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fantasyinvader · 3 years

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@fireemblems24

Since @teaveetamer already posted their document on the game, I figured I’m going to go ahead as well since I promised you I’d do this. Part of it is me being impatient and just want to get writing this over with, I’ll admit, but it’s better than something I scribble at the last minute.

Okay, let’s start off with something simple. The route split. There is a meaning behind this you might not be aware of. See, Byleth’s personal class isn’t the Enlightened One in the original text. It’s Nirvana. While it does take some cues from Hindu tradition, namely fusing with the Creator God...dess, in Three Houses it’s tied to a more Buddhist outlook. Namely, the duality between enlightenment and ignorance.

Let me explain. In Buddhist tradition, when he was attempting to reach Nirvana, a being called Mara tried to tempt Buddha away from that using his daughters. In their mythology, Mara represents spiritual death and among other things making bad things look good. However, the story goes that Buddha did not fall for the trap and in order to celebrate this a flag is used as the symbol. This is known as the Banner of Victory.

In Silver Snow, Byleth is presented with a flag. Not only does this flag appear as the route’s save icon, it’s also confirmed to be the game’s Fire Emblem. In addition, the developers have also said that the worldbuilding of Three Houses was done to support Silver Snow. Silver Snow is supposed to represent truth.

But what does that mean for Crimson Flower? It’s meant to be this path of temptation. Even the Japanese name for the route reflects this, as Safflowers don’t represent love like the red rose mentioned in the opening theme but rather attraction. Attraction and used in bouquets to say “I’m trying to attract you.” Even in the game itself, the choices that unlock CF are presented as changing the story.

What’s more, there’s implications.After joining Edelgard’s army, a NPC will talk about how he doesn’t think he should believe everything she says. This is way after Kostas dying, saying he should never have listened to her. There’s another NPC who, in the Japanese, heavily implies Edelgard is using propaganda to try and sway the unsupportive public to her side. We have the aftermath of Arianrhod, with her lying to the Black Eagles. Hell, the full version of the game’s theme song reveals she lied to Byleth during the events of White Clouds. Likewise, there’s a lot of little tidbits hidden in the route that imply it is far less heroic than it initially appears. Stuff like how Edelgard is starving her people to wage this war, how she abandoned the war she started for five years to search for Byleth, how she’s still using Crest Beasts, the fact the troops you liberated at Brigid were Imperial troops rather than Brigid militia like in the other routes (and notice how Catherine says “we just asked Brigid to not support the Empire” in contrast to Petra saying they’re forcing Brigid to join them? Other routes reveal that Brigid would join Rhea in a heartbeat if Petra wasn’t under Edelgard’s control), all optional but they’re there. Just like how her route has endings that contradict each other all over the place, talking about giving the people liberty while Hubert’s imply it’s a police state killing those who don’t accept their new overlord. Or how the Church is still around post-war, just under Edelgard’s control. Or how Byleth’s solo ending makes it still sound like they can use the Sword of the Creator, while the Jeritza ending shows them using the Sword of Seiros. Various bits of information floating around the game also debunk her narrative, if you know where to look. Crests and the Church don’t have as much power as she makes them out to, the Empire was founded on meritocracy but those in charge used their power to oppress the masses, and the Empire’s split with the Church happened because the Southern Church rebelled against their leadership and was crushed by the emperor at the time.

There’s so much evidence that things are changing in Fodlan, with new power structures and attempted reforms, while the Japanese text makes it clear Edelgard wants to put things back to how they used to be. She’s not a reformer, she seeking restoration of the Empire.

Even Byleth’s romance with Edelgard is suspect in the Japanese text. Ferdinand and Hubert’s paired ending makes it clear that Edelgard is jealous of how close they are, while her supports with Byleth flat out say Byleth has become more distant (and likely undoing their development during White Clouds). In addition, Japanese Hubert and Byleth’s support ends with Hubert saying they can be two particular birds flying alongside the eagle that is Edelgard. This bird is from Chinese mythology, representing eternal love...and bringing death, destruction and misery. It has very negative implications, hence why using the mandarin duck is seen as more appropriate since it also means love without any of the other stuff.

CF is the path of ignorance. Hell, the Japanese script says as much when Dimitri calls you out on walking the path of the beast. Nirvana is meant to be extinguishing the flames of hatred, greed and ignorance within yourself, while the path of the beast is one of hatred, greed and ignorance. CF is the antithesis of what Byleth’s story is supposed to be, hence why they lose their powers in it’s ending and aren’t a leader in Fodlan despite having proven themselves capable of the task. Instead, various endings show Edelgard restoring the nobility, albeit with far more control over them. Hell, the Japanese script uses the words conquest a lot more than the English one, the devs even referring to it as such while Silver Snow is the Empire Route and that part of the meaning behind CF is simply getting rid of those who stand in your way. Nothing about liberty or humanity, just Edelgard taking all power for herself.

Or in other words, she’s the hegemon that’s referred to in Byleth’s CF title. This was actually confirmed to be a reference to China’s Mandate of Heaven, and is meant to stand in contrast to Azure Moon. The gist is that unlike the Divine Right of Kings, where a leader has a right to rule given to them by God and everyone else can just suck it up, the Mandate treats their rule as a privilege. If you’re a cruel leader, corrupt,you put yourself ahead of your subjects, or just simply an oppressive tyrant, then you’re walking the path of the Hegemon. The Heavens will then give signs to the people, telling them they need to overthrow you and install a new leader. That’s what Edelgard is supposed to represent, and her route has confirmed rebellions against her. Ironically, her portrait at the end of CF is based off of Napoleon’s coronation portrait, which was meant to emphasize his own divine right to rule. That hand staff is supposed to represent being given God’s approval to rule, it’s call the Staff of Justice...except what we see in the game is inverted from the real thing.

Meanwhile, Dimitri’s path is that of the Righteous Kings. He’s a benevolent leader, one who puts the people first, giving them power and by overthrowing Edelgard he enacted justice. Dimitri at the end of AM and during CF is meant to be the good king, while Edelgard is always the tyrant. Hell, the terms for these in Japanese are used as expressions. Hegemon has very negative implications, like a power-tripping middle manager, while Righteous King has positive ones and can even be used to say a particular way of doing things is the proper way to do things.

Also worth noting that Azure Moon is the only route where you can pretty much save everyone sans Edelgard, Hubert and Jeritza. It seems to be the route that most emphasizes compassion over learning the full truth (hence, it doesn’t feature the flag like SS/VW).

Hell, the same final boss theme plays at the end of CF and AM. It’s Edelgard’s theme, using her own musical cues and stuff. Rhea might be the final boss of CF, but the music makes Edelgard the bad guy. Likewise, there’s many cues in the game linking Rhea with light/dawn and Edelgard with shadows/darkness, even Rhea’s lilies represent purity compared to Edelgard’s safflower.

Claude also has light based symbolism, and the devs confirmed he’s a good guy. He’s supposed to be Fodlan’s new guiding light after Rhea dies and the collapse of Fodlan’s institutions. In essence, he’s a direct contrast to Edelgard. While Edelgard thinks she knows everything and won’t change her mind, Claude learns the real truth and his views change with the route (mostly implied due to his supports). Claude reveals said truth, while Edelgard will keep pushing lies that suit her. The endings were Edelgard loyalists and TWSITD rise up to try and retake Fodlan are less hidden than the rebellions against Edelgard. Claude treats Byleth as an equal, whereas Edelgard pulls rank and says she can only see them as an equal when they propose. Claude doesn’t fall for attempts by TWSITD to turn him against the Church in VW, which creates the impression that they were the ones responsible for turning Edelgard against Rhea for simply being not human.

Claude is legit, especially considering the fraud that is Edelgard. You can’t save everyone as Claude, since the story prioritizes the truth (with SS being in the middle) but there’s a case to be made that it’s meant to be Claude’s path to his own form of enlightenment so he can be your true equal and partner.

So, that’s kinda it. Each of the three main routes are meant to contrast CF in some way. AM is more focused on compassion and saving Dimitri from himself, at the cost of learning the full truth. VW pushes the truth more, but you’re not able to save those you could in other routes. SS is somewhere in the middle, where you can save everyone you take into your class, Rhea if you have supports with her, and Dedue if you can keep him alive. The language the devs used makes them all out to be hero routes, whereas CF is the villain route once you dig under the surface. It’s the route of lies, it leads to tyranny, it lacks sincere compassion, but it doesn’t tell you that because you’re meant to be ignorant because you decided to join her. You put Edelgard ahead of the good of Fodlan, leaving it in darkness while she talks about being it’s light.

The main thrust of the game is SS vs. CF, but VW and AM serve to further illustrate why CF is the wrong way of doing things.

The devs took it a step further in the Nintendo Dream interview. Take all of what I just said, and consider the fact they wanted the players to immerse themselves in Fodlan. They want people to see all the evidence against Edelgard, hence why fighting her = Enlightenment. BUT they also talked about wanting to play a trick on players, and when people complained about how hard it was to “walk with Edelgard” during testing they made it easier to access CF. CF is the trick my friend, it’s the player thinking they’re the good guy when in reality they’re playing the game’s villain route.

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

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1 So, based on your latest posts, and because you take the time to explore things that have been on my mind lately: 1 Jon-Sansa reunion is foreshadowed in Jamie-Cersei meeting at the Sept over dead Tywin and Jamie's dream of his mother. 2. T-S wedding not annulled, T will press his claim. Horrible suspicion: Sansa forgot her bedding and her PoV is completely blurred. Her next PoV is when she escapes and she thinks she should tell T about her moodblood!

2 T never once denies that he bedded her. He thinks "I am not bedded" once but that's because he wants to be chosen and S doesn't want him. He did what Tywin wanted "bed her once". He'll probably press his claim to WF based on that. In Catelyn's chapter Robb says he'll take his head off for what he did. This foreshadow comes also in Ts chapters in ADWD. Please explore Ts chapters more! Nice catch the whore-wife thing!

Oh hi, anon!

OMG, you make an excellent point! I think that GRRM planned something quite like this with the 5-year-gap he ended up having to scrap. Now it makes sense! I’ll put in some quotes below that show the hints.

It might still happen now. Obviously, not involving the actual wedding night, but as a “completely blurred” experience that involves Sansa (and probably Tyrion) at a point in the future. A point where Tyrion doesn’t care about being nice anymore. But for now, let’s look at what might have been.

Here’s where the hints come in after their wedding in ASOS:

For their wedding night, they had been granted the use of an airy bedchamber high in the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion kicked the door shut behind them. “There is a flagon of good Arbor gold on the sideboard, Sansa. Will you be so kind as to pour me a cup?” “Is that wise, my lord?” “Nothing was ever wiser. I am not truly drunk, you see. But I mean to be.” Sansa filled a goblet for each of them. It will be easier if I am drunk as well. She sat on the edge of the great curtained bed and drained half her cup in three long swallows. No doubt it was very fine wine, but she was too nervous to taste it. It made her head swim.

They both drink a wine that Tyrion has provided for them. Arbor Gold, he says. A different chapter with Shae suggests something else.

“We should go back,” he said reluctantly. “It must be near dawn. Sansa will be waking.” “You should give her dreamwine,” Shae said, “like Lady Tanda does with Lollys. A cup before she goes to sleep, and we could fuck in bed beside her without her waking.” She giggled. “Maybe we should, some night. Would m’lord like that?” Her hand found his shoulder, and began to knead the muscles there. “Your neck is hard as stone. What troubles you?”

Tyrion could not see his fingers in front of his face, but he ticked his woes off on them all the same. “My wife. (…) He had come to his last finger. “The face that stares back out of the water when I wash.”(ASOS, Tyrion)

She mentions the dreamwine and he gets tense as a stone, the thought of his wife troubles him and he can’t stand the look of his own face. Hmmm… (That last one is also a Tysha hint, but I digress.)

The pivotal moment at the wedding night:

She climbed onto the featherbed, conscious of his stare. A scented beeswax candle burned on the bedside table and rose petals had been strewn between the sheets. She had started to pull up a blanket to cover herself when she heard him say, “No.”

The cold made her shiver, but she obeyed. Her eyes closed, and she waited. After a moment she heard the sound of her husband pulling off his boots, and the rustle of clothing as he undressed himself. When he hopped up on the bed and put his hand on her breast, Sansa could not help but shudder. She lay with her eyes closed, every muscle tense, dreading what might come next. Would he touch her again? Kiss her? Should she open her legs for him now? She did not know what was expected of her.

“Sansa.” The hand was gone. “Open your eyes.” She had promised to obey; she opened her eyes. He was sitting by her feet, naked. Where his legs joined, his man’s staff poked up stiff and hard from a thicket of coarse yellow hair, but it was the only thing about him that was straight. “My lady,” Tyrion said, “you are lovely, make no mistake, but … I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little.” His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister. (ASOS, Sansa)

This feels rewritten, doesn’t it? The sudden break, the sudden reprieve. It could just be Tyrion’s creeping conscience making him change his mind. Or it could be Sansa’s mind rewriting the moment. As the series stands now, it can be both. But this issue between them is so heavily referenced that it will have to come up again in the future, one way or the other. It was always meant to be important.

This is at the end of the wedding night chapter:

“On my honor as a Lannister,” the Imp said, “I will not touch you until you want me to.” It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, “And if I never want you to, my lord?” His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. “Never?” Her neck was so tight she could scarcely nod. “Why,” he said, “that is why the gods made whores for imps like me.” He closed his short blunt fingers into a fist, and climbed down off the bed. (ASOS, Sansa)

That’s some violent imagery for a kindly refusal to rape her, isn’t it? We all know what Lannister honor is worth (a bucket of…) and we see that Tyrion does feel entitled to her, or he wouldn’t react with dismay at her suggestion that she may never want him.

The chapter is followed by an Arya chapter describing Stoney Sept, the Battle of the Bells, and this comes up quickly:

More recent battles had been fought here as well, Arya thought from the look of the place. The town gates were made of raw new wood; outside the walls a pile of charred planks remained to tell what had happened to the old ones.

(…)

“When the westermen came through they raped the Huntsman’s wife and sister, put his crops to the torch, ate half his sheep, and killed the other half for spite. Killed six dogs too, and threw the carcasses down his well. A chewed-up corpse would be plenty good enough for him, I’d say. Me as well.” (ASOS, Arya)

Tyrion used that ugly “smash your portcullis” metaphor just in the chapter before. That’s not subtle.

Let’s look at two angles at Sansa’s POV, keeping in mind the dreamwine. One of the biggest hints that something bad happened (or will happen) to Sansa is in a TWOW sample chapter, “Mercy”. Arya will be “raped” by a dwarf on stage, in a play that’s about the Purple Wedding. Mercy is likely to play Sansa’s character.

She had fastened the shutters back so the morning sun might wake her. But there was no sun outside the window of Mercy's little room, only a wall of shifting grey fog. The air had grown chilly... and a good thing, else she might have slept all day. It would be just like Mercy to sleep through her own rape. Gooseprickles covered her legs. Her coverlet had twisted around her like a snake. She unwound it, threw the blanket to the bare plank floor and padded naked to the window. Braavos was lost in fog. (TWOW, Mercy)

The Tyrion chapter with Shae and the dreamwine is followed directly by a Sansa chapter that opens thusly:

That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so …

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

Her lord husband was not beside her, but she was used to that. (ASOS, Sansa)

If only dreaming could make everyone safe and warm.

So, why would this have happened? Because Jesus-Jon Snow Needs a Virgin Mother Mary Magdalene.

Like many other female characters, Sansa is surrounded by biblical Mary imagery. “Lys”, in fact, is French for “lily”, the virginal flower that represents the Virgin Mary and, as a city name in Essos, the den of high-end prostitutes. Look for “lys”, it’s everywhere. Madonna-Whore is one of the biggest themes in the books, right next to the light and dark messiah represented by Dany and Jon. Sansa is currently still heavy on the “Maiden” aspect, but that was going to change. But with a twist. Mary is, after all, a virgin mother.

A woman who doesn’t remember having been raped is still a virgin, yes?

Starting in Sansa’s “sweet dream” chapter, we get a barrage of pregnancy and bastard allusions all through Sansa’s arrival at the Fingers, along with lots of food symbolism. She has a fluttery “tummy”, she can’t eat. After her Escape, she arrives by ship nauseated and is offered fruit by Littlefinger. She rejects the pomegranate, i.e. marriage to Hades, she rejects the blood orange, i.e. wrathful revenge, but she chooses the pear, i.e. the virgin Mary AND child.

So, Virgin Mary and the bastard child. Or, as the world would call her: the whore.

More hints with Lysa:

As Sansa stepped back, Lady Lysa caught her wrist. “Now tell me,” she said sharply. “Are you with child? The truth now, I will know if you lie.” “No,” she said, startled by the question. “You are a woman flowered, are you not?” “Yes.” Sansa knew the truth of her flowering could not be long hidden in the Eyrie. “Tyrion didn’t … he never …” She could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. “I am still a maid.” “Was the dwarf incapable?” “No. He was only … he was …” Kind? She could not say that, not here, not to this aunt who hated him so. “He … he had whores, my lady. He told me so.”

So Tyrion “had” a whore. And Sansa has repressed the memory, making her a maiden in her own mind. But a maiden with child.

Littlefinger would have loved it, apparently.

I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now … it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. (AFFC, Alayne)

Thanks for the self-insert, GRRM.

There are plenty of allusions in all the chapters to rape, protective walls (around people’s hearts) and Jon, in particular, climbing walls, pregnancy, childbirth, Trauma, etc etc etc.

Tyrion’s first chapter after their wedding opens like this:

Nothing remained beyond the King’s Gate but mud and ashes and bits of burned bone, yet already there were people living in the shadow of the city walls, and others selling fish from barrows and barrels. (ASOS, Tyrion)

To make it short: “Wall” is a code for Sansa. There are people living in the shadow of the wall after a gate was destroyed. Hmm.

His marriage was a daily agony. Sansa Stark remained a maiden, and half the castle seemed to know it. When they had saddled up this morning, he’d heard two of the stableboys sniggering behind his back. He could almost imagine that the horses were sniggering as well. He’d risked his skin to avoid the bedding ritual, hoping to preserve the privacy of his bedchamber, but that hope had been dashed quick enough. Either Sansa had been stupid enough to confide in one of her bedmaids, every one of whom was a spy for Cersei, or Varys and his little birds were to blame. (ASOS, Tyrion)

This is the only snag in the theory. Tyrion corroborates Sansa’s version of events. Or so it seems. Maybe Tyrion also misremembers. Which fits with his Tysha repression. There not being a “bloody sheet” is a mystery, though, for another day. There’s a Tyrion scene with Shae in AGOT or ACOK where he, ahem, barely manages to “storm the castle” before he finishes. It may have played like that. If it did. We don’t know.

It doesn’t matter now. But anyway.

Another hint when Catelyn arrives at the Twins for the Red Wedding, describing Lord Walder Frey:

His chair was black oak, its back carved into the semblance of two stout towers joined by an arched bridge, so massive that its embrace turned the old man into a grotesque child. There was something of the vulture about Lord Walder, and rather more of the weasel. His bald head, spotted with age, thrust out from his scrawny shoulders on a long pink neck. Loose skin dangled beneath his receding chin, his eyes were runny and clouded, and his toothless mouth moved constantly, sucking at the empty air as a babe sucks at his mother’s breast. (ASOS, Catelyn)

My suspicion on what would have eventually happened to that bastard:

What does he want me to say? “That is good to know, my lord.” He wanted something from her, but Sansa did not know what it was. He looks like a starving child, but I have no food to give him. Why won’t he leave me be? Tyrion rubbed at his scarred, scabby nose yet again, an ugly habit that drew the eye to his ugly face. “You have never asked me how Robb died, or your lady mother.” “I … would sooner not know. It would give me bad dreams.” “Then I will say no more.” “That … that’s kind of you.” “Oh, yes,” said Tyrion. “I am the very soul of kindness. And I know about bad dreams.” (ASOS, Sansa)

Children starving in the winter is something we heard from Old Nan.

“The Others,” Old Nan agreed. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.” Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with pale, filmy eyes and asked, “So, child. This is the sort of story you like?”

I’m not sure if this would have happened, but there is plenty of precedence of decent young mothers suffering horribly: Helaena Targaryen, Elia Martell, countless unnamed civilians, even Gilly and her two rabbits that Ghost killed.

At this point, of course, it doesn’t matter because it happened differently. Since GRRM had to scrap the 5-year-gap for being unworkable, this plan had to change. Sansa has been in the Vale for way long enough to be certain that pregnancy, at least, is not a factor. This theoretical Lannister baby is a scrap in the bin.

Whether he will pick up this thread directly (by possibly even repeating it when the un-annulled marriage becomes a factor again) or transfer some of this onto Sansa’s storyline by another character, Sansa remains officially a maiden and will most probably become pregnant at some point in a way that recalls the Virgin Mary. It may straight up be Jon’s baby at this point, what with the time constraints. Not remembering is certaintly something that will come up between them. Or it may have either an uncertain or a more sinister “source”.

It’s going to be interesting!

Either way, thank you so much for the ask, it really inspired me!

#asoiaf speculation #asoiaf #sansa stark #Tyrion Lannister #rape #asks #my posts

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mautadite · 4 years

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may book round up

24 books this month, a pretty good stack. even though i’m working from home i keep expecting work to swamp me and leave me with no reading time but... that hasn’t happened yet? so, good.

silver moon - catherine lundoff ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a paranormal novel about a small town in which certain women who reach the age of menopause find another change happening to their bodies. i.e. they become werewolves. i fucking adored this concept and there was f/f romance, but the execution and the writing was sadly pretty boring.

no-no boy - john okada ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ post-wwii, following a young japanese american man who was just released from prison. called a no-no boy because like all other japanese men at the time, he was asked two questions: will you serve in the armed forces and swear loyalty to the us? he answered no to both questions and was detained. the novel follows him grappling with that decision after the war, looks into his friends, family life, race relations, and what it’s like living in a country that despises you. enjoyed it a lot.

the husband gambit - l.a. witt ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the kind of tropey romance nonsense that i live for. contemporary m/m slow burn fake marriage between a struggling actor, and the son of a famous hollywood producer. there were some meh parts (like, the plotting and the reasoning behind why they had to get fake married was like... are you SURE marriage is the best way to fix this) but i really liked it for the romance and the tropes.

drive your plow over the bones of the dead - olga tocarczuk ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary polish mystery fiction, following an old woman living in a secluded community in the woods, when poachers and prominent hunters begin turning up dead. really interesting writing and format, and a really excellent protagonist. not sure how much i liked the actual mystery.

the babysitter - jack harbon ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ quick and dirty m/m romance, a literature-loving babysitter falls for the divorced father of the kid he babysits. pretty fun.

zipper mouth - laurie weeks ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary fiction that follows a queer, mentally ill woman as she hurdles through life, unrequited love, jobs, and lots of drugs. i enjoyed the themes when there was a coherent one, but i really didn’t gel with the style. i guess it was trying to be stream of consciousness, which i have read and enjoyed in the past. but this didn’t do it for me. interesting tho, and honestly, i just might not have been the audience for it.

spirits abroad - zen cho ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a PHENOMENAL collection of stories drawing inspiration from malaysian spirits, culture and folklore. absolutely loved it, fave read of the month for sure. loved the use of language and dialect, and the writing was simple and precise and wonderful. and there were some great f/f stories in here.

a cat, a man and two women - junichiro tanizaki ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the setting: 1920s japan. the characters: lily, a fat tortoiseshell. shozo, her lazy, well-meaning, but ineffectual cat-dad. fukuko, his hot young former mistress, current wife. shinako, his strong-willed, slightly bitter ex-wife. the plot: shinako decides, HEY ACTUALLY FUCK YOU KEEP YOUR HOT WIFE BUT I WANT THE CAT. a great novella about loneliness and comeuppance and marriage. the best part was the cat lol.

the terracotta bride - zen cho ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ really interesting novella about a young dead woman living in chinese hell. she’s married, and her husband has three wives. the first: estranged, conniving, distant. the second: herself, unwilling but resigned. the third: newly arrived, and made out of terracotta. very interesting novella, beautifully written, grim but hopeful, f/f romance on the side.

king and the dragonflies - kacen callender ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ wonderful queer children/YA book about family, grief, racism, coming to know yourself and also accepting yourself. contemporary, but it almost FEELS like a fantasy/magical realism book.

orphan number eight - kim alkemade ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a novel about an orphaned woman coming to terms with experiments done on her as a child, when she encounters the doctor who performed said experiments, dying in a nursing home. the writing in this was pretty so-so, did a lot of head-hopping which is my biggest pet peeve. i liked the concept, but the plot and the follow through were meh. loved that the main character was a lesbian though, and some of the writing was great.

firm hand - nora phoenix ⭐️⭐️ meh... not for me. m/m contemporary romance following a guy recovering from the car crash that killed his best friend, and his best friend’s son. it went some places that i’m just not up for, lol.

meet cute club - jack harbon ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ REALLY adorable m/m romance, following a dorky, earnest romance novel lover, and the new cashier at his favourite book store. they end up trying to revive the main characters struggling book club, and falling in love along the way. very fun and sweet.

mrs. mix up - candice harper ⭐️⭐️ the concept sounded so so cute: an f/f romance about two librarians with similar last names that go to a library convention and the staff mistakenly thinks they’re married and book them into one room. but the writing and chemistry were lacklustre and it was extremely poorly edited. it’s a shame, i could have liked this.

mine - kim hartfield ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a sexy f/f romance that i liked a LOT, about a young woman who after a traumatic event in her life decides to quit her job and go volunteer on a farm in the middle of nowhere. she ends up falling for her sexy lesbian farmer boss. it got deep in some areas i wasn’t really expecting it to, though it was a tad... idk, preachy? and the conflict at the end was annoying. enjoyed it a bunch tho.

the hobbit - j.r.r. tolkien ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ nth reread! i’ve been listening to this on audiobook around bedtime since like... march, i think, it’s just such a comfort read for me.

the knight and the necromancer 1-3 - a.h. lee ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ a very solidly good fantasy m/m romance series, about a young prince and a necromancer in a war against an invading sorcerer. sorta enemies to lovers? the three books span their relationship and the war, and though it was only a few weeks in time, it didn’t feel insta-lovey at all. liked it a lot.

the fake game - kim hartfield ⭐️⭐️⭐️ contemporary f/f fake dating office romance! pretty cute; didn’t blow me away but i solidly liked most of it.

what the wind knows - amy harbon ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ historical time travel romance centred around the aftermath of the ireland easter rising. i spend so much time reading solidly gay stuff that it’s so weird reading things where the existence of queer ppl isn’t even acknowledged lol. anyway this was pretty good, i liked it mostly for the historical facts and aspects, but the romance was pretty touching too.

the golem of mala lubovnya - kim fielding ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ LOVELY m/m romance in a small jewish community between a newly created golem and a stonemason. lovely writing and atmosphere and characters. i had my nitpicks with the resolution but holy heck i’m so happy with this.

the electric heir - victoria lee ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ the second part of a queer YA duo-logy that i started earlier this year, set in a future dystopian magic-riddled US, dealing with abuse and trauma and survivors. extremely difficult to read, almost unenjoyable at times (because god these kids go through so much) but very very good.

first everything - kim hartfield ⭐️⭐️ aha, possibly my last try with this author, though i liked the first book i read by her so much i might read one more! f/f romance between a journalist and a fictional first daughter (who’s also like, a domme, lol). the plot was fine but a lot of the character stuff and the shitty parent stuff really bothered me.

and that was may! for june i’ll... read lots of queer stuff, but i mean i do that every month. i also want to try to read less romance, more thriller and historical and just general contemporary? i feel like i say that all the time, but i’ll try. (though i did just get my first ever advanced reader copy from netgalley and it’s f/f romance, so... exciting!) currently reading the 7 deaths and evelyn hardcastle, a thriller. pretty okay so far.

#book talk #long post

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thekitchensnk · 5 years

Text

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 14)

Rating: T Warnings: Sexual themes, violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

When she awoke the next morning, her head was splitting and her mouth felt stale and dry. She twisted her face sleepily at the awful taste, and scowled blearily.

“Too much to drink last night, Rangiku-chan?” Ayame asked with feigned innocence.

Rangiku could only groan in response, and she pulled her pillow over her head.

“Nope, nope, nope!” Ayame cried. “Up you get, you lazy bones. We have the entire club to mop and I’m not doing it by myself just because someone indulged a bit too much last night. Besides,” she huffed, “Chiyo-san will have your hide if you’re late. She’ll chuck you out, and then I’ll have to do it all by myself until she can hire a new girl.”

Rangiku’s groan grew plaintive and pitiful. “Ayame…”

But Ayame’s eyes were resolute.

“Three. Two,” she counted down in warning.

Rangiku whined miserably.

“One.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m up! You slave-driver! You meglomaniac! You’re as bad as Chiyo-baa-san, I swear. If you’re not careful you’ll get old and wrinkly and start to smell like cabbage just like- gyack!”

Ayame had taken hold of her legs. Rangiku flailed wildly, but it was too late- Ayame dragged her by the legs out of her bed and she trailed blankets and fabrics in her wake. Rangiku found herself sliding on her back across the tatami, dragged by her legs, and it scraped at her as she moved. By some stroke of misfortune, it seemed like her limbs bashed into every object in her path, and her head rang like a bell with her hangover. In the meantime, Ayame had made impressive and stubborn progress towards the rice-paper door, even whilst dragging her roommate behind her.

“I said ‘okay!’ Ayame-chan! Shit! Let go of my legs!” Rangiku demanded, her golden hair fanned out about her face in a frazzled mane.

A red flush sat high on Ayame’s cheeks, but she let go. “Get up on time then!” she ordered.

Rangiku rubbed at her ankles, and she pouted.

“Mou, Ayame, you have a grip like a boa constrictor.”

“Rather a boa constrictor than a fat, lazy cat,” Ayame countered fiercely.

“I used my powers last night! I’m tired and hungry, alright?”

“I didn’t have an easy time of it either! I got landed with a slimy creep, and he forced his tongue into my mouth.”

Rangiku winced.

“Yeah, actually,” she said sympathetically. “That probably is worse. Someone idiot went for me and got me right in the jaw. Didn’t hurt. Not much anyway.” She paused, and her eyes widened suddenly. “Ayame-chan, did it leave a bruise?” she fretted. If she had a big, ugly bruise on her jaw, it would seriously impact what she could make in tips.

Gin would have lied and teased her, she knew, just for kicks. She could imagine it vividly. “Yep,” he would have nodded expertly. “Big black bruise the size of a fist. Ya’ can see all the individual knuckle marks and everything. Ooo, ya’ gonna look a right sight tonight at work. Ran-chan. Ya’ sure that was a man and not a bear? It’s huge. Looks sore,” he would have said, and he would have feigned sympathy. He might even have ghosted his hand over it, and she would have shivered at the nearness of his touch. There had been no boundaries, not between the two of them.

But Gin was not here.

Ayame-chan was, and Ayame-chan did not have an ounce of guile in her (nor, Rangiku suspected sourly, a sense of humour). And though she was bossy, she was kind and she was here, and that was what counted.

Ayame cupped her face gently and studied her jawline.

“Nothing there that I can see,” she said. “Might be a bit red, but you should be okay.” Her hand dropped. “I’m sorry that you got hit. It must have hurt.”

Rangiku paused. “Well,” she said with a grimace, “I should have seen a punch like that coming from a mile off. He was so slow. Must have been the sake I sneaked. Dulled my reactions. ‘S my own fault, really.” She paused and looked Ayame earnestly in the eye. “I’m sorry that that creep forced you. I should have been there to stop him.”

But Ayame was dismissive. “It’s part of the job. Sometimes you’re not around. Sometimes they’re unbearable, sometimes they’re not. Sometimes they’re not even bad. It’s just my luck being the most junior girl here.” She paused. “‘Cept you, I guess.”

“’Cept me,” Rangiku echoed, “but I’m the muscle, not the beauty.” She grinned, entertained at her own wit, and slapped her bicep.

Ayame snorted. “Stop it. You could get a permanent job here in a heartbeat and you know it, with colouring like that. Big blue eyes. Golden hair. I’m almost jealous. Chiyo-san sniffed out a good deal when she found you- beauty and brawn.”

“And brains!” Rangiku chimed in.

Ayame’s eyes sparkled slyly. “I wouldn’t go that far, Rangiku-chan.”

Ayame did have a sense of humour, Rangiku amended to herself. It was just mean.

“Anyway,” Rangiku said pointedly, changing the subject, “Chiyo didn’t find me, actually. That was all me. I found her, and this place.” She patted the wall fondly.

“I’ve heard the story.” Ayame snorted. “You just strolled up and shouted ‘HIRE ME!’, with no references or anything.” Ayame seemed scandalised at the mere thought.

It was not at all far from the truth.

“Yep,” Rangiku said cheerfully. “Pretty much spot on.”

Ayame rolled her eyes. She put on a high-pitched voice. “’Will work- please pay in rice. And mochi if you have it.’”

“Yep,” Rangiku nodded, “Did that too.”

Ayame shook her head again. “Seriously, Rangiku-chan, I don’t understand you. All that power, those looks, and you go and you decide ‘Oh! I know what! I’ll go and work in a whorehouse.”

“Mou, Ayame-chan, be fair. It’s a club too.”

She also hadn’t known it was a whorehouse when she had brazenly demanded to be hired, but she wasn’t going to give Ayame any more of a chance to think of her as a stupid country bumpkin than she already had.

“But hardly what the majority of customers come here for.”

“Not true at all,” Rangiku argued, knowing that Ayame was right. “We have great musicians and great sake. Chiyo-san has put together a great place here. ‘S not just-“ she flushed slightly “-sex stuff.”

Ayame laughed at her then. “Come on, Rangiku-chan, you can say the word. You work here too.”

She could. She did. She had seen people in alley ways countless times in her old district, tangled up in one another, making odd gasps in the darkness, and whores selling their wares on the street, trying to scrape together enough for water and a roof over their heads. She was hardly innocent, and the girls who worked at the brothel had been sure to give her a thorough education. But at the same time, it wasn’t as if she had any practical experience in the matter. Gin had been fond of singing the dirty versions of the songs that they learnt on the streets, once upon a time, but she hadn’t understood what the words actually meant until she had started work here.

She just glowered, and Ayame ruffled her already untidy bedhead. Rangiku batted her hand away with another fierce look, and Ayame laughed. There was only a handful of years between them, but in Ayame’s view, that meant that Rangiku was a justified target for both condescension and teasing. Rangiku was younger, Ayame was elder, and that could only mean one thing: that she deserved teasing.

She hated it. She loved it.

“Come on then, you. Let’s get ready for work,” Ayame said, striding off.

Rangiku quickly tied up her messy hair with one of Ayame’s ribbons. Her hair, which she had kept at shoulder length for all the years she had known Gin, was just beginning to touch her shoulder blades, and had become increasingly hard to tame in recent days. It had only been two years, but she had shot up in height, her thighs and chest were growing thicker, and she grew curvier with every passing week it seemed. All she knew was that it was a constant pain in the ass having to remember that her hips were wider than they had been before; they were constantly littered with bruises from where she’d bashed into furniture running about the place.

For all the years she had lived with Gin, it had been as if her body was frozen in time, as if Rangiku’s innermost wish- for things never to change, for the two of them to stay together, as they were, always- had been reflected in her body. It had been as if the fear of change had weighed even on her very soul.

But time, it seemed, had finally caught up with her.

She threw her sleeping clothes (another novel aspect of this new chapter of her life) on the floor, and quickly changed into the colourful yet simple cotton yukata which served as her work clothes. She was not senior enough to warrant a silk kimono, and it would have been wasted on bar staff in any case, with the volume of spilled drinks she saw. She pulled on some tabi, stood, and straightened out her yukata with a fierce yank.

Her eyes were bright. She dashed through the paper doors after Ayame, her hip catching the door frame clumsily as she did so, and she hissed in pain.

She paused suddenly, and her hand darted to her fingers in panic. She dashed back to her sleeping roll. She fished around under her pillow, trying to find the vital thing she had forgotten. She found it quickly.

Her hands were bigger than they had once been, and so it was difficult to force it on, but there it was, two years later. A simple ring, made of tin, shining on her finger.

Satisfied, she sprinted off again.

“Ayame!” she called out loudly. “Ayame-chan!”

The sun was high in the sky, and silhouetted behind paper doors, the inhabitants of the Floating Moon were just beginning to stir. It was mid-afternoon. The work day was about to begin.

---

Ayame had taken the counter, and which had left her with the floor. How a floor could get so sticky in the course of a single night, she had no idea, and she slopped her mop around in a sulk, merely trailing grime back and forth in her efforts to clean up. Ayame had made a valiant starting effort wiping down sake cups, and she had piled the ones she had done on one side of the bar. Their white ceramic gleamed in the light. Red lanterns hung unlit from the walls, their paper faded and slightly dusty in the light of the afternoon.

There was much to be done before opening.

Rangiku mopped ferociously, her hair sticking to her forehead with the effort, and she felt her mind slip away with the mundanity of the task.

Her job, as far as she could tell, was to be bar maid, bouncer and janitor all in one.

It had been suggested, once, that she also cook the afternoon meal, the meal that they tended to all take together, once everyone had risen. She had been so giddy when she’d seen the sheer number of ingredients available in the kitchen (red bean paste? Natto? Mirin?) that she’d allowed her imagination to run wild and added a little bit of everything to the meal she had cooked. Gone were the days of rice, rice and garlic, rice and scallions, rice and ginger, rice and bone broth, and dawning were the days of the red bean soy curd surprise! It had tasted like culinary gold in her mouth, and she had moaned with the luxury of it.

Ayame had been sick. Yuki, one of the older ladies working at the Floating Moon, had turned a distinct greenish hue.

Chiyo, the brothel’s elderly owner, had stoically eaten every bite in silence, only to turn to her afterwards and announce that she was never to set foot in the kitchen again, because she was evidently cursed. Chiyo feared that her mere presence would turn the precious bounty of their kitchen rancid.

She had protested ferociously at the time.

Gin had never complained about her cooking. He would have laughed to hear that she had a kitchen-curse.

(But Gin was gone, and home was far away.)

Back in the present, she clenched her fist, and felt the bite of her too-small tin ring against her fingers.

She did not mind playing barmaid.

If anything, that was an understatement.

She loved playing barmaid.

She loved the electric thrill of the music in the night, the peals of laughter that rang through the club and bounced off its walls, the chatter and the dull roar of conversation, of deals made and jokes cracked and stories shared. She loved the energy, the atmosphere, the feeling that people were connecting and touching, even if only for one night and under one roof.

She loved the attention they showered on her, the way they would try and wheedle their way into her graces, the way that they would give her drinks and keep their eyes on her. She loved the bantering nature of it, the game-like play of interactions at the bar, the way that they would compete with each other as if she was worth something, as if they wanted her. And better still- the game was rigged. She would always win. She could string them along with a girlish laugh, and bat her golden lashes, and then she could say no, and they could do nothing about it but grumble.

Once upon a time, it had unsettled her, to have eyes linger on her like that. She had felt alien, other, to have her body looked upon in ways she didn’t understand and didn’t want, in ways so beyond her control. It had made her feel powerless. It had made her feel ashamed. She had not understood what they wanted at the time, but had intuited that they were capable of taking it by force, and the thought had frightened her.

She was stronger now. No one could take anything from her that she did not wish to give.

(But it was nice to be wanted for once. Even if only for a night. Even if only superficially.)

And now could use her powers to protect the girls here and make sure that the same was true for them.

She loved to watch the customers surreptitiously as she cleaned out sake cups behind the bar. From her post, she saw lovers and would-be lovers and soon-to-be lovers, their smiles shy, or boastful, or laden with secret meaning, and it filled her with warmth to see them, to see the softness in them, to see the tentative creation of something new.

She yearned for a softness like that, for some small thing that she could call her own.

She would watch them, and she would dream.

It was a common topic of conversation in the earliest early hours, when the dawn had cracked on the horizon and the sun was beginning to sit high in the sky and the party was over for another night. With the bright light of morning starting to caress the shadowy corners of the room, with tired, aching bodies and bright, feverish eyes, the women of the brothel (at least those who still believed in dreams and romance) would talk of love, leaning against each other to support their tired bodies, their heads together and shoulders pressed against each other.

Ayame was a pragmatist. Brushing her sweat-tangled chestnut hair out fiercely, she would say, "No boyfriends, no beaus, no sweethearts. I'm going to make my money here quickly, and then I'll be out of the business for good. I'll use my savings to start my own business, or to get some training, or I'll put it down as a dowry to attract someone rich." Whoring at an establishment like the Floating Moon paid well, and it was a pragmatic career choice for those to wished to get a good head start on the rest of their lives.

They were very lucky. Few girls in the trade could boast better conditions. Commissions were good, and Chiyo, as a former whore herself, looked after her girls to the extent that she could, and took only reasonable rates for commission, room and water. She had even employed Rangiku, a hopeless case who had rocked up at her door clueless of what it was that was actually done at the Floating Moon and who required the extra expense of feeding. Despite her burgeoning beauty and growing figure, Chiyo had not demanded that she turn tricks (though Rangiku suspected that she would offer to increase her pay if she did), but had been content to employ her on Rangiku’s own terms the minute Rangiku had demonstrated her powers.

Yuki, a gentle, small woman in her early thirties who had been at the brothel since her teens, would often disagree with Ayame, though diplomatically, as was her way. She would take the brush from out Ayame's hands, bid her to sit in front of her, and she would brush her hair more tenderly than Ayame ever did herself, working the tangles out from the ends before brushing through so as not to hurt her. "Ayame-chan,” Rangiku heard her say patiently once, “you're very young still. You might change your mind- sometimes, our plans can go awry in ways we never expect. Life throws all sorts of things at us. Love is beautiful, and love is surprising. It's like nothing else on earth."

Sayaka, with her striking green eyes which beneath thick, harsh eyebrows, took a different line again. “Give me a handsome man,” she would declaim grinning through her weariness. “A man who knows what he’s doing for once, for Kami’s sake, and not these desperate, silly little boys and lonely old men. Give me a man with fire in his veins, someone who will pay attention to me, someone who will last longer than five minutes and do more than poke, poke, po-!”

“Sayaka-kun!” Ayame would exclaim in outrage.

“What, little Ayame-chan? You know it’s true,” Sayaka would sigh.

“There are more important things than sex,” Ayame would say primly.

“Sex is important too. Passion is important. You’ll just get bored otherwise, and then where will you be?”

“Sex is important,” Yuki would agree. “There’s a reason why men pay for it, after all. But it’s not everything, Sayaka-chan. One day, you might both be lucky enough to meet someone who fills the gaps at your edges- someone who you realise you cannot do without.”

“Only one gap I’m interested in having filled, Yuki-san,” Sayaka grinned widely. Ayame would bat at her, outraged, and the two would squabble as they always did.

Rangiku, who had no idea about any of these things, would just blink sleepily at them, and long for her bed.

With Ayame’s hair finished, Yuki would pat the space in front of her and beckon to Rangiku to sit in front of her so that she could brush her hair next. Yuki’s hands were soft and just beginning to line. They felt like warm silk, and Rangiku would always lean into her touch as Yuki pushed her hair behind her ears.

“You have beautiful hair, Rangiku-chan,” she would praise. “The way it catches the light- it’s like gold! You’ve been blessed.”

Rangiku would almost purr as her hair was brushed.

“And what does Rangiku-chan think of love?” Yuki would tease quietly. “Are we pragmatic like Ayame-chan? Do we want a stallion like Sayaka-chan? Or are we content to wait and see, like me?”

Sayaka would snort. “The only thing Rangiku wants is to sleep! Such a lazy girl!” She feigned an obnoxious snore.

“It is 7am! We all want to sleep. And I’m perfectly content to wait, Yuki-san,” Ayame would add in a huff.

What did she want?

“I don’t know anything about love,” Rangiku had confessed quietly when asked for the first time.

Yuki’s response had been characteristically calm and gentle. “Who does, Rangiku-chan?” She had paused, the brush still in Rangiku’s hair, as if dwelling on things long since passed. “But you’re here. It’s hard to make it where you’ve come from all on your own.” She pointed at her ring, which gleamed in the light. “Someone must have cared, even if a little.”

Rangiku had mulled that over quietly and had said nothing.

She had arrived at a satisfying answer to give the girls after repeated prompting.

“Give me a boy who knows how to smile,” she would say, and Sayaka would whoop and Yuki would nod approvingly. “Give me a boy who will look after me. Give me a boy who will care.” Even Ayame could not find fault in that.

(But what she really meant was this: I want one boy in particular. I want him to come back.

And she would feel ashamed, because she knew that he had not wanted to stay in the first place, that she had never been enough for him.)

Over time, she began to have fun with her answers.

“Give me a man who knows how to have a good time,” she would start boldly, intent on outrage. “Give me a man who can drink me under the table. Give me a man who will worship the ground I walk on,” she would say, waving her arms about. “Give me a handsome man and a powerful man and an absolute demon in the sheets. Give me a man who will fight for me. Give me a man who would die for me,” she would end melodramatically.

Yuki would just sigh fondly, long since grown accustomed to her antics. “Sayaka has gotten to you.” She’d turn to Sayaka. “You’ve been a bad influence on our youngest girl, you!”

Sayaka would cheer and applaud. Ayame would roll her eyes and groan.

“Give her a man who knows how to cook, because she sure as hell can’t!” Sayaka joked once. Even Ayame had not been able to help but laugh on that one.

Their conspiring would draw to an abrupt end either when girls in other rooms banged on the rice paper doors, shouting at them to shut up because they had worked the whole night long and it was past dawn and well past time to be sleeping, or when they were too exhausted to keep their eyes open.

“Goodnight, Ayame-chan,” Rangiku would whisper into the light, only clumsily beaten back with shades and curtains. “Goodnight, Sayaka-kun. Goodnight, Yuki-san.”

“Goodnight Rangiku-chan,” they would murmur sleepily back at her.

Her sleep was almost always the dreamless sleep of the exhausted, but it never came instantly like it did for the others.

(Squeeze her eyes shut though she would, she always felt his absence at her back, the emptiness like negative space, like she was missing a piece. To her shame, she would replay the moments when he used to wind his arm around her, trying to forget, just for the moments that it took for her to get to sleep, that he had abandoned her.)

Pulling back from her reveries, her mind firmly back in the realities of pre-opening clean up, she turned to shout boisterously at Ayame.

“Oi, Ayame-chan! Pass me a dish cloth!”

“Come and get it yourself, you lazy thing!” Ayame shouted from behind her growing pile of sake cups.

“I don’t want to disturb that massive pile of cleaning you’ve got going on!” Rangiku yelled back. “Just throw it!”

“That’s so ungainly!” Ayame fussed.

“Just throw it!”

“Fine!” Ayame huffed, and threw a wet dishcloth. It span in the air and hit Rangiku in the face with a dull, wet slap.

“How did you do that?” she demanded.

“Do what?” Ayame said, though Rangiku could hear her muffled laughter from behind the counter. She’s not as above it all as she likes to think, Rangiku thought. And she has an aim like a demon. Rangiku smiled widely to herself.

She began to wipe down the tables, and the smell of vinegar and ginger cut through the stale alcohol-sweat smell of the club.

“You should open a window, Ayame-chan,” she called, and slipped back into reverie.

Playing barmaid was definitely her favourite part of the job. It certainly beat mopping.

Sometimes she loved getting to play the bouncer.

But sometime she hated it.

Each of the client rooms had a secret switch. Chiyo had been in the business herself and had been on the receiving end of the worst cruelties of the sex trade enough times to have insisted on it the moment she’d had enough money to afford it. It made sound business sense, she argued, to have safe, loyal workers.

The switches were rigged to a system of thin metal wires which ran secretly through the walls of the club, and in turn attached to a set of small bells under the bar. A clever little pendulum kept them ringing until the switch was flipped on the other end. It was a simple concept, really, and a simple concept which kept everyone safe.

Rangiku lived in dread of hearing one of those bells ring. If more than one rang at once, which did happen upon occasion, her heart would plummet, because it meant that she would then be forced to decide

Save one and in doing so, damn the other.

Unless she was quick.

Rangiku had become very good at being very quick.

When a bell would ring, she would swing into action immediately. Dish cloth would be tossed to the side in an instant, and she would careen over the polished wood of the bar, weaving through customers like a minnow through the kelp, sliding through paper doors like a breeze. She would take the stairs two, three at a time, her hands bright with energy and her heart hammering in her chest.

She would kick the door open with a bang, her lips twisted in a snarl.

She had seen a man with fists the size of dinner plates closing his hands around Yuki’s throat once, his cock fat and erect against her thigh. Yuki’s eyes had been wild with fear and almost popping from her head, and they had darted to her in desperation, looking to her for help. Yuki had kicked at the man wherever she could, and her small, delicate hands had been clawing at his own. She had been making an unnatural gurgling noise.

Rangiku had dreamed about that noise for weeks.

Rangiku had been too shocked to scream, but she had not frozen. Her eyes had widened, but her mouth had set in a strained line. She had shoved her hands, filled with bright, luminous reiatsu, at him with all her force. It was a clumsy, ungainly thing, more like a play-yard shove than a strike, but he had gone straight through a window and out onto the street below. Yuki had doubled over, making ugly, rasping retching noises and deep, scraping breaths.

Afterwards, Yuki had shook like a leaf, but she had folded the howling Rangiku into her arms anyway, and cried a little with her, her neck marked with twin bruises like a Rorschach butterfly. They had rocked together, arms wound tightly about each other, but Rangiku had had to make her way back to the bar after, to see out the rest of her shift. Her legs had trembled the whole night.

But Yuki had been safe because of her. Had she been on the streets alone, like the whores of her home district like Kanae, it might have been a different story altogether, and the thought made Rangiku shiver.

One time it had been Ayame; another, it had been Sayaka. Both alive, both unharmed, both safe because Rangiku had made it up the stairs in time.

She shivered to think what might happen if she ever didn’t make it in time.

Under her hands, the table was so clean that she could see her own pensive, downcast eyes reflected back at her.

“Hey!” Ayame shouted, and Rangiku jolted. Ayame noticed the troubled look on her face, and her expression softened. “Food’s ready, trouble.” She ruffled her hair again.

Rangiku stood stock still and suddenly wheeled around. She threw the dish rag back at her in revenge. It hit Ayame with a slap square in the face, and Rangiku cackled.

“STRIKE!” she cheered. Ayame’s face fell like thunder, and so Rangiku ran with a merry grin on her face.

Most business owners would have thought it an extravagance, to feed the brothel workers once a day, but Chiyo had always argued that it was good for morale (and, more cynically, she deducted the majority of the cost from their pay, so it was hardly an extravagance to her.)

Everyone but Rangiku took turns to cook, and they would all gather around the table to eat together, jostling with their elbows for space. Rangiku was the only one who had to eat out of necessity, but she loved having company whilst she ate. When everyone was present and awake, they numbered fourteen around the table. It was a simple dish, fragrant goma-ae with egg fried rice piled high in a bowl, but Rangiku salivated at the smell of it. Though she was fed just about adequately, she keenly missed the three small, simple meals a day she’d grown used to eating, once upon a time.

They’d had no table then; just a bowl between the two of them. She would restrain herself for his sake, and he would pick at the food with his chopsticks, eating like a bird. When he noticed her looking covetously at his half of the food, he would always feign a sigh and share what was left of his half. He would never complain, not seriously, and he would never begrudge her. She never caught him, but she was sure that he always added more rice to the pot when her back was turned, because he knew that she was hungry.

He had always been kind. Kind enough to carry her home. Kind enough to feed her. Kind enough to make sure she never starved again.

She sat, the first to arrive, and as she did so, she twisted the ring on her finger absent-mindedly.

(It was funny. She had starved for food once. Now she starved for want of him.)

“Head in the clouds there, as always, Rangiku-chan. What does your mind dwell on, I wonder?” asked Rin.

Rangiku started, and allowed a bright smile to bloom across her face. It was not hard to smile when there were so many people who cared. “Nothing, nothing,” she chirped quickly. “Just hungry. You know me, hungry hungry Rangiku.” She laughed.

“I see,” Rin said archly, and she began to place the food on the table.

Rangiku was fascinated with the way in which Rin spoke- her voice was melodious and unwavering, her consonants perfectly formed, and her phrasing almost aristocratic. Her eyes were a lovely violet blue, the colour of the sky in summer the instant before darkness falls, and her hair, pitch black but for a few strands of silver-gray, was styled in an elegant hime cut.

She was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, and next to her, Rangiku felt oddly clumsy; a mess. It was like comparing a bedraggled meadow daisy with a pale, perfect orchid, and her awareness of the comparison made her blush and fumble whenever she talked to the woman, who at least had the grace to pretend not to notice.

If Rin had this effect on her, Rangiku sometimes thought, then no man stood a chance. She had not known women could be like Rin.

“Did you make this all by yourself?” Rangiku asked, impressed.

It was then that she heard the clatter of the sliding door.

“Shit!” she swore dramatically, and she slid off her chair and rolled under the table. Rin arched an eyebrow, but watched on with humour dancing in her eyes.

“Where is she?” Ayame demanded.

“Who?” Rin asked with perfect composure.

“Rangiku-chan! She slapped me in the face with a dirty dish cloth and ran off, laughing all the way. She must have come up here. You know how fat and greedy she is.”

Under the table, Rangiku glared hotly.

“Did she?” Rin asked, and she smiled to herself. “Did you do anything to warrant such an attack?”

Ayame flushed. “No!.” She paused a moment. “Alright, I might have done. She even yelled ‘Strike!’ as it slapped me.” And despite herself, her lip quirked upwards. It was so ridiculous.

Rin laughed outright, and her laughter was as clear and as beautiful as a chime. Ayame’s anger collapsed, and she smiled a small smile at the absurdity.

“That girl is a marvel.” Rin said, wiping her eyes.

“You misspoke, Rin-san. I think you meant ‘monkey’. Or maybe “menace”. She’s too old for this kind of behaviour.”

The rest of the girls were beginning to filter in, some rubbing sleep from their eyes, some with the previous night’s makeup still on, some with hair tangled and still unbrushed. They eyed up the food greedily.

“Where is she anyway?” Ayame asked, far calmer this time.

Rin pointed an elegant finger to the table.

Rangiku yelped from under the table. “Rin-san! I trusted you!” Her face was a picture of betrayal.

“You can come up now, Rangiku-chan. I don’t want you to miss your meal.” Ayame sighed. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Rangiku surfaced, and in the process bumped her head on the table. She pondered Ayame’s words for a second. “Entertainment value?” she offered brightly, rubbing her head as she squeezed in beside Rin.

“I had to drag her from her bed this morning by her ankles,” Ayame informed the room.

“I know,” one of the other whores yawned. “I could hear you two bickering about it for about twenty minutes this morning.” She looked pointedly at Ayame.

“That was Rangiku-chan’s fault,” Ayame complained, mortified.

Rangiku shrugged carelessly, and began to dig in to her food with gusto. After a hard afternoon’s work cleaning the club, after a full night’s work on top of that, her stomach was gurgling with hunger. She piled rice high on her plate. The steam which issued from the bowl spun and twirled in the air, and she inhaled it with deep satisfaction.

Rin eyed her curiously. “Is it that good?”

“Hm?” Rangiku said, her cheeks stuffed with rice. She nodded vigorously, and swallowed. “’s so good. I was so hungry, Rin,” she said plaintively. “I needed this. Ayame-chan is a slave driver. ‘Rangiku, you need to clean the tables until I can see my face in them!’” she imitated in a squeaky impression of Ayame’s voice.

Ayame gave her a filthy look.

Rin looked at her pensively. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel real hunger.”

Rangiku paused, and looked Rin earnestly in her midnight eyes. “So have I.”

Rin looked momentarily disarmed. “What do you mean? You have spiritual energy. Surely all hunger is real to you?”

Rangiku laughed loudly, and it rang out around the room. “This isn’t real hunger,” she said, as if Rin had just said the silliest thing in the world. “There was a time when I had to pick pieces of corn had been left by the animals out of the mud. I used to spend more time collapsed on the road than awake, back then.” She continued to eat on, blithely unaware of the shocked expressions around her.

Ayame looked appalled. “Animal feed?”

Rangiku gave her a look. “Leftover animal feed,” she corrected with a snort.

Across the table, Yuki, who had been listening in and who had always the most soft-hearted amongst them, looked aghast. “Did no one help you? Did no one give you food?” she asked passionately.

Rangiku, with her bright blue eyes and smiles and sunshine hair, shook her head. “Nope,” she said in a matter of fact way. “Mostly they just threw stones.”

Ayame, Rin and Yuki shared appalled looks.

Rangiku looked between them in confusion, suddenly catching on to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She felt awkward suddenly, to have broken the warm and cheerful atmosphere of their collective meal, and she stumbled over herself to put it to rights.

Her mouth ran rampant without interference from her brain. “It’s alright though!” she said cheerfully. “I’m alright! Look! I have all this rice now,” she brandished her bowl. “This tasty, tasty rice which Rin cooked for us! And I can eat as much as I want, though Ayame will call me a fat pig if I do.”

Ayame’s expression was flat as Rangiku rambled. She would never call Rangiku fat or a pig ever again.

Rangiku continued to ramble. “-and I can go and buy mochi or red bean buns with my pay now, if I’m hungry. Didn’t get those before!”

She was aware of the eyes on her.

She closed her eyes and tried to will their looks away. She paused, and she swallowed, and her hands went to the tin ring on her finger. “There was one person,” she tried. “He-“ her voice shook, and the others all gave her variations of the same intense, pitying look. She looked down, at the ring which she could only just fit on her finger now, and she smiled softly, softly through the pain. She could barely stand to think of him, let alone talk of him “He helped me,” she finished quietly. “He helped me when no one else would.”

It barely began to touch how much he had done for her, how much he had meant to her, but it was as much as she could muster; it hurt too much to think of him, to bare secret wounds to the air.

She missed him. She missed him so much.

(But he was gone. He hadn’t wanted her anymore.)

She looked up suddenly, to see three sets of eyes trained on her. At the other end of the table, Sayaka was engrossed in conversation, her thick eyebrows waggling suggestively and her audience rapt, some giggling madly, others with their hands clasped over their mouths in disgust. Around the table, plates were emptying, and people were beginning to rise to ready themselves for the evening’s work ahead.

And by her side remained Yuki, Ayame and Rin. They looked so sombre, Rangiku thought, so sombre on her account. Because they cared. They needed her and they cared. The thought washed over her like a wave, and it filled her with warmth. She smiled sheepishly, and she ran her hand through her hair with an embarrassed laugh.

“Mou, this atmosphere-“ she began with a laugh.

Rin, dark, magnificent Rin with her hime cut and her consonants like cut glass, put her hand on her head gently. Yuki put her soft, just-beginning to line hand, on top of hers. Ayame, with her huffs and her fussiness, gripped the other. Rangiku’s mouth formed an “o” in surprise.

“As long as you’re here, you will never hunger again,” Rin stated, and coming from her mouth, it sounded like a promise. “You will always have help here if you ask.”

Ayame’s eyes were fierce and she squeezed her hand; Yuki’s, usually so soft, were steely.

The world blurred; Rangiku’s heart ached, suddenly.

“And you,” she promised quietly, looking around at them fiercely. “I’m going to look after you. All of you. I promise.”

#bleach #rangiku matsumoto #gin ichimaru #ginran #ichimaru gin #spider lilies #oh man #soft and fierce friendships between women #matsumoto rangiku will cut you if you hurt a girl #bechdel test pass #i love her #i really do #she has such a huge heart #poor lass though #abandonment hurts #also i realise that some of the material here might be triggering? should i start to include trigger warnings?

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yoongi-sugaglider · 6 years

Text

Love Forsaken

Requested OneShot : hanahaki disease~ a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one sided love. If the love is not returned the person suffering can only escape the disease through death or surgery to remove the flowers along with the emotions connected to them.

Word count:2602

Warnings: Character death, blood, angst

A/n: Alrighty so I honestly didn’t know very much about this fictional disease besides fanart and some mentions of it in other places. I’ve never written anything quite this angsty before but thanks to Chevelle’s The Red and James Arthur’s Say You won’t let Go playing on repet all day I managed to come up with this gem of a story lol. If it gave you feels of any sort please don’t hesitat to let me know~ Leave a like, hit that good old reblog button or even drop me a comment! I love hearing what people think of my work and appreciate the feed back. And remember, requests are still open!

Mother always told me. Be careful who you love. Of course...the last time she said it to me...she was choking on those damn lilies.

The doctors wouldn't let me speak to her after that. And when they told me she was gone, I swore never to fall in love. Not if it meant ending up like her.

“Y/n come on! The boys are getting out of dance practice soon. As soon as they shower we’ve got to go!”

I snap back to reality, makeup case in hand as I turn to my coworker. Her sweet yet concerned smile reminds me that I'm here to do a job so I simply nod,taking a deep breathe before grabbing my backup case from the floor and follow her to the company van.

Tossing my cases in beside the others I climb in and sit resolutely beside Rose. Her concerned smile shines again as she places a gentle hand on my arm.

“Y/n what’s wrong? I can tell something’s up.” Her whispered words echo in my mind but I shake them off, giving her a pained smile before turning to face the front of the van.

“Just thinking about the past. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine, I promise.” I whisper, patting her leg companionably.The rest of the crew begin to pile into the van so she chooses to let the subject drop but I can tell this isn’t the last I’m going to hear of my listlessness.

We reach the venue, some radio station in L.A. One of many press stops in a long list of stops along this tour that I’m sure is going to be the death of me. The crew and I, managers, personal assistants, makeup artists like myself, and hair stylists including Rose, begin to unload from the two staff vans. Cases and tools in hand we swarm the green room, setting up our stations and preparing the room in general for the chaos that is soon to be getting our 7 charges ready for mindless questions that have been asked before and reporters that seem to never do their homework.

It’s another 15 minutes before they themselves arrive so I make a quick dash to the restrooms. Standing before the mirror I gaze at myself without really seeing. As a professional I usually tend to try out new looks and styles on myself, to ensure I’ve got them mastered before I attempt them on anyone else. But today...I’m just not feeling it.

Barefaced and trembling I splash a bit of water on my face. It’s okay y/n. It’s just another day in a life devoid of real passion. Just get through this and you can retire to the quiet safety of your hotel room. Just breathe. Just...breathe…

Drying my face quickly I rush back to the green room, just in time to see the much beloved Bangtan Boys making their way down the hall. They seem in good spirits, laughin and pushing each other and that’s good. That’ll make things easy if they’re in good spirits.

I make my way to my station, setting out a few brushes before grabbing the theme sheet and scanning it quickly. Foundation, primer, gloss and shadow are within easy reach as my first charge plops good naturedly into my chair.

“Good morning Noona!” A brightly smiling Jimin says, waving to me from beneath his cotton candy colored bangs. I smile blandly down at him as I set to work, cleansing and priming before hiding his face away behind several layers of makeup. His eyes are rimmed in smoky coal and a slight pink tinge spread along his upper eyelids and I’m done. Smiling down at my handy work I pat his arm.

“You’re all done Jimin. And don’t worry. You’re english is getting much better. Don’t be afraid to speak up if you understand the question okay?” My attempt at reassurance seems to work and his smile shines brighter, eyes disappearing into those crescent moons everyone seems to love.

“Thanks Noona. You always know how to make me feel better.” he stands, giving me a quick side hug before making room for my next canvas.

My heart stills but I push the feeling deep deep deep down. He smiles up at me, his bright white teeth flashing in the overhead light and I press a smile back as I set to work.

“How was practice Jin?” I ask offhandedly. It’s not that I want to know the answer, I already know.

“It was rough. My calves are aching like they’ve been gnawed on by a hundred rabid dogs.” he chuckles good naturedly and I hum in response, not daring to speak more than that.

As I take my smallest brush and set to work lining those plump...luscious lips with gloss he places a gentle hand to my arm. The room stops. Time stills. The air refuses to fill my lungs. And yet my unfaithful traitor of a heart beats so rapidly I fear it may burst.

“Y/n-ssi? What’s the matter?” his soft voice seems to whisper to the blood rushing through my ears and all I can feel is the warmth radiating from his palm into the skin of my forearm. I’m only aware of those chocolate brown eyes staring into mine, filled with concern as they scan my own. And it feels as if he’s trying to read the words written on my very soul.

“I’m fine Jin-ah.” I whisper, forcing the lump in my throat down as I return to the last of my work. He frowns, seeming unhappy with my answer. He opens his mouth as if to press the issue but Namjoon-ah saves me as he announces it’s time to go. The boys gather, hyping themselves up as they go over the last of their notes with their managers. Jin’s frown deepens for a moment as he holds my gaze but Taehyung quickly rushes over and pulls him away. They chant to themselves, gathered in a circle with their hands pressed together before shouting, hands thrust into the air and quickly they’re led away by their managers.

The room is left empty as the other stylists have followed them out, surely to watch the interview and to be on standby in case one or the other of the idols ruins their look as Taehyung and Jungkook are prone to do. I sigh, leaning against the makeup counter. But suddenly that sigh becomes an itching tickling cough. Lodged in the back of my throat and choking off my breathe for a moment. The panic sets in.

No.

This can’t be.

I rush through the halls, making my way to the half remembered bathroom as the itch strikes again. I gag as I force my way through the door. Gripping the sink’s edge tightly the itch becomes a heaving, wrenching surge of emotion and pain and I’m seeing stars of darkness. Tears burn hot streaks of panic down my cheeks as I stare in fear at the single white petal staring up at me from the drain. Tiny specks of blood on the pristine petal seem to mock me..

A lily.

As hard as I tried. As desperately as i struggled to force these emotions away. And my failure stares me in the face. Mocking me like some demon tormentor. And I’m remembering my mother’s face, white lilies flowing from her mouth in waves like some nightmare fountain as my father turned his back on her and walked out the door, his mistress tucked into his side as she cackled shamelessly at my mother’s pain.

This can’t be real.

This can’t be happening.

A silent scream builds in my chest but it’s quickly cut off by that aching itch once again. No! I can’t let this happen! Acting in haste I run the faucet, icy cool water flooding my palms as I hastily swallow several mouthfuls of water. And the itch is gone. Forced down into the depths of my chest. But the fear remains.

Because I know what comes next.

I splash more water on my face, my eyes meeting my reflection in the silvery mirror before me. There’s panic written all over my face but I have to hide it. No one can know what’s going on. No matter how badly this turns out. I have to finish this tour. The crew is depending on me to carry my weight and I can’t let emotion affect my work.

Drying my face and hands I turn from my reflection and leave the confines of the bathroom. I have to pull myself together. There’s no point in dwelling if I have work to do…..

When I return to the greenroom it’s bustling with activity once again.

“Y/n where were you?” Rose rushes over. That concern is back in her tone and I’m shaking my head.

“I’m fine Rose. Just had a stomach ache is all.” my whispered response is barely heard but it seems to satisfy her as she turns and makes her way back to her station. I follow behind, resolute in my need to cover my general discomfort.

He’s not made it back yet...good. I can finish packing in peace and leave without having to face his silently questioning eyes.

As I’m gathering my things i begin to relax. But the feeling is fleeting as a large warm hand finds itself resting on my shoulder. My eyes widen in panic as they stare down at my trembling hands.

But the deep rumbling timbre of a male voice quickly puts me at ease. “Noona can you help me?” Slowly I inhale, allowing the air to slowly escape my nose as I turn to give Taehyung a kind smile.

“What is it Tae?” I ask, proud of the fact that my voice isn’t quivering nearly as much as my heart was just now.

“Sorry y/n-nooni but…”His hand brushes at the hair on the back of his head and he turns, revealing that the clasp of his choker has gotten caught in his hair. “Do you mind helping me? Everybody else is busy and the harder I try to get it out the worse I seem to be making it…”

I chuckle to myself, used to this from Taehyung by now. And so with adept fingers and delicate focus I begin disentangling his silky, silvery hair from the clasp, so focused on not pulling his hairs out that I don’t even notice a second presence coming up to stand beside him.

“Thank you!” Tae sighs once he’s released, turning to shoot me a gracious smile before making his way back to his things.

“What would we do without you?” Jin asks, his voice causing my to jump backwards in fear and clench my chest as my heart races steadily into my throat.

“Ah...J..Jin! You scared me!” I manage to get out around that painful itch in my throat.

He pouts, his hand brushing my arm and causing me to jump again. “Hey, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate all the help you’ve given us.” He smiles, a gentle affair that has my eyes drinking in his handsome features hungrily like a desert camel that’s been led to an oasis of cool crisp water.

“I know we don’t always show it. Yoongi especially since he’s so emotionally constipated. But without you and the others to back us up we’d be nothing.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to look at the others who as packing up their things in preparation to move on to the next interview location.”But you especially. You keep us grounded. Remind us that we’re human and not singing, dancing machines.”

He returns his focus to me and his smile shines within the darkest depths of my soul. “So thank you. And I hope that you’ll continue working with us in the future.” He grins and winks at me, giving me his signature flying kiss before turning to leave as well.

It’s not fair…

I cough.

Not fair!

I heave.

Why did this have to happen now??

I’m racing from the room, blindly stumbling down the hall, pushing past people in an attempt to reach the bathrooms once more.

I swore this wouldn’t happen to me! Not after what happened to Momma!!

My throat swells, clogged...so painfully clogged.

There, is that it?The bathrooms?

The heaving turns into gagging and I collapse to my knees. A pair of white sneakers stands before me. And through the ringing in my ears I hear Namjoon cry out my name.

I can’t hold it in anymore. The flowers flood forth. White petals coated in blood clots all over pristine white Pumas.

There’s screaming.

My eyes lose focus.

Are those sirens?

The wailing fills my senses. And the pain drives my mind to the brink of insanity.

I can’t hold on.

It’s too much…

***

Jin sat quietly in his chair as Rose finished crimping the last of his fringe. The normally jovial man sits staring at his reflection, a look of confusion plastered on his face.

“What is it Jin?” Rose asked him quietly as she set the crimping iron on the makeup counter.

His eyes met hers and she tilted her head in a quiet frown as she watched pain begin to fill his features.

“I...was talking to y/n earlier today. I wanted to let them know how much I appreciated them but… I haven’t seen them since. And everybody I talk to seems like they want to avoid the issue. Like...something happened to them.” He lowered his head, an uncharacteristic frown replacing the confusion.

“Did I say something wrong?” He whispered, sadness and guilt pulling at his chest like a child’s game of tug of war.

“Oh Jin..” Rose inhaled, reaching out to pat his arm quietly. “Y/n was rushed to the hospital. We haven’t heard anything about them so everybody’s worried and doesn’t want to say anything in case the worst happens…”

His eyes go wide as he jumps up, startling poor Rose and causing her to knock the still hot iron to the floor.”Ah, I’m sorry I...I’ve got to go see them!” He scrambles, nearly overturning his chair in his haste to leave the room.

Namjoon stops him at the door, angrily reminding him that they still have one last interview to do. “We’re all worried about them hyung! But they wouldn’t want us to abandon ARMY like this. Come on. One last 15 minute interview and then we’ll all go check on them okay?”

Jin groans in frustration, for once actually hating his idol status. But Namjoon is right.

And so they finish their interview, Jin’s replies just as listless and short as the other boys. And when the mics are removed and goodbye’s to the hosts are said, everyone rushes hastily from the building, piling into cars and vans in their haste to make it to the hospital.

Jin forces his way through, demanding to speak with a doctor in broken english. Namjoon steps in as the other boys restrain him, translating their need to see their colleague.

The doctor speaks.

Namjoon’s eyes widen.

Jin needs no translation. He can see it in the doctor’s eyes.

He screams, tears of fury streaking down his cheeks.

Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook struggle to keep him from collapsing to the floor.

“It’s too late. I'm sorry...they're gone…”

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ask-caesar-clown · 7 years

Text

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list!

[ COLORS ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. magenta.

[ ELEMENTS ] fire . ice. ((both for Punk Hazard ❤)) water. air. earth. rain. Snow ((putting this in also for PH and also his tribute to Monet)). wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. ((all of them because he works whenever he wants and always sleeps at very random times)) sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ BODY ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. tongue. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears ((he is a precious little crybaby)). feline. chubby-faced. curvy ((that ass~!!)). short. tall ((he’s like almost 10 feet tall XD)). normal height. muscular. piercing. tattoos. dimples. skinny ((other than having a fine ass which gives him somewhat feminine curves he is super skinny! CC don’t forget to eat!)), horns. ((he actually really really loves his horns)) hair. ((He has no mind to cut his hair shorter than it is now, he loves his current length~))

[ WEAPONS ] fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. Wands. (devil fruit) powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. legs/form. castanets ((”gastanets”~))

[ MATERIALS ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain ((picking this one for his porcelain white skin, that counts right? XD)). Paper. Wool ((he doesn’t have any but still picking it for his goat/sheep-theme and also for his subordinates)). fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. Clouds ((gas-cloud~)). mountains.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. Snakes ((picking all the poisonous ones here XD he totally has made experiments on all of them)). turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. Birds ((for his birb king the flamingo~)). whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. goats. sheep.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ] sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. eggnog. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia (=fruit salad) .

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. bicycle riding. eating. climbing . running. sleeping. fishing. pranking. banquets/parties. travelling. flying. science.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. sweater ((like he has nothing on but jockeys maybe and a giant sweater~)). cardigan. tunic. vest. dress shirt. boots. slippers. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup ((Always~)). ribbons. suits. jumpsuits

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. Candles ((as late as he studies and does sience! I mean he has lights but he loves some nice atmosphere at times~ not to mention when he wants to be a bit more romantic)). war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. Diary ((well I wouldn’t call them diaries but he has about a million notebooks filled with science-notes)). fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. Friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. pillows. blankets. independence. enthuiasm. smile.

((Totally forgot to copy the tag part so let me edit that in XD))

Tagged by: @minister-of-candy Tagging: not tagging anyone in specific this time but please feel free to do it anyway!! X3

#[ my cloud ❤ headcanons ]#Caesar Clown #ask caesar clown #((some things about my goat X3))

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 7 years

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I lost Classicaloid after episode 28…good thing I had Girls’ Last Tour on tap. (See Houseki no Kuni’s simulcast commentary for more details on that.)

Netjuu no Susume 2

Aw, I’m not really one for romances, but once again, these guys are making me warm and fuzzy on the inside. Hayashi and his cry emote really get to me – I love bishies who aren’t gung-ho macho.

Sakurai has an email from Comico! LOL!

I’m with Lilac on this love story, LOL.

“Sakura-chan”!!! Oh, it’s so cute. It also probably explains why Sakurai = Lily, eh?

This isn’t a manga, it’s an online manga. Same diff, Hime-chan.

If you pause at Moriko’s email, you’ll see it’s riddled full of keigo (polite language).

Sakurai Yuuta voiced by Sakurai Takahiro, LOL. Didn’t notice that the first time around.

It’s staying on, even if for just warm fuzzies.

Netjuu no Susume 3

I’m hearing the OP for the first time and…it’s actually pretty good! It fits the entire cute aesthetic of the show.

Irina was only just talking about this.

I’ve heard people call Moriko Morimori-chan across the ‘net and I didn’t understand it until Koiwai said it just then. Nicknames mean you’re uber close in Japanese terms.

I had the volume on while Koiwai and Morimori-chan (LOL) had their chat and I couldn’t hear her cry. So much for Mamiko Noto being a top-notch seiyuu, eh?

LOL, Koiwai’s so fun as a character.

Eyyyyyyyyyy. This green counter boy is probably Kanbe. You can tell by the hair colour!

Is Li-chan Lilac or Lily?

LOL, the Rose of Versailles parody is too good.

A…dog PUG? Apparently not. Never played WoW, of course I wouldn’t know the term.

Oh, I preempted the show’s caption. These sorts of captions were used in Superstar wa Nemurenai too, so this feels nostalgic in a sense.

I know the feel, Lily. I’ve been in online arguments before (you’ll see in previous simulcast commentaries I cite the magicalgirlsandcerulean one a lot).

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! These too-cute-for-this-world characters steal my heart againnnnnnnnnnn!

Interesting that Nico is called just that in the credits.

Black Clover 2

That very scribbly handwriting appears to be…English. Mostly correct English, to boot.

Someone decided on sakuga this ep, it seems…

Okay, I think I’ve had enough echo reverb for a lifetime. That’s going on hold.

Classicaloid 28

Ah, the new OP. Same song, Dovo-chan + “Wataru”, a few new staff…but otherwise, same old, same old. That’s what I like.

Oh, I almost missed the sign that says “Place all used tableware in the sink – Kanae”. Thanks, subbers.

Huh. The word “respect” is teinei, which technically means “politeness”. But “respect” works better in context, I guess.

Sometimes, Beet says things that actually make sense + are quotable. Get me some quotes of this man (LOL).

This shopping list stuff, if it isn’t something you’ve done for your family already, is normally something for kids in Japan as part of fostering independence. So, I think Wa-kun’ll be the winner here.

Garland chysanthemum is the only one of these I’m unfamiliar with. Apparently in Japanese, it’s called shingiku, which would correspond to those kanji I saw on the shopping list.

Why is Dovo-chan going with Wa-kun? (LOL?)

There’s a coffee shop called Mogura (mole) behind Liszt in one scene.

Wa-kun reminds me a lot of the Beppus (Boueibu). Seriously, we need a comparison of those three.

Symphony No. 7. The Allegretto seems to be stirring some memory in me, but I can’t seem to detect what particularly or why it does. However, Wikipedia does note Wagner liked it. In fact, Wagner admired it.

Yup, Pad-kun. That’s (the bit about “apotheosis of dance”) the bit Wikipedia says.

I think the hippo -> idiot joke works better in Japanese (kaba -> baka, it’s a reversal of syllables).

See? Wa-kun is like the Beppus! Lookit that boy blush.

How does one spell “yeah” anyway? I swear I’ve seen 2 or 3 variants of the word alone…

Oh, Schu-san wasn’t around this episode. He got taken away by the kite strings like last time, come to think of it. Admittedly, I think I liked Schu better when he wasn’t a rapper, although apparently this time he’s going to go into reggae, judging by the rasta cap he had in the OP.

Ohh, a goukon I see. It’s translated as “singles’ party”, but…well, let’s say it’s a little more complicated than that. “Singles’ party” translates sufficiently, but goukon have certain connotations to them that make them uniquely goukon, much like sushi needs vinegared rice to be sushi, anime needs to be at least partially made in Japan and so on.

Juuni Taisen 2

I think Nezumi being sleepy is a pun (neru -> to sleep).

Oh, hey. They do look like the Justice League.

By the by, this OP is called “Rapture”. Not “Rupture”, even though that would sound more appropriate in some contexts.

The CGI models at the end of the OP look like figures. Either I give you my money for good quality versions of those or you…shouldn’t waste your time, Graphinica. (Especially the Tatsumi bros.)

The title of this episode literally translates to “chicken cry, dog steal”. I dunno what idiom’s behind it, so I’ll leave that to the subbers.

Well, a manhole is one way to lay low…

“Old Timer”. Good pun there.

Knowing the Beppus, I’d say the Tatsumi was talking about his bro and not Inou.

Well, that was a bit too much blood. Good thing is wasn’t as bad as King’s Game.

Finally, an Ume show I can really kick back and not worry about! Young Black Jack and a lot of shows I go into for Ume are normally shams or locked out by licensing, so I’m finally psyched to get a proper Ume show to back.

Uuma walking through the turnstiles was…pretty funny, actually. (LOL.)

How does one out-crazy Rabbit, with his high heels and booty shorts???

Well, as they say, when an unstoppable object meets an unmoving force, kaboom! (Or…something like that…)

According to the manga, Dotsuku was a teacher. Can you really imagine that though? Dotsuku, a teacher??? Of little kids???

Note Niwatori is shown with science things. She must know some stuff about Dotsuku’s poisons too, although she probably didn’t expect them. Update: Read ahead, and let’s say I’m right about one thing and wrong about another.

I wonder which Tatsumi bro is the NEET and which is the gambler…

Rabbit home boy’s too good, but Ushii and his fluffy jacket are better.

Nezumi and Twelve Mart, LOL.

Juuni Taisen 3

I read up on some spoilers for this…so I’m only just keeping abreast of some of you guys out there. However, the TV Tropes page notes that the OP shows who the winner of the Taisen is if you pay close attention…

Ugh, I love Nezumi and Ushii too much. Mah Ume-boy is good as gold – this is a step up, considering I’ve started some very bad anime because of Ume-chan – but even though I don’t know Shun Horie very well, I like me a bishie like that too! (Horie’s a tad quiet, but otherwise he’s pretty good too.)

It was much clearer that Niwatori was affected by the One Man Army even during her meetup with the Monkey in the manga, so…yeah. I’ll give it that much.

Silly name of “Cockscomb” aside, that’s the name of Niwatori’s spading fork. Cockscomb.

I’m properly listening to the OP and ED for the first time, but I like the ED more than the OP. Probably because the Justice League is funny but the ED’s casual stuff is better.

Oh, there’s a post-credits scene. Keep watching.

Oh, that’s…pretty powerful stuff, Niwatori. Wowee, Juuni Taisen’s got the mark of a high ranker, from its staff to its OP and ED quality. Tough competition this season, as I keep saying.

“Even a monkey can fall from a tree.” – That’s a kotowaza meaning “Even experts fail sometimes”, which is an important adage for this show.

Sharyuu was taught by sages, so that comment is interesting, Duodecuple…or Horse…or whoever’s narrating this.

The pun in the next ep title is something to do with the word saru (monkey). Noting that saseru is a thing in Japanese, maybe saru is a shortened form of that Nisio Isin wanted to cash in on…?

Update: I finally figured out Dotsuku’s pun! Make the tsu smaller, give the ku a tenten and you have…the katakana pronunciation for dog!

Code:Realise 2

Get me a man like Impey and I’ll be set for life, LOL.

“If you touch me, you’ll melt.” – The juxtaposition of Cardia’s sadness with a punchline makes for something very interesting, indeed.

Saint??? Is that his first name or his title?

These ornaments on Finis and the queen – the pseudo-Chinese or Japanese ones – stand out a bit compared to all the steampunk stuff.

Oh, dearie me. The cars and carriages in this are CGI and it shows.

“…Baron Gilford Dudley and party.” – LOL.

“He loves his food too.” – I’d assume ths subject of this is Sisi, but the way this sentence was framed made it sound like Impey loves his food too. Which seems to be true, since Impey likes cooking.

These really bright scenes are kinda sudden. They don’t quite work with the rest of the show, and that’s because they’re probably stills you collect in the game.

I keep thinking this dude with the guns is Fran. Geez, it’s quite the bad case of Six Same Faces…however, this one has purple eyes while Fran’s are green.

C’mon! Stockinged legs aren’t that indecent, Lupin. I know you run by Victorian London standards, but still.

Okayyyyyyyyy. Vampire hunter fits the theme of historical fictional bishies, but…you really don’t imagine Van Helsing to look like this. Just sayin’.

The glowy blood was probably unnecessary…

I feel like I should put this on hold, just to be on the safe side. That means the lineup is settled. I’ll update the sheet when I can...eesh though. There’s some tough competition this season…

Houseki no Kuni 2

The two moons are a nice touch.

This OP is way cool. It’s such a visual spectacle.

By the way, I’ve heard good things about Girls’ Last Tour so I may binge it next month (November) and it may even challenge for one of the top spots.

Uh, cleavage? Not to use a dirty joke here, but gems are androgynous. They have no cleavage, so to speak.

Oh, Dia’s fighting style is like baseball. I see.

Huh. I should really write about identity and belonging in this series. Dia’s a really interesting character, pretty much denying their own name and nature because they see Bort as the “true diamond”.

“…tried to lend a hand.” – Oh, the irony of you missing a hand, Dia.

Notice Phos is still holding Dia’s hand as she talks with Jade and Euc.

Holy snails, Batman! Arima (Boueibu) wouldn’t like this for sure…

Wow, this truly is a new innovation in anime. Certainly, traditional animation can’t do this.

Wowee, this ED is something else. As I said, it’s tough competition this season. Girls’ Last Tour may even just miss out for the ground-breaking nature of this show alone, even though Kado is its precedent 3D-wise (and on the 3D front, I accepted that very well).

#simulcast commentary #code:realise #houseki no kuni #netjuu no susume #juuni taisen #black clover #classicaloid #Chesarka watches Classicaloid #recovery of an mmo junkie #zodiac war #girls' last tour #shoujo shuumatsu ryokou #land of the lustrous #Chesarka watches Netjuu no Susume #Chesarka watches Code:Realise

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