#side note hes now the character that has the highest intimacy with me

[cerealmonster15]

yknow what i shoulda pushed for as many points as possible for the circus event bc event tho i wasnt gonna make it through , that would make things easier for me 6months after if i wanted to push for soloboy’s UR card

#thats my GUY #also i looked and apparently 1 of his 3 UR cards is from an event that will not repeat </3 #AND IT'S THE DND ONE #UGH SOLOMON WHY #i didnt have the GAME YET when that came out ;A; #we'll see what state im in by the time circus comes to LD #maybe i will get lucky and have other solomon UR cards from events by then fjksdfjlsdkj #i want that one in the A pool but i only do free summons on the non event stuff #what ever the guy has a birthday 8 months from now ill get something EVENTUALLY #i am a greedy little goblin and i want every solomon card #there arent even that many sljkfsjdflj #side note hes now the character that has the highest intimacy with me #i think hes just about to turn to lvl19 intimacy #ive been making use of leveling the solomons box card to farm intimacy points #listen. i love this weird little man. #hes just so weird i love him hes FUNNY #im at a big plot point in the game but im stuck again so im just like #hangin out leveling some new cards #but in a slow way for intimacy lol #im here for soloboy it's fine #obm liveblogging

[letterboxd]

Third Language.

With her debut film Farewell Amor out now following a successful journey on the festival circuit, Tanzanian-American writer and director Ekwa Msangi tells Selome Hailu about the third language of music, growing up on knockoffs of the Rambo franchise, and her favorite African filmmakers.

There’s a subtle musicality central to the way Ekwa Msangi carries herself. She finds melodies in her words: “You hum the ‘m’,” she says when asked how to pronounce her last name. “Mmm-sangi.” And perhaps to a more subconscious degree, she speaks with rhythm, too: “I do think, and I know, and I can see…” she trails off, ruminating on how much hope she feels for the future of Black filmmaking. Naturally, this musical quality meanders into her work.

Farewell Amor is a quiet film, except for when it isn’t. Three Angolan immigrants revolve around each other in an awkward orbit, each trying to make sense of their dynamic now that they’ve left their home behind. Kept apart for seventeen years by the bureaucratic intricacies of war and paperwork, Walter (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine) is finally joined by his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson—soon to be seen as Bella Reál in The Batman) in New York City. But they don’t know each other anymore and spend much of their time in silence, until music and dance burst forward as a chance at common ground.

Msangi’s screenplay never dwells on the technicalities of the family’s struggle against the American immigration system. Instead, it plunges into softer, more personal after-effects of dreams deferred. Walter’s walls bear a faded calendar with Barack Obama’s face on it, even though his empty apartment complicates the “hope” the president promised people like him. When his family arrives at long last, Esther wears a silver cross pendant, having made sense of these years as a married-yet-single mother by drawing closer—almost too close—to religion. Sylvia barely speaks at all, caught between a faith that isn’t hers and a home that isn’t either.

Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine and Nana Mensah in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

The film’s triptych structure emerged after Msangi spent months grappling with how to create a feature-length screenplay out of her original short film. “Having just come off of the short, I was focusing on Walter’s story. But [I] didn’t think that was the most original story I could tell,” she says. “And then, out of indecision between whether I should make it Walter’s or Sylvia’s story, I decided to just do both. Initially it was two perspectives that I was looking at. But I realized that Esther’s story was really the linchpin for both of their stories, and it wouldn’t make sense not to have hers.”

Giving Walter, Esther and Sylvia their own chapters makes Farewell Amor a stronger film than if it had followed a singular, traditional protagonist. Extreme conservatism in one chapter is revealed as a desire to avoid pain in another; one character’s cramped living room is another’s space to dance freely. Writing on Letterboxd, Tabby points out how the three-part narrative structure grants meaningful subjectivity to characters who deserve it: “It’s so easy for Westernized perspectives to steamroll over films that deal in cultural disparities and thematics, but Farewell Amor takes important steps in showing all sides of the story,” she writes. “It was refreshing to see [the characters] each given the space to exist.”

This layering of voices happens in the camerawork, too. Each section of the narrative is marked with a visual language of its own, complete with specific color palettes and cinematographic techniques. Msangi thinks fondly about the work she put in with cinematographer Bruce Francis Cole to make the chapters distinct. “For Walter’s, it’s sort of a slow cinema, where there’s a lot of still framing. It’s almost like he’s stuck, you know? Stuck in the frame between two surfaces, two hard surfaces, a window frame, a door frame. And in Sylvia’s, we wanted to have it reflect her livelihood, her restlessness. All handheld cameras, all movement. And then for Esther, she’s very observant. She’s been taking everything in, almost in an investigative style, but also a little bit romantic. She’s romanticized this setup, so a lot of close shots, a lot of soft lighting.”

Jayme Lawson as Sylvia in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

Music gives Farewell Amor a cohesion across the different storylines. “Music is, for these characters in particular, and for me, kind of a third language,” Msangi says. “It gives you a glimpse under the covers, what’s under the sheets.” The soundtrack underscores strong performances from Mwine, Jah and Lawson, lending depth to their quietude and vibrance to their movement. Msangi also notes how sound became a cornerstone of her collaboration with the actors: “As I was writing from different perspectives, in order to help me get into each character’s skin, I would listen to the music that they would be interested in.” She later shared these playlists with the actors, using the songs to communicate what words couldn’t.

Msangi has a good laugh as she tries to think about the major films that inspired her to become a filmmaker. “You know, I don’t have that. Well, I do have that, but not for the reasons that most of my film peers have,” she says. Growing up in East Africa in the ’80s and ’90s, little to none of the programming on television was local. What did kids watch instead? “We watched Rambo for probably ten years straight, and then Rambo knockoffs for another ten years after that. I decided to become a filmmaker because of horrible Rambo knockoff films.”

“I grew up surrounded by such colorful and delightful and interesting and funny people,” Msangi says. “And none of that was reflected anywhere in the media.” As she grew older, she sought out African films she couldn’t access in her youth. Now, they’re some of her highest recommendations. Ousmane Sembène is the first African director whose filmography she ever got the chance to dive into. Sembène’s 50-year career has garnered him the affectionate title of ‘Father of African film’ among many critics and scholars, who laud him for his dramas, including Black Girl and Camp de Thiaroye. Msangi, however, finds herself taken with his unique sense of humor. She has also been inspired by Safi Faye, another Senegalese director, who became the first sub-Saharan African woman to attain commercial distribution in 1975—and whose film Mossane portrays sexual intimacy with an openness Msangi hadn’t seen elsewhere.

Writer-director Ekwa Msangi. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

In Farewell Amor, Sylvia’s chapter reads like a compacted coming-of-age film. Msangi points to South African director Darrell James Roodt’s Sarafina! as an influence in that regard. “It was showing for two weeks in Nairobi, and I lined up for four hours to watch,” she says about the film, a drama about youth involvement in the 1976 Soweto uprising. “Even though it’s from a different part of the continent, I’d never seen young African teenagers on a screen before.” More recently, she has loved 2011 TIFF breakout and Oscar contender Death for Sale by Moroccan director Faouzi Bensaïdi, and Radha Blank’s The Forty-Year-Old Version is her favorite film of 2020. She’s hopeful about the future of Black American cinema: Ava DuVernay and Ryan Coogler are two of her favorite working directors.

Msangi’s selections are wide in range, but there’s still one thing holding them together: themes of vulnerability, community and celebration of identity, across different decades and genres. In fact, her approach to watching movies isn’t far off from the way she made her own—Farewell Amor maps concurrent experiences of disparate people, and Msangi’s tastes seem driven by the same balance of vastness and specificity.

“I’m a filmmaker who really abhors working on the same kind of story over and over again, the same genre, the same kinds of characters,” she says. “So I’m not going to make my career just telling stories about immigrants or about, you know, their wretched troubles,” she laughs. “I don’t want to do that.”

Msangi’s next project will be an African-American period piece; beyond that, she hopes to make films in several locations: the Caribbean, Europe and all over the African continent. “I really would like to just have a lot of fun with my career. You know? Because it’s a fun and magical industry that we work in! The work that we do in creating these stories and hopes and dreams—we create magic, so it should be fun.”

Related content

Adam Davie’s Black Life on Film list

Shachar’s 20 Films by Black Directors 2021 Challenge

Screenpaige’s list of Black Women in Film

Follow Selome on Letterboxd

‘Farewell Amor’ is out now in select theaters and on demand through IFC.

#ekwa msangi #jayme lawson #farewell amor #african cinema #black filmmaker #black director #directed by women #52 films by women #female director #black woman director #american film #drama #romance #dance film #angolan cinema #angola #letterboxd

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Lunar New Year Gift for vedrividia!

Pairing: Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji; past Wei Wuxian/Other (implied) Rating: Mature Warnings: brief depiction of sexual harassment, brief instance of misgendering, implied/referenced past suicide attempt, implied/referenced past sexual assault (off-screen), implied/referenced past forced pregnancy (off screen), implied/referenced underage sex & pregnancy (off-screen), alcoholism, coming out, implied/referenced homophobia Other Tags: trans male character, disabled character, gay male character, open ending, unreliable narrator, angst, tender, chance meeting, confession, reunion, character with incomplete spinal cord injury, iSCI, it probably sounds darker than it is

Summary: On the last eve before spring Wei Ying finds himself at the end of a road. What awaits him on the other side depends on the steps he takes to cross it. Someone walks beside him.

Disclaimer: I am neither Chinese, trans nor disabled. All of the portrayal in this fic is based on research. It's not my intent to offend and I'm open to critique as long as it's respectful and constructive. Wei Ying's journey is his own and does not represent all of the disabled or trans community. The fic is set in a world that closely resembles ours, but where corona never happened and maybe China's laws are just a little less restrictive (but still very phobic), so bear that in mind. I do not own any of the characters.

Notes - Beginning: The idea of trans male Wei Ying had been stuck in my head for a while now, and I've been wanting to try my hand at a trans story, because I've never done that before. This assignment was an opening to do that in a darker, more serious setting. I have also wanted to explore Wei Ying's suicidal issues while translating his story into a modern setting for some time (it was supposed to be a coffee shop AU, only the coffee shop never appeared hah). It was simultaneously hard and fun to write, and I'm grateful for it. @vedrividia​, I hope you like it!

In the past I didn't feel like I could do a good job at representing anyone of an identity I couldn't quite empathize with. Since then I've surrounded myself with trans inclusive media, and followed transgender blogs and channels, and I hope that this fic does right by all of them.

I am aware of some of the potentially problematic topics, but I also didn't want to ignore all the challenges and abuse and trauma that trans folk are forced to endure on a daily basis. (Did you know that trans people have some of the highest suicide rates, and likely to have alcohol issues? Making everyone happy and nothing hurt felt all kinds of wrong knowing that.) I believe that representing both - an ideal world alongside the real and flawed one - is important.

Positive stories are also important - this is one. Or at least I hope I was able to make it one.

On a more cheerful note, there are pictures that served as an inspiration for this story, namely this photoset (especially the pic in the leather jacket, the one on the couch and the close up) done in faceapp by a genius, this brain-frying picture, and of course this picture from the Harper's Bazaar Photoshoot that none of us are over. I completely blame Xiao Zhan's androgyny.

Last but not least, I owe a massive thanks to Laura for the amazing beta they did on a rather short notice and brought this fic to another level. Thank you for your hard work!!! :)

End notes: Wei Ying has an incomplete spinal cord injury in the lumbar area (at L1 or L2). I didn't realize that I played myself when I gave him an incomplete injury, because the lack of references and information is in terms of quantity a total opposite to everything available on complete SCI. Which in turn made the telling of such a story feel even more important. If any of you know of a good resource for the daily life of people with iSCI, I'm all ears.

Even researching the walking aides was a challenge, since most information is on wheelchair dependent people, which Wei Ying is not. He has a wheelchair but he refuses to use it, for several reasons, one of them being image, another being worry of atrophy. He likes a good walk, and there's progress thanks to physical therapy, most of which is covered by insurance. I was debating an exoskeleton/brace for him, but from what I gathered they aren't really useful for SCI (I welcome any additional info about this), and those that would be cost a ton and aren't covered by insurance - which is a big factor for Wei Ying. The toss ended up being between forearm crutches and a walking frame, but in the end I decided on crutches, because it seemed like Wei Ying would prefer them? For now? With crutches he can pretend, and I also didn't know to what extent a walking frame would be insurance covered (in China), and whether he'd be at a point where he would accept one. (I imagine the simple ones would be covered by insurance, the question is whether they make a huge difference to crutches, and whether a rollator - with wheels and a seat is something that would count as 'necessary' in this case.)

However, once again, I am not adequately educated on all that goes into the decision making here. No one ever mentions things like these in success stories. In the end I left it as a room for future development. I'm pretty sure Wen Qing is trying to convince him to get one.

I was debating whether to tag dysphoria. While it is not explicitly stated in the fic, Wei Ying does experience it, although this has gotten better since he realized being trans, came out and started testosterone. His decision to not transition fully is one that many trans people make at a point in their lives, for any number of reasons. This does not mean he'll never change his mind, or won't explore other forms of expression. It's a choice that the current Wei Ying is making, completely independent of future Wei Ying.

It's possible in China to get a gender confirmation surgery, but the requirements sound like a nightmare. The first thing you have to do is get diagnosed with 'gender disorder', be five years in (unsuccessful) therapy for it, at least 20 and unmarried. If he decides to transition fully to a male presenting body he can only marry someone who is biologically female in the future, under Chinese law. (Imagine having to divorce your significant other in order to be who you are. Imagine having to make this decision. It makes me want to write fic about it.)

It also costs a ton, as none of it is covered by insurance. You can only start hormone therapy in order to get surgery, which leads a lot of trans people to acquire hormones illegally and without medical counseling. I purposefully did not decide where Wei Ying gets his T from. I didn't want him to not have it, but I left the how undecided. For the most part I headcanon it as one of the things that make my world a little different, since hormone therapy is a thing that exists outside of transitioning as well. E.g. many female athletes use testosterone to boost their performance, and many other women take it for various medical reasons. I feel like WWX could find ways to acquire some. Now, whether this would be legal or not is left open.

By the way? Never, EVER deadname. Just don't. The moment someone comes out to you as trans, tells you their pronouns and name, that's what you use. You forget everything that came prior to that, wipe it out of your memory, it's ashes on the sands of time unless stated otherwise BY THEM, got it?

Now, Wei Ying's case. I was hesitant about how to approach this, but from the start I knew two things. I wanted the same kind of intimacy of WWX & LWJ calling each other by their birth names as in canon, but I also didn't want to go the way most authors go in this case i.e. splitting the names to pre- and post- transition. It is my understanding that most Chinese names are unisex (if anyone has more info on this, I'd love to have it), or can be used for all genders, and I didn't want to force a gender issue where there wasn't one. However, I also wanted something parallel that could be used in a similar way. What I came up with is what you see in text. While Wei Ying did change his name, the only reason why it's still somewhat okay to use 'Wuxian' is because he explicitly says he likes it. In fact, in my head somewhere in the imagined future of this verse, he and JFM have a conversation about it where JFM tells him if he wants it, it can still be his name - he didn't give it to an image, but a person. IDK how well any of this works, or translates to actual trans or Chinese (or trans and Chinese) people, so if you have words for me, let me know.

On a side note, in 2015 China lifted the one-child policy in favor of a two-child policy. A-Yuan was born in 2017.

Wei Ying attempted suicide between the 4th and 8th week of his pregnancy. During the early weeks the probability of a fetus surviving a major fall (even a fall from stairs) is significantly higher than later in the pregnancy, and the scaffolding he jumped from wasn't actually that high. I'm also considering that there might have been something to cushion the fall that he hadn't noticed (a stray rope, or a net) or been aware of (like padding on the stage), but that's a detail I decided to leave to your imagination. On the other hand, sustaining a SCI during early pregnancy is likely to have fatal consequences, as I found out a week before the deadline. In the end, they both got very lucky. Wei Ying spent the next 3 months in a coma. When he woke up it was too late to terminate. Jiang Fengmian had been adamant that the decision not be made without Wei Ying's consent, which was nice of him, but also ended up making the decision for Wei Ying regardless.

Last but not least, if you've read this and feel like you have something to add, I love any kind of comments, whether you wanna review the fic, have some useful information for me, would like to discuss a point or just like to say hi! :)

*****

Transverse

If asked, Wei Ying wouldn't have remembered how he had gotten to the bar. He didn't remember taking a different route on the short walk back home, he hadn't even been aware there was a bar in the first place. He only remembered suddenly standing in front of it, aching to his bones, limbs leaden with a familiar exhaustion, morose and longing for nothing more than a little break. His back was on fire, his leg was throbbing, the skin underneath his binder wouldn’t stop itching and to top it off his stomach had been cramping in a way it wasn't supposed to anymore. His body had decided to give him a wonderful gift for the holiday. Wei Ying wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, and that spoke volumes to anyone who knew who occupied that position.

Needless to say, he was desperate for a drink.

The bar was almost empty so early in the afternoon, and shortly before the holiday, all the regulars had likely gone home to see their families. It was the time of reunions, the golden week of spring knocking on the door. The whole town looked empty, seemingly asleep and abuzz at the same time, a strange kind of liminal space born in the atmosphere of the coming celebrations, quiet with contained impatience. He had been painfully aware of it the entire week, the turning of another year leaving him nothing to do but watch people go where Wei Ying couldn't return anymore.

The Lunar New Year always made him hurt worse than usual, in more ways than purely physical. Wei Ying had felt that strange air peak today, even in the confines of his tiny office at the back of the Pacific Coffee branch he had been working at for a little over two months. It was a tiny thing on the busiest street of their small town, smelling of comfort in the wee hours of the morning and of salvation late in the evening. The staff had needed support with handling the supply chain, so that they could focus on serving the staggering amount of customers that came in all day.

It had seemed perfect when Wei Ying had first limped inside on his forearm crutches, with a letter of recommendation, feeling smaller than an ant but significantly less tough. The reintegration program had been a lifeline thrown to a drowning man when he had first heard about it. It had been the opportunity to restart his life. Earn an income. Be independent. In time maybe even repay his friends for the kindness they had shown when he had nowhere to go. Now? Now he wasn't sure that he'd still have a job after the holiday was over.

"This really can't go on," his boss had said, midway through the most gruesome shift the shop had ever witnessed. "Half the supplies came in wrong, for the third time this week!"

Sometimes, Wei Ying wondered why he still bothered. He could probably survive on aid and love for himself, and the Wens made enough to take care of the rest. It just… It could have been nice. To be the one to take care of the people he cared about, for a change.

He really needed that drink.

The whiskey looked enticing from where he was half-sitting, half-leaning on a stool, crutches stashed between his legs. He could almost taste it, the phantom of the sharp flavor burning his tongue.

"Hi, darling." An unfamiliar voice startled him out of his thoughts, causing him to tense. He had been aware of the middle-aged man at the counter, but he hadn't been paying him much attention until now. "Can I buy you a drink? How about Sex on the Beach?"

It was difficult to control himself at that tasteless, juvenile joke. Wei Ying could almost taste the bile rising in his throat and the beginnings of what would no doubt become a pounding headache throbbing in his temples. Great. Just what he had needed.

The whiskey bottle called out to him again, beckoning him to the bitter burn.

A drink. That was what he needed - a drink.

Do you really? Need it? The voice of his therapist came to his mind, sudden and uninvited.

"Hey bartender!" The man called out in the most unwelcome case of accidental telepathy in the history of mankind, sneaking one arm around Wei Ying’s waist, a sweaty hand settling on his hip. "One Sex on the Beach for the miss, on my tab!"

There was the rising bile again, tension squeezing his muscles, and the flash of a haughty smirk at the furthest back of his mind. This wasn't what he wanted. None of it. Neither the touch nor the drink, no matter what his mind wanted to convince him of.

It's easier to need than the things that take hard work, the ones you have to earn. It had taken him a long time to admit that.

"I don't drink." Wei Ying said, angling his head as much as the muscles of his neck permitted to look at the guy invading his personal space squarely. "Remove your hand now."

The guy bristled.

"Hey, chill out, sweetheart." He was quick to regain his composure with an awkward laugh and not enough common sense. Wei Ying supposed he must have been used to rejection. Too bad. "You're so tense… Maybe a virgin cocktail then."

His crutch shot up before the full sentence was out.

The man stumbled back with a startled yelp as the rubber point connected with his chest in a sharp jab.

"Hey! What's your problem?!"

"I said I don't drink." Wei Ying was completely unapologetic, still holding his crutch like a sword, but the guy was already walking away, muttering ‘fucking bitch’ under his breath.

"You alright there, girl?"

His gut clenched at the words.

He looked up to meet the only slightly worried, but otherwise unbothered gaze of the bartender and told himself it wasn't her fault. She probably wasn't even aware. He knew he didn't… There was no way for him to pass. There was nothing he could do about that, had already decided not to, not at this time, not in this country. Wei Ying didn't expect people to know on sight. He didn't. It didn't change the fact though that every single misnomer felt like someone was peeling his skin off.

"I'm not a girl," he said to her almost too quietly, but he knew she heard when he met her gaze. A strained silence passed between them in which Wei Ying watched her frown in confusion, then sputter with the loss of words, before awkwardly shuffling off. He smiled wryly. How funny. It really wasn't anything complicated, and yet… So few were able to comprehend.

Wordlessly, Wei Ying slid off the stool and made his way out of the bar as quick as his crutches let him be.

Once outside, the crisp air mercilessly purifying, he realized how close to the edge he had gotten once again. He had to stop doing this. He couldn't afford another fall, another spiral back down the drain. Not when he had just clawed his way out. Not when he had people depending on him now. Tiny people with curious gray eyes, so much like his own. Waiting for him at home.

Something icy touched his face and instinctively he looked up only to find it snowing.

That explained the ache.

The cold always made him feel sore, although he knew at least some of it was phantom pain. He hadn’t retained a whole lot of feeling in his left leg, beyond a tingle that had become almost constant and the occasional twitch. His right leg was fine, it just tended to ache a lot, to a point where Wei Ying sometimes found himself wishing it wasn't better off than the other one. But then he wouldn't get away with 'forgetting' his wheelchair at home, so he quickly dismissed that thought. Besides, there were plenty of people who had it worse. He, at least, could still walk. He could still stand. Kinda. He had no room to complain.

After all, he had done this to himself.

'It's better this way.' He remembered thinking, standing on the top of the catwalk stairs backstage of the high school auditorium. 'A-jie, Jiang Cheng,… Lan Zhan. I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I love you. I'll get out of your hair now.'

In the end it had been easy to tip backwards and let himself fall.

Waking up had been the hard part. Not only had he failed, but every reason that had pushed him to end it all had only been made worse. Worse still, after. He had lived though, so that was that. There was no utility in regret. He couldn't go back. The only way was forward now, step by painful step. Standing around and staring at the snow falling was nice, but it wouldn't make the walk shorter. Home wasn't far away. He'd take it slow. He'd be there before he knew it.

He barely took three steps before he felt someone's broad shoulder bump against his, his equilibrium yanked roughly from under his feet.

He remembered falling.

Not the act of it, nor every thought and feeling that preceded it, but he remembered the soft pressure at his skull as he tipped backwards, the endless instant of the free fall, a moment frozen in time. Not the impact, but the inevitability of it, coming, coming, almost there. The loss of control. The frightening, exhilarating realization of his absolute surrender. Not the oblivion that followed but the fragments of muddled awareness afterwards. Disorientation, rock bottom and the overwhelming sense of failure.

It had felt nothing like now.

He felt the loss of ground beneath his feet, the scrape of concrete against his palms, as he all but starfished onto the pavement. A sharp pain. The frustrated annoyance of another thing gone wrong in the long list that made up the day.

Only the failure felt the same, funny that.

"I'm sorry!" Said a deep voice. "I wasn't looking."

"Yeah, no shit." He chuckled, because really, who could have guessed.

"Here, let me help." There were hands on his arm, just as he propped himself up, but he yanked it away.

"I'm fine!" He wasn't helpless. He wasn't, dammit! He had his arms, his abdominals, and most of his legs. Getting up from the ground wasn't such a herculean task for him as for those who depended on a wheelchair. He didn't have to call an ambulance just because he starfished. He didn't need any help at all here, especially not the help of some ditzy stranger with their head in the clouds…

"Wei Ying?"

Wei Ying froze.

Few people on this Earth called him that, and none of them had a voice like that. He looked up to see glowing amber on a face carved out of a dream.

"Lan Zhan?"

Of all the people to be in town today of all days, the least likely would have to be Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, his former senior, Lan Zhan, his best friend. Lan Zhan, whom he had told his secrets, Lan Zhan, who he… who he…

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan… Can I kiss you? I understand you don't like me that way, and it's fine, I'm fine, really, but… uhm… It's supposed to be special. The first kiss. I… I want it to be yours. Just one kiss." A child he barely remembered had wanted and wanted, never satisfied. "Ah, it's okay if you don't want to. I get it. It's fine. I'm just being selfish."

But that had been a long time ago. A person he didn't know, a past life that had never truly been. Not for him in any case.

Lan Zhan was looking at him like a ghost had appeared in front of him.

Although, ghosts didn't need crutches. Honestly, Wei Ying did wish he could float quite frequently.

Face twisted in sardonic amusement at that childish wish, he pulled himself up with some maneuvering and a lot of effort. This seemed to wake Lan Zhan from his daze as he quickly followed. Wei Ying didn't miss the sweeping gaze as his once friend took him in, wondering what he saw. A stranger, perhaps? A new person? Him? Wei Ying knew he hadn't changed much on the outside, aside the obvious and maybe in his weight distribution, but Lan Zhan had always had the ability to look past the surface. Was he still able to do that? Or was he just taking in his appearance, assessing his matted, worn out body that seemed to show every year that had passed multiplied by ten? Wei Ying was aware that time had not been the kindest to him, but he was hanging on. He was past the worst now. He was doing better. He was!

He wondered if Lan Zhan still could see that too.

"Wei Ying." His name again, spoken with enough wonder to give Wei Ying the courage to meet his gaze. There was an unspoken question in it.

"Yeah," Wei Ying answered and felt the cusp of a smile pull at the corners of his lips. "Long time no see, Lan Zhan. Fancy meeting you here."

"I really like you, Lan Zhan," the person he didn't know had said, red faced with embarrassment and a shaking voice. "I mean like… like like."

Back then he had believed that moment to be the most nerve-wracking experience he was ever going to survive. Today he missed his naivety.

Lan Zhan gave him a look like he just realized it was really Wei Ying standing in front of him. Like he still could barely believe it. It unraveled a completely different ache in Wei Ying. They had been close once, and though they had always shared their secrets, Wei Ying had seen him so open and unguarded but once.

"I...like...boys," had been the answer. The refusal so, so gentle, unable to accept, thus giving something of equal value in return instead. A truth for a truth, a secret for a secret. "Wei Ying, I'm gay."

Lan Zhan, always figuring things out so quickly, always willing to accept reality no matter how hard it was. Wei Ying hadn't known back then. If he had known… Who knew what would have been then. It didn't matter anymore. It was a life long gone. What remained of it were a few good memories, some of them he wasn't sure were real.

Now, chance had made them cross paths once again, at a liminal space transversing through time.

"Are you hurt?" Lan Zhan's voice brought him back from his thoughts, and Wei Ying looked where he was reaching for his scraped hands and knees.

Lan Zhan, always the same Lan Zhan… "Not selfish."

So wonderful and kind and warm.

"Eh, I'm fine. Nothing Wen Qing can't fix." He brushed his former friend off, noticing how Lan Zhan's eyebrow seemed to go up infinitesimally at the mention of his old classmate and promptly changed the subject. "What brings you to Yiling, Lan Zhan? Shouldn't you be with your family for Chun Jie?"

"I…" Lan Zhan looked away. "Didn't get an earlier flight."

That sounded suspicious, especially since the Lan Zhan Wei Ying knew liked to plan ahead. But Wei Ying wasn't the same he had been, maybe Lan Zhan wasn't either. People were allowed to change. It also didn't answer what he was doing in Yiling in the first place, but Wei Ying wasn't forcing him to tell. Wei Ying had never wanted to force Lan Zhan into anything, he wasn't going to start now.

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan looked at him again, this time meeting his eyes squarely. He paused. "How have you been?"

Wei Ying felt the loom of a shadow over him, and his gaze dropped to the ground for a second.

"As you can see." He put a reassuring smile on his face as he summoned enough will to hold Lan Zhan's gaze. "Still alive and kicking."

Which was probably much more than the last time Lan Zhan had heard of him.

"I was looking for you. I wanted to see you. After." The what remained unspoken. Lan Zhan's kind heart hadn't changed. Wei Ying sought comfort in it, warmed by the thought of his best friend trying to get in touch even after everything went to hell. "I was told you… left."

Wei Ying made a soft sound of affirmation through the small smile that had spread on his face. "I moved out on my eighteenth birthday. Aunt Yu… I was supposed to stay till graduation, but... ah. I fucked up. Colossally."

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan remained the only person Wei Ying knew who managed to frown without a single crease on his face. "You were recovering."

"It was fine, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying chuckled even as he held back a sigh. Lan Zhan didn't know half of it. "I moved in with the Wens."

There was a pause.

"With Wen Qing?" Lan Zhan asked and Wei Ying realized that small detail wouldn't have been immediately clear to him, all things considered.

"With Wen Qing and her family." He nodded. After a moment of thought he added. "Not Wen Chao. I know nothing about that douchebag."

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed and it sounded so wholehearted that it startled a laugh out of Wei Ying.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying said, feeling truly light for the first time in a long time. The smile he gave Lan Zhan felt warm and genuine. He hoped Lan Zhan saw it too, and didn't think Wei Ying was trying to shake him off, when he spoke next. "It's so good to see you. You're the best thing that happened to me today. I would love to catch up, but they're waiting for me at home and I'm already late."

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. There was a pause. Then, just as Wei Ying was about to ask for his number, "I could. Walk you. If you like."

"I thought you had a flight to catch." Wei Ying wanted to smack his mouth for how hopeful he sounded.

"Mn," Lan Zhan said. "In the evening."

"Lan Zhan!" He startled, amused and surprised at the same time. "And here I thought your bedtime was nine! Don't tell me you crossed to the dark side."

"It is Chuxi." Lan Zhan's voice was soft with a playful note, and Wei Ying felt his heart turn all over again even as he laughed.

"Aiya, Lan Zhan…" A smile spread on his face. "Alright then. I'd love to have your company. If you're sure."

"I am," Lan Zhan answered. "I would… very much like to… catch up with you."

"Well then." Wei Ying's smile broadened and started again in the direction he was heading earlier. "Right this way, sir. But I'm warning you. I'm basically a snail now."

For a beat there was silence, in which Wei Ying figured that Lan Zhan was probably looking for a proper response. He still didn't know how to handle self-deprecating humor, then. Wei Ying chuckled quietly to himself. The more things change…

"That is alright," Lan Zhan finally said. "I have time."

"Oh, do you? That's great!" Wei Ying grinned from ear to ear, marveling at how easy it suddenly was. "Aah, Lan Zhan I really missed this!"

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed but didn't say anything else.

For a few moments silence reigned again, of a comfortable kind. One that allowed Wei Ying to bask in the startling, almost miraculous presence of his best friend. Or it would have been, had Wei Ying not been keenly aware of Lan Zhan's intense stare.

"Do I really look that bad?" He teased, hoping to give Lan Zhan the opening he probably needed to ask whatever questions he had. "I've actually gained weight over Dongzhi you know."

Lan Zhan blinked, as if startled to be called out. Wasn't he aware that he had been staring? Or had he not expected Wei Ying to say something?

"You look…" he started, then swept his gaze over Wei Ying.

"Tired?" Wei Ying offered, keeping the humor in his words. The last thing he wanted Lan Zhan to think was that he needed to sugar coat his words around him now. "Stressed? Battle worn?"

"Different," Lan Zhan finished.

"Ah." Wei Ying breathed out, something in his chest tightening. "Good different, or bad different?"

Lan Zhan looked at him for a long moment.

"Different you," he finally answered. A pause. "More you."

Wei Ying's breath stuttered, a small questioning sound dragging itself up his throat.

"Wei Ying…" Lan Zhan hesitated for a brief moment, unsure. "May I know your pronouns?"

Always so straight to the point.

"Pro… Pronouns?!" Wei Ying chuckled but even he could hear the nerves buzzing through that sound. "How did you figure that?"

Lan Zhan just kept looking at him. Wei Ying swallowed.

"I…"

He had to know. Since he actually asked, he had to already know. Or at least suspect. Be aware. In general, or about Wei Ying? Had he realized in their years apart, or was there something about Wei Ying now that made him guess? No one has ever been able to tell upon glance. No one.

Something fluttered deep in his chest, like the jingles of a tambourine reverberating. It gave him courage.

Wei Ying took a deep, steadying breath. "He, him, Lan Zhan. It's he, him."

He managed to swallow the thousand words that dragged themselves up his throat instead of that one, simple truth. To his credit, Lan Zhan let him, waiting patiently and with complete silence for Wei Ying to say his part.

"I'm trans," Wei Ying added, finding it easier to say after the initial confession. "As in full time, on actual testosterone, trans male."

Their eyes met. A heartbeat of silence.

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. "Makes sense."

Wei Ying had not expected that.

In his defense, no one had ever replied like that to him coming out.

"What?" He choked out, bewildered. Lan Zhan was giving him a gentle look, a diametrical opposite of Wei Ying's wide eyes. "Why does that make sense, Lan Zhan?"

"It didn't before." Lan Zhan's gaze dropped. "Now it does."

"What? Why?" Wei Ying repeated, not comprehending a single word his friend had said. At the back of his mind he knew he should be happy and relieved that as dear a friend as Lan Zhan accepted him, and he would be later, but now he was just confused. "Lan Zhan, what are you saying?"

"You confounded me. Before. I didn't understand. It didn't. Add up." He didn't even expect an answer beyond a shrug and an 'It just does', and yet Lan Zhan gave him one, trying to explain like he wanted Wei Ying to understand something important. Important enough to bring it up at their first chance meeting in years. It still didn't clear anything up. The way he was dragging his words out seemed odd too, for how upfront Lan Zhan usually was.

"What didn't add up?" Wei Ying asked again. What about him had confused Lan Zhan?

"I didn't know you were a boy. So it didn't make sense," Lan Zhan answered without looking up and Wei Ying felt dread tighten his stomach into a knot. "But now it does."

"What?" He frowned, the rush of blood pounding in his ears. "Lan Zhan, what are you talking about?"

Lan Zhan finally looked up at him and Wei Ying suddenly felt light headed. The grip on his crutches must have gone knuckle white from how firmly he was gripping the handles. It couldn't be…

"I was confused why I liked you," Lan Zhan whispered, dropping his gaze again. "Why I enjoyed kissing you."

Wei Ying's brain was white static.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, "No!"

His whole body wanted to recoil with shock.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan pleaded but was cut short.

"I confessed to you! I told you I liked you!" He saw the bob of Lan Zhan's throat, how his eyes fell shut as he swallowed. Wei Ying despaired for words that could express the entire scale of emotions he felt, from betrayal to hope, but mostly just... shock. "You said you… You've never… And now, after everything… Do you even… Lan Zhan!!!"

"Wei Ying," he said his name like it was all he was capable of saying, with a hitch of sudden hesitance on the last syllable, a minuscule frown around his eyes, like he realized something important. "Do you still call yourself Wei Ying?"

The quiet question conjured up another memory, of an occasion much kinder.

"It's my birth name," he heard his youthful voice, still too high although most had described it as low. Lan Zhan had raised an eyebrow at him, even more puzzled than before. Wei Ying had laughed as he went to explain. "Same character as in 'infant'. Wuxian is the name uncle Jiang gave me so that I have a better name than, you know, 'baby'. It's a cool name! I mean, 'no envy' come on! Like I have no match in the world! Totally rad, you know, uncle Jiang's naming sense is A+."

"But you prefer Wei Ying." Lan Zhan had looked at him then, searchingly and Wei Ying had looked away with a snort, to hide his swallow.

"It's a terrible name. Who the hell names their baby 'baby'?"

Lan Zhan hadn't replied anything to that, and Wei Ying still remembered his next words, and how they had burned on his tongue, how he couldn't hold them back.

"It's what the people who loved me had called me."

In the present, Wei Ying found himself laughing in spite of the utter shock. Only Lan Zhan. Only Lan Zhan would give him a heart attack first then go make sure he wasn't deadnaming him on top of everything.

"Lan Zhan!!!" He cried out. "That's so not the point right now! But, yes, I do. I changed it back, actually. Officially, I mean."

"You dislike it." It sounded more like a question than a statement, so Wei Ying answered.

"Don't get me wrong, I still think Wuxian is way cooler, and my siblings still call me that, but…" His gaze fell away from Lan Zhan to something more distant, beyond his focus as he struggled over his words, drawing them out only with great difficulty from where they were rooted deep inside of him. "It's the name given to the image of a person that never really existed. Like… the painting of a person you met in a dream. And I sorta… I like to imagine that, regardless of who I am… They would still love me."

They. The people who gave him that horrible, unimaginative name.

"Mn," Lan Zhan agreed like there had never been any doubt about it. Wei Ying snorted.

"Wei Ying," there it was again, his name, spoken so kindly, if not hesitantly as Lan Zhan too seemed to be struggling for words. "I would like to apologize. I hurt you. I have been looking for you to tell you this."

All at once, Wei Ying felt his shock settle into something more profound, like the wave that had swallowed him revealing the depth of the ocean. There was nothing Lan Zhan had to apologize for. Not for the lack of awareness, and certainly not for his feelings. Even their conflicts had always stemmed from a place of deep care.

"No." Wei Ying shook his head. "Not more than I hurt myself, Lan Zhan. Even when you scolded me, you never hurt me."

Had Lan Zhan broken his heart? Yeah, he had. So what? Did that mean he could be held accountable for it? Wei Ying's feelings were his own shit to deal with, not Lan Zhan's. Returning them wasn't Lan Zhan's duty. Even if he returned them, would it be fair to fault him for running away from them? For feeling insecure and anxious about his own attraction? For not knowing these things weren't as clear cut as all the adults around them had wanted to make them believe? It wasn't like Wei Ying had known either back then. He had, perhaps, understood himself even less than Lan Zhan. Most importantly, it was all in the past now. It couldn't be changed. What they made of it now was what mattered.

"None of my bullshit is your fault," he added. "You didn't go and tell me to fuck up my life. That was all on me."

"You wrote," Lan Zhan started, then paused, hesitating, then started again. "In your letter, you wrote…"

Wei Ying picked up on the question immediately.

"Not you," he said, the same words he had penned all those years ago in what was one of only two letters. "Never you. I had my reasons, but none of them were about you. In fact, I thought of you as the last good thing in my life at that point. The one true friend I still had left."

Lan Zhan's gaze fell on his crutches, but he didn't ask. Wei Ying was grateful.

"Come on, I need to get a move on," he said, starting to walk again, smiling at the surprised expression Lan Zhan had given him, when he realized he was still welcome to accompany him. Maybe it was something about that look that made Wei Ying add, after another second of thought, "There are people waiting for my return."

"Mn," Lan Zhan hummed, falling back in step next to him. "That's good. You should have people waiting for you at home."

Wei Ying couldn't help but smile.

"Say, Lan Zhan,…" he said after a few seconds of silence, when all what Lan Zhan has confessed slowly sunk in. "When you say you've been looking for me… You mean all this time?"

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. Wei Ying watched him gather his thoughts, the snow fluttering all around them. "I wanted to see you. Ask how you were doing. See if… If you needed support. Apologize. For not being a good friend to you before."

"Lan Zhan…" Wei Ying listened to him, and when Lan Zhan finally looked up at him his gaze was so sincere that his heart ached with it.

"I wanted to tell you the truth." Lan Zhan didn't let himself be interrupted. "That I liked you back. Without any expectations. That I didn't understand, but that it didn't matter. That I could like you without understanding why. That I wasn't asking for anything, just wanted you to know. That I wanted to help, in any way you'd let me."

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…" Wei Ying sighed, vision suddenly blurred. He drew a deep breath. "But I wasn't there."

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded. "I asked your sister where I could find you…"

"But she didn't know," Wei Ying finished for him. No one knew, except one person. "And Jiang Cheng wouldn't give you my address if you held him at gunpoint."

"Your brother knows you're here." It had the structure of a question but it was spoken as a statement, the same kind of incredulous as the look Lan Zhan was giving him. All things considered, it was kinda fair, Wei Wuxian thought as he barked a laugh.

"Yeah," he said, shoulders shaking a little as he snickered. "He's the designated secret keeper."

Lan Zhan just stared, wordlessly.

Wei Ying's smile gained an edge at the unspoken question. He had to clear his throat before he answered. "We're… not quite alright yet, but… Ah, how do I say this? He's the better judge of the situation? With, uhm, aunt Yu, I mean. It's… complicated."

Honestly, when wasn't it?

"I… see." Lan Zhan really didn't sound like he did, but didn't press, continuing his story instead. "Your sister was able to tell me which city you were in. So I… applied for a job."

Wait. Pause. Rewind.

"You work here?!" Wei Ying felt his jaw go slack.

"As an attorney. At 'Xiao and Song'," Lan Zhan confirmed, then looked back at Wei Ying. "Civil law. With focus on LGBTQ+ rights. I passed the bar last year."

"You…" There was so much to unpack in that statement that Wei Ying couldn't quite get the words together fast enough. At the back of his mind he was aware he should probably congratulate Lan Zhan on his degree but he was too stunned by the other, more important implications. "You've moved here? For work? All because… Because… You were looking for me?"

"Mn."

"Lan Zhan!" His amazing friend who, for some reason, in spite of having a great new life had been desperate to find him. "But you… But I…"

"Wei Ying," he spoke so, so softly, but with clear intent to stop any protest Wei Ying might have wanted to utter. It worked. Wei Ying's mouth fell shut, taking his friend in with a bright, wide gaze. "I missed you. I have no expectations. I just… missed you."

Warmth spread in Wei Ying's chest over the tender words, like a dying flame rekindled.

"Lan Zhan..." He didn't quite know what to say, oddly touched. "It's how you knew, isn't it? I'm not the only trans person you've met."

"There was a client," Lan Zhan admitted. "They made me think of you. I have wanted to ask you since. I wanted to know if… If I made a mistake."

He didn't specify what mistake he feared being guilty of. He didn't really have to.

For a while Wei Ying just looked at him.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…" He sighed, a small but genuine smile stealing itself onto his lips. "You… you're something else, you know that?"

Lan Zhan didn't reply, but there was something vulnerable in his expression.

"I missed you too."

Lan Zhan's eyes snapped back to Wei Ying's face, full of naked hope and a surprise so honest and pure that Wei Ying's heartstrings almost snapped. He could accept it. He could accept a friend longing for his company, even as his heart hammered against his chest like it was trying to escape its utter desolation.

"I couldn't have expected you to know something I didn't realize until much later." He hadn't realized there was tension around his friend's eyes until it relaxed.

Wei Ying took him in, his entire appearance and noted that although perfectly poised and immaculately dressed, beneath it all there was an exhaustion, a tension he didn't recognize. He thought about their meeting – the collision of two bodies launched out of their orbit – and everything else Lan Zhan had told him and a question dragged itself on his tongue that refused to be swallowed back in.

"Say, Lan Zhan… Since we are being so honest..." He asked before he could have thought better of it. "Why aren't you in Suzhou yet, for real? You always went home at least two weeks ahead of the festival. Did something happen?"

If there was something happening with Lan Zhan's family… Well, Wei Ying had missed enough opportunities to be a good friend in all the years they had been apart, or even before that. If Lan Zhan wanted to be his friend, Wei Ying was returning that tenfold. A secret for a secret, a truth for a truth.

If Lan Zhan wanted, that was.

For a second Wei Ying wasn't sure, but then the broad shoulders slumped, heaving like a weight was being lifted off them.

"I didn't always intend to go," Lan Zhan admitted. "Brother convinced me at the last moment. I wish he hadn't."

Their eyes met and Wei Ying felt a sudden heat spread through his cheeks at the intensity of Lan Zhan's gaze. He didn't take the bait, waiting patiently instead.

"I came out to my uncle. After the bar." Lan Zhan's gaze fell to the ground again, and Wei Ying already knew what he was about to say, aching dread settling painfully in his chest. "He did not… react well. He tried to set me up immediately afterwards."

"Aw man..." Wei Ying tried to sound both gentle and sympathetic without being too pitying. In his experience that never helped. "Yeah, I get that you didn't want to go home after that."

"Mn." Lan Zhan nodded, but said no more.

"Was she at least pretty?" Wei Ying tried to joke, unable to bear that forlorn expression on Lan Zhan's face and incapable of thinking of anything better to cheer his friend up. It would have been easy in the past, but now, with years containing entire lifetimes between them he didn't know anymore how to make Lan Zhan laugh.

But then Lan Zhan's lips twitched a little, so maybe not all was lost.

"Luo Qingyang," he answered, like Wei Ying was supposed to know the vaguely familiar name. Lan Zhan responded to his confused frown with his own and went on to explain. "You were in the drama club together. She was… Juliet. To your Romeo."

Very few guys had been in the drama club at that time, so Wei Ying had usually gotten the main male protagonist. He had loved it. It had been one of the reasons why he had joined the drama club in the first place. His co-star in all of that...

"Mianmian!" He exclaimed, eyes bright with delight. "It's been ages since I've last…"...Seen her. Seen anyone, he didn't say, schooled his expression and laughed instead. "I can't believe they tried to set you up with Mianmian! How is she?"

"Mn," Lan Zhan made a small sound out agreement that amused Wei Ying, before he answered. "She is well. Studying. Also law. She will take the bar next year."

"All of you are so smart…" Wei Ying chuckled, fond with more memories. "You know I made out with her once?" He promptly laughed at Lan Zhan's expression. "Relax, it wasn't as good as with you."

Their eyes met again and Wei Ying saw something like hope spark in Lan Zhan's eyes, which…

Wei Ying stopped. He let his gaze wander around, collecting his thoughts. He startled as he realized he was almost home, the agonizing minutes he usually needed reduced to nothing in the presence of his friend. The ache that had gnawed at his limbs earlier had all but disappeared, replaced by a longing ache in his heart.

"Lan Zhan," he found himself speaking without the input of his mind. "You said you liked me, so you should know… I don't intend to have surgery." He saw Lan Zhan open his mouth, probably to assure him once more of his pure intentions, which Wei Ying didn't need to hear. "I know, I know, you have no expectations, and I'm not saying we have to, but… My feelings for you never changed. I still like you, but I'm also… I'm a man Lan Zhan, but I'm not adjusting my body. Not to that degree."

"Is it a financial issue?" Lan Zhan asked after a pause and Wei Ying cut him off before he could continue with something ridiculous like an offer to pay.

"It's… not not about money, but…" He thought for a moment about how to say what he wanted to say. "Regardless of that, I refuse to go through all the legal hoops that this government would demand of me, like I'm supposed to beg them just to be who I am. And... Besides that…" He took a deep breath. "I think I'd like to have another child."

"Another…" There was a strangled sound, which he ignored, forcing himself to voice what he'd been struggling to put into words for a while now.

"I want to give it one more try. Voluntarily," Wei Ying found it difficult to say, despite the thought of a baby in his arms filling him with a warmth he wouldn't have expected mere years ago. "With someone I actually like this time."

"This time." There was something very wrong with the tone of Lan Zhan's voice, and as Wei Ying looked up at him, realization hit him with the force of a freight train.

"Oh! Oh no!" Lan Zhan's eyes were akin to saucers, and Wei Ying vaguely thought he had never seen his friend express shock so openly. "Fuck, I'm so dumb! Of course you don't know! How would you know?!"

Of course that very same moment, before Lan Zhan had any chance of collecting himself, a cheerful shout echoed through the street in an all too familiar, youthful voice. "BABA!!!"

Wei Ying winced. In the way life usually was – his life in particular – before Wei Ying could come up with a single word of explanation, there was the flurry of movement, and a warmth enveloping his leg – the better one.

"Baba, baba, you're home!"

Wei Ying's eyes fell down to the source of the excited noise to have two mischievous gray eyes reflected back at him. An unbidden smile spread on his face.

"A-Yuan!" He shifted around a little until he could safely run his fingers through the child's hair, even as he was keenly aware of the man next to him. "Have you been waiting for me?"

There was a twinkle and a nod, his very own baby's face beaming up at him with unabashed adoration. A tiny hand wrapped itself around his wrist and just like that the last of the day's stress fell away. He looked back at Lan Zhan. It was difficult to describe the expression his friend was giving him, frozen with disbelief, shock and something too close to horror, as his mind seemed to be rearranging and reevaluating every piece of information known to him. Finding no point in delaying the inevitable, Wei Ying braced himself and went for it.

"Lan Zhan, this is a-Yuan. He's mine. Gave birth to him and all." He made a point to smile, although Lan Zhan's expression remained unchanged. Deciding to give him the space he needed to get himself together, Wei Ying turned his attention back to his child. "A-Yuan, this is Lan Zhan. He's an old friend of mine from school. Want to introduce yourself?"

"Hello!" A-Yuan said before Wei Ying even finished the sentence. "I'm a-Yuan and I'm already four years old! I like butterflies and bunnies! Baba gave me Radish and a coloring book for my birthday. I was four last month! I love my baba bestest! But I love xiao-shushu und Qing-guma and granny and uncle Shi lotsa too!"

It was an altogether perfect introduction, and Wei Ying felt pride and love thrumming through his heart with a strength he hadn't believed to be possible. He watched the mental math behind Lan Zhan's eyes, a complicated expression spreading on his friend's face. He decided to give him another moment to complete the mental calculations and focused on something else that a-Yuan had reminded him of.

"Speaking of, where's your xiao-shushu?" Wei Ying looked around, then with growing suspicion back at the child still wrapped around his leg. "Did you ditch him again?"

Mischief spread on a-Yuan's face as he hid in Wei Ying's thigh.

"A-Yuan." Wei Ying narrowed his eyes at him, gently scolding. "We've talked about this. No walking around on your own. What if something happened?"

"But I'm with you," came the simple answer. "I have to help you walk. You said! To help you walk I have to take your hand. I saw you and gege wasn't holding your hand, so I came to help."

"Ah, so filial, a-Yuan…" Wei Ying looked up to the skies, silently begging the heavens for strength while fighting a ferocious blush. This child of his was as much a blessing as he was a huge trouble. The best kind of trouble, if Wei Ying was honest.

"A-Yuan!"

He was still busy trying to change his smile into something more stern, when as if on cue the uncle in question appeared around the corner, calling for his nephew, looking just as frantic as Wei Ying expected him to be. He waited for Wen Ning's eyes to find them, before he looked back down at a-Yuan.

"See how worried Wen Ning is? You can't do this, a-Yuan." The child's expression fell. "Go tell him you're alright and apologize for running away."

A-Yuan didn't waste a single second, rocketing towards his uncle with an excited call.

With his child safe in the most dependable arms that there were, Wei Ying turned to Lan Zhan again. His friend's eyes were closed, face pulled into a tight expression, lips pressed into a thin line, all of which told him what conclusion Lan Zhan had reached.

"It was part of the reason," Wei Ying said, because he knew Lan Zhan would never ask and he wanted his friend to know. "But it wasn't all of it."

Lan Zhan's eyes opened, his look agonized but not pitying, Wei Ying realized.

"There were many things going on," he said. "It was all so fucked up… I knew I couldn't keep him, and somehow I figured… Might as well go together. In the end we both survived, funny that."

"The father. The father is…" Lan Zhan trailed off, couldn't bring himself to say the name, but he didn't have to. Just as Wei Ying didn't have to answer other than with a rueful smile. After all, there was only one option. Lan Zhan drew a deep breath. "Was it… Did he…"

Here too, Wei Ying knew what he was asking, felt it like the edge of a knife against his skin.

"I don't want to talk about it." He swallowed, a prickling at the corners of his eyelids. "Not yet, at least. I'll tell you the story another time."

Lan Zhan nodded. Worried his jaw. Wei Ying waited.

"Was that why you… left?" His voice was so quiet that if Wei Ying wasn't paying attention, he probably wouldn't have noticed he had said anything at all.

"To put it in the words of aunt Yu, whores aren't welcome under her roof. She threatened to leave uncle Jiang, if he kept supporting me. It's fine," he added quickly when he saw Lan Zhan's face darkening. "Uncle Jiang gave me the trust fund he had for me, which wasn't little, I have a job and I get some aid from the government too. There's also granny's pension and everyone else is working. You don't have to worry, Lan Zhan, we get by."

Lan Zhan looked like he wanted to say something cutting, but luckily they were interrupted by Wen Ning joining them, a-Yuan in his arms. He was probably getting too big for that, but he knew first hand that Wen Ning could lift a full-sized adult without breaking a sweat so he wasn't very worried for either of them.

"Wei-ge, welcome home," Wen Ning greeted him. His eyes wandered to Lan Zhan for a brief moment, then to Wei Ying's hands which were still scraped. "Is everything alright?"

"More than!" Wei Ying ignored the look, grinning and watched a-Yuan beam at him. "Everything's perfect, look who I met in town! You remember Lan Zhan, right? He was in the same class with Wen Qing. Turns out he works here!"

Wei Ying managed to say all of that in one breath before he even realized he was doing it, yet consciously leaving out the bar and without bothering to detail exactly how the 'bumping' went down. Wen Ning took it all in, then gave Lan Zhan a polite smile, his dark eyes meeting Lan Zhan's squarely.

"I know of Lan-xianbei," he said slowly, cautiously polite, before his expression settled into a smile and he inclined his head in greeting. "We've never met officially."

There was a brief round of long overdue introductions, which Wei Ying was happy to ignore in favor of watching a-Yuan grow increasingly fascinated with Lan Zhan. It etched the lines around Wei Ying's smile deeper into his features, in a way he hasn't felt for a long time.

"A-Yuan." he couldn't help but pinch one of the chubby cheeks, after a little shifting of weight. "You keep looking at Lan Zhan like that, he'll think you like him."

"Pretty gege," was all a-Yuan had to say to that, a smile splitting his face, while Lan Zhan's ears turned red. Wei Ying laughed, alight with surprise that the one tell-tale sign of his shyness still remained. Lan Zhan was looking at a-Yuan with increasing curiosity, that pained line from earlier disappearing from his features, slowly replaced by wonder instead.

Wei Ying only looked away when he felt a tiny finger poke at his cheek, angling his head towards a-Yuan to listen to whatever secret his son wanted to share.

"Will pretty gege stay for dinner?" A-Yuan whispered through his hands, causing a complicated set of feelings to run through Wei Ying's chest.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but Lan-shushu can't stay." Wei Ying mock pouted at his son. "He has a flight to catch later."

"Why?" A-Yuan asked, as he did all the time.

"He has to visit his family," Wei Ying answered.

"Oh…" A-Yuan's face fell. There was no doubt in Wei Ying's mind had the answer been anything else, he would have kept asking, but if there was one word a-Yuan understood better than anyone, it was 'family'. It didn't mean he liked it. "But… But I heard! I heard that we will have a party tonight! I cleaned my room, and I did a picture for teacher, and helped granny bake! I was the bestest and uncle said I could stay up extra long tonight 'cause then baba would live forever!"

"I didn't say forever," Wen Ning corrected him timidly, but neither of them paid attention to him, the poor soul. A-Yuan only heard what he wanted to hear, and Wei Ying was too busy making sure his heart didn't burst. He still sometimes couldn't quite believe how much he loved this child.

"Me too." It came unexpectedly from beside him, and when Wei Ying turned to look he found Lan Zhan looking almost as surprised as he felt. "I mean, I also usually stay up longer on Chuxi."

A-Yuan's smile eclipsed the sun. Lan Zhan returned it with an expression so impossibly soft that Wei Ying's heart almost did burst then.

"Pretty gege can stay, and his family can come too, and I will draw everyone a picture!" A-Yuan all but vibrated with bare excitement that Wei Ying felt bad that he had to chide him.

"A-Yuan, do we tell people what they can and can't do, or do we ask?" He had picked the gentlest way possible, but his son still hid his face in his uncle's neck, utterly dejected.

To be fair, Lan Zhan looked rather stricken himself. It was adorable to watch and Wei Ying… Wei Ying knew that no matter whatever feelings he might be harboring, he only came as a set with his son. There was no possible way of heaping that responsibility on another person from the get go, on top of everything else, and yet. And yet. Lan Zhan was regarding a-Yuan with such fondness that it did strange things to Wei Ying's heart, and just like that courage bloomed in Wei Ying's chest.

"How about a compromise? Lan Zhan," he asked carefully. "You still have a few hours left until you have to be at the airport, don't you? Would you… Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Please, pretty gege, pretty please." A-Yuan loved the idea, immediately reaching his arms out in silent demand to be held. Wei Ying could only watch as Wen Ning oh so carefully leaned forward and tightened his hold so that a-Yuan could safely launch himself into Lan Zhan's open, waiting arms. He bet Lan Zhan hadn't even noticed how he held them out in a response that had seemed completely automatic.

"A-Yuan," Wei Ying reprimanded him gently, doing everything he could to ignore the adorable pout that pressed into Lan Zhan's shoulder. It was difficult to do with his heart singing like that.

"I would hate to intrude," Lan Zhan replied hesitantly, his eyes not leaving a-Yuan for a second and Wei Ying felt his heart constrict.

"I don't think anyone would mind," Wen Ning said, smiling gently.

"It won't be an issue, Lan Zhan, really." Their eyes met. "We still have a lot to… catch up on."

There was a spark that darkened Lan Zhan's eyes briefly, something heavy settling in the air between the two of them. Chance had brought Lan Zhan back into his life, and Wei Ying wanted to hold on. In any way he was allowed to. As long as he was allowed to.

"And you could meet… You could meet my family." Warmth spread deep in Wei Ying's chest as the word 'family' echoed in his mind, before he added in a whisper. "If you like."

"Wei Ying…" Finally, after what felt like an entire eternity, Lan Zhan spoke, the softest of smiles spreading on his face, gentle as the first rays of the sun on a misty morning. "I would very much love to meet your family."

"Great!" Wei Ying felt the smile split his face from one ear to another and amidst the cheers of his child that echoed the ones in his heart and started towards the door that Wen Ning held open for him. "Come on in then! Let's give everyone the shock of their life that I brought home such a handsome man!"

"Wei Ying…" It was spoken as a reprimand but it sounded like a chuckle.

"Hi, handsome! You're Lan Zhan, right? I've heard all about you!" Somewhere in his memory a cheerful voice greeted the most beautiful youth that there ever was. "I'm Wei Wuxian. I'll let you call me Wei Ying."

The door fell shut to the sound of Wei Ying's laugh.

#vedrividia #wangxianLNY21 #*LNYfic21 #*LNYgifts21

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of January 1st, 2019

Best of this Week: The Flash #85 - Joshua Williamson, Christian Duce, Luis Guerrero and Steve Wands

Amidst everything going on in the DC Universe right now from Year of the Villain to the end of Doomsday Clock, there’s been a lot of really underrated books that DC’s been publishing and Flash Definitely falls into that category for me. Of course, Flash is no low-tier character, but as it stands, there’s not a big conversation surrounding Joshua Williamson’s run with the character like there is for the up and down runs of Batman and Superman, but there should be!

Joshua Williamson and his revolving art team of Christian Duce, Scott Kolins, Rafa Sandoval and Carmine di Giandomenico have pulled off some of the most consistently fantastic Flash storytelling in recent years. From the Speed Force Storm to Flash’s “Final Showdown” with Captain Cold and finally here with Rogues’ Reign, these stories have only seen Flash become an even better character with depth after he’s been tested over and over with insurmountable odds and overpowered enemies while still being riddled with doubt.

This issue of Flash acts as the penultimate issue to the Rogues’ Reign storyline and sees us learning a bit more about some of the Rogues as individuals while at the same time, breaking them apart even further. This book is less centered on the various speedsters, but more around their lack of control over their powers and Flash continuing his rivalry with King Cold to the bitterest end.

The book begins with four panels of King Cold, Leonard Snart, monologuing to himself. We get a great big focus of the Symbol of Doom in the sky as Snart says that it’s the end of the world, but at least he’s going out like a winner, unlike his loser of a father. One of the many defining characteristics of Cold up to this point and in other stories has been his hatred of his father and his aversion to become anything like him. However, he’s become nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy because his life is nothing more than misery because of the sacrifices he made to get to where he is.

Cold helped Luthor’s ascension and the rise of Doom by accepting Luthor’s Gift and allowing himself and his Rogues to become ultra powered, but in doing so, has alienated himself from his friends and family now that they all have what they want. Duce frames all of this excellently by first placing Cold in shadow before he looks at his glasses, as if reminiscing about his old life before putting them on and looking towards his death at the end of the world.

Soon after, we cut to Kid Flash and Avery receiving training from two unlikely sources; Heatwave and Weather Wizard. Though they were seen as reporting in to King Cold a few issues ago, it was brief and mostly to air some small grievances that they had with the way that Cold was running things. Here, we get the reveal that they’d been working with Golden Glider since she broke off from her brother and Mirror Master under their noses. In a brilliant double page spread by Duce and Guererro, we see that they’ve been helping the speedsters keep their speed under control.

It’s a pretty warmhearted scene followed by more where Gold Glider comforts Flash about their presence. Williamson makes Heatwave and Weather Wizard come off as two men that have suffered hardships in their lives, leading them to the life of crime, but still managing to have hearts. Glider tells Flash how Weather Wizard wanted to escape the life of crime that his family was involved in when he was a kid, but never could which lead to him hurting people he loved. Heatwave suffers similarly from his pyromania being the reason his parents died, but it’s painted more as him having a sickness he can’t control. Glider tells Flash that they want to stop Cold so that things can go back to the way that they were.

Duce draws these scenes with a surprising intimacy. Amidst all of the intense action, Duce draws Heatwave with a sense of pride as he watches Kid Flash control his speed better, Weather Wizard stare in his lonesome because of everything going on and shows the kids eating with their teachers after a long day. On top of all of this, Flash has a nice scene where Golden Glider teaches him how to ice skate after he asks her to get back into what was one her hobby. Guererro colors all of these scenes with warm tones, even in the ice which is primarily blue and white. Flash and Glider’s colors give off something of a happy feeling.

One of the recurring themes of this run has been relating to the Rogues in meaningful ways and Williamson does an excellent job here of contrasting all of them to an amazing degree.

After Flash makes a bad joke to Golden Glider, causing her to become morose, Weather Wizard steps in and tells them that they’ve found where Mirror Master has been hiding and the entire crew go to find the last two pieces of his great mirror. Kid Flash asks Golden Glider if she used to date him and she confirms this, stating that she didn’t know why, but that she knew all of his tricks.

Mirror Master has always been one of the Rogues of lesser renown because well… he's an idiot. Only in the sense that he's never used his powers to a degree where people needed to be afraid of him, but thanks to his upgrade they need to. In actuality, his access to an entire Mirror Dimension makes him one of the most dangerous people in the DC Universe as a potential spy or thief because A LOT OF SURFACES REFLECT. Flash and the other Rogues learn this the hard way when Mirror Master springs a trap on them, revealing that he knew that Glider and the others betrayed Cold.

When the Rogues and Speedsters finally encountered Mirror Master, he looks absolutely devious with a wide grin and his wide grin as they did everything they could to stop him. Duce’s poses were dynamic and captured how intense the fight was, the furious facial expressions were very well done and crystalline backgrounds were beautiful. Guerrero’s colors stood out in how distinct each of them were. Mirror Master’s glossy white clashed with the other characters, especially Flash’s vibrant reds and Weather Wizard’s dark greens. By easily besting all of them, he showed just how dangerous he could be.

He teleports them all to the King and Snart notes how disappointed he is and how the Rogues could have ruled the world together. This causes Glider to snap at him, saying that he never told the Rogues what that would entail - the end of the world under Luthor. At this point Captain Cold is so far gone that he just doesn't care anymore and Williamson has been leading him down this path since the beginning.

In Rogues Reloaded, Cold had the idea for the Rogues to get one more heist over on The Flash before retiring completely and that was foiled with all of the Rogues being defeated. In Welcome to Iron Heights, Snart decided he'd run an operation from prison but Barry Allen and his former ally, Godspeed foiled that plan too. Because Cold had murdered another inmate to throw off the scent, this led to a fist fight between Cold and Flash which saw Cold's defeat and transfer to Belle Reve Penitentiary. Obviously the defeat had an adverse effect on Cold because he was so sure that he would overcome, but didn’t. He lost again.

Captain Cold has always been one to hold family in high regard since he's never quite had a functioning one side from the Rogues, so his time on the Suicide Squad was devastating to him. I mentioned in past Flash reviews that watching teammates die mission after mission must have done something to his psyche and Lex Luthor took advantage of that when offering him and his actual friends a way to win against The Flash. All of that led to this.

King Cold, feeling betrayed and pissed off, freezes his former friends and sister, leaving only The Flash to fight him one on one again. In their last fight, Cold wanted it to be one on one without any powers, but he lost that fight because of Flash’s iron will. As he removes his cold weather clothes, he reveals that Luthor’s Gift wasn’t just improved gear, but it was a supercharge of power implanted into him. Their final face off will be hand to hand with powers.

This final shot is absolutely poster worthy. Duce conveys the rage emanating from both of them with jaws wide as if they were yelling at each other. Fists are cocked back, ready to pummel their opponent into the ground, especially Cold as he has frozen his arms up to the elbow for maximum impact. What makes this even better is the Symbol of Doom hanging over them in the background like a terrible omen. Guerrero manages o make so many colors fit together in a brilliant display. Flash and his signature red and bright yellow makes him look heroic, the underdog in a fight shrouded in dark greens and cold greys. Cold is paler, his normally blonde hair turned completely white and his arms as blue as his cold blood.

I absolutely loved this.

Duce and Guerrero killed the art in this issue. On the scale of Flash artists for me, Duce is high up there. They manage to blend high intensity action with nice character moments to get the reader invested in character’s emotional states through visuals. Guerrero accentuates this by coloring scenes so that they fit each individual mood and can blend these all together when there’s a clash of ideology or character. Of course, Steve Wands is the glue that holds all of this together his letters are perfectly placed, distinct for each character and give every situation the proper weight to individual lines.

The Flash is an underrated hit that everyone should be reading, especially in regards to the Flash/Captain Cold saga. Their rivalry has been a grand center point on the level of Batman and Bane’s right now or Superman and good storytelling (zing!) I can only wonder where things go from here and what will happen to Captain Cold after this because this is probably the highest he’s ever flown, so how will he fall?

#the flash #barry allen #captain cold #leonard snart #golden glider #year of the villain #dc comics #comics #joshua williamson #christian duce #luis guerrero

[nakamaunite]

Hi there! I can't read your guidelines on mobile so if this goes against it, please forgive and ignore it :) May I have some dating HCs for Buggy and maybe some turn on and offs? Please. (I read your Shanks HCs and I love your writing style! So professional and well written! )

This fits right in! It was also a lot of fun to write! I haven’t written anything for Buggy yet, but I love him so much so thank you for giving me something I can post about him! 

And thank you so much, I’m so happy you like my writing style! this is the first time I’ve ever really published anything I’ve written so I’m happy people are liking it :)

Buggy Dating Deadcanons 

Buggy is very much a tsundere character when dating. He very much wants to be taken seriously, but it’s so hard sometimes because he’s so unintentionally silly! He tries to be very manly around his s/o but often fails humorously! It’s so cute and endearing when he tries though. He is especially guilty of this behavior when you both are around a bunch of people. He often will try to impress his s/o by showing how powerful and intimidating he can be, especially when they are on dates. His antics almost always fumble in some way, but Buggy somehow finds a way to make it work in his favor and impresses his date that much more!

With how humorous he can be when it comes to dating, he can also be all but silly! This is often shown in the quiet moments where it’s just him and the person he likes. When he has them in his arms during a quiet moment or if the two are out on a date, the way he looks at the person is filled with nothing but true affection and it’s can’t possibly be missed.

When dating or in a relationship, Buggy’s s/o becomes his biggest source of courage, or rather, his worry over them would trump his want to escape a situation as fast as possible. He will (admittedly begrudgingly sometimes) have their back if they chose to face something that he would rather get away from. No matter how scared he is, if his feelings are strong enough to be dating you, he will always have your back and be the most loyal person there is!

Now for the turn on/offs!

Let’s do the fun ones first!

Turn On

He secretly loves it when his partner plays with his hair. He finds it a nice source of intimacy when his s/o brushes or styles his hair.

On that same note, he also likes playing with his s/o’s hair! He definitely prefers if his s/o has longer hair, but he will happily just pet and run his fingers over the head of his s/o whether they have long, short, or no hair at all.

He loves being complimented and feeling special. Whether that’s from his s/o shamelessly complimenting him or just doing nice things, he enjoys knowing that the person he’s dating thinks highly of him, especially if it’s sincere!

Buggy also is a fan of some minor displays of affection, things like having his s/o sitting in his lap, or kissing/being kissed on the cheek. These little things make him feel wanted as well as show off that he has someone by his side that others do not.

Turn off

Buggy doesn’t like when people make fun of him, especially the person he’s dating. He doesn’t have the highest self-esteem so he is very likely to take criticism sometimes a little too personally. 

Buggy also doesn’t do too well with a shy s/o. Though Buggy is a very boisterous person, he’s not very good at making the first move or taking much initiative. He may pull his partner closer when he’s in front of people and playing up his accomplishments, but he won’t go much further than that. because of this, Buggy wouldn’t do too well with a super shy s/o.

He would also be a slightly jealous partner so he wouldn’t find a very flirtatious s/o attractive. He would love having a flirtatious s/o, but only if they flirt with him exclusively! He wouldn’t be able to handle it well if he found his s/o flirting with another person when he thought they liked him or had already committed to him.

#one piece #One Piece headcanons #op headcanons #buggy the clown #buggy #buggy pirates

[gwensparlour]

All that there's in a name

Title: All that there’s in a name

Rating: Teen and Up audiences

Characters: Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Katsuki

Pairing: Victuuri

Summary: "Above all Yuri discovers how important names are for Victor. Maybe it’s something cultural; maybe it’s just him. Victor catalogues moods and situations on a strict name-basis."A story about how names can affect a relationship.

(As a writer I need to spam my works wherever I can)

AO3 link

“Tell me, Yuri,” Victor begins, one anonymous morning, while pouring milk in his morning coffee.

“Yes?”

“We’ve been together for a while, right? Then why you never call me Vicchan?”

Because calling you with the name of my dead dog would be inappropriate.

Hiroko is the only one to call Victor “Vicchan”. It’s her prerogative. It’s something she and only she does. When the nickname exits her mouth it feels natural. From others’ lips, even Yuri’s, not so much.

Vicchan is Hasetsu. It’s spending a week of summer holiday in the onsen. It's helping around with the business of the Yu-topia Katsuki. It’s Victor aiding in the kitchen, fringe held by a pin, or at the front desk with the possible foreign guests. It’s Hiroko thanking him, a happy look on her face. She dries her puffy hands on the oil-stained apron before serving him the third bowl of katsudon.

Vicchan is Hiroko speaking on Skype to his soon-to-be son-in-law. They chat in a broken mixture of English and Japanese, always pausing to search this word or that on the dictionary.

“What about Vitya, then?”

Yuri sighs, shaking his head. He has tried to call Victor "Vitya", but the word on his tongue feels always wrong.

Vitya is Victor’s life in Russia, before and without Yuri. It's stopping while buying groceries to chat with the old and gentle baker round the corner. She has always flour in her blonde crown-braid. She and Victor speak in a Russian so quick Yuri can grasp only few words here and there.

Vitya is St Petersburg’s rink with Yakov shouting from the early morning. The poor man deserves a monument. The old coach calls his oldest pupil Vitya even when he's mad and on the verge to send him to Siberia

Vitya is Mila skating toward Victor. She giggles with the phone in her hands, shouting about some funny meme or instagram picture.

“Vityusha? Vitenka?”

“I thought you hated when they call you Vityusha!”

They are Victor’s maternal grandparents. It doesn't matter that he's Victor Nikiforov, twenty-eight years old legend of figure skating, fifth time Grand Prix champion and as much World champion. For them he'll always be Vityusha. Little Vityusha. Especially since his grandma suffers from dementia and is sure beyond any doubt that her only nephew is six. Vityusha is Victor bending forward to let his granny kiss his cheeks, leaving a faint mark of cheap reddish lipstick. It's wrinkled hands on his shoulders and comments on how much he has grown. Vityusha is double portion of hot borscht "for special occasion".

Vitenka, yet, is sex. There's no other way to say it. It's one of the things that should never exit the bedroom. It's private, like their sex life; like, you know, lube and condoms and kinks and all the thing strangers are not supposed to know about. Supposed is the key word, as some suck marks are always a little too visible.

Vitenka is flushed skin against skin, nails biting into flesh, intoxicating warmth. It's Victor on his knees, hands tied behind his strong back, and eyes full of adoration.

Vitenka is pure submission, something a stranger would never imagine from Victor the champion or Victor the coach.

The name rolls rarely out of Yuri's mouth, but when it happens it's solid power, dark and velvety. A power is careful not to abuse.

"Why can't I call you Viktoru?" Yuri asks, indulging in that final extra vowel out of habit. Despite having spent five years in America, he had never truly learnt to pronounce names the Western way. Even when he's speaking English, although in the latest months they have set for a strange mix of Russian and Japanese, with a prevalence of the former, Victor is always Viktoru.

Always the Japanese way.

Here in St Petersburg it becomes part of Yuri's identity. Despite all the stereotypes of Japanese people being overly formal with new acquaintances, he has been on first name basis with Victor since the very beginning. Looking back he notices he has never called him Nikiforov coach, not even once. It has never been necessary.

Even before the sentiment in his chest bloomed in full love, it was already Viktoru.

And still, as weeks pass, even that Viktoru starts to be unsatisfactory. It remembers Yuri too much of the times when there was still a wall of unspoken words and unshared memories between them. Miscommunication.

The wall hasn't completely disappeared yet, but now it's thinner, like a rice paper panel, a see-through when the light hits it with the right angle.

With the right word, the right gesture.

***

It isn't something Yuri has planned when the nickname rolls out of his tongue one Sunday morning. He's been studying Russian for months now and of all the people is Georgi that explains him the subtitles of affectionate diminutives. When the man isn't whining about his ex girlfriend, he's a surprisingly exquisite person.

"Looks like I won again, Vitechka," Yuri says. He and Victor are playing rock, scissor, paper to decide who has to clean the bathroom. Yuri has a special talent for this kind of hazard. He hasn't planned the nickname and when realization hits him in the form of Victor's head tilting on the side with curiosity, he frantically waves his hands.

"Oh, sorry! Don't tell me it's something your mother calls you with. Or, worse, a relative you hate."

But Victor shakes his head. "Actually, no," he assures. "Believe it or not, nobody has ever called me Vitechka. I like it," he adds.

Yuri feels like something is locking in his chest. Not in bad way, though.

So be it.

It repeats the word once, twice, feeling the way it makes his lips curl and stretch, the way his tongue moves around vowels and consonants.

It's his. It's the everyday non-sexual intimacy of laundries and chores. It's Victor pouting.

"Do we have to do this every time?" He protests, as his rock is promptly wrapped by Yuri's paper.

"Yes, Vitechka. It's fair."

And then he giggles. He knows that soon Victor will pretend to change the game to divide the chores.

"I'm looking forward for the next season. Two weeks of housework if I win gold!" He beats one afternoon, in sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. Yuri smirks. "I wouldn't brag. I don't think Yurio will be so wiling to leave you the highest place on the podium."

I am not willing to leave you the gold.

"Fine. If I place highest than you –“

“If.”

***

When Yuri was nineteen Phichith told him that he could have won first, second, and even third place in a quiz about Victor and Yuri used to believe so. At nineteen, he had already searched all that was available about his idol, putting together official interviews with badly translated Russian sentences of dubious accuracy.

He used to believe he knew everything about Victor Nikiforov.

From the very first weeks of Victor staying in Hasetsu, however, Yuri discovered how wrong he was.

Like, once in an interview a journalist had asked a fifteen-years-old Victor if there were any downsides in figure skating. Victor had chuckled, before proceeding in saying that it was all-nice, besides bruises, but he couldn't stand the broccoli Yakov insisted to put in his diet.

And there was Yuri, eleven at the time, with a big, glass heart, Ice Castle Hasetsu stickers plastered all over his notebooks, and sudden concerns with broccoli.

"I thought you hated broccoli," Yuri says, seeing his fiancé putting a package in the shopping cart. Victor freezes, his brain probably dealing with plus information at the same time. Namely Yuri's being the fanboy he is and why on earth should he has to have a problem with any vegetables.

Besides the carrots of aunt Katja, but everybody hates the carrots of aunt Katja.

It takes a while for the right memory to set in.

"Oh, right!" Victor exclaims, both amused and a little disconcerted that Yuri remembers something from so long ago. "It's not that I don't like them. Well, I don't dislike them anymore. But there was this woman who used to babysit me when I was little and she was a nice person but her broccoli soup was disgusting," he concludes, a whining note in his voice. Yuri can't help but laugh.

He knew Victor is a dog person, but then he discovers that his very first pet was a golden fish that died soon after having been bought because a child Victor gave him too much food.

He knew about the piano lessons his fiancé undertook to improve his already good sense of rhythm, but not that they ended up being a completely disaster. Apparently Voctor has never been able to play more than some Russian equivalent of Neko Funjatta.

Yuri knew already so many details of Victor’s life, but they were empty. Now there’s a strong and stable ground behind them. Day by day he ends up discovering also Victor’s flaws, the little bad habits it’ll take years to correct. He finds himself not caring a little bit.

Above all Yuri discovers how important names are for Victor. Maybe it’s something cultural; maybe it’s just him. Victor catalogues moods and situations on a strict name-basis. He acts differently based on how people call him; he anticipates what people expect from him.

That’s why, when the question pops out, Yuri knows he should’ve expected it.

“What do you want me to call you?”

Yuri shrugs. “Vitechka, you already call me cutes names.”

Victor waves his hand, dismissingly. “They don’t matter. I’m talking something about your name. I –“ he stops, letting his hands fall down in his lap. His fringe moves a little to the side. There’s a sparkle of sad nostalgia in his blue eyes. “It’s just that now it’s so strange to call you by full name. Nobody here in Russia would ever call the person they love by its full name. It feels so off," he continues explaining. As Yuri seems ready to say something, Victor makes a gesture meaning he's not finished.

"I can't call you Yura. That's for Yurio."

"Yurochka?" Yuri proposes.

"That's for little kids. It would be inappropriate after having seen what you can do in bed," Victor shoots back, a mischievous note in his voice and eyes. He buries fingers in his silver locks, combing hair from his forehead. Yuri has already seen Victor like this, struck by an inspiration he can't quite grasp. He mutters under his breath, tossing away options with a tilt of the head.

Yuri goes behind him, wrapping carefully his arms around Victor's shoulders. He let his head rest on Victor's.

"Why does it have to be so important?" He hums, hands draping lazily on his fiancé's chest.

"I told you."

"There's more, I can tell."

Victor sighs, the way he does when he accepts to have been exposed. He reaches back a hand to caress Yuri's cheek. "You know me too well.”

"I do. So, what's the problem?"

"You see, when you're famous you start to cherish all the little private moments other can't see."

Yuri emits a little chuckle. He tells Victor he has no right to talk so seriously.

"Just let me finish! So you have Vitechka. It's not common. Or, nobody I know uses it. I probably wouldn't allow anybody besides you to use it! I need a nickname for you with the same meaning!"

Something that talks about home and family; the place where you can forget your troubles.

“Well, in Japan we have the chan suffix for people you’re intimate with,” Yuri begins, voice slow as he puts together the sentence words by words. “But Yu-chan is something I already use for Yuko, so you won’t get the exclusive.”

“So it’s not use,” Victor finishes for him. They stay in silence for a while, biting lips in concentration, with fingers almost rubbing temples in the hope to be struck by the idea of the century.

And then everyday life reclaims their attention and the problem is postponed to another day.

Yuri lies awake. His eyes are wide open in the dark, fixed on the ceiling. For how cliché and silly it may be, he remembers that overused quote from the" Little Prince", the one about the rose. It’s been years since he’s read the book – he isn’t even sure if he has read it in Japanese or English – but somehow he recalls something about names and identity.

If you give me a name, I'll be your rose.

A rose by any other name.

He grunts, but let his mind wander nonetheless through fictional scenarios.

In the end the issue drops almost completely in the span of a couple weeks. It's not that Victor has stopped caring - Yuri has seen him browsing websites about Russian and Japanese name conventions - but there's more pressing subjects that need to be handled.

Worlds are almost there and Victor is so desperate to save time that he ends up practicing his step sequence while cooking. Yuri hears him counting time under his breath, the familiar "un, deux, trois" from the ballet days.

It doesn't take long before Yuri starts to imitate him.

They must appear crazy, totally crazy, to an outside eye.

Sometimes, despite his words, Victor calls Yuri Yura; never with Plisetsky present, though. Then he starts calling him Yuriusha. Or Yurechka. Yurenka. And at least other five ridiculous diminutives Yuri's pretty sure Victor's making up on the moment.

Yuri lets him do it. Victor's voice is soft and tender and Yuri hears it more than any nickname.

He stops thinking about it without even noticing. He stops waiting for Victor to pick out just one nickname out of the dozens he has discovered lately. He gets used to be called a different diminutive each day.

At the rink the Russian skaters start to call him Yura. Even Yurio.

***

A year passes like nothing.

It's soon before the beginning of the GP that Yuri brings up the issue once again. He approaches it sideways. They are in the locker room of St Petersburg rink, carefully polishing their blades.

“Do you remember when you asked me if I wanted a photo with you?” Yuri asks, almost nonchalantly. Victor nods, a twinge of regret in the form of a little wrinkle just above his eyebrows.

“Too bad, yes.”

“Well, do you know why I was staring at you?”

“Because I’m handsome?” Victor jokes. Yuri gives him a little, soft punch in the forearm. “I’ve thought you were calling me.”

Yuri remembers it far too well. It remembers it because he’s still afraid that one day he’ll be drained back to that starting point, all that has happened next obliterated. He remembers hearing that “Yuri!” and his heart skipping a bit and his body starting to turn, before discovering that it wasn’t meant for him.

He remembers the little “oh” escaping his lips, full of disappoint and regret. How silly he has felt just thinking that Victor Nikiforov was calling him. How pretentious.

It’s strange to tell Victor about it after so long time. “I miss hearing you calling my name, my real name. Don’t get me wrong, I think the diminutives are cute, but I preferred the way things were before,” Yuri finally says.

“Yes. Sure. Whatever you want.”

There’s a sad look on Victor’s face, the one that follow the discovery to having hurt a loved person without wanting to.

Yuri can’t pretend that Victor drops the habit immediately. He doesn’t even correct his fiancé when he continues distorting his name in all those silly ways. It takes time.

Meanwhile the assignments come. Yuri will compete in the Skate America and Cup of China; Victor will be at the Skate Canada and NHK Trophy.

It’ll be a mess.

***

Yuri knows when he’ll land a quad without falling or messing it up even before having touched the ice. It feels it in the way his body turns in mid-air, the tension of the muscles, and the pull in his stomach. At this speed, without glasses, it’s all blurry and he doesn’t even dare to breath, too afraid that a sigh will be enough to ruin everything.

It’s only when the blade collide with the ice, strong and clean, that Yuri allows himself to breath again. He knows too well how his body and brain need oxygen to finish the FS.

There’s a dull ache in his limbs, what has been left of months of training. It’s the awareness that the choreography’s now embedded in every fibre of his being. He doesn’t quite let his mind wander – Yakov has been very strict about “being focused” and “having always a back-up plan” – but he’s pretty sure that if he ever does it, his body will know the steps nonetheless. As strange as it may be, Yuri feels sure.

So when he stops twirling, coming out from the last combination spin, and hears the crowd roaring with enthusiasm, he knows he’s done well. He knows he’ll have a good score.

He skates to the exit of the rink, wiping sweat from is forehead before it falls in his eyes. With his surprise it’s Mila and Yurio the first one to welcome him.

“It wasn’t a complete disaster, Katsudon,” Yurio says and it’s his way to compliment him.

“Well done, Yura!” Mila adds and it’s there, with the Russian team that seems to have all the intention to keep him from Victor, that Yuri understands.

He notices how, while his fiancé was slowly abandoning any nickname, the other Yakov’s pupils were going in the exact opposite direction.

It’s like they have adopted him.

Now nobody of the people he knows in St Petersburg calls him by full name anymore. Nobody, except for Victor.

So when he hears a voice sing-songing “Yuuri�� he knows exactly who’ll be there waiting for him when he’ll turn.

#yuri on ice #yoi #yuri on ice fanfic #victuuri

[vantablade]

❝You let me win.❞ | Cad&Noc

@destructiveglitch | thread cont.

Nocturne walks through a world rended by unspeakable tragedy, undaunted but never unbothered, head held high. Never would she, tender-heart that she is, bask in it; that is too cruel, too distasteful. But she cannot allow her spine to bend under the weight of the world and all of its sorrows, lest she be lost to it, lest she be destroyed as everything else is. Its saviour must be stronger than any foe; more grotesque than any of its horrors; more dominant than any of its tyrants. Saviour, not hero. (She is not the hero of this story. She is its greatest monster.) It is this complex, this duty, that she holds that keeps her determined, never turning back uncertainly to guarantee his following, as much as there is the temptation to look upon his sky-tearing visage. How she longs for him! Even the smallest of partings tears at her belly with yearning claws, as if she misses him now, despite only briefly removing him from her gaze! It is of the oddest sorts of emotions; none have ever awoken within her such a deep and potent desire, which transcends erotic but never abandons it. She has desired many, had manyーshe has loved and wanted tremendously. There are many of her beloved. But there are none who awe her.

          Had she been without pride, had she been any other than who she was, the sight of him would have sent her to her knees in the closest thing to worship. 

          Still, she is comforted by his presence, how it does not quieten nor fade; he is following her, the apocalyptic magicks that cling to him perfuming the air with gasoline and starfire, with the mind-warping coldfire of black holes. He, Death, destroyer of worlds, cloaked in the scent of apocalypse, eludes her understanding—she does not know (yet) the extent of his massacre, but there is an instinct that awakens when one has come face to face with the Unmaker. Even the most naïve of souls knows, on some arcane level, that he is what every doom-sayer prophecises. Whether it comes in the shape of standing hairs, or sunken stomachs, or the hiatus of heartbeat—it comes, a promise, a whisper, a harbinger of the doom he seeks to unleash upon the world. Fearless and deathless as she is, even her body cannot help but react, but where others would be sickened by his proximity, not through any visual repulsion but by a sheer natural desire to live and continue living, Nocturne is enamoured. Her body electric. She seeks to comprehend where others could not bear it. She is thrilled, then, that he does follow her now, into the realm of her domain.

          The Atlas Nocturne is humble in shape; bigger than a combat-ship, but scarce more than a cargo ship. Its shell is not unlike its Captain: coloured in deep, cosmic navies and indigos, sleek as a beetle-skin, but not without wear and tear. Its windows appear black as spiders’ eyes, betraying none of its interior. As she approaches, Petrovna meets her, her dragon-eyes flicking to register Cadillac’s presence. Where Nocturne may deny Petrovna the joy of true companionship, they do, undeniably, share something sacred: the ability to stare into the eye of the Unknown, unflinchingly, compassionately. It is this reason then that Petrovna easily removes her gaze from Cadillac back onto her Captain, a hard set to her jaw. 

          ❛  What is the status of the survivors?  ❜  Nocturne asks (demands), voice becalmed, still and hiding the leviathan of deep, heart-wrenching rage beneath it. Not rage at Petrovna—as much as the woman irks her—but at life itself, and all of its unfathomable cruelties.  

          ❛  It’s not good,  ❜ says Petrovna, the draconic husk of her voice severe as she all-but-whispers, ❛  there are… it’s getting worse.  ❜ 

          ❛  They’re not responding to the therapy?  ❜  Nocturne’s brows twitch, thoughtful, almost confused. Of course, nobody can expect to heal the mind-scrambled victims instanteneously, but their methods had been growing in success. None had been saved, but they had been soothed. Enough to be given peaceful deaths. ❛  That’s normal, yes? Why are you so…  ❜ Words escape her, for Petrovna has never been the melancholic sort. Her eye then darts to Berma, whose gruffness seemed uncharacteristically glum. Tragic, almost. Nocturne narrows her lone eye onto Berma, wordlessly demanding explanation. 

          The Doctor, too, glances at Cadillac, and it lingers longer than Petrovna—she, too, is no stranger to the abstract, but the sight of him unsettles her for a reason more than his usual. She cannot, at this moment, comprehend the actions of her Captain, and worries that unusual company will make Nocturne unpredictable. Especially with the news she is about to deliver unto her. ❛  They’re responding, alright. But it’s making them worse. They’re getting violent. The Engineer—  ❜

          ❛  What?  ❜ she snaps, hisses, her anger (her fear) cold. 

          ❛  A flesh wound,  ❜ reassures Petrovna, quickly, lucky to be on Nocturne’s (literal, if not figurative) good side, ❛  Li was tended to promptly. He’s resting, now. Viru is watching over him.  ❜ 

          ❛  The ones that hadn’t already… self-destructed have been restrained. The ones who have…  ❜ Berma grimaces, and chucks her head towards the tent, whose dark sheets seem particularly ominous. ❛  It is for their people to decide.  ❜

          Nocturne stalls, and the immovability of her features is exarcebated by the stillness of her whole figure. Not even breath escapes her. She glances back at Cadillac, mulling over whether or not inviting him in would be as wise an idea now. But never does she shy away from her decisions. Once she has set her mind to something, she remains. Still—the labyrinth of that mind of his intrigues her. What do you think about all of this? How she wants to unspool that mind, submit every motivation to a vivisection, to decipher who he is and what his intentions are. She is a Captain first, after all, and the safety of her people is her highest priority; especially with one (her heart pangs) already wounded. Still. Had he had any ill intention, she would have detected it, surely. She is no poor judge of character, and where her judgement is weakened, it is weakened only by paranoia; with as harsh an opinion on strangers as she does, he would not have came this far had he not, on some level, proven himself. She turns to the tent, evading all eye contact.

          ❛  Do not follow me,  ❜ she says to all parties. She dips within the tent. A lantern glows faintly, and its tired illuminations give shape to a most devastating sight. Tragic figures, corpses, lay on beds, at least four, all in varying stages of mutilations. Mostly self-inflicted. Their eyes clawed out, their teeth gnashed or removed, their tongues bitten, hanging out of rigid or broken jaws. Bruised necks and fingers gnawed to the bone. Tears, still drying, on their cheeks, and blood-stained stomach acid staining their chests and hair. The audacity of returning these people to their families sickens her; it would be far kinder to burn them, and let their families remember them as they were. But the Doctor was right—she could not steal from them their grief, nor their mourning. She returns, then, with an eye only for the Doctor.

          ❛  Berma, you will prepare their bodies for delivery. Ask Cham to run them through the system to identify them. Once identified, Petrovna and Kimiko will be on informing duty. Bring them here, so that the townspeople might not see it, yet. Let them save face.  ❜

          ❛  And who will accompany you to…  ❜ Petrovna begins, and trails off, so unlike herself. It likened Nocturne to her a little more, seeing her in a solemn state. At least the woman was capable of some complex emotion, and had some sense about her to grieve.

          ❛  I will accompany myself.  ❜

          ❛  And your guest?” inquires Berma, bluntly. “Who will watch him?  ❜

          ❛  I will.  ❜

          ❛  But—  ❜

          ❛  I gave you an order, Doctor. I don’t see why you should be distracting yourself with petty questions.  ❜

          The certainty of her voice quietens the two women, who exchange aside glances, before nodding. ❛  Yes, Captain.  ❜ And so they go, Berma into the tent, and Petrovna off to inform Kimiko. Nocturne allows her the time to do so, taking a moment to inhale, and exhale.

          But she does not forget her manners. ❛  I apologise,  ❜ she says, turning to Cadillac. ❛  It is not the most… ideal circumstances for…  ❜ for what? What word describes this? Is it a meeting? The word lacks intimacy. Certainly not entertainment, which is far too frivolous. So she settles on: ❛  This. I—  ❜ wish we had met under kinder skies—❛  hope this will suffice.  ❜

          She heads up the stairs that pour out of the open door, into the halls that (on a good day) feel like home. Now, the metal feels cold, lifeless. Atlas Nocturne thrums mournfully beneath the click of her heel, with all of the soulful melancholy of a whale call. The medic bay is not far off, but its closed door, and its soundless walls, halt her. She waits, for him. Waits for her own decision. To allow him enter into a most sacred chamber, and witness her in her most compassionate violence? To allow him such an intimate glance into the machinations of her duty? There will be no veil over his eyes when it comes to her; she will destroy any illusion he has come to create. Whatever invention of her there is will die. It is a loss, too, but she cannot afford it otherwise. To allow him free, unsupervised roaming of the halls would betray her duties as Captain, especially when one of her own is so incapacitated, and unfortunately, honesty is indeed her policy. Kimiko and Petrovna pass—her sister offers her a supportive, if stoic, look in passing, her scarred face resolute but not unkind. It gives her strength. Then they are gone, and it is only the two of them.

           ❛  You will accompany me,  ❜ she informs him, ❛  but you are not to interfere. Understand?  ❜

           Satisfied, or as close to satisfied as she is capable of, she hums one long note. Sorrowful. The door obeys, and opens with a smooth, technical thrum. The room is lightless at first, a delay in activation of its lanterns, and the door closes behind them, submerging them in momentary, total darkness. All that can be heard is muffled shrieks, in the sound of choking, in the sound of struggling against straps and wires. Then the lanterns awake, and cast light on the room.

           Blood of various shades stain the walls, slashes of brute colour against the walls, betraying the dragging of blood-soaked hands. Thin, white scars evoke the false memory of shrieking nails against it. This is nothing to say of the bundles of flesh and organ that sully it, rough-edged, torn from bodies. No doubt self-inflicted, from her memory of the bodies in the tent, which had missed crucial chunks. What madness so sharp and severe could cause such suffering to inspire such violence? What monster must she be, to save and host such a beast capable of inciting such hysteria, and yet be unturned? Be safe? If only she could share in that, to condense the truth of her into vaccines, and give unto the world, so that they might never experience such terror, such horror, that they would rather tear themselves apart than to suffer another single second of it? Her eye wells with tears, but she does not let them fall. To do so would be unprofessional, and to do so would be wrong—she is more akin to their murderer than she is to the victim, and should she have lacked such a unique ability, it would have been a justice to die, so that she might rid the Universe of all of its monsters once and for all.

           She swallows her grief. Gestures to the corner of the room, least bloody, and ignores the scent of death and trauma, though if she had a weaker stomach no doubt its acid would have crawled into her mouth and pushed against the gate of her teeth and lips.

           There are two victims who have survived, if only because they have been saved from themselves. They are bound to tables, by bondage both leather and metal, with bits between their teeth to prevent the gnashing and gnawing of their hungry, twitching teeth; their hands entirely restricted, so that they cannot scratch at their binds or themselves. Only their eyes remain exposed, wide and bulging, spiderwebs of blood straining throughout the sclera, the pupils shrunk in pure adrenaline. Tears, too. They are sobbing.

            All there is is the sound of the ship, the sound of mute shriek, and then: the call of bird-song, distorted, ghoulish, and Nocturne is now in possession of a violin. It is no ordinary violin, of course; it is an instrument of the Void, and coloured by it too—its bow is vantablack, and its body near, too. It defies light, or light avoids it; who is to tell its dynamic? She hesitates, only for a moment, to look upon her guest, with wet, apologetic eyes. Clueless as she is to what sights he has suffered, what horrors he has caused, she can only feel guilt for having no choice but to expose him to even more. And then she plays her song.

           Its true meaning avoids her companion, for he is not the intended audience, but he at least can hear its doleful sound. If he is Death in a body, then this is Death as a song: long, deep yawning sounds, which slink through the air unseen as phantoms, and into the sockets and nostrils of the writhing bodies. Tendrils of music snake through their body (and understand: Nocturne is both music and musician; each tendril, each note, is as much a part of her body as her eye, as her scars, as her organs and glamours), soft fingers running through the alien contraptions of their brains, deciphering what bright sparks bring life to them. And then snuffing them out, bit by bit, each vein and artery, like dousing candles of their small lights, until the bodies cease in their movements. Not all at once, but slowly, as if succumbing to a great, final sleep.

           And then there is silence, and bird-song, and she is without instrument. She approaches them, and shuts their unseeing eyes. ❛  Sleep, now.  ❜ A life would be kinder, but there would be no life worth living for them, anymore. Not after the sights they have endured. Her mourning is not only her own. Somewhere, in the chasm of her entropic soul, their Murderer weeps.

          She inhales, and blinks away her tears, until she is dry-eyed and solemn-faced. ❛  I apologise for making you my witness; I assume you understand that I could not afford you to be unsupervised. It is not an act of distrust but—a duty. You understand.  ❜ Understand, understand, understand. It is all she has, right now: the hope to be understood. No else had witnessed her commit her murders, but they all knew, to some extent, what she did. She walked into a room of the alive, and she left it full of dead. They leave, and she turns to him. ❛  I understand if you wish to depart now… but, in the interest of not leaving this on too dour a note—I have storage for food, if you would like to eat. And a place away from this. And we can … talk. Nothing more, if you’d like. I only seek a conversation. Not an interrogation, if you are concerned about that.  ❜

          As professional as she is, there is something far unprofessional yearning in her chest: she needs company. She needs, for a moment, to convince herself that she is not alone.

#destructiveglitch #was tempted to just dump this WHOLE thread on the dash but also #I am unfortunately considerate sometimes #PROSE. ███ 夜曲 ⋮ ode to the nightingale. #VERSE. ███ 夜曲 ⋮ a nimbus of dark light. #THREAD. ███ 夜曲 ⋮ you let me win : cadillac & nocturne. #ALT. ███ 夜曲 ⋮ olga-marya petrovna. #ALT. ███ 夜曲 ⋮ berma da'mu. #thread: you let me win

[updcbc]

February 17, 2019 - “Strengthening Our Grip on God” Ruth 3:1-18

Click READ MORE to read the full sermon.

 Introduction

When Jesus came down from heaven to earth what awaited him? A hostile world crucified him on the cross. Yet he turned the curse on the cross for the redemption of the world. In following his footsteps we count the cost and see the wonder of God. The wise walk on the path of sacrificial obedience under the abounding grace of God. At times, it is to walk in the dark with torch in our hand just enough to see the next step.

Ruth followed Naomi just like that. What did it cost her? It cost her everything. What motivated her to do that? She embraced the LORD the God of Naomi. What was ahead in yielding her life to God? It was a step in the dark yet with the abiding presence of God. For Ruth that was more than enough. And she made her journey with Naomi with a solemn vow.

“Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the LORD deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.” (1:16-17)

Ruth honored her vow. And God knew her heart. But would anyone in Israel where she made her new home ever appreciate it or even pay attention to it? The answer came when she went out to glean in a harvest field. There she met Boaz. Here was a man of great standing who showed kindness to her and gave her a special attention. Above all, to her great surprise, Boaz gave a revealing word.

‘I've been told all about what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband—how you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with a people you did not know before. May the LORD repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the LORD, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge.’” (2:11-12)

Piece by piece, Naomi saw by faith the invisible hand of God at work in her life. The time had come for her to face another crucial crossroad in her journey which could either break or build her life. Under the guidance of Naomi, she had to make a big step of faith (3:1-5). In making the decisive step she dwelt under the sovereignty of God (3:6-10). In doing so she trusted in God to finish his work in her life (3:14-18). In her daily walk she was learning to strengthen her grip in the hand of the LORD. And we are called to journey with God on our side.

 A. Making a Big Step of Faith in God (3:1-5)

The harvest was over. At least, Naomi and Ruth had some food to sustain them barely enough for the next harvest. Yet, how could they be sure of a good harvest coming? They had decided to stay in Bethlehem even if the worst might come on the way. This was their pledge for each other in the name of LORD whom Ruth embraced as her God. As a mother-in-law, Naomi was more concerned of Ruth than her well-being. What if she would persuade Ruth to redeem her right in the hand of Boaz? Naomi made a firm decision with a great risk involved.

Like Naomi and Ruth, the journey in life ahead of us is seasoned with many crossroads of making crucial decisions down the road. In solitude and intimacy, God he gives us the wisdom and grace to step forward.

1. The Dream of Naomi for Ruth

When Ruth followed Naomi, what was her dream for her? Perhaps, on the part of Ruth, as a stranger in Israel, her simple wish was to have food on the table enough for each day. Naomi had a greater plan for her.

 a.    Naomi Desired a Home for Ruth

Naomi set a time for a serious talk with Ruth.

“One day Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, ‘My daughter, should I not try to find a home for you, where you will be well provided for?’” (3:1) 

In Hebrew thought, as understood by Naomi, a “home” is a haven of rest for the whole family and where the basic needs of life were sufficiently provided for. In the culture of their time where parents had a primary hand for the marriage of their children, Naomi laid before Ruth her dream for her. Was Ruth prepared for this? Ruth had held Naomi in the highest regard and she listened to her wisdom and took her at her word. Yet she wondered who the man could be?

 b.    The Instruction of Naomi to Ruth

Naomi had only one man she dreamed of for Ruth.

“‘Is not Boaz, with whose servant girls you have been, a kinsman of ours? Tonight he will be winnowing barley on the threshing floor. Wash and perfume yourself, and put on your best clothes. Then go down to the threshing floor, but don't let him know you are there until he has finished eating and drinking. When he lies down, note the place where he is lying. Then go and uncover his feet and lie down. He will tell you what to do.’” (3:3-4)

Naomi knew in her heart that this was a big step of faith. Boaz was not the primary kinsman-redeemer but he was next on line. And there was wisdom on her part if she could have had withheld this significant information on that particular moment when she disclosed her proposal for Ruth to consider Boaz. For if in the first place Ruth could have known the probability that Boaz could not be her husband that could have broken her heart. Ruth, as a stranger in the land, could hardly settle down with someone who was stranger to her. The only man whom Ruth knew and who had a special room in her heart was Boaz. Ruth was well pleased with great peace in her heart that the man whom Naomi had dreamed for her was Boaz whom she learned to respect. As a big step of faith, Naomi laid down to Ruth what she must do in accord to the custom of the day in terms of how a woman should show her personal intent to be redeemed by her kinsman-redeemer.  

 2. The Obedience of Ruth to Naomi

What was the response of Ruth? She took Naomi at her word, “‘I will do whatever you say," Ruth answered” (3:5). She got herself ready. Naomi was careful enough not to show her great fear inside for she knew well in her heart this was indeed a big step of faith with a great risk at stake that could either break or build the life of Ruth. What if the priority kinsman-redeemer would claim his right and Boaz would not become the husband of Ruth? Such thought was painful for Naomi. Ruth had no idea about this scenario. What was on her mind was to obey Naomi from the heart. And she obeyed with hope and joy in her heart.

We likewise face a crossroad where we could hardly comprehend all the risks involved in obeying the will of God in the best light we have based upon his Word. In such case, we step in faith and yield our all to God.

B. Dwelling on the Sovereignty of God (3:6-10)

Ruth knew where Boaz would stay for the night for she had become familiar of the field. She made her way on the road in the dark and went to the threshing floor in utmost care that no one would notice of her presence. For if anyone would ever found out that she was there and be suspected of moral misconduct, she could be stoned to death.

1. The Quiet Rest

The threshing floor was a private and quiet place.

“So she went down to the threshing floor and did everything her mother-in-law told her to do. When Boaz had finished eating and drinking and was in good spirits, he went over to lie down at the far end of the grain pile. Ruth approached quietly, uncovered his feet and lay down.” (3:6-7)

Everything stood still and silent except for the familiar sound of night creatures. Ruth found herself lying down gently at the feet of Boaz. She controlled her weight and held on to her breath. How long could she be there in deep silence without making any movement? Could Boaz ever get up at night since he had refreshed himself of some wine? And when Boaz could have wake up what would he do? Ruth, with her mind getting out wild as she waited in great suspense in the cool breeze of the night, considered every second as eternity.

 2. The Big Surprise

When one sleeps, it was a normal thing for one to roll over to find ease. Boaz could not do it. His feet were stocked.

“In the middle of the night something startled the man, and he turned and discovered a woman lying at his feet. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘I am your servant Ruth,’ she said. ‘Spread the corner of your garment over me, since you are a kinsman-redeemer.’ (3:8-9)

Gentlemen, if we were in the place of Boaz, how would we react? The biblical narrative portrayed that Boaz was “startled.” Out of natural impulse he distanced himself with fearful surprise. Yet when he had known that it was Ruth, he composed himself. And he understood the clear message of Ruth. Was he expecting for this? In the Jewish custom to claim one’s right for redemption was a normal thing. And Boaz knew the process well. The redemption right belonged to the closest relative on line. He was not that man. Yet, for Ruth to have sought for her redemption right and approached him directly, it was clear for Boaz that Ruth desired no one to be her husband but him! Before him was Ruth, a fine and young godly woman who had a special room in his heart.

 3. The Solemn Pledge

Boaz gave his word to Ruth. And he meant it from his heart.

“‘The LORD bless you, my daughter,’ he replied. ‘This kindness is greater than that which you showed earlier: You have not run after the younger men, whether rich or poor. And now, my daughter, don't be afraid. I will do for you all you ask. All my fellow townsmen know that you are a woman of noble character. Although it is true that I am near of kin, there is a kinsman-redeemer nearer than I. Stay here for the night, and in the morning if he wants to redeem, good; let him redeem. But if he is not willing, as surely as the LORD lives I will do it. Lie here until morning." (3:10-13)

Ruth tried to find time for much needed rest. Boaz watched over her closely as he carefully organized his move and prayed to God a lot.

C. Trusting on the Movement of God (3:14-18)

At dawn, while it was still dark, Boaz and Ruth parted ways, with no one knowing it, except Naomi, who made a prayer vigil overnight. She calmed down her soul and waited expectantly for Ruth and trusted in God to do his work.

 1. Boaz Watched Over Ruth

Boaz and Ruth had to part ways. Boaz secured her safety and sent her home with bounty of grain.

“So she lay at his feet until morning, but got up before anyone could be recognized; and he said, "Don't let it be known that a woman came to the threshing floor." He also said, "Bring me the shawl you are wearing and hold it out." When she did so, he poured into it six measures of barley and put it on her. Then she went back to town.” (3:14-15) 

Ruth hurried home wondering how things would unfold. Boaz watched over her on the way and braced himself to settle the matter on that day.

 2. Ruth Reported to Naomi

At home, Naomi was eager to hear from Naomi.

“When Ruth came to her mother-in-law, Naomi asked, ‘How did it go, my daughter?’ Then she told her everything Boaz had done for her and added, ‘He gave me these six measures of barley, saying, “Don't go back to your mother-in-law empty-handed.”’” (3:16-17)

Naomi was relieved that all went well. And the closure was on its way.

3. Naomi Reassured Ruth

“Then Naomi said, ‘Wait, my daughter, until you find out what happens. For the man will not rest until the matter is settled today.’” (3:18) Naomi reassured Ruth to be still and pray. That could be their longest day.

 Conclusion

Naomi and Ruth faced a crucial crossroad in life. They made a big step of faith to claim their redemption right. They dwelt upon the sovereignty of the LORD. Ruth appeared Boaz as her kinsman-redeemer. And Boaz resolved to settle the matter within the day. On that day, Ruth and Naomi strengthened their grip on God to see his movement. Where are we on our journey of faith?

What is our dream for our loved ones? Naomi dreamed a home for Ruth. Ruth, a noble woman, deserved a godly man, Boaz, with whom she can rest and live in dignity. As parents we desire this dream for our children. And as a Christian church we dream to be true salt and light of the world.

What decisive step we make to pursue our dream? Ruth appeared before Boaz to claim her redemption right under the sovereignty and grace of God. In our desire to build a godly home as our haven of rest we enthrone Jesus as Lord of our lives. And as a community of faith, in our noble dream to make a godly difference in the world we stand for what is true, right and just.

Do we nurture our bond as we claim our dream? Naomi and Ruth affirmed their love for each other in their painful journey in life. Naomi never took for granted the leftover food Ruth reserved for her. And they wrestled in prayer as they waited upon the movement of God. As we build a godly home we cherish our loved ones in love, service and forgiveness. And as servants of truth, righteousness and justice in the world, we uphold our solidarity and harmony for our common good. To this end we strengthen our grip on God.

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