#*unintelligible* MESH NIGHT

[moriwood]

Flavor of the Month — p.js

top!park jongseong x btm!male reader smut 1.5k words

Working at the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in the city, you’ve gotten various influential bachelors lining up each night to have a private show with you. Tonight, you might just be meeting your new favorite client.

includes: jay is the mayor of the city n u suck his cock like the dominant slut that u really are ✨

The decade-old air conditioner whirrs, droplets of refrigerant pooling in a repurposed paint bucket. The stupidly cold and dingy room pricks at your barely-clothed body as you attempt to pose salaciously like the club’s matron told you to do so, but there's not much that you can do when you're sharing the cramped space with others dancing to white noise with awkward fervor.

You play with the waistband of your black mesh briefs, thumbs languidly stretching it around as you wonder who the hell is that man behind the heavily tinted window. You see his silhouette pointing at you, probably whispering something to the matron Heechul with the way he's leaning towards him.

"That one's a new recruit," you hear the muffled voice of Heechul, then a guffaw. They talk more, but the rest’s unintelligible. It takes a few more dull minutes before the man leaves and the door creaks open. The matron Heechul skips — scratch that — hops to you with a gummy smile.

He squeals, “you’ve got someone waiting in the executive suite.”

“Who’s the client?” one of the older performers asks. “Must be a big shot if he doesn't wanna lounge at the front like the rest of 'em.”

Heechul rolls his eyes and harrumphs, “Chitchat later. Our youngest just secured us our wealthiest client tonight." After tousling your hair, he gives your shoulder a friendly pat, accompanied by a hearty cackle. “Make us proud, kid.”

With a cheeky salute to the rest of the men in the room, you grab a bathrobe from the coat hook and make your way to the warmer hallway. A faint red light seeps out the door of the executive suite at the end of the corridor, a mixture between an alluring invitation and a subtle warning.

What meets you inside is a man handsomely dressed in a black suit. He hasn’t noticed you yet, busy unbuttoning his suit. His face is strikingly familiar, as if his image had been plastered on the streets months prior — during a political campaign…

“Mayor Jay?”

Finally, his eyes meet yours; his eyebrows furrowed as he seems to struggle with the buttons of his cuffs. “Shouldn’t you be helping me off my clothes?” he grits, ignoring the fact that you recognized him quite quickly. You smirk, untying your bathrobe and sauntering toward him with an air of nonchalance. His stare locks in on your peeking bulge, beating against the constraint of your skimpy underwear. You help him take his coat off, your hands soon settling on his belt strap.

“First time in a place like this… Sir?” you tease. “I tend to go overboard with the attractive ones so tell me what’s your limit.”

He laughs, “My limit? Don’t boys like you just lie down and stay quiet?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning so close a retort spills from your lips. “You wanna play rough with me?” you sweetly ask. “Wanna fuck me so hard I bleed? Leave me limping so my next clients know how much you fucked me so good?”

An arm envelops your lower back as he pulls you in, a cold calloused hand tickling your warm body and your cock laying flat against his clothed erection. You fall into silence, a gulp escaping. The mayor seems to be intimidatingly well-endowed. “I guess your matron didn’t tell you that I’ve got you for the whole night? You’re only mine tonight.”

Your brain short circuits at the sudden assertion of ownership, hands nervously hovering over his belt in eagerness. But he holds you off, looking around the room, noting a black king-sized bed, a black velvet sofa, and a wine bar with a marble counter. Settling for the sofa behind him, he kicks off his shoes and slips off his socks, sprawling comfortably across the cushions. 

“Give me a glass of that,” Jay commands, pointing at the bottle of Belvedere at the side. You oblige, pouring him a healthy amount in an old-fashioned glass as he undoes his long-sleeve shirt. “Now, you drink it,” he directs. You tilt your head in confusion, but you comply, a single sip already burning your throat. “Drink it all,” he adds.

You’re too weak with alcohol to start drinking way before the client, that’s not a good tactic if you want to milk the mayor’s wallet dry. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir—”

“I won’t let you suck my dick until you finish that glass,” he warns you, his hand lazily palming his bulge. Your cock twitches in anticipation, chugging the contents of the glass, some of it spilling over the corner of your lips. You pour yourself another one as some desperate act of establishing dominance over the mayor. “Give it to me, Sir,” you beg, eyes slightly blurring and speech slurring with the two meager glasses. Liquor truly hits hard on an empty stomach, you realize. Or maybe the mayor’s just hitting all the right notes with turning you on.

He beckons you over with a finger, making you crawl towards him. His legs spread wide for you and you finally get to unbuckle him, cheeks nuzzling his crotch. The button and the zipper go next, revealing a glorious masterpiece standing on a thick bush, adorned with thick veins and a leaking head. You grab him from the base, as you inhale his musk. Your cock twitches for the nth time tonight.

“Can you fit it all?” he whispers, sweeping your bangs away to look at you in your eyes. “I’ll try,” you mumble, hand gently stroking him up and down. Jay laughs in response, putting his hands back to his sides. “Try to take control and if you can’t, I’ll just fuck your throat.”

You lick his leaking precum, ending at his tip as you start to suck on his head. His precum tastes sweet and bitter at the same time, reminding you of the cum of a man who smokes cigarettes often. Then you notice the slight smell of smoke mixed in his strong perfume, nothing new with your clients. He shivers from pleasure with an inaudible praise. You suck eagerly as your hands roam his thighs, eventually making him tangle his fingers on your hair. 

“You’re such a good boy,” he mumbles, “but you haven’t sucked it all, haven’t you?”

He pushes your head down slowly, tears beginning to spill from the sheer girth and length of his cock. You try to say something in protest, but the vibration of your throat only makes him lean his head back, mouth open and panting like an exhausted athlete. Your nose now lays flat against his pubic hair, and while you weren’t choking, you were struggling to enjoy the experience. Your tongue tries its best to cover the huge expanse, finally withdrawing with his cock fully wet and a string of spit following your tongue.

“Don’t stop,” he begs, hand cradling your face as he stares at you with this new face of desperation. “You’re doing so good, so fucking good.”

You go back to sucking on the head of his dick, this time with your hands stroking the shaft and your best skill, tongue darting across his frenulum. Now, Jay is making a lot of noise, hands clawing at the velvet sofa, a bunch of broken praises and incomprehensible requests falling through deaf ears. You decide you’re still in control, despite the slight inebriation.

It’s beginning to sound all sloppy, precum spilling from his cock like a bottle of lubricant being squeezed. Likewise, you feel yourself spilling through the mesh of your briefs, probably messing up the carpet you were kneeling on. You look up at Jay, and while the poor guy tries to keep his eyesight on you, he’s tilting his head back and gasping in overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck,” he screams, finally managing to hook his fingers again on your hair and pushing you down. Your hands let go of his cock, your throat now easily slipping the whole length in. “Lap it all up, you fucking slut,” he manages to let out.

You lower down your underwear with your free hand, stroking yourself at the same pace as he pulls and pushes your head on his cock. At an erratic pace. Both of you were about to climax, with the way his cock is throbbing at an abnormal speed and your body tensing up in cold shivers.

“I’m cumming, shit!” he cries, exploding into your mouth. You greedily lap his cum up, swallowing every single drop despite its honestly awful taste. You wish he would’ve cummed in your ass instead, but barely an hour has passed and he promised the whole night for you. You jerk yourself into completion at the same time, squirting cum all over the carpet.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your head as you let go of his cock, both of you breathing rapidly while you stare at each other with still-unresolved lust.

Jay grins as he points again at the bottle of vodka behind you. “Another glass of that and I’ll fuck you in the ass.”

author's note: sry for d inactivity, i jus lov it when exam week suddenly turns into exam month. :') read the very distant sequel here: [Stealing the Spotlight — k.sn + p.js] and stream sweet venom. >:VV

— moriwood. || [My Carrd]

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #enhypen x reader #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong x male reader #smut #jay x male reader #jay x reader #kpop smut #mori fics

[violettduchess]

no requests for #10?? a travesty!! can i get #10 with silvio? thanks!

A/N: Here you go anon!

@ikemen-writer you asked for #12 with Silvio so I combined your request with anon's here to get a soft and unsure + gentle, then deeper kiss with the Prince

Silvio x female Reader

WC: 2546

You’ve been to grand balls before. A ball in the Rhodolite palace is a glittering confection of gold and white, walls dripping with roses, guests dripping with jewels. But here in Benitoite, you are surrounded by smooth marbled floors of gray and white, silver chandeliers holding elegant taper candles, and guests in clothing made of expensive silks, thinner than the heavier satins and velvet of Rhodolite fashion. Your own gown is a diaphanous confection of pale pink shot through with glistening silver.  A bejeweled red rose pin rests above your heart, a gift from King Leon and a sign of your new status as ambassador. Stepping through the double doors of the ballroom, your heart skips a beat as it takes in the sea of people already drinking from crystal flutes, tinkling with laughter and spinning across the dance floor, skirts floating in the air with every twirl. It is an impressive sight. And it is an overwhelming sight. 

Every single doubt you’ve had about coming here, about taking on the responsibility Leon entrusted you with, about your own capability to handle what this job entails suddenly comes crashing down on you. Your lungs freeze within your chest, ambient sounds grow louder and mesh together, the lively language of Benitoite now stabbing your ears. How could you believe a simple woman like you, a bookstore clerk with no diplomatic experience, could take on the responsibility of handling diplomacy. Yes, you managed well with the Rhodolite princes but here, you are a fish out of water, at a disadvantage with the customs, the language, the folk, no matter how many books you’ve read.  When a nobleman comes over, greeting you in the local language, rapid fire and unintelligible, you feel ill. You manage a weak nod of your head before making your way to the edge of the crowd, pressing your back against the white walls, wanting nothing more to press yourself into the cool stone and disappear. 

I’m failing Leon. I’m failing Rhodolite. 

You catch sight of the open double doors that lead out to the gardens and the paths that take you further, down to the docks. With the music throbbing in your head you slink your way through the dazzling crowd until you feel the cool breeze of escape, of freedom.

Just a few minutes, you tell yourself as you step outside. You’ll step away for just a few minutes. Just to gather your bearings.

Your silver slippers take you away from the bright ballroom and the noise and with every step you feel yourself torn. The cool air, the night sky, they ease the tight band that has taken hold of your lungs, allowing you to breathe without feeling constricted. But every step away is a step further from your job, from what you swore to Leon you could do. Strengthen the ties with your allies. Convince the king and queen to sign the new treaty of protection. Convince Prince Silvio to come stay at the palace as a sign of good faith and friendship between your nations. All of these important, if one is to believe the reports coming out of Obsidian, the rumblings of a gathering army and an uptick in weapon shipments.

Before you know it, you’ve passed the gardens and find your feet traveling over wooden boards. You’ve reached the palace docks. The larger royal vessels are all at home in Benitoite’s vast harbor. Here you find only the smaller vessels for the royal family's private use. You stop, taking in the sight of a small, streamlined sailboat on your left, bobbing in the calm, dark water. How would it feel to  just…sail away from it all? Nothing but dark sea below and a sky full of stars above, leaving you floating somewhere in the eternity in between.

“This ain’t the ballroom.”

You gasp, turning at the sound of Silvio’s voice. He’s at the dock’s edge, watching you, hands on his hips, dressed in a suit of navy blue and glittering gold and cloud-white. With a confidence you don’t really have, you square your shoulders and smooth down the front of your gown. What did Clavis once tell you? Confidence is ninety-nine percent illusion and only one percent actual mettle. You can muster up one percent.

“I needed some air.”

“All the way out here?” He walks closer, the gold of his adorning jewelry jangling audibly in the light evening breeze. 

He stops when he is standing in front of you and you turn away from him, not wanting him to guess your other secret, the other reason you are unsure you will be able to fulfill all of Leon’s expectations. Because somewhere along the way of arriving in Benitoite, of meeting the royals and nobles, and spending time with Silvio during city tours and accompanying him to royal engagements, you have fallen head over heels in love. Suddenly and unexpectedly and maybe even unfortunately. But you are drawn to the prince like a moth to a flame. Yes, he is frustrating and temperamental and materialistic and snotty and far too handsome for his own good. But he is also intelligent and funny and honest and thoughtful and you , against all odds and all reason, have fallen hard. 

He can’t know. It would be terrible for so many reasons. So you keep your gaze on the sailboat, breathing in slowly to calm your skittish heart.

You feel his gaze on you, the silence at his unanswered questions curling around both of you until Silvio snaps it, stopping it before it can choke you.

“C’mon.” And then his hand is wrapped around yours and he’s pulling you towards the boat. You stop when the tips of your slippers kiss the edge of the dock, looking at the gap of dark water between it and the boat. Silvio releases your hand and with a graceful leap, lands on the boat’s deck with the agility of a skilled sailor. He disappears a moment, only to return with a wooden board which he slides forward until it is resting on the dock, then places one midnight-colored boot on the end and holds out his hand.

“C’mon. You got this.”

It’s only a few steps but the black water looks ominous, lapping at the sides of the boat like it wants to come aboard too. Silvio makes an impatient motion with his hand, his gaze searching yours in the silvery wash of moonlight.

“I said you got this, woman. Now come here.”

And you do. You lift your skirts and one step after the other make your way across the plank until you feel the secure clasp of his fingers around your wrist. He pulls you towards him and for a moment, you are pressed against his tall body, breathing in the scent of the sea and something else.. something exotic and alluring, salt and spice. 

He releases you as if stung, turning sharply and busying himself with pulling the board back onto the boat. Your wrist is imprinted with the feel of his strong fingers and a part of you aches at the loss of his touch.

He motions for you to follow him as he makes his way to the bow of the ship. 

“Oh…..” It’s more a sigh than a word as you look forward, across the open expanse of sea that the sailboat faces, seemingly ready at any moment to push off from the dock and go bravely forth across that endless stretch of gently rolling water.  The argent moonlight twinkles across the water’s surface, more breathtaking than any jewel in the ballroom. Your fingers wrap around the steel railing as you lean forward, feeling the way the fetters of  insecurity and worry and anxiety snap.

“Knew this would work.” 

Silvio is watching you, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smile on his attractive face. He steps a bit closer, gesturing towards the water. “I never found a problem the sea couldn’t fix.”

Something akin to shame dims the newfound light in your eyes, drops your gaze to the deck.

“I didn’t know it was that obvious…..” Your voice feels small, especially out here.

He shrugs his shoulder. “You left that ballroom…..not quite like a bat outta hell, but definitely like someone who didn’t wanna fucking be there.”

That gets a small, mirthless laugh out of you. “Truer words…..” You sigh now, turning back to the water. “I’ve had a wonderful time here. You and your family have been the most generous hosts but…..I don’t know if I am made for this. Benitoite is our ally but what happens when I have to travel to Jade or another foreign country that isn’t so friendly? I don’t know if I can handle the pressure.”

Silvio joins you now at the railing. You feel the soft material of his jacket against your bare arm and swallow at the contact, telling your heart to rein itself in. It’s only silk. (Silk that’s touching his skin, your heart whispers in reply. Silk that’s warm from his body…..)

He doesn’t speak and you can hear the faint music from the ballroom floating through the air. After a few moments of quieted melody accompanied by the sounds of the gently lapping water, he breaks the silence.

“The way I see it, either way you’re right.”

You glance at him. “How so?”

“You tell yourself, you can’t, then you can’t. You tell yourself you can, then you can.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It is. And besides,” he says as he shifts his stance, turning to face you. “I ain’t seen anythin’ yet that convinces me you can’t do whatever you damn well want to.”

Something warm and fizzy corkscrews its way through you at his words, your stomach turning in excited, dizzying circles.

“You really think that about me?”

He looks away so quickly his pale hair whips across his forehead and cheeks. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he mutters, suddenly finding the railing incredibly interesting and worth examining. 

You tell yourself you can, then you can….

His words echo through your mind, buoyed by the music and the moonlight and the water and Silvio’s flustered expression. You reach up, touching his shoulder, curling your hand into the soft material of his jacket.

“Silvio.”

He is forced to look at you and that’s when you rise up onto your toes and, without giving yourself even a second to hesitate, kiss him. It’s a soft press of your lips against his and once you’ve done it, your nerves alight with uncertainty. He isn’t moving. His lips are stiff and unyielding, his hands remain at his sides. Part of you wants to pull away and run, leap off the boat and dash across the docks and back into the sheltered darkness of the gardens, away from what may very well be your biggest misstep ever. 

But there is another part of you, one that is louder, one that fights the desire to run. It’s the one that remembers his raucous laughter at your jokes, the way his gaze lingers on your face when you smile, the feel of his strong hand whenever it takes yours. That part of your heart knows that you are not alone in what you are feeling and it is what guides your hand up to cup his face and move your lips, pressing another soft kiss to his. You kiss him slowly, holding his face delicately in your palm, coaxing him to please, come out from behind that wall he’s hiding himself behind and join you. It feels like an eternity before you feel him respond, his lips becoming pliant against your kisses. His cheek feels warm to the touch and if you could see him, you would notice the sweep of color across it, pink as coral. His hands rise, holding onto your waist, grounding himself. 

He’s kissed people before. Of course he has. But this….this isn’t satisfying some carnal need or urge to indulge. This kiss has strings that are gently tying themselves around his heart. This is emotions and feelings and all those things Silvio keeps locked up, a pirate’s treasure buried deep inside. But you have stumbled your way to his hiding place, your smile the breeze that blows the sand off the treasure chest, your touch the key clicking into place. And now this kiss is lifting the lid, exposing his secrets. He should be terrified. But somehow…..

He shifts, pulling you closer, his hand sliding around to press against your back. You hold onto the nape of his neck, stretching upwards to meet the movement of his mouth. He’s so much gentler than you expected, leaving space amid lingering kisses to appreciate the way your lips fit together, to feel the swell of your lower lip between his. Your breath is sweet and warm against him as you turn your head, trying a different angle. He adjusts expertly, a sailor used to reading the wind and making instinctual calculations of which way to steer.

You break apart only to rest your forehead against his, eyes closed as you revel in the feel of his strong embrace, the faint music from the ballroom drifting along the air, the melody over the thunderous beating of your heart. If you could freeze time and live in this moment, you would. It feels newborn and fragile but oh so beautiful, a protostar bound for the heavens to take its place as a diamond in the sky. The hand on the back of his neck shifts to stroke his silvery hair, marveling that it really does feel as silky as it looks.

He huffs out a breath. Dio, what is happening to him?

“Silvio….”

He’s not ready for words. Not ready to vocalize what all this means. Instead of answering, he leans down and kisses you again, holding your lips captive with his. You don’t protest. Each passing second has you melting slowly into his arms. He feels your softness, the warmth of your body through your gown, and it ignites something inside of him, a flare rising up into the darkest of skies. His fingers slide down your back, back across your waist and then down to the curve of your hips where he takes hold, pulling you hard against him. You’re not startled, you don’t stiffen in his arms the way he thought you might. Yet again you surprise him, not shy in the face of your own desire but welcoming it. You wrap your arms around his neck and your lips part, opening for him like a moonflower on a silver-bright night. 

The storm that hits him at the taste of your mouth sends his heart reeling. It careens overboard, sinking deeper and deeper with every taste of your lips, every sweep of your tongue against his. The surface grows darker and darker, further and further away, no matter how often he gasps for air. There is no escape. He cannot fight the sea of desire you have unleashed upon him. He lifts you, strong hands gripping you, your arms and legs wrapping around him like the sweetest of chains, cementing his fate . 

His heart is already so entangled, there is no hope of ever being free again.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @tele86 @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #silvio x reader #kiss fic #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #1k first kiss celebration #violettwrites

[kylars-owner]

my girlfriend: the mortifying

Characters: MtF! Kylar, GN Reader, M! Robin

TW: uhhh Kylar is mean a bit and gets pushed for it :( also robin gets his feelings hurt or whatever, public humiliation

Notes: @paffuto-pastry and @hatkuu gave me the idea for this so blame them

The mortification you felt was so palpable you could taste it, and Robin’s own was more than clear on his face. It seems neither of you could stand to deal with what Kylar had just said, as she clung to you, burying her face into your shoulder with an oh-so-innocent smile. The whole situation was not helped by the fact she was barely trying to hide she was sniffing your hair at the moment.

Tears seemed to well in Robin’s eyes, but you weren’t completely. Your vision was unfocused, red burning red as the embarrassment got to you. You were glad it seemed to be just you and Robin at the table this time, the few other people willing to be seen with you anymore having scampered off the moment Kylar sat down. 

You don’t think you could take it if anyone else had heard your girlfriend so casually mention she’d had you collared while you rode her last night.

Vaguely through the fog of embarrassment, you heard Robin trying to form a response. The quiet, stuttered utterances he was able to produce seemed to mesh together into an unintelligible slur.

Kylar had no such issues speaking.

“They look so, so pretty when they cum, too,” she laughed, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. She gripped your hand hard against the plush of her thigh, and your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.

This time, flight won out. 

All in a moment, you ripped your hand away from her tight grasp and pushed her to the side, tripping over the bench in your haste to run away, tears streaming down your face.

You’d really need to talk to your girlfriend about boundaries.

Or break up. 

#kylar dol #dol #kylar the loner #f! kylar #kylar degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity #kylar x reader #kylar dol x reader

[birgittesilverbae]

Oh damn, I forgot about ripbea until now, and just went and reread all of it 😭. One small question: is Lilith ever able to forgive Shannon for breaking her wrist and stopping her from joining on the vengeance? And if she doesn't, is Shannon ever able to live with that lack of forgiveness?

mary is frantic, shaking lilith awake, eyes wild and an unintelligible mess falling from her mouth as she tries to haul her from her bed. it takes minutes before she's calm enough to explain, too busy in the interim with piling combat armour on lilith's bed.

she finally gets a word out of her, two. "she's gone", a blow to lilith's chest, exactly what had fallen from mary's mouth when lilith had spun around the edge of a shipping container and found a sick mockery of a crèche scene awaiting her, mary and shannon lit from below by divinium shrapnel decorating a corpse. 

it's easier now to think of her that way. a corpse. distant. removed. it's easier, too, to think of shannon in the same vein, to believe the explosion had stolen two of her sisters. 

"she's gone," mary says, and it's all lilith can do not to gesture pointedly with her casted arm, to thrust it out into the space that's grown between them, to tell mary that shannon has been gone. that some days lilith's not quite sure that any of them left those docks alive. 

but mary's been abandoned just as thoroughly as lilith has, and so she keeps her mouth shut and accepts the armour, dons it. struggles to pull the sleeve over her cast, tugs and drags at it, watches in mute horror as mary flips open her belt knife and slices the fabric away without a second thought, altogether too focused on her next task, on retrieving her home.

the tracker in the stolen van remains in operation, and camila provides a background soundtrack of frequent updates as they cross the continent in pursuit. the miles pass in a blur of driving rotation, of gas station rest breaks and restless naps in the rear of the van. they don't gain on her even after driving straight through the night, camila reveals when she wakes to the slow rise of the sun. lilith and mary exchange a glance fraught with tension.

they reach rome, run hard into a wall when they find the stolen van as empty as their hopes. they drift towards vatican city on a wing and a prayer, find their pleas answered with an explosion that shakes the enclave to its core. 

trust shannon to try to end this as it had begun, an explosion sending shrapnel spinning into being.

they push through fleeing crowds, towards a figure wreathed in the dark of halo glow, awesome and terrifying as she faces a crowd of demons looming above her. they slide into action easy as breathing, slide into position at shannon's back, the battle already deeply engrained in their bones.

it's seconds-minutes-hours later when the last tarask vanishes into oblivion and lilith holsters her gun. her ribs ache, a faint empty feeling as though there's the ghost of an old injury settled beneath her skin, but it's no worse than the baseline burn of inflammation at her wrist. she tries to wipe her forehead, the mesh of her gel cast tugging at the strands of hair that have fallen loose in the melee. switches arms, mops the sweat from her brow with her other sleeve. watches with a twist in her gut as mary takes a tentative step towards shannon.

the floor has turned to rubble beneath the fetal curl of her tired form, blood pooling amidst the chunks of masonry, turning them to islets in a sea of red. beatrice's voice rises unbidden, clipped around a bitten-back smile. every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main, she'd whispered into the rain-soaked darkness of a stakeout. lilith remembers the shadowed lines of a hand reaching out to her from the back seat of the van, the quick response to her flinching so hard at a thunderclap that she'd bitten her tongue bloody. if a clod be washed away by the sea, europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were. lilith had taken beatrice's hand despite herself, had felt so utterly young in that moment as beatrice had laced their fingers together, had gripped her palm tight. 

she follows mary into the lake of blood, the ocean, as though there's a hand guiding her forward. no man is an island entire of itself, beatrice had whispered into her ear, her presence a shield against the raging storm beyond. and so lilith fords the rivers of her molten rage and helps mary draw shannon back to her feet.

#ask #anon #i also forgot about it until i tripped over half that snippet in my docs #does this answer your question idk if not tell me ig #warrior nun #mywn #myfic #fic: ripbea #sister lilith

[randomfoggytiger]

The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part III): Dissecting the Dynamics in Demons

While it seems an odd time to skip ahead in the timeline, Demons is an important key to understanding how young Mulder viewed his parents' reactions to the events of the mytharc: shaping his relationships with his father and mother and leaking into all aspects of his life going forward. And-- more to the point-- it delves into his subconscious fears of rejection and perpetual ignorance concerning what happened to his sister, his family, and his life.

Here we go~

Demons

Initially, Mulder’s drug-seizure flashbacks in Demons can’t be completely trusted (and we find out none can be as the plot unfolds) because the very nature of the drug only allows its victims to take a grain of memory and build the worst possible construction around it, inducing violent suicide. Consequently, not much can be gained other than some essentials: 

In Mulder's first vision, he is woken by Samantha. She immediately shushes him-- “They’ll hear you”-- 

so they can both crouch by the stairs and listen in on the adults’ yelling match downstairs.

All that can be made out from the cacophony of screams are Tena’s “NO!” and Bill’s passionate assurances, trying to drown out her “NOT MY BABY!” She knocks away her husband’s comforting arm

as he yells back “It’ll be okay!” 

His next vision is of his younger self approaching the study. Bill stops mid argument when he sees his son, 

stares at him a second with red eyes and a seemingly malicious expression,

and shuts the door firmly in his face. 

Perhaps it’s not what actually occurred; but it certainly reflects the moment that Mulder perceives his father shut himself off emotionally from his family.

At this moment, Mulder's subconscious is painting Bill Mulder out to be the worst type of human: angry, malicious, barreling over Tena's pleas and screams. It's the Bill Mulder of End Game and Anasazi-- ruthless, cold, fellow co-conspirator. While most of these thoughts had been resolved in The Blessing Way vision, Mulder's doubts and fears still remain; in this case, being rooted out and exploited by psychotic drugs and a hole in his head.

At the very least, this is most certainly not what factually happened, because Mulder turns around to see CSM skulking in the shadows-- “You’re a little spy”-- a mesh between his subconscious fears and distrust of his own memories manifesting to blur reality and fiction together. 

The third flashback Mulder has is of his father again in his study, angrily grabbing Spender’s collar as the two men argue unintelligibly over CSM’s proposition. 

It is imperatively important how this reflects Mulder's psyche. Each new vision reflects the chaotic soup of his inner mind as he feverishly tries to sort all of the incongruous pieces of information of Bill Mulder's past into a coherent narrative. He psychologically flips his dad from ruthless co-conspirator to aggressively protective father losing his side of the argument, a behavior more in line with the parental figure of Mulder's early childhood. But he still shuts the study door in his son's face.

Again, the fake vision continues, unravelling any chance at its being reality: both children clearly overhear their mother charge at Spender screaming “Not Samantha-- NOT SAMANTHA!” as she beats on his chest. 

Bill is yelling at both of them, and again notices his son overhearing the escalating hysterics. 

There is no chance that both children overheard their parents and didn’t fear for their safety afterward; or were unconcerned when Bill and Tena later left them alone at home the night Samantha was abducted. Too little time would have passed for the children to be comfortable being home alone. 

The fourth vision is very telling: Mulder blurs from Scully’s concerned face into his mother’s as she is seemingly held in the arms of Spender; at first frightened, then simply passive.

This sparks an angle he had never considered before-- that his mother had not simply been forced to make a choice, but that she had been complicit. He insists on going to Tena’s house in Greenwich, planning to force the truth out of her. 

Tena is happy to see her son get out of the car, smiling as she buzzes over to open the door. 

She swings it open, “Fox!” melting from her mouth in sheer bliss. 

This is not the cold Tena from the land of meta and fics that filtrates the fandom. Not that anyone is wrong for thinking that, but the facts don’t add up: she is always soft and beaming when her son drops in, hugging on him in Dreamland II, listening to his every word and agreeably obeying in Colony, and practically ascending into Heaven that her driven child has come for an unannounced social call. 

Unfortunately, the visit goes south fast. 

She is instantly concerned that Mulder brushed off her greeting and insists that he needs to speak to her. 

Her concern-- “What’s happened, Fox? Why did you come here?”-- 

turns to confusion when Mulder states “You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

She immediately turns to Scully, involving her in their private conversation 

and proving that she trusts the other woman completely. She’d met and been assured by her at Bill’s funeral about Mulder not being dead, and it had turned out to be true. On top of that, Scully had helped and cared for Tena and her son during the stroke and near death in Herrenvolk. Scully has gained Tena’s unshakeable loyalty in ways I’ve never seen touched on in broader canonical discussions; or, more to the point, in any other person in canon. 

Another fascinating thing to note: Tena acts just like her son-- leaning into Scully’s personal space, pulling in her lower lip as she listens to Scully’s explanation, and mulling it over in her mind in a genuinely appreciative manner. (Tena’s actress put so much effortless work into her character to make her a believable mother to Mulder that it’s astounding.) 

Scully explains that Mulder is claiming his risky treatment had helped him remember things. Tena stiffens; and for the first time in the show faces her son stoicly: “Remember what?” 

Mulder rattles off his accusation-- that the choice Tena had told him about was not what actually happened, and that she was far more guilty and complicit than she had let on in the past. All the while he keeps his eyes on the ground 

as his voices keys higher and higher, faster and faster. 

“It wasn’t your choice to make.”

Tena sighs--”What do you want to hear from me?”-- and Scully turns away, uncomfortable. Her anxiety that Mulder is breaking something fragile is written all over her face.  

Mulder demands that his mother tell him everything “privately” while still not meeting her eyes. 

Tena is distressed, nettled, and angry as she stomps into another room, leaving Mulder to make his way in by himself. 

For the first time, Mulder looks her in the eyes, softness coloring his voice-- “You had some kind of relationship with him”-- 

making an obvious space for his mother to confess, hoping she’ll tear up and tell him about the great tragedy that Spender had inflicted on her helplessly. 

Tena is further confused-- “Who?”--

which causes Mulder to say “You know who--” in that same gentle voice. Tena becomes suddenly afraid: her son is close to the truth, though she doesn’t know most of it has been fabricated by his deluded mind. She denies that she had any involvement in Samantha’s abduction.

Mulder starts to yell: “You betrayed my father.” 

She raises her voice in response: “Never.”

From here on out there are two takes of Tena. 

The first take is what canon purports to be true: that she had had an affair with Carl Spender and had gotten pregnant with Fox and then Samantha. There are facts that disprove the first half of these claims: Tena was married to Bill in ‘61 and Mulder was born sometime later that year-- making him either a baby conceived out of wedlock or a honeymoon baby conceived in January. Spender couldn’t have fathered Mulder because he didn’t meet Bill until they were stationed together in ‘62 after Mulder had turned one years old, so sometime after October 13th. However, it is still possible that he was the biological father of Samantha, explaining why he never returned her to the Mulders after the abduction. 

At the very least, her eyes shine with conviction and innocence at this part of the conversation; but they very quickly change when her son digs deeper. 

When Mulder further impugns her honor-- “How far back did it go?”-- she slaps him without flinching,   

showing that she is and never was a helpless, inactive person when it came to her self-defense. She is not a woman to sit back and let the world run her over, making forceful decisions and carrying them out without regret. 

Mulder doesn’t flinch, either, proving this was a normal punishment for sassing back. 

Corporal punishment’s back on the menu, boys. 

“How dare you? How dare you come here and accuse me?” 

Mulder doubles down, interrogating her further on who his father is. 

And then the truth comes frothing out: 

“What do you want? TO KILL HIM AGAIN?” 

Tena admits without admitting, distraught that her son found out her shame at last. 

She tries to flee from Mulder’s “Just answer the question, Mom”, but he violently grabs her arm and hollers the question again. Since Tena cannot flee, she forcefully shuts down the conversation: “I am your mother, and I will not tolerate anymore of your questions.” 

Mulder’s face falls, saying it all. 

This, if read literally,  is the first time Tena has pulled the parent card against him, constructing a wall of authority between the two of them… exactly like his father had done all these years. He had assumed it was just Bill Mulder who had selfishly protected his interests from his son; and is appalled, confused, and hurt that his mother had, too. 

Her anger shifts to concern when Mulder’s head begins to bleed;

but her pride is still too wounded to reach across the breech to care for her son, instead stiffly pointing out “You’re bleeding, Fox.” Mulder reaches up, dazed, scrubbing his hand across the blood and staring brokenly at his mom. 

Tena storms out of the room shortly thereafter, running up the stairs without acknowledging Scully.

Scully soon finds out that Mulder had already bailed first, speeding off in the car before his mother even left the room.

Both mother and son run away from conflict as fast as they can; another unhealthy dynamic that festered and grew since the abduction, and will continue to grow in the wake of this new revelation. 

Mulder’s fifth “memory” is just his former ones on repeat, mixed in with his real events of the night of his sister’s abduction. 

He runs back to Quonacatog after the mad scientist drills another hole into his head; and Scully stops him from suicide during his sixth and final flashback-- 

a series of even more jumbled memories where Samantha takes his mother’s place with Spender and is also afraid of being abducted while Tena screams “MY BABY” over and over. 

Scully is able to convince him to let this mad quest go when he pulls a gun on himself and then her-- “This is not the way to the Truth, Mulder”-- and talks him down from his yelling. He shoots a bullet into the wall, killing that lead and turning it into a dead end. 

This is the last time we hear from Tena for many years, culminating in her cryptic calls and sudden suicide in Sein und Zeit.

In conclusion: Demons turns Mulder's preconceptions about his father's actions on its head, casting suspicions on his mother's involvement for the first time. The emotionally open relationship between mother and son is effectively destroyed when Tena refuses to give her son clear answers for the closure he is so desperately seeking. Instead, she reveals her truer nature that Mulder had never witnessed before: violent anger in the face of confrontation and a willingness to cut off all the relationships in her life if they inconvenience the cocoon she has built to shield herself from the past. (This plays into her stroke in Herrenvolk; but also shows that explosive fights between the two divorced parents were likely the norm.) Bill Mulder was not the only parent expecting blind obedience from their son.

We still have a lot of ground to back track and cover-- i.e. meeting Scully during The Blessing Way and her confrontation and stroke in Herrenvolk-- so there are still many more parts to go.

Until the next part--

Enjoy!

#txf #The Mulder Family In-Depth #Part III #analysis #Dissecting the Dynamics in Demons #mine #x-files #the x files #Bill Mulder #Tena #Teena Mulder

[hibiscusangel15]

Lure

Aye, let me tell ye a tale of the mysterious merfolk and the two foolish mortals that fell for one of the creatures...

Cover art done by @uniformshark​ for @thewhisperingdeep​​ Bleach zine!

Summary: Creatures of myth and legend had no place on a research venture. The subsequent capture of a vicious merman proves Kurosaki Ichigo and Kurosaki Rukia otherwise. Originally written for The Whispering Deep: MerMay zine!

Rating: Teen and Up

Category: Multi, M/F, M/M (GrimmIchiRuki)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Magic and Science, Polyamory, Mutual Pining

Also available on AO3!

Spreading the GrimmIchiRuki agenda, one AU at a time! I came up with the idea for this fic almost as soon as I saw the 'zine open Interest Checks haha. The mods have gone all out for this 'zine and it's utterly gorgeous. Be sure to check out the AO3 collection for even more amazing Bleach and BNHA MerMay fics!

Unearthly cries echoed from the stern of the ship. The Kurosakis hurried along in their pajamas to the top deck. Kurosaki Rukia was used to abrupt calls in the middle of the night, having been an on-call veterinarian once upon a time. Her husband lagged behind her, still struggling to put on his shoes.

Several members of the crew scrambled past them to wake up other researchers. Unintelligible snippets about some kind of beast tangled in the nets floated around the ship. Most were drowned out by the harsh clang of boots against catwalks and the ever-present howls of whatever was on deck.

Once they surfaced, Ichigo nearly barreled into his wife. All the sailors swearing and yelling ahead of them tore his gaze port-side. A writhing blue mass in a mesh net slowly drew higher. The mechanical winch whirred into overdrive as it thrashed even harder in its panic. The creature’s all-black eyes were marked by the glowing blue of its irises. It briefly met his own, not desperate or confused, but brimming with hatred as it scratched out at the net with its claws. It was no use. The reinforced steel fibers would not snap so easily.

Without thinking, Ichigo grabbed his wife’s hand. Rukia too was transfixed as she studied this monster that should not exist. It did not make any of this feel real.

A high-pitched snicker snapped them out of their stupor. Kurotsuchi Mayuri, the Head Researcher for this venture, cracked a wide smile. “How intriguing. When I was first assigned to this project, I assumed they thought I was mad and wanted to ship me off. Now I see I am the only one qualified to study such a fantastical creature.”

The sailors lowered the net into a large tank where it finally let the creature go. Before it jumped back into the ocean, two burly crewmen slammed the top shut. Even from behind the glass, they could hear its furious shriek. It slammed itself against the bulletproof glass over and over again, to no avail. Eventually one of the sailors had to open a hatch and dart it with a tranquilizer to stop it from injuring itself.

It was only then that Ichigo and Rukia inched closer to the tank. After months of catching and tagging nothing but the spare marlin or salmon shark, this bright blue beast of myth seemed almost too good to be true. It was a gorgeous creature up close. Long hair the color of a clear sky, stripes of navy blue and white climbing up the sides of its tail and ending past its webbed hands. Its tail was like that of a shark, strong and covered in jagged fins.

It pushed itself up, baring its teeth the moment it caught Rukia’s eye. After thrashing uselessly one last time, it slumped to the bottom of the tank.

One of Kurotsuchi’s assistants whispered something in her ear. One glance from her, and he knew to let her go.

A quick meeting had been called in the conference room deep in the hull. The place was in an uproar. Other marine biologists argued with the captain of the ship, but apparently, he was just as in the dark about the situation as the rest of them.

Head Researcher Kurotsuchi slammed an ashtray repeatedly on the glossy wooden table to call for order. “Will you all cease this useless prattle? All your voices are grating on my nerves.”

One of the military officers hired onto the project, one Matsumoto Rangiku, slammed her fist down on the table. “Kurotsuchi, how can you act so calm at a time like this?”

“Calm?” he repeated. “I am most certainly not calm. Why, can’t you tell I’m as giddy as a little boy on his birthday.”

His placid expression seemed to say otherwise.

Ichigo finally spoke up. “We signed on to study a new species, not a mythical creature. This isn’t anywhere near any of our areas of expertise.”

Some of the other marine biologists on board echoed his sentiments. Even a few of the soldiers murmured their agreement.

“Why, that’s not true at all, Kurosaki-kun,” a sly voice piped up. He’d been quiet until now, reveling in the chaos from his plush leather chair. “You were all chosen for this job for a reason. In fact, I’d say this creature we caught looks somewhat like a shark. You and your wife study sharks, no?”

The other researchers parted to reveal a silver-haired man in a sharp gray suit. Ichimaru Gin always seemed to be smiling at some hidden joke.

Ichigo frowned. “Yeah, but a merman? The lab was set up to contain regular saltwater fish. I have no idea if trapping it here will have direct effects on its constitution or if the tank is even suited to its needs. Tranquilizing it the way those sailors did was reckless. We don’t know if it had adverse effects on its health or if—”

“As far as I can tell, it’s doing just fine, Ichigo,” a familiar voice said behind him. Kurosaki Rukia stood in the doorway, her trusty assistant hovering behind her with several papers in his arms.

“Rukia,” he breathed. Just having her nearby put him at ease.

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun,” Ichimaru said. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Her eyes lingered on Ichigo before turning back to Ichimaru. “Before I give you my report on its vitals, I think we all would like to know exactly why we were hired for this mission, Ichimaru-san. I was already quite suspicious when we weren’t given the exact details of the new species in question at the start.”

Ichimaru’s grin only grew wider. “Why would you think I know more than any of you? I’m only here to ensure that Hueco Mundo’s business venture doesn’t go astray. It looks like we’ve all gotten in over our heads here.”

Matsumoto sighed. “Gin, enough playing around. What’s going on here?”

Lieutenant Matsumoto Rangiku had always been open about her fraught relationship with Hueco Mundo Pharmaceuticals’ marketing director. Most of the crew hated being anywhere near him at the best of times. Still, it was nice to know that someone could soften his wily nature, if only for a moment.

Ichimaru’s smile fell a bit. “I am telling the truth, you know. All I was told was that if we were lucky enough to find this new species—whatever it was—it would increase the company’s equity exponentially. Nothing more, really.”

For the rest of the crew, this venture was a contract. Just another job.

For Ichimaru Gin, it was practically a paid vacation. He had come under the guise of protecting this potential investment, sure, but he didn’t seem to have anything better to do outside of tormenting the crew.

“What is that thing, anyway?” the captain of the ship finally asked, his voice quivering. He was a broad man who looked like he’d lived through his fair share of storms on the open seas. “A product of pollution the company is trying to cover up? Some weird experiment that escaped?” 

Ichimaru picked this topic up with a renewed glee. “Goodness, you all dove to conspiracy theories quite fast. I’m almost impressed. But tell me, captain, why would Hueco Mundo bother to dump pollution out in the middle of the ocean?”

“Hueco Mundo would have made us sign an NDA form of some kind if that were the case,” Kurotsuchi pointed out. “Besides, I don’t know why you’re all so afraid of this creature. As fellow researchers, surely you’d all jump at the chance to study something new.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances. None of them really wanted to be associated with Kurotsuchi, either. He fit the mad scientist bill in every way imaginable.

“When we hired you all on for this project, admittedly, I had no idea what sort of creature we were looking for,” Ichimaru said, surveying the startled crew in front of him. “Kurosaki-kun and…Kurosaki-kun, as our resident shark experts, I think it’s best you work with the creature for now.  The rest of the researchers can provide additional support—”

A howl battered its way to the conference room. The tranquilizer should have knocked the creature out for a solid hour or so. The thing had only been out for fifteen minutes.

Without a second thought, Ichigo, Rukia, and their young assistant, Hanatarō, rushed to their lab. Alarms blared from every corner of the room. The creature had ripped the EKG wires from its chest and now thrashed around in the water, hands squeezed tight over its ears. They rushed to turn the screaming machines off. It was no use. The merman continued to slam himself against the glass.

“We need to calm him down or he’s going to kill himself!” Rukia tossed a catchpole to Hanatarō as he flew up the steps. Just as Ichigo began drawing a sedative from a small vial, she pried another catchpole from storage and trailed after Hanatarō.

Undoing the top latches of the tank through the gap in the catwalk could be tricky, but Hanatarō managed to pry them open. When the creature grinned, it was then, too late, Ichigo realized their mistake.

It yanked the catchpole forward and poor Hanatarō fell into the water. For one dreaded moment, both Ichigo and Rukia thought it would tear him to shreds.

It shot out of the tank faster than they could blink. Ichigo was knocked to the ground and the syringe shattered.

The merman’s claws dug deep into his shoulders. He barely had time to wince before its jaw unhinged. An ear-piercing roar split the air.

Ichigo had been face-to-face with plenty of sharks as a marine biologist. Several of the more aggressive species nearly took bites out of him at one point or another.

None of those experiences held a candle to this.

“Ichigo!”

It whirled over to the source of the voice. Rukia stopped in her tracks, not even daring to blink as it shifted over to her.

Ignoring the pain flaring in his shoulders, Ichigo grabbed hold of its tail before the creature could lurch for his wife. The tips of its claws sliced through the edges of his bangs when it swatted back at him.

Rukia snatched up a new syringe, fingers steady from years of practice as she drew out a few milligrams of sedative.

Suddenly, the creature cried out, not in anger but pure anguish. Its gills opened and shut rapidly. It couldn’t breathe.

Ichigo swore under his breath. The moment he brushed its webbed fingers, the creature slapped its tail against his stomach. He stumbled, grasping at the metal table behind him for balance.

Its tail suddenly split down the middle with a sickening crack. Once alien cries began to sound more and more human. As it continued to struggle, two legs broke through the seam in the tail, kicking it away.

All went still.

In the middle of the lab, surrounded by scattered papers and broken glass, laid not a dead merman, but a human. He heaved a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. The jet black receded, leaving only pale blue irises and pupils flitting around.

For all his ferocity, the man was alarmingly beautiful. The former merman reached out for his tail with trembling fingers. It was too far and he was so, so tired. Finally, his head lolled back.

The silence felt so much louder than all the noise that came before.

The rest of the crew had clambered to the lab in time to witness yet another odd miracle—another impossibility made real.

“How fascinating.”

Kurotsuchi, as always, was the first to speak. His mouth twisted into an unsettling grin as he stepped closer to the merman’s fallen form. “It seems the Kurosakis are not the only ones qualified to study this creature, after all.”

                                              * * *

Priorities shifted in a muddled haze. Kurotsuchi’s team wasted no time in fitting the merman into what looked an awful lot like a prison jumpsuit, if only for decency’s sake. His hair was also cut into a choppy, spiky mess.

Frequent reports of the merman’s stubborn refusal to let anyone touch him afterwards reached the Kurosakis. The two-way glass cell prevented the merman from looking out at his captors. Instead, he often huddled in the corner, refusing to even touch the blanket and pillow provided.

“Has he eaten anything yet?” Ichigo asked when he found his wife standing outside the cell. 

Rukia shook her head. “Hanatarō-kun keeps trying. To put it delicately, this merman’s pissed.”

He snorted. His wife hadn’t been this crude when they first met. Call it his bad influence. Her brother would be horrified at her language.

“I would be, too, if I was abducted by a bunch of scientists who took away my skin.”

She didn’t smile. Admittedly, it was a weak attempt at a joke.

“You mind if I try? I’m not sure if he’ll understand me, but I don’t want him to starve himself.”

Rukia patted his arm and stepped back. The cell doors opened with a faint hiss after he input the code: his wife’s birthday.

The former merman immediately scrambled back to the furthest corner of the cell.

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

It sounded like a lie despite all his best intentions. Ichigo sat as far from the other man as he could to show he wasn’t a threat.

“My name is Kurosaki Ichigo. Can you understand me?”

The man narrowed his eyes.

“I got you some food,” Ichigo persisted as he pushed the plate forward. “My wife’s assistant told me you haven’t been eating, so…”

After a moment of searching for the right words to say, he took one sliver of sashimi and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s not great, but it’s the best we have. Decent, at least.”

Not poisoned.

The man’s blue eyes flickered down to the plate. Ichigo didn’t dare move for fear even the slightest shift might set him off.

Suddenly, the man darted forward, limp legs dragging behind him. Maybe he wasn’t used to them yet. Maybe he refused to use them.

The man shoveled the sashimi into his mouth. His teeth were relatively normal by human standards. Outside of his particularly sharp canines, anyway.

Ichigo was struck by the harsh scar running along the side of his face. It was faded, almost silver in the fluorescent lights. He couldn’t have gotten that from when he was captured. Then again, they had no idea how fast merpeople healed after an injury.

“G…Grimmjow.”

Ichigo blinked. “Huh?”

The man scowled. “My name.”

“Wait, so you can speak! Where did you learn to talk?”

He made the mistake of leaning in closer. Grimmjow snarled, a low rumble from deep in his chest, before he retreated back to the far corner of the glass cage.

Ichigo continued to sit there uncertainly until Grimmjow muttered, “Where did you put my tail?”

His tail had been a point of contention among everyone for the past few hours. They all argued over how to handle studying it. Kurotsuchi wanted to dissect it right away. Everyone shot the idea down. There was no telling what cutting up the creature’s tail would do to it.

The only thing everyone could agree on was to conduct more research. Mostly by pooling their knowledge of mermaid myths together to merge new fact with previous fiction.

“If you want the truth, we stored it in the saltwater tank. I didn’t want it to dry out.”

The tension fell from Grimmjow’s shoulders a bit. Then he scowled once more, as if to cover it up. “Che, at least you humans did something right. If you destroy my tail, there’s no way I can go back.”

Back where? Are there more of you? Ichigo wanted to ask him. A researcher’s one weakness. It was the only reason the crew was still out here. If one merman could be found, who was to say they couldn’t capture another?

“Why’re you telling me this?” he asked instead.

Grimmjow turned to face the wall. “You’ve got an honest face. Dumb, wide-eyed. Like a tuna.”

“Hey!”

“You won’t tell anyone.”

How could he be so sure? He didn’t even know him.

And yet, there was such an assured confidence in his voice. Ichigo hated that this creature saw right through him.

“I won’t. I promise you.”

Grimmjow snorted. “Like I said.”

                                               * * *

Ichigo then took Grimmjow’s meals to him on a regular basis. He was the only human on-board Grimmjow seemed to tolerate. That was, until Rukia slowly integrated herself into their shared meals.

When it was clear that she too would leave him be, Grimmjow began to speak more to her. Her determination to teach him to walk and her fixing up his hair a bit probably helped her case, too.

He was a lot more crass than either of them thought a merman could be. Apparently, he’d learned curse words from yakuza members that regularly dumped evidence near where he liked to reside. The Kurosakis never asked to hear more about that.

Kurotsuchi and a few other researchers insisted on installing a camera within the cell to garner more information. Both Ichigo and Rukia shut each attempt down swiftly. They’d made precarious progress with the merman as it was. If they broke that tentative trust now, he’d never speak to them again.

The crew grew antsier the longer the ship scoured the same bit of ocean. It had only been a week and a half since they first caught Grimmjow. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that other merpeople, should more exist, exercise caution around human ships.

Kurotsuchi’s impatience got the better of him, and one night, the Kurosakis woke up to the sound of Grimmjow’s screams.

Ichigo tore down the hall to where the tail was stored while Rukia broke off to Grimmjow’s cell. The crew had strapped the writhing tail down to a table. Stark red bloomed through the small incision cut into its middle.

Kurotsuchi brandished a scalpel, more annoyed at the interruption than anything. “Who let you in here? Nemu, I thought I told you to lock the door.”

His daughter bowed. “I apologize, sir.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kurotsuchi?” Ichigo snapped, stepping forward. “We still don’t understand how merpeople biology works, and you want to cut open his tail?”

“Have you forgotten that we were hired to research this new species?” Kurotsuchi scoffed. “Do you honestly expect me to wait around for another opportunity to arise? Or were you planning to keep your little pet all to yourself?”

Ichigo grit his teeth. “He’s not anyone’s pet. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Yes, well, it appears as though dissection is no longer a viable option. This link between the creature and its tail is most peculiar. Perhaps I can satisfy myself with studying that, for now. But first…”

Kurotsuchi jabbed a syringe into the tail, drawing out a small vial of red blood.

“Ichimaru-san put me and Rukia in charge of studying him,” Ichigo snapped as Kurotsuchi and the rest of his research crew stalked past him. “If you want to get anywhere near him or his tail again, you better ask us for clearance next time.”

An alarmingly wide grin stretched across Kurotsuchi’s face. “Perhaps I’ll take this up to Ichimaru then. If you and your wife refuse to engage in any worthwhile research, why bother calling yourselves scientists at all? I’m sure Hueco Mundo won’t mind if I perform a few experiments on it, were I in charge.”

Ichigo took several shaky breaths in and out. It took everything in him not to punch that smug bastard scientist in the face.

The tail flopped weakly on the metal table. “Sorry, Grimmjow,” he whispered as he hauled it back in its tank.

It sank to the bottom, unmoving once more. Just as Ichigo was about to head out, a bright light within the tank caught his eye. The cut shimmered a vibrant teal, knitting in on itself in a matter of seconds. 

Ichigo pressed his hand to the glass, awestruck. Yet another miracle. What other magic was Grimmjow capable of?

As it turned out, far more than he thought possible. He found Grimmjow cupping Rukia’s face when he entered the lab. His shoulders stiffened, though not out of a childish jealousy.

Grimmjow’s hand glowed with that same teal light from the tank. Faint red scratches along her left cheek faded, scarred, and eventually disappeared altogether. After a moment, he sighed and rested his head against her shoulder. “Sorry. Doing that takes a lot out of me.”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” she said, patting a tentative hand on the top of his head.

Ichigo cleared his throat and Grimmjow stepped back immediately.

“Your tail’s back in its tank. Kurotsuchi won’t touch it again,” he began, looking between them. “What happened here?”

Grimmjow looked away. “I scratched her face.”

“It was an accident,” Rukia added, if only to quell her husband’s overprotective nature. “He didn’t mean to do it.”

Ichigo swept a gentle thumb along her smooth cheek. Not even a trace of a wound left. This had to be why Hueco Mundo was searching so hard for merpeople. Whatever methods they used to heal themselves would no doubt be distilled into an overpriced pill and distributed worldwide for profit. They’d cure countless wounds, ailments, and diseases—at the expense of an entire species’ freedom.

Grimmjow scratched the back of his head. The red in his ears was not lost to either of them. “You humans are so fragile. Don’t think for a moment I give a shit about either of you. I only healed her because you stopped those bastards from cutting up my tail.”

Ichigo almost laughed. He never knew merpeople could be such bad liars.

“Thanks, Grimmjow. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Grimmjow was granted limited access to the ship’s cafeteria, the deck, and the library soon after the tail debacle. Apparently, the Kurosakis had argued to give him more privileges. He didn’t appreciate their pity, but he couldn’t deny that getting a better lay of his new prison wasn’t half-bad, either.

Assorted seafood and loud, jovial chatter filled the cafeteria the first time he dared leave his cell. The noise died down as soon as the rest of the crew saw him.

Rukia dragged him to a table in the corner, far from their judgment and unfiltered fear. “Don’t let them get to you. You’ll only give them an excuse to isolate you further.”

Ichigo returned with their food soon after and strategically placed himself in front of Grimmjow. He knew that the others’ stares bothered them. Just like he knew to eat at least one of the sashimi to prove it wasn’t drugged.

They were both so unfailingly kind that it almost distracted him from the other crew members’ wary stares. Almost.

Being on deck wasn’t any better. The ocean, vast and expanding and within arm’s reach, felt like a taunt. Waves crashing along the ship sounded more and more like hissing laughter. He was so close. He could feel the sea below. He could taste it.

And yet, he could barely walk on his own. Swimming without his tail was out of the question. Abandoning it entirely was unthinkable.

The library was the only place that didn’t piss him off. Usually, the three of them were left well enough alone here. Quiet and rarely ventured by the rest of the crew, this soon became a haven where the three of them lounged in relative peace.

The lone book on fairy tales seemed so laughably out-of-place before, back when their voyage was within the realm of normal research. Now it was the only text they had to figure out what Grimmjow could be. Various cultures had their own versions of merpeople myths throughout the centuries. Some were vicious creatures that preyed on human sailors. Others were more vulnerable, often taken advantage of by unrelenting men stealing their lives away from them.

Grimmjow was somewhat amused by the Kurosakis scrambling to figure him out. “Humans are always trying to categorize everything. Like the world can fit into neat, little boxes that tell you exactly what it has in store.”

That didn’t stop Ichigo and Rukia from trying, anyway.

Grimmjow did not appear to be a kappa. As much as he hated humans, he was never very interested in eating them. He didn’t appear to be a siren, either. 

“You think my voice is pretty enough to lure random sailors to me?” A laugh threaded through his voice. “You’ve heard me yell before. Tell me that wouldn’t just steer everyone  away  instead.”

Rukia pouted. “Hey, we’re just going through the process of elimination here. Besides, your human voice isn’t that bad to listen to.”

At this, Ichigo nodded.

Grimmjow’s taunting smile fell. “What?”

Both Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a panicked glance.

“Nothing.”

He never pressed the matter afterwards, though he did eye the two fidgeting when they led him back to his cell-converted-bedroom. Despite their best wishes, the crew didn’t see it fit to grant Grimmjow a more comfortable room.

The silence was the worst part of the night. He had always been able to sense that his tail was nearby, but could never get a proper read on where it was. This ship was too damn big, and the other humans were all too glad to shut him out of anything but their pre-approved activities for him.

Ichigo and Rukia wanted to help him. He saw it in their faces. Saw the regret and remorse. And something else underneath that, too. Something he dared not name.

Grimmjow wiped a weary hand over his face. He couldn’t afford to think about that now. Not about a couple of humans. Not when they saw him as nothing more than a monster to study.

His eyes flickered up to the line of photographs the two had taped to his cell wall. In all but one photo, Grimmjow looked either irritated or surprised. The Kurosakis had done their best to get him to smile—and had succeeded on one occasion.

They stuck this photo proudly just above his air mattress. Ichigo had said something stupid and it made him laugh despite himself. Rukia then snapped a photo to capture the moment.

It embarrassed him, at first, but they were both adamant about him keeping it. He refused to even look at it, just to spite them. Now, though, he noticed the light in Rukia’s eyes when she looked over at him. The sly way Ichigo’s hand had inched over his.

His heart jumped to an uncomfortable rhythm. He always hated humans. Hated their cruelty. Hated their curiosity. Hated that they could never leave anything alone.

Ichigo and Rukia were no different. They let him believe that there could be good humans. They made him believe that they actually cared about him.

And maybe he wanted to believe in goodness. In love.

Maybe he wanted…

Grimmjow tossed the photo to the side and collapsed onto the air mattress, face burning at the thought.

Fuck.

                                                    * * *

Instead of getting ready for the night, Rukia went to take a walk. She had to clear her head, get a gulp of fresh sea air. She’d spent too long down in the hull with only her husband and a mythological creature to keep her company. It was no wonder her thoughts grew delirious. Ridiculous, even.

And yet, she couldn’t get the thought of Grimmjow out of her head.

He was a lot more observant than most of the crew gave him credit for. Maybe he’d already figured it out.

There was no denying it: whether as a merman or regular human, Grimmjow was alluring. It was more than the sharp blue of his hair that caught both Ichigo and Rukia’s eyes. Even without his tail, he moved through the ship with a silky swagger, carving his way through every space with intent.

His biting confidence, his sarcasm, his observant wit…

Well, it was no wonder so many writers were enchanted by merpeople.

Rukia was confident in her marriage. It was not as though her love for her husband had diminished just because someone else caught her eye.

Ichigo felt the same way. She’d seen his eyes follow Grimmjow from over the top of his paperwork, the way he leaned in whenever the merman wanted to speak. He had to know how she felt, too, but they never talked about it.

To bring it up would be to admit it, and what kind of unprofessional scientists would they be to fall for their research subject?

Rukia became so lost in thought that she nearly barreled into one of the soldiers stationed on deck. “Lieutenant Matsumoto,” she said, straightening up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, Rukia-chan, no need to be so formal! Please call me Rangiku!” the lieutenant crooned. “You and I haven’t had the chance to hang out much. I’m dying for some girl talk.”

Rukia snapped the chance up immediately. Anything to get her out of her own head. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love nothing more!” Without warning, Rangiku looped her arm through hers and practically dragged her to the little bar in the cafeteria.

The sake warmed her a bit, which was a relief because the ship was always cold. Her mind became blissfully numb, her tongue a little looser.

Eventually, Rukia gathered the courage to ask, “Why did you sign up for this mission?”

Rangiku looked out onto the deck beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Gin asked me to.”

When Rukia stiffened, she waved her away. “I know, I know. He can be a handful a lot of the time. But I told him to leave you, your husband, and that merman alone. He’s kept to his word so far, right?”

Reluctant to give him any benefit of the doubt, Rukia offered only a curt nod.

Rangiku leaned back with a lax smile. “I’m glad. That merman seems to get agitated easily. If Gin raised that creature’s hackles, I don’t think he’d escape unscathed.”

“Grimmjow isn’t…I mean, he’s temperamental, but he’s not…”

Dangerous? No, that was a lie. The moment he arrived on the ship, when they’d failed to sedate him, he’d nearly killed Ichigo. When his tail was being dissected, he clawed at her face.

Grimmjow was dangerous. He was also, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. Of course he’d attack anyone he saw as a threat.

Maybe that extended to both her and Ichigo, too. As much as they enjoyed being around him, there was no telling whether or not he felt even remotely the same.

They weren’t any better than the men from mermaid myth who abducted selkies for their own personal gain. Sure, they had forced the crew into a relative stalemate for a time. Grimmjow might trust them to an extent. None of it would be enough.

“You and your husband spend a lot of time around him. What’s he like?” Rangiku asked, leaning her head against her hand.

Rukia shifted in her seat. “Grimmjow is…admittedly not what we expected. He’s very rude. Not elegant like all the legends say. He has anger issues and he’s always trying to pick a fight.”

“He sounds similar to your husband, actually.”

“They’re both utter fools,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t mean Grimmjow deserves to be prodded or experimented on or used. I’ve studied plenty of fish species before, but what we’re doing is just…insane. He can talk and think and he’s…he’s…”

“Different?” Rangiku offered.

“Yes, but it’s more than that. How are we supposed to justify any of this? If we find more merpeople, what will Hueco Mundo do to them?”

“That’s not something I like to think about. ‘s pretty messed up.”

At this, Rukia stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Rangiku slumped against the bar. “Mmm, I overheard Gin say somethin’ like the higher-ups are getting anxious. They were really getting on his case about it. If we don’t send in any valuable reports or find more merpeople soon, we might have to force that mer-guy to talk to us.”

“By force, do you mean you’re going to…”

“I mean, not me personally. I don’t have the stomach for torture.” Rangiku downed another shot. “I don’t doubt they’d put Kurotsuchi in charge of this project again, though.”

A chill ran down Rukia’s spine. If Kurotsuchi got ahold of Grimmjow again, there was no telling how far he’d go. He had already been willing to dissect his tail without reservation nor permission.

Rukia stood up abruptly. “I…I think I’ll be heading off to bed now, Rangiku-san. Thanks for drinking with me.”

“No problem. I’ve had enough science talk for one night,” Rangiku said, patting her on the back. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe when we’re not shackled to work.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And she did. A vague plan hatched in her mind, the pieces not quite connecting but nearly there.

When she got back to her room, she found Ichigo reading through that book of fairy tales one more time.

“You’re still up?”

He set the book aside on their nightstand. “Couldn’t sleep. I was…thinking.”

She didn’t need to ask what consumed him. “Rangiku-san told me that if Grimmjow doesn’t tell us about the whereabouts of more merpeople soon, they’re going to turn him over to Kurotsuchi.”

Ichigo scowled. “I’d like to see them try.”

“We need to help him escape.”

And there it was. Not a confession, but another emotion laid bare. Alcohol always dulled her usual common sense.

Ichigo took her hands in his, and it was only then she began to fall apart. “I care about him,” she went on. “I…I want to know more about him, but not like this. Not for the sake of people who will use him. Don’t you?”

Ichigo brushed his lips against her knuckles. “I do. But I care about you, too, Rukia. I don’t want us to lose our jobs.”

She snorted. “We’ll lose more than that if we fail.”

“Your brother can afford the best lawyers to get us off scot-free.”

It sounded more like a plea than a fact. His smile wasn’t all that reassuring, either.

“Using the Kuchiki connections can only get us so far. If we help him, it would be considered a breach of contract. We’d have no case to defend.”

Her husband fiddled with the wedding band on her finger. He’d always been a good man. She could count on that, if nothing else.

Ichigo heaved a heavy sigh. Always one for the dramatics, her husband. She knew he’d follow her anywhere if she asked him to.

“What do you have in mind?”

                                               * * *

The first phase of their plan involved getting to know the crew. Ichigo befriended a few of the soldiers on camera duty under the guise of wanting to install a couple cameras in Grimmjow’s cell. They were easier to fool than he thought.

Getting them drunk wasn’t an issue. They were so bored with their mission that they had nothing else to do but drink. The research was best left to the scientists, they said. No need for them to get involved if they just had the one tightly-bound prisoner.

Rukia got information about the soldier’s nightly patrols from Rangiku and managed to map out their routes. All of it was in place.

Overloading the ship’s electric grid was simple. When Ichigo called for their assistant to bring him and the security crew more drinks, he tripped him and let the drinks splatter over the controls. The monitors blinked off and the rest of the ship’s electricity shut down almost instantly.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Hanatarō sputtered.

The tipsy security team fumbled for their flashlights and barked orders to their fellow soldiers. “Come help me start the generator! We need to reserve enough energy to get this damn ship back to shore for repairs.”

Hanatarō trailed after the soldiers, playing the part of the guilty party to a T. Should any of the soldiers go off-course, he’d alert the Kurosakis as soon as possible.

Rukia would secure the tail and Ichigo would take Grimmjow to the deck. It should have been simple. During lockdown, everyone was supposed to be confined to their rooms.

Rangiku was not supposed to be out tonight.

Rukia froze in place, the tail hefted over her shoulder. There was nothing she could do to plead her case.

Rangiku looked torn. A soldier’s orders were absolute. She had to turn them in, and Rukia had no doubt she would. A couple nights at the bar wasn’t enough time to build up a friendship.

“Go.”

Rukia gawked at her, uncertain if she had heard her right.

“Don’t make me say it again, Rukia-chan.”

Rukia hesitated for only a moment then bowed deep. “Thank you.”

A weary smile broke across Rangiku’s face. “I still expect us to have a girl’s night sometime after all this.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Rukia said with a small smile of her own.

The time window was slim. There was hardly any margin for error here. Even a stray soldier falling behind on their patrols could screw everything up.

The three met up on deck not too long after. Ichigo led Grimmjow by the wrist to their meeting point. It was only when he caught sight of his tail did he realize what was going on.

“Why the hell are you helping me?” he asked, wide-eyed.

Ichigo handed over Grimmjow’s tail. “Look, the last few weeks have been pretty weird…and great, too. But you can’t stay here.”

“It’s not right to keep you here. Hueco Mundo will end up killing you.” Rukia squeezed his arm. “We don’t want to see that happen to you, Grimmjow.”

A startled blush crawled across Grimmjow’s face and he faced the sea. “Che, you’re both so honest. It’s gross.”

Rukia smiled and drew out one last present. “If you ever want to meet up again, I drew a map for you to follow. This place is safe, I promise you that.”

Both men turned to look at the bottle in her hand.

“A message in a bottle? Seriously?” her husband groaned.

“What? It was the only way I could think to keep it dry!”

“Please tell me it doesn’t have your weird rabbit drawings on it,” he said. “Or wait, it’s written in some stupid code, right?”

Rukia elbowed him in the side. “You idiot! I want him to find us again.”

Much to their surprise, Grimmjow started to laugh. “You’re both idiots.”

He stepped forward and planted his lips firmly on Ichigo’s. Rukia made a startled noise in her throat when he did the same to her.

A genuine grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

In a blink, he was gone. Ichigo and Rukia peered into the churning water. The telltale splash rippled across the water.

They did it. Grimmjow was free.

They made it back to their room without any incident whatsoever. Another miracle maybe? Or had this entire trip been one feverish dream?

The crew woke them up for individual interrogations a couple hours later. With no evidence and no camera footage to prove their whereabouts that night, however, they couldn’t be held responsible for Grimmjow’s strange disappearance.

Ichigo had told the drunken soldiers that he’d go to his room right when the power went off, as they ordered, and that’s where they found him and his wife. They had no case. No witnesses came forward.

The merman had simply vanished into the sea without a trace.

The Kurosakis quit the research venture as soon as they hit land. A few other researchers followed suit. The past few weeks were more than any of them ever asked for.

After their ordeal, they definitely needed a vacation. Rukia’s brother’s island would do just nicely.

They spent the day on a pristine white beach, enjoying the cool breeze and their shady picnic. Once sunset floated over the horizon, they walked along the dock to get a better view.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Rukia asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

They waited, sitting at the edge of the dock as the waves roiled underneath them. Suddenly, a blue and white beast launched out of the water just a few feet from the dock. Hope pulled them forward to a new beginning.

Rukia squatted at the edge of the dock. Familiar black eyes surfaced to meet hers. She leaned forth to plant a small kiss to his forehead.

Grimmjow scowled. “See, this is why I hate humans. You’re both so annoying.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, but Rukia simply laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. We love you, too.”

#this zine is so so pretty im so happy to have been part of it #GrimmIchiRuki #Bleach #GrimmIchi #Ichiruki #Grimmruki #Grimmjow Jeagerjaques #Kurosaki Ichigo #Kuchiki Rukia

[luuurien]

iANO - Nothing Special Court

(Hypnagogic Pop, Experimental Rock, Ambient)

A massive, hour-and-a-half-long expedition through the various realms of Chris McCracken's lofi electronica, Nothing Special Court provides the most enjoyable and rounded group of tracks in this vein for him yet. By injecting hazy ambient atmospheres into these songs rather than the other way around, the overwhelming atmospheres of his bitcrushed pop tunes are placated by genuinely enchanting songcraft.

☆☆☆☆

It's hard to talk about Chris McCracken's music without at least mentioning his importance as a progenitor of heXD and noisy, bitcrushed-to-hell electronica over the past few years: his 2021 debut Dispossession still stands as one of the former genre's strongest works, and even when it came to this April's neon hi-fi marvel Life Cycles, songs like Storm Fabric and Bliss brought just enough grit and fuzziness to things to ensure the album never became too one-dimensional in its progressive electronic experiments. What did throw me off, though, was this summer's There's No River, where McCracken embraced a gloomier aesthetic that drowned in noisy ambiance and anxious post-punk, an interesting change of pace but with the sacrifice of all the compositional richness his music thrived on - it felt like There's No River was being starved of the depth and expressiveness of McCracken's other projects by way of its monochromatic presentation. So, when a surprise hour-and-a-half long second helping of similarly lo-fi tunes landed Friday morning last week, I wasn't all too sure what to expect: McCracken's shown time and time again his incredible attention to detail and ability to add tons of color to electronica's coldest sides, but meshing it with the avant-pop side of his discography not too long ago brought about quite mixed results. Thankfully, Nothing Special Court completely reimagines how McCracken's hypnagogic pop songs come to life, the album's lengthy runtime and massive tracklist showing off every side of his sound in thrillingly innovative ways. Smothered in high pass, reverb and compression, songs like Nothing and Special speak the language of dance music but distort it until it's near unintelligible, bright synth melodies and chunky drum programming that would normally be fit for a club turned into a lightning spell for the dead of night, while the shoegaze crawl of The Bones and This Will Happen adds even more fuzz to My Bloody Valentine-indebted noise pop. The challenge of There's No River was McCracken trying to fit these heavy post-punk tunes into thin and wispy ambient atmosphere, but by injecting hazy ambient atmospheres into these songs rather than the other way around, the overwhelming atmospheres of his bitcrushed pop tunes are placated by genuinely enchanting songcraft, the folksy lean of Passing Cards juxtaposed by a chintzy toy piano and Keeper's mall-commercial new wave genuinely sounding like it's being shot right out of an old CRT despite its energetic instrumentation. Rather than feeling stiff and awkward trying to mix chilly ambiance with chilly instrumentals, McCracken picks some of the sunniest genres out there - trance, pop, country, dream pop - and finds ways for swarms of noise and distortion to blanket them and create his desired worlds. And if the hour thirty runtime puts you off for any reason, don't go into Nothing Special Court expecting the same thing twice - McCracken's never been one to stick his music in a box, and that's especially so here. He hits on everything from doo-wop (First Encounter) to twangy Americana (Joseph) to groovy ambient techno (Nothing), influences from Naked Flames and James Ferraro to Tom Waits and Alex G dotted all across the album's 33 tracks. Though its gigantic tracklist and long runtime might lend itself to background listening, fully submitting yourself to all of Nothing Special Court's whiplashing 360s and random detours brings about a listening experience like no other this year: it's strange, jumping from The Expanse, Pt. 1's cinematic balladry to the ditzy waltz of Faces Drawn, but it all works in tandem because of the single world McCracken conjures them all in, like flipping through channels on a TV connected to a half-broken antennae. Cryptic and dense as Nothing Special Court is, there's a magic and wonder to how McCracken fits everything together and makes it feel like one solid block of avant-pop surreality, able to take the strangest bits of his sound and stick them all together beautifully. I'll probably always be partial to the cleaner, cooler sound of Life Cycles, but Nothing Special Court is the most interesting and compelling take on lo-fi electronica McCracken's released yet, and making an hour and a half of it stand tall all the way through is an undeniable accomplishment. As he jumps from idea to idea with abandon, he never treats any one song with less love than the ones surrounding it, sporadic in his style and song structures but never changing the core of what makes his music so enthusiastic and earnest no matter where he's taking it. It's a lot to digest, but Nothing Special Court is as engaging and passionate as any of McCracken's more concise releases: take your time with it, and everything unfolds beautifully.

#iano #nothing special court #self-released #ambient #ambient pop #art pop #drone #electronic #experimental #experimental rock #hypnagogic pop #indietronica #lofi / slacker rock #neo-psychedelia #noise #noise pop #post-punk #rock #shoegaze #2022 #8/10 #album review #album reviews #2022 albums

[lenbian-moved]

“in 1954 were we ready for same-sex marriage? were we ready for transgender?”

#chatbot #my gov teacher just starts talking like a bigoted wrestler at a certain point #*unintelligible* MESH NIGHT

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Papas and an s/o who’s stressed about college finals?

Yikes, don't remind me of that! XD Finals were the worst!!

Papas with an S/O stressed about College Finals

Papa Nihil: Many have accused the man of not being the brightest and partying through most of his seminary... half of that is true. But he's no dolt. Granted, Papa might be the most KEEN on directly helping you. However, he can help melt your stress away! Very big on reassurances and nice words to keep you soothed. You have this! You can do this! But also not above getting you to take breaks however he can. Have you tried just taking a few hours off, or even sleeping? Let someone else go through your paper and proof it for a while so you can take a nap and get some food. Honestly, he'll even offer to help you cheat but you shot that down so hard. He doesn't blame you, but... the offer still stands.

Papa I: Probably the best person you can come to for this! If you so accept, Papa will be the best tutor you could possibly ever dream of! He's well rounded in so many subjects. And if he isn't familiar with your particular major, he ends up doing his own studying to help YOU study! Papa is responsible for teaching generations of siblings in seminary and clergy based graduate programs. He will find all of the best ways to make you feel prepared. Whether that be making study sessions or helping proof your final papers. This man has your back! If you don't walk out a master of your subject he will personally eat his own mitre.

Papa II: Admittedly, he's not the best at helping other people out with their stress, but he will try his best for you! Papa is the type of person who never allows himself to be too stressed out of sheer will power. But he sees you struggling and coming undone at the seams to finish your degree... an unfortunately common sight in the ministry seminary courses. So, he does what he does best. Throws money at the problem! Hires you a well rounded tutor based in your particular field. One that will help you throw all the pitfalls of academic nightmares. AND, he also makes good use of his money by getting you your favorite foods or luxuries that might help you relax between studying.

Papa III: He's FAR from uneducated or unintelligent... but Papa hates studying. Hates it with a scathing passion. However, he's the master at making sure you don't burn yourself out. Papa has been known to pick you up out of your chair, kiss your forehead, and say that he's so proud but you need to calm the Hell down. And he's right. You're never going to pass if you have a mental breakdown first! Papa is your excuse to take breaks and be less tense. Sure, your thesis is important but not at the cost of your health! You are constantly whisked away ( a little too easily ) to go enjoy a PROPER meal, sleep, and even just a night where you stare brain dead at a movie. He's also your biggest cheerleader.

Papa IV/Cardinal Copia: He's either going to help you ace every single final or stress you out more, no in-between. It's never intentional, but it REALLY just depends on how well you mesh academically. Mr. Employee of the Month was Valedictorian in every year he ever participated in school all the way through graduate programs. Copia knows first hand how stressful it is. He's not new to staying up in the morning, wide eyed and running only off of coffee and tears. So his studying regiment might be... very intense. But he was known to take his studies to the extreme. So prepared to either have the best cram sessions of your life, or him making you feel worse because now you're even MORE burnt out.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost headcanons #reader insert #ghost reader #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #fluff #ghost fluff

[theoddores]

where - the burke house, upper flagley, england

when - september, 2029

who - @pippc​​ ( phillipa greengrass )

“i don’t get how quidditch is still going on.” for a musician, theodore’s hands were quite unsteady as he ran the small brush through pippa’s fingernails, resulting in rather messy lines. not that he’d usually do THAT much better of a job anyway, but there was something very unintelligible about the supposed star on her nail. perhaps the schedule for that night called for such stress. “and i mean that in general, as in haven’t we evolved past the need for it? but also, it feels so bloody normal. shit is happening and no one is blind to it, right? but lemme pop in for the wasps game and whatnot, go have some butterbeers at hogsmeade with the crew after it, all that shit. it feels a little ridiculous.” the tickets theo’s mother had gotten him stayed on the floor of his bedroom, next to him and phillipa. it already had nailpolish stains, some green that had been ripped of his still drying nails. “and unsafe, no? wasn’t there something in a quidditch game beginning of last time too? i swear i saw something about it in like, i dunno, 92 or 93? it’s so stupid.” a deep breath in took some of the bitterness out of his face. perhaps a lot of the frustration he was feeling came from KNOWING that life wasn’t carrying on as usual. that his wasn’t, or shouldn’t. that things were and would keep on changing. not that theo could realize that. “are u going later?” the tone was softer and quieter, almost secretive. “where is it this time? whose house?” meetings and planning and secret dinners had all started to mesh together in his head. 

#❛ | timestamp ; september 2029 . #❛ I . | you sliced me up and said it was creation instead of a sharp knife ; THREADS . #❛ | THREADS ; phillipa greengrass .

[bluboothalassophile]

Can you do jason/raven with # 15?

Hello,

I wasn’t sure which prompt list this ask was for so I just did both and meshed it together, I hope you enjoy!

So Done With Tonight...

There’s just certain things which seem to be too much of a joke to be real, there, she had thought it. But tonight was the worst night in a while, she was an ER nurse, and never had she been stuck in this chaos. Which was saying something.

It was only chaos at this moment because there was a guy who had a scalpel to her throat as he dragged her around in front of him as a hostage; not the best of nights for her.

It had started out pretty simple, chaotic, but simple. There were a few drunks to deal with, and a serious car accident, there was also a gang shoot out but all that was manageable. At least until this guy was brought in, some huge burly guy who had decided to take a dip into the freezing waters of the Atlantic in fucking January! He had been fished out and choppered here, and of course he’d come back to life when she was checking on him. Of fucking course! And the guy was huge, which was why it took her by surprise that he could move so quickly.

The guy was on something, she could say that, because nothing she did phased him or helped her escape; and growing up the way she had she was good at both escaping and fighting. Hell, she had bit him to draw blood only for him to slam her into a wall, making her world waver between darkness and reality. Her only advantage at this moment was she had protected her throat, despite having no control of the situation she had managed to keep a hand between his arm and her throat, so she wasn’t crushed to death. Still, not her night as she struggled against him.

The security guys were escalating things, and the firemen who were here because of a different incident were watching haplessly, unsure what to do, and the two detectives who had come for an interview on an assault case had guns on the guy; the guy was screaming unintelligibly, and she just wanted to go home! She was so fucking done with this tonight! She wanted the guy to either stab her and get it over with or to let her go because she was tired of feeling like a ragdoll in his grasp!

Of course, this was the moment she saw her long-term boyfriend walk into the ER, probably as a sweet surprise for her on his part. Jason was a Tear One operator, his deployments were unpredictable at times, and now she gasped seeing him, the flowers drop from his hand as he moved quickly. No one really expected Jason Todd, but within forty seconds she was out of the grasp of a man man, hospital staff sedating him and Jason’s arms around her as he pushed her out of everyone’s prying view to check her over.

He was thorough in his swift examination, having her direct him when he demanded supplies.

“Jesus what did he do to your head?” he asked as he pressed pads on her gushing wound.

“You know it’s not as bad as it looks, and he sent me though a window,” she muttered.

“What the fuck Rae,” he muttered.

“I’m happy to see you,” she smiled tilting head back to look at him. There were a few scrapes on his face, and she’d bet there was more all over him, he always seemed to have cuts and scrapes, bruises too.

“I thought he was going to kill you,” he muttered.

“I was getting to the point where I wished he’d make up his mind already, he was flinging me around like a fucking ragdoll!” she hissed as he dapped another cut and pulled out glass.

“Ah, Raven,” her coworker and the resident ER doctor walked in, Kori walked up to her.

“Hey Kori,” she winced as Jason ran his hands over her ribs.

“Nothing feels broke, but x-rays,” Jason decided.

“Everything just feels heavily bruised, and battered.” Raven admitted rubbing her ribs.

“I’m more worried about your head,” Kori said. “We’ll get the x-rays and scans, and if you’re clear we’re sending you home, you deserve some RnR.”

“Thanks,” Raven sighed.

“Hey little bird?” Jason watched as the doctor walked out.

“Mmm?” she hummed looking up at him.

His mouth crashed on hers with ferocity she hadn’t anticipated, she winced at the bruising force as his hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her head. It was a desperate kiss, all consuming, he took no prisoners right then, he was ruthless as their teeth scrapped and he devoured her. She hung on as the fire was ignited, her battered body twisted up into him a bit as he stepped between her legs. He slanted his mouth over hers, and she moaned as everything was turning to lightning in her blood. How the hell could this man do this to her every time!? He pulled away, his teeth caught her bottom lip as he nipped it lightly and rested his brow on hers.

“You scared the hell out of me little bird,” he muttered.

“I’m ok, Jay,” she smiled weakly.

“You’re going to be good for the doctors, and you can boss them, I’ll talk to the cops and call my CO,” he muttered. His thumbs rubbed over her cheeks as he held her face, she lifted a bloody hand to his and held it as she smiled.

“Thank you Jay,” she murmured.

“Christ Raven,” he groaned as he bent over and kissed her lightly. “You can’t do shit like this to me!”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” he whispered yanking her into his chest, she hummed contently as she rested against him, feeling his racing heart.

“After the docs clear you I’m taking you home, and we’re doing nothing for hours,” he warned.

“Deal, just promise me there’s wine and chocolate,” she pleaded.

“I can get ice cream and waffles too, it’s three a.m. Rae,” he chuckled.

“Deal!”

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #one shot #jason todd #raven #jayrae #redrae #raex #modern au

[zukadiary]

Arch of Triumph / Gato Bonito!! ~ Snow Troupe 2018

I feel a bit weird writing this up after only day 2 of the run, because I’m sure the troupe is still very much warming up... but this is when I happened to be here. Yukigumi fan life has not been ideal for me since Chigi’s retirement and this was BALM FOR THE WOUNDS in unexpected ways. Beware of spoilers.

Arch of Triumph

I happen to really like the original version of this show (from back when Tom was Yukigumi’s actual top star), but despite that the primary emotion I felt re: this show choice, as a Daimon fan who has to travel 7000 miles to see her, was saltiness at the stolen lead. I anticipated suffering through this and prayed that Fujii-sensei would carry the experience for me entirely, so I was truly taken aback by how much I loved Gaisenmon. 

There is a pretty long summary on the Takawiki page, and the original is also available from TIP with subtitles.

Just objectively as a show, it’s so beautiful, and it’s beautiful in ways that I didn’t know about at all because you can’t see them on the recording. It’s a dark story and the set is kept fairly dark as well, so all the meticulously colored lights and gobos and gorgeous rain effects dissolve into unintelligible black fuzz on an 18-year-old Sky Stage video. From the second floor you can also appreciate the incredible fluidity of the set rotations and scene changes along with the amazing choreography, of which there is A LOT. It’s a really impressive feat of direction; I am (despite my Takarazuka-related fervor) not a well-versed technical theater person at all and the artistry of it still struck me as something really special. The music is also gorgeous; it’s a very moving show, but I don’t like the main characters as people enough to cry from the culmination of the story... however, the reprise of main song, delivered in beautiful powerful troupe harmony as the curtain fell, murdered me, and I burst into tears on shonichi.

My main worry, especially considering that we have a guest lead and I adore Yukigumi as a whole with all my heart, was that it’s a very top-heavy show. Yesterday I was SO pleasantly surprised at how well-balanced it felt compared to my expectations; today, unfortunately, I felt the same from my vantage point but also realized it will probably feel just as top-heavy as the original on DVD. A sizable portion of the other main players’ stage time comes from beautiful but wordless dance scenes. But despite the light usage of most of the troupe I actually felt better than I did watching Robespierre. Everyone may be on stage less, but I felt like their characters were more lovingly crafted and very distinct from each other even with the simplest backstories. 

My two biggest gripes about Tom swooping in are 1) they often like to pretend she is still 25 which she is distinctly not and 2) in what I’ve seen recently I felt like she and the troupe she’s borrowed were acting separately from each other. I think a big reason why Gaisenmon worked for me is neither of those things applied. While there were a few insertions to balance the stage time a little better, the show is largely the same as the original, yet there is nothing in it that suggests Ravic—a surgeon who escaped Germany as the Nazis came into power—is any specific age, and he works at any age... specifically, even a large age difference between Ravic and Joan is totally reasonable and believable. Against the chaotic backdrop of refugee-laden pre-war Paris, an older doctor and a younger aspiring actress could absolutely meet and fall in love. Tom also meshed with the troupe a lot better than I expected. There’s no way to sugarcoat how shot her singing voice is, but damn the woman can act, and her otokoyaku mannerisms (stage kisses in particular) definitely show her long years of practice. 

Kiichan slayed, I thought she was even better than Tsukikage Hitomi. Joan is a REALLY HARD role; she’s practical out of necessity but a bit frivolous at heart, and she’s in love but also struggles to differentiate between actual love and the fear of being alone in an increasingly dangerous world. It doesn’t sound like it in writing but in execution it’s really easy for her to come off as weak, clingy, and annoying, when she’s actually a very nuanced character. Kiichan hit all the right notes, she didn’t appear intimidated at all by Tom, and even their romance seemed totally natural for the aforementioned reasons. Her sudden lovesickness could have been so one-note but I felt the tinge of anxiety behind it throughout the whole show, and I was so impressed by that. There is a scene of misunderstanding between Joan and Ravic at a cafe that in a way triggers the unfortunate events that occur thereafter, and it’s gut-wrenching, especially on a second viewing when you can watch it unfold with the knowledge of what’s coming. Her death scene is also extremely intense.

Salty as I am, I LOVE the role of Boris for Daimon. I’ve been feeling like I’ll explode if I have to see her do another sad French play, but after watching this somehow it wound up exempt. The story is heavy and all of the characters are struggling, but amidst the turmoil Boris is a calming presence, refreshingly level-headed and quite positive in a lot of ways (EDIT: in chatting in the comments the words I wanted but couldn’t find at 3am came out: he’s definitely got a cynical edge to him as well, but it was kind of like his cynical view of the world freed him up emotionally to be quietly supportive of the other characters’ problems... I think that’s what I mean by positive). And I can’t even express HOW LOVELY it was to see Daimon play THAT CHARACTER for a change, how fulfilling not to just watch her suffer for an hour and a half. Boris is in the story himself but also the narrator. In the story bits, he’s cool and reliable and there’s a really heartwarming sense of purity in the way he freely shows his emotions. Daimon seems to enjoy over the top acting just fine, but it’s her roles that rely on subtle facial expressions and body language that absolutely kill me—this was the latter. In the narration bits, she weaves an intricate tapestry with her voice. As I said every detail of the direction is intentional and beautiful, but so much of the mood also comes from the emotion in Daimon’s singing, not only in the actual songs (one of which she sang in probably incorrectly but nonetheless tantalizingly pronounced French, ugh ♥), but also particularly when she hums background tunes as other bits of action are taking place. She barely moves and her voice is so soft and yet STILL it reverberates throughout the entire theater somehow, like it flutters into every corner. And she was so beautiful, she worked the hell out of some costumes that definitely wouldn’t be flattering on everyone. I’m TEARING UP right now, my heart is so full. 

Here’s where things get bit eh for some people and downright unfortunate for others. Saki and Shou barely had anything to do, although I understand why they were relegated to those roles versus the Aasa, Hitoko, Kari group which although comprised of very distinct characters still felt like a single unit in a way. After a bit of prologue choreography Saki doesn’t show up until past the halfway point. She’s Henri, the handsome but creepy and possessive movie producer who lands Joan some acting jobs and then also shoots her in a fit of jealousy. She really only has two notable short scenes toward the end, when Henri first tries to coerce Joan into staying with him and then comes to Ravic pleading for her life after shooting her. Shou is a sexy doctor who talks on the phone sometimes. 

The Aasa/Hitoko/Kari group, however—and, tangentially, Asu, Manaharu, Michiru, Kiwa, and Agata Sen—shone more than I expected remembering the original group (our legendary Yukigumi 3兄弟 Touko/Komu/Naruse Kouki). While they also only had a few scenes to themselves, those scenes were some of my favorites, and they’re the ones who got to decorate the outskirts of the other scenes’ action with beautiful dancing. Aasa is the only one whose role I’d call a step back from Robespierre, but only because she was my Robespierre MVP, and she was still wonderful as the more subdued Jaime. I felt distinct forward momentum from everyone else. Hitoko was absolutely adorable and injected way more into Rosenfeld than Komu did (which I can say even with the ultimate bias on my side), and Kari was truly outstanding, I could melt just looking at her and I’m so glad she landed a role with that kind of prominence. The whole Hotel International group just had so much humanity. 

Final shout outs go to Niwa who I love unconditionally in every role she plays but particularly here for a) A+ slimy awful Gestapo officer and b) the novelty of Kouju Tatsuki squeeing OMG YOU WERE KEN-2 IN THE ORIGINAL AND NOW YOU’RE SCHNEIDER?! in the talk show; and Miho Keiko who I was SURE they stuffed into Gaisenmon because Fujii-sensei demanded her presence in his show as usual, leaving me quite dumbfounded when she wasn’t in Gato Bonito at all. It wasn’t a role that one of our many boss beautiful perfect upperclassmen musumeyaku couldn’t have done, but nonetheless her presence leant some more gravitas to the show in addition to balancing out Tom a bit.

Gato Bonito!! had the opposite effect on me initially. I expected to dislike Gaisenmon and it wowed me, and then it wowed me twice over because that feeling of your expectations being so far exceeded is wonderful. Meanwhile I’ve been laying in bed at night screaming DAISUKEEEEEEEE into the darkness for months, praying he’d deliver me a perfect trilogy of HOT EYES!!, Santé!!, and now THIS!! (boy he loves double exclamation points doesn’t he). 

Well, it sure wasn’t HOT EYES. But in retrospect, that’s a damn high bar. After watching Gato Bonito today with my expectations in a reasonable place, I liked it more... especially when I think about how SUPER VOYAGER was everything I never want to see in a revue ever again tied up in one neat package, and this, in contrast, was a lot of things I want to see very much.

From the start I liked or loved all of the scenes individually, but something about the show as a whole didn’t come together for me, and after two viewings I think I have some idea of why. The sets and backdrops were off for me, in a way that I did not think could have such a large effect on the show’s overall vibe. Most revues will have a big eye-popping scene, then they’ll close the curtain and have people dance in front of it for a short transition, then open it again to another eye-popping scene. There’s a nice rise-climax-break-repeat flow. But there were so many scenes in Gato Bonito where they’d drop a curtain down, have a dance in front of it, then drop A DIFFERENT THING down and have a dance in front of that, and I just felt like I was being constantly led toward a climax that never came. When they did open up the whole stage I found the sets really spread out and airy, such that it felt as if no matter how hard they tried they couldn’t fill the stage with enough people. They were also FLAT, like literally flat on the floor, not enough gradated pieces with people standing atop them to fill the back as well as the ground. I might feel differently when I watch it from the first floor, but for now I think some pretty small adjustments could have given it overall more impact.

Also, WAAAAAYYYY too many LITERAL CATS for my taste.

THAT SAID, boy this was SO MUCH of what I love to see out of Daimon. It was hot and extra and the music was amazing and she got to stand there making these burning faces and do TRULY UNFATHOMABLY STUPID THINGS WITH HER VOICE and flamenco and tango and all that jazz. Everyone was melting pile of orange goo no thanks to the weather and the insufficient air conditioning, but other than that there were even enough good costumes to balance out those ruffle abominations (you know the ones) that of course showed up a bit. Saki was ON FIRE, I know I said I was tired of riding the Saki coaster but oops here we go up another hill. They made up for shafting her in Gaisenmon with a loooooot of juicy revue time. She’s gotten so good at emoting through her dance, she was just dynamic and sexy and 150% energy from start to finish. Kiichan has a little ways to go to catch up with everyone in her Latin dancing but there was already a really noticeable improvement between shonichi and today. 

Highlights:

Argentine tango to Yo Soy Maria ft. Daimon singing in Spanish, guessing by the lack of bedazzling on the suits that that was the ANJU-sensei scene. When the curtain opened on all the otokoyaku just mingling in the dark smoky background it PHYSICALLY HURT (it also began with all our boss beautiful perfect upperclassmen musumeyaku in slinky dresses)

There’s a scene with Saki, Shou, Aasa, and Hitoko taking turns grinding on Daimon in the world’s tackiest bodysuits, but there was something so inexplicably hot about the drag + otokoyaku hair despite the melting orange goo and poor Saki and Aasa absolutely drowning in their own sweat

The chuuzume starts with a conga line across the ginkyou, and EVERY PERSON IN THE TROUPE comes out in single file in rank order, it was A LOT for my Yukigumi-loving heart

Kiichan gets to do stuff, Daisuke is aware we have a top musumeyaku which is apparently a challenge for some people

Daimon enters from the back of the first floor singing Kuroneko no Tango at one point and when she reaches the stage there’s a daily “ad lib” (in quotes because I’m sure she’s already written them all down and rehearsed them ad nauseam), but her ad libs are so dumb I love her

ASU GOT A WHOLE SONG

I forgot to pay close enough attention through the applause today to grab the exact words, but I’m like 90% sure the final lyrics as Daimon is descending the stairs in the parade are something she also referenced in her +act interview right when she became top (I don’t have the magazine on me but I translated it as “we can live through today for the sake of tomorrow and for the sake of living tomorrow we can stand firmly right here today”). She was talking about the “soul of flamenco” and that being something that turned her whole outlook around during Don Juan, so I thought it was REALLY SWEET they threw that in as a nod to her continuing to grow. Haha nope, after 4 viewings I'm sure I was wrong, but I like my idea better Hankyu pls hire me

Did I mention her dumb stupid voice? I know Robespierre was literally written for her by a Broadway composer but for me there was no comparison; in both acts it danced and changed and filled the theater in ways that don’t seem like they should be physically possible. Like this is the ????th time I’ve seen Daimon live and I was still just absolutely slain by all the heretofore unheard things her voice can apparently do. 

I’m whole and healed and so surprised and delighted I didn’t have to wait till 2019 for that to happen. 

#takarazuka #reviews #arch of triumph #might as well just tell people I live here

[wahbegan]

I’ll see your “The patients in mental hospitals aren’t scary” and i’ll raise you “I understand the need for mental illness to be destigmatized and that the psychotic aren’t dangerous murderers and I understand the use of slight exaggeration to try to get that point across uncompromised but seriously you have NEVER been in a mental hospital if you’re saying that shit and believe it, locking a bunch of already unstable and unwell people in a shithole and throwing away the key, forcing them to be in close quarters with a bunch of other unstable and unwell people whose illnesses probably don’t always mesh well, results in a lot of angry and terrified people acting out and doing scary shit. Seriously it’s okay to be scared of mental hospitals I was in there with a woman who casually admitted to abusing her boyfriend, a woman who had her husband sneak her a shaving razor she smuggled in her [REDACTED] and then waved it around in front of my friend and her roommate, terrifying her so much she volunteered to go to solitary rather than spend the night with her because she couldn’t prove that she had the weapon in question so they wouldn’t take her to solitary, and this was in the high-functioning wing when i was first taken in i went to acute and a woman was just walking up and down the hallway fucking screaming unintelligibly and pounding on doors during my entire intake process. Mentally ill people aren’t scary by themselves. A few dozen of them imprisoned with each other, none of whom want to be there, desperate and pissed, definitely creates a scary fucking environment.”

#honestly i don't like pop psychology explanations in horror movies of how the serial killer's schizophrenic and blahddy blah #and i don't like someone with a mental illness being portrayed as spooky just for having the mental illness #but the scary mental hospital trope is valid tbh #yeah fuck mental hospitals #i didn't enjoy my stay in one did that come across

[alley-cat-sunflower]

things I learned in Las Vegas

the city is FUCKING HUGE. you’ll think you’re coming up on something but it takes forever to get there and then another eternity to pass it. scale in general is really weird, it’s like the entire city is an optical illusion.

everything is constantly being demolished and constructed, also on a huge scale. my dad and stepmom were practically taking bets on which places would still be there, and it’s not like they've been away for more than a few years.

it’s quieter during the day than the night. the night can get fuckin loud, lots of bass still going strong at 1-2am. not like Super Duper loud, but there were in fact a couple times I needed earplugs to be comfortable, walking past cover musicians (some better than others).

among the people wandering around, there are so many different aesthetics it's like a patchwork. I saw goth people, hippie people, people wearing literally next to nothing. anything goes, and it takes a lot to garner any attention. for that reason, it feels… paradoxically safe, as long as you're within certain bounds. like, there are patches of intense population, but once you hit the edge it’s practically deserted. it’s like the city is a dream held together by liminal spaces.

there are people everywhere carrying amazing signs. “need money for alcohol research” and “I babysit your wife, you go gamble” are the most notable. some of them are also cosplayers, or those people who make themselves up as statues and hold still forever. some of them are seriously impressive.

the air is smoky and scented everywhere, even outside. you can smell like 5 different kinds of smoke plus all the cologne/perfume everyone wears. it stings your eyes, and fresh air is hard to come by, but you get used to it alarmingly fast.

yes, showgirls really do wear that little. some of them stand around on the street taking pictures with tourists; others dance on tables to attract customers to the bars. nudity is fine in certain circumstances, too, but doubtless you've heard that prostitution is legal everywhere in Nevada except Las Vegas, so there are rules surrounding that.

it is remarkably easy to lose money on electronic poker/slot machines. it’d be a bit harder to lose that often if it wasn't “jacks or better”. that means that any pair lesser in value than jacks mean jack shit, pun intended, and earn you $0.

everything looks the same, and time doesn’t exist. the way my dad puts it, their job is to not tell you what time it is; get you lost in their casinos; and make you love every minute of it. you’d be hard-pressed to find a clock anywhere (the only ones I’ve seen were in one of the restaurants, and in the shopping district), and the casinos are labyrinthine. besides that, most of them, if not all of them, are open 24/7. they don’t even have locks on their doors.

the upscale part is where most of the prostitution happens, not the lowtown part in which I spent most of my time. that’s probably because the people who go around the upscale area actually have the money, because as my dad says, “that don’t come cheap”.

blackjack is fun as hell, because you’re not playing against each other, you’re all in it together against the dealer, and that means it’s a social game. but holy shit, it’s REALLY easy to lose money, even if you play well. yet it's so much fun. it's like a trance. i played blackjack with my dad and one of his friends for 2 hours and didn’t even realize it because of the aforementioned lack of clocks. like, I legitimately did not realize how much time was passing until I started zoning out and realized it had been hours since I'd moved. now I get how dangerous gambling really is. (but I still won $245 at the blackjack table the next day, and made a profit of $125 after paying my dad back for staking me.)

games change greatly between dealers. like, where you sit, who you're playing with, who’s dealing––they all change the game immensely. the dealers’ personalities and mannerisms are all different, and some of ’em mesh better than others. we had an older lady, in a polo shirt, with a thick Asian accent that was almost unintelligible, but she was very friendly; a young woman, also with an accent, who was much shyer and wore a long-sleeved formal shirt with monogrammed cuffs; a guy with an excellent pace who was just the right mixture of friendly and rivalrous; a talkative lady who made a few mistakes here and there but never to the detriment of the game; and a guy who was immaculate in his gestures, very quick and quiet. each time it was a totally different experience, even though with a couple of those dealers we were with different groups.

amid the chaos, there's an undercurrent of intense order. the place used to be run and regulated by a mob, you know. there’s an unspoken code of expectations. “you can do anything in Las Vegas,” says my dad, “until you cross a line, and then you just… disappear.” all the casinos are really invested in their reputation, and they don’t wanna be associated with any trouble. things get cleaned up and smoothed over alarmingly fast. it’s almost like real-time revisionist history. there is no war in Ba Sing Se

the upscale part of town is like. as much of a patchwork as the lower part, except way more impressive in scale. honestly, it’s like walking through a completely different set of worlds, and it’s for more reasons than just the décor. I walked past blackjack tables where the minimum bet was $100 and the max was $10,000. how are there people who can just sit down and throw that down like it’s nothing

best-of-show moment: while visiting the Bellagio’s indoor pseudo-Japanese garden courtyard, they were playing some Calming Asian Music™, but… it sounded really familiar. then I realized I actually had that song on my writing playlist, and correctly identified it to my father as “Silent Moon” by Jia Peng Fang. like, what are the chances, really?

#personal #long post #a bit delayed since i got back monday #but i've been really fucking tired

[ryukoishida]

Quan Zhi Gao Shou Fic: In which Yifan and Yingjie go on a date on Yifan’s birthday.

Title: Won’t Let the City Destroy Our Love Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): Gao/Qiao (Yingjie/Yifan) Summary: Yifan didn’t think anyone in the team would remember his birthday, but Yingjie always managed to surprise him. Rating: PG A/N: Written for our beloved Yifan’s birthday! Researching for this fic makes me want to visit Beijing even more :’)

Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services

---

“Have a good night, sweetheart. I’m sure you still have plans with your teammates tonight.”

His mother’s gentle voice sounds incredibly far away through the crackling of the receiver, especially in the silence of his dormitory, where only the desk lamp is switched on to throw a lonely, orange glow and his crisp shadow against the plain white walls.

“Good night, ma.”  

Qiao Yifan doesn’t have the heart to tell her that ever since he’s entered Team Weicao as an official second-string player almost a year ago, he’s been barely holding on. He’s afraid that the longer the conversation continues on, the more difficult it becomes to withhold the roiling waves of homesickness that’s been hitting him especially hard tonight.

The bitter and wistful flavor of his sentiment gets stuck in his throat like a lump of dry cotton — hard to swallow, but even harder to spit out — as he clears his throat before saying one last goodbye to his mother. He glances at the screen of his phone, which informs him that it’s almost ten o’clock. Training has run late as usual and his stomach growls with hunger, but Yifan doesn’t complain; if anything, he values the time and opportunity to train under the team captain Wang Jiexi’s instruction or any of the other first-string players, which is a rare occasion in and of itself.

The moon is beginning to wane as the merriments of Mid-Autumn Festival from two nights ago fade for another year. Yifan pushes open the window to let some fresh air in, and he shivers as the night autumn breeze unsheathes its blade against his bare skin, startling him into a moment of lucidity. He wonders how much time he’s left here, in a city that never truly sleeps, where people compete and claw their way up to the top, to where their goals lie.

He wonders if he’ll ever get there, wherever “there” is.

Yifan is jolted out of his bleak contemplation by someone knocking on his door.

“Coming,” he calls out softly, his mind still preoccupied so that when he opens the door to find the familiar face and warm, expectant grin of his best friend, he’s slightly taken aback. “Oh, Yingjie, hi!”

“Hey to you, too,” Gao Yingjie, the youngest and most promising member of Weicao, greets him with his usual smile and bright eyes, “you haven’t eaten yet, right? Let’s go out and grab some food!”

“W-with the others?” Yifan stammers, taking a small step back. He freezes immediately when he realizes what he’s done — the dread of having to face the other team members so horrifyingly natural and instinctual that he hasn’t been aware of his movement until it’s too late.

“Nah, just the two of us,” Yingjie notices the other man’s unease and asks with a hint of hesitation, “is that okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Yifan breathes out in relief.

Yingjie refuses to tell him where they’re going, and Yifan doesn’t persist further, glad to let his friend lead the way. They take the public bus, which takes them from the quieter part of the city to the much busier and more boisterous shopping district of Beijing where tourists and local residents mesh in a colourful burst of cultural palette. Yifan recognizes the neon signs above their heads, and his suspicion is confirmed once they get off the bus.

Up ahead is a huge arched entranceway, the ancient roof tiles a washed-out jade green and carmine red, and in the center of the pillared arch is an imperial blue plague with the characters painted in rusted gold: Wangfujing Snacks Street.

The bright red bulbs of the paper lanterns swing lazily in the evening breeze, and despite the autumn chill, neither of them feel cold as the street is still packed with people at this late hour.

“Let’s be tourists for the night,” Yingjie turns to him with a mischievous grin that makes him look even more boyishly charming than usual, and Yifan has to wait for a few, painfully long seconds before he can calm the thunder and lightning in his heart and locate his voice to answer with a murmured “sure”.

Without a sign of warning, Yifan feels warm fingers lacing with his own slightly colder ones, and he stares at Yingjie with widened, confused eyes as an unintelligible “um” barely makes it past his suddenly very parched throat.

“I don’t want to lose you in this crowd,” Yingjie merely explains with a shrug and a blindingly bright grin as his fingers tighten around Yifan’s. “Come on, let’s go, let’s go! I’ve been craving chuan’r for ages!”

Under the neon radiance of the restaurant signs and the colourful flags that line the side of the streets, the two young members of Weicao half-shove and half-being-pushed their way into the hutongs that compose the complex of densely-packed food stalls and souvenir shops.

“Yingjie,” Yifan pauses in front of one of the stalls, and the other man is forced to a stop as well. With a curious gaze, he looks over to where Yifan is pointing with a wicked grin, the expression so unlike his usual sweet, timid self that it has momentarily startled Yingjie into muteness until he becomes aware that he’s been staring at his friend for far too long to be deemed polite. “Want to give that a try?”

“Eww! No!” he slaps Yifan on the arm when he sees rows upon rows of fried grasshoppers and scorpions on skewers displayed neatly before them, their dark, cooked shells gleaming with a layer of greasy shine under the red glow of the lanterns. The utter disgust, horror, and betrayal on Yingjie’s face only cause Yifan to snigger harder, his entire body shuddering from laughter bubbling from within.

“I’m just kidding — just kidding,” Yifan laughs as he gets dragged away from the insect stall, the owner of which sends the two youngsters evil glares while muttering cusses under his breath.

“You’re treating me to some chuan’r for giving me psychological trauma back there,” Yingjie commands with mock irritation when they finally find a kebab stall that seems to be quite popular; the line-up is long but not unreasonable, so they get to the back of the line and chat about which meat and vegetables to order.

After they’ve received their food from the enthusiastic shopkeeper, Yifan and Yingjie find a quiet corner in one of the less conspicuous hutongs that the luminosity of the lanterns can’t reach so that when they stand side-by-side, chicken and beef kebabs in hands and their arms almost touching as they lean against the wall, the surrounding air is only filled with the enticing scent of warm spices and the muffled noises from the main avenue drifting in like mist.

They eat their skewers in companionable silence, quietly savoring the flavours of freshly roasted meat, and only sporadically mumble about how delicious the kebabs are, or how much the food is making them miss their families’ cooking even more.  

After they polish off all the skewers, they continue to wander through the crowded paths, winding through the maze-like streets and dodging drunken locals chatting rowdily amongst themselves and animated tourists posing with their food for photographs. They stop occasionally to buy whatever snacks that tickle their fancy: a shared platter of fried dumplings drizzled with chili sauce, steamed pork buns that warm up their hands and faces as they take tentative bites, and fried fermented tofu topped with specialty spicy sauce that has a strangely tantalizing scent that neither of them can refuse.

At the end of their food adventure, Yingjie buys them each a bingtanghulu — like a string of rubies, strawberries and Chinese hawthorns are skewered on a bamboo stick and coated with a crunchy layer of hardened golden sugar syrup.

The night is deep, but Wangfujing is still hectic with people hunting to satiate their cravings and enjoying their free time with friends and lovers.

Their evening together is coming to an end, the sweet and sour taste of the candied fruits tart and saccharine on his tongue serving as the lasting reminder that all good things must come to a conclusion — that all dreams, sweet and wonderful as they may be, he must rouse from.  

“Hey, Yifan,” Yingjie lowers his empty bamboo stick and turns to face his friend, who is still focused on trying to carefully bite the last strawberry off the stick without having it fall off or making a mess. He waits with an amused smile while Yifan finishes chewing and swallowing the fruit.  

“What is it?” Yifan finally turns towards Yingjie, whose previous bright smile has softened into something subtler — more indecipherable yet heartbreakingly gentle, impossible to read. Yingjie’s smile scares him, the way his heart thuds painfully against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape the inevitable; Yingjie terrifies him, the way he’s able to carve himself into his heart so intimately, so easily; Gao Yingjie is someone he fears and cherishes — Yifan fears that he may slip away as naturally as grains of sand sifting through his fingers, yet he cherishes every moment they spend together.

And now, as Yingjie gazes at him, a small smile curling along his lips and dark eyes concentrating on no one but him, Yifan feels himself taking the small step forward to close the distance between them. White haze slips through their parted lips and dissipates into the crisp October air.  

“Happy birthday,” Yingjie says, and then he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on Yifan’s wind-chilled cheek, his lips warm and dry against his icy, flushed skin.

“Ying…jie?” he timidly touches the spot where Yingjie has kissed him, fingers unsteady.

For a brief moment, Yifan doesn’t quite understand what has happened, and then it hits him all at once and his face burns in embarrassment as he lowers his head, forelocks falling into his eyes and casting his face into shadows.

“Yifan? Should I… should I not have done that?” Yingjie starts, his voice hushed and apologetic, “I’m sorry—”

“No! Don’t! Don’t apologize, I just—” he halts again, biting his lower lip, words caught in his throat, his body paralyzed. “I just…”

Wordlessly, Yifan reaches out for him with both of his arms, and Yingjie gathers him into his embrace without a moment of hesitation.

“Thank you, Yingjie,” his voice is muffled as he buries his face into the crook of Yingjie’s neck.

He chuckles, gently ruffling Yifan’s hair, and kisses his temple as he whispers, “No, thank you.”

Thank you for being born into this world. Thank you for being by my side.

Thank you for your love.  

#quan zhi gao shou #the king's avatar #qzgs #qiao yifan #gao yingjie #gao/qiao #bowie's crappy writing