love.” You requested, mindlessly craving his touch.

Loosening from your grip, his palm cupped your cheek as he wets his lips. He made the first move, sweetly and slowly. Even at your unknown state, you returned with the same level of passion, brushing the hair behind the nape of his neck to deepen it. You haven’t kissed anyone like this in a very long time, too busy with your studies and motherhood. This refreshed your memories of what you missed, a warm tear escaping your eye.

No one will ever match up to him.

Doyoung’s deprivation of physical touch for you amplified, eagerness for so much more than this. Touching himself to the thought of you grew tiring, wanting to have you in the flesh by his side. It wasn’t until a bright car light from outside shun by your window. Yuta was an impatient one, but he had every right to be.

It was fulfilling while it lasted. His heart throbbed when his lips parted from yours, opening his eyes again. Your eyes stayed closed, but your lips hummed in satisfaction.

“Nothing changed in the way you kiss, my love.” You complimented, succumbing back to your deep slumber by pulling yourself further inside the duvet.

Doyoung grinned at your words, kissing your knuckle one last time. “I meant what I said, (Y/N). Sleep well.”

He tiptoed out your bedroom, deciding to exit through the front door. Again, no one would be awake at this time anyway. However, an antique-looking photo of him caught his eye. Taking a closer look, it was you and him by his garden, clutching on his arm under their family lemon tree and smiling during pre-war times. It was a funny story actually.

His father bought a camera for the first time and wanted to test it out. You were over at their house that day to study, and his father insisted to take a photo of the two of you as a first try.

“Oh come on, we must commemorate this new contraption! The first people can be titled “Young Love” or something like that!”

Doyoung cringed, whining, “Dad, that’s so corny!”

“I don’t care. Now hurry, join the frame with (Y/N) and smile!”

His father may present himself as strict and stubborn as one of the most affluent men in Korean society even after the war, but behind the scenes, he knows how to entertain his children. Doyoung’s childhood never had a dull moment. Oh, how wished he could follow the same fate as him.

This happy photo was a golden treasure to you, framing it so it could be preserved. It was one of your last traces of him, aside from Areum. Next to it, a much smaller photo of you and Areum was placed. Also all smiles for the two of you, Areum firmly sat on your lap and clasping her hands above her dress. You cut your hair during that time, showing the dog tag necklace that once belonged to him on your neck. You were really devoted to him, and he’s grateful, to say the least.

He knew he shouldn’t take anything either before going back to the hotel, but there was just no way he can’t take this one photo of his favorite girls with him. He already kept his photo strip of him and Areum from the carnival in his back pocket, so he’ll just have to work out the consequences then.

Returning to the car was bittersweet. He took one more proper look at your home, taking in all the positive energy to have such a loving family even if he can only watch from afar. While Yuta revved the car on, Doyoung deeply sighed from the backseat. What a spontaneous evening.

“I’m guessing you didn’t resist seeing your lover either, Doyoung?” Yuta commented, viewing him from the mirror. Raising his brows playfully, “Got caught in the VIP seat of you two lip-locking.”

“First of all, that’s creepy, Yuta. Second, you most definitely know what it feels like to be separated from your lover. Cut me some slack.”

“Whatever, that’s not my business anyway. But good luck to you if Manwol asked why there was a sudden extension.” The older friend shrugged, his foot pressing on the pedal to drive off the area.

“Keyword is if she asks. Now please, drive faster, Yuta. I have a shift to fill in now.”

Last night was a gift, but also an aching reminder of what could’ve been if he never died. The sun is slowly making its appearance again, bringing in another morning in this reality. Another work day for Doyoung, more waiting to be done.

Yet recalling his bonding moments with Areum, he’ll most likely get through another few decades. He yanked out his photo strip from the back pocket of his trousers, gazing at their authentic happiness. He muttered to himself,

“I’ll see you and your mother again, and we’ll all celebrate and rejoice. ‘Til then, my sweetheart.”

Meanwhile, ever since that peculiar “dream” with Doyoung, it left you with a lot of questions. Perhaps, it’s all just in your head. Though it doesn’t quite answer how one of your beloved pictures went missing. That’s definitely something you’re going to ask if your birthday comes up again.

Moving forward, his kind words pushed you to do your best. In the next years, you first became a family lawyer for a few years to get used to the field, but permanently shifted to being a public attorney because you wanted to be able to represent those who are suffering the most yet can’t afford the legal help to avoid it.

Just like what you and Doyoung aspired.

Balancing that with a kid was overwhelming, but with your and Doyoung’s families helping you out, your stress lessened.

You served as a huge inspiration to female college students wanting to pursue law. Since law is still perceived as a male-dominated field, you constantly pushed to make space for women in that workforce. It was also rare of you to lose a case because of the hard work you put into disproving every loophole and suggesting the correct punishments for the wrongdoers.

“You really outdid yourself once again, (Y/N). Or should I say Attorney (Y/L/N) (Y/N).”

“Shut up, Doyoung. Tell me more about your hotel staff friends. That Johnny guy seems very fun, and Jeno seems like a lovely boy.”

“Johnny’s a playful lad, always the life of the party. Jeno is like the younger brother I really wish I had. Donghyun-hyung is okay and all, but he’s so high maintenance.”

“Shush! He’s doing fantastic right now. He pursued acting like he always wanted.”

“He deserves it because he’s hard-working, like yourself, Attorney.”

You’ve never fallen in love the same way you did for Doyoung. Though you won’t lie that you’ve slept with a few men during nights out with your co-workers, committing to another man was something you had no time for. You always envisioned Doyoung as the one fucking you senseless.

People viewed it as stupid to be still lovestruck over your dead lover, but you’ve been called worst insults in your life that it doesn’t sting that much anymore. At the end of the day, your heart still soared and longed for Doyoung.

You just can never let him go.

“It’s still unfair to you, Doyoung. I should be ashamed.” The two of you were at a drive-in theater, watching from the trunk of his pickup truck. Your back laid against his chest as his fingers roam your torso in an upwards motion.

“No, you shouldn’t, (Y/N). It’s natural to desire human affection. I’m the one who should be sorry for not giving it to you.”He replied, completely ignoring the film.

You scoffed jokingly. “It’s silly how we’re so deprived of sex, especially with each other.”

“Oh, (Y/N). Don’t get me started, I’m suffering here with my hand alone while you can just find any available man.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” You surrendered, directing your head from the front to the back. “At the end of the day, it’s still your touch that still gets me weak.”

“My dear, on the day we reunite, brace yourself. I’ll show you who you really belong to.”

1973

Doyoung’s been on duty with reading books to children lately, and again, he’s aching to see what Areum’s up to. Rereading past letters from her from his birthday celebrations were driving him wild. After helping one young girl look for more books under the Madeline series, he had to make an exception. Just this once, and that would be it.

Even if he was under disguise, he desperately wanted to have just another brief conversation with her, especially that she’s a lot older compared to their last encounter. Doyoung witnessed her bloom from this imaginative young girl to a strong woman chasing after her dreams.

Like mother, like daughter.

He spotted her at a small bookstore to buy books for her classes and newly arrived ones from the States, very much interested in western literature. But upon seeing the peaked prices which were more than what she saved for, she put the book back on the shelf and gathered the ones she actually needed.

This was where Doyoung took it upon himself to offer his help. Staying long enough in the middle of the living and the dead, he was capable to turn visible.

“Stephen King, huh?” He inquired, scooting to her side and pulling out the book again to take a better look at it. He came across this book in his library, even if it was in English. “I see that you’re into horror. These books are in English though.”

Areum knew speaking to strangers is not a good thing, but if anyone reached out to her to talk about books, she can’t help but feel excited. “I’m interested in a lot of genres, and this book is pretty popular right now so I wanted to check it out. Besides, I’m reading more English books so I can become fluent one day.”

“You aren’t scared of the storylines?”

“I went through a life of hardships, sir. Nothing scares me anymore honestly.” Doyoung couldn’t help feel proud and sorry for her. Without questions, he led her to the counter and paid for all books despite her insisting not to.

“Sir, you really shouldn’t have. I can always come back for those books when I save up more.”

“It’s fine, really. With your taste in literature, you have a promising future as an author if that’s what you’re aiming for.” He complimented. Areum was frazzled at how spot on this stranger was, trying to convince him again.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t pay you back?”

“Pay me back by publishing your books.” He confidently stated, bringing out his wallet to pay the cashier. His astonishing kindness and encouragement for her are heartwarming, bowing with gratitude.

“Thank you,” She halted because she didn’t know his name.

There was no way Doyoung can disclose his actual name, so he just picked a random nickname some of the kids in the hotel who he read to coined for him. “I prefer giving people my nickname. It’s tokki.”

“Thank you, tokki. I’m Areum, Kim Areum.” She thanked him properly, struggling from carrying her things to shake his hand, but Doyoung signaled her not to.

“Nice to meet you, Areum.” He greeted back.

As Areum was more ready to part ways, Doyoung’s fatherly instincts activated due to the heavy box she held. Her dorms must be a bit far and it was already nighttime. Anything can happen.

“Excuse me, Areum. But do you mind if I help you with your books? It’s pretty late, so I just want to make you get back safe.”

Something in Areum was very willing to trust this man she just met. Sure, he was quite covered up, but it’s almost winter and maybe he didn’t want to catch a cold. Though, his intentions looked good. She’s heard stories about people getting robbed in these alleys, so she accepted his help.

Her dorms were a few blocks away, giving enough time to be acquainted with this man. Though he was the one mostly asking the questions and she answered them. She didn’t pry on it too much and went with the flow.

“Are you an only child in your family?”

“Yes. It’s also just me and my mom. I never got to meet my dad sadly. He died before I was born while battling in the Korean war.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” No matter how long it’s been since the war, the trauma of it all still haunted Doyoung.

“It’s been years so it’s fine. I found out recently that he risked his life to save his senior officer during a surprise attack from one of my uncles. If that isn’t bravery, I don’t know what is.”

“So you’re not mad at him for leaving?” He asked, hoping he didn’t cross boundaries either. He needed this closure.

“It was hard to accept at first. All my friends grew up with their actual fathers, and I felt outcasted. But there are just some things we can’t control, you know? Besides, people always spoke of him highly and that makes me proud. Though,” She answered honestly, covering up the bitterness in her words in other not to disrespect him. “I’m pretty sure I saw him in a dream when I was younger.”

Doyoung’s heart leaped. So she may recall quite a bit. “Oh really? What was it like?”

“The only person I told this to is my mom. It felt quite unreal, honestly. I was around 7-8 years old at that time, and we were at a carnival, enjoying the attractions and stuff. Then we transitioned to this huge library where he read me a bunch of stories. One of them was Madeline, I believe. One of my favorites!”

Doyoung replays the fond memory in his mind. Time really flew by so fast.

“What a fun dream, it seems to be.”

Areum was elated at the best memory of her youth, smiling to herself. “It truly was. It felt like I was with him, you know. No matter how many times he told me he loved me there, I still respond the same way and that nothing has changed.”

“I love you too, Areum.” He mumbled quietly. That dream should not have been the only memory they have of each other. Neither of them deserved to be parted.

Soon enough, they arrived at the front doors of her dorm residence. Since it was strictly for women, she explained that she’ll carry the box from here on.

“Thanks again for the help, tokki. I’ll make sure to pay you back soon.” She spoke so casually because, for some reason, this mysterious man felt trustworthy. Her gut feeling may fool her, but she let it pass.

“Take your time, Areum. I wish you the best of luck.”

Before they went separate ways, something about her bitter words from awhile ago bothered Doyoung and he wanted to say something about it. Because looking into the far future, if he didn’t, he knew he’ll regret it and make moving on harder.

“Wait, Areum!”

Areum abruptly reacted to the shouts of her name, almost dropping the box. She faced again the mysterious tokki, who now had an awkward stance with his hand in the air waving at you.

“Yes, tokki?”

Compiling his thoughts, here goes nothing.

“This is quite random but your dad... I just know he loves you too. He’s also proud of you for being strong and intelligent. I hope you don’t forget that.”

Areum was baffled by his statement, but it was uplifting to hear that. Maybe this tokki guy was going through the same thing as her, so she didn’t want to judge too quickly. She was taught to never judge a book by its cover from you. By the quick blinking of her eyes, some tears dropped down to her cheek. She let out some sniffles on her way up to her dorm room, reassured that this stranger may just be correct. She heard what she needed to hear.

It’s been a long time since he reunited with his daughter, even if she’s fooled into thinking that the dream was just a dream. His status as a father was renewed. Even if he got a major scolding from Manwol upon his return at the hotel for ditching his shift.

“She blamed you in public? Oh no, my love.” You consoled your lover after he told you the tale.

A lot of iconic songs were released during this decade, so this dream accommodated it. It was set in a jazz bar, where all sorts of alcohol on display with assorted vinyl CDs by the platform at the end. Dimly lit with numerous empty tables and chairs, and it was only the two of you. Dressed to the nines for the occasion, your flimsy hands couldn’t stop playing with your hoop earrings. A definite staple while you swayed your hips to the beat of Superstition by Stevie Wonder.

Doyoung sat in one of the bar stools in a red v-neck top and flare pants, marveling at your physique and movements in that indigo romper. You could feel his fiery stare, your body flowing through the groove to capture him into your spell. The dream version of him always gets easily distracted when you act suggestive, especially when he isn’t in control physically. Only his words can he sort out.

Dancing towards him, you dragged his arms away from his seated position to lead him to the empty dance floor.

“Let’s dance off the stress, shall we?”

Pulling off the famous dance moves and grooving in freestyle, it was a blast. Both your young energies were in sync. From the funky beat, it shuffled into a slower yet soulful song. The unwinding mood could only mean that this dream was reaching its end. You took Doyoung’s arms again, placing one on your waist and the other interlocked with you. Taking the lead, you waltzed back and forth, twirling yourself in his arms.

Doyoung cracked a smile from the phone and in the dream, immersing himself in the lovely song. It was always played on the radio during the late-night shows, dedicated for the couples out there. With you, he could finally understand why couples request it every night.

“You are the sunshine of my life,” He sang along while feeling your heartbeat against his chest. “That's why I'll always stay around.”

“You are the apple of my eye,” You carried from where he left off, equally resonating with the lyrics. No matter how many times you’ve said or expressed your patience for each other, this song held a special place. It summed up everything you’re both fighting for.

“Forever, you'll stay in my heart.”

1980s

It came to Doyoung’s attention that there’s a new member of the hotel staff, and Manwol put him in charge of touring this new addition around and orienting them about the hotel rules. Considering he wasn’t busy, he went for it.

This person would be the replacement of Johnny, who finally passed through the afterlife in high spirits after his younger brother Mark took his rightful place as the heir of their family business. Originally, it was him, but his stepmother and stepbrother stabbed him alongside his father to get ahold of the power. Without proof, they led the business as she freely did, overworking Mark numerously and spending their money to their heart’s desire.

Doyoung couldn’t let this pass. Since Manwol hired a human manager back in the ‘70s named Kun to better facilitate human-related affairs for the hotel (taxes, bills, etc), he requested him to talk to Mark then introduce him to you.

Kun also made sure to inform you that this was Doyoung’s idea.

“This Johnny is the same Johnny that Doyoung talks about in my dreams? The one who brings the fun out of him every once and while?”

“That’s right, Ms. (Y/L/N). Due to the betrayal, he can’t move on until his stepbrother is taken down.”

The fact that Kun was a bridge to the two of you felt miraculous. Now and then, Doyoung tasked Kun to buy you flowers or coffee whenever they meet. Sometimes, he’ll ask him to send his letters to you too. In return, you replied to those letters, attaching pictures of you and Areum over time. He hung it up in his office, taking a look before every shift.

Kun didn’t mind being in the middle. While Doyoung gave her cases to work on, it makes it easier for him to wait for her. Doyoung was a guest first before being a member of staff, and as the human manager, he’ll make sure that he gets to move on too.

Even if you don’t accept cases from big companies, the touching way how Mark described his passed older brother persuaded her otherwise. He even opened up about watching his father and older brother get killed right in front of him. From there, he was held hostage for years and never told anyone about that night.

It was undoubtedly the biggest case in your career. Up until this day, everyone still talks about how complex and intense the battle was.

“Always finding a way to make justice prevail, Kim Doyoung.” You thought to yourself after gathering more evidence from Mark and Kun, working closely also with forensics and the police.

And that you did. With additional information on Johnny’s side, which helped find the empty puzzle pieces to prove his stepfamily’s guilt, they won the case. Life imprisonment and forced transferring of roles, Mark became the CEO. All those involved in hiding the truth got caught and fired from their positions.

You deserved your influential status, and due to your never-ending service, Doyoung found himself falling in love with you over and over again. Even from far away, you felt his connection and passion.

Currently, you were dealing with five cases, one of them being another request for Kun and Doyoung. It was for the murder of Yuta Nakamoto in the late 40s.

Being a migrant from Japan, numerous Koreans held grudges for their people. He was mistreated and disrespected, even if he had the most caring soul. He even found love, ready to get wed. But one normal evening after his job as a Japanese teacher, he was mobbed by Koreans and heartlessly killed. At first, he wanted vengeance. But after Manwol telling stories of souls burning into ashes when they get revenge, he changed his objective to watch the demise of all his killers, who became very influential people in Korean society.

Representing with you was his former lover, Sooyoung. No matter how many times she tried to appeal to the court in the past, no one paid attention because she was a woman and interracial relationships were taboo. Even if Yuta held a special place in her heart, she eventually got married to another man. In the beginning, she felt guilty, but after Yuta told her in a dream call that she shouldn’t be afraid to open herself up again, she never held back. And as a fellow woman who’s been ostracized, you sided with her.

She may not have her happy ending with Yuta, but it only felt right to avenge his wrongful death.

It’s a tough battle, these murderous men not owning up to their crime, and the public also discriminating the dead man by saying he deserved it. But you knew you could do it, even if it’ll take a while.

Back to the newbie, he was in his early twenties. He went by the name, Jaehyun. Just about to start his life, yet taken away just like that. Aside from being the next bartender, he has another position as the vinyl boy in the music section of the library. It came to Manwol’s attention that he wanted to pursue music when he was alive, listening to vinyl CDs or cassette players and taking singing and piano lessons growing up. While he figured out what he wants to do while moving on, he’d be in charge of organizing and playing music for the souls checked in. Sing even if requested, especially by the women who are charmed by his attractive looks.

He was a literal old soul, jazz being his favorite genre. Most of the time, he played Chet Baker or Frank Sinatra when it’s his shift at the bar. He was known for always showing his best and happy-go-lucky sides to everyone.

It took him a few years to start opening about his life, longer than most souls. But maybe because the trauma of it all stung. One night, when he, Doyoung, and Kun weren’t working, he mixed a few cocktails and completely fell off the radar.

“I was a part of a duo with one of my best friends, Hongseok. It was really fun to perform and make music with him, but then he suddenly got into drugs and had a ton load of groupies. I-I just couldn’t do it anymore with him if he wasn’t going to stop. Once I cut off ties with him, I was signed by a class A producer who loved my compositions. He even got me all sorts of opportunities to perform on TV, and I was so excited for it. But one week until I made my official debut, Hongseok reached out again with apologies, wanting to meet up so we can fix ties. I was hesitant, but I still give him the benefit of the doubt because we go way back….” He confessed, puffing out smoke from his cigarette and putting it down on the ashtray. Before he continued his story, he scoffed with profanities.

“That bitch. I fucking trusted him! I was too good to give him another shot. So after practice, he sent me an address to his apartment or so I thought. We were having drinks, just like old times. But something felt off feel when my mind started feeling hazy and I started coughing continuously because my stomach ached like crazy. He asked me if I was fine, and I told him I was. Then suddenly, baam!” He crashed his hands on the table, shocking the hell out of his two companions.

“Holy fuck, Jaehyun.” Kun cursed under his breath. Doyoung nudged him the shoulder to mind his language.

“The deities are watching you, Kun. Let Jaehyun-ie continue.”

So he did. “There I was, standing beside my dead body while Hongseok rummaged with surgical gloves through my bag to steal my notebook of songs. He planted cocaine on the table where I conversed with him, and also in front of my face. Beside my glass, he laid the vial of poison he used and called the cops. With fake tears, he cried on the phone saying that he came home to my dead body and a suicide note.”

Stillness between the three of them was filled with betrayal and disappointment. For a so-called friend, this must be the worst thing you can do to them. To lessen his suffering, Jaehyun brought back his actively lit cigarette and smoked it until all the tobacco was gone. Exhaling a dark grey smoke, he spat out.

“I-I couldn’t believe it, hyungs. I lost everything after making the wrong decision of seeing him. And now, he signed under that label that found me to “give honor to my talent”. How tragic that I suddenly took my life he’d say, oh bullshit! You took away my life because you were jealous!”

Kun decided to call it a night, requesting Yukhei who’s on duty to take Jaehyun’s upcoming shifts so he could calm down. Escorting his intoxicated figure out so the other guests won’t feel bothered, Doyoung contemplated if he wanted to forward another case to you. You’ve been getting so much workload lately, according to Kun, because your success rate is high and highly in demand.

“What happened to Jaehyun?” Manwol showed up from behind, sitting across him. “Did he finally tell his story?”

Doyoung mildly groaned, devastated by it. “He did, and it breaks my heart. He’s still so young, like me.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Manwol stirred the spare cocktail, ingesting it in one go. “Is it another case worth forwarding to (Y/N)?”

“If it helps Jaehyun move on, possibly. I know it’s hard to find staff these days, Manwol. Also, she’s stacked already. I don’t know if she’ll take it.”

She snickered, patting his shoulder. “You know if it’s from you, it becomes her priority. She loves you that much, you know.”

“I know, but I wish I could help her. In person. I would’ve been a lawyer and taken Jaehyun’s case if I were alive. Murder in the first degree, false reporting to the police, stealing, his persecutor is insane and still walking free.”

The fire of passion in Doyoung wasn’t new to Manwol, nodding as he spoke. He was capable of a lot of things, but the world just wasn’t ready to see it. She was more concerned at how the deities will react when he engages in human affairs again. Even if it helps a lot of ghosts move on, it’s highly discouraged to interfere with the living world. It’ll ruin the entire flow of the world.

Doyoung already knew what he got himself into, but it’s one of the few ways he still feels relevant. Always in service for anyone who needs it, dead or alive. If the deities take him away, it’s no joke that it’ll be a riot in the entire hotel.

“In that case,” Manwol’s piercing eyes scanned right at him, filling up his glass with vodka. Second to Doyoung, she grew a fond liking to Jaehyun. She never knew how much he’s been hiding during his stay. “Forward it no matter what. End his murderer’s career at all costs.”

Doyoung smirked, lifting his glass high to clink with hers then chugging it one go.

“I’ll investigate first with Kun to know more about Jaehyun’s life, then we’ll look for someone who wants to testify for Jaehyun to meet with (Y/N).”

Amid the craze and problems in the hotel, at least Doyoung was at ease with how successful his family. Areum became a well-known author for fairytales, got married, and had 3 kids of her own. She most definitely didn’t live down to Doyoung’s promise.

“Is he a nice guy?” Doyoung inspected the man who married his only daughter. It felt like yesterday they played around in the carnival room.

“He is, Doyoung. Intelligent and caring, nothing to worry about.” You calmed his shaking leg, resting your head on his shoulder while you watch the fireflies from the campfire set prepared by the deities.

“I’m just looking out for her, you know.”

“She most definitely does know, even telling stories about us to her kids. Our grandchildren.”

“It’s hard to believe that we’re technically old when we’re always young in these dreams.”

“Maybe it’s just you being used to your youth. Meanwhile, aging is beating my ass every day.” You joked, covering yourself up in the blanket you shared. Doyoung’s bottom lip jutted out, huffing at your mean comments.

“Yah, you take that back.”

“Make me.” You fired back, riling him up.

Doyoung in the dream attacked you by tickling your sides mercilessly. Your body uncontrollably arched back and forth, falling back to the blanket you sat at. He took the advantage to pin you down, gripping on your arms to the side. With his face near yours, you closed the gap with a cheeky kiss. His touch softened, allowing you to pull him lower by his collar. Your lips molded together in every movement, feeling his tongue lick your lower lip for entrance. You freely gave in, moaning filthily.

“Didn’t even have to test me like that, my love.”

How you wished this was longer, if it weren’t for the fast fading out, and morning has arrived again. A short-lived euphoria, yet it left your panties drenched under the covers. The arousal still ran in your veins.

“Kim Doyoung, you tease.”

Back to your real life, aside from bravely taking on controversial cases, there was a thrill in every case you did and it showed by your fast-paced talking and hand gestures. Whether you won or lost, mostly the former, knowing that you helped someone made your life more meaningful.

He often forgot how you’re a grandmother during your dream calls already as time flows differently within the living and the dead. They were the only way you can be youthful and energetic. But with your actual body, it began to weaken.

Early 1990s

Nature decided to take heavier measures on you physically. On one of the monthly visits to the doctor, she noticed something off with the checkup and tests. Especially in the chest area.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), I’m afraid that you have a growing lump in your breast.”

“Are you saying what I’m thinking?”

“If breast cancer is one of those though, then unfortunately yes.”

Areum was by your side that day, tearing up at her announcement. You, on the other hand, remained still and nodding at the truth. You’ve fought for a lot of things in your life, and you were so determined to beat this one.

Chemotherapy, medications, and scans are tiring and draining, but you managed to live for 2 more years. You’ve fully retired, and now and then, mentor the juniors with their cases. You’ve traveled to as many places as you can before the stages of cancer rose.

In your last months of life, you were bedridden in the most expensive hospital in Seoul, getting visits from Areum with her family, Jungwoo and Taeyong. As the latter served as definite friends to Doyoung, it was only natural to befriend them when they came into your life post-war. They supported Areum in any way they can too. They’ve become a great company in your boring life especially in the hospital. Nowadays, Jungwoo loved sharing stories about his hyper grandchildren, who share similar traits to him, while Taeyong excitedly talked about his recent investment with a promising music company with the dream to debut talented individuals and go international in the long run.

“Mr. Lee Soo Man is dedicated to it! He hopes that next year, all his plans can start and be executed.”

“You’re always investing in start-ups, you know? You think this one will be bigger than the rest?”

“Music is universal, you know. Language barriers may be there, but music brings us together.”

Taeyong was always a delight to catch up with. However, you didn’t expect that conversation would be your last with him. A few days later, he suffered a sudden heart attack and passed. This was a sign that your time was coming. Your body falling more and more feeble every day as the disease fully took you over at night, the monitors always going on a high every so often.

It’s only a matter of time before you leave this life, and looking back, you’ve lived a tough yet productive life. Your daughter was happy and thriving in her career and family. You helped families and couples from their abusive households. You defended those with loved ones who were murdered, robbed, and lied to. You ticked off all you wanted to do beforehand.

Areum made sure to visit that night specifically as soon as she could. With your recent test results have been failing, her gut feeling kept insisting.

It’s a good thing she did.

Meanwhile, it was another day of work for Doyoung, just returning a bunch of books in their respective shelves after some teenagers left on the table. Before that, he bid Taeyong goodbye in the tunnel. It’s always nice to see a familiar face, so he couldn’t miss out on it. He shared any life stories he had with you, updating him about your state. Doyoung knew about it beforehand, and as selfish enough to look forward to it, it pained him to know you’re suffering. He only hoped you could fight through it.

“Doyoung-hyung!” Someone suddenly shouted, but he was shushed by an old lady reading her romance novel, who pointed at the sign that read “Keep quiet in the library”.

Doyoung was also annoyed, instantly nagging on the point person. “Kun! Can you read the sign? Jeez, this isn’t the first time so please-”

“(Y/N) is going off the monitor.” He blurted out. The news from one of the nurses he befriended buzzed through his phone. After finding out about his story, he wanted to help Doyoung especially when he was still alive. Doyoung may a part of the staff, but he’s still a guest. He dropped everything in his hands. Before he could race to the hospital, he changed into a specific outfit for this occasion.

This was it.

Areum was the only one by your side of your hospital bed, weeping due to your weak state. You didn’t want your other family members to witness this crucial moment. It stung that you’ll miss out on the futures of your grandchildren, but you were satisfied to just be a part of their lives. All this machinery trying to sustain your life served its purpose, but the illness you’re fighting was stronger.

“Mom....” Areum sniffled in her handkerchief, holding on to your boney hand. “I’m not ready for you to go.”

“Oh, Areum.” Your thumb caressed her soft palm as reassurance. “You grew up so well. An independent woman you are, you are so loved.”

“Mom, please....” She begged. “I can’t lose you too.”

You will never know how Areum held in her sorrow of not being able to grow up with her father. She hated the feeling of being fully abandoned. She wanted things and people to return to her, but she can’t make that choice. Being by her side all her life, losing you will be the hardest struggle she’ll have to face.

“Areum, you must understand...” You paused as a pang of pain in your chest stabs you. After a minute of enduring it, you continued. “...We are put on this world for a specific time. And if we’re called to leave, we must face it.”

She whimpered whilst holding on to your hand. She really thought you can get through this one like the rest, but your hair has gone, your body lost much weight, and your eyes lost their light.

“Mom, are you happy? You’ve fought through so much to get where you are. I can never do what you did.”

“Y-Yes, I am.” You stuttered, gracing a promising smile. “I had you, our families, and your father watching over me..”

The dreams you get on your birthday were fairytale-like stories that pushed Areum to become an author. She denied how unrealistic and supernatural they were at first. Another trait of Doyoung she got. However, when she noticed how wider your smiles are and energetic you get in the mornings after rather the feeling of distraught, she reckoned to believe they were something special. Despite knowing your love story and its downfall, she felt exhilarated at the things you and her dad did there. In a way, it brings him closer to her. But she still had that void.

“I envy you for that, mom. I wish I met him or at least came to me even if I least expected it!”

Oh, little did she know about that time in the bookstore back in the 70s. It was not coincidental; you and Doyoung planned it very well. You just played along to her complaint, alerted that this wasn’t your story to tell at this time. “Forgive your father just this once, okay? He never wanted this kind of fate for any of us. If one thing stayed constant in those dreams, it’s him always asking how you are doing.”

Her tears become uncontrollable, allowing herself to get puffy eyes and let it all out. “When you see him, please tell him I’m sorry and that I love him no matter.” “Oh, Areum. He knows that, so don’t worry about it.”

The clock was ticking for Areum before she’ll be asked to leave. With you bringing up her father again, she had one last question. Her courage to ask it was so little when she was young in fear you sulk and break down. It hurt her when the bad parts of your past tormented you.

“How much do you miss him?” The question put you in a point of self-reflection. The only person you’ve opened up to talk about him in detail was Areum. Even with your friendships with Taeyong and Jungwoo, there were some things you never disclosed with them. And never did they force you to answer because they can read you on the back of their heads: you’re still heartbroken, yet remained devoted to him.

“I miss him so much that even if this became my fate for accepting his notebook back in our university days, I would foolishly do it all over again. In those times he was no longer with us, it taught me to appreciate what and who we have in our lives because tomorrow is never guaranteed. From his impact, I learned to take care of myself again so I can take better care of you. I’m grateful you were born; he left a piece of him for me.”

“You’ve suffered so much, mom. I hope you can rest peacefully.”

“Thank you for never leaving my side, Areum.” A few tears escaped your eyes, infectious to your daughter’s gloom. “I love you.”

Meanwhile, Doyoung was right outside viewing you and Areum sharing your last conversation and goodbyes. As much as he looked forward to reuniting with you, he didn’t want to leave his only daughter alone. The deities should have shown her more mercy. Still invisible, he observed how Areum trembled when she heavily closed the door of your hospital room. Covering her sobs with her handkerchief, she took one last look through the small glass of the door. You dove into a deep sleep that would then be unawakened.

“I hope your next life is happier than this, mom, and you can cross paths again with dad and grow old with him too.”

Doyoung’s urge to show himself to his daughter to console her was overpowering him, but he restrained himself this time. A few hours later, your consciousness was faltering. Your five senses were losing touch one by one. Important memories of your long life played in your mind. Then your heart gave in and stopped beating. The doctors present there have pronounced you dead. The transition from your body to your soul watching it be covered by a blanket by the nurses was swift yet strange. You didn’t know where to go and what’s next. No book prepared you for this nor can you ask the doctors what to do. Standing there lost with so many questions, it only took someone’s enthusiastic calling for your name to soothe you down.

“(Y/N)!”

It hit you instantaneously that when your day comes, Doyoung would call for your name. Your old age and past illness really affected your memories. He was an honest man and kept to his word this time.

And there he was, just along the hallway.

This was no longer a dream.

This novel kind of exhilaration got you moving your feet, still sore and slow because you were still an old lady.

“Doyoung!”

You shouted back, over and over again before your boney hands slid open the door. At the same time, your old figure drastically and permanently transformed you back to your active twenties. Nothing physically hurt anymore and your energy was on an all-time high. Your room was the last on the floor, a dead end. The left side of the hallway was just a closed window pane.

When you stepped outside and turned to your right, there he properly stood. He wore the same suit and suspenders combination on the day he approached you on your bike. The actual soul of Kim Doyoung who was no longer behind the phone. No matter how many times he’s seen you from afar, it makes him lose his breath from the captivation. For once, he can see you without barriers.

You just realized how you were dressed back into the floral dress on the day you had your first proper conversation. It’s like you’re meeting each other again for the first time. The beeping sounds of the monitors, wheelchairs moving, and chitter-chatter exchanged by doctors went mute. Stunned, you couldn’t stop looking eye to eye at him, cherishing this special moment.

It finally processed to Doyoung that his patience and efforts paid off. In this journey of acceptance, while enduring its trials, it added up to this sweet result to be reunited with you. The adrenaline rush took control of your limbs, legs running to him on the other side.

As his arms widened for a hug, he spun and picked you around in the air. His arms firmly wrap around your waist while your head snuggled on top of his shoulder. You felt safe, warm, and alleviated. Once he put you back down, the overwhelming joy wasn’t keen to pull away from your lover. Doyoung’s lips somehow got closer to yours, your heart skipping beats and his familiar scent intoxicating your thoughts.

With Doyoung still having you wrapped in his arms, he took his awaited chance to close into your parted lips. The fluttering in your stomach was on overdrive, your entire body reacting immediately from his passion. One hand curled into a fist on the hem of his buttoned top while the other rubbed the back of his head. Your legs almost gave in, but with Doyoung’s strength, he held you tight. No previous kiss felt like this. You didn’t have to worry about getting caught by adults for such a provocative display of affection. Your roommate wasn’t going to splash water if she catches you getting frisky on campus. As for Doyoung, he didn’t have to get paranoid about what his classmates would say about their relationship. You were both in your own world for a while.

But wanting to catch a breather from his thrilling dominance, your lips hesitantly moved away first. You took your time to get lost in admiring his features. Wet, swollen lips, flushed cheeks, his dazed eyes, he was irresistible, to say the least.

This was how an almost 50-year build-up would end up to.

“My love, it’s really you,” You finally spoke, caressing your thumb on his flushed cheek. “You’ve been through so much.”

As lovestruck as he is, his pent-up tears streamed down instantly. Except they were tears of joy. All those years he held back.

“I’ve missed you so much, (Y/N). I’m just happy you’re finally here with me.”

He wasn’t joking when he said that the main lobby alone was exquisite after walking through the city. Aside from Kun, that’s where he introduced you to other staff he worked with, such as Jeno, Jaehyun, and the boss herself, Manwol.

“This boy stayed very loyal, you know?” She commended Doyoung. It was a rare thing with her cold-hearted and aggressive personality. “He read to a lot of kids, taught some of them too, and recommended great books for the souls to read. He listened to a lot of souls who wanted justice then forwarded them to you so they can cross the other side.”

An honor to hear from the owner herself, you glanced at Doyoung with so much love. Such a giver than a receiver.

Beside Manwol was someone whom you aspired to meet. Unfortunately, you never met the other boys you’ve helped, so this was a great chance to see at least one before moving on. Hearing about his case and the treachery of it, you made sure to work on it before you retired, eventually passing it on to one of your trusted juniors. So far, his side was winning and that’s all you wanted.

“Jeong Jaehyun.” You held on to his clasped hands as he bowed to you.

“Attorney (Y/L/N). I’m so grateful for what you’re doing for me.”

“Oh, just call me (Y/N). By the way, your side is winning, my dear. Your younger brother Sungchan is committed to clearing up your name, and that evil Hongseok will rot in life imprisonment for his crimes.” You updated him. Without self-restraint, his arms gather you in for a hug. Jaehyun wasn’t much for affection, but this felt like the right circumstance. In return, you hugged him back.

“Thanks to you, Johnny and Yuta are resting in peace.”

“And you are next, Jaehyun. My junior taking your case is topnotch, so you’re bound to get what you truthfully deserve.”

After sharing such a heartfelt moment, you asserted your attention to Jeno. Not going to lie, you’ve looked forward to meeting this boy the most. He was there with Doyoung from the very beginning.

“Doyoung-hyung gets giddy after he makes a call, and tells me everything that you’ve been up to.” Jeno joined in. “He gets grumpy though too, so I like pestering him around to light him up. Oh, I’ll never know what you see in him, (Y/N).”

That gave him a joking slap on the shoulder by Doyoung, signaling to cut it out.

“Hyung!” He fakely cried, hiding his face behind Jaehyun’s shoulder.

You suppressed a laugh, eventually sputtering out like an engine. Doyoung sighed, failing to redeem himself. But it’s alright. A simple peck from you on his cheek got him all flustered.

“Aish, take your romantic shenanigans when you’re in your room, not in my damn lobby.” Manwol cringed, the evident love bug getting on her nerves. “Alright, everyone. Get back to work!”

Checking in your room was an experience. Since you’ve been to numerous places through the dream calls, there was one main thing you’ve missed to do with Doyoung. As soon as he lifted you by your thighs and roughly shoved his tongue down your throat, you were in for a heated evening. This dominant side of Doyoung when it came to sex was completely fresh. After diving into more erotica over time, he learned about visual porn through Johnny and Jeno. You can say that he studied it very well.

“Almost 40 years of waiting, (Y/N).” He trapped you from above, sliding one of his hands to your bare breasts until it landed on your clothed core. Rubbing up and down your clit in a torturously slow place, he smirked at your desperate whines. Your breaths turned heavy, soaked by his actions. “Remember when I told you to brace yourself back then?”

“Shit, Doyoung...”

“Shush love, I’m in control now. So be a good girl for me, alright?” He growled in your ear, sucking on your soft spot on your neck. You obeyed that night, unbuttoning his shirt impatiently only to reveal his toned abdomen then lowering his crotch to give it a tight squeeze.

He hissed against your neck, pushing your panties to the side and sliding in your wetness.

“You are asking for it now, love.”

A steamy night it was, making up for all those lost years.

The following day, the struggle to walk was real. Jeno even pointed out your limping when you were roaming around the library Doyoung worked at. You never had a younger sibling, but he acted like one. So you punched him in the shoulder to shut up. “Jeez, you’re both so physical. Let me live!”

“Jeno, you’re dead. Don’t say nonsensical things.”

You learned how this hotel’s main purpose was to guide and fulfill the last wishes of ghosts in the living world before moving on. When Jeno asked you if you still have unfinished business, you realized that there is one thing left. Even if you completed your bucket list, that one thing is only possible through the hotel. You and Doyoung sat across Manwol, monitoring your shared dream call like she always did.

“Is this really the only thing you want to do here, (Y/N)?” Positively nodding, she gave you the signal to lift up the phone.

Areum found herself in an unfamiliar forest nearby a river during the day. Even she’s always like playing outside with nature in her childhood years, this location didn’t ring a bell. In fact, she was physically back to being that young girl with the same mature mind in this dream.

She wasn’t a vivid dreamer like yourself, forgetting them as so as she woke up. Even in that “dream” with her father, there were so many gaps. So for this one time, she can fully grasp her surroundings. This dream must have a purpose, she wondered.

While she followed the path that the dream assumed for her to take, she then clearly caught a glimpse of a younger you at the end of that path. Running around and laughing in the grass.

“Mom!” She called out, moving at a faster pace. It’s a good thing this dream brought her back her agility.

At the end of the path, it unveiled you lying down on the grass. Wearing in a dainty dress that reminded her of the 50s, there was an unfamiliar young man beside you. His head face planted on the grass because you pushed him off your body when he tried to tickle you.

It turned out that she arrived at your favorite spot with Doyoung. She’s only heard stories of things you’ve done and talked about her, but due to the war, their spot was devastated. Soon after, it turned into a small condominium building overlooking the river.

“Areum!” You squealed cheerfully to hear her much younger voice. She tackled you in a hug, and you still naturally felt it from where you sat.

“My sweet child,” You cooed in her, patting her back. “How are you?”

“It’s been difficult, but I’ll get by in time.” That was the first thing she managed to say, the grief being very much fresh. No mother wants to be separated from her child, and you weren’t exempted. But that is how life works: you come then you go. The truth tends to hurt.

It was obvious to Doyoung that you were still saddened by leaving Areum, taking this opportunity to give you space and finally interact with his daughter. No disguises nor distance. While the most important women in his life are still hugging in the dream, he pulls himself off from the grass and brushes away some leaves from his hair.

“Areum, I see you paid me back by having top-selling books for children.”

Areum peeked from your shoulder to check who the other man was by your side talking to her. Once he was clean from dirt and leaves, there was the only person he resonated with her. From pictures and stories shared by you, the actual man was with her.

Her actual father was in this dream with her.

“Dad!” She abruptly pulled away from you to approach her father for a bigger hug. You don’t blame her for that, she deserved to see her father even for a bit.

Years of having that empty void only for her biological father, she could care less at this very moment

Doyoung has never cried in a dream call with you, however, this long-awaited moment with his daughter resulted in him softly bawling while feeling her hugs from the chair. He’s proud and at peace to move on not just as your lover or a passionate university student, but as a father.

In their moment of content, only there did it make complete sense to Areum at the unusual memory during the ‘70s at the bookstore wasn’t random. It proved that he really did his best to reach out to her in any way he could.

“This whole time, you were the mysterious tokki. I just thought it was a coincidence. I’m so sorry, dad, that I didn’t notice you.” She sulks. Doyoung in the dream pats her back while lovingly rubbing the nape of her head.

“Oh, Areum. Don’t feel bad. I just wanted to see how much my little girl became independent and studious.” He replies, comforting the disheartened child. “I read all the letters you sent me during my birthday. I was touched then and touched now for this moment. I am proud of you, my daughter. And my love for you never changed.”

The affirmation in his words put Areum in a state of joy, rekindling that spark from the 70s. “I love you, dad.”

Your last mission in this world was to have a special outing with your complete family. Regret was always prevalent in the past, wanting to do this and that but never pushed through. But not in this dream. Just the three of you, happy and carefree from it all.

Unfortunately, Manwol just gave a hand signal that your time was almost up. Time flies by so quickly when you’re fully immersed in something you’re enjoying. Doyoung wasn’t capable to bear the bad news, but with you by his side, you helped him.

“Areum, it’s time for us to go.”

Areum sighed, reality seeping back into the situation. One sleep isn’t enough to make up years of loss. However, she still managed to remain positive in those circumstances. “I wish things worked out differently for our family, but who knows what our next lives will take us?”

In an instant, the two of you in the dream gave your daughter a big group hug. One she’s always yearned for. It’s moments like this where you mustn’t take anything for granted with your family.

“I’m happy you’re reunited with each other, mom and dad. Rest well.” She whispers with a smile, feeling fulfilled. She can grace the living world without wondering how things would be like with a complete set of parents anymore. This dream call successfully filled that empty void in her heart.

Once you’ve bid your final farewell and hung up the phone, you and Doyoung can say the same. A little bittersweet, but it lightened all the burdens in your hearts. The both of you can ultimately rest peacefully and move on.

The timing was perfect for Kun to inform you that the car taking you to the bridge leading to the afterlife was ready.

Jeno, Manwol, Kun, and Jaehyun didn’t want to miss out on this moment, waving farewells to you both. This lifetime may have taken you away from each other physically for a long time, but you still held on to each other. Most people gave up, though it’s not wrong either. It’s better to let go rather than holding on sometimes.

But the both of you were different, something, not even the deities didn’t expect. It’s only up to them to decide if they’ll give you another chance to be together and relive a longer life. A very rare sight indeed. To be granted or not, your story set a standard.

That a love so strong is so patient it endured all the challenges and stress.

“On to the next life, Doyoung?” You asked him, leaning against his shoulder as the car drove under the tunnel. All at the end of it was merely a white sky, where a long bridge awaited them.

“Make sure you wait for me this time.”

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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 310: A Tale of Two Kacchans

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Deku was all, “hey, you know what sounds like a good decision? Abandoning my studies at the safest place in the country so that the bad guy who wants to find me and kill me has literally nothing standing in his way of doing that.” All Might was all, “I fucking knew you were going to say some bullshit like that so whatever, but I’M COMING WITH YOU and I’m also going to invite the Hawksquad to come with us, mostly so that I can steal Jeanist’s car.” Jeanist was all, “okay fine you can borrow my car, All Might, but only if you wear jeans.” All Might was all, “okay sure” and he wore jeans and also sunglasses and a leather jacket and it was pretty rad. Anyway so now they’re out there fighting crime and hunting down the LoV and stuff, and absolutely none of it is going to end well, I’m just letting you know now. But I guess we’ll let them enjoy it while it lasts.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “happy belated Kacchan’s Birthday makeste, here’s the flashback you really wanted at long last,” and proceeds to pull the old vestige flashback out of the kitchen drawer and upend its contents all over my Friday afternoon without the slightest bit of warning. OFA III is all “WHAT’S UP I’M JUST SOME GUY, HELLO,” and okay?? Hello yourself. OFA II, on the other hand, is all, “okay yeah I have different hair and stuff, but I’m like 98% sure I’m either Bakugou or his goddamn twin, I mean look at me.” Which, yeah. I looked, and he really is though you guys. Anyway though, so he and OFA II basically just showed up in the First (who goes by Yoichi now)’s prison cell one day all “HEY THERE, WE’RE HERE TO SAVE YOU, APPARENTLY, ALTHOUGH WE SEEM REAL CONFUSED ABOUT IT TBH BUT HEY.” And so they saved him, and Yoichi was all “hey nice to meet you do you want to join my super-exclusive Saving The World Club”, and so they did, and then the chapter ended lol. I would have said yes too.

oh my sweet lord?? I didn’t realize we were getting a color page this week, but LOOK AT THIS

this could have been a fucking volume cover. I’m almost mad that it wasn’t, lol but I mean fkldjslklk just look at it??! Horikoshi out here spoiling us and making sure we’re well fed since next week the manga is on break for Golden Week. well this will certainly help to tide me over. hot damn look at those colors

so now it’s raining on some dumb building in the middle of somewhere

is this where the Hawksquad has set up camp for the night? or are we actually cutting back to the League? that’d be unexpected (but not unwelcome)

ffff nevermind dammit it’s just more random citizens under attack

feels like this is the third or fourth scene we’ve had of civilians being Under Attack since this arc started. I mean no offense, but I think we get it by this point. it’s the end times, etc. etc. we’re well aware that things have gone to shit

so apparently these two guys are facing off against a girl with a mutant quirk. and she’s telling them that she’s not a monster and she was just scared, oh shit. I believe her btw, you can see it in her face

but these assholes don’t believe her at all and they’re pointing what looks to be some type of support item gun at her

you know what’s interesting, is that this kind of random quirk discrimination is the exact kind of thing PLF and the like were swearing up and down they’d put a stop to with their glorious revolution. it’s almost like those guys were completely full of shit. huh

so yeah, fortunately for this woman someone is stepping in and intervening before she can be blasted to bits by this trigger-happy asshole for absolutely no fucking reason

looks like a hero actually stepped in and saved her?? but no that can’t be, heroes are the ones that ruin everything and make everything worse, or so I understand. lol where did all of this sarcasm come from out of nowhere dlkdsjlk I’m sorry guys I just suddenly got swept up in the hypocrisy of certain people’s philosophies out of the blue idek

anyway so it is of course Deku saving her, and now he’s trying to talk thess jerks down all diplomatically instead of just kicking their asses, which is certainly a choice

MOTHERFUCKER I’M

fucking impossible to miss the real world parallels here. shit. this woman nearly died for her crime of Walking While Having A Mutant Quirk huh. and meanwhile Deku is just letting this guy scurry away and even letting him keep that fucking bazooka of his, like, ????

fucking hell she’s crying!!

lmao this chapter is actively trying to make me mad now huh. that’s some genuine righteous anger I’m feeling on behalf of this fictional ferret lady whom I only met two minutes ago. girl you are not the one who needs to explain herself here!! you didn’t do anything wrong holy fuck. everything about this situation sucks so much

fkKJKLMMMHFGH

“I’m sorry I made you upset, please enjoy this panel of tiny!floating!Deku hefting this lady’s massive beach umbrella up for her like the fucking gentleman he is” well okay then thank you sir

and JUST LIKE THAT the tension is broken and I’m entirely incapable of taking the rest of this conversation seriously because Deku’s trying to be all calming and authoritative, but now the illusion has been broken because I know he only comes up to like her knees

“well thanks again for saving me young man. I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do like protecting your Lucky Charms cereal from all those greedy children”

oh hey All Might

you wouldn’t have just let that guy with the bazooka just walk away to commit more attempted murders would you?? man

OH MY GOD DEKU IS IMMEDIATELY DITCHING HIM AGAIN

I ~CANNOT STAY HERE~ oh, well, sorry to keep you detained I know you’re busy

dfslkjlk oh my god

fucking told you Deku didn’t pack any food lol. it’s literally all notebooks in that bag you guys. he couldn’t just leave them all in his dorm room when he left, because what if someone tried to read them and came across one of the pages where he absentmindedly doodled Kacchan’s name surrounded by little tiny hearts oh gosh

AWWWWW

I needed this Horikoshi. thank you for this wholesome soul-cleansing interaction after all of that bullshit earlier

so now Deku’s climbing up this tall building to eat his lunchbox more dramatically. Tokoyami would be proud

and Banjou is saying that society right now is just like in The Good Old Days (read: bad old days) when quirk society was even more of a mess than it is now

which is exactly how AFO likes it, no doubt

so now Deku’s having a whole conversation with Banjou seemingly out loud lol, weird. and he’s basically saying that they don’t have any clues as to where TomurAFO and the League are hiding right now, and none of the Tartarus escapees they’ve found knew anything either

mmmmmfmhm, marge simpson noises

but you think you can?? you, alone, by yourself?? you think you stand a chance?? I just need you to think this all through a bit more kid

Deku it is NOT JUST YOUR RESPONSIBILITY ALONE, PLEASE REALIZE THIS ALREADY. YOU MAY BE THE CHOSEN ONE, BUT EVEN THE CHOSEN ONE NEEDS HIS FRIENDS BY HIS SIDE GODDAMMIT

and of course my pleading is all in vain, because he’s a fictional character who can’t fucking hear me, and also because I’m pretty sure there’s only one character who is going to actually be able to get him to hear reason here. I’ve been saying it, and I’ll keep saying it lol. so until then I guess I’ll just have to be patient

anyway so it appears we’re segueing into another flashback??? HORIKOSHI PLEASE GIVE ME SOME BAKUCRUMBS BEFORE THE TWO WEEK BREAK, I BEG YOU

dlKSDJLFKWJELKGHSLGKLEKJLFKHLGK

YES, THANK YOU, I KNOW WHERE THIS FUCKING IS LOL, IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF THIS SCENE OR ANYTHING LMAO. BUT ANYWAYS DON’T MIND ME, YOU WERE SAYING??

oh my god oh my god I’m not readyyyyy, but also FUCK YEAH I AM SO FUCKING READY LOL LET’S DO THIS

YOU GUYS

I’M ABOUT TO STEP IN THAT ROOM AND YEET ONE OF THOSE FUCKING CHAIRS AT YOU ALL

NOOOOO

I’M ABOUT TO GRAB BANJOU’S GOGGLES AND STRETCH THEM OUT AND SNAP THEM BACK SO THEY SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF HIS FOREHEAD!!! IT’S WHAT HE DESERVES!!! I’M ABOUT TO MOVE TO JAPAN AND GET A JOB WITH DOORDASH AND FIND OUT WHAT HORIKOSHI LIKES TO ORDER FOR LUNCH SO I CAN BE THE ONE TO DELIVER IT SO THAT WHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR I CAN FINALLY ASK HIM “HEY WHAT THE FUCK” IN PERSON

AHHH NO EVERYBODY SHHHHH STOP TALKING!!!!

SOMEONE PLEASE TELL THAT PERSON SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS IN THE BACKGROUND TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, OH WAIT, THAT’S ME

(」゜ロ゜)」 щ(゜ロ゜щ)

LOL THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! LOOK AT YOU!!! YOU’RE NOT KIRISHIMA OR SHINSOU OR IIDA IN A WIG OR ANYBODY LOL. YOU’RE JUST A DUDE. BROOOOO ABOUT FUCKING TIME, WHAT’S GOOD

I CAN’T SCROLL DOWN AHHHH BUT I HAVE TO BUT IT’S TOO INTENSE AHHHHHHH

I CAN SEE THE TOP OF HIS SPIKY HEAD, IT’S FINALLY THAT TIME AHHHHHHHH OKAY I’M GONNA DO IT HERE GOES

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

IT’S HIM. IT FUCKING REALLY FUCKIGN IS HIM OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. WHY AM I SO SHOCKED LMAO I’M THE ONE WHO’S BEEN SAYING THIS THE WHOLE DAMN TIME LMAO. OH GOD. O H MY FUCKING GOD

well okay then sir. so are you an ~ancestor~ or a Kacchan from another timeline or so what’s your deal then

YOICHI WHO IS YOICHI

YOICHI ALWAYS KNOWS WHAT’S UP. LMAO WHO IS YOICHI

(ETA: I’m going to punch myself in the face lmao. he’s Yoichi. he, the First. that’s his name. name reveal at long last what what!!)

MORE IMPORTANTLY SHOULD I BE IMAGINING NOBU’S VOICE RIGHT NOW BECAUSE LMAO I AM ANYWAY BUT YEAH

(ETA: I actually think he’s going to end up being voiced by Nobuhiko whether he ends up being Kacchan or not, just because it fits right in with the general “identical in almost every way” aesthetic he’s got going on.)

TUMBLR HOW WE LIKING OUR ANGSTY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN?? EVERYONE HATED YOU SO MUCH BEFORE THEY EVEN MET YOU, BUT THEY FORGOT TO CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT YOU MIGHT BE HOT LMAO WHAT A TWIST

“some bright-eyed brat” oh come on. IT’S GOTTA BE HIM LOL

oh my god you all are probably TIRED AS FUCK of all my screaming but I’M SORRY IMMA HAVE TO DO IT ONE LAST TIME BECAUSE...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

that face. that expression!! THE FACT THAT HE’S OUT HERE OPENING DOORS WITH HIS FEET, LIKE HOLY SHIT!! JUST ADMIT THE JIG IS UP ALREADY

and so they really are the ones who busted First out of his jail cell huh

so how did they know you were in the room?? why did they come and break you out?? and how, pray tell, did they know to get you to transfer OFA to them?? hmmmMMMMMMMM

oh MY GOD

you guys. oh my god. it’s too much. every last bit of it lines up exactly with the Bakuverse theory sdkjfj I’m short-circuiting. it’s really fucking happening oh my lord

HELLO SEXY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN WITH HIS SEXY FUCKING SCAR, FUCK YEAH WE REALLY ARE EATING GOOD THIS CHAPTER

HELL YEAH WE’RE GOING. WE’RE GOING FULL SPEED YOU GUYS. LMAO I’M SO FUCKING HYPED RIGHT NOW I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF WEFKJLDKFFFF

SO, EVERYONE, LET’S RECAP. -- ACTUALLY NO, I STARTED TO WRITE UP A LIST, BUT I IMMEDIATELY REALIZED IT REALLY JUST NEEDS TO GO IN ITS OWN THREAD. SO I MADE IT AND POSTED IT, AND NOW I’M FINISHING UP THIS HOT MESS OF A RECAP POST. SO NOW WE’RE BACK TO THIS ONE FINAL PANEL OF DEKU EATING HIS KATSU ALL SERIOUS

YES SIR. YES SIR, WE GOING, FULL SPEED AHEAD, WHATEVER, IDK WTF IS HAPPENING BUT YES!!

lol, anyways so as I said in my other post, mysterious sexy guys with tragic pasts are what bring us together as a fandom, so whatever your thoughts are on the rest of it, let’s just rejoice in that. it’s what we deserve

#bnha 310 #midoriya izuku #ofa prime #ofa ii #bakugou katsuki #MAYBE???#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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pseudofaux · 3 years

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headcanons for comte, dazai, + your choice when they hear their s/o having a spicy dream next to them?

Oooooooh, I like this one a lot, and I liked it even more when I saw this follow up:

THANK YOU! 🥰 Ohohohoho, gonna have a field day with this one. This is a really great request, thanks for including my two favorites in there and letting me choose the third! 😚 Dazai’s gets a little dark/jealous and Mozart’s is... different... so if that’s not to your tastes, may wanna skip them (there are clear breaks between each character). I guess cw on all of these that I took the requester’s (A+) ask to heart. These situations are all in partnered relationships of great care and regard, but explicit consent is not here by the nature of the request. No one is in danger, these characters would never hurt each other, but these scenarios flirt and high-dive into >> dubcon << territory and two are a little dark. Please don’t read if that’s a fiction combo that makes you uncomfortable.

Comte takes her beauty rest seriously and takes great pride (and pleasure) in giving her the good sleep, so if she seems unsettled in her rest in his arms, he’s immediately alert and peering at her. He’ll brush any hair back from her brow and sniff-nuzzle at her temple like he can catch the scent of her dreams. He might be a bit of a fool generally but never in this: his woman is aroused in their bed, that’s not something a gentleman leaves be. Her rest is important, but her pleasure is paramount.

So he takes a middle path. There are things that he can do, as a pure blood, that lesser vampires cannot. And there are some things he, as himself, can do that others cannot, not even other pure bloods. They include whispering suggestions as he touches her (with so much gentleness and care), little scenes for her mind to make bloom in her dreaming. He thumbs one of her nipples through her nightdress and seeds the spring ground of her sleeping mind with erotic fantasies of being loved in front of a coliseum of people, public and shameless and loud. He brushes the lightest kiss imaginable against the top of her ear and whispers what he’d do to her underwater.

He’s very careful not to wake her. But he does continue to touch her as she relaxes into the dreams, and once she’s cum on his fingers, well. If her beautiful lashes and lips both part in blissful confusion, it’s his responsibility to make sure she closes them right up again, on his kiss, as he reminds her body what they can do in the waking world. Especially in the dark when their bodies are close and warm and she smells like bliss and he aches for her.

—|—

Dazai watches her without interacting. He doesn’t have Comte’s sureness of what’s going on inside her head, but he’s slept with more women so he has some sureness all the same. The tiny, unagonized moans in sleep... he knows what those mean. It makes him playfully, very lightly cruel, because petty jealousy simmers up fast. What’s she dreaming about, hmm? He can’t know it’s him, humans can never know each other’s minds so well. No matter what she’s say upon waking, he actually does try to wake her up, or at least test her wakefulness. He does it in soft ways: a whispered “Toshiko-san?”, a gentle drumming of his fingers on her shoulder. But when that makes her posture fall open in the bed next to him, his golden eyes narrow to see it, and his teeth come out. He puts a hand at either side of her head to hold him body over hers, does not bother to move her slip, and scrapes the top of her shoulder with his fangs, and when that has her whimpering and rubbing her thighs together— maybe one of her hands rubs dreamily as well— he puts just a little more pressure behind his teeth, enough to drag trails of heat over her chest. Whimpering becoming gasping makes him press his mouth to hers, firmly... it’s only the give of the pillows and the way they catch all the pressure that keeps her from waking then. He gets moody and kisses her with the intent of waking her up and fucking her, but her sleepy arms going around his back still him.

I was having the nicest dream, she confesses.

He hmphs.

You were nicer in the dream.

That melts him, and when his fingers touch her they’re mollified and apologetic, and he does what she likes best when he finds how wet she is. He gets her wide awake, so wide awake her eyes go wide for him, and his jealousy seems so silly and so small a thing.

But he keeps fucking her and keeps her awake until the sun rises. Just in case.

—|—

Mozart has zero idea what’s going on, he only knows that she’s not sleeping peacefully. Their hearts are intertwined but they don’t cling to one another in sleep, so he actually turns his back on her at first (!) and tries to go back to sleep himself... until she reaches out for him, hand slapping and then stroking his back when she finds him. Her touch is that way of hers, lingering and warm, and moving down the plane of his back and over his hip. It turns his brain to useless noise and he sputters and turns over before she can reach him. He grabs for her wrists with a frown but her sleeping face is so etched with need— he didn’t know, but now that he looks at her there’s no way not to— and her body is gently undulating on their sheets. He touches his forehead to hers and she’s warm, impassioned. He’s about to tut at her unconscious foolishness and figure out how not to hold this against her when his name comes out of her mouth, as though the breath hopes to travel to his own dreams.

“Wake up,” his whispers. She only sighs and her arm goes lax in his grip— she is somehow never doing as she is told! “Wake up,” he says again, now pleading and far from sure what to do with her.

“Bite,” she moans in her sleep. Never, ever does she do what she is told, what she should. “Please, please.”

Her hand surges forward and he is too stunned at the inhuman quickness to stop her. She throws the arm over him senselessly and seeks out his mouth as though it is some key she needs for an escape neither of them can really see. Her leg gets itself over his hip, unslow and fevered the way they only are with each other. His body goes hot like it must match hers degree for degree, and when she rocks against him he groans and grits out one more “Wake. Up.”

She hum-whines instead, ridiculous in her sleep, and he can stand that even less than her core grinding against him though the satin she wears to bed, all that she is arousing him beyond reason. So he puts his mouth on hers to stop her noise but her lips open and he falls into her mouth like always, seeking her as she sleeps and seeks him.

It doesn’t even work to shut her up, now there are whimpers studding their kisses, pinning all the world in place, especially the two of them tangled in one another. She slides her hand down her back and it is not done with the love she shows when she is awake, it is rapid, a wash of heat against the muscle that protects the side of his ribs. Her hand is already on him before he can do anything but choke out a cry that finishes just in time for her “touch me, too” to register in his useless brain.

What else is there to do? He touches her, fingers finding her sopping and trying to calm her as he arouses her. And he enjoys her touch, the precise feel of her hand a joy that he knows, the way it touches him foreign, proof she is not entirely herself.

She pulls him close, pushes herself closer to him, and uses his body as they continue to kiss, their tongues so much slower than their hands. She is sigh so sweetly and peacefully into his mouth as she fits herself around his fingers and uses the head of his cock against the needy—has he ever known such a need? even for sustenance, or for a perfect arrangement of notes?— crown of her sex and rubs him back and forth until they both begin to shudder. He spills in a mess, ground against her skin, one hand half tucked inside her and the other palming her bottom to keep her close. The stretch of his fingers should not be near as pleasant as he finds it.

Her sigh of his name is so satisfied it is as if some magic cast on her has fled the room and given her back to herself. She murmurs his name and shifts against him. He hates the squelch, sticky and unrefined, but something in the back of his brain itches to see it.

“Wake up or go to sleep,” he tells her. She does not answer, already well beyond him in dreams. Or so he must hope.

So he takes his time and looks his fill.

#ikevamp comte #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp hcs #pseu slings

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pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years

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HSMTMTS 2x10: New and a bit alarming... ok, very alarming

I don't even know at this point if I'm more nervous or excited for this episode. I've done my waiting and, well, whatever lies ahead, good or bad, or a little bit of both, I just can't wait anymore, even though I haven't been so scared to press play since... well, since last week. Guess I should just go for it, then:

Ooh, shady Seb doing the recap! We love to see it. Like, seriously, I'm anxious about the Seblos fight, but shady Seb is kind of my new favourite Seb.

I just... Ashlyn's acting is top tier. Emotional connection to the material? Superb! Chemistry with her co-lead... well, he'd have to be co-leading for any chemistry to be possible. I love Ricky, and I feel for him with all he's been through, but he's just not lead material right now. And it shows. Especially next to Ashlyn, who is killing it!

Miss Jenn is on the verge of a bloody mental breakdown and I just... wish I could do something to make things better. She reminds me of my mum when a deadline approaches for her to submit an article, and I just feel for her right now. Gosh, I'm feeling for everybody today. My empathy seems to be at its peak and I might just burst from all these emotions this episode is making me feel even before the 5-minute mark.

Ok, but Miss Jenn being stressed means Carlos is stressed for two, which means... this is a really bad time for him and Seb to have personal problems. My heart just can't handle it.

Wow... I never thought I'd see the day! The two leads are actually talking to each other! This is a mid-July miracle!

Why does everyone keep pretending their HSM was good? It was a flaming hot mess! A child could see that.

Miss Jenn needs a lot of work on her 'gracious face'. I, like Carlos, have quite some notes. Only mine aren't exactly, how do you say... verbally formulated quite yet.

Did Carlos just refer to Miss Jenn as 'mother'? Because yes.

I've been in a couple of local theatre productions in my day, but none of them had actual physical sets — we relied on the audience's imagination quite a lot — so I wouldn't know what a good set is made of... but even I can tell that plywood and Elmer's glue = not good.

Kourtney is a multi-tasking icon and we love her. I feel like I don't say this enough, but she deserves all the love.

Ooh, shady Seb is... well, shady! 'Quit school and get a job at the pizza shop?' — I mean, you don't see Reddy or Kourtney (or Howie, for that matter) quitting school in order to work at the Slices! Those kids juggle it all and, as someone who's never had to balance school and a job all at once, they have my deepest admiration.

Still, I think they should have thought about 'inventing' something re: transformation earlier than this point. The personal drama has taken up too much of their time.

Why does everyone keep inviting people over to Ashlyn's? I mean, it's not like I've ever heard her complain, but the girl needs some rest! And her house is not a public space.

Oh, so they're making this into a contest? I mean, I have never been a fan of competition, but to each their own. And Redlyn are hosting! This is going to be so beautiful! (You know, unless the boys try to sleep — see my post from yesterday about Reddy's background noise machine)

'I'm not worried. But North High should be!' Ooh, I love this look on Ashlyn! See, there's a lead to take notes from! And Ricky should be the first to do so. Take notes about what a lead acts like, I mean.

Oooooh, Big Red claps back! We love to see it. Although, you know, it stems from the fact that he's nervous about coming up with a solution to the transformation problem. 'I get bossy around the power tools' — Yes, sweetie, and I love that look on you. Maybe you should be around power tools more often, if that helps.

Ughhh, look what the cat brought in! Lily (I wish I knew her last name so I could refer to her by it exclusively, but we'll have to make do). I hate that girl. She reminds me quite exactly of the girl who bullied me in seventh grade to the point where I wished I'd die before having to deal with her at school again. She and Lily both bring out my aggressive side, and I hate that about them.

Ricky — 'so good at being a leading man'? I don't know what Lily is playing at here, but Ricky has not shown himself to be a very good leading man this season. He has the potential to be, but he has not fulfilled it by this point. Sure, he supports his friends and they support him, but that's basic decency. Not yet good leadership. No hate on Ricky, just the truth.

'I vaguely remember him' — please tell me this is setup for Ricky leading Lily on and then slamming the door in her face with the truth. The way I see it, he's been given a chance here. A chance to be the supportive, protective best friend Big Red deserves. I just... have a lot of ideas about this and I don't want it to end badly instead.

'I'm just not well-liked here, and I don't know what to do' — well, of course you aren't well-liked, you little— (ok, ok, calm down, breathe, 10, 9, 8...) whatever. I mean, she hasn't even considered basic decency, as it seems. Must be a new concept to her.

'Don't start with me, Carlos!' Wow. As much as I hate it that my two faves' only interaction in so long is so hostile, I kind of like this side of Big Red. I wonder what other sides of himself he's been hiding.

Listen, I don't like Seb being patronised and babied, but... 'Chip, this is your mother speaking: go call your mother!' made me laugh so hard. They're leaning into the on-stage family dynamic and I live for it.

EJ's idea of using old skateboards for the spinning contraption is... a brilliant callback to the fact that Ricky and Big Red were first characterised as skateboarders... you know, before diving headfirst into the theatre thing. And it feels like it might actually work.

Miss Jenn's excitement at seeing Mr Mazzara ('Benjamin!!!') is perhaps only topped by the fact that he was halfway home, got a text from her and instantly went back to the school. I mean, these two have something that's really big.

Miss Jenn referring to the kids as 'my children', combined with Carlos calling her 'mother' earlier just warms my heart so much! Those guys really are family. I live for it.

Ok, but... as clear as it is that the Wildcats are very far behind NH in terms of budget, rehearsal time and who knows what else, I hate seeing Miss Jenn resigned to them losing. I want to see her have faith in them, talk about how they will win, and, in her own words, 'trust the process'. I mean, I guess it's good that, as a teacher, she wants to prepare her kids for a possible defeat (and I mean really possible if they don't step up their game immediately, especially some of them * cough* Ricky *cough *), but a team that goes out to the field expecting to lose has a very minimal chance of winning.

Despite everything I've been saying again and again about Nini lately, the fact that she just delivered a very different 'No, Seb' has just redeemed her. See, this one wasn't dismissive or patronising — this was like, 'no, Seb, don't put yourself down' and I love that spin on the catchphrase I'd grown to hate. See, many things can be redeemed. And some simply cannot. * cough* Devil's spawn Lily *cough *. Also, Seb being self-conscious about the fact that Carlos 'doesn't have many options' at East Hight is the perfect setup for In a Heartbeat — meaning they will either have a chance to talk about their issue, or they have a telepathic connection, in which case, what kind of soulmate stuff is that?

'You're my sister; he's my cousin' — yeah, Ash, putting it like that makes it sound a lot weirder than it should, but I do get what you're trying to say. This is not a drill! Ashlyn is a Portwell shipper (heck, maybe even the captain of that ship) — but I feel like we already knew that.

'Why'd I never hear about this?' — and there it goes. Within the same scene, Nini was redeemed and then made aggravating again. What does she care if Gina thought Ricky sent her chocolates? He didn't. Because he and Gina can't be anything but very good friends. And I feel like good friends is what Gina needs. Maybe that's why I wanted EJ to be that for her initially (or it was because I'm aroace and don't tend to notice romantic attraction between fictional characters — or real people for that matter — unless it's explicitly stated to be there). But I've been on board of the majestic S.S. Portwell for a few weeks now and it's finally about to set sail.

Yeah, Nini, get a root beer, calm the heck down and get over it!

'Your other clockwise!' — Why does this even need to be said? How many 'clockwise's are there? I absolutely understand why Big Red gets the way he gets around power tools. I'd be on edge too, if the people I was trying to work with didn't know what way clockwise is. Still, I feel like by the time I'm 30, nobody younger than me would have a reason to know what way clockwise is, and I don't know if I feel bad or neutral about it.

Oh, so there's no telepathy involved in Seblos' problem resolution — it's been Redlyn's good communication all along. I might have known.

Ooh, Portwell is being discussed on both sides! PORTWELL NATION HOW WE FEELING

Nini? Why is everything about Nini? There's no way everything is about Nini. In all seriousness, though, EJ's worries about letting the next girl go seem valid in regards to Gina, given that she explicitly stated (though not within earshot of EJ or anyone who could have tipped him off) that she needs someone who will show up and stay. But they'll figure it out. They'll find a way. I know it. They will, or I will riot, and I know I won't be alone in that.

Ooh, Howie is giving Kourtney the original blueprints! Looks like Reddy isn't the only one who has a spy on the inside.

Ahhh, Ricky! Not 'Let You Go' again. I haven't cried to it in three days and I was not ready to break that streak. But... wait, this is where Carlos approaches Ricky to ask him for help with writing a song for Seb, isn't it? I am definitely ready for this.

Oh, is it... is it Ricky who suggests Carlos write a song for Seb? Now that is what a good leading man looks like.

'I'm adjusting to being called bro' — me too, Carlito, me too. But... this scene must have been so emotional for Josh, given that he hadn't come out yet. I remember him crying during The Climb and... all I'm saying is I want Ricky to come out at some point, too.

Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh... they were just talking about love languages and that's when Carlos shows up? Cinematic. Wait, there's Portwell too? This is what dreams are made of.

My oh my oh my! Risotto! For real this time. I might have just teared up. (Full disclosure: I did.) I've only had Portwell for about three weeks, but if anything happens to them, I will... you know how the meme goes. [side note: Wait, when I said 'for real this time', I was not expecting EJ would say it, much less word for word. Am I... writing this show now? It's usually my dad who predicts people's lines in TV shows]

'Not that I know of'... excuse me while I hyperventilate! These two are literal soulmates. They might share a brain, too, for all that I know. Portwell nation you ok guys?

I love that Ricky helped Carlos out with this song and is supporting him through it, but... I just might have preferred for him not to be there. I kind of need Seblos to have this moment to themselves. But, you know, with the way they feel about each other it might as well be like they're alone in the universe, let alone the room.

Ok, but Frankie's voice... brings out feelings in me that I didn't know I was capable of. Make of that what you will. Also, I'm not sobbing my eyes out, you are.

Ahhh Reddy my sunshine my sweet boy I love you but why did you have to cut Seblos' moment short? They were going to kiss, I know it. Oh well, they probably will, later on. Off-screen probably, but who cares? Not everything is for us to see. At least Carlos and Ricky had a moment there... Carlos calling Ricky 'bro' made me more emotional than I expected. It's like Miss Jenn says in s1: 'They're best bros, and that's a sacred thing... for reasons I will never understand'.

Ricky's acting sounds like a cat about to spit up a hairball, and it's so funny... in a scene that is supposed to be arguably the most dramatic of the entire play, that is not a good thing.

Oh my, oh my... you did not! You did not just end the episode with Ricky taking a fall from who knows how high. I was not ready. This episode was entirely too much for me. I will need 10 to 15 business days to recover from this, and we all know there aren't that many. But in the meantime you'll find me obsessively listening to In a Heartbeat for hours on end. Seriously, this episode is too much.

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts s2 #ricky bowen #nini salazar-roberts #gina porter #ej caswell #ashlyn caswell #ashlyn moon caswell #big red redonovich #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew-smith #kourtney greene #hsmtmts miss jenn #hsmtmts mr mazzara #jnk #seblos #portwell #redlyn #jenzara

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mrs-nate-humphrey · 3 years

Text

So not to be dramatic, but if you could get a degree in discourse-ology, the topic of my master’s thesis would definitely be “Which political candidates did the characters of the CW’s Gossip Girl (2007-2012) support?” I’m doing this in order from most to least obvious, and considering both the 2016 and 2020 presidential elections.

[ little ivy interjection here: i haven’t changed ANYTHING, except adding a screencap of the title + the submission, because that made me laugh & more people deserve to see it, and putting this under a read more because that’s how i generally try & organise stuff on this blog. so this submission is exactly as it was when i received it! also while we’re at it, anon, this MADE my day.]

Blair Waldorf: “Hillary Clinton is one of my role models. I do not break treaties, you ass!” (04x13) There’s no question that Blair would go hard for Hillary in 2016, she praised her on multiple occasions throughout the series. Blair’s a classic American neoliberal, third wave Democrat-type: she’s decently progressive when it comes to social policies, and would be decidedly supportive of causes like gay marriage, racial equity, and women’s reproductive rights, but she’s still very much in favor of maintaining the status quo when it comes to capitalism and the hegemonic structure of power that, lets face it, heavily favors her own class interests. To use the American healthcare system as an example: Blair would have been all for the Affordable Care Act, and is largely supportive of the idea of creating a public option - but single payer, nationalized health care? It just wouldn't work in a country like the United States for “X” reason (although the real reason, deep down, is that she doesn’t want to see her tax rate go up in any meaningful way). So she’s thoroughly for Clinton in both the 2016 primaries and the general election, she maybe even comes out with a line of high-end “I’m With Her” merchandise if she’s still CEO of Waldorf Designs, and is personally heartbroken when Clinton loses.

Flash forward to the 2020 primaries. Blairhates Donald Trump, like emotionally, viscerally hates him - his misogyny, his incompetence, and his blatant tackiness are a direct repudiation of her beliefs, and the fact that he’s representing Manhattan society and the Upper East Side to the world in such a godawful way is frankly embarrassing. So in a certain sense, her strategy, like frankly many Americans at the time going into the 2020 Democratic primaries is, “Which one of these candidates has the greatest chance at beating Donald Trump?” I see Blair being rather conflicted at first, but ultimately going for either Amy Klobuchar or Kamala Harris. She has a certain admiration for Elizabeth Warren given her professional background, but her policies are a bit too progressive for someone like Blair. Buttigeg is fine, but not especially thrilling. Biden, quite frankly, doesn’t seem like he has any real chance at winning, although I think he’d be Blair’s third choice after Harris and Klobuchar. I can see her leaning more towards Harris ultimately - although, after the “Amy Klobuchar throws staplers at her interns!!” rumors start spreading, Blair cannot help but, at a personal level, kind of respect her for that. When Biden unexpectedly takes South Carolina and then the Democratic nomination, Blair is a bit disappointed, but not overly so, and quickly marshals her financial resources into supporting and fundraising for him for the remainder of the election. At least it’s not Sanders - or Bloomberg. As a New Yorker, of course Blair’s opinion is “Fuck Michael Bloomberg”.

Chuck Bass: Now here’s where it gets interesting. Chuck, as you said, isn’t stupid - there’s no way he falls for the “build the wall” crap or any of Trump’s rhetoric, he knows it’s a bullshit farce and sees right through it. But you know what he definitely is? Deeply greedy and deeply selfish. I’m hardly the first person to point this out, but Chuck Bass is, in many ways, the fictional equivalent of the Donald Trumps and Michael Bloombergs and Brett Kavanaughs of the world - new money billionaire who inherited his wealth from his father working in the real estate industry, who despite his lack of business acumen and deeply problematic history with women, has managed to coast through life failing upwards with absolutely no social or legal accountability? I mean, back in 2010, Forbes Magazine actually did a real interview with the fictional Chuck Bass in which they outright compare him to Donald Trump. I couldn’t tell you if the Gossip Girl writers meant to write Chuck as their Trump analogue - I mean, they did invite Jared and Ivanka onto the show, after all - but the parallels are just too strong to ignore. All of which is to say, not only did Chuck Bass vote for Donald Trump, he held exclusive political fundraisers for him and was probably a substantial donor to his campaign. Now, did Chuck distance himself publicly over time as the political climate became increasingly caustic and public sentiment towards Trump plummeted even further? Perhaps, perhaps not. It really depends on if the board of Bass Industries felt like being connected to Trump was a liability or an asset - but privately, I imagine Chuck once again voted for him in 2020, because the one policy Donald Trump did effectively execute during his tenure in office was massive tax cuts for billionaires, and for someone like Chuck Bass, that’s the only political policy that really matters. He wouldn’t wear a red hat and wouldn’t be caught dead within sniffing distance of a MAGA rally and the hoi polloi, but dude is basically the image of what the kind of rich conservatives backing the Trump administration for personal gain look like. On the off chance that the distastefulness of it all got to be a little much for even Chuck post-2016, perhaps he might switch his vote to Bloomberg. But I highly doubt Chuck would be politically invested in anything other than his own wallet to such an extent that he wouldn’t vote for Trump, no matter how much it would no doubt completely infuriate Blair.

Dan Humphrey: As the unofficial king of the hipsters, Dan has been a Sanders supporter since before it was cool. Seriously, Bernie Sanders appeals to Dan intrinsically on every level - his policies, his rhetoric, even his aesthetic - the rumpled old man with wild hair wearing mittens and railing against the upper class is the sort of thing that’s basically political catnip for someone like Dan Humphrey. Not only would Dan vote for Sanders in both the 2016 and 2020 primaries, he’d go out and be one of the celebrities campaigning for him. This would definitely lead to him butting heads with Blair, and she would no doubt call him out on supporting someone like Sanders when Dan himself is now a millionaire, who made his money from writing stories about the upper class. The fact that in 2017 he apparently gets married to Serena, a billionaire heiress, and may or may not have been engaged to her back in 2016 when the Democratic primaries were happening might cause him a bit of cognitive dissonance, but really, just because he’s climbed up the socio-economic ladder now doesn’t mean his values have really changed, have they? (Debatable.) In any case, in both the 2016 and 2020 general elections, Dan would definitely vote for Clinton and Biden respectively - although he’d be significantly more disgruntled about it than Blair would be switching from Harris to Biden. I don’t think Dan would be a “Bernie bro” in the way that term is used, but he’d definitely chafe against Clinton’s past policy decisions, and would probably make some snippy Tweets about her during the election. Nevertheless, once it became clear that Trump was going to be the Republican nominee and was a serious threat, I think Dan would change his tone and start encouraging his fans and followers to vote for Clinton. Likewise, in 2020, Dan would probably become one of the Sanders supporters doing outreach for Biden, having become more politically pragmatic following the experience of living under the Trump administration.

Vanessa Abrams: Much like Dan, Vanessa is a progressive, although unlike Dan, Vanessa’s activism is more focused around specific issues and less around specific politicians. I can see Dan and Vanessa being in roughly the same place in 2016, and given that the only real choices were between Sanders and Clinton in the primaries (RIP to Martin O'Malley), Vanessa would no doubt go for Sanders. Whereas Dan might campaign for Sanders directly however, Vanessa would instead focus her time and resources around advocacy for specific causes that are important to her, like climate change and racial justice, and would probably use her platform as a filmmaker and documentarian to advance those causes. I could very much see her getting involved with movements like Black Lives Matter and organizations like the Sunrise Movement, and taking part in protests, marches, and sit-ins. When the 2020 Democratic primaries come around, I could see her possibly switching from Sanders to Warren for a while (and Dan would definitely argue with her about it if she did), but I can also see her switching back to Sanders after Warren amended her support for single-payer, “Medicare for All”. She’d definitely vote for Clinton and Biden in the generals, but not enthusiastically.

Nate Archibald: For someone whose family business is politics and who, in 2017, is apparently a candidate in the New York City mayoral election, Nate seems to be rather removed from politics. As Vanessa puts it in 02x19, “The only thing Nate’s ever voted for is American Idol.” Still, as Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, Nate kind of has to have an opinion, and in that respect, I see him gravitating towards the type of center-left “establishment” candidates that he and his family would no doubt have close ties with. In the Gossip Girl universe, the Vanderbilts are portrayed as being a lot like the Kennedys, and I think Nate’s policies as a mayoral candidate would really reflect that. In 2016, he would vote for Hillary Clinton in both the primaries and the generals without much of a second thought - after all, she’s the obvious choice, and there’s no way a candidate like Donald Trump could actually beat her, right? Actually, optimistically, maybe that’s why Nate decides to jump into the mayoral race in 2017 - previously, he had been for all intents and purposes politically apathetic, but seeing someone as genuinely vile as Donald Trump ascend to the office of the presidency stirs him out of that apathy, and he wants to make a positive difference in the only way an incredibly privileged white man from a politically prominent family knows how. So he runs as a Kennedy-esque center left candidate, further left of someone like Hillary Clinton, but more moderate than someone like Elizabeth Warren - sort of like Kamala Harris, now that I think about it. I have no idea if he would actually be able to beat Bill de Blasio given the major incumbency advantage de Blasio would have, but who knows. Come the 2020 Democratic primaries, I think Nate would probably just vote for whoever he believed was most likely to beat Donald Trump. I don’t see him having any sort of clear preference - maybe he would gravitate towards Biden on the basis of him being the most established candidate, or maybe he would gravitate towards Harris on the basis of her campaigning as the “moderate progressive” candidate. I could also seeing him liking Andrew Yang, come to think of it. In any case, he would most definitely support Joe Biden in the generals. How involved he’d be in supporting him really depends on whether or not Nate actually gets elected to mayor - if he was the mayor, he’d definitely endorse him and probably donate to him, but I think he’d be too wrapped up in his own political responsibilities to really do much more than that. If, however, he lost the election and was still the Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, I can see Nate getting more involved alongside the rest of his family, officially endorsing him in The Spectator, hosting political fundraisers for him, and maybe even campaigning for him. The Vanderbilts in the Gossip Girl universe (I have no idea what the family’s actual political beliefs are in real life) definitely seem to me like they’d be Biden supporters, and I imagine they’d use their political clout to try and get Biden in, and more importantly, Trump out.

Serena van der Woodsen: Oh Serena. Look, she knows it’s important, okay? It’s just, she’s been really busy lately, and she doesn’t really like to think about politics, and hey, remember that fundraiser she did with her mom for last month’s philanthropic cause du jour? Serena’s a Democrat, vaguely, but if you tried to really pin her down on her political beliefs she’d probably just change the topic. So who does she vote for in 2016? The truth is, she doesn’t. Not in the primaries, not in the general, not at all. She meant to, okay, Blair’s definitely been pestering her to send in her mail-in-ballot for weeks, but she just got distracted and forgot. Serena really strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy thinking or talking about politics, save for perhaps a few specific issues, and she has a sense that everything will work itself out eventually and she doesn’t really need to participate. And then the 2016 election happens, and holy shit, she didn’t vote. Blair and Dan might have spent early 2016 bickering with each other over Clinton versus Sanders, but the one thing they can definitely agree on is “What the fuck, Serena?!?!” They both reminded her like, a million times, how could she possibly forget?! Serena feels really bad about it - she didn’t think it was such a big deal, she didn’t think Donald Trump could actually win! - and so she starts overcompensating whenever the topic of politics comes up, maybe even joins Vanessa at a few protests and marches, even though she’s still sort of clueless about the actual issues at hand. She does vote in the 2018 midterms, although only in the general election - straight blue ticket, all the way down. She takes a picture of herself at the voting booth wearing an “I Voted!” sticker and posts it on Instagram, tagging both Dan and Blair in the post (who already voted weeks ago using mail-in ballots, but it’s the thought that counts). Flash forward to 2020, and she really needs to make a decision about who to vote for in the primaries… but there’s just so many choices. Everything seems so scary and stressful and real in a way now that it didn’t back in 2016, and she can’t just ignore it and assume things will work out for the best like she did back then. So who does she vote for? Well, Serena always wins, so she votes for Biden. Conspiratorially, both Dan and Blair privately wonder if her voting for Biden isn’t on some cosmic level the reason for his unexpected victory, even if they know there’s no logical way that’s possible, right? But it would be such a Serena thing to do… In any case, Serena’s just happy her candidate won, and would probably host political fundraisers for him with her mom’s circle of philanthropic friends. Assuming she and Dan are still married at this point, she offers to help him do political outreach to Sanders supporters to get them to vote for Biden, which he sweetly dissuades her from given that most Sanders supporters would probably dislike her on principle.

So that’s how, in my opinion, the main cast would vote, ordered roughly in how confident I am about that analysis. You could make the argument that perhaps some characters would vote or act differently based on whether or not they’re dating or married at the time - like, would Chuck openly fundraise for Trump when Blair is a dyed-in-the-wool Clinton supporter if they’re married? (He totally would.) But I tried to consider them purely on the merits of their personalities and values, and not on the particularities of their situations at the time (with the exception of Nate, just because him being in office or not would obviously make a huge difference in regards to how politically involved he’s going to be).

I wish I put as much effort into my actual university essays as I did on Gossip Girl political analysis.

#meta #gossip girl #anon you're literally a legend #i cannot believe you submitted this to my little blog when you could've like......#sent it in to vox or something #it's just SO good?#also honestly 'i wish i put as much effort into uni as i did into gg meta' is like #THE BRAND on my blog so #*raises a glass* cheers!#i don't even have words i just think you're objectively correct about ALL of this #gg politics #submission #i am LITERALLY flattered to receive this gem thank you so much?#no no flattered is the wrong word: honoured is better #but i really appreciate it is all

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rpbetter · 3 years

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I often see multis post that they want to make a new muse, at the same time as they're backed up on threads and asks, and they get their followers to "enable" them to make that muse in the post replies. What is your take on this? Is it a they-can-do-what-they-want situation, or is it reasonable to be annoyed when I see this? Or both?

Hey, Anon!

Both.

I mean, as usual, this is my opinion of an opinion-based matter. This isn't an equation that has an objectively right to wrong scale, it isn't actually hurting any living person or thing. But...it is incredibly annoying and can be hurtful.

They can totally do what they want, and much of the nature of genuine creativity is exactly that - the allowance of doing whatever you so desire. It's something I support rather adamantly, but it's also something I support trying our best to do responsibly and without being hurtful to anyone in a hobby that involves more than ourselves.

This isn't deciding to write another fic when you've not finished the previous four or five that others were interested in, or never finishing any of your original fiction, but continually starting new projects. While others might be enjoying those things as well, you didn't agree to interact with them. They're audience members, not participants.

When others are participants in a hobby that has to work both ways, it's different. Your actions do affect other, real human beings.

So, I totally feel like you've a right to be annoyed every time you see that happening. I do. I tend to unfollow people who do that repeatedly, as we're not pursuing the hobby in the same way. I'll argue all day that someone has a right to their, sometimes literally, eighty-plus muses they never develop or stick to, but that doesn't mean I want to engage with them as a writing partner.

For those of us who want long-term writing partners with the same, well-developed muses, this kind of thing just is annoying. As is everything else that comes with it.

As in...

They're constantly posting "talk me out of adding x" as code for "talk me into writing x."

No one actually wants to be talked out of it, which was probably more obvious to everyone else here than it was me for a little while lmao I tend to take things rather literally. This was, as one can imagine, not appreciated! Telling someone in total earnestness, "I really don't think that's a good choice. You're always saying how overwhelmed you are and just dropped multiple threads yesterday, so adding another muse is going to make you feel worse eventually. Don't do it! :)" is so not what they were looking for. As was evident by the return meltdown over how they could do what they wanted, like I said they couldn't or had any authority over what they're doing with their time.

It's an obnoxious bit of pandering for a foregone conclusion.

Have you ever seen anyone who posts that sort of thing not pick up that muse? I haven't. I've only seen muns who are legitimately on the fence about it asking others in private conversations or testing out the muse decide against it. The thing that makes this incredibly irritating is the attention-seeking and need to validate something they must know isn't a great choice, otherwise, they'd just do it. They're aware that they're behind on drafts, asks, and other things - aware that this is maybe a dick move when they owe everyone already. So, they're seeking "permission" with full knowledge that multiple mutuals are going to hop on that post with encouragement, even some of the ones being messed over by this choice.

It puts people in a bad situation.

Some of those people genuinely don't care, they just want to interact with any muse, and I'm going to be awful and say it - they don't care about totally interchangeable muses and have them themselves. That's fine, this isn't a problem for them. It is for the mutuals who are hoping that maybe if their writing partner gets into this new muse, they'll get a reply to their threads with that energy, or that they'll stick to this one and they can have consistent interactions with them. It is for the mutuals who feel pressured to respond positively because they fear not responding at all will make them seem like bad rpers.

One more thing playing into the counter logic excuse for shitty behavior of "it's just a hobby" is one more thing too many, and it does exactly that.

No one wants to be accused of being remotely too invested in RP anymore, of taking it too seriously, or having any emotional investment in muses, stories, or muns. Not accepting every choice someone makes that negatively impacts you with a grin on your face while you dump confetti on them for it just isn't a comfortable option for a lot of muns anymore. Honesty isn't a comfortable option. While the other option isn't either, it seems better than that mutual noticing you're the only writing partner who didn't hop onto that post with support any of the multiple times they reblogged it. It's only a hobby in which everyone can do what they want until what one wants clashes. Then, you're getting a callout for being addicted to RP.

And the way it tends to clash most is in having expectations of others. Ones that would be totally normal in any other hobby requiring interaction with other people.

Like not overburdening yourself at the expense not only of yourself but those on your "team." That's what is being done when someone knows they cannot keep up with themselves, but continues to add to the situation with new muses.

Not only are you no longer getting responses already while they're intending to add even more to their overflowing plate, you'll be dropped again when they have to "fresh start" their blog because they're burned out.

I have to put that in quotations because I don't know how it's a fresh start when you keep everything but the blog layout the same. All the muses and all the behaviors, including adding a new one despite not having the time or interest necessary to do so, is inevitably maintaining the problems that led to burnout. Dropping every thread, changing the URL, a new blog layout, new aesthetics, isn't fixing the issue even if it temporarily reinvigorates the mun.

The mun is definitely doing things that are not helpful to them, it's stressful and upsetting to experience burnout, but it's at least that mun's choice. Both to do it and to become defensive over fixing it, thus, never fixing it. It isn't anyone else's choice to be repeatedly dropped or ignored, though...unless they just keep sticking around for it.

Again, we're supposed to respect everyone's choices. That's fine when it really works that way, when it is truly everyone. But it's not an acceptable decision to see a multimuse of twenty or more muses and say that's your limit, that you've experienced too many muns who are serial muse-adders not being able to keep up with themselves, so you don't interact with these blogs. If one feels that way, they had better not put it in their rules or ever be upfront about this as a reason, when one is demanded, for not following back or interacting.

It's not acceptable to see a writing partner adding another muse after they've owed you for months, just wiped their inbox, and keep expressing being overwhelmed/behind and become annoyed. Let alone dropping them or explaining to them why you are doing so.

The only "acceptable" course of action is hoping that they totally forget you exist so you can quietly slip away.

I don't feel like that's especially fair or mature. It certainly isn't helping the communication problem we absolutely do have here in the RPC when only one party is allowed to communicate without fear of being labeled, rather ironically, as a bad RP partner.

While this problem seems to be most prevalent in more casual RPers, it's certainly not isolated there. I feel like it's necessary to say that I've had muns I both interacted with and were simply on my dash alike who were not on that more casual side who went from being multis to being muse collectors. Once they hit over fifteen of them or so, they stopped even bothering to try to refrain from picking up at least one muse from every new piece of media they consumed or were inspired by.

It was more annoying because they had been capable of writing truly unique characters they stuck to, and even if they were, with full and upfront admission before interaction, slower to respond, those responses were well worth any wait for the quality of writing and storytelling going on. That's so much worse than someone who was always at a lower skill level as a writer, didn't have a good grasp on characterization, and wasn't especially dedicated to anything. It's depressing and disappointing, but it's also not what you think you're getting into when trying to carefully pick who to write with. Like everyone else, my time to enjoy this hobby is far from twenty-four-seven as well. It's important to me to try to choose muns I'll work out with well so that neither of us is wasting the other's time. And that's what it feels like - the investment of time was a waste because their hobby became adding infinite muses, or rather, the idea of muses.

So, yes, while it is fully everyone's right to write what and how they want to (even if it amounts to not writing at all), it'd be nice if we were all as committed to doing so in a way that was adult enough to respect commitments we've made to each other as we are, as a RPC, to losing our minds when someone merely drops the words "commitments" or "respect."

For the inevitable muse-collectors running across this:

Fiction is inspiring! That doesn't mean you needn't be inspired by anything, just that picking up or creating a whole other muse might not be the best way to follow this inspiration.

If you're considering another muse, but you find yourself already behind and/or overwhelmed? Try one of these instead:

create a plot based on it! Write up the idea and put it in your wanted plots/wishlist tag. Bring it up to partners you think might be interested in it as well, or seek out a crossover from that fandom

make it a new verse for an existing muse! This is as close as you get to creating a new muse without actually doing so, and in many ways, it takes even more creativity. How is your muse different in this AU than they are in canon, how are they the same? In the ways that they are the same, what similar events but done in a way that is natural/logical to this universe have happened to maintain that? Get really creative!

for either/both of these, make some moodboards and aesthetics with that energy while you're waiting on someone to take you up on these new things. Answer some HC asks or tag games using your new verse, or write an independent HC for the verse or plot

talk to writing partners who already love that muse about their new verse/your desired plot! No, not pressuring talk, just normal conversation between friends, but maybe they will be interested in starting a thread

simply be inspired to include some aspect of what you liked in an existent thread. A particular scene you could pull ideas from, the overall mood of a film, or the way something was written in a book - include that in your replies somehow! RP is creative writing, be creative

There are so many, honestly more organic, directions to take inspiration than bluntly adding a new muse. Especially when you're already overburdened, not holding up your end of replies, and/or not able to portray each muse as their own character properly.

Sometimes, it's not just not a great idea to add a whole new muse, and that's alright. There seems to be a serious problem with fomo going on with this whole issue, too. You're not going to miss out if you do not immediately add this character to your multi, and you're never going to fully keep up with what is trending anyway. Do it because you still want to write this muse in four months instead, they're obviously not going anywhere if that's the case, and they'll be a better developed, interesting portrayal for that.

And people do have a right to be annoyed when they feel sidelined by you seeing a shiny object and repeatedly pandering for validation in dropping them for it. Particularly if you're a mun who, further, expects everyone to be just as interested in every new muse you make as the last. As in, you're annoyed when you keep creating muses no one is falling over themselves to interact with, guilting, shaming, or outright demanding that this new muse is interacted with before they have access to the previous ones.

They don't have a right to be mean you to, but they have a right to be annoyed and to drop you. They even have a right to politely decline explaining this to you if they feel unsafe, or to politely explain it to you before they move on.

Absolutely everyone's right to pursue RP and every facet of it as they so please, but no one else has to like what you're doing.

If this response grates on some of you out there? Consider the other options you have, how you might be making others feel, and that it's actually completely okay to tell yourself no. You won't perish if you tell yourself no to taking on a new muse when you, honestly, should not! It'll be okay! Maybe, you just need to evaluate if there is another muse, or more than one, you should remove before adding one. Maybe, you just need some time to reorganize how you reply before you add this one. "No" when told to yourself can simply mean "no, not right now, it isn't a good time/situation."

#answered #anonymous #rp problems #rp advice #muse hoarding #burnout

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lushthemagicdragon · 3 years

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On Deadpool, WandaVision and Breaking the Fourth Wall

Hey pals, let’s talk about breaking the fourth wall / extrapolation of meta information in multiverse universes--say, the Marvel cinematic vs the xmen films vs the comics. Actually, let’s talk specifically about the Marvel multiverse.

I wrote you an essay, just go under the cut it’s shiny.

As a general rule, suspension of disbelief works better on paper than it does on video. Heroes was an excellent example of this problem. This was the first time TV show was made directly based on a comic book format, trying to emulate a comic book format. The ship sank when they tried to keep comic book pace, and to play by similar rules. Long story short, this is because the way our brains consume literature and comics is different from how we consume photographic media like movies or tv. Video, like photography, convinces the brain that it's depicting reality even when we logically know that it isn’t. Therefore, unless the rules of the video/TV world are well established as being different from our own, we apply to it our own real-world understandings of what is possible. We are able to follow the fantastic more willingly when we're imagining it (because we’re reading it) instead of seeing it with our senses.

Breaking the fourth wall and/or being self-referential is extremely tricky on video media because you're forcing the audience's brain to acknowledge that this is fiction, which can cause some cognitive dissonance if the goal of your show/movie is to create second world immersion. Sitcoms are good at breaking the fourth wall because, with laugh tracks, live studio audiences, and a general lack of real-world consequences, our brains understand that it isn’t real. Generally, they’re not trying to fool us into believing that they’re real. Still, if Chandler Bing suddenly turned around and made eye contact with the camera, that would be weird. It’s not established in that particular sitcom world that they understand that they’re fictional. Fresh Prince on the other hand, did that all the time.

But we’ll get back to Sitcoms, because WandaVision. As opposed to most sitcoms, most serious dramas and adventure-thrillers are trying to create a very different vibe. In order to function, you have to be fully engaged, and have to completely believe the second world you are currently in. Otherwise, the emotional experience falls short. Tonality must be consistent, whereas sitcoms can get away with having the odd emotional moment surrounded by a laugh track.

Marvel is very weird when it comes to second worlds and believable experiences, because Marvel films, tv, and comics are all existing in the same multiverse but with wildly different tones. If you try to wrap your head around all of it as one body, it can give you a headache. Which is why I find it so interesting whenever they try to be meta.

The MCU as we understand it is presented as a realistic second world. Yes, it's fun action adventure with magic and superheroes, but presented in a way that feels real, and rationalizes its reality. It explains with technobabble and sciencebabble everything that it's doing. It wants to feel real. There are a few examples of comedy in the MCU (AntMan, Guardians of the Galaxy, Thor Ragnorok), but their silliness can for the most part be explained away. With the latter two, they take place in space, with aliens, so our brains allow that as an explanation of wackiness outside our own reality. For Ant-Man, honestly I think it was a brilliant idea to make it a comedy because there was no way that film would have succeeded if they tried to make the audience take Ant-Man seriously on screen. I love Ant-Man, it’s a spectacularly made film. But I digress. Importantly, even though they’re funny and campy, they never lose their sense of realism, with emotional anchor points to keep them grounded. When these characters are in an ensemble, they lose their high camp aesthetic and become part of the realism whole.

Even when they say in the MCU, Oh look at this I am an action figure, I'm in comic books, it's presented as in-world realistic. These people are famous now, and they're real life superheroes, so obviously action figures and comic books are being produced about them. It all makes sense. Even the X-Men films, for as camp as they are, do this in their own realism bubble. I would argue the X-Men films actually do it better because you don't have to suspend as much disbelief to believe mutation as you do to believe in a super suit that shrinks people (I love you Small Rudd).

Things get weird when the fourth wall is broken, and the multiverse is acknowledged, because the marvel cinematics have done an excellent job of creating stable second worlds. The Deadpool films, the prime example of fourth wall breaking in Marvel films/tv, are excellent because they go whole hog into breaking the fourth wall and acknowledging how ridiculous it all is. But it works for two reasons.

1. Deadpool is the only person in the entire movie that acknowledges the fourth wall (I am pretty sure, it’s been a while since I’ve watched them but I am pretty sure). Because he alone is aware that he's a fictional character in a wider fictional universe, it's not weird when he references his actor being the green lantern or talks directly to the camera. It’s exactly what we expect from him. With Deadpool, we're in on the joke but no one else is. And that's funny.

2. The tone of the Deadpool films is always funny and stupid. Even when it gets serious, that becomes the joke. There is no cognitive dissonance because it's consistent. See: Sitcom Logic. If the tone is light, breaking the fourth wall doesn’t jarr quite so much.

3. Deadpool is never in the other films, and MOSTLY, the characters in Deadpool (beyond the odd brief cameo) aren't in the greater universe (I say mostly because of Colossus, but he was in one movie ages ago for like ten minutes it’s not the biggest deal). It's consistent, and it doesn't become confusing because it's contained in itself as a weird fourth wall bubble on the side of the greater universe. Anything that happens to characters in the Deadpool films will not carry over to the more serious timeline.

There is one place in which I would say that the Deadpool films miss the mark, and make a mess of things. By making that one joke where young 90s xmen from the newest film are behind a door and shut it before he turns around, a wrench is thrown in. The weirdness of the Deadpool films suddenly is an issue because the question is asked: Where do the Deadpool films sit in the timeline? The answer is that the Deadpool films don't fit anywhere in the established XMen Cinematic Timeline, and the big mistake was having a group of characters from an xmen film on screen at the same time even as a gag. In this moment, the Deadpool films are very suddenly part of the greater universe, rather than a sidecar referencing what’s going on inside. By doing this, Deadpool is not the only character breaking the fourth wall. Now the physical world is breaking the fourth wall. And our brains will try to make sense where they cannot make sense.

But anyway for the most part, Deadpool does an excellent job of it by being a weird little fourth wall meta bubble on the fringe of existence. Wandavision though, that gets weird in a different but also very fun way.

The reason why the first 3/4ths of WandaVision work in terms of being meta-referential and also occasionally breaking the fourth wall is because

1. genre and tone. It sets up from the beginning, this is a sitcom world, not gritty realism world. We get sitcom world, we know what to expect from sitcom world. We can laugh along with the laugh track when something odd or silly or referential happens, and accept it as truth, because a sitcom generally does not pretend to be reality.

2. Whenever the fourth wall breaks in a way that doesn't make sense, it's intentional. Wanda reacts accordingly. Something goes weird, she fixes it. When something goes weird for someone other than Wanda (Say, the Vision), the integrity of this sitcom world is called into question in an intentional way that tracks with what is actually going on in the gritty-realism world (acknowledging that we’re in a bubble within a bubble). This camp sitcom world breaks the fourth wall within itself, not to us. Billy talking to the screen isn't talking to us, he's talking to the imagined viewer in-world.

3. Most of the meta-references are either subtle enough to be Easter eggs (like the kick-ass reference) or exist solely as fun gaffs that have no consequences and are never acknowledged as being meta (the Halloween costumes). I say most, because there is one big meta-reference that I think was a mistake, and where it kind of starts to fall apart in my eyes.

As much as I adore Evan Peters’ Pietro, as extremely happy as I was to see him on this show, this particular meta-reference was done in a way that breaks the second world illusion, because they pointed a big red sign at a meta reference and then tried to explain it without breaking into the multiverse.

The thing about breaking the fourth wall and meta-referencing is that it has to be toungue in cheek to be sustainable. Our brains are accepting that this reference is for us, but to make it a serious part of the story requires an answer to the question: why? By explaining that actually, this fake Pietro was Ralph the whole time, a real person who exists in this gritty realism universe, the illusion of tongue in cheek is gone. Suddenly, there is a person who brings into question the entire structure of the second world. Because this second world does not have access to the multiverse (Into the Spiderverse is wholly its own thing), it doesn't make sense that this random guy who happened to be used to play Pietro looks exactly like Pietro from elsewhere in the multiverse. It stops being fun, and starts becoming confusing, and we start trying to find answers where there are none.

IMO, two ways to solve that problem. 1. never explain it. If you never explain it, it's just a weird meta reference for us that also exists in Wanda's fake-world that is in itself accessing the multiverse (see: the costumes), without touching the realism world outside the bubble.

2. What I'm now calling the Taika Waititi method. Give a nonsense explanation told with a straight face as a brush-off. Say, Wanda asks Agatha who this guy is, and she says something along the lines of, oh I don't know I just pulled some random Pietro out of the universe, I never met the guy I had to improvise.

Anyway I still give WandaVision an 8/10 and an A for effort. Pulling off multiple tones and multiple second worlds simultaneously without even explaining it away with the multiverse is fucking hard, and they did a pretty good job all things considered.

And if anyone is interested in wtf I'm talking about re: second worlds, I highly recommend Tolkien's essay On Fairy Stories which pretty much defines how fantastic fiction works.

#wandavision #deadpool #mcu #mcu meta #film theory #marvel cinematic #xmen cinematic #miri meta #miri writes #look ma i wrote something #wandavision spoilers #pietro maximoff #long live uncle pete #maximoff family values #wanda maximoff #wade wilson

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aros001 · 3 years

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Going in blind: Watching season 5 for the first time. Random thoughts.

Episode 1: Well...that dinner got dark. From what other fans have told me apparently Glimmer gets a lot of hate for her decisions during the series and I just find that odd. I was more annoyed with her in the early seasons where her actions were more harmless simply because she had no patience and wouldn't listen because of her immaturity. Season 4 and here though? Even her most reckless and risky actions have at least been fueled by the genuine desire to keep people safe during a very hard situation. Even here, yeah, she tells Prime something it's very bad for him to know but he was going to have Adora and everyone else literally murdered before her eyes if she didn't. I can't really be mad at Glimmer for making a bad choice when it flows logically and fueled by the desire to keep the people she cares about from being slaughtered.

I don't think we've ever seen Catra this completely at the mercy of another person before, save maybe for Shadow Weaver when she was a child. She has nothing to offer that Prime doesn't already possess. Nothing he wants that he can't get for himself. Her relationship with everyone these past few seasons have been either "I'm your commander and you have to do what I say" or "You are my commander and here's the reason you have to keep me around". This time she has nothing to protect herself behind and the only reason she's still around is because Prime might think of a use for her later.

I love having Scorpia on the heroes' side.

Episode 2: That ending though.

I think what helps elevate Entrapta for me and keeps her for being annoying or irritating is that the show really sells that she just genuinely has trouble understanding why she should/shouldn't be doing certain things. It's not stupidity or even pure self-absorption, she just struggles with people and social ques while machines and science is a lot more straightforward. Heck, she was probably able to bond so well with Hordak because work together in the lab was them meeting on a common middle ground she could understand and relax in. The way she's trying to overcome the issue to help save Glimmer reminds me a little of Mob from Mob Psycho 100, feeling a little frustrated in not understanding something that she knows she should be.

Episode 3: Anybody else get a Disney's Hercules vibes at the end there?

Catra: "Besides, O Oneness, you can't beat her! She has no weaknesses! She's gonna kick your...!"

Prime, smiling: "I think she does, little sister." [Strokes Catra's hair] "I truly think...she does."

This episode really sold how completely isolated Catra is. With the sole exception of Glimmer, she's in space, no idea where exactly she is, onboard a ship filled with nothing but Prime and hundreds of cultist clones. Throughout the entire series we've seen Catra push everyone away and now that she's in a situation where she is almost well and truly on her own with no power, freedom, or authority, she seeks out the one other person around to find any sense of comfort in. Despite everything, Catra doesn't like being alone.

Little child Catra lashing out because she didn't want Adora to have any friends other than her kind of reminds me of Glimmer and Bow during the Princess Prom episode. I imagine it's the same mentality. Growing up in isolation, even if in different forms, and finding only that one person they feel thay can really lean on, there is that fear that they'll find someone else they like more and start caring about them less, or even outright stop. The difference is Bow set Glimmer straight, assuring her he'll always be her friend no matter what but he's not going to be just solely dedicated to her. Her fear was understandable but she was not respecting him as a friend either. Adora never really had that with Catra, one because she was much younger and less mature than Bow, and Catra was probably all she had too, to an extent. As we saw season 1, she was always trying to look after her, even when Catra needed to take responsibility for herself. Bow is not Glimmer's keeper, while Adora too often was that for Catra, so Bow and Glimmer have a better foundation of mutual respect while Adora and Catra's dynamic has been really screwed up for a long time.

Kind of tying into that, despite all that's happened between them, the minute Adora hears Catra's in distress she starts panicking and tearing up. The last time they saw each other they were very much enemies and Adora was done reaching her hand out to her. I suppose you could make the argument she's really been hoping all this time that Catra would finally do the right thing for once, just probably didn't expect it to be like this.

Prime better not mind wipe Catra like he did Hordak.

Episode 4: See, calling the heroes the rebellion now makes sense since they are rebelling against the established power, which is Prime.

Love that trick with the reflections, where you can sort of see/sort of can't see She-Ra. A nice little tease for what I imagine will be a big reveal later.

I really like that explanation for what Bow's going through. Last season's finale was the last he'd seen Glimmer and was desperately trying to save her, and he's been consistently worried for her since then. Now that she's safe he's starting to let himself process his other emotions towards her, and I totally get it. It's hard to be mad at someone when you're also terrified over what might be happening to them, even if your anger is justified. While I get why Glimmer last season did what she thought she had to, it was still a big risk that Bow warned her about and she didn't listen, putting them all in danger. This situation and Glimmer's words is a very mature way of handle this topic. He's not wrong for being mad and it's not a contradiction to what we've been seeing from him this season. Humans and emotions are complicated.

Episode 5: SHE HAS PAAAAAAAAANTS!!! (I will miss the cape though)

That almost makes up for them cutting Catra hair. Seriously, that mane was beautiful!

But boy, speaking of Hercules, that return of She-Ra definitely felt like Hercules emerging from the pool of souls to save Meg.

With the one clone being disconnected from the hive mind and having a breakdown over it, that does make me wonder if Hordak has been connected to it. Wasn't he deemed a defect because Prime couldn't connect to his mind? I suppose it's possible that flaw was corrected. Clearly Prime can take over minds other than just his clones, like with Catra. But if he could do that I'm wondering why he just didn't when Hordak was first created and he instead cast him out to Etheria.

Was Catra purring at the end? I swear there was a sound that sounded like purring.

Episode 6: Assimilation is easily one of my biggest fears in fiction, be it zombies, Borgs and Cybermen, Get Out, the freaking Sapphire Dragon from Xiaolin Showdown that scared the hell out of me as a kid! Just the concept of having your free will and autonomy completely ripped away from you, potentially with you still being aware but unable to do anything about it, is horrifying! At least with Prime's chips the process is reversible.

Anyway, in lighter plots, I kind of love Wrong Hordak. He's really funny. I feel bad that he's being deliberately misled, but he really shouldn't be following Prime anyway, so...

I do like that Adora is being a little more tough on Catra. She needs kindness, yes, but she also needs honesty and discipline, the kind that has actual love and care behind it, unlike what she got from Shadow Weaver. Adora is genuinely trying to help so Catra needs to stop acting like a brat and LET HER HELP.

Episode 7: Catra was definitely purring.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume people probably ship Scorpia and Perfuma. Not that I have any problem with that. It's like the Midoriya/Todoroki ship; I don't ship it myself but I totally get why others do. It's a relationship based in mutual respect and one of the characters having a significantly positive effect on the life of the other. As long as the shipper themselves is not horrifically toxic, I don't care.

Also, I don't think I've ever been so intimidated by Mermista before than I was with that one shot of her in silhouette, just before the reveal she was chipped.

Episode 8: Okay, I definitely love Wrong Hordak. Just that realization of his. "Horde Prime...lied to us..." There's just something about it that's so full of character. Obviously he's a brainwashed clone but he was truly devoted to Prime and just to find out that he would keep something so big from them, from the hive mind that's supposed to be so open to him and each other, it destroys everything he ever believed in. It's hilarious to watch him prepare to lead his brothers in a revolt against Prime.

I assume magic is Prime's "weakness" in that he himself cannot control it. Obviously he can control magical beings like Spinnerella and have them use magic but magic itself is too free and too powerful for him to contain and fully fight back against. He's all about order and stillness and magic is basically chaos.

Episode 9: I like to believe the mushroom kingdom they saved is a Mario reference.

Something I like in hero stories is "the power of a name" or "the power of a symbol". Something as simple as Superman's S-shield can have so much weight and meaning behind it just because of the person it's tied to. She-Ra isn't just a powerful warrior to the people of Etheria, she's a hero of legend. We saw it touched on even back in season 1 how much Adora returning She-Ra to the world meant to everyone. She-Ra to them is a symbol of hope. If they have her on their side, then they believe they might be able to win and with that ordinary people can find the strength to fight too. It's something I think the Green Lantern put best with how the Blue Rings of hope supercharge the Green Rings of will but lose a lot of their functions when the greens are not around. Hope is useless if you don't have the will to also act, but in turn hope can give people the will to act. The more hope they have that they can win, the more they will fight to win.

That was the nerdiest comparison I've ever made.

Episode 10: I appreciate a good bad dad joke and that's why I can't approve of "punderstand". It's too much of stretch to flow well. "Ruined" was good though.

I'm less surprised that Scorpia's been chipped and more that she's even alive. She was at the bottom of the ocean when the roof broke and she's a scorpion woman. I don't think water is a very friendly element for her. She's even commented on how good the desert was to her.

I wonder her She-Ra mode is not working for her simply because Adora is exhausted; mentally and physically. I don't think she's ever used the form this continuously before, and she's been doing it without the First Ones' sword that she has experience with. Her new sword and its transformations may be made out of her own energy for all we know. And then there's just the emotional toil of having Catra back in her life while it feels like more and more of the world is being turned against her.

Episode 11: Oh, I'm definitely shipping Hordak and Entrapta.

I think Re:Zero has spoiled me on dark magic. While Micah with his dark magic is a threat, in this show and many others dark magic basically just equates to "spooky, evil, bad stuff" magic that isn't that different from most other kinds of magic other than being either harder to control or more geared towards causing harm. In Re:Zero, dark magic was DARK. It felt unnatural, like a perversion of how their world's magic is supposed to be and that it didn't belong in this reality. Micah's dark magic is basically "I'm attacking you with shadows, oOoOoOo so scary!"

Not really surprised Catra left. She just got Adora back and now she's potentially about to let herself die. Perfuma said it best, letting people in and letting herself be vulnerable is hard. Caring about Adora and watching her die would be a huge blow, so Catra would rather curl back up into her shell and block out Adora again than have to risk taking that hit.

Episode 12: I keep saying it but now having them right next to each other, yeah, Mara's She-Ra outfit is better than Adora's. I don't know, there's just something grander about it. Anyway, on topic, I'm a big fan of superheroes and legacy and all that and I really like Mara's words to Adora. All she did and sacrificed was so that others, especially the next She-Ra, wouldn't have to do the same. It doesn't matter how noble and heroic it is, tragedy is tragedy and anyone who knows that kind of pain doesn't want anyone else to have to go through it.

I'm not surprised by the love confession between Glimmer and Bow. I felt it could go either way with them either hooking up or just staying really good friends, but that in itself is a sign of how good and natural their friendship is. I can easily buy how it would evolve into something more between them. The situation they're in probably helps. When Glimmer was taken they both thought they might never see each other again and that fear and worry probably caused them to reevaluate how they feel about the other. They've been clinging to each other since getting back, as every day could be their last. Something like that is naturally going to push two people together.

Episode 13: So...are there any plans for a season 6? Or a comic continuation like Avatar and Korra got? Because this was a good finale...buuuuuuuuut I feel there are definitely some things that needed a bit more exploration.

This is typically why I like stories with epilogue endings, especially those set some number of years in the future. Little glimpses of what everyone's doing now, allowing the audience to fill in for themselves what happened in-between. There's nothing wrong with this episode but it does just kind of...stop. They beat Prime. Everybody's cheering and happy. Adora suggests they bring magic back to the universe. And...that's it. We don't see anything more. No aftermath, no post-war, nothing. We end on the moment of victory, and while it's not a bad moment it leaves the ending feeling a little incomplete.

It kind of feels like the writers either really had to rush to the ending to make the 13 episode deadline or simply didn't want to address whatever happens with Catra and Hordak now. With the bigger threat of Horde Prime it makes sense why everyone puts aside past issues and works together. But now that the crisis is over, naturally everyone would have to address everything the Horde had done to Etheria for years with Hordak and Catra leading it. Don't get me wrong, I believe that Catra loves Adora, I believe Adora loves her, and I believe Catra wants to be a better person. It's not like I'm saying she needs to be locked up or executed. But she did cause a lot of damage and put Adora especially through hell, and just because Shadow Weaver is the one who screwed her up so bad doesn't mean she doesn't have any responsibility for her own actions. So it just would have been nice to get even a little bit of lip service to show that Catra would be trying to right her wrongs from this point forward, instead of just "Prime's gone, everyone's happy, bye!" At least with Entrapta she seemed to genuinely not understand why what she was doing at the time was wrong and Scorpia, like Adora and Huntara, defected from the Horde to do the right thing despite it being even more part of her upbringing than anyone else. I can't even imagine what happens with Hordak now.

Don't get me wrong, this is far from the worst I've ever seen a redemption handled. I haven't read/watched any of Boruto outside of the movie and Gaiden tie-in but I've read all of Naruto and there is no reason that Orochimaru should just be walking around and casually talking with people after all he's done. Kaiba in the Yu-Gi-Oh manga built an entire theme park to try an murder Yugi and his friends and they bring it up like twice after that arc. Kylo Ren turning back to the light was one of the potential paths for his character, so that made sense in TROS, but they essentially did "He died heroically and therefore totally redeemed himself for every terrible thing he's ever done."; basically a cop-out. Catra's alive and can at least potentially still own up to her actions and work to redeem herself. And I love Steven Universe, but kind of like with Catra nearly killing everyone (including herself) via the unstable portal, fans have naturally pointed out that the Diamonds enslaved and committed genocide on multiple planets and really faced no consequences for that other than "Stop it". Catra's not at the gold standard of redemption stories, which for me is probably Zuko and Endeavor, but she's far from the bottom. I think the best way to describe it is that Catra had as good, if not better, reasons for being so bad and screwed up as Zuko did, just as good step-up for turning good as Zuko did, but she didn't have nearly as much payoff afterwards to make it feel like a full journey like Zuko did.

But enough about all that. Love the basically goddess She-Ra Adora became. Given the emphasis on healing powers with She-Ra we've had, I'm guessing that's essentially how she destroyed Prime. She purified Hordak and Prime was basically an infection within him. I like when heroes snatch victory from the jaws of defeat but I also when there's an implication towards the villain that "Wow. I never stood a chance." She-Ra's power just dwarfs his. Full potential realized by Adora and he was just gone.

Also I don't know how I forgot that Prime could jump into the bodies of his clones but his possession of Hordak got me. I genuinely couldn't think of how he'd survive after Hordak shoved him off the edge (set free by the power of love!).

And even if the ending feels a little incomplete, the episode itself still did well with my emotional investment. I was gripped by during Catra's confession and the tension within the heart.

Season 5 and overall series verdict: I'm very glad I saw this series. Even though its ending falls a little short for me, this was still really good. Seasons 3 was probably my favorite overall but this story had a very good flow to it. It steadily built up bigger each season, with Catra and Hordak being really compelling villains driving the whole thing. Not that Prime was bad. He was a genuine threat and his cult of clones is a good creepy concept. He's just not as good as the other two. I'm sure part of what elevates him up is because I'm thinking of the JL director's cut but Hordak really is just better Steppenwolf. Everything that worked about that character, Hordak is that to an 11.

Given how I've talked about her more than any of the others, Catra is probably my favorite character. Just the damage that girl has been through. I always understood why she was doing what she did, even though there was rarely a moment I'd agree with exactly what she was doing. Again, it's one of the reasons it feels like the series just kind of ended. There's a lot to be seen with Catra's character now, a lot that can be done, and it just feels like a shame to really not show any of it. This isn't a fault of SRPOP itself because so many series, especially animated and anime, are guilty of but it always bugs me when a series ends on two characters hooking. Relationships are interesting, I'd argue more so than the build-up to them, but no writer ever wants to actually explore them after the hook-up. I never cared about Korra and Mako being a couple but I still found their relationship as a couple more interesting and character building than any of the will they/won't they build-up to it. And I actually like the idea of Adora and Catra as a couple. It's a big reason why I'm so happy the Harley Quinn animated series got renewed for a third season, as it otherwise would have just ended on a hook-up between two characters who, like Adora and Catra, love each other but have had a complicated dynamic for a while. I believe Adora and Catra love each other, but they've got a lot of stuff to work out and I want to see that! Catra's got abandonment issues and that in turn caused her to be unhealthily possessive over Adora. Just seeing the two of them try to work through that alone would be fascinating.

Like I suspected early on, Scorpia's my favorite supporting character. Entrapta's a decent 2nd. Took a small dip when it seemed like she was joining the Horde over feeling abandoned by the princesses when they thought she was dead but that picked back up once it was made more clear "Oh, okay, you're not being petty or stupid. You genuinely don't understand." It made her a more interesting character, and I love her and Hordak's relationship.

Least favorite characters...probably Sea Hawk and those three former Horde friends of Adora and Catra. I never hated them but I never cared about what was happening when they were on screen. They fill out the world a bit, they drive the plot, they're not wastes of space, they even get some laughs. There are just so many other characters in the series way more interesting than them.

Biggest surprise for me was definitely Glimmer and Bow. I never thought I'd dislike them but the best friends characters in series like this can kind of go one way or another with how relevant or deep they are. Glimmer especially I was surprised how much I was invested. She really grew a lot as a person throughout the series and I thought the dilemma over the Heart of Etheria was a good one.

Honestly there's a lot more I could talk about but I have only so many words and my thoughts are a jumble right now so I'm going to leave it at that. I will say I really appreciate how supportive you all on this Reddit have been. It's something I hate about some other fandoms I'm in where they basically are so toxic that they make no one else actually want to watch/read the thing they're fans of because they can't help but associate it with them.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/PrincessesOfPower/comments/o2p6wq/going_in_blind_watching_season_5_for_the_first/

#she ra #she ra spop #random thoughts #reddit repost

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glon-morski · 4 years

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What are your personal thoughts about "problematic" ships in the fandom? (i.e Age gaps,...)

My general consensus is 'you do you’. If I don’t like your ship, I avoid it. If you don’t like my ship, I expect you to do the same. If someone likes a “problematic” ship, I don’t judge them for it and I’d hope to be given the same courtesy.

The thing is, many people seem to think that liking a problematic or controversial ship means you condone the problematic side of it in real life or that you willfully ignore the fact it's “problematic”. That is not the case. The thing with fandom is that it gives you a safe way to enjoy and/or explore stuff you cannot in real life for various reasons, one of them (and the one that often applies to “problematic” ships) being that you wouldn’t ever do or condone in real life something you may like to read/write/whatever about in fiction. Which is why rather than judge the ships themselves (or the people who sail these ships, so to speak), I tend to judge how a ship is handled.

Let me illustrate on an example that admittedly hits close to home thematically: Character A used to bully Character B and so far, in canon, there's no indication they'll ever be involved romantically. People ship them anyway. I see two fanfics.

Fic 1: Character A is still an asshole, but isn't a literal bully anymore. Still, the past they have with character B never gets addressed or called out as problematic or anything. It's not even implied, like it never happened. There's no remorse from A and no apology, much less anything more than that. B either forgives A anyway or doesn't really think the past matters or is an issue at this point. The entire thing is ignored and/or portrayed as a 'shit happens, it doesn’t matter anymore, let's move on with our lives' kind of normal.

Fic 2: Character A actually realizes their previus behavior was shitty and unacceptable. They're shown to feel genuine remorse and to want to atone for their actions, even if they may still display asshole-y behavior because that’s what they’re like. They and Character B have talked about things, be it on- or off-screen. Stuff that's fucked up and wrong gets called out as fucked up and wrong and character B's choice to forgive is just that: a choice, with both options (to forgive or not to forgive) being valid. There’s redemption, there’s healing, there’s moving on together.

Both these hypothetical fics show the same ‘problematic’ ship of BullyXBullied. But while fic 1 basically ignores all the problematic stuff and pretends it’s not there, fic 2 addresses it and tries to deal with it. Issues aren’t swept under the rug, bullshit that should be called out gets called out and stuff that’s just plain wrong is said to be plain wrong and that it shouldn’t happen. In such a situation, I would be extremely against the portrayal of the ship in fic 1, because it just isn’t right to sweep everything under the rug like that. It did happen to these fictional characters and you can’t just pretend it didn’t without any consequences or closure or anything. But I would have nothing against the portrayal of the ship in fic 2, which takes all the problematic sides, acknowledges them and tries to work around them. And to me, in fandom, that’s ultimately the only thing you can judge others for. Not for what they ship, but how they’re shipping it.

And there’s also the question of what you consider ‘problematic’ in some cases. Like the age gap you mentioned, Anon. To me personally, an age gap in and off itself isn’t problematic or controversial. Couples who have 5, 7 or even more years difference between them aren’t something I see a problem with most of the time. The defining factor would be the age of the younger character (if they’re around 10, then they’re definitely too young to be shipped with anyone in the first place) and how the older character deals with that age gap. In most cases, the only real issue portrayed in fics (and it seems to be the main issue IRL as well, though I can’t say I would have a way of knowing) is the issue of the younger character not being ‘legal’, which considering that minors doing ‘certain adult activities’ (*coughcough*) isn’t a new thing at all is utter BS. So long as both characters make an informed decision on what they’re getting into, there’s no issue. It’s all about understanding and consent, more than it is the actual age. But then we can hit the hard limit of a taboo topic if the age gap is too big, with one character being a literal child and the other an adult. We all know what the adult being attracted to a child is called and we all know that it’s considered disgusting and unacceptable.

If I see a fic with that kind of ship and it utterly ignores those issues, I’m going to be horified and disgusted, but I’ll still judge the how of the ship, rather than the ship itself. But if I see a fic in which an adult character feels attraction towards a child and that character or another one (repeatedly) point out it’s wrong? If it’s a story about an adult giving in to his desires while the people around them judge them for it because of how immoral it is? Or a story about an adult feeling attraction to a child and fighting themself on it because it’s wrong? But they still want to be with the child and they constantly fight themself on it because they know they shouldn’t do shit without proper understanding and consent from the child, which they won’t have a chance of getting until the child is older? And they keep struggling between perverse desires they can’t help and the logical knowledge that they must not act on them, must not take advantage of the child’s inno8cence just to get what they want? Well, I’d still cringe at the general theme of it (because ultimately my first reaction is and always will be ‘EW!’), but I’d definitely give the author a big round of applause for having the guts to write such a thing and for handling it that way. (Though seriously, can you imagine such a story evry being written? I can’t, it would blow up faster than the destiel shit today did.) Liking problematic/controversial ships (or any other kind of problematic/controversial content, really) is fine. What really matters is what about it actually draws your interest and what you do with it all.

TL;DR: It’s not about whether or not a ship is problematic and/or controversial. It’s about what the shipper does with the problematic and/or controversial side of it that really matters and it should be the only thing that people get a right to judge.

#Ask Glon #anon asks #'problematic' ships #It's not about what you ship but how you ship it #And to the people it concerns please burn this onto your brain's hardware memory drive already:#liking a 'problematic' ship in fiction does NOT mean the shipper condones the problematic aspect of it IRL

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luckyjak · 5 years

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Why I Don’t Ship Widojest: A Master Post

An anon sent me an ask about this topic, and I debated for quite a bit about how to answer it. Then I decided the best way was to do a long post like this. I put a lot of thought into why I don’t like it, and I thought to share it.

A few things: 1) I am not telling you not to ship it. The goal of this is not to say “Don’t ship Widojest! It is a bad ship and you are a bad person for shipping it!” That is not my goal, okay? The internet and fandom in particular is meant for fun, and if you enjoy Widojest then more power to you! Don’t let me or anyone else stop your fun! Lord knows I have shipped significantly more problematic things. All I ask is that you tag shit more but that’s beside the point.

2) I am not particularly interested in argument. You are not likely to change my mind. I am not trying to be hostile, but if you know reading this is going to piss you off, then don’t read it. A question was asked of me, and so I thought to share my opinion. Unfortunately for everyone involved I am a high school English teacher, and so I cannot think about anything without completely overthinking it.

About my shipping preferences: generally, I like all the ships! I was particularly fond of Widomauk before Molly died, and I now I really enjoy Shadowgast, but I also like Fjorclay, Fjester, Beaujester, Beauyasha, Widofjord, Clayleb, Lavorclay, and, as the only person on earth, Yasha/Caleb. Hell, if Astrid gets a good redemption arc? Caleb/Astrid or even Caleb/Astrid/Edowulf. Any of those ships could become canon and I’d be tickled pink! You can even throw Nott into the mix, even though I mostly ship her with her husband. Nott/Fjord? Delightful. Nott/Caleb? Weird flex but why not? Nott/Jester? Absolutely! They are the best detectives!

I just don’t like Widojest and I don’t want it to be canon, and here’s why:

Doyalist Reasons First:

1) Laura and Liam played twins for years, still act like siblings even though they aren’t related by blood, and it squicks me to think of them together romantically.

Laura and Liam are fantastic actors. If they were hired to play a romantic couple, I have no doubt in my mind they could knock it out of the park.

But why on earth would they want to pretend to be a romantic couple, in a game they both play for fun?

It would be weird. I play D&D with several guys I consider my brothers, and I can’t imagine pretending to romance either of them in d&d for that same reason. It would be weird.

Maybe it wouldn’t be weird for Liam and Laura. Maybe they are more dedicated to their RP, and they’d be able to push that aside for the sake of fictional romance. But for me, that would be the last thing I’d want to play, and I suppose I project that onto Laura/Liam.

2) A lot of “evidence” for the ship is the way Liam looks at Laura.

To which I say...did you watch Vox Machina?

That’s how Liam looks at Laura all the time. He’s the president of her fanclub. He’s her twinsie. He always looks at her with hearteyes. I have a hard time seeing that as “evidence” for him having feelings for her when...that’s just what his face looks like.

Now, for Watsion reasons:

3) It has all the benefits for Caleb, and none for Jester

Seriously. What does Jester get out of a relationship with Caleb?

Don’t say someone who understands her, because Caleb certainly doesn’t. In fact, the only person who routinely “gets” Jester is Beau. (see: their conversation on the ship.)

Lots of people accuse Widojest as being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl ship because...let’s be realistic, it has all the makings of one. Tortured, broody man meets young, innocent girl who teaches him to enjoy life once again? Wikipedia’s definition is “[girl with] eccentric personality quirks and are unabashedly girlish. They invariably serve as the romantic interest for a (most often brooding or depressed) male protagonist.” Guys, that is textbook Manic Pixie Dream Girl! It gets even worse because Jester’s character is a healer! You want her to heal him? That is squicky!

And yeah, I trust Liam and Laura to be more nuanced than that, but do you know who I absolutely do not trust to be more nuanced?

The fandom. The fandom that is already producing mass amounts of Manic Pixie Dream Girl fanfic. And as that’s where I spend a lot of my free time...egads. I do not want that.

The few Widojest fics I have read (which, admittedly, are not a lot, because again, I don’t like the ship. The few I have read have been tagged as gen and then come to find out, weren’t.) have the distinct problem of woobie-fying Caleb so that Jester can take care of him, and gosh, I do not want that to become a trend.

4) Age Gap

Yes, thirteen years is not that major of an age gap. Yes, Fjord/Jester also have a large age gap.

However, there is a world of difference between “20 year old girl displays romantic interest in a 30 year old man, who decides he likes her back after getting to know her for months” vs “33 year old man decides to pursue a 20 year old woman after they danced one time when he was drunk and held hands and she showed general concern for his well-being.” One is decidedly more creepy.

(And would Jester be the one to pursue a relationship with Caleb? I almost think she’d have to, but again, why would Jester ever pursue Caleb when Fjord/Beau are right there.)

(Also, side note that I thought about making it’s own point but then decided it was petty: if Jester’s type is Fjord--tall, broad-shouldered, dark haired, muscled, then Caleb--skinny, red-head, shorter than Fjord--decidedly isn’t her type.

You know who is tall, dark, and handsome though? Beau.)

And do not say Jester is mature for her age, because she absolutely isn’t! In fact, the whole point of her character is that she’s not mature, she’s very immature and childish on account of her being locked away and being incredibly sheltered most of her life!

Also not a good excuse: Caleb spent 11 years in the asylum and therefore he’s only mentally in his 20s. Uh, no he’s not. He was in an asylum: he was not brain dead. He lived those years. He might’ve been crazy, but he was alive then. Nothing Liam’s done suggests that Caleb is mentally in his 20′s.

5) What would they even talk about?

This is probably actually the one that bothers me the most out of all these reasons, but uh....what would Caleb and Jester talk about, if they were in a relationship together?

Seriously.

They could talk about books? But Jester only ever reads terrible romance and smut. We saw when she tried to pay attention to the dunamancy lessons that she struggles to be interested in that academic stuff that is Caleb’s bread and butter. They could talk about their childhoods? That will go over well. Jester was locked away from society and Caleb straight up murdered his beloved parents. If they manage to avoid that, I’m sure they could fight again over income, what with Jester being a rich kid and Caleb being a poor farm boy. Pranking? Caleb enjoys a good prank now and again, but I can only imagine he’d tolerate getting banned from so many libraries.

They are a cat and a dog, literally. Caleb is an introvert and his idea of a good time is a quiet night at home with a good book. Jester’s idea of a good time is a party with lots of people! Yet I’m supposed to believe they’d have a happy and fulfilling relationship? Don’t get me wrong, many introverts and extroverts do get married in real life, but like...I have a hard time seeing this one working out. How many dicks do you think Jester draws in his spellbooks--which are expensive and time-consuming and require precise work--before that becomes a point of contention?

6) He doesn’t trust her enough to tell her his secrets

Hey quick poll! Who in the Mighty Nein doesn’t know that Caleb murdered his parents?

Fjord. Caduceus. And look, Jester.

I have a hard time buying that he sees her romantically when he can’t even tell her one of the biggest things about him. And he’s known her for months at this point.

If I liked a guy, and I found out he had this big secret, and he had told Beau but not me this secret? I would think he didn’t trust me.

I suppose you could argue that he’s trying to protect her. But then that just goes back into the whole “he doesn’t trust her” argument. He even had the opportunity to and he didn’t during their whole hand-holding thing a few episodes ago!

7) What does their ending look like?

Listen, my ideal ending for Caleb at the moment is “maybe after ten years of friendship he lets Essek tenderly hold his hand for just a moment but no longer” but that’s just me. I see a lot of people who seem to think Caleb’s going to settle down and marry Jester and they are going to have kids, and I just--

Caleb? Having children? Caleb, who murdered his parents and has severe PTSD surrounding that? Caleb, who was abused by his mentor daily for many years? You want to give that Caleb children??? Children who he would constantly worry may grow up to kill him, like he did his own parents, or worse, that he’d do something to accidentally hurt them in a fit of madness?

I could see Caleb maybe adopting a kid if one was forced onto him, but I cannot see him going “ah yes we should procreate!”

Jester, meanwhile, needs like approximately fifteen kids ten years from now, I think. She’d love them. She’d just adopt an orphanage and let the kids run wild and be the best at playing games with them.

Also, character arcs are important. Because Caleb’s ideal ending is stability and Jester’s is exploration.

Caleb, traumatized child soldier who has spent the past 15 years in an asylum and also fighting for his life, and before that spent time traveling between the Zemni Fields, Ikithon’s home in the country, and the Empire’s Capitol, who then escaped the asylum and spent all of his time running, trying to avoid being caught by Ikithon. The best ending for Caleb is to find peace; peace that involves not having to move around anymore, and having a home again, something he hasn’t had in almost twenty years. Maybe that home is a tower in Nicodranas. Maybe it’s a house in Xhoras with six other people. Maybe it’s a quiet bookstore in Zadash, or a little cabin in the Zemni Fields. A garden/graveyard in the woods. Either way, it doesn’t involve a lot of travel from place to place.

Meanwhile, Jester, who was trapped in exactly one place for her entire life, deserves a chance to explore the world. Even when the Mighty Nein disband, I can’t see Jester being happy to just go back to Nicodranas and stay there for the rest of her life. She may settle down eventually, but uhhh, not for several decades, I don’t think. Part of why my two big ships for her are Fjord and Beau: Fjord wants to be a sailor again, I think, which involves travelling the world, so I could see Jester going out with him. Beau, likewise, is an Expositor whose job is to seek out corruption, which again, means travelling, which Jester would be happy to do with her. Hell, the three of them could go together, sailing and punching evil for all of time! It would be great!

(Also: her god is called the TRAVELER why would you want her to settle down and be a mom??? What part of her story makes you think she needs to stay in one place?)

Lastly

I apologize if this post offends anyone. I’ve just been thinking about it for a while, and while Widojest as a ship has surged in popularity, I suppose I wanted to make a counterpoint about my feelings towards the ship. This isn’t meant as an attack on anyone, again, and please, if you like the ship then don’t look at this as a reason to stop liking it! Fandom is for fun! Keep liking what you like!

And I can’t promise I’m always going to feel this way about the ship--hell, the VOD of Thursday’s episode may come out on Monday, and I may watch it and be converted myself. Who knows! I didn’t like Vax/Keyleth at first either, but it grew on me and now it’s one of my favorites from Vox Machina.

(ALTHOUGH Mr. O’brien I swear to God if you romance Jester while flirting with Essek in a direct parallel to Keyleth/Vax/Gilmore I’m going to fly to LA just to punch you.)

Part of me wonders too if it just comes down to character interpretation, if there is something about their characters that is clicking for some people but isn’t for me. Admittedly, I love Caleb and Jester’s friendship, and I see them more as growing like siblings that romantically, but I’ve been wrong before and who knows, I may be wrong again. But if it is a character interpretation, I just wonder what they are seeing about the characters that squicks me but appeals to them.

#critical role #cr discourse #anti-ship #anti-w*dojest

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k-she-rambles · 4 years

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Because I cannot just let this go: KOTORxSongmaster AU

Warnings for war, mentions of genocide, medical abuse, depression, vague implications of past assault (Atton is your friend but uh, he is not Nice), characters who don’t want to talk about sex talking about sex/infertility/impotence (it’s the repression paradox: the Forbidden Topic is talked about a lot because it’s Forbidden) and fantasy ableism. It’s Orson Scott Card. There’s Awesome and Ehh... NB: this is not how puberty blockers work IRL. I’m pulling things both out of my tuchas and from a work of fiction.

It takes the Exile hours to realize what is distracting her, but also warning her of approaching droids, this foreboding that has burrowed under her skin.

She can hear the Peragus mining facility singing.

The creak of metal, the sizzle of lasers, the klaxon of the alarms. The oppressive silence that is more than the silence she is used to. And below that, fear.

It has been five years since she has heard anything sing.

(The Exile hears no songs.

She is not deaf, in the peculiar way the Songhouse reckons deafness –-not as the quality of being unable to hear with your ears, but being unable to hear your own nature, sung.

But it is not just herself she cannot hear.

The Exile hears no songs.

It is as if the universe and everything in it is dead. When Master Vrook speaks, she cannot hear what he really means, below the dry bluster. Kavar’s tone is neutral in a way that is entirely different from his Control. Atris’ voice has a song like bright wind over snow, but only in the Exile’s memory. When she speaks, it’s only a voice.

The Songmasters sing Malachor. They sing warmongering, betrayal, the Dark Side, and over all, loss. The Exile only hears it in a recording, years later: the loss of music meant the loss of songtalk.

At the last, the Exile ignites her lightsaber, and drives it into the stone. The sound is empty, empty, empty.)

Kreia’s Control is incredible, and so it is always gratifying when she reveals something of herself. When she speaks, she never uses songtalk.

Come to think of it, Atris doesn’t either.

It’s the holos of Malak as a Sith Lord that bother the Exile the most.

It isn’t that he was the first padawan to show her around the Jedi Songhouse enclave on Dantooine when she arrived. He took himself too seriously, even as a child, but he was kind. He asked her the questions the adults hadn’t thought to, and answered, unprompted, the questions she was afraid to ask.

It’s his jaw. Malak was a songbird, though the songmasters never placed him out. (It was always Malak who was the songbird, not Revan, who grew into her voice only as an adult.)

But the horrifying idea of Revan taking a songbird’s natural voice away isn’t it either. It’s that the Exile doesn’t believe for a second that it was to teach him a lesson. It’s easier to believe that Revan loved him, and that changes things, morphs the horror into pity for them both.

It it so wrong, she catches herself thinking, the impulse to silence a song that is in agony? To hear the pain which you have caused, and make it stop?

“Soo...” says Atton, nudging a broken piece of droid with a toe. “Songhouse, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Must be hard. No family, no, ah --”

The Exile snorts. “Typical.”

“No? ‘Cause I heard--”

“The Songhouse is a family, Atton. When I was brought in I was adopted. Legally.”

“...okay, so how does an ancient, galaxy-spanning organization legally adopt a kriff-ton of kids?”

“Illegally.”

Atton smiles at that, and it’s almost honest. No teeth.

The Exile relents. “It depends. The other thing, I mean. Species, biological sex, whether they thought you’d be a songbird when you were adopted.”

He makes a vaguely interested noise.

She continues breaking down the blaster rifle in her hands. “Once the puberty blockers wear off, those who might have borne children generally find they can’t —hence the Songhouse’s aggressive adoption practices.”

“Oh. That’s not too bad, then.”

She looks at him coolly until he flushes, two spots of color on a face that might have once been tan.

Sallowed by dissipated living. A follower. Without someone to lead him all he is is appetite –-that is Kreia, in her mind’s ear. Had it not been part of her gift of the voice, the Exile might not have separated Kreia’s words from her own thoughts. True, Atton looks like he hasn’t seen sunlight or a nutritionally balanced meal in years, but there is...

You have no natural talent for healingsong, says Kreia sternly, but does not correct the Exile’s assumption.

Atton is still babbling. “Not that, uh, I’m in a position to say.”

Her laugh is a small huff of air. “It’s what I grew up with. They say Ancient Selkath doesn’t have a word for wet.” She tries to sing Modesty, and doesn’t even get as far as don’t stare before her voice cracks and the song turns to ashes in her mouth. Stupid. Like poking at a missing tooth. She’d never had a problem not trying to sing when she was traveling alone.

“I know that one,” says Atton. “I meant...the rumors get really uh, colorful. I was being stupid. Earlier, I mean. I was –I meant to be filthy but didn’t mean it to be nasty if it’s something you can’t—”

She puts down the rifle. “I won’t die if I have sex, Rand.”

Atton looks anywhere but directly at her. “Right. Stupid.”

After years of silence, the music is distracting. Eddies and curls, the ticks in the hyperdrive, T3′s gears, Atton’s constant mindless not-quite-spoken chatter. Bao-Dur doesn’t realize he hums as he works, but she can pinpoint his location, his mood, and a sense of what he’s working on anywhere in the ship.

“I will teach you Control,” says Kreia, and the Exile bristles. She is not a Bell or a Breeze, learning how to breathe, learning Control for the first time. But she keeps Control, and obediently sits down to meditate.

She tries to imagine a lake in the mountains, surrounded by the walls of her Control, and fed by the meltwater of her life, just as she was taught. It is the reservoir of her songs, released only when she chooses, not in tears, or sudden flights of passion.

She hasn’t done this in years. Who knows what that lake might contain.

The image won’t come.

“Let go of what ought to be,” says Kreia. “I am only interested in what you are.”

The deep lake has become...something else. A marsh, a bog. The sweet, thick smell of decaying plants feeding the living ones. There is a sense of wet, but there’s no sign of where the water comes from, and no sign of what makes it stay. It’s like nothing she has ever encountered. “Is that...good?”

“It is you,” says Kreia.

Years of doing everything but sing with her voice have left their mark. Lightsong and darksong both sound mangled, strained. Once, the Exile could fill a room with sound, to the edges and no farther, with no distortions. Now, she is lucky to hum a healing without her voice cracking.

She doesn’t exactly regret not keeping her voice conditioned –-she could have sung in exile, technically. Did, once or twice—sung a familiar tune for a drink or a job, sung a lullaby to calm a crying child.

She could not bear it for long: a tone-deaf stranger pulled from the street would still sing from the overflow of of the life they bore inside them. She does not.

There was nothing there. She sounded like a corpse trying to carry a tune, no matter how correct her notes.

She tells herself the song would have only sounded like Malachor, anyway.

Atton has Control.

There are hints of it on Telos, but —

No. Atton sings.

The realization hits the Exile like a ton of bricks. Atton sings. It is not the same as having a song, for all living things (and many things that aren’t alive at all) have a song. Atton sings: with his body, with his thoughts, keeping his mind and his hands and his mouth vacuously busy in ways that any songmaster would call “wasting your songs.” But he’s doing it on purpose. He lets those who listen, listen, but they listen to a tune of his choosing.

It’s a gift of the voice. They aren’t rare, but there’s no usual form they take, and so they can be mistaken for other talents. Revan had a gift with languages. Poor Bastila had been saddled with battle song in a time of war. The Exile herself had a gift: the ability to catch the thread of any song and the power behind it, to harmonize with anyone, of any skill.

Revan was quick to sing of herself. You never knew all of what was going on in Revan’s head, but you always knew who and what you were following.

(“If a place there is not for the songs to come out,” Master Vandar says in her mind’s eye, one of her earliest lessons as a padawan, “Drown you will in all the things you cannot express. Inflict them you will on others, without knowing them yourself. A grave affliction it is. Even Sith songmasters sing. Sing we must, even if the tone needs correcting. Our debt to the galaxy it is.”

“What happens to padawans like that?” Revan asked.

“A question, that is not,” said Vandar, “for so many young ears.”)

(Don’t tell Alek, Revan had sung, a rare concession to ignorance over knowledge. They’d given Revan a name, at the Songhouse. They called her after her favorite historical figure. They’d called her Fiimma, the one who had to know Ansset’s song, who’d changed the course of the Songhouse by disobedience, courage, love. (which one depended on who you asked) Don’t tell Alek.)

On Goto’s ship, Atton finally sings of himself in his own voice.

The Exile hears war, hears following Revan, even as she changed, because she was worth following. She hears death, hears killing, and hears the part of him that loves death, that loves killing.

Atton sings, and the Exile hears Control, perfect Control, the kind that takes all emotions in and gives back nothing genuine, nothing uncalculated, nothing of his. High walls, a deep lake, cold and remote. A place of the drowning of the soul.

And then the singer, his singer, the one who let herself be caught, the one who broke open his Control by force. She sang the love song as she died –as Atton killed her, singing it back without voice, singing it back with a knife.

The Exile sings back her shock, wordless: Only one Songmaster of the High Room on Coruscant in recorded history had ever dared such a thing as his singer dared, and never by force.

“I won’t say that it is not –-” Atton’s songs are raw and awkward things, coming from a spring he did not carve, flowing through him like water, like smoke. He would not sing at all except he must. It feels like weakness, a bleeding wound, like something of his was taken away, even if he doesn’t want it back. “You’re not wrong, but –-” He sings, wordless, and she understands.

Atton knows, then, what Vandar had eventually told her, told Revan: a singer with Control who does not sing is a shame. A singer with Control who cannot sing is already dead. Marked for death. His singer had broken her Jedi oaths to save a single life.

It is no wonder that Atton has had such an uneasy relationship with songs and singers.

He wants the Exile to teach him anyway. He could be a shield, a knife in her hand. He wants to be.

She knows where to start. I will never hurt you, I will always help you. Atton sings it with a ferocity that takes her aback. Love does not end.

The Exile’s breath control gets stronger, her tone more clear. She hears Nar Shaddaa, hears the Ebon Hawk. More, she can hear and sing her companions. I’m glad to have you with me, she sings, and Bao-Dur’s and Atton’s backs straighten, despite only having a rudimentary grasp of songtalk. Maybe we can be friends. (Maybe, hums Mira, but it is open to the possibility, less hostile than it was.) I care about you, not the ways you are useful to me, the Exile sings, and Visas frowns, as if she doesn’t understand, as if songtalk were not the first language of all Miraluka.

I am listening, the Exile sings to Kreia, Your songs are full of distortions, but I hear you.

“Do you?” Kreia murmurs, gratified.

“What if there are monsters in the lake?”

In her memories, the Exile can never remember which of the Breezes she was meditating with had asked the question. No name or face gives her comfort. Bastila, about to be graduated early into Stalls and Chambers because of her gift, and already using ego to mask her fear? Juhani, who had come to the Songhouse late, and whose mood swings made her songs tempestuous? Belaya? Yuthura?

She was not wise like Vandar, or kind like Kavar, or firm like Songmaster Vrook. She had only been in the latter part of Stalls and Chambers, then, taking advantage the privilege of older padawans to teach the younger. It prepared them for adulthood, when they had to decide what to do with grown-up voices. She still wished they would have asked Master Zhar.

But they had asked her, and they deserved her answer.

“The monsters are songs, too,” she said, after a moment. “The ones you are afraid to sing.”

She meant to say don’t be afraid. She can only guess what the young ones heard.

Visas’ Sith songmaster master would sometimes take her voice, preventing her from singing the grief of her dead world. He is a hungry silence, more anechoic chamber than man. He drains the music from whatever he touches, chasing the echo of death, feeding on songs cut short, ended, lost.

Visas rarely sings her own songs, now. She sets them aside in favor of others’ --the Exile’s, or the echo of Nihilus’ power. It is not quite as viscerally terrifying as Atton’s song of Control: Visas instinctively knew that Control and Song are hand-in-hand. She does not keep Control when she cannot sing.

It is why, perhaps, she hides herself away and veils her face: emotions are strange and wild things, when you are used to singing them.

The Exile teaches her all the exercises and songs she remembers from childhood, and thinks of the Songmasters, trying to lose themselves on Nar Shadda, on Dantooine, on Onderon.

She does not think of years spent being a ringing silence herself.

Mira hears songs of individuals over distance, hears the distortion of people who aren’t home.

The Exile hones her pitch, teaches her how to grasp the song heard faintly and amplify it, singing it back so that it can be heard and healed. She teaches Mira posture, courage, how to stand and sing in any situation, even when you cannot stand: feet rooted, alert spine, breathe out, not up. No fear.

When Mira reappears after the Sith tomb on Dxun, joking with Bralor in his own tongue, there is a sense of something finally settled, a rhythm finally found.

“What did you learn in your exile? Visas asks.

The Exile rolls Visas’ lightsaber crystal in her hand, thinks of the smells of decay and of growing things, of water soaking up from the ground. She presses the crystal into the Miraluka’s palm.

“It is something like you learned, I think. I am alive. Song or no song or song-deaf. I am still here.”

“You think that is a good thing?”

“Why?” says the Exile, lightly. “Have you changed your mind about me? Are you going to lead me in chains before your songmaster?”

Never. The note is short and sharp, but there’s something the Exile can build on, there. My life for yours.

If you are frightened, I’ll be your friend, the Exile sings. The love song.

Visas scoffs, not recognizing it. “I do not fear death.”

Neither do you wish to live, the Exile does not say. “But you fear mine?”

“I regret it. I would delay it, if I could.”

The Exile smiles. “Then you’ll just have to keep keeping me out of trouble.”

The Exile had hoped to never set foot on Dxun again. It’s just as loud as she remembers, even with her dulled senses. It is not just the jungle --the moon rings with the memory of death and mines and fire and water, even though the fighting has long ago stopped. It’s either the echo of what came before, or the silence, after.

“It’s hard to hear myself think sometimes,” says Bao-Dur, “But being around you helps.” And: “I’m glad you let that old warrior go. I’m not sure I would have wanted to do the same.”

“It’s not always about what I want,” she says, gently. “There has been enough death and hatred, I think. So I chose.” She runs a towel over her hair, uselessly trying to get rid of some of Dxun’s damp, and adds “You wondered how I made it through without my songs. You don’t have to hear the song to make a choice.”

“Her influence threatens the integrity of the other students’ music!” says the recording of Songmaster Vrook. “She is like Ansset, and could doom us all.”

“That is a myth,” the Exile growls.

“Ahh,” says Bao-Dur, observing her without judgment. “I’m pretty sure Ansset was a real person. Last of the Three Imperators and one of the founders of the Republic? Ring a bell?”

The Exile crosses her arms. “He was a Songbird first and last. One of our greatest. The stories say,” she says, drawing the last word out, “that he could change people’s songs, even without singing. Make them feel whatever he wanted. Make them become what he wanted.”

“Creepy,” says Atton, at the same time Bao-Dur says “You’re nothing like that.”

“No?” says the Exile, and Atton is not sure if she is angry, or if that is some kind of loss or hunger in her face, her eyes.

Atton scratches the back of his head. “Well, sure. You can harmonize with nearly anyone. Even Kreia. You said that was your gift, not changing the songs of others.”

“This Vrook person called you dangerous in the same breath as average and disliked,” says Bao-Dur. “Are you sure he has even met you?”

She exhales, a small laugh. “He never liked me.”

“Then he is letting his personal feelings cloud his judgment, and you have your answer.”

Mandalore is deaf to songtalk, but his awareness is exceptional. “Your teacher is a fine hand at blocks, Exile.”

The Exile starts. She hadn’t thought of that, despite how teaching her to hear the thoughts of her companions exactly resembled shifting a block.

“Is there anything --”

“I’m not a doctor or a singer,” he says quickly. “You’d know more than I. But no, I don’t think she has bound any of us with anything stronger than blackmail.”

But she could, if she was resisted, lays unspoken between them.

The Exile came home, with the singers who would become Revan and Malak, once, four months before the full council sanctioned the intervention that had been going on eight months already.

Eight months of the background noise of war, strategy, and troop movements.

There were children practicing in the courtyard. Stalls and Chambers, she guessed, most with their own lightsabers. They wore white tabards over their tunics.

One of them tried to catch her eye, aware of where she had been and brimming with questions. He was good at noticing patterns in music. She’d tutored him on using that skill to hearing the harmonies between people, to expand it further, outwards, and notice patterns on the large scale. “Sing with us!”

The Exile shook her head. She hadn’t needed Revan’s warning: she knew war had changed her songs. To sing with anyone younger than Singer would be to threaten the purity of their self-expression, Revan had said, so perfectly mimicking Vrook that both the Exile and Alek had doubled over laughing. Revan had meant it, all the same.

“I don’t think I should.”

Words were enough, with his keen hearing, or perhaps it was her gift combined with his, and there was a harmonic between them already. The padawan sang it back: took what he heard in her voice and expanded on it, sang you are a shield for us, even in your silence, you couldn’t just do nothing, you will do it because you can.

There was something new in his voice, a thread of determination backing up his joyful curiosity. Here was one who could see a threat to all he had ever known and still sing in the face of it.

But the echo of death rarely came to Dantooine, in those days. He’d never seen it. She had.

The Exile sighed, all caution made useless. “Your chamber-master is going to kill me.”

“What is Atris going to say?” he said, amused. “I chose to sing it, so it is part of my song now.”

“I don’t hear anything different,” says Vrook. There’s no lie in his voice. “Your voice is not as good as it was, and you still have no songs.”

“But I sing!”

“I can’t deny that I see the effects of music. You make sounds, and things happen. And yet it is difficult to believe.”

The Exile waits. Perhaps Vrook’s lack of affection for her will allow him to tell her something that Zez-Kai Ell and Kavar could not.

“I see that you wrap the songs of your companions around you, but can you sing me a song of yourself?”

“And influence your songs, Master Vrook?” says the Exile. Her Control holds her steady enough to give her space to wonder why the question made her afraid, and, because she was afraid, angry. “‘Corrupt the purity of your self-expression’ with something you were never meant to know?” If she sang of Malachor, like Ansset sang of his life when he returned to the Songhouse, would it be mercy or cruelty? Even in Ansset’s time, it had been a close thing, a knifeblade either way, and it had been the experiences of one man, one who had never known war.

She carries Malachor around her like a cloak. A thousand songs in agony, a thousand voices silenced at her order. It is foolishness to think she does not.

“Hmph,” says Vrook, but there is a grudging and temporary respect as he gives her one last lesson.

Kreia, on the other hand, is incensed. “What fool denies wisdom offered to them? The tree that does not lean into the wind, does not withstand the storm. This planet and it’s people have seen pain, and is he processing it, or his own? Pah! He is ‘keeping his songs pure.’ And you,” she says, rounding on the Exile. “Do not think you are protecting anyone by your silence. They will learn or they will break.”

I’m sure I know you, the Exile sings, from behind the Disciple.

“I am sure I just have one of those faces,” he responds.

“That was songtalk.”

The Disciple turns around, his expression wry. “So it was. You do remember me.”

She does remember the padawan in Stalls and Chambers who sang her own song back to her, and he remembers her.

“The music, that is easy to forget,” he says. “With no need for Control to store your songs, and no need for singing. The stone of the Songhouse is my childhood home, my foundation, but when I grew up became a soldier, not a singer.” And: “The songmaster I would have chosen, the one meant for me, was lost.”

Lost, not dead. Her decisions had echoes she had not accounted for. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” says the Disciple. He gestures to the rubble around them. “I left the Songhouse before all of this. I had skills the Republic could use. Besides, I had already begun to have doubts when the Songmasters couldn’t hear the purity of your intentions. I did not want to be a part of the Songhouse if it would punishyoufor doing the right thing.”

“Purity of intentions does not mean I did the right thing,” says the Exile. “It’s easy to lose sight of what the right thing is in war.”

His amused smile hasn’t changed at all, nor his habit of hearing what she won’t say. “It would not kill you to admit that you have definitive opinions on the justice of your sentence.”

“Do you still wish to come with me?”

“I do.”

She takes his hand. “Will you sing with me, Mical?”

She finally gets a long conversation with Kavar.

It is good to see a friendly face.

He says much of the same things Vrook had: that her songs are a casualty of the war; that mortality is not conducive to song. His song is placid, calming. He is not lying, but he is not telling her everything, either. I can wait, the Exile thinks.

No. It is what Kavar is singing. You can wait. All things in time. The threat will reveal itself in time.

Not everyone has that luxury, Songmaster, she sings. Some who think they do, do not.

“How do you know what would have happened?” he counters. They are definitely not just talking about whatever is hunting Jedi. “Do you see what was lost because of Revan’s recklessness. Yours?”

“Do you not think I know what I did? Do you not think I carry it with me?”

I know you do, he sings. The apology is genuine, but it is as much apology as she is ever going to get. There is a sadness there, too, as if she has failed to learn something vital.

“The future is in flux and the past is a song already sung,” says the Exile. What’s done is done.

“Oh, my dear,” says Kavar. “Nothing is ever done.”

Someone, it seems, either in the Songhouse or in the Republic army, has taught the Disciple how to lay and remove blocks, and with his reopened connection to his songs, he is quickly combining the two, to devastating offensive and defensive effect.

In time, she thinks, the others will seek him out, let him sound out the shape of their minds, and make sure there are no nasty surprises there. Ask him to lay a few blocks of his own, against horror, against paralysis and confusion.

Well, she thinks. Everyone but Atton, who dislikes the Disciple, blocks, and people who deal in them.

“A word, songmaster?” says the Disciple.

She steps into the medbay.

The Disciple places his hands behind his back, but not before she can see that his hand is injured. “It’s about our pilot.”

Wonderful.

“He was asking some rather pointed questions, and I --” he clears his throat. “What I mean to say is that I’ve been away from the Songhouse long enough to know what is and is not my business.”

The Exile hums her confusion.

Mical shifts his weight onto his right foot slightly, and back again, a strange break of Control, for him. “For all that Atton’s ignorance of Modesty is startling, his song for you is-- what I mean is that there will be no back-singing from me, songmaster.”

The Exile pinches the bridge of her nose, comprehension finally dawning. Were they in the Songhouse, they would have never broached this subject. “Are you expecting a thank you?”

The Disciple lifts his chin, but blushes.

After that, it’s not entirely a surprise when Atton wanders into the cockpit with a cold pack over his eye --kolto is too valuable to waste on inter-crew spats. He waves off her hands when she takes off her gloves and reaches for him. He sits, and hums his own healing, looking pleased with himself when it works.

“All right,” says the Exile. “What happened?”

Atton looks sheepish, the mirror to Mical’s blush. “Uh. You remember the question I asked you, when we first met? About growing up Songhouse?”

“...yes?”

“Well you didn’t answer it all the way. You said how it worked for you, and said it was different for others. So I asked Mical.”

Sithspit. She stares at him. Asking questions, Mical had said. A startling ignorance of Modesty. Mical was trying to be gracious. “You deserved that.”

“Yeah. Well. I know that now. Matter of fact, I now know a whole hell of a lot of things I didn’t need to know, because after punching me in the face on principle, and explaining why you never ask a Songhouse kid that question, Mical treated me to a very nice lecture on the science of pain receptors and their connection to hormones, all the drugs you and he are allergic to, and a graphic theory on what happened to Darth Malak’s face. Which I really did not need to know.”

He has a point. “Sorry.”

Atton leans back, bracing his feet against the bottom edge of the control panel, and putting his hands behind his head. She knows better than to think he’s actually relaxed. “Why’d you answer my questions the first time, anyway? I probably would have wound the Disciple up about it, just to be an asshole, but I do like to know how much of an asshole I am before I really commit.”

“I don’t know,” she says, honestly. There’s no answer that she wants to give that is satisfactory: they either say too much or too little.

“I’m sorry. That those things happened, I mean,” he adds, when she raises an eyebrow. “To you, to Mical, to kriffing Darth Malak and Revan, even. Family should make you stronger, not...not limit your choices like that.”

“Ancient Selkath doesn’t have a word for wet,” she reminds him, softly.

“I know that,” he says, pulling his feet down from the ledge. “That doesn’t mean that wet didn’t actually exist.”

She is going to have to think about that one.

“Really makes me think, though. I’m not sure that I’m comfortable joining the Songhouse, if this...you know, big on bodily autonomy, me.” The last part twists, discordant, both truth and lie.

The Exile sighs. “I was disowned when they cast me out, Atton. If you want to join the Songhouse, you’re going to have to ask someone else.”

He snorts at that suggestion. “Not likely.” His clothes rustle as he squirms in his seat, crossing his arms and looking away. Rather follow you, he adds, singing so softly that the Exile can’t be sure if he sang with his voice or his mind. “Besides,” he says, louder, a bit too rapidly, “pretty sure they’re going to have to welcome you back, anyway. They’re a few singers short of a full chorus, and you’re the only Jedi Singer I’ve met with any sense.”

“Har, har,” she says, nudging his seat with a toe. “You’re right, you know. If the Songhouse survives all this, things will have to change.”

Atton swallows. “You know,” he says slowly. He still doesn’t look at her. “You know. If it’s worth anything, the Disciple told me he cleared all his medical checks when he left the Songhouse. You couldn’t hurt him. Unless you were into that, I guess.”

The Exile opens her mouth. Closes it. “Atton –”

“Don’t make fun. Kid’s got a heart like a star and the song in it is yours. Kriffing annoying, but if you haven’t heard him, you haven’t been paying attention.”

She throws her gloves at him and flees the cockpit.

The so-called Lord of Pain wraps himself in music, is barely anything besides song stitched together with veins of Control. He is loud, too much. He makes the Exile’s bones ache. Silence, she sings, breath, darkness.

Life without song, he sings. Impossible. Death.

Not death. Something else.

There is nothing else. Only hunger, only void. I do not wish to die.

You are not at peace.

Are you?

“Were you Revan’s teacher?” the Exile asks.

“Revan had many teachers,” says Kreia.

The Exile waits.

Kreia looks at her a long time, and then opens her mouth and sings Revan.

At least, as well as Revan can be sung by someone who isn’t Revan herself. Her song always lent itself to being projected upon by others.

It is answer enough.

Malak sings action over the Jedi Council’s inaction. Malak sings of the Mandalorians, sings rumors of death on the Outer Rim, sings innocents in danger, sings the Republic asking for help and finding none.

Outrage, sing the singers on the Exile’s left and right. War.

War, sings Malak. War. Outrage. The Songhouse has failed.

Illusion, sings the Exile. The figures on her left and right ignore her. Malak looks at her with a twinkle in his eye.

She’d forgotten what a pompous bastard he could be. “Alek, this is not the song we sung.”

Something had to be done.

“That’s true. But we set out to save the Republic, not throw down the stones of the Songhouse.”

Malak smiles at her, as if he knew she would agree with him, eventually. “You know that was never Revan’s desire. If you had heard what Revan heard...”

“If I had heard what Revan heard, I wouldn’t be here,” the Exile snaps. She hears the truth in it as she says the words. “If I had been following Revan, and not myself, do you think she still would have chosen you over me?”

She’s made him angry now, the line between memory and vision blurring. “They will remember me, little sister. They will not remember you.”

The Exile closes her eyes. Opens them. “I decided that Revan would not arrive with reinforcements. And so I closed the trap. I destroyed the Mandalorians. I destroyed my own forces. I won the war. But Revan delayed. I was loyal to the cause, not to her. I wasn’t intended to survive. I know that now.”

What Revan had heard had altered her song, even as it remained wholly hers, like hearing Ansset’s had changed little Fiimma’s.

Revan had not been able to hear the change.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you, Malak. I don’t have the luxury of saying I did what I was told, or that I was hoodwinked, somehow, by Revan’s charisma. I chose, and I can’t change the past. But my choices were not your choices. My reasons were not your reasons, nor should they be.”

“Wake up,” says Malak, almost pitying. “You have to wake up.”

You were going to be the songbird of Taris, Alek, she thinks. What was it that tipped the scales? Following Revan to Korriban? What Revan found in the wreckage of Malachor V? What happened after the Mandalorian War ended? Where did you go?

She ignites her lightsaber and grits her teeth, staring the illusions in the eyes.

She loses.

She hears the fear in the voices of her soldiers, and thinks she understands. “Let me go up, Captain.” I will do it. I will do it. Her voice cracks. She remembers the loyalty of her soldiers, the songs she had with them. Dxun was full of life, just as it was full of death.

She disables the mines by hand.

Was it wasted? Her soldiers ask. Did it mean something, in the end? Did we matter?

“I can’t. I won’t.”

Apathy is death, sing the illusions, a drone that rattles her bones.

The Exile almost drops her lightsaber.

Refusing to die is not quite the same as choosing to live, but she wouldn’t call it death. A stupor, a blindness, a sleep, part infection and part choice.

Kreia was right to ask if she’d found what she was looking for among the dead. Mical was right to chide her about sidestepping. It had been so easy to not to care, not to matter, not to remember that at the core of her was cold Songhouse stone, warmed by many hands.

Had she always been strong enough to bear it, or is she stronger, now?

How does this song end? asks the illusion of Kreia. The illusion uses songtalk where Kreia would not. The effect is unsettling. “Either you conclude it, or the echoes go on forever, unfinished.”

There is nothing in a dark nexus that you do not bring with you.

She crosses blades with the apparition of what she might have become, had she truly been Revan’s left hand as Malak was her right, and thinks it again, a mantra: There is nothing in a dark nexus that you do not bring with you.

She has always been able to sing in the face of death.

There is nothing in a dark nexus that you do not bring with you.

So what is this? She ducks her own blade and makes a run for it. She can’t keep her breath enough to sing.

Of course she’d seen the changes in Revan and Malak. She’d seen the changes in herself. But she had set her face long before Malachor: she had always intended to present herself for judgment. She had broken faith with the Jedi Council, and she believed she was right to do so, but such actions always had consequences.

She would not have followed Revan into the outer reaches of the darkness. She already had followed her to Dxun, to Malachor V, and through the nothing beyond. There has to be something she is not seeing.

The eyes of the specter are empty. There is no song in her, though her songs are as solid and cool as stone.

It is frightening, in an abstract way, but the Exile finds herself oddly detached from the fear. As if this battle is familiar.

There are no songs for this.

It is time to go home.

She hears the Disciple’s confession, and it occurs to her that Mical is angry. Angry in the same way that Atris was angry. Atris chose not to follow, and Mical had been too young to. That for all his Control, for all that he thinks and thinks and thinks, turning his problems over in his mind note by note, his sunny disposition is fought for, and won.

Mira calls Mical a tame kath-hound.

She is right. May the fates help whoever tries to take what he defends.

“The Seeker who brought you to the Songhouse named you well.”

“Do you think?” says Mical, and the song in his voice is bitter. “I always thought it was cruel. Someone who doesn’t look like much, named after the Emperor of the Galaxy. Mikal the tyrant.”

“Father Mikal,” says the Exile, gently. “You are an historian. You know this.” History had recorded Emperor Ansset’s heir, Ephrim son of Josif, as the first Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, but it was a Republic that the tyrant had dreamed of. The Songhouse remembered: Mikal was the father of the Republic. The tyrant who loved the greatest Songbird in history as a son.

“Do you not think,” says Mical, slowly, “that you will make it through this?”

“Something is coming,” she says, finally. And then, pitching her song to cut through the ambient noise of the Ebon Hawk: I have given each of you all I can. The legacy of the Jedi is in your songs.

Bao-Dur snorts, softly. He heard the undercurrent of the song. She suspected he would. He closes a panel on Remote, and she hears the same tune back. He has been listening to her lessons with the others.

Mira nods decisively at something. Time to stop running.

Visas waits. It will come when it will come.

Atton slams a storage compartment, suddenly, inexplicably, and incandescently furious.

“Wait, General,” says Bao-Dur. The Exile turns, and words seem to fail him then, because he sings: hope and anger, weariness and rest, vengeance and choices, all rolled up into a question.

She considers him seriously, and presses an off-hand lightsaber into his palm. “Your choice, of course,” she says, lightly, warmed by his trust, his faith. “But you’ve always seemed to thrive on the impossible. If you think you can defend the innocent with song, without malice against the enemy, then you can.” I believe in you.

Bao-Dur bows his head.

The Exile ignites her lightsaber. “Now, are you going to show me what you’ve learned from spying on everyone else, or are you going to stand there and let me lecture you?”

Bao-Dur laughs, his dry, quiet laugh so like her own, and it sounds like try me. “I’ll take practical experience any day.”

All she hears in this place is loss.

She takes off her armor, stashing it quietly in an anteroom just inside the door of the enclave. There is power running now, and she hears the fountains ahead, signs of human habitation. Signs of life.

There is an ache in her chest. She breathes deeply, slings a robe over her shoulders for the first time in nearly a decade. She is not part of the Songhouse, but she is a singer, and songmaster to other singers. She respects the wisdom of the Songmasters, but the near extinction of the Songhouse and her exile have made her a peer.

It is good to see things rebuilt. The green of growing things, the sounds of the fountains, the murmur of voices waiting for her.

But all she hears in this place is loss.

It is strange: conventional wisdom holds that grief unharnessed weakens song, but her heart is full to bursting with something indefinable. She could sing here, and shake the walls down.

She forges on, past the fountains. She does not hear Kreia follow her, nor Visas follow Kreia.

The Songmasters tell her of the gathering on Visas’ homeworld, of songs not just cut short, but emptied.

They’d seen an echo of something coming for them, and had gathered, thinking numbers might clarify the vision.

No, Atris had suggested numbers might clarify the vision.

It was Atris who had convinced the Republic to contact the Exile.

Atris, the historian, the archivist, who could not justify leaving her post and following her heart. Atris, whose song, in the Exile’s memory of their last encounter, spoke of bitterness. Atris who surrounded herself with Handmaidens who were deaf to song. To the changes in a song.

I was an historian, Kreia had said. I found more questions than the Songhouse could answer.

“Songmaster,” says Mical, turning back towards the dormitory. There is resolve in his tone. “It is not Kreia who has shaken you so.”

She gives him a level look, already seated on the meditation rug Visas bought for her on Onderon.

He tries again. “What did the Songmasters say to you?”

“The Songmasters are dead.”

“And Atris has betrayed us, yes. Songmaster.”

The Exile sits back. “Why are you here, Mical?”

“I was worried about you.”

“No, why are you here? I influenced your songs as a child. What is to say I’m not doing so now? Do you not wonder why you follow me?”

You are a parasite, spits Vrook in her mind’s eye. Forming bonds, leeching off the connections of others. Your gift of the voice has always given you undue influence over the minds of the young and wayward.

“I follow you because I believe what I heard from you all those years ago, songmaster,” says Mical. “I see with my eyes that it is still the case. I admire you. But the galaxy does not revolve around any one person, though any one person can dedicate themselves to defend it. You taught me that.”

The Exile fixes her gaze somewhere above his left ear. “At Malachor, it was –I assumed my songs were taken away, or that I was deafened by what I heard. But I stopped my own ears. The other side of my gift of the voice: if I can harmonize with anyone, I can also not.” She looks down, at the rug, at the decking. “I knew. I’d always had a knack for that trick. I pulled it on Revan once, right before a performance. I don’t remember why. Got the mother of all lectures from Songmaster Sunrider. But I knew, if I would have let myself remember.”

Mical sits in front of her, legs crossed. “You heard something you could not bear. To hear so much death at once would have killed you.”

“But to cut myself off from all song to stop listening? You can imagine the Songmasters’ reactions.”

Mical does not smile at this. “They thought you were the source of the echo of death that has followed us.”

“I am the bait. And I do carry something with me.” She looks away. “Malachor V is not gone. The song of the universe is suffering there, and I carry it, not as a cloak, but inside...”

It is like Mical cannot hear it. The Exile’s voice is empty. There is nothing of herself in it. What she has become is worse than what Atton was before: Her true song is the death of song, and the songs of others. She grows in strength from death, and from her companions. She uses her gift of the voice to sing what she hears, to sing her friends voices, their songs, to sing to the living. Everything in her song is chosen, gathered, borrowed, stolen. Not hers.

“And you think that is a matter of accident?” says Mical. “That you sing of life and living when you know also the songs of death and ending? That you spin songs from what you hear, and from the people who love you?”

She thinks of the twisted brightness around a black hole. She thinks of a bog, the water coming up from the ground, and the ground itself made of drowned plants. Death feeding life feeding death, on forever.

Mical nods, satisfied. “It is possible to be afraid of death, and so delay to make choices that will save more lives. That is why the Songmasters have failed where you have not. You know what it will take, and you are not afraid.”

“I am afraid.”

“But not of dying.”

No. Never of that.

She follows Kreia to Telos, to Atris.

The cacophony of darksong around her is unbearable. The Exile stops her ears and listens to the frightened woman in front of her instead.

She does not think to query the voices around her.

I have authored so much death, sings Bao-Dur. Let my song end saving something instead. I will die in a different way if I do not.

I do not fear, for in fear, lies death. I am not afraid to die, but no longer do I loathe my life. I ask you, finally, to forgive me for the path I took when I lost my way. It has taken time for me to return here. I’ve been stronger for the journey. What happens now shall not be done out of hate, or revenge, but for the sake of all life.

This body is a prison no longer.

Visas stands. “Let us go.”

“And so that is why you fight,” says Visas. “To prove Revan wrong.”

“Not Revan,” says Mandalore, rising.

Darth Nihilus is a hunger, a void with will, an eater of songs, a silence.

He dies like a mortal man in the end.

There is a place, the Exile knows, beyond all song. Beyond light, beyond dark, and in which there is nothing but oneself.

It is not this place.

The Exile stalks the broken surface of Malachor V. She stalks the halls of the Academy, the crucible Revan found and founded, a festering wound the Exile created. This is a place meant to break the innocent, to drive them to let go of song, or grow stronger in defiance. To change, or die.

She thinks of Atton’s songs, grown strong in spite of everything. Mira standing tall. Visas singing to herself of small pleasures. Bao-Dur surrounded by green and growing things. Mical, looking to the future clear-eyed and singing anyway. Mandalore’s steadiness. HK. T3.

She thinks of the echoes of Malachor V. Lives lost, future lost, a planet in agony, only held together by residual gravitic anomalies, the echo of the weapon that won the war.

(She can only hope Remote has found its way)

She will sing here.

She will shake the walls down.

She sends her students back to the ship.

Her face is set towards Trayus Core.

She does not notice Atton turning back.

“Wish I’d...never met you,” says Atton, and it sounds like I will always help you.

“You’re a damn liar,” says the Exile, trying to ignore the blood, trying to sort cauterized and uncauterized wounds, praying Kreia’s tutoring in healingsong will be enough. There’s nothing she can do for his eye, and likely not his arm either, but she was just fast enough and it is possible if any of them die today it might not be him. “You are never where you are supposed to be and you have always been a pain in my ass.”

“Ha-ohh, it hurts to laugh.” He reaches up a hand, and touches two bloody fingers to her cheek before it falls heavily back again. “At least I’m…good, good at it. Save...save your strength. Sion’s still out there.”

“He had better be,” the Exile growls. “You’re going to have a few dashing scars.”

“Liar. Was always ugly. Now my outsides...match my insides.” He hums and the song is his. Just his. “Thought I would never see...another face again. And then you were there again. Thought being a Singer was like breaking Control. Like giving up. But it made me more myself. You need to go.”

She’s aware that she is crying. She needs Control. “Don’t be a fool.”

“There are worse...things I could be.” His face twists. “Wish I could...have told her that. Sounds different...when you say it. Like you’re saying...something else.”

The Exile methodically weakens Sion’s Control.

In the end, he goes.

In the end, she sings Farewell for him, too.

Kreia hates Song, even as she sings, even as she knows that all living things have song, whether they hear it and sing it or not. Kreia loves the Exile, even as she tries to kill her.

You don’t have to hear the song to make a choice, the Exile sings, in a brief respite from whirling lightsabers. Life does not only consist of struggle. The answer to life’s betrayal is not silence. No silence is absolute. There is always something left. There are echoes. Nothing is ever done.

There is only yourself.

No. That which you cannot touch still exists.

I do not want your mercy, Kreia sings, though I thank you all the same. “I imagined this day, and wondered if you would offer. I wanted you to say those words. I did not imagine that I would lose the thread of all my desires and plans. That I would spurn my defeat. That in the end all I would want is for you to be complete.” You have been the best of them.

The Exile nods.

“Farewell, Exile,” says Kreia, and it sounds like the love song.

Atton leans against the doorway, a Jedi’s cloak shrouding the ruin of his arm. There’s a kolto patch over his eye again. The Exile listens, and hears the echoes of Mikal’s grudging acceptance that nothing short of sitting on the pilot’s still-healing gut wound would keep him from waiting.

Everyone is waiting.

“Mira said someone ought to see if you needed carried out,” he lies.

The Exile raises an eyebrow. From the way he’s swaying, she is the one who is going to be doing the carrying.

“Don’t just stand there, we have a bomb about to go off. And I see that look. I figure we have a long way to go to get to wherever we are going next. If you, you know, happen to need a pilot.”

The song of Malachor V ends, its echoes no longer unfinished. They are carried forward in the voices of the lives it touched; the memory of song.

I will never hurt you. I will always help you. If you are hungry Ill give you my food. If you are frightened I am your friend. I love you now. And love does not end.

#kotor 2 #star wars #fanfiction #my fic #you guys get first look before I paste to ao3 and screw up the formatting #this brought to you by atton's description of the force #and then thinking #atton's Control is f-d up #and then this ate my brain #fair warning I've been working on this for months #it's been months since i've played kotor so...#anyway atton is not nice #9000 words of this Nonsense AU

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 5 years

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Psycho Analysis: Darth Vader

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Here he is. The big one. The world’s most famous villain of all time, and this is no exaggeration; even people with only a fleeting knowledge of Star Wars, even people who have never seen it before in their lives, probably know who Darth Vader is. The dedicated an entire trilogy to showing how he ended up this way, and an entire trilogy to defeating him, and even after he’s dead his shadow looms over the new trilogy.

It’s really not hard to see why, either; everything about him just screams cool. He’s an intergalactic dictator wizard monk cyborg with a laser sword who has a castle on a lava planet and a space station the size of the moon that blows up planets, and that’s not even getting into the fact that he has the voice of Mufasa. Darth Vader is an icon, plain and simple, and if you think his status is all surface-level, well, this will hopefully show you there’s more to him.

Actor: There are a lot of people who put in the time to bring Vader to life, but let’s just go over the most notable actors. A lot must be said of David Prowse, the man in the suit during the original trilogy; while James Earl Jones’ voice certainly did a lot of work towards making Vader as intimidating and cool as he is, Prowse’s physical presence should absolutely not be understated. He’s the one who does the movements, who walks into the scenes, he was the one physically there, and it really cannot be said enough that he is a key aspect of why the original Vader worked, even if his voice was nowhere near intimidating enough.

Jones, of course, had a voice that was intimidating enough, and while Prowse brought the physical intimidation, Jones brought the vocal brilliance. Vader’s voice is so oft-arodied and iconic, and it’s all thanks to James Earl Jones’ stellar performance. IT’s just absolutely legendary no matter which way you cut it, to the point where even when he’s portraying a freshly-christened Vader who is still in the mindset of a whiny Anakin and screaming a massive NO to the heavens, he’s still awesome.

Of course, that does bring us to Anakin Skywalker, portrayed by Hayden Christensen, and who is the most divisive actor who played Vader, albeit in his pre-cyborg form. I think a lot of the problems Christensen was criticized for while portraying Vader in the prequels was due to Lucas and his poor direction, and not due to any inherent fault on his part, as Christensen is a good actor otherwise. Case in point: any scene in Revenge of the Sith where Christensen does not have to speak and instead has to rely on giving evil glares or just looking intimidating works. I think he does a great job in Revenge of the Sith overall, and his portrayal of Anakin definitely works best in that prequel due to him really selling the frustration of his superiors not taking him seriously or trusting him, which makes his eventual slide into villainy after putting his trust in Palpatine a lot easier to swallow.

Motivation/Goals: Vader’s motivations and goals are not exactly where he shines, as it is pretty standard evil overlord stuff: he wants to crush the rebels, serve his master, and do whatever needs to be done to ensure that the power he has does not get taken away. It’s standard stuff, and even at the time it likely wasn’t a wholly original idea, but part of the reason it probably feels so generic nowadays is that so many people in every art form imaginable – books, TV, video games, and other movies – have ripped Vader off to the point where he almost appears to be a generic doomsday villain if you only look at a summary of his goals. Thankfully, this is far from the case.

Personality: Vader’s personality is where he really shines. Revenge of the Sith paints the portrait of a brilliant, talented young man who is constantly looked down upon and ignored by his peers despite his numerous successes and who is unable to openly be with the woman he loves and who carries his children due to ridiculous rules; is it any wonder he was taken advantage of by a predatory elder and groomed into a psychopath, only realizing far too late what had been done to him? This aspect of his personality has often been criticized by those who hate the prequels, but I think it is important to show that Vader was once a normal, frustrated young man who honestly had good intentions and wanted to protect others, because it helps make his eventual turn away from the Dark Side and redemption at least be a little believable.

Once he truly becomes the Vader we all know and love, he loses sight of who he was and buries himself in the Vader persona. What happened on Mustafar with Padme and Obi-Wan broke Anakin, and so he truly throws himself into the Darth Vader identity. He becomes cold, ruthless, and downright terrifying, with only brief glimpses to the cornier, kinder persona that the man who hates sandf with a passion once had, the moment where he makes a lame pun in Rogue One being the perfect example of the cheesy Anakin of the prequels shining through if only for a brief moment before Vader’s final scene in Rogue One shows that Anakin has once more been suppressed and the terrifying Vader persona is out in full force, with the real Anakin only breaking through in the end to restore balance to the Force.

Final Fate: Vader, in a final act of heroism, picks up Palpatine and tosses him down into a pit to save the life of his son Luke. Ultimately, this means that Vader fulfilled that prophecy from so long ago and restored balance to the Force, redeeming him in the eyes of his son and allowing him to become one with the Force itself and stand beside his former mentors Obi-Wan and Yoda in the final scene. It is a bit cheesy and even a little hard to swallow if you think too hard, but come on, it’s a fun space opera where good triumphs over evil and true love prevails, so just let Anakin have his little redemption.

Best Scene: The scene in which he emerges from the pitch black hallway in Rogue One and mercilessly slaughters a group of rebels with absolutely no effort, washing away decades of diminishing returns and undermining of his threat level in under a minute as the franchise reestablishes Vader as the horrifying threat he originally was.

Best Quote: Can it really be anything other than the (at the time) mind-blowing reveal he drops on Luke in The Empire Strikes Back after Luke accuses him of killing his dad? Say it with me now:

“No, I am your father.”

Some of you probably said it wrong, but I can assure you the line written above is exactly as it was said in the movie.

Final Thoughts & Score: There’s honestly no denying the level of impact Darth Vader has had; I’d say he’s up there with characters like Mickey Mouse and Mario, just an instantly identifiable character anyone off the top of their heads can name. George Lucas struck gold when he came up with this guy, that’s for sure. Is it any wonder that there are so many characters all across fiction who draw inspiration from Vader?

Vader stands tall as one of the greatest creations in pop culture, and though characters that copy him tend to offer diminishing returns – with a few notable exceptions, of course – he definitely is a wonderful source of inspiration, especially when it comes to designing a character who is still interesting and absorbing despite having seemingly simple, cliched motives. And while it is true Vader comes off as a bit cliched these days because he pretty much wrote the book on a lot of the cliches attributed to him and his ripoffs, my point still stands, because even in modern times you’d be hard pressed to hear anyone call Vader a poor villain despite his main goal basically being “kill rebels.”

Vader is a rare breed, and so deserves a rare score. He is the only villain as of now I think truly deserves an 11/10. He is the villain other villains wish they could be. He is the most striking character in the entire cast. He’s so downright cool, is it any wonder his own grandson decided to emulate him by becoming his biggest fanboy?

While Vader does ultimately redeem himself in the end, it serves as a culmination of one of the most profoundly tragic character arcs in cinema, as a wide-eyed idealistic boy full of love, hope, and a sense of righteousness is slowly and surely broken down by the world around him and the very heroes he idolized to the point where he is preyed upon by a predatory authority figure who whispers everything he wants to hear in his ear and offers him something he never got before: respect… and then from there, his life spirals downward ever further, until he ends up being utterly consumed by hatred as he burns alive on an alien planet before the man he considered a friend and a brother, the knowledge that his wife feared him in his mind as he was fried to a crisp; and when he is finally brought back as a cyborg, his first moments awake again are shaken by the revelation his wife is now dead, and he is responsible. And then from his lowest point, we see Vader climb again into the light, extremely slowly, until that final choice he makes where he can either do the right thing as he was always meant to or continue subjugating the galaxy that beat him down and abused him.

The fact he chose to be good in the end despite everything in his life prior, despite all of the crimes he committed, really makes him a far more interesting character than if he had been straight-up evil to the core. Instead, he is the ultimate darkly tragic fallen hero given one last shot of redemption in the arms of death. It’s beautiful in the cheesy, dramatic way only Star Wars can be, and I think that more than anything is why Vader has endured as a cultural icon, because at his core he is everything beautiful, tragic, and cheesy about Star Wars rolled into one awesome, black-clad Sith Lord.

#Psycho Analysis #Darth Vader #Star Wars

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gingerreggg · 5 years

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Okay, so I actually do have a little “fanfic” of the rebirth AU? But I used different names because I was using it for a creative writing project and I didn’t want my teacher reading a Splatoon fan fiction so I gave it a different context. This is a snippet of my writing style, so you can see what level I’m at (it’s not great but, something)

Here’s a key of all the characters:

Callahan= Callie (Callie actually picks up the name Callahan later in the AU, so you’ll actually see her original name in the writing at one point)

Maggie= Marina

Oliver= Octave (O.C.)

Chief= Captain Cuttlefish

Cleopatra is Cleopatra, another O.C.

Penelope= Pearl

The Domain= Octarian Empire

Harmony= Inkopolis

I hope y’all enjoy, it’s a little long (not sure word/character count), but it’s got a bit of substance to it—

“Looks like there’s some sort of firewall that’s preventing me from entering their matrix,” Maggie said over the keyboard clicks. “That means you can’t enter digitally, you’ll need to break into their headquarters.”

“I’m up for it,” Callahan shrugged. She sat up and removed the cords from her mantle.

Maggie peered up from her computer. “Are you sure? Cleopatra’s been around. She can neutralize almost any threat. Trust me, I’ve heard stories about her back when I worked for the Domain. She was one of the best soldiers.”

“If I defeated the king, I’m sure I can defeat his little minion.”

“Well, that was almost ten years ago. Things change.”

Callahan stood up and walked over to Maggie. “Trust me, I’ll handle it.”

The door creaked open behind them.

“Hey,” Oliver walked into the room. “So what’s up with little miss Cleo?”

“She’s too good,” Maggie sighed. “I can’t hack into the system; it’s completely fortified.”

“You’re kidding! You’re a class X hacker from the Domain and you can’t break her wall? That’s insane. Where is this tough cookie hiding, anyways?”

Callahan projected a hologram of Harmony. “If our assumptions are correct, she’s the owner of an elite night club on the West side of the city. It’s called Pyramids. We assume that her database is located somewhere inside the building. Either that, or it’s underground.”

“A physical break-in, I see,” Oliver smirked. “I like it.”

“Yes. Anyways, Maggie and I are going to go in undercover as clubgoers, and find out where her master computer base is. I’ll distract Cleopatra while Maggie finds her computer and compromises all the data she has, and destroys the computer, severing the connection between her and the Domain,” Callahan turned to face Oliver. “After that, I’ll arrest Cleo and let the government handle the rest.”

“Sounds good,” Oliver said.

Pyramids Night Club

21:49

The line stretched down a full block. All sorts of people waited to get into one of the hottest locations for nightlife in Harmony. Maggie and Callahan stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the pouring rain under an umbrella.

“Love your outfit,” Maggie smiled at Callahan. Callahan’s face rested into a scowl.

Maggie was wearing a tight-fitting turquoise dress and black pumps. Callahan wore a similar dress, but instead of having a blue-green glimmer, it was a deep velvet red, and her shoes were basic ballerina flats.

“This is why I hate going to clubs,” Maggie mumbled under her breath.

Callahan let out a sigh as memories flashed through her mind. Crowds of screaming people reaching out to her. Lights flooding a stage and music blaring. She imagined a figure. Slim, graceful, standing to her left.

She snapped back to reality. The line had moved up. Both girls listened to the sound of a disgruntled couple up ahead that was begging the bouncer for admission.

“Oh please, no means no people.” Maggie said. “Just go somewhere else. We have an important job to do.”

After 20 more minutes, the two finally made it to the front of the line. The bouncer gave them a quick glance, nodded, and let them pass into the club.

“Well, that was easy,” Maggie shouted over the blaring music.

Callahan, with a serious look on her face, leaned towards Maggie’s ear.

“You know that we need to do.” She whispered.

Maggie gave her a firm nod, and the two set off in different directions.

Callahan dove into the crowd. The city’s youth surrounded her. People were dancing to the loud, yet hypnotic melody. Bright neon lights flickered and the bass made the entire place vibrate. The sensation was familiar.

Almost as if it was a concert.

Another wave of memories hit her. The figure. The girl. Callahan was up on a stage with her. Even though she was only 18, she had grey hair.

“Agent 1!”

The girl began to sing. Her voice was strong, yet it soothed Callahan. The music changed from a blaring techno to a low-fi rhythm.

“Come in, Agent 1!”

The words began to formulate. The lyrics.

“Callahan, do you read me?!”

Suddenly, Callahan was back in the club.

“Yes, Chief. Maggie and I have arrived. I’m trying to pinpoint the location of our target.”

“Good,” Chief replied through Callahan’s implanted radio. “Make sure you take her out quickly, and quietly. We cannot let anyone in the club know what’s going on. This is a sensitive mission and the Domain must remain a secret. Understood?”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll report back once our mission has been completed. You can count on us.” Callahan disconnected herself from the radio frequency, and kept her vision forward.

Suddenly, a glimmer of metal caught her eye straight ahead. It looked to be some sort of headpiece. Callahan sifted through the crowd.

There she was.

Cleopatra.

Callahan observed her from a small distance before she approached her. She was fairly tall, and she had a prominent hourglass figure. Her slim waist harmonized with her wide hips. Her hair was long and black, and ironed out straight. She wore a short, golden dress with turquoise wrist cuffs, and leather boots that reached up to above her knees. Her legs were long and toned.

Her skin was a deep beige and her nose was long and narrow. Her eyes fashioned a familiar Egyptian look, with the thick eyeliner curling up at both ends. She was wearing a metallic headband that cut perfectly through the black sea of hair on the top of her head. Slowly, Cleo’s head turned in Callahan’s direction. Their eyes met for a long instant.

Cleopatra’s mouth slowly crept into a smile. She turned her entire body towards Callahan and began to slowly saunter towards her.

“Hey, there,” The music was blaring, but Callahan heard her loud and clear. Her voice was as smooth as silk, but she could project like a professional speaker. “Are you enjoying yourself? My name’s Cleopatra, but you can call me Cleo,” She slowly traced Callahan’s jawline with her finger. Callahan stood perfectly still.

“I’m the owner of this… lovely establishment.” Cleo’s face fell into a superficial frown. “You look tense, relax a little! Come have a drink with me.” She turned around and began to slowly strut towards the bar. Callahan followed close behind.

“This woman is weird,” Callahan thought to herself, weaving through the crowd. “How can she get so up close and personal with me so quickly? She knows something.”

Both girls took a seat at the bar. Cleo summoned the bartender and ordered two drinks.

“You drink margaritas?” She asked

“Sure, I’ll go for one,” Callahan shrugged. “But let me pay for it, my treat.”

“Oh, please. Don’t humor me! Seriously, it’s on the house. I can afford it.”

Suddenly, a man dressed in all black walked up to Cleopatra; he looked like a security guard.

“Cleo, there’s someone that’s makin’ a bit of trouble. You might wanna check it out.”

“Great, alright, I’ll be back babe, just give me a few,” Cleo said to Callahan. She stood up and walked with the security guard, and they dissolved into the crowd.

“Maggie, you there?” Callahan asked through her radio.

“Yep! I found the room, it looks like it may take a while for the data to collect though,” Maggie’s voice echoed in Callahan’s head. “At least half an hour. Do you think you can hold her off that long?”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. Okay, get to it. We need to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Copy that.”

Cleopatra sat down next to Callahan.

“Sorry about that. This club can be filled with misfits sometimes. Anyways, where were we?”

Callahan forced herself to smile. “Drinks, they should be here any minute.”

“Ah, yes. Wonderful.” There was a pause between the two. “Oh, I never asked you. What’s your name? Surely you have one.”

“Violet.”

“Oh, that’s a beautiful name. Love it.”

“Thanks.”

The bartender came holding two short glasses. He placed them in front of Cleo and Callahan.

22:37

“Come with me,” Cleo giggled. She grabbed Callahan by the hand and led her towards the back of the room. Weaving through the people, they eventually were at the end of a long hallway. Cleo took a key out from her pocket and unlocked the door. Inside the room was a simple office space. Cleo closed the door behind her.

“This is my business room,” Cleo slurred. “We do the business in the business room. Very busy.”

“It’s very modern,” Callahan said.

The room itself wasn’t too big, but the space was used effectively enough to make it comfortable for two people. In the center there was a long desk with metal legs and a glass top. A holographic device was placed on one of the corners of the desk, along with a sleek keyboard. There were a couple of simple artworks plastered on each white wall of the room, and flood lights kept the space illuminated quite well.

Cleo took Callahan’s shoulders and propped her up against her desk.

“Let’s… let’s do some business!” Cleo gurgled. Her hands moved from Callahan’s shoulders down to her hips.

“What a… what a pretty body you have,” Cleo’s voice changed from a drunk garble to a deep, menacing tone. “Callahan.”

“What?!” Callahan thought. “She was faking it the whole time! Damn.”

Suddenly, Callahan was flipped up against the table, with her hands pinned behind her and her face smearing against the glass.

“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Cleo sneered. “You think I would let my guard down that easily? I’m not a drunk slut. I know how to take care of business. You, out of all the people out there, should know that.”

Suddenly, Callahan broke free of Cleo’s grip. She quickly spun around and clocked Cleo straight in the face. Cleo stumbled backwards, blood oozing from her nose. She began to laugh.

“Do you really think you can beat me with a punch? Do you think your prosthetic body is any match for my expertise?!” She regained her balance and stood tall. “I’ve been in this business way longer than you think.”

“Listen to me!” Callahan pinned her against the back wall. “You’re scheme ends right here, right now. Maggie is severing your connection with the Domain right as we speak. It’s. OVER!”

“That’s what you think,” Cleo smirked. The door behind them slammed open. Callahan turned her head towards the noise. Two buff security guards tosseds Maggie into the room.

“Ow!” Maggie grumbled.

“It looks like whatever your little friend was doing in my computer room got caught!” Cleo tilted her head and made puppy eyes. “What a shame, she was almost done too.”

Callahan turned her head back towards Cleo. Her face still held an angry scowl. Within an instant, Cleo kicked her with the precision of her boot’s heel.

Even with the piercing pain in Callahan’s abdomen, she shot back at Cleopatra with another hook, but Cleo swiftly blocked the blow with her arm. The two stayed locked in their position, Callahan forcing her fist towards Cleo’s face, and Cleo pushing it back with her forearm.

“You look surprised, Callahan. It’s not often that you find someone that can match your ability without prosthetics.”

Callahan gritted her teeth.

“I know you’re secrets, Callahan. Or should I even call you that? That’s not your real name.”

“Don’t you DARE.” Callahan growled.

“You used to be a lot different. You were so innocent back then. But the Domain changed everything. They made you faster, smarter, stronger. They trained you far better than your old chief could. I seriously wonder why you still work for that old hag. He’s not worth your time.”

“Callahan, come on, beat her up! You can do it!” Maggie called.

“Come on, Callahan! Come on!” Cleo barked. “Beat me up! Come on!”

Callahan drew her arm back. Cleo snapped her leg upwards and kicked Callahan right under the chin, throwing her head backwards and making her fall back and knock the desk over. The glass panel shattered.

“I’m kind of surprised. I thought you’d be a worthy opponent. I guess not,” Cleo stood over her. “So much for that robotization.”

“I’m not done yet,” Callahan wheezed. She slowly stood up, wincing at the pain both in her guts, and her neck.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that, Callie.”

Images violently flashed in Callahan’s head. It began with the stage, the figure beside her, the music she was singing. Her grey hair and hazel eyes. The images changed from performance to war. The girl’s eyes staring right into hers. The look of betrayal and distress. The blood slowly dripping out of her mouth, her outreached hands. She whispered a name;

Callie...

“Callahan!” Maggie called. “Look out!!”

Callahan whipped her head and look behind her. A familiar face stood in the doorway.

“Get down!”

She quickly fell to the ground. A flash of light filled the room, followed immediately with the roar of gunfire. The sound of bullets shredding flesh filled Callahan’s ears.

Then, silence. Callahan looked up at where Cleo was standing. The woman who was once standing tall was now limp, rocking from side to side. She was covered in red, and there were holes all across the front of her body. After a few moments of tension, her eyes fluttered shut and she fell to the ground.

“Well, that was a close one.” Oliver said. “I’m glad I made it in time.”

“Oliver!” Callahan snapped. “Are you INSANE?! Chief said NO GUNS! You’re drawing too much attention to this! What about the all the people in the club??”

“Oh, them? The club closed 20 minutes ago. It’s empty.”

“It doesn’t matter. Someone could’ve heard it next door. We need to get Cleo’s body back to base. Along with those two body guards that you shot.”

Oliver sighed. “Yeah, my bad. I did save your ass though. Do I at least get a ‘you’re welcome?’”

“No,” Callahan stood up. “Now come on, we need to leave before the public figures out what’s happening.”

While Maggie went back to the computer room to compromise the data, Callahan and Oliver picked up the three bodies and lugged them out back. A van was waiting for them outside. An old man and a short woman hopped out of the vehicle to help them.

“How did the job go?” The old man said.

“It was going okay Chief, until Oliver went crazy with his machine gun.” Callahan snapped.

“What?!?” Chief yelled. “Oliver!”

“Hey! Callahan was in trouble. I just did what I had to.” Oliver said as he hurled one of the bodyguards into the back seat. “Cleo looked like she was going to end her!”

“No matter what the situation is, you MUST be discreet. Callahan can handle her own. Stick to your job, Oliver. For everyone’s own good.” Chief patted Oliver on the back and got back into the van.

“Ay yo!” The short girl piped up. “Where’s my girl Maggie? She okay?”

“Yeah, Penelope. She’s fine. Just finishing up the computer.” Callahan said as she closed the trunk door. “Come on, get in. We have to get out as soon as Maggie comes back.

Platoon Transportation Van

Log Date:

December 7th, 2144

23:34

“I cannot believe you used a machine gun to kill everyone!” Chief sighed.

“Well, hey, we got the job done!” Oliver said. “Maybe not the way we wanted, but Cleo’s been taken care of.”

The two took off in debate while Maggie, Penelope, and Callahan sat quietly.

Penelope pinched her nose. “I can’t wait to get rid of the bodies, they’re stinking up the whole van. I hate the smell of blood.”

Maggie’s gaze slowly focused on Callahan, who was staring out the window. She saw her reflection on the glass.

“Hey, Callahan. What’s wrong? You seem…”

“If Cleopatra was able to block my blows…” Callahan said towards the window. “Then how am I supposed to take out the Domain..? I can’t defeat people of her caliber, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s not a high ranking soldier.”

“Well, Callahan… as far as I’m concerned… the Domain is no match for us. No matter what happens, we always get the upper hand, and you know that. With all these missions we’re becoming stronger and stronger.” Maggie put her hand in Callahan’s shoulder. She turned her head to face Maggie’s.

“We’re a team now, Callahan. And the only way to go from here… is up.” Maggie smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, Callahan gave her a genuine smile back.

#casey speaks #Rebirth: An Alternate Universe #splatoon #my writing #??#i guess #long post #very long post #death tw #violence

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missmeikakuna · 4 years

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So, Apparently, I Find Fairies Hot Chapter 2

Rated: T

Fandom: Original Fiction

Relationship type: Male/Male

Description: You know those movies and TV shows in which an effeminate gay character has a crush on the popular jock? Strike that, reverse it.

Daniel is technically popular at school but fades into the crowd. After an injury at footy (Australian football) practice, he is forced to focus on improving his grades, starting with English. Luckily, the new kid in school knows a lot about Shakespeare and is willing to tutor him. Now if only this new guy wasn't so attractive.

CONTENT WARNING: Homophobic slurs are used. Also, there are some sexual references but nothing too graphic.

Chapter 2: Is it gay to read a play?

Daniel sniffled, rubbing his nose. As he walked home he scowled at every flower he passed. He was walking alone, looking at his phone several times a minute in case Eddie cancelled.

He gasped a little when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He turned around and saw a grinning Eddie with his hand on his shoulder, moving forward from the momentum of running.

‘I may as well walk with you,’ he explained with heaving breaths. ‘That way I can get to your place straight away and we can study a bit earlier.’ He took a closer look at Daniel. ‘Why do you look so grumpy?’

Daniel sighed. ‘Spring. Fucking hay fever.’

‘That’s a shame. I love Spring. It’s like all the plants are rising from the dead. That and Halloween’s in Spring.’ Daniel chuckled. ‘What?’

‘Rising from the dead? The only thing that’s rising is my impatience for all this pollen.’ A sneeze.

Eddie turned to his side but continued walking the same direction. ‘Are you taking any medicine for it?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just being whiny.’

‘You really should take care of yourself. If you don’t, you’ll end up in the doctor’s office or worse, you’ll be miserable all season.’ Eddie leaned in even closer, not noticing how Daniel’s body tensed up. ‘So, what do you do besides footy… and sucking at Shakespeare?’ Daniel glared at Eddie. ‘What? Okay, to be fair I’ve always sucked at sports. Or does surviving a mosh pit without being squished or trampled to death count as a sport?’

‘I, uh… don’t do much outside of that and watching TV. I need more hobbies. Speaking of which, what did you have on last night?’

‘Corpse Windmill was on and it was their last performance before they head back to the Netherlands. They’re this really obscure comedic technical death metal band. They debuted in 2004 as a reaction to postmodern notions of-’

‘I think I get the point.’ Eddie pouted and Daniel’s heart twisted. ‘Uh, well, actually, instead of telling me about the band you can tell me about that technical metal stuff.’

Daniel halted as if a record had just been scratched. ‘You listen to metal?’

Eddie pointed at his face and laughed. ‘Why are you so surprised? It’s obvious by the name I gave myself. Eddie’s the mascot for Iron Maiden, and Ironpoe’s a combo of Iron Maiden and Edgar Allen Poe, who’s the best gothic writer; you cannot change my mind.’

Daniel frowned at his hands. Into his pockets they went. ‘I don’t know much about metal.’

‘What do you listen to?’

‘Pop and Rap mostly.’

‘Well, there is rap metal but it doesn’t have the best reputation. I’ll try and find a really good artist and show it to you.’

‘Thanks. I just thought you’d listen to, I dunno, songs you’d play in a gay bar.’

‘What songs do they play at a gay bar? I’ve never been to one.’

Daniel looked at the ground. He sneezed. ‘Oh. I haven’t either, obviously, but I imagine they’d be the songs that go ‘doof doof doof doof’ or ‘ins ins ins ins’. I dunno.’

Eddie laughed so hard that tears began seeping out if his eyes. ‘Say that again.’

Daniel bit his tongue.

Eddie scoffed. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘Sorry.’

The two took the rest of the trip in silence.

Eddie took a good look at Daniels home, which was a two-story grey concrete monstrosity with big glass windows and a sizeable garage. The garden was covered with ferns, a palm tree casting a shadow over the sand-coloured cobbled driveway.

When they stepped through the front door, the duo saw Daniel’s mother standing by the kitchen counter, a phone up to her ear and a scowl on her face.

‘Why hasn’t he fired her yet? Honestly, if I have to work with her one more time…’ Eddie waved at her. Daniel’s mother failed to notice him.

Daniel grabbed Eddie by the arm and dragged him to his room before he could do something to grab her attention.

Eddie struggled not to turn up his nose when he saw how messy Daniel’s room was. Underneath the unmade bed was a pile of dirty dishes that had been shoved there. Posters of half-naked women were placed across the walls without a thought to making their heights match. However, one part was as clean as Mother Theresa’s criminal record. The desk seemed to have never been touched.

The two boys pulled their copy of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ out of their bags and sat on the bed.

‘Okay, first I need to properly assess the damage,’ Eddie said. ‘Could you read the bit we read yesterday again? Actually, read it from here.’ He pointed to the start of the first miniature monologue by Robin.

Daniel took a deep breath. ‘The… king… doth…keep…his-’

‘You can stop now.’

‘I didn’t even finish the first senten-’

‘I’ve heard what I need. I think you’re reading it word by word, even though in real life the words in a sentence should flow together. Try reading the whole sentence before speaking.’

‘What if I get a word wrong?’

‘You keep going. In the theatre, you can’t just stop or slow down if you don’t know what to do. You’ve got to improvise. With Shakespeare, it’s tougher since everybody already knows the lines but the show must go on.’

Daniel did as he was told and smiled when he finished a monologue. When he saw that Eddie’s expression didn’t match his, he frowned.

‘You don’t need to put on a posh voice. Shakespeare’s plays were performed in front of commoners, so everyday people were able to enjoy it.’

Daniel gulped before repeating the monologue. ‘Now what the hell did I just say?’ he asked.

‘Okay, so you’re a fairy jester talking to another fairy. According to you, the king of the fairies is having a party and he’s mad at his wife because she kidnapped a child and now pays lots of attention to the child, making the king jealous. Now read it again with that in mind.’

Daniel nodded. After he finished the monologue, Eddie clapped. Daniel grinned. ‘Now let’s talk about themes,’ Eddie declared.

He taught Daniel the same things Dr Daylings said but rephrased them to be more relatable. Daniel nodded in understanding the whole time.

Eddie looked at the time on his phone. ‘Oh my god, sorry for lecturing you for so long. Let’s take a break and just hang out or something.’ Daniel lied down on his back and sighed in relief. ‘Was I that annoying?’

‘No, you were really good. Where did you learn so much about Shakespeare?’

‘I’ve watched his plays live a lot.’

‘Makes sense. So, um, I have a question. Don’t take this the wrong way.’

‘Well, now I’m worried. What is it?’

Daniel bit his tongue for a moment before continuing. ‘Why do you act so… stereotypical? Like, you almost look like a chick. I mean, you’re clearly not because chicks are hot and… I mean, not that you’re not hot, but… I didn’t mean that that way!’

Eddie spat with laughter. ‘Jesus, you’re blushing!’ He breathed slowly to calm his laughter. ‘I’m just being myself.’

‘But how can you be so open to people you’ve just met?’

Eddie was silent for a few moments as he pondered the question. ‘Well, some gay people can’t really hide it. It’s too obvious. So why should I bother? I know some gay guys just act like regular guys, but I’m just not that. I was always kind of girly. When I officially came out to my parents, they had this bored look on their faces. It kind of pissed me off, not gonna lie. I mean, thanks, Mum and Dad! What, was all this fear for nothing?’

‘When did you know you were gay?’

Eddie chuckled. ‘Oh god. I think it was the cashier at the café my parents took me to every week that made me realise it. He was so cute. Of course, nothing was going to happen between us because he was around fifteen and I was seven, plus I’m pretty sure he was straight.’

Daniel put his hands in his pockets, still lying down. ‘Do… all gay guys know they’re gay that early?’

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t…’ He frowned for a second before smiling again. ‘I don’t know any other gay guys outside of the ones I see on Drag Race. Oh, I did meet a bi guy once at an Iron Maiden concert. He didn’t look super stereotypical, but when we were waiting for the show to start I saw he had a pink, purple and blue pride bracelet.’

‘Bi?’

‘You know, bisexual. Bisexuals are… wait, you probably already know that. Phew, I guess I can stop a lecture before it starts.’

Daniel was silent as the image of his old friend spiralled into his mind like a tornado before spinning away, leaving a destroyed mood in its wake.

‘Let’s get back to studying,’ he grumbled.

The next day had English class. After asking the class who wanted to read a part, Dr Dayling’s eyebrows jumped up when he saw Daniel’s hand up.

Daniel read a monologue, constantly looking at Eddie for approval. Eddie gave him the thumbs up and a smile.

Dr Dayling nodded. ‘Well done, Daniel. I have no idea what fairy used their magic on you, but you should thank them.’

During lunch, Daniel invited Eddie to sit on the couch with Daniel’s other friends. James glared at Daniel, but he didn’t notice.

‘Shit, we’ve got PE after lunch, don’t we?’ Eddie asked. James nodded. ‘How do I get fitter?’

Daniel smiled. ‘Well, my gym has a free trial for new members.’

James snickered. ‘What, so he can stare at all the guys in the shower?’

Daniel wanted to respond to that, but he kept his mouth shut. Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously? Jock guys aren’t my thing anyway.’

A quick, sharp pain pricked Daniel’s heart.

Just as quick was a girl’s response. ‘You watch too many American movies. We don’t have ‘jocks’ here.’

Eddie ignored her and continued ranting about homophobia, making everyone near him groan except for Daniel, who could no longer pay attention to anything Eddie said.

#bisexual #romance #gay #writing #LGBT romance #yaoi #drama #original fiction #fiction #Breaking Stereotypes #lgbt #So Apparently I Find Fairies Hot

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