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seth-shitposts · 6 months

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Post War Kallus HC that nearly make me cry:

🌱🪻🌻🪻🌱

During the war, he started getting into studying plants and taking care of them. Mostly because Rex and AP start gifting him plants and he was not about to let them die. Soon plants became everyone's go to gift for him. Not only did he learn how to take care of them, but he learned how to propagate as well. He still has every plant he'd ever been gifted.

They are in a green house on Lothal, it's a public botanical garden. The mother plants are kept there while babies have been clipped and grown as small variations to gift to his family. [As having kept every plant alive, he also has the ones that Kanan, Ezra, and Gregor gave him as well.] [If ever asked, the man would deny it, but Draven also gave Kallus a plant. The Gardner keeps the general's secret.]

Back when Kallus was learning how to propagate, he did so to every gifted plant, so all the mother plants have a twin. The Lothal botanical garden has a twin on Lira San.

Farming and Gardening is something he unexpectedly found he enjoys.

Post War, his family encourages his idea to visit as many systems throughout the galaxy as possible and help establish agricultural centers and food forests. He studies each planet’s individual flora and fauna, how they support each other and promote healthy growth. He makes customized plans for each planet. Essentially, he creates the role of Galatic Agricultural Ambassador. He also teaches others and learns from others, founding an entire organization of diplomats, educators, gardener/farmers, and agricultural professors who are also GAAs. It's much faster to help others when there's an entire support system working their way throughout the galaxy than if you're by yourself trying to do it single handedly.

🌱🌻🪻🌻🌱

🪛⚙️🔩

Kallus has always had a soft spot for droids and it has never been a secret. He'll make repairs to them, save them from being mistreated, praise them for the work they do, applaud how they seek advancement, and develop themselves further on their own merits.

He can tell them all apart from one another, he picks up on all their individual quirks and mannerisms. He encourages them to pursue their interests and ambitions.

After the war (and even during, when he had the chance to), he would jailbreak any and every imperial droid that crosses from their imperial programming. It got to the point where droids would lead other droids to Kallus specifically for his help. He will also aid and helping them find homes. Some ask for orders or directives. Rather than doling out tasks, he takes the time to explore things with them. Have them interact with others, allow them to shadow him if they wish. Until they feel a pull to something they think they'd enjoy.

It gets to the point where Kallus will cross paths with a droid he doesn't know, hasn't met yet, but they know him. Because droids talk, they gossip. Kallus finds out that he's become a celebrity to droids and Sabine wipl take every opportunity to fluster him over the fact. Kallus adores droids but hadn't been expecting the sentiment to be returned.

On Lira San, he often collaborates with mechanics there on droid construction. He assists in a new area of creation; the perfect blending of nature and tech. Two of his special interests and he's both thrilled and honored to have been asked to assist.

🔩⚙️🪛

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Kallus is the type that once he picks up a book, he finishes it within only a few hours and needs another. He loves to learn just as much as he loves fictional stories. What he enjoys most is listening to Zeb talk about all the things he had been taught in the university back before he chose to join the honorgaurd.

Kallus already had a pretty good idea of smart Zeb is, but he wasn't aware that Zeb has the equivalent of a PhD that had been required for him to join the honor gaurd, and several other "supplemental" layers of additional education standards to qualify as captain. [Kallus realizes a stark difference between the fundamentals and the very foundation of Lasan's Honorgaurd and the Empire's enlistment. Lasan ensured that every level of their gaurds had not just the understanding of battle tactics, but history, interpersonal & Diplomatic skills, courses about how to handle problems and how those problems began in the first place. Maths, sciences, literacy as supplements to every additional level of education. For the honorgaurd, they taught them understanding of the world around them, meanwhile at the Royal Academy, Kallus was solely taught tactics. Trained to push past his physical limits. He accepted extra roles such as mechanics, data analytics, droid programming and any other subject he had thought would've been useful in his role.]

Zeb said that while he did enjoy the opportunity, the life of an academic wasn't for him. The only reason why he had pushed himself so far in the university was to achieve being a leader of a team. To earn it.

Kallus picks up learning a couple new languages and after building up the courage, asked if Zeb would want, if he would be willing to teach Kallus Lasana. And Zeb is absolutely thrilled. Kallus was able to pick it up rather quickly and Zeb joked that he was a bit jealous because he still doesn't have a full grasp of Bacis. Kallus asked if he wanted supplements in some areas; he himself had acted well spoken his first year at the academy by mimicking his peers until he had a better grip of language arts. Zeb agreed and they spent much of their studies together practicing languages.

"Studies" being Kallus seeking Zeb out for conversation, nudging him on topics Kallus knows he enjoys so that Zeb will dump every bit of information about the topic. It had actually been one of the pushing factors Kallus had for building the courage to ask to be taught lasana. What zeb would tell Kallus was merely a fraction of the knowledge he held and Zeb sometimes would have to take longer trying to convey it. However, there were many times when Zeb would be so enraptured by talking about his interests that he would simply get much more passionate and switch over to lasana. And every time Kallus didn't understand a word of what was being said, but he felt such an immense, swallowing joy that took him out as he listened to Zeb in awe, basking in the man’s passion. The one time Zeb had realized he was rambling in his mother tongue, Kallus felt his chest shatter when Zeb opened his mouth to apologize, so the one time Kallus ever cuts Zeb off from speaking was then. When he asked if Zeb could teach him lasana. If Kallus could be allowed to learn such a thing.

By the time Zeb brought Kallus to Lira San, Kallus was fluent in Lasana. [Chava immediately started nagging Zeb about "marrying that boy before someone else snatches him up".] Kallus took any opportunity to visit the libraries on Lira San in his free time. One day, when he was reading, a kit trotted over to him and asked him if he could read a story book aloud. Kallus looked past the kit to see several others watching from around the corner in the sitting area. Kallus set his own book down and happily accepted. It became a monthly routine for him to read to the children at the library.

It didn't take long for them to seek him out for other things, such as running across him tending to the food forests or the botanical garden and ask him questions about what he's doing, what the plants are, what they grow into, "you're making baby plants? How?", "what's a agricultural?" / "what's a ambassador?" , "can I eat this?" , etc etc etc.

📚📚📚

Kallus had been working closely with the agricultural professors and experts of Lira San. He was ecstatic upon Zeb telling him that Lira San has an entire university dedicated to agriculture. And the professors were ecstatic to meet someone with so much new and different knowledge. They were eager to exchange such knowledge and try to convince him to join them on consults and conventions and farmer's markets. He was thrilled to.

And he loved seeing how much more open Zeb was around the other lasat, how his confidence grew. Kallus is in awe to be getting the chance to see Zeb take things on to his truest and fullest potential. He encourages his partner and supports him in every possible way. Sure, Zeb recieved praise and recognition for his battle and warrior capabilities in the rebellion. But only his family ever seemed to see him for every facet of his person. Kallus felt privileged to get to be Zeb’s friend, someone close to him, but he also loathed how Zeb would be treated when it took him extra time to verbalize his thoughts. Kallus loathed how Zeb wasn't called in more on areas he knew Zeb excelled in. And more than anything, Kallus loathed how many times Zeb was talked down to. Kallus would talk Zeb up, remind everyone of just how capable the Captain of the Honorguard is, past his training and strategies. In meetings, Kallus would reference Zeb and ask for a consult from him to be used in, and Hera always backed that. And if it wasn't Kallus asking for a consult, it was Hera, and, eventually, Sabine.

And people learned very quickly not to mistreat Zeb. Kallus sought out to that. At first, they just stopped doing it when Kallus was around. But people liked kallus, to some degree, and people liked Zeb even more, so word always got back to Kallus. Most of the time Kallus wouldn't bother with a physical altercation. He didn't want to cause extra trouble for Hera to have to rectify. He's more than capable of settling a fight with words. But there were a few who didn't catch Kallus’s severity or would insist on doubling down. Kallus never killed anyone, but he wasn't gentle either. As stated; eventually it was understood that no one mistreats Garazeb Orrelios. The same applied to the entire Ghost Crew.

That was then, however. This is now. And now, Kallus feels his heart melt as Zeb grows less and less hesitant, as he grows more and more bold.

#fuck #i was about to make another hc of Cassa Alex and Ahsoka after the war being annoying best friends or enjoying dragging eavh other into new #hobbies #or like cassa and sabine teaching Alex how to make bracelets #but then i remembered #Bshdhhdhdhdhd #anyway #star wars rebels #swr #alexsandr kallus #star wars #kalluzeb #garazeb orrelios #zeb orrelios

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triviareads · 8 months

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ARC Review of Bed Me, Baron by Felicity Niven

Summary:

Lady Phoebe Finch has always viewed George, Baron Danforth, as a friend and a mentor, so when she becomes engaged, she can think of no better person to soothe her nerves about the marital bed by teaching her how to have sex. George is shocked by Phoebe's request, but can't find it in himself to deny her, not when he's wanted her for ages without realizing...

My review:

I started this book expecting a humorous romp with great sex, and I absolutely got that, but I also got this lovely, introspective romance about two people who've known each other all their lives but recognize something new and special in one another, and more importantly, they both realize they will need to change and cannot rely on the familiar past if they truly want to be together.

And that's what I thought a lot about; what made this variation on friends-to-lovers work for me because I don't typically go for this trope. Here's what it came down to apart from Phoebe and George recognizing that they need to change: For all that they deny it in various parts of the story (and prior to the story beginning), George and Phoebe were sexually attracted to one another in the past, and that continues through the story. I can't stand when there's unrequited pining that comes as super tragic, especially if it's the woman pining. There was also a base level of respect between them, even though their friendship was not an equal one, as Phoebe realizes, despite the time and care George gave her. The respect was still there, and that's what laid the foundation for love.

I felt Phoebe's pain about feeling like she needs to grow up even though she's technically grown and mature; It's "growing" in the sense of attaining a greater degree of independence (and conforming which, to be clear, she doesn't need to do but she feels like she does).

And that's, in part, where her daddy kink comes into play, I think, because she wants to be taken care of. Saying she has daddy issues would be a disservice because she had a great relationship with her father. It's just something she wants and seeks out in a partner, and there was this particularly heart-wrenching moment when she thinks she's found that with another suitor, but as it turns out, he's not at all the man she thought he was. It's also the reason she ultimately turns to George (or is George the reason? he did... basically shape her tastes, even if it was unconsciously) as a mentor and teacher figure, subconsciously as a protector, and eventually as a lover, and George reciprocates in turn.

The sex:

Fabulous. Varied. This is a romance novel where sex is a way for the main couple to communicate, even when they're on the outs with each other. Here's what I enjoyed the most:

a) Look, Felicity Niven said the series is called "bed me" for a reason, buuuuut I was endlessly delighted by how down-and-ready Phoebe was. And George protested relatively little compared to other HR heroes who are asked for sex lessons, which I just took as more proof that he already liked (loved?) her.

b) And because Phoebe is so unapologetic about wanting sex, she and George aren't afraid to get a little weird during sex, which I really do appreciate. For example, Phoebe's fixation with stroking George's bald head during sex (which both of them are turned on by), or sometimes their dirty talk went a little sideways (a particular scene involving a "stallion" and "mare" stands out to me). But this made the sex feel more natural and created this dynamic that was wholly unique to them.

c) I have many thoughts on the daddy thing. To be clear, George Danforth did attain daddy status at the age of twenty-six. Like, that much was clear based on his "I'm gonna hold her and pet her tenderly while she cries, and then dick her down so good she forgets that she's sad" internal monologue. That being said, because he's still twenty-six, he doesn't quite have that stern, all-knowing thing perfected, and I'd say he's more grumpy than stern.

d) It was really moving to read their "hate" sex; it felt like when all words were exhausted between them, this was the only way they could get across to each other. It was such a stark, almost raw scene. And a part of me can't help but feel they both knew what they were doing when they, uh, finished the way they did because they wanted to be in each others' lives regardless of how unhappy Phoebe was with George.

e) This is a part of the second epilogue, but I'm obsessed with Phoebe's "I'm a big girl now, daddy" moment. And good for George for recognizing (to a degree lol) that gender roles are a lie and he doesn't need to kink shame himself in the process.

Overall:

I would recommend this to every historical romance reader looking for a romance that has a relatively light plot, but emotionally packs a punch. I honestly think this is the gold standard for friends-to-lovers historical romances, and I look forward to reading the next books in the Bed Me series!

Thank you to Felicity Niven and her team for the ARC in exchange for my review.

#felicity niven #arc #arc review #historical romance #romance novels #booklr #bookblr

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bookofmirth · 3 years

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i adored this book - i devoured it in one sitting and then began again, however there are so many people on here critising it and straight up hating nesta and her story... and now im starting to think I missed something. can you write about some of the things you loved ? i feel like tumblr can be toxic at times and it’s so frustrating to see people focus on the bad and get angry because nestas story isn’t perhaps what they envisioned, idk it’s just really disheartening and it’s making me second guess myself and see the book in a different light. I don’t know tumblr has always been like this or wether it’s just this series but people are so negative. I remember first creating my account in 2014 and being apart of the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson fandom and it was just brilliant !! It was such a joy to be apart of and create content for. You can critique without bashing completely on the story.

Okay here are some things I loved! I have a lot more I’m sure, but I have 163 highlights in this book and I am merely one fan.

PS I’m pretty sure people are just always like this, but we can try to change the conversation if we want. I’m just glad I’m not in the Star Wars fandom 😅

Obviously, Gwyn. Gwyn and Nesta and Emerie. MAGIC FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS. For me, it wasn’t just the fact that Nesta finally has real friends and we got some cute girl time, it’s that she finally has people she can go to and be herself with. Her family has so much emotional baggage; she will always love her sisters, but they may never be friends like she is with Gwyn and Emerie.

Getting insight into Nesta’s thought process. I don’t know if we’ve gotten into the head of another sjm character quite like this. I think it was absolutely necessary.

That was some hot sex.

We finally didn’t have to see High Lord Rhys being perfect all the time. For me, that was a plus.

Nesta’s journey down the staircase. I 1000% knew that at some point she would make it down those 10k stairs, and that when she did she would want to go right back up. It was such a freeing moment of knowing exactly where she belonged.

Nesta realizes that she can, and likely will, find herself at the bottom of depression and anxiety again. But now, she knows that she will be able to find her way out.

Memerie (Mor/Emerie)

Freaking Gwyn as a character, I want to be her friend!

Nesta making those weapons and then being like *shrug hands them back to Rhys* like WHAT, she has no desire to even pretend she wants to be like a preening high lord. The ultimate fucking power move.

Valkyries! I love that Nesta & Co. carved their own power out of their situation. I think that was really important and nicely done because being kickass is great and all, but if it’s based on someone else’s rules or someone else’s concept of what’s good? No thanks, don’t need it.

Keep reaching out your hand.... okay this is so, so important. This phrase or a variation thereof was repeated several times throughout the book, and it was used really well. It’s what Feyre tried to do for Nesta, what Cassian tried to do, and Amren. And just about everyone around her. And Nesta kept slapping their hands away. Then Nesta had to experience that for herself - extending her hand to the priestesses and dealing with the disappointment that the people she wanted to extend a hand to, didn’t want to take it. She was able to understand what her family and friends had gone through by proxy, and to understand how important, how valuable, it is when someone keeps their hand outstretched anyway.

There were some scenes in there that were devastating in the best way. Every time Nesta heard her father’s last words. What we learned about her mother. The moment she realized that her mother had never loved her the way Feyre loves Nyx. Absolutely gutted me.

Nesta realizing that she is loved.

Nesta’s snark sometimes, “I don’t want to hear about Feyre and her special journey” lmao.

Oh wait EDIT! I forgot to mention that there are really positive parts of this fandom. I promise. I am trying really really hard to promote those bits, because yeah, we can enjoy something while seeing its flaws. I was thinking earlier today, in between classes, about sjm as a cheeto - I can eat the cheeto and know that it's not good for me, but it tastes good and I will eat the whole bag. And I will not feel bad about that.

#acosf #acosf spoilers #spoilers #a court of silver flames #a court of silver flames spoilers #nesta #did I even mention nessian #whoops no #guess that's for another post #acotar #ask #anon

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ki1zai · 3 years

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Honestly wrote this on a whim so I hope it’s decent :’D Kinda Proofread but it’s late so I’m sorry for any errors and plot holes, hope y’all have a nice day and remember to hydrate <3

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Pairing : Frank Castle / Matt Murdock ( Fratt )

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TWs : mention of shooting and guns ( nothing explicit )

CWs (?) : lots of cursing ( no surprises here tbh )

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“What the hell...” Frank muttered, picking up a stray pistol he left on his dinner table and silently made his way to the front door. Someone had been pounding on the poor thing for a solid minute and it was clear they weren’t going to stop anytime soon. Frank was very annoyed. It was currently 2:30 am and he was having a very good dreamless slumber before getting rudely interrupted by whoever was on the flip side of his door. Ensuring the pistol had bullets and clicking it’s safety was off, Frank slowly unlocked his door.Swinging it open, Frank hastily positioned his pistol to where his visitors head seemed to be.

Eyes widening and hands fumbling when he realised the idiot who was banging his door of it’s hinges was none other than Matt Murdock; resident vigilante. Putting the safety back on, Frank did a quick scan of Matt. And it was an understatement to say that he was not looking so hot. ( aka mentally stable )

Fortunately, from what Frank could tell, there wasn’t any major physical damage. Ignoring the fact that the man looked a second away from breaking down, he actually looked quite good. ( considering the lack of bullet holes or stab wounds in him )

“You’re looking like hell Red, you good?” Frank asked, ignoring the blatant concern in his tone that he didn’t doubt Red identified. Frank couldn’t help but feel worried for Red, they have been working together a lot recently. Frank - who would deny it but Red would call him out immediately -cared about Matt. They were sorta friends so Frank had all the right to be concerned. ( not as much as he was though )

“Heh- not that I’d know,” There it was, the classic Matt Murdock Blind Joke. Frank was,safe to say, not impressed.

“What do you want Red? I have half a mind to shut my door in your face so you better make it quick,” Frank threatened. Choosing to ignore the fact that, that was an obvious lie. Watching as the smirk on Matt’s face grew,Frank was sure the bastard knew he was lying. ( however he does that Frank still doesn’t know. Despite Matt explaining it many times. “You’re heart stutters when you lie” “What the fuck does that mean?!” )

Matt only shrugged as a response.

“Can I come in?”

Now Frank actually wanted to shut true door on the guys face. You did not ,harass Frank Castle’s door at 2 in the morning without an explanation, and end up alive. Matt was lucky Frank wasn’t in the mood to clean up a dead devil.

“Again. What do you want Red. I’m not asking again.” Frank repeated, tone unwavering. He watched as Matt squirmed, pursing his lips. Frank was intrigued by the reaction to say the least. He wondered what was the situation that made Mr Matt Murdock this uncomfortable. After a beat of silence, Matt cleared his throat.

“I- uh- well- I just don’t want to be alone right now...”

Frank did not know what he was expecting but it...definitely wasn’t that. He was maybe anticipated Matt getting himself in more ninja or mob-boss trouble as his civilian self. Not whatever this was. Frank stood silently, looking at Matt as though he was expecting him to come out and say. ‘Haha, I’m kidding, I ended up on someone’s hitlist and need help’. Fortunately or not, he didn’t end up saying anything along those lines.

“Sorry this is stupid, I’ll go, forget this happened. Sorry again for bothering.” Matt turned his back to walk away. Now Frank was just worried all over again. Matt wasn’t one to trip on his words or excessively apologise. Which was what he was currently doing. Something was wrong with him and god forbid Frank throw him to the curb when he needed someone.

Frank circled Matt’s wrist and pulled him into his home. Shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Don’t be stupid Red, sit yourself on the couch I’ll get you something to drink.” Frank huffed, letting go of Matt’s writs in favour of heading towards the kitchen. Hearing the shuffling of Matt in his apartment, Frank got to making drinks for the both of them.

Frank poured a glass of coffee for himself; he doubted he would be getting any sleep any time soon. And a glass of room-temperature water for Matt. Frank has learned that ambient temperature of water was best for Matt if he was in one of his ‘moods’. Has something to do with his weird Houdini senses or something along those lines. ( Matt has also explained it multiple times - it was nothing along those lines )

Making his way to where Matt was, Frank raised an eyebrow at Matt sitting back straight and hands clasped together at the very edge of his couch.

“Don’t be scared to get comfy Red, the couch ain’t gonna eat you,” Frank chuckled. Furrowing his eyebrows when he saw the other flinch slightly at his voice. Matt was usually always in touch with his senses, being able to hear movement from blocks down if he tried to. The fact he couldn’t detect Frank moving beside him was worrying to say the least. What was more concerning was the fact that he seemed Matt didn’t even process what was said to him. If anything his posture turned more rigid. The fuck was up with him. Matt had never had a problem with making himself at home at Frank’s place. Besides the original awkward tension the first time he visited but even then he looked mostly relaxed.

“Red, relax no need to be a stranger. Here’s some water,” Frank held out the water, making sure his voice was softer than before when talking. After a beat, Matt seemed to hear his words and sagged against the couch. Okay something was definitely wrong with him.

Seeing as Matt made no movement to take the glass, Frank sat down beside Matt and, despite all better judgement, carefully picked up Matt’s hand and brought it up to the glass. Watching as Matt realised what was happening and softly thanked him. Frank grunted in response and moved to drink his coffee. Feeling the caffeinated drink do it’s job.

“So you gonna tell me what all this is about?” Frank asked, ensuring his voice seemed unbothered. He wouldn’t want Matt to feel uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Frank added quickly. Matt’s incessant fidgeting at the question was making Frank fidget. Matt gave him a soft smile which did not make Frank’s heart flutter. ( it did and Matt did in fact hear it ) After a few more moments of silence, Frank was ready to move on and prompt a more relaxed conversation. He stopped himself from saying anything when he noticed Matt taking a deep breath in.

“It’s...it’s just- my dad uh got shot today. I’m usually alright but I’m not sure everything is just... it’s too much today. I can’t trust my senses and i feel like I can’t trust myself - to be alone that is” Matt explains, his voice was soft. If Frank wasn’t right beside the man there was no way he was going to hear his entire explanation.

Frank looked at Matt, like really looked at him. Matt usually carried himself confidently, trusting his intelligence and skill to ensure he could achieve whatever he wanted to. Matt, although clearly having not the highest ego, was sure of himself. The Matt Frank was studying currently, the one who seemed as if they wanted to curl up and hide. Frank noticed Matt’s hands gripping the cup in his hands so tightly, Frank was glad he didn’t use one of his glass cups. This Matt was scared, not only that, but he was visibly vulnerable. This Matt looked as if the slightest tap would shatter him.

Frank wasn’t stupid. He knew what this meant. Matt trusted him, for a reason only god knows, to keep him safe. To not exploit his vulnerability and take advantage of him, using him when he was in a state that it was way to. Frank couldn’t wrap his head around it. If it were some variation of someone wanting to harm Matt, that Frank understood. That Frank could deal. However, this was personal, something that doesn’t allow Frank to help by shooting multiple guns. Frank didn’t get why May didn’t go to Karen or even that lawyer friend of his.

‘Can’t trust myself - to be alone’.

God, Matt really knew how to make a guy feel special that’s a certain.

Again, Frank isn’t stupid. He’s actually incredibly intelligent. He’s an excellent problem solver and his time in the Marine only helped trained his quick thinking skills. He prided himself on being able to get out of any sticky situation.

This was different though. Despite his impeccable problem solving skills. This was new territory. Frank was used to not being trusted, he expected it and was fine with it. Frank was not used to people willingly showing vulnerability to him. He wasn’t used to people thinking he was worthy to trust with the troubles that keep them awake at night. Besides his reputation didn’t do him any favours in looking like a empathetic guy.

Not to mention the fact that the person who is currently doing this is Matt Murdock. It wasn’t that Frank didn’t think Matt trusted him. Quite the opposite actually, Frank knew Matt trusted him with his life. Similarly, Frank shared the sentiment. They both trusted each other to watch the others back and to just be there for one another. They were there for each other when no one else was. Or more specifically when no one else wanted to be.

Long story short, they cared for each other. However, this was still new. They didn’t go to each other and spill their life traumas. Of corse they knew each other had their fair share of shit but it wasn’t a discussed topic between the two. They both understood each other and the fact that they did made them closer than sharing life sorrows would have . Not to mention Matt had never been one to willingly go to someone when I’m trouble. ( trouble that couldn’t be solved with fighting bad guys in a body tight devil suit that is. Actually even then he didn’t easily ask for help ) Despite not knowing what to do, Frank wasn’t going to mess this up. Not purposely at least .

“Do you what me to put on a movie?” Frank asked. Frank knew that Matt clearly wasn’t in the mood to have a deep trauma sharing session. He wasn’t in the right mind and he came to Frank to avoid thinking about it. So Frank was going to make sure they didn’t talk about it, unless Matt specifically said he wants to.

“Not like I’d be able to watch it,” Matt huffed out a laugh. Frank smiled slightly and picked up the remote to turn one on. They did this sometimes, after long missions and patching each other up. Frank would put on a movie, put it on low volume for Matt. Then they would just sit there with each other, winding down after a long day.

It didn’t exactly make any sense considering none of them end up paying attention to the movie. ( and considering one of them is blind and Frank didn’t even turn on those audio description things ) However it was their thing and it did work it calming them down.

It really shouldn’t, neither of them knew why it worked. Maybe it was the fact they were just there, together and alive.

Together, alive and safe.

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starrykitty013 · 3 years

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Sneak Peak!! This will be a Cake Walk (oneshot)

Here’s the full fic...finally: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33658105

This takes place in my JGLEH universe (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415002) but this oneshot could be read as a standalone :)

Enjoy!

August 7th, 2019.

That was the date that this year’s birthday fell on. Technically it was the first wednesday of August, since this month started on a Thursday, but it was basically the second week of August, so they’d let it slide. Besides the 14th of August seemed like a good date, but Ned and MJ were just so anxious to finally be spending a birthday with their best friend, because it had been 2 years since they last had - well more Ned than MJ, MJ was cool with anything.

So here they were, lounging around Peter’s - and his parent’s - little apartment/penthouse/whatever-this-place-they-were-living-was-classfied-as in Stark tower, eating junk food and marathoning Voltron - every variation of it, eating a slightly melted ice cream cake MJ bough - they bought an entire sheet cake this time, instead of a small one because Ned and MJ got paychecks now and Peter has the metabolism not to waste it.

Different location, same traditions. Sure the atmosphere of the tower was not as cozy as Ned’s cramped living room or MJ’s box apartment, but they made do. They dulled the settings on the floor to ceiling window that took up an entire wall and viewed over the city. They cuddled in blankets and made an entire pillow fort, and they made it surround them so they were forced to be closer together.

They would’ve invited everyone else in the tower, but his official birthday wasn’t until the 12th and Peter’s sure they had something planned. He kind of just wanted to keep this serenity of the three of them, even if he felt a little guilty about being exclusive. It was worth it.

It felt right.

Keeping his old traditions while preparing for the new ones that he was bound to make this year.

He hadn’t celebrated his birthday with the Avengers last year, because it was the date of the trial and he hadn’t been living with them at the time, even if like a week later he was. Everything had been so hectic and moving too fast that his birthday had barley been on any of their minds. He had spent the night with Wade and Matt goofing off in and out of their costumes though - the aults getting thoroughly plastered and Peter thinks it was only 60% for his amusement.

It was an enjoyable night. Or at least it it was shaping up to be. He liked the chill vibes that they had managed to create. It was almost like they were hanging out just like any other day, and not celebrating Peter being one year away from being a legal adult - in America at least.

His parents had walked in around 11:30ish, and they just were about to pass without looking twice at the kids lounged around and the mess of stolen blankets and pillows they probably didn’t know they owned - and they didn’t own most of them, again they were temporarily stolen, he’d give them to their respective owners again...eventually...maybe.

Ned had greeted them absently, because he was polit like that, and Nat smirked fondly at them, watching them out of the corner of her eye, while Bucky turned and nodded in acknowledgment, lips quirking up for a second at the scene. MJ gave a salute as she had a chip half in her mouth.

“Russian → ”(Hey, guys.) Peter said absently, not really looking at them as he leaned forward to grab another slice of melted cake. And that’s when Natasha paused for a second, looking frozen. Bucky had just barley managed to ram into her. It was a slight action but it made Peter pause and look up in confusion and slight alarm. His spidey sense wasn’t going off, but Nat had that look on her face where she kept it carefully neutral to not give anything away. Peter turned his head to them and sat up a bit, Ned and MJ seemed to pick up on his vibes because a moment later MJ had shifted into a slightly more alert slouch and that was followed by Ned swiveling his head to look confusedly between everyone while trying - and failing, but it’s okay Ned you are still a precious bean child that will be protected by everyone here - to be subtle about it, his anxiety kicking in a bit. “What’s up?” he said trying to maintain a casual tone. If it was an emergency, he’d know, they would’ve been more on edge. It was more likely that they had gotten taken off guard by something - which was only barley more comforting, since they usually were never taken off guard by much.

Bucky had trained his eyes on Nat, so Peter did the same. She darted her eyes quickly to something next to him and then back to Peter, Bucky followed her gaze and kept it locked on the thing she was looking at. Peter slowly moved his head to where Bucky’s eyes were trained and looked down to see the mostly melted cake, with the watery, sloppy lettering that was supposed to spell out “Congrats on not dying spider dweeb” and then a messily drawn spiderman logo, but they had eaten the cake in a way that it said “C---ats o- ying- ider dw-b” and part of the logo was cut outso it was only the lens’ of the mask showing. Peter then moved his eyes back up to Natasha, still confused over why she was so still about it.

“I thought you're birthday was the... 12th.” Her tone was still carefully neutral, but Peter could detect some tension that his friends probably didn’t pick up on. Bucky definitely did though. It almost seemed like it was hard for her to get that out, for some reason.

Peter cocked his head. “Well yeah officially.” he said. Something seemed to click for Bucky and he looked to Peter and his friends again.

“It’s the 7th.” Bucky said, in a much more genuine neutral tone.

“Yeah, it is.” MJ said sarcastically, but she seemed to tone her usual snark down a bit. Peter was inexplicably grateful for that, for some reason.

“We celebrate it on the second Wednesday of August though.” Ned explained. He had told them the story of how he officially got his birthday with Wade and the army camps earlier that day, because Ned had asked if there was a story he was previously unable to tell them. He had told them the whole truth and they accepted it without any preamble. At this point they had heard so many messed up stories about his childhood that the initial shock and horror reaction had dialed down. At first - when he first started telling them about his past that he had to keep a secret, even without all the spidey stuff like the White room and Special Forces - Ned had been in tears nearly every time and MJ would close off almost to the point of dissociation. But after nearly a year the most reaction he’d get was MJ’s concerned eyeroll and Ned’s shift so they bumped shoulders or they were closer. Still, the birthday story did get a hug out of Ned and MJ to shift a tad closer.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Natasha and his shoulders slumped like he was holding in a sigh “Why?” Bucky asked after a beat of silence, maintaining the same casual light tone.

“Some stupid thing Wade made up.” Peter shrugged and fought the urge to look away. Why did he feel so weird about this? “Something about sticking it to the man, or society or the government or whatever.” he said looking down at his cake and putting a small bite in his mouth that he could talk around. “We did it every year and then we did it with Ned and MJ and it just stuck. It’s not a big deal, we just chill.” he mumbled more than said. There was a long pull of silence between them, with only the sounds of Allura explaining some complicated space matter to the team of palidins on the screen.

When Peter finally had the urge to look up he found himself looking at the tail end of his mother going into her bedroom and quietly shutting the door. He looked at the door for a moment then at Bucky who was doing the same, but he sighed and shot him and his friends one last supposedly reassuring smile, as if to say ‘as you were’ - it did not have it’s desired effect- and then follow after his partner, opening and shutting the door softly.

That was weird.

Peter just looked at the door for a few moments, not really sure how to feel about that. He felt his friends’ gazes on his back, and it almost felt like they had no clue what to do with that strange interaction either. It hadn’t left bad vibes, but it hadn’t really left any good ones either.

He turned back to the movie, MJ and Ned seemingly following his lead and going back to marathoning. But instead of listening to Keith and Lance’s 143th argument of the show, he was listening to the quiet murmurs coming from the room. Loud enough that Peter could pick up on the sound with his enhanced hearing but too soft to actually make any words out.

Eventually, after about 10 minutes of not knowing what was up and the feeling something was off still lingering in his mind, he stood up and made his way to the door. HIs confused friends’ gazes followed him up and to where he was walking.

“Be right back.” he said absently before entering the room and closing the door just a quietly as his parents’.

#fanfic #spidey #starry's writing #Peter parker #natasha romanoff #Bucky Barnes #michelle jones #ned leeds #birthday #happy birthday Peter!!!#spooner boiiiiiii #unfinished

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause.

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope.

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful.

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again.

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this.

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids.

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -”

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them.

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods.

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place.

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection.

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil.

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true.

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence.

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited.

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -”

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone.

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen.

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing.

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.”

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming.

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place.

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well.

He’s in the hospital.

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body.

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming.

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes.

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.”

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.”

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did.

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.”

Andrew just huffs.

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-”

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.”

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him.

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...”

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind.

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world.

Maybe Andrew can have it.

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

yeehawwww

#andreil #hunger games au #andrew minyard #neil josten #tw: canon typical violence #andrew is good with kids fight me #is that??? a love confession??????#all for the game

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sssrha · 4 years

Text

Imposter

Later, Lan Xichen learned what, exactly, his mother had done. Later, he would learn that the normal punishment was death. Later he learned that his father had married her so she could escape that fate, only to lock her away from the world she loved so much.

But, at that moment, Lan Huan was five and anything was possible, so he told himself he didn’t need to be Sect Leader Lan—he would be A-Huan, travelling the world with Mother (and maybe A-Zhan) and making her smile. That’s all he ever wanted.

Or: When the people spoke of the Twin Jades of Lan, Lan Xichen could never push away the distinct sense of wrongness in his stomach. They didn’t know that he was an imposter, after all.

[written for XiSang Week 2020. read it below or on AO3.]

Lan Huan’s mother used to card her fingers through his hair once a month, pulling and twisting the strands into elaborate braids that Lan Huan would spend hours looking at, if given the chance. When Lan Zhan would, inevitably, fall asleep to her quiet humming, she would turn her twinkling eyes upon Lan Huan and Lan Huan alone, and she’d keep on braiding and unbraiding his hair, singing sweet nonsense into the silence.

Afterward, right before leaving, he would quietly unbraid his hair, each movement leaving his limbs increasingly leaden until he was but a human caricature, inanimate and yet still breathing, unable to finish what he’d started. His mother would press a kiss to his forehead and finish for him. “Look at you,” she would whisper, careful not to rouse Lan Zhan, “you’re the perfect Lan. My son—so handsome!”

She’d brush her fingers against Lan Huan’s cheek—she did it so often that Lan Huan memorized every scar and callous on them…and there were many. Lan Zhan had only truly learned how to count after their mother let him count every blemish across her palms. When asked, she would say, “I didn’t always live here, A-Huan.”

That made sense. She probably earned those scars in the same place she’d learned how to braid Lan Huan’s hair—the very same braids that sat atop her own head. It must have also been the same place she’d chipped her front tooth and lost the very tip of her left ring finger.

He would ask her about that far off time which he wasn’t alive to see, and she’d regale him with stories of warriors, of freedom, of ancient forests filled with beasts ready to fight, and many times, she’d tell him about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. It was his favorite story. When he unbraided his hair and felt his limbs turn to lead, his mother would tell him the story, and suddenly, things weren’t as bad.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last.

***

Lan Huan is eight, and he is floating. He thinks he’s cold, too—he must be, sitting out in the snow like this for so long, nowhere near close enough to his brother to share any warmth. He knows that he should go, but he’s floating over his own head and it’s hard to see anything other than Lan Zhan’s form, crystal clear against the rest of the world.

He cannot leave his brother sitting out in the cold, and even if this is a dream, like he’s starting to suspect, it’s still the principle that matters; Lan Huan watches himself stay completely still until his fingers turn so white that it must be frightening. He watches them curl, one-by-one, creaking in protest after their disuse, and he hears himself say, once again, “A-Zhan, let’s go.” Lan Zhan glances at him once before going back to staring at the door—the one that will never open, no matter how long he waits, no matter how much his older brother wants him to be happy—

Lan Huan floats, and he can’t come back down.

He watches himself hunch over and, slowly, feels the dizziness run rampant through his mind.

The first time Lan Zhan moves that evening is after Lan Huan’s body tilts sideways and doesn’t get back up.

“Brother!”

The world whirls away.

***

That should have been the end of it.

It is not the end.

***

The Cloud Recesses’ infirmary stands apart from the rest of it. It’s in its own nook of time, unchanged by the ebbs and flows of the world and Lan Xichen is sure that if he were to trace the lines of the blanket covering his form, it would remain with the same folds and contours as always. He can almost see the world whirl by, the sun rising and setting with the sands of time.

He sees two winters pass before he’s finally back in himself, fingers running through his own hair, unconsciously folding the roots into braids before undoing them. He should most definitely stop—before someone sees, before someone realizes that he’s dared to keep this little part of his mother for himself—and he seizes when he hears footsteps nearing his area.

Briefly, there is hesitation thick in the room, but then a voice quietly murmurs out a greeting. “Brother,” Lan Zhan says, his voice quiet and full of concern.

He said the same thing two years ago, when Lan Xichen collapsed in the cold, but back then he’d been apologetic, asking for forgiveness for letting him collapse. Now, he just hesitantly places his fingers on Lan Xichen’s hair, carefully helping him undo the last of the braids. “Brother,” Lan Zhan continues, “Uncle said you threw up.”

He had, right in the middle of class. He remembers the gasps that had rippled through the room, the plain horror on the instructor’s face, and the pain in his stomach as he retched. “I did,” he responds.

“What did the physician say?”

Lan Xichen says, “Nothing is wrong. She doesn’t know what happened.” He does. He knows exactly why his head started spinning and his breath came heavy and oppressive. He knows exactly how his world turned upside down. It started with his new instructor smiling at his class and saying, “Today, we will discuss a story.”

It was a story about a butcher who worked hard until he became so much more. For a second, he could almost hear it told from his mother’s lips.

So he threw up.

Lan Zhan doesn’t believe him, he knows, but he doesn’t say a word, still dutifully unbraiding his hair. Lan Xichen lets it happen and wonders, briefly, if he should warn Lan Zhan of this travesty, this complete invasion of their mother’s privacy, but he realizes that Lan Zhan wouldn’t understand. After all, their mother never told the story to him, only to Lan Xichen, unbraiding his hair in the Jingshi. (And, for a moment, Lan Xichen wonders at how similar Lan Zhan is to their mother. Their uncle is always on the lookout to ensure neither of them turn into their father, but…but Lan Zhan really is a carbon copy of her in every way but mannerisms.

And so, Lan Xichen loves him even more than before, surprised at how that’s possible.)

Lan Xichen doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, he asks, “How was class today?”

He asks this every day, and he always receives similar answers: easy, difficult, interesting, uninteresting, etc. Today, however, Lan Zhan says, “Unimportant.”

That stops Lan Xichen dead in his tracks. “Every class is important,” he says firmly, wondering what on earth Lan Zhan was taught to inspire such a response.

Lan Zhan frowns. “You are more important. What happened?”

Ah. Lan Xichen once again finds himself turning away, shame coursing through him at the realization that his little brother is so concerned for him. “I will talk to Uncle about it,” is the only response he gives.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Lan Zhan nods and continues to unbraid Lan Xichen’s hair.

Lan Xichen wonders when his brother got so grown up.

***

Every night, Lan Xichen and his family performs a ritual: their uncle wishes them both a goodnight, gives them a hug, and then heads to sleep. Lan Xichen has learned that, as of late, Lan Zhan has taken to not hugging their uncle, but Lan Xichen still does—it’s a rare bit of his childhood that he does not want to let go of, and his uncle does not mention it.

Tonight, however, Lan Xichen doesn’t let his uncle go without a word. “I have a question,” he says.

Lan Qiren pauses, obviously taken by surprise. “What is it?” he asks.

Lan Xichen says, “Today, in class, Teacher was telling a story. I didn’t get to hear all of it.”

Lan Qiren frowns, contemplative. “What do you remember about it?”

He wets his lips. “It was about a butcher,” he explains. “That’s all I heard.”

“Ah, yes, the founder of the Nie Sect, Nie Fan. He was a butcher that started cultivating, as our Lan An was a monk who began cultivating. Tomorrow, I will tell you the story since you missed it in class. For now, sleep.”

Lan Xichen does not want to sleep. He wants to know why the story was known by others, why it wasn’t special like he always thought it was—why his story was out in the open, like a festering wound that no one let heal. However, exhaustion pulls at his features, dragging him under its spell so effectively that he knows that he will fall asleep soon, whether he likes it or not, so he nods in acceptance and watches his uncle’s form as he leaves Lan Xichen’s room.

Lan Zhan is probably already asleep, and all Lan Xichen will be, too, soon, but—he needs to do something. The endless itch lingers beneath his fingertips, and he finds himself moving before he even realizes what he’s doing. He is sitting in front of a mirror, hands in his hair, braiding and braiding until three long strands sit atop his head. His fingers shake and his shoulders ache, the only thing going through his head being variations of “Mother’s story, my story, our story” until it’s too much and he feels a pressure growing behind his eyes, his shoulders tensing.

He focuses on the chattering of his teeth and the texture of his hair, and by the time he finally stumbles over to his bed—forced into it from exhaustion, no longer quivering—his head is in braids.

That night, he dreams of his mother’s voice singing a song that he will never know the words of.

***

Once upon a time, there was a boy. Every day, the boy dreamed of being a butcher just like his father, so he learned everything he could. One day, his father passed away, but the boy was ready—he used his knowledge to become the best butcher in China. However, soon, his village was plagued by monsters of all sorts. Qinghe was sparsely populated back then, and cultivators were few in numbers, so unless a rogue stumbled upon them, his village was doomed. Nie Fan, seeing all the pain his peers were facing, decided to take matters into his own hands.

Using the very butchering knives he so dearly loved, Nie Fan cultivated until he had a golden core and then saved his village.

This is the story that Lan Xichen knows. What his mother never told him, though, is that there is more.

After becoming the protector of his village, others joined alongside him, cultivating in his manner. Their numbers grew and grew, even past his death, until it became a great sect: the Nie Sect.

Lan Xichen listens to the story with a bowed head, and he wonders what else his mother had kept from him.

***

The forests of Qinghe dwarf Lan Xichen, who is all of thirteen years old. Coming here was never his plan, but his uncle insisted, explaining that Lan Xichen needs to get accustomed to meeting with important people if he’s going to be Sect Leader one day. Lan Xichen nearly hissed back that no one ever asked him if he wanted to be Sect Leader—he doesn’t, not in the slightest, but no one ever asked his uncle if he wanted to rule the sect in the absence of his brother, so Lan Xichen held his tongue.

Now, he wishes he had said something—anything—to stay away from Qinghe, because if he had never come, then he would never have to see the Nie boy.

Gusu and Qinghe are not close geographically, and the GusuLan and the QingheNie are not close politically, so Lan Xichen has never had the (extremely dubious) pleasure of meeting a Nie cultivator until now. Of course he’s taken by surprise.

The boy swept up to the Lan contingent, drenched in olive and gold, saber held tightly in hand. When he bowed, Lan Xichen got a clear view of his head…and of the braids that sat on it. For a second, he was back in the Jingshi on that last day, before everything went so wrong, listening to his mother tell story after story, singing a sweet song.

This boy is like his mother, and he doesn’t understand why.

***

The Unclean Realms sprawl outward, a fortress made for the protection of its inhabitants without a care for aesthetic, but Lan Xichen sees beauty in it, anyway. He sees the thought in every wall, every door, every tile on the floor. While the people in it make Lan Xichen’s heart hammer in his chest, fingers shaking while hidden deep in his robes, the Unclean Realms itself feels like a haven, the likes of which he had never known before.

The meeting with Sect Leader Nie goes smoothly, and Lan Xichen even finds himself unwinding until Sect Leader Nie and his own uncle send him off with another boy. “Play,” Sect Leader Nie had said, and though Lan Qiren had made a face at the phrasing, he hadn’t contradicted him.

Nie Mingjue is broader than Lan Xichen, though a few inches shorter, and he is wearing the same braids as everyone else, broad saber clutched close. It looks a bit too big for his body, suggesting the expectation of future growth, and considering the height of his father, Lan Xichen doesn’t doubt it.

Nie Mingjue drags him around the Unclean Realms, showing him every nook and cranny, an interesting story accompanying every single one of them, chattering on and on until Lan Xichen could recognize his expression by just the dips of his voice.

It’s when they sit beneath a willow tree—a desperate attempt to escape the heat—that Lan Xichen finally asks him, “Those braids…where did you get them?” His voice is so soft, so hesitant, and for a moment, he thinks that Nie Mingjue didn’t even hear him over the rustling leaves.

Then, Nie Mingjue says, “Oh, these? Everyone in the Nie Sect wears them. I’m Sect Heir, so I know how to do it.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t look at him, eyes intent on staring into the horizon and whatever is beyond. He asks, “Can you teach me?” Perhaps they merely look similar. Perhaps it is a different braid entirely. Perhaps Lan Xichen is concerned about nothing.

But Nie Mingjue just laughs. “I can’t teach it to someone who isn’t from the Sect!” As if the mere idea is silly. Then a mischievous look falls over him. “So unless some beautiful maiden sweeps you off your feet and brings you here as her groom, you won’t be wearing the braids any time soon.”

Lan Xichen stays silent.

***

The Lan contingent stays the night, readying to depart tomorrow.

Right before bed, Lan Xichen braids his hair as well as he can, and he stares in the mirror for much longer than is appropriate. He lets his fingers glance over the hardening edge of his jaw, the point of his nose, the skin of his lips. He peers at the warm brown of his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and the paleness of his skin. Then, finally, he looks at the braids, and he realizes that his reflection is more real than he will ever be.

Breaking curfew is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but Lan Xichen isn’t in the Cloud Recesses. So, when he slowly opens the door to his quarters and steps outside, he’s not doing anything wrong. He stays cautious, anyway, looking over his shoulder to ensure that his uncle hasn’t magically appeared to scold him.

The Nie Sect has no official curfew, as far as he can tell—if it does, then it’s much later than the Cloud Recesses’, for disciples are still wandering the halls, attending to duties and chatting animatedly about this or that. They all ignore him, and Lan Xichen feels invisible, like he’s blended into the wall, and he’s all the more grateful for it. After all, the braids still sit on his head and if anyone were to notice him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. (In reality, he is probably not invisible. Instead, he’d slipped on the night robes that the rooms had stored away. He thinks he must look like a normal Nie disciple. He quite likes the thought.)

Lan Xichen is a ghost, haunting these halls without rest until it is well past his bedtime. He is unseen and unknown—until a voice calls out, “Young Master Lan?”

He sees himself turn around, still feeling lost in a dream. His hands go up to his hair, wondering who has discovered him and how he is going to explain his impropriety. For a second, he fears it’s Nie Mingjue, who will take offense to Lan Xichen wearing these braids even after being told they were only for Nie disciples. He thinks of the boy who he’d become rather fond of twisting his face in rage, and shame courses through him, hot and unbearable.

But it is not Nie Mingjue who finds him. Instead, it is a young boy—younger than Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, definitely, though he distinctly has Nie Mingjue’s eyes and nose. Vaguely, Lan Xichen remembers Nie Mingjue mentioning a younger brother who was Lan Wangji’s age. “…Second Young Master Nie?”

Nie Huaisang shrinks backward, obviously startled by Lan Xichen’s recognition, but then squares his shoulders. “Young Master Lan, are you okay?”

Lan Xichen sees himself turn. “I…” How is he supposed to answer that? He doesn’t feel all that here. He’s watching himself, no control over his own body, everything out of focus, and—

He’s floating.

“Young Master Lan?”

“Yes?”

“Are you lost?” Maybe he is. Can you get lost in a dream? “Young Master Lan, can you hear me?”

“I can,” Lan Xichen hears himself say.

“Do…do you want to come with me for a bit?” Lan Xichen doesn’t see a reason not to, so he follows Nie Huaisang without protest. “Oh, good.”

Good? He doesn’t think so. Vaguely, Lan Xichen hears Nie Huaisang talk—about what, he can’t tell. It blends into the background along with everything else, but there’s certain dips and edges to it that pull him closer, even as he floats. Soon, he finds himself in what he assumes are Nie Huaisang’s chambers as Nie Huaisang prattles on. “I smuggled some sweets from the kitchen but they’re new kinds that I’ve never tried before. My tastebuds are delicate—Brother always scolds me about it, but it’s not my fault! Young Master Lan, can you tell me what it tastes like? I need to be prepared.”

Soon, a few pieces of candy are shoved into Lan Xichen’s hand. His head shifts upward and Nie Huaisang encourages, “Go on! Just tell me the taste and texture.”

Okay. Lan Xichen slips the first piece into his mouth and focuses on it as much as he can manage. “It’s sweet,” he says.

“How sweet? Honey sweet? Sugar sweet? Berry sweet?”

“Honey, but it feels like…sand. Gritty. Do you like gritty things?”

“Maybe,” Nie Huaisang allows. “Does it have a bad aftertaste?”

Lan Xichen swallows and then waits. “No. It’s good.”

“What about the others?”

So Lan Xichen goes on, describing candy after candy until he’s actually holding the pieces, not watching himself eat them. He stops abruptly, placing his palm on the table and then asking, “What was that?”

Nie Huaisang smiles kindly. “Are you feeling better now?”

Better, yes. Good, not precisely. But certainly better. Moonlight streams into the room from the open window, clashing with the flickering of Nie Huaisang’s lamps. Disciples are still chattering, doing their duties, and the Nie night robes that Lan Xichen has thrown on are light and freeing despite the terrible pressure creeping up his spine. “I am,” he says. “What did you do?”

“Helped you come back to yourself,” Nie Huaisang explains. He stumbles to his feet and then goes deeper into his chambers, still talking. “It happens to my cousin, sometimes, too, so I learned how to help.” He comes back with a cup of water, sloshing against the opening with each step he takes.

Lan Xichen takes it and drinks. “I apologize for any trouble—”

“No trouble!” Nie Huaisang immediately insists, only to go red. “I mean, helping people is what cultivators do, right? I might not be that great of a cultivator in any other sense, but I can still do this!”

Ah, yes. The Second Young Master Nie who hates cultivating. “Then, I thank you.”

Nie Huaisang’s face flushes even deeper and he turns away. For a moment, Lan Xichen rests in amused silence, but then Nie Huaisang says, “Young Master Lan, those braids…”

Lan Xichen freezes. “Oh,” he says immediately, hands shooting up to his hair, “I apologize, I’ll take them off immediately.”

“No! I mean,” Nie Huaisang backtracks, “you can wear it! The Nie disciples all wear it but. No one ever mentioned that anyone else couldn’t.”

“But your brother…”

“Brother says a lot of things!” Nie Huaisang says. “Don’t always listen to him! You can wear the braids if you want. You look good in them, anyway. And with those robes, I almost thought you were a Nie disciples!”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah!”

And Lan Xichen smiles. He smiles when he goes back to his room as well, and he even manages to smile as he unbraids his hair.

It’s the first time anyone has told him that he’s looked good in these braids—not even his mother had said such a thing. Lan Xichen thinks that, for now, everything is going to be okay.

***

The first time Lan Xichen really breaks a rule is when he sneaks into the Cloud Recesses’ weaponry. Only the senior disciples are allowed in—which a fourteen-year-old Lan Xichen very distinctly is not—but he has a question in mind that can’t be solved in any other fashion.

Carefully treading the wooden floors, he enters the side room that not even the senior disciples are allowed into, and he observes its contents. Stacked into neat little rows are hundreds of swords, all belonging to his deceased martial siblings. Off to the side, however, he finds a crypt—wholly out of place.

Slowly, he slides the lid off. Just a bit, just enough to peak inside, and he finds a saber—broad and imperious, to be wielded by a master. Its glare is blinding in the dull light of the room, its sharpened edge pricking him without needing to touch him. Atop the casket, there is an engraving that he will never forget: Nie Jiaying.

“Jiaying.” It’s what his uncle used to refer to his mother on the rare occasions they spoke. “Jiaying.” It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. “Jiaying.” It’s for a wonderful woman with scars, braids, and a saber.

“Nie Jiaying.”

And she’d told him that he was the perfect Lan, but she was a Nie and Lan Xichen had always loved her so much. Lan Xichen bows his head and cries.

***

Lan Huan was five when he found out that, one day, he was going to be Sect Leader. When Lan Qiren told him that, he buried his face into his uncle’s robes and said, “But I don’t want to. A-Zhan can be the Sect Leader.”

Lan Qiren’s face hardened and he spoke, voice sharp, “Don’t forsake your brother when this is your duty.”

Lan Huan buried his face deeper into his uncle’s robes. “But if I’m Sect Leader,” he says, voice muffled, “then how will Mother and I travel around China?” To see all the places she’d told him about, to make her stop looking so sad when she talked about them. He wanted to see them all and…and then maybe he’d pretend to be Sect Leader so A-Zhan could do the same thing, too. Then they could both go with Mother and Mother would get to go twice, because she deserved it.

Lan Qiren’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You will do no such thing.”

“Why not?”

“You will be the Sect Leader, and your mother cannot leave the Jingshi.”

Lan Huan looked up. “Even then?”

“Even then.”

“Why?”

Lan Qiren pursed his lips. “Your mother did something very bad, A-Huan. This is her punishment.”

Lan Huan didn’t understand. Whenever he got in trouble, he had to copy lines and do handstands. Sometimes he saw the older disciples get hit with the discipline rulers. He’d never heard of a punishment like having to stay inside all the time. He didn’t think he would like it.

***

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue stay in contact through letters, talking about when they’ll next meet and what they’re going to do. As Nie Mingjue’s sixteenth birthday draws closer and closer, they also discuss all the things that they plan to do when he comes to the Cloud Recesses.

Three months beforehand, news arrives: Nie Mingjue’s father has died, leaving Nie Mingjue as Sect Leader Nie. He sends a very formal apology letter, explaining why he can’t attend classes in the Cloud Recesses, and it is not in his handwriting but Lan Xichen keeps silent about it. Lan Qiren heads to the Unclean Realms as soon as news reaches them in an effort to help Nie Mingjue deal with his new responsibilities, and Lan Xichen is left behind.

Lan Wangji approaches him that night. “Brother,” he says, sweeping into Lan Xichen’s quarters and seating himself across from him, “I heard what happened.” Lan Xichen seals his eyes shut. Lan Wangji continues, “You…did not go to the Unclean Realms.” He’s surprised that Lan Xichen hasn’t gone to comfort his friend.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Uncle said that my being there would make things more complicated for him. I’ve arranged to visit in a few months.”

Lan Wangji observes him. “Second Young Master Nie,” he says, “has informed me that Sect Leader Nie would not be opposed to your presence.”

Lan Xichen pauses. “You’ve spoken to Huaisang?”

“He and I have kept up a correspondence.”

Lan Xichen knew that the two were in contact, but he never expected them to talk about these kinds of things. Lan Xichen looks up, staring at the ceiling. “Is he positive?”

“Yes.” He hesitates. “And he mentioned…he would like to meet you, as well.”

This causes Lan Xichen’s head to spin in confusion. “What?”

“Second Young Master Nie wishes to meet you.”

Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang exchange gifts—little, useless trinkets that are technically not allowed, but to which Lan Qiren always turns a blind eye when he visits Lan Xichen’s residence—but they haven’t written actual, substantial words to each other. And why would Nie Huaisang want to meet? The last time they’d met for longer than a few minutes was on that first time he’d visited the Unclean Realms and caused Nie Huaisang so much trouble.

Nie Huaisang was being polite, Lan Xichen decides. And his uncle is right, anyway—Lan Xichen’s presence will only make things worse for Nie Mingjue. Who knows what kind of power struggle is happening within the walls of the Unclean Realms? Having to deal with Lan Xichen won’t be helpful at all.

“I shouldn’t impose, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looks like he wants to protest, but no words leave his lips. Instead, he bows his head and says, “Yes, Brother.” The amount of skepticism and exasperation he manages to pack into those two words is astonishing.

Lan Xichen pointedly ignores it.

***

Lan Xichen expects Nie Mingjue to never again step foot in the Cloud Recesses. It’s unconscious and illogical, but he sees an ocean between them now—an ocean he so desperately wants to cross, even when everyone insists on him making his home on the other side.

That ocean seems a little smaller when Nie Mingjue sends him a certain letter. Its contents are very simple: Nie Mingjue cannot attend class at the Cloud Recesses, but Nie Huaisang most definitely can and he will be when he turns 15. Nie Mingjue came to iron out the details and they sat and spoke as if nothing had ever gone wrong—as if they were still just two Young Masters, hiding from the sun beneath a willow tree.

The day before Nie Huaisang is due to arrive, Lan Xichen receives a letter from Nie Mingjues. “You and that brother of yours better take care of Huaisang,” it says. Affectionate as always, and Lan Xichen’s lips quirk upwards as he passes it over to Lan Wangji. He gives it a deadpan stare.

“Rules are rules,” he intones. “If Nie Huaisang breaks any, he will get punished.”

Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow. “And when did you start calling him by his name?”

There is a pause before Lan Wangji’s ears flare up, brilliant red. “Brother…”

It’s nice to know that his brother has a friend.

***

Nie Huaisang’s arrival in the Cloud Recesses is marked with all the fanfare that a Young Master of his status deserves, and he delights in every bit of it. It’s nothing material, of course, but there are a great deal of greetings and tours and fawning over the quality of robes—something Lan Xichen had never before taken into account, but now he runs his fingers through his own and wonders if it will live up to Nie Huaisang’s standards. It will, most likely, since his are among the best quality in the Sect.

His robes are special. They’re a cocoon with which he wraps himself, an illusion behind which he hides. These robes say that he is Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Lan, the most eligible bachelor in China. He is none of these things, but it’s easier to pretend when he wears these robes. (Sometimes, though, the robes are not enough. Sometimes, when nothing seems right, Lan Xichen is not even sure if he is Lan Xichen. And at those times, his robes hurt more than they help.)

Lan Xichen makes sure to check in on Nie Huaisang often, just as Nie Mingjue asked him to. He mentions time and time again to focus on studies and get enough sleep, to come to him if he ever needs anything, and every time Nie Huaisang giggles and says, “Of course, Brother Xichen!” And then he never comes.

Lan Xichen almost thinks that Nie Huaisang has resolved to ignore him entirely when, close to curfew, he gets a knock on his door. It’s a bit late for visitors, but far enough from curfew that any visitors can still arrive back at their residence after a decent conversation. He does not expect to open the door to Nie Huaisang in tears.

“Huaisang?” Lan Xichen gasps, ushering him inside.

Nie Huaisang clings to him, sobbing into his night robes. “I can’t do it,” he gasps. “I can’t do it, Brother Xichen. It’s too hard.”

“What are you talking about?” Lan Xichen asks.

“School!” he exclaims. “I just don’t understand! I try and I try but I’m just—just stupid!”

“You’re not stupid,” Lan Xichen says immediately, sitting him down. “Come, Huaisang, let’s—” He suddenly freezes when the smell hits him. “Are you drunk?”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang admits, and there’s so much shame in his voice that Lan Xichen can’t bring himself to be mad at him.

“Oh, Huaisang,” he says. “Is school really troubling you that much?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I don’t know! I just…this isn’t working, Brother Xichen.” He lets his head fall onto the table with a soft thud, and Lan Xichen grimaces.

Carefully, he pries Nie Huaisang up and says, “I’ll help.”

“How?”

“I’ll teach you in the evenings,” he says. “Hopefully, some extra attention can help you absorb the information better.”

Nie Huaisang stares at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Lan Xichen blinks. The obvious answer is because Nie Mingjue asked him to look out for Nie Huaisang, but what actually comes out of his mouth is, “Because you’re my friend.”

Nie Huaisang stares, then smiles. “I’m really lucky to have both Jades of Lan as my friends.”

Lan Xichen perks up, delight seeping into him. “Wangji actually admitted that he’s your friend?” he demands.

“Not yet, but he’s getting there! I’ll wear him down eventually…” he says. Lan Xichen lets out a light huff of amusement.

They continue like that, time whirling alongside their words, moon rising ever so slightly higher in the sky, until Lan Xichen has to finally put an end to it. “It’s nearly curfew,” he says. “I’ll overlook your drinking just this once, but you should get back to your room before curfew. The disciples on patrol won’t be anywhere near as kind as I am.” He’s already setting the tea away, rearranging the miscellaneous objects that had fallen out of their places along the way. Nie Huaisang watches it all happen.

Then, Nie Huaisang says, “Do you have a mirror?”

Lan Xichen blinks. “Of course.” He immediately points him in the direction of his mirror, which sits, largely concealed, by his bed. Nie Huaisang ambles over to it with a hum, out of Lan Xichen’s sight. He doesn’t pay it any further mind until he hears Nie Huaisang give off a huff of frustration.

“What’s wrong, Huaisang?” he asks, approaching him.

Nie Huaisang’s fingers are tangled in his own hair, sloppy and shaking as he tugs on the strands. “My hands won’t work!” he says. “They’re all…” he waves his fingers around in an approximation of something Lan Xichen doesn’t quite understand.

He settles for a laugh. “You’re drunk, of course your movement is impaired.”

“I’m not that drunk!” Nie Huaisang exclaims. Lan Xichen merely raises an eyebrow and watches as Nie Huaisang shrinks away from him. “Fine,” Nie Huaisang admits, “maybe I’m a little drunk.” His eyes suddenly widen in an epiphany. “Brother Xichen!” he says. “You do it!”

“Do what?”

“Braid my hair for me!”

Lan Xichen’s world grinds to a halt. “What?”

“My hair! I know you can braid!”

He should not. He most definitely should not. The braid is not for him, it is for an entire sect surnamed “Nie,” and he is not part of that sect. He will never be a part of that sect. The knowledge of the braid is merely a relic left behind by his mother, who had a right to it. It is not for him to indulge in. “Huaisang,” he whispers, “I can’t.”

“You can,” Nie Huaisang insists. “I’ve seen you do it before! Please, Brother Xichen, my fingers are too…too slippery!” He demonstrates by trying to braid his hair. All he succeeds in doing is mashing the strands together. “Brother Xichen,” he whines.

Lan Xichen should not—but Nie Huaisang is staring at him with such open desperation in his eyes, and how can Lan Xichen refuse? So, very quietly, he says, “Okay.”

Braiding Nie Huaisang’s hair is different from braiding his own. Working on the heads of others is entirely new territory for him—he’s never done it before. Not to his mother and not to Lan Wangji. And yet, he finds himself doing it with such ease on Nie Huaisang’s head, carefully untangling knots and twisting them into braids that fall against his robes so neatly that Nie Huaisang marvels at them. “Brother Xichen,” he says once, “you really are good, aren’t you?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t say anything, because lying is forbidden and he doesn’t have the heart to explain to Nie Huaisang that he’s really, really not. So he keeps braiding, long past the grease that crawls up his spine and the terror that sits in his throat, until his own hands are shaking so badly that he can’t braid anymore. He’s done at that point, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

Nie Huaisang marvels at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re the best, Brother Xichen!” he insists.

Lan Xichen turns away and doesn’t say a word, clutching his own robes tighter around him in a desperate attempt to ward off the shivers that wrack his body. Nie Huaisang, too drunk to notice the change, smothers Lan Xichen with a hug from behind, startling him so badly that he immediately turns around to steady him. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang whines, “you’re really going to teach me, right?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen manages through chattering teeth.

“Then I’ll bring my books! I promise!” He bounds out of the room without so much as a goodbye, leaving Lan Xichen clutching at empty air.

He closes his eyes and he’s still shaking. Sleep does not come easy that night.

***

There are good days, and there are bad days. The bad days were getting fewer and fewer, but they hadn’t disappeared—not at all. Two weeks after Nie Huaisang first enlists his help, he has a bad day. He wakes up coated in grease, head too light and too heavy at the same time. His chest aches, his back aches—his very being aches, and he can’t do anything about it.

He does not know if he can help Nie Huaisang today, but he decides to try, anyway.

There is a cup of tea in his hands, scalding hot, when Nie Huaisang bounds through his door, smiling brightly. “Brother Xichen!” he exclaims. “Brother Xichen, I kind of understood what Teacher Lan was talking about today, so I don’t have to take up too much of your time today! I can—Brother Xichen?” He stops abruptly.

Lan Xichen’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

Lan Xichen swallows. That is a very good question. Unfortunately, it only has one answer. “I don’t feel good.” It’s the only way he can think of to describe the claws that scratch down his neck, leaving his jaw clenched and head bowed. Spiders crawl up his spine, fire burns behind his eyes, and through it all he can only manage to sit still and wait for it to leave him alone.

Carefully, Nie Huaisang sets his books on the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We should start doing your homework.”

“But do you want to talk about it?” Nie Huaisang insists.

Lan Xichen takes in a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know, then?”

Lan Xichen’s jaw aches from the effort of keeping it still. Then, very slowly, he raises his hand to his hair and cards his fingers through it, trying to grab hold of a few strands. His hands won’t stay still and suddenly, Lan Xichen knows exactly what he wants. “I want to braid my hair.” He sets his hands down. “But I can’t.”

Nie Huaisang brightens. “Ah, then I’ll braid it for you!”

Lan Xichen bows his head and he can’t find it in himself to turn Nie Huaisang away, so he forces himself to relax as Nie Huaisang places his hands on Lan Xichen’s head, stroking his hair gently. If Lan Xichen closes his eyes, then he can almost pretend it’s his mother doing it for him, instead. Nie Huaisang doesn’t have any calluses on his arms, no scars or discoloration, but he doesn’t need them because his fingers follow the same patterns, do the same dance, and, in the end, he sings the same song.

Lan Xichen’s eyes fly open. “Huaisang!” he gasps. “Where did you hear that song?”

Nie Huaisang blinks, startled. “O-Oh, it’s a common song from Qinghe. Should I not have sung it? I’m sorry if it—”

“No,” Lan Xichen immediately denies. “Don’t stop.”

Hesitantly Nie Huaisang continues. They manage to stay like that for a few seconds before Lan Xichen whispers, “My mother used to sing that song.” Nie Huaisang stops. “She also used to wear these braids and she had a saber and—and her name was Nie Jiaying.”

For a moment, there is silence. Then, “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before,” Nie Huaisang murmurs, lost in thought. “She must have been part of one of the branch families…I’ll look into it, if you want.”

Does he want it? Maybe. He’ll think about it later. For now, he says, “I loved her so much, Huaisang.”

“I know, Brother Xichen. Her loss must have hit you really hard.”

“It was worse on Wangji.”

“But it was still hard on you.”

Lan Xichen squeezes his eyes shut. Then, “I’m still mad at her, though.”

“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“She…she would unbraid my hair and call me the perfect Lan.”

“Is that bad?” Nie Huaisang asks. His head is tilted sideways, genuine confusion resting on his features. “You are amazing, Brother Xichen.”

“But I don’t want to be the perfect Lan.”

“What do you want to be, then?”

Lan Xichen doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone so indulging, so willing to talk to him at his worst moments. Lan Wangji would stay a silent guardian at his side, and his uncle would help him get his mind off of bad thoughts, but Nie Huaisang is here and he’s…he’s talking to him about it. So Lan Xichen answers. “I want to go to the places Mother talked about. I want to go to the forests and see the beasts and wear the braids. I—” he swallows— “I don’t think I want to be a Lan.” And it’s true, he thinks. It’s selfish of him to want so desperately to abandon his home for a place he’s only step foot in a handful of times…but it feels so dear, so intrinsically important to his very being, and he wants it so badly.

Nie Huaisang looks contemplative. “You don’t have to be a Lan. You could join the Nie Sect. Brother definitely wouldn’t stop you.”

“But how can I just leave?” How can he leave his brother? How can he leave his uncle? How can he leave his mother’s saber?

“It doesn’t have to be forever. You could visit. You could come back. I don’t think Grandmaster Lan would stop you, either.”

And then he thinks of telling these ideas to his uncle, who will definitely be against them, and a feeling of such complete and utter helplessness enters him that he can’t blink away the tears that gather in his eyes, and he desperately tries to wipe them away as they fall over onto his cheeks. “He’d be upset,” he sobs. “He wouldn’t let me.”

Immediately, he’s enveloped by a hug—this time from the front. “Brother Xichen,” Nie Huaisang says, “he doesn’t get to decide for you! If you want to run away and join another sect, then he’ll just have to suck it up! And…and he really does adore you, you know. He’d be mad but I don’t think he’d stay mad.”

“And Wangji?” Lan Xichen whispers, still holding him close.

Nie Huaisang pulls back a bit and laughs. “Oh please, Lan Wangji would cheer you on even if you murdered somebody.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.” He can’t believe any of it. They’d hate him for the rest of his days, he’d never get to see them again, and even though he would be free, he’d have to live with the knowledge that his own family hated him. “I can’t do it.”

Nie Huaisang grabs him fiercely by the shoulders. “You can!” he insists. “You’re strong. Everyone believes in you, Brother Xichen, I promise. If anyone can pull it off, then it’s you.” He looks frantic, voice stubborn and unyielding, and Lan Xichen can’t think, doesn’t understand—

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang moves and Lan Xichen doesn’t realize what’s happening until Nie Huaisang’s lips are on his own, and the world grinds to a halt as Nie Huaisang grips the front of Lan Xichen’s robes. For a second, Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to do, but then he tugs Nie Huaisang closer, desperate to keep his warmth, letting it chase away his shivers. It’s a chaste kiss, from what he knows. Lips on lips, completely still, moving only with their breathing, but Lan Xichen wouldn’t change it for the world.

When Nie Huaisang finally does pull back, he presses their foreheads together, not moving to escape Lan Xichen’s grip. “I believe in you,” he says. “I always have. Do what’s right for you, Brother Xichen. I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lan Xichen bows his head onto Nie Huaisang’s shoulder and decides that, maybe, he’ll give it a shot.

***

Once a year, Lan Wangji skips every class he has for a day and kneels in front of a long-forgotten house in a corner of the Cloud Recesses. It’s always in the snow, where he bears the cold—with plenty to keep him warm, of course.

Today, for the first time in eight years, Lan Xichen kneels with him. Lan Wangji does not turn to look at him, keeping his back straight, staring stubbornly ahead. Lan Xichen starts the conversation. “She deserved so much better,” he says. “I didn’t understand it back then, but she did.” Back then, all he’d known was that his mother wanted to travel but she wasn’t allowed to, and that made him sad. That was all. Now, he comprehends the true horror of what their mother was put through. Being locked away in such a small house for the rest of her days—no wonder she died so early. (And he never did learn how she died. He’s not sure he wants to find out.)

Lan Wangji still doesn’t turn to him, but he says, “She did deserve better.”

Lan Xichen blinks, surprised that his brother responded at all. Then, “I don’t want something like that to ever happen again.”

“I won’t let it.” There is steel in Lan Wangji’s voice, the unbending strength that Lan Xichen knows means that he will keep his word. There will be no more prisoners in the Cloud Recesses as long as Lan Wangji has any say in the matter—and long past it, too.

“It would be easier for a Sect Leader to accomplish that,” Lan Xichen says, forcing his voice to level out.

“I know,” Lan Wangji replies.

“You’d have an easier time if you were Sect Leader.”

Now, there is a brief bit of silence. Hesitation, Lan Xichen knows. Confusion, a break to comprehend new information. Then, “Brother?”

“You’d be a better Sect Leader than me, Wangji.”

“Brother, I’m…I’m not good with this.” With politics. With talking to others. With so many things. As if Lan Xichen is any better.

“But you want to help,” Lan Xichen whispers. “And you can only ever do everything you can if you’re Sect Leader.” Lan Wangji’s heart is pure and radiant, and Lan Xichen sometimes doesn’t know how they could be siblings. People call them the Twin Jades of Lan, but Lan Xichen knows the truth: Lan Wangji is the only Jade. Lan Xichen is an imposter hiding in his silk cocoons.

Lan Wangji stays silent for some more time. Then, “What are you saying?”

“Would you be Sect Leader if you were given the chance? Be honest, Wangji.”

The very world slows around them, as if it, too, is holding its breath for Lan Wangji’s response. And then he says, “Yes. What about you, Brother?”

Lan Xichen hums and closes his eyes. “Mother used to tell me so many stories of far away places. Of brotherhood. Of fights and battle and glory.”

“Is that what Brother wants?”

Lan Xichen thinks of Qinghe and its vast forests, and then the Unclean Realms and its unrestrained inhabitants. “Yes,” he decides. “That’s what I want.”

“Then Brother should have what he wants.”

“So should you, Wangji.”

It’s nothing official, nothing definite, but—at that moment—everything suddenly feels so much easier than it ever was before.

Lan Xichen kneels in the snow with Lan Wangji for the rest of the day, just as he had eight years ago, but now he stands tall and he doesn’t float. When he returns to his rooms, there are a few pieces of candy placed on his table and a letter from Nie Huaisang: “So you don’t forget when we first met.”

Lan Xichen pops one into his mouth and he remembers a night spent laughing with Nie Huaisang in the halls of the Unclean Realms, and he smiles.

For the first time in forever, he looks upon the future and he smiles.

fin

#xisangweek2020 #xisang #lan xichen #nie huaisang #lan wangji #nie mingjue #lxc has a bad time yo #but it gets better!!!#and that's what matters uwu #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #my fic #idk what else to tag this tbh #ummm i hope you like it??#ye that works.#also #sssrha fics

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hayjeon · 4 years

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Practical Tips on getting your fics out there!

I’ve gotten an influx of these types of questions here recently, and the more i thought about what i was gonna add, it became really long :(

disclaimer: a lot of the things i bring up are just from personal experience as a writer on this site, what my followers have told me they appreciate, and what i tend to look for when im looking for fics to read! If you don’t like these tips then pls move on :)

although i’ll mention them, i’m also not going to be focusing on cliche tips like “write for yourself” or “grammar issues” cause those are pretty obvious!

1. accessibility of your blog

when you’re trying to get your name out there, make sure that you’re creating an inviting experience for any potential followers! this includes:

a memorable url! be creative!

have some fun designing your blog’s aesthetic! (i love cute blogs because it reflects a bit of the writer’s personality), and (i prefer blogs with white backgrounds because it’s easier to look through/read, say, in contrast to a pitch black one where the words need to be white!)

put your masterlist link in your bio (even better if you can link most recent fic! found this most helpful when i revisit authors that i like and can easily see if they’ve updated or not)

an organized and easy-to-navigate masterlist (personally, i prefer masterlists organized by band, instead of types of fics ie. i hate when i have to choose between drabbles, oneshots, and series masterlists; i really prefer to see them altogether!) --> see section 3

organized tags (if you’re going to be posting a lot of non-fic-related content like pictures or videos, tag them properly so followers can sort through and find your fics easily!), or (if you’re going to be writing in different mediums like drabbles, or answering asks, make sure to use a unified #mine or #writing or #fics to centralize your content)

2. get your name out there!

write write write! once you have some fics that show your talent, don’t be shy!

join writing groups: when i first started out, I joined a bunch of groups that would reblog my fics in the midst of the content of much bigger writers; these blogs developed a following, and as a result of my content mixing in with bigger blogs’ content, so did my own tumblr! there’s been a stigma recently with these groups, but im sure you can find one thats supportive and not clique-y!

send your fics to rec pages: what’s the harm? the only bad thing that can happen is that they ignore you! who cares! get out there!

if you can do the above, i really encourage you to ask your fave writers for advice/to read your fic: again, the worst that can happen is that they say no or don’t respond or don’t have enough time, but it’ll be a good opportunity to get some feedback! i for one read (or try to read) every single rec that falls into my inbox. if i like it, i’ll #rec it, and if i don’t, unless the writer asks me for feedback, i move on!!

utilize your tags!!: i’m not entirely sure if this is still the same or not, but from my memory, it’s the first 3-5 tags that matter the most? so utilize them well; push back the tags that aren’t really relevant (ie. #writing, #fics) and push more the main subject line of what you wrote (ie. jungkook fluff, bts smut, namjoon angst). these will populate your fics into the tags better!

headers!: when i’m scrolling through an infinite page of fics, the headers catch my eye the most; try being creative! you can find a lot of info out there on how to make ur headers super aesthetic, but i can share my tips too! --> see section 3

3. your masterlist

here are some practical tips!

organize by band, not type of fic/member/centralize your masterlist: i went onto a blog recently and clicked their bio mlist link to find a page full of 20~ish “JUNGKOOK MASTERLIST”/ “JAEHYUN MASTERLIST” and when i clicked on each one, they only had like 2 or 3 fics per member. i think it would’ve been better if she’d centralized all her fics! that keeps whoever is looking interested and more likely to click on another fic while browsing

add info about the fics!: when scrolling through a masterlist, it’s easy to get lost; try to add some snippets of info (ie. a short sentence you liked from the fic, a quick summary, a description of the au/scenario, or even a header!) this all gives some info about the fics you have tagged!

headers: this isn’t a requirement, but i personally love a good header on fics i read and i love making them myself as i finish up a fic and get ready to upload it; here are free sources: unsplash for HQ stock pics, crop/edit/filter in VSCO, and then add aesthetic script with fontcandy)

try to fill it up!: after i visit a blog after reading one good fic, i usually browse through their mlist to see if there are any more that i’d be interested in. if there’s a lot to look forward to, i’ll almost always follow; try to write as much as you can in the first few months to try and fill up your mlist and give blog viewers a reason to visit your blog again, follow, or even reblog your content!)

4. try not to reproduce cliche fics:

honestly tumblr’s writing community (and armys) has grown insanely these past few years and, unfortunately, even from my perspective, in the past 3-4 years, all the writers have sort of become blended together in my brain. but, i can say that the ones who consistently stand out are the ones who produce consistent content and think outside of the box!

i tend to gravitate towards fics that have really interesting plotlines (ex. btssavedmylifeblr’s VOID is always a surprise to read because it’s sO unique! i usually don’t read ot7 fics but this one is legit my fave)

I know it’s tempting to try and just write typical smut fics to try and gain some traction, but tumblr is already too overloaded by that kind of content; try to write something that’s special and unique! this will set u apart from the thousands of other writers here --> see next section

5. create unique fics:

this is also personal to my writing style, but i get so bored writing just casual fics about the members, and it affects the fics i choose to read too; i prefer unique fics which you can achieve through:

circumstance/au: create a fun au!; don’t just create an arranged marriage, create an arranged marriage in joseon dynasty, or between a werewolf and a hunter! (shameless self plug); don’t just give me friends to lovers, but give me spiderman!jungkook friends to lovers! (ie. cupofteaguk’s exchanges)

jobs: give them out-of-the-ordinary jobs; don’t just give me enemies to lovers, but give me rival!anchors who end up loving eachother! (ie. jimlingss The Newscasters)

fun dialogue: create good back-and-forth, (something i’m still working on!)! this will help your characters develop personality, and that way, readers will start to develop that themselves as well (ie. dad!yoongi from insemination wars by prolixitae is such a specific character that i love so much!, or obiwrites’ garden characters were so memorable!)

create memorable personalities: don’t give me a flat character, try to develop 4d personalities in all of your characters! (im still working on this too!) this way you can really make an impression on your followers! a great way to practice/recognize this is: “Ask my Character.” Can your followers ask a specific character a specific question, and would you be able to deliver an answer that is very specific to that character’s tone/voice/personality? If yes, then ur doing well! If not, try to think of ways that you can make tht specific character from a specific story, really unique and separate from your other characters.

6. some practical writing tips

be yourself, write for your own pleasure, blah blah blah; yeah you know already haha but here are a few more practical tips!

grammar check: if you can, try and hone your grammar! makes for an easier read

write like you: i personally LOVE this by obiwrites, but even the way she writes exudes her personality and is so specific; try not to be caught up in adding hundreds of synonyms and exquisite language; in fact, simpling it down and being more concise and honest with your writing is better than a superfluous sentence; this will also give ur characters so much more dimension and funk

use those commas/sentence variation: try to use more commas; this will feel like you’re the narrator to your own story; it also makes it more fluid to read in my opinion, over those short. clipped. sentences. (ie. “he came over, sitting down on the corner of your bed with an expression you’d never seen before” over “he walked over. he sat down, looking sad.”)

half-half dialogue/narration: a fic with too much dialogue can get confusing, and a fic with too much narration can get dry; try to balance them out, and weave in and out of each!

quality over quantity: don’t feel burdened to write a 30k word fic. in fact, i think some of the shorter fics (ie. any of versigny’s stuff) made a bigger impression on me over the longer fics because they were short, left me wanting more, and were just so high-quality in such small quantities. try out your hand at drabbles and one-shots, and don’t feel too burdened to try and develop a series right off the bat!

abandon pigeon-holes: i’m guilty of this; i start series and then end up with no vision for the stories and they end up giving me writers block. its okay. just stop or discontinue them or leave them on a hiatus; it’s okay. your priority is yourself, and if abandoning certain works are part of that, then go ahead. it’ll help you progress more.

and finally.......

i’ll add more as they come up! but if you liked this, then pls lmk! i’d love to give more tips and tricks; i think i started this blog 3-4 years ago when there weren’t as many writers here, but im glad you’re thinking of starting out/wanting to grow more! don’t feel intimidated! it’s not all about the notes/followers but creating a blog you’re proud of.

so write what you’re proud of, or interested in, and keep going. i truly thoroughly had so much fun writing this post. if there are any writers who read through this and have some more advice, pls msg me!

all the best to you!

#writing tips #story talk #if ur a writer pls lmk if theres anything u wanna add #if ur a reader then pls lmk any questions or comments!

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traincat · 4 years

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Hi traincat! Hope you're doing well. I figured since you have an extensive knowledge on all things Spider-Man, you would know your way around his rogues! I wanted to ask if you have a favorite or one that you find most compelling and why. Thanks a million!

I think my answers for which rogues are my favorites and which I find most compelling and which are widely viewed as the best and why are all pretty wildly different. I do think the popular assessment that Spider-Man has one of the best rogues galleries in Marvel canon is true. Like, I think the absolute best Spider-Main villain story -- the one that gives you the best sense of the villain as a character and also the one that works best at uniting villain and is Kraven’s Last Hunt, which is just incredible on every level. (Content warning for suicide.)

(Web of Spider-Man #32) Also, like, in terms of design, Kraven is great. Love a big Russian game hunter perpetually bare chested and wearing leopard print cropped leggings. That’s not something you get sick of. Only Kraven Sr. for me, though -- I’m less fond of his son, although I think the whole family affairs in Grim Hunt and Scarlet Spider v2 are pretty fun.

On the other hand, though, I think that some of the biggest villains in Spider-Man’s gallery, namely Norman Osborn and Doc Ock, are overused, although I know why they’re overused and it’s because they’re really good villains. (But also you can only make people pay for the same story so many times with only minor variations before it starts to get old.) I think Norman and Peter are pretty perfect opposites, whereas Otto and Peter are mirror images -- although I think generally Norman stories pull off that opposite nature better than Otto stories reveal him as a mirrored image of Peter.

I think it’s interesting that Otto is kind of the first “big” villain Peter encounters -- he makes his debut in ASM #3, so there are villains that come before him, but they’re like, the Vulture and the Chameleon. And there are great Vulture stories -- love that flying octogenarian -- but like, I would not put the Vulture in the absolute top tier Spider-Man villains. And the Chameleon is a freak.

Same, girl. (Web of Spider-Man #65)

More villain talk beneath the cut.

By comparison, Otto is the first villain to actually serve Peter a real defeat, the first one to humble him. So I think it’s interesting that they come from very similar backgrounds -- both geniuses, both lonely as children, both people who were in danger of becoming very solitary, isolated adults, which Otto did and which Peter did not. They had a mother figure who verged on at times or was actually smothering in her affections, and a salt of the earth type father figure. And Otto gains his powers after suffering an accident with radiation much the same way Peter does. It’s one of the things that disappoints me about Superior Spider-Man, because I don’t think it plays into the idea of Otto and Peter as mirrored images of each other nearly as much as it could have. Even Otto’s Parker Industries originally showed up in a “bad” version of Peter’s life, where he never got bit by the spider and instead becomes a CEO:

(Sensational Spider-Man #41) “You prove yourself to everyone -- except yourself.” Which is what Otto is continually trying to do, and which is what he always falls short of. So it’s interesting that there’s kind of all this set up here and that the actual comics sort of continually fall short of it.

Green Goblin stories live up to their rep a little better, in my opinion, and they’re better at playing into those parallels. Norman and Peter are both self-made men, but Norman is rich and Peter is not. Peter accepts responsibility and fault; Norman does not. Norman’s life is devoid of women, while Peter’s is full of it. If Norman and Peter are both studies in masculinity, then Norman’s is toxic and Peter’s is not. Peter is capable of growth; Norman is entrenched in this role he’s made for himself -- he is not capable of sustained growth beyond the role he’s made for himself. There’s a reason I think Norman gets used so much and it’s because it’s a heady dynamic to kind of play into -- especially when you go with the relatively more recent angle of things where Norman kind of views Peter as the perfect heir, worthy where Harry is not. Honestly, it’s a good time whenever you’re involving Harry in the mix at all, as someone caught between these two very powerful figures and how the tug-of-war there for ownership of him is just completely soul destroying.

(Spectacular Spider-Man #180)

But I do think Norman is overused, and it’s gotten a point where in Amazing Spider-Man #800 it was like -- oh, what, he’s going to kill Flash? He’s going to kill someone else Peter loves? He’s killed like half the main-main cast at this point. He’s behind the murder of Peter and Mary Jane’s baby, he’s responsible for Ben Reilly’s death, he killed Gwen Stacy, Harry’s death goes directly back to him, he’s kidnapped May and Mary Jane and Flash and blah blah blah it’s JUST TOO MUCH. It can’t always be this one guy! You can’t just bring him back every 50 issues like “this time Norman Osborn’s gone too far” when he went too far in the ‘70s. Everything since then has just been trying to recapture the moment he threw Gwen Stacy off the bridge. It’s exhausting. I’m begging Spider-Man, as it starts hyping up yet another Norman story for ASM #850, to do something new.

In comparison to Norman, I think Harry’s run as the Green Goblin is fairly flawlessly executed as far as villain stories go, especially in its final hour. Spectacular Spider-Man #200 is really one of my favorite single issues of all time. Harry has the pathos that Norman really never does -- you can feel for Harry in a way that you can’t feel for Norman. And it’s because Harry loves Peter -- really, truly loves him -- that his acts of villainy take on that special edge of cruelty. It doesn’t just hurt Peter that these things are being done; it hurts Peter that these are being done and that it’s Harry doing them and that, in a lot of ways, they both blame Peter for why Harry is doing them, even if at the end of the day it’s in no way Peter’s fault. And then there’s the utterly perfect moment as Harry dies in Spectacular Spider-Man #200, that his act of triumph is that he can’t bring himself to kill Peter, because he loves him too much. It’s perfect. I live in fear they’re going to make Harry a villain again and try to replicate it only to fall painfully short.

I think the Jackal is actually underutilized because he is in my honest opinion the scariest Spider-Man villain, or at the very least the creepiest. Where Norman can only dream of remaking Spider-Man in his own image, the Jackal actually does that with Ben Reilly -- and, to a lesser extent, with Kaine, his first damaged clone. He’s a good lurker, too, less show-y than either Otto or Norman. He lurked in the background for a while. And in a series where I think you can pick a lot of the villains apart as men who take advantage of their power, having the Jackal be a college professor whose villainous career stems from his obsession with one of his students fits right in. And he’s just creepy. He’s upsetting! The things he does to the clones -- both the Peter and Gwen clones, although I think the comics are not so great at letting the Gwen clones shine as individual characters, which is something I wish someone would actually do something about -- are very upsetting, especially since you can extrapolate from a lot of Kaine’s stories and the things we know bother him and how he’s consistently paralleled against Janine Godbe, that both Kaine and the Gwen clones were sexually abused by the Jackal. (Spider-Man’s not typically shy about examining darker subjects, and while we can only extrapolate from canon with Kaine, it’s extremely there on the surface with the Gwen clones. I mean, he married one.) And honestly, the villain who’s whole schtick is cloning makes more sense as someone who can repeatedly come back from anything than Norman’s deal of Corrupt Businessman Surprisingly Hard To Kill. I’ve said before that Peter appears to have a bit of a loophole in his personal moral code when it comes to violence that either has no consequences or lessened consequences, like when he cuts loose against Wolverine, someone who has a healing factor, or when he buried the Juggernaut, supposedly indestructible, in concrete. The Jackal as someone who could and has clone himself repeatedly opens up similar doorways -- what’s to stop Peter from cutting loose if the Jackal isn’t confined to this one body? There’s a lot to play with there and a lot more interesting spaces to go than, say, having to invent increasingly poor excuses for why Peter hasn’t taken more permanent action with Norman if Norman is always going to return to do harm to someone beloved to Peter.

Finally, I’m in a weird spot with personal favorite villains because honestly my instinct is to say the Lizard. And that’s an issue because of one fairly recent storyline and everything that’s spun out from it: Shed (Amazing Spider-Man #630-633), the storyline where Curt Connors loses all control over the Lizard, kills, and partially devours his son Billy. Like, I LIKE grim dark Spider-Man comics, and Shed is honestly too much for me -- not because of the Lizard’s actions, but because in the story Peter fails to save Billy. And I say not because of the Lizard’s actions because I think, as fun as a giant lizard man in purple pants and a lab coat can be, I think Curt Connors makes for one hell of a supervillain metaphor for domestic violence.

(ASM #365)

(Spectacular Spider-Man v2 #13) And it’s very compelling. There’s a lot of things to explore down that alley. But once you actually go as far as having the Lizard kill his son, you can’t take that back. And the problem is, that’s what Spider-Man comics have tried to do post-Shed. It feels weird and deeply out of character to have writers assume that Peter could forgive the murder of any child, let alone a child he knew, and have him continue his relationship with Curt Connors. It’s a weird message to go “yeah, he ate his kid, but he wasn’t in control, and he made up for it via cloning, so we’re all good now.” Like imagine trying to spin that in any horror movie. It doesn’t work -- that your villain kills his kid and then clones him and pretends everything is okay now would be the plot of the horror movie. Spider-Man is a series fundamentally built on the fact that actions have consequences, and sometimes those consequences are utterly unfixable. Peter can’t go back and intercept the burglar to prevent Uncle Ben’s death. He can’t clone Uncle Ben and wipe that incident out of history. So to have a story like Shed in continuity as something that doesn’t alter Peter’s perception of Curt Connors forever doesn’t work.

Anyway that’s why my favorite villain is the Shocker. Love that quilted bastard.

#traincat talks comics #*replies #long post/

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firsthopemedia · 3 years

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Lessons in literacy: How to raise a reader FIRST HOPE MEDIA https://firsthope.media You want to raise a reader. That much you know. But how? That's the $20,000 question. You could probably spend that $20,000 on how-to books for you, readers for your child, flash cards and other accessories, and specialized reading programs promoting every possible avenue to full literacy. You could, but you don't have to do all that. The facts are simple. Between 80-85 percent of children learn to read by the middle of first grade and most of those children will learn without the benefit of fancy reading programs and books. Many of those children will learn to read as the result of simple preliteracy activities they encountered at home and/or school. In fact, studies show that starting early is not necessary and could do more harm than good. Formal reading instruction, especially if introduced too early and if focused on "skill and drill," can actually interfere with emergent literacy. However there are things you can do before you get to that point--and these activities are fun and can lay a strong early literacy foundation to make it easier for your child to learn to read later on. As a basic foundation for learning to read and write, kids need strong speaking and listening skills. When you and other adults around your kids encourage them to talk, ask questions, and use dramatic play, it increases their vocabulary, allows them to hear and practice building sentences, and gives them more knowledge to understand spoken and written language. Simply reading, talking, and listening to a young child in a warm and positive environment at every opportunity are among the most important things you can do. There are three skill areas that form the foundation for reading. Kids who develop strong skills in these areas have greater success learning to read: Print Knowledge, Literacy Awareness, and Language Understanding. Print knowledge is simply the understanding that print (letters, words, symbols, and printed media such as books and signs) carries a message. This encompasses learning that people read text rather than pictures and the correct way to read a book or page (right side up, left to right, top to bottom). Literacy awareness encompasses a child's first efforts to use print in a meaningful way. This includes recognizing letters and groupings of letters (the child recognizes his or her name or the name of a store) and attempts to write letters and words such as his or her name. Language understanding is just that-understanding how language works. This includes being able to sound out individual letters in a word and counting the words in a spoken sentence. Children develop these skills by having many early experiences with language, books, and print. They can have these experiences as part of everyday life, through play, conversation, and a wide range of activities. Young children use play and talk as a way to expand, explore, and make sense of their world. When kids talk about daily tasks and special events, tell stories, sing songs, and scribble, they are laying the groundwork for reading and writing. The primary reason many children struggle with learning to read is because they simply do not have enough experiences with language, books, and print. They need more time at home and in their early childhood programs devoted to helping them develop the skills that lead to reading. A lack of developmentally appropriate skill-building at an early age can significantly limit the reading and writing level a child attains. Becoming literate Becoming a literate person is something that every human begins almost from birth. In essence, we are actually programmed to become literate. However, that does not mean the path to literacy is smooth and easy. While the progression to literacy is a natural evolution we are all programmed to follow, literacy does not occur in a vacuum. Literacy emerges in individuals only when they are immersed in a community of literacy. Interactions such as sharing a picture book, telling a story, and talking about experiences are central to emergent literacy. Most parents are aware of the importance of reading to their child, but it is so important that it cannot be emphasized enough. According to the Partnership for Reading, a project administered by the National Institute for Literacy, "Reading aloud to children has been called the single most important activity for building the knowledge required for success in reading." Typically, parents play an important role in developing this skill by reading to children and showing how important reading is to their daily life. Find time to read aloud with your child every day. Lap time with picture books and stories can strongly motivate your child to enjoy reading. Studies focusing on parents of successful readers found that they do more than simply read to their children. They also engage in specific strategies, which maximize the reading experience. These strategies are actually fairly simple: talk about the book with your child before reading it; read aloud using an enthusiastic voice; and let your child ask questions about the book. Parents can also encourage their child to "read" the story back to them (especially if it is a favorite that has been read many times to the child) and/or share fun variations of the story. However, while this is significant, this is not the only way your child learns. Knowledge is constructed as a result of dynamic interactions between the individual and the physical and social environments. In a sense the child discovers knowledge through active experimentation. Try to make books available for your child to explore and enjoy on their own as well as with you. It is important to remember that literacy is much broader than simply reading. Allowing a child to draw or color and playing word games and singing songs are also a part of literacy. Sometimes literacy development does not actually involve print. There are many ways of learning to read and write. Some of these ways may look suspiciously like play which makes them all the more effective. Children learn through play. Play provides opportunities for exploration, experimentation, and manipulation that are essential for constructing knowledge and contributes to the development of representational thought. During play, children examine and refine their learning in light of the feedback they receive from the environment and other people. It is through play that children develop their imaginations and creativity. During the primary grades, children's play becomes more rule-oriented and promotes the development of autonomy and cooperation which contributes to social, emotional, and intellectual development. Make-believe among peers also plays an important role in emergent literacy. Pretending is, in fact, an ideal area in which children can develop literacy-related language skills. In pretend play, children use language to create imaginary worlds; and the manner in which language is used when pretending has much in common with reading. It is important to provide children time and settings in which they can use language with each other in a variety of social dramatic play activities. Block play, too, can serve as a foundation for literacy. While reading and writing and playing with blocks seem miles apart at first glance, block play offers the literacy-related benefits of helping children understand symbolization, refine visual discrimination, develop fine-motor coordination, and practice oral language. So remember, your goal is not to teach your child to read so much as it is to help them become literate. Immerse your child in literacy by talking, reading, singing, pretending, and playing and you will have done a great deal to prepare your child to become a reader. ing

#preschool #earlychildhood #kid #read #alphabet #literacy #book #kindergarten #parent #reading #writing #rhyme

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

Text

Inspired by the character Margarita Blankenheim from Evillious Chronicles (Link to Margarita’s Evillious Chronicles wiki page: https://theevilliouschronicles.fandom.com/wiki/Margarita_Blankenheim ) and the song “Gift From the Princess Who Brought Sleep” (Link to the fanmade PV & cover by Mariogagabriel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mo8IHawkHpI ), all by Mothy.

Trigger warnings for self-harm mentions, suicide mentions, and a bat shit crazy psychopathic girl who is the topic of this character description.

Well, I’ve made way more disgusting & hateable characters for my world...I mean, I made a character whose disgusting fetish list is long and as said, disgusting and disturbing. Ah, the smell of my world and its blurry border between NSFW and SFW…

(I think the only reason it's not NSFW is cus there are no explicit scenes of you know what ._.)

“If you truly love me, you wouldn’t have hurt me back then. I’m just returning the favor, you know! Every Black Rose has thorns...but mine are simply sharper, Mama, Papa. Now,

TO HELL WITH YOU SCUM!”

-Laila, 1691 T.C. At Age 15

Name: Laila Kerrin Rouziame (Pronounced Lie-la Care-in Ro-zee-ah-meh in case anyone has trouble pronouncing it)

Name Meaning: Laila is an Arabic name meaning “Night Beauty”. Kerrin is an Irish name meaning “Black”. I derived her last name from “Rouzia”, an English name which is a variation of the name “Rose”. All together her name literally means “Night Beauty Black Rose”.

Aliases (If Any): Black Rose (Code Name/Serial Killer Name)

Age: 19 (On Death)

Date of Birth/Birthday: Day 14 of Xomura’s Star, 1676 T.C. (Equivalent of February 14th)

Zodiac: Aquarius

Status: Deceased (Died 1695 T.C.)

Species: Elf

Magic: Unknown (Used A Variety of Different Spells, The Magic She Inherited/Specialized In Is Unknown)

Height: 5’4 Feet (162 Centimeters)

Ethnicity: Vesperian

Relatives: Duke Rouziame (Father)✝

Duchess Rouziame (Mother)✝

Rowen von Hallow (Husband)✝

Veila Miranda Rouziame (Daughter)✝

Various Descendants

Birth Place: Merdanburg, Rouziame Territory, Vesper Empire

Nationality/Current Residence: Merdanburg, Rouziame Territory, Vesper Empire

Religion (Which Goddess Do They Worship?): Kaya (Claims)

None

Occupation: Duchess of House Rouziame

The Infamous Serial Killer “Black Rose”

Founder of The Criminal Organization “Midnight Rosaria”

Affiliations: Midnight Rosaria

House Rouziame

Vesper Empire

Personality: Self-Destructive, Just Plain Old Crazy, Psychopathic, Masochistic, Sadistic, Comes Off As “Sweet” And “Kind”, But Eerily “Sweet” and “Kind”, Like You Can Just Feel Something Is Off, But She’s A Master Manipulator, So You Wouldn’t Realize Till She Stabs You Senseless

Marital Status: Married (Formerly)

Widow [By Choice]

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Likes: Roses, Pain (No Seriously, I Put Her As Masochist In Her Personality Thing For A Reason), Flowers

Dislikes: People Pitying Her, People Treating Her As if She Were A Sweet Innocent Thing To Be Protected From The Cruel World, The Abuse Her Parents Did To Her, The Scent of Smoke, Smoke In General

Role: Background Character

Potential Post-Ever Changing Fate 1 Side Story Main Character (Undecided Though)

Debut: Undecided

Random Facts:

Laila is a genuine actual psychopath. She’s not meant to be a character you can justify at all or chalk up her trauma to be the source of her evil or that she could have been good in an alternate timeline if she did not go through her trauma. She was, really, seriously, born with a lack of empathy for people and violent tendencies. However, her parents’ abuse towards her is what pushed her over the edge. But she would likely have still gone down the route she goes down in her canon, becoming a murderer, as she is likely a character who displays the worst symptoms and tendencies of someone who is a psychopath.

Also before anyone claims she’s a sociopath- she is not, because she was like this from birth. Sociopaths are made- psychopaths are born. Big difference.

She was not born a masochist, however, she slowly morphed into one as the years went on and she searched for relief from the pain her parents caused her, and in a sick way the pain she caused to herself seemed to feel euphoric, and she’s not sure why. It may be due to her suicidal tendencies and contemplation of suicide, or maybe something else.

Laila is not meant to be an accurate representation of most mentally ill people- she’s one of the most extreme cases. And she’s also an actual psychopath, who are unable to be helped at all because their lack of empathy is not like depression or something where they can recover- it’s something physically wrong with her brain; for lack of a better word, she’s broken. And there’s nothing anyone could do to help her. Unfortunately, before anyone realized she was a severe, genuine danger to everyone around her and herself, she had already killed many people and eventually herself.

Laila also has severe depression (which is the main cause of her suicidal tendencies later on and masochistic tendencies) and severe PTSD towards the scent of smoke due to her father’s smoking habits. That’s also why she didn’t just burn all of Merdanburg like many people in Midnight Rosaria wanted her to- her fear of the smoke scent and just smoke, in general, made her unable.

Her exact kill count is 400. 399 if you disinclude herself.

Her masochistic tendencies are not sexual in nature before anyone asks.

Backstory: Laila Kerrin Rouziame was born the only child of Duke and Duchess Rouziame in the capital of Rouziame Territory (A Territory In My World Is A Province, Sort Of), Merdanburg on Day 14 of Xomura’s Star, 1676 T.C. Since birth, Laila had been harshly disciplined by her parents and taught what she should and should not do, in order to morph her into the perfect heiress, it didn’t help that the Vesper Empire was collapsing at the seams and that House Vesper, the ruling house of the empire, had disintegrated due to its main branch ending up at a dead-end when the last empress, Elisabet, died without an heir back in 1566 (110 years ago), and the nobility were all scrambling to become the new ruling house, and as one of the most powerful noble houses, Laila’s parents wanted to be the ones to become the new emperor and empress. And so, Laila was trained in how to be the best leader she could be, and harsh punishment in the form of physical and verbal abuse was executed to her if she did not comply, which she did a lot. Laila had...many violent tendencies, she often for example stabbed her stuffed animals with pencils or pens, or tearing them apart by hand, and sometimes even harming herself. All of this caused her only to be punished more, and many people started to refer to her as a demon child due to her tendencies of violence, and she even once attempted to stab the third son of the current Marquis Mariah at the time. Her lack of conscience and sense of right and wrong made everyone fear that maybe Laila was “possessed” or “cursed”. As Laila grew her tendencies only heightened, but, she learned an important skill from her older cousin, Lettisa (she was also a fellow psychopath), when she was 10- deception.

Laila learned how to pretend to be normal.

And so the random bursts of violence stopped. She put on a mask of perfectness- making herself out to be kind and benevolent when in reality she felt nothing but sick happiness at the thought of the pain she could cause. In private she harmed herself yet again but did so in places where she could easily hide the scars and wounds.

When Laila was 13 the abuse from her parents continued to worsen, and her cousin Lettisa started talking to her about the idea of killing them, confessing that she herself killed her parents because they abused her too. Laila for the next 2 years would seriously consider it because she was tired of the abuse, in her words "They don't accept me for who I am, wanting me to pretend to be someone I am not. If they were gone...maybe...I could be free."

Laila would go through with her meticulously planned for two whole years murder plot against her parents when she was 15, murdering them in an excruciating, painful way which shall not be said because it's way too gory and disturbing.

After that Laila inherited everything from her parents, the estate, the title, the money, everything. Her cousin, Lettisa, chose to move out of her aunt's house to come live with Laila. And there began their creation of an organization, a criminal one, which they planned to name: "Midnight Rosaria".

Laila would be the face of the organization, and Lettisa handled many nitty-gritty details.

Laila's mental health continued to decline in terms of her sanity, and she began desiring to feel the euphoria which bringing pain to others had always brought her. And so, she became a serial killer, not targeting anyone in particular besides people who were friends of her parents, who were rewarded for their bystanding status of just watching Laila get abused by her parents with a painful death.

With the creation of Midnight Rosaria, killings across all of Merdanburg heightened along with the crime rate, Lettisa going around and recruiting people to the organization. Everyone was there for different reasons and different goals, but they all benefited from one thing: the fact that they would help each other. Everyone in the organization usually behind only one member's murder plot or crime. It was very meticulously planned, everything was perfected to the highest degree of perfection. And let me tell you, Laila was not dumb- in fact, she was a genius of her time, likely one of the most brilliant criminals ever. She was just... absolutely insane.

Before Laila even turned 18, she was approached by a suitor named Rowen von Hallow, who claimed to have fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her. She originally rejected him, but Lettisa said that marrying him would greatly increase her power due to him being descended from Alia Hallow, who was a famous hero. So, Laila agreed to marry him. She gave birth to a daughter a year later.

For the next 4 years of her life (counting from when she was 15), Laila murdered over 300 people, using various magic spells and masking her true nature to enact her plots. With all of Midnight Rosaria helping her, at that point, there was nothing anyone could do to stop her, not when she had so much power and influence as Duchess Rouziame and the leader of Midnight Rosaria.

Merdanburg became a ghost town.

Laila's mental health had become extremely unstable. She even murdered her husband during a violent fit and didn't even care afterward.

And so Laila believed the last thing to do was to kill herself.

Everyone urged her not to, including Lettisa, but Laila stated that it was for the best, considering that was what she had wanted her entire life- the ultimate pain- the sweet release of death.

And so she did.

Laila has gone down in history as one of the most brilliant minds to have ever lived, as she did excel in school, but used her brilliance for the wrong reasons. She became known as the "Black Rose" due to her leaving a black rose wherever she made the worst wound on her victims. She's become infamous in history and due to being the creator of Midnight Rosaria along with Lettisa, she influenced the future of crime for centuries.

Lettisa ended up being the new guardian of Laila's daughter Veila, and unfortunately, Veila inherited her mother's psychopathy, becoming an infamous murderer as well.

This is my first time writing a character who was born just purely crazy, did I mess up anything? Idk myself if I did a good job or what. ;-;

She's likely going to be improved in the future as I find out more about psychopathy, but this is her for now. :/

— Submision

Well, I do think it’s important not to call people “crazy”. Doing things of that nature can harm anyone with mental illness. Mental illness are not excuses for your actions. There’s definitely people in this world that are cruel but they are simply cruel for their own reasons, they weren’t being forced into doing anything, they choose to do what they do. Framing certain illness in a bad light makes for a bad stigma for people who experience pyschosis, hallucinations, and more. It isn’t “scary” to be “different.”

But, it is a shame that people hurt others for things out of their control, like what they struggle with mentally or physically. Genetics can put you at risk for certain things, like anxiety, but that doesn’t mean that would make you your parent, or what they struggled with. Now, you could be disillusioned with reality and she could possibly have been taught things as a child that helped shape her view of others, and that’s how the daughter lashes out at others, but I wouldn’t say that she “got it from her mother” as in, mental illness.

It’s just important to be careful about how you write characters like that because there is so much bad media out there that does more harm then good. Even if she’s one of the extreme cases that is an outlier, it’s important to be wary of what it can do to other people.

I do find the concept rather interesting, though. It has potential if you continue to work on it and remedy things that may hurt others.

#tw self harm #tw suicide ment #ask #oc #mod kait #littleghostlyrose #submission

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the-other-art-blog · 3 years

Link

Fanfiction link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13777126/1/Serendipity

The discovery of something beautiful without even looking for it.

Youngest CEO Laurie Laurence has been going all over the best galleries on the East Coast, only to find the perfect pieces in a modest gallery in South Boston...and something more.

For @peebleoddle

Boston, Massachusetts

“Sir, we’re here,” the chauffeur announced.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Laurie said. He quickly checked his hair on the rear-view mirror and stepped out of the car. He greeted the door attendant politely and went straight to the elevator. His apartment was the penthouse, of course, so it took a while. He checked his messages.

His art consultant was already waiting for him. Laurie had been trying to acquire new pieces for his collection, but everything felt variations of the same. The more contemporary art he saw, the more he hated it. He grew up in his grandfather's house, where it was full of antiquities and traditional art, but that was obsolete now, at least for the Bostonian high society. He didn't want to hang a Rembrandt either, but something in between would be nice

“Taylor!” He called the man waiting in his minimalist living room.

“Laurie,” The other man, not older than him, walked to him, hugged him, and tapped his back twice as men do.

“Please, tell me you find something,” Laurie pleaded.

“Actually, I think I did,” he answered, showing Laurie pictures of the paintings he just visited. Laurie sat next to him on the sofa. He grabbed the photos and studied them. This is it. These are the paintings he had been looking for. They were perfect, just the right combination of tradition and modernity. They were full of movement, color, and… sensuality. Nevertheless, what attracted him the most was the theme. Most of the paintings represented musicians and dancers. Although there were also couples and very intimate scenes, family scenes.

“Where did you find these?”

“A gallery in South Boston. You told me to look everywhere and here it is.”

“This is great.”

“I agree.”

“So how many of these can we buy?”

****************

“He bought them all?! No way.”

“Just finished talking to him. He’s going to send someone to pick them up.”

“I... I can’t believe it. Who was it?”

“His art consultant is the one who closed the deal, but let’s see… Theodore Laurence...” Sam looked at Amy who was thoughtful. “Do you know him?”

“Oh my God, yes. We went to school together. His grandfather owned this huge company...”

“That he now owns,” Sam said as she looked at the computer and Amy went to see the screen too.

“Yep, that’s him.”

A few years ago...

“ Everyone ready!?” Professor Brown hurried up the students. “Amy!”

“Everything looks good,” sixteen-year-old Amy came up to his side holding a thick file. “The costumes fit, the setting is working. We’re ready for the costume rehearsal.”

“Great. Let’s do it.” With that said, Amy and the professor/director sat in the middle of the seats expecting to be pleasantly surprised. Instead, their faces reflected complete disappointment. To be fair, most of the cast was doing a pretty decent job. The problem lied in the male lead. Damn it, Amy thought.

Laurie finished preparing his drink while he waited for his new collection to arrive. He wanted to put one of them in his apartment.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to the employees bringing the oils.

“Laurie,” Taylor entered behind them. “There’s someone here who wants to know you, actually she says she already knows you.”

“Hi, Laurie.” Amy entered the apartment. Taylor made a sign and went to follow the employees, leaving the two of them alone. “I'm sorry, I practically ambushed your friend... You probably don’t remember me.”

“Ummm… no. Of course, I do. Amy March, St. Claire High School.”

“That’s right.”

“What brings you here?”

“Well, seeing as you bought all of my paintings. I thought I could thank you in person.”

“You… you painted that… Amelia C.M.”

“That’s me.”

“Wow. I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots before.”

“It’s alright.”

“Come, let me offer you a drink.”

“I can’t believe it!” Amy rushed backstage. “Ah, Theodore Laurence. Just the man I was looking for. Seriously?” She asked, seeing as he flirted with a junior. The girl left.

“I go by Laurie.”

“Whatever. What the fuck is wrong with you! You haven’t memorized your lines!”

“Relax, I will get them,” he dismissed her.

“When? You should know them already? The play is in a week!” he shrugged. “I mean it, Laurie!”

“Alright,”

“This might be a simple thing for you, but to a lot of us, this is important. And you’re the male lead!”

“Jesus, you’re so uptight,”

“Why did you audition if you weren’t going to do it right?”

“I need the credits, okay! I’m a senior!” He admitted, visibly ashamed. “Director Harrison says that if I don't get them, I won't graduate next summer. My grandfather would kill me. I've already been accepted at Harvard.” Amy rolled her eyes. It didn't impress her at all. Everyone knew rich boys like Laurie were always accepted, they just have to show their last names and it was done.

“So, you’ve done well… this place is fantastic.”

“Thanks. I… actually have to thank you for part of it...”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, remember when you helped me with the play. You really made me think a lot about my life choices… It took me a while to realize that you were right. I was a low-life and a...”

“Man-whore?!” Laurie exclaimed.

“You heard me,” sophomore Amy stuck to her words.

“Wait, does everyone describe me like that?”

“Uhh… some would be nicer, and there are some girls really upset with you, but overall… that’s the main idea. You’ve built quite the reputation.”

“Huh,” Laurie said. He expected to be called a flirt, lady’s man, womanizer, but man-whore! That was harsh, even for him.

“Look, whatever you do with your free time and your… body, is your business. I mean seducing women, drinking, and wasting money wouldn’t be my first choice, but… it’s your life.”

“Uh, excuse me? I might not belong to your class, but some from mine do talk about you.”

“It’s not the same and you know it. I have dates, real relationships."

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because you have everything! Laurie, you have more money than I could ever think of, you are such a talented pianist. Honestly, if you're doing this for credits, I think it’s a shame the orchestra wasn’t enough. And...and that face. We could have used that for the drawing class,” they both blushed. “My point is you have everything right in front of you, from the moment you were born. The least you could do is take advantage of it. Not everyone is as fortunate as you are.”

“Please, doesn’t St. Claire cost a lot? Your family is able to pay for that, you can’t be that poor.”

“I have a scholarship and an aunt. She likes me and she’s willing to pay my tuition.”

“Shouldn’t your sister, one of them, be in my grade?”

“Jo. She’s in public school. She likes it better and she hates Aunt March. Meg is already planning her wedding and Beth prefers being homeschooled. We all are where we want to be.”

“Sounds good. You think I’m a talented pianist?”

“Please, you know you are. Not the best, but you hold second place firmly.”

“The first place being...”

“My sister Beth. She’s a genius.” She said proudly. “I have to go,” she announced after a message arrived on her phone. “Listen, the story is great. I’m sure if you give it a try, you’ll find it charming and the lines shouldn’t be that hard. You still have a week, make the best out of it. Professor Brown won’t give you the credits if he thinks you didn’t work hard enough. He’s already regretting casting you. It’s up to you to change his mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you were right.”

“I know.” There was a silence for a couple of seconds, only them looking at each other. “So, what became of your life after high school.”

“Harvard. International business, internships. Finally, my grandfather trusted me enough to retire and left me the company to run. You?”

“I went to study art in Florence, I came back and started painting. I was able to afford my own gallery a year ago. And you just help me get the milestone of selling all my paintings. So… thank you for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“If I may ask, what made you do this? I mean… I know you're rich but… what made you think you wanted all?”

“I just saw exactly what I’ve been looking for. You have no idea, I send Taylor to look everywhere. I don’t fancy myself as an art expert, but I’m tired of seeing splashes of paint on a canvas. There’s something very special about your paintings. I love music, you remember that. And they just feel warm. This place could use that. And they have soul.”

“Would you like to make my marketing campaign?” she joked, although it wasn’t a bad idea. They shared a laugh.

“So umm… I don’t remember you playing music, you have a lot of it in your pieces.”

“My sister Beth died a few years ago while I was in Europe and I… I think she would like them. It helps me feel like I have her close to me.” She didn’t know why she was being so open to him, but it felt good.

“The best pianist!” He remembered. She smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“You don’t sign as Amy March.”

“This might sound a bit strange, but I'm trying to make a name for myself. My family name is known in Concord and now that Jo is a best seller… I just don’t want everyone to see my painting and say ‘oh that’s Jo March’s sister’. She's in New York but her books are semi-biographical so...”

“I understand. Ever since I step in as CEO, I feel like everyone is comparing me to my grandfather.”

“I love my sister!”

“Yeah so do I, my grandfather I mean.”

“I just don’t want to live under her shadow.”

“Right.” Laurie felt the need to move the conversation. He didn't know what this was, but he liked it. Amy was gorgeous, she definitely aged well. She was already beautiful when they met in high school, but now she carried much maturity and that smile... And if she could create such captivating paintings, then she was more talented than he ever imagined. Back in school, she was always in the art class. He remembered her bossing the props team for the theater class. She had good taste, everything looked good. “I want to put one in the living room. Maybe you can help me decide.”

“Sure.” She followed him. Whatever this was, she definitely didn't want it to end.

#little women #little women 2019 #amy march #Laurie Laurence #amy and laurie #Amy x Laurie #modern au #this was so fun to write #i loved it #if you have more ideas #go ahead and tell me

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nissakii · 3 years

Text

5 sad truths that made Horimiya so relatable [spoilers!]

Horimiya has ended but not the feelings that the winter season left behind for us.

As Horimiya has been a topic lately on our blog with Nissa’s quote analysis and one of my latest breakfast anime reviews, this time we are going to look how the anime actually impacted us.

The anime which did really well and gave us a refreshing and out of the ordinary romance story compared to other series, had a lot more to give than simple romantic relationships and wholesome moments.

Why is Horimiya so relatable?

Why does it differ from other anime in this aspect especially considering relationships and romance?

In today’s blogpost we will cover those questions, with 5 sad truths that made Horimiya so relatable.

Please be aware that this post will contain spoiler, read at your own risk.

1. Hiding a part of yourself

With the first sad truth we shall start and it’s something we also see in the very beginning of the anime, actually it is the whole start of the plot and how it unfolds.

As we see, especially our two main characters have a drastic change in behaviour, in Miyamura’s case even appearance, when they are both alone. None of them want other people to know about their other side.

We see why they do not want that secret to be exposed, with each character having a justified reason.

And not only Hori or Miyamura, also Yoshikawa, Ishikawa, Remi, Sengoku and most other characters in the series are hiding a part of themselves which makes you wonder what would they think if they ever saw this side of me?

In Yoshikawa’s case when she was obviously jealous as Kono made her romantic approach on Ishikawa, realizing most of the things she wants but does not speak out loud are not in her grasp and if she decides that she wants something it is already gone. Not her jealous feelings seem like a different side, since every human has those feelings which are normal if treated in a proper way but also the way Yoshikawa acted out those feelings as she herself mentioned that she was disgusted by herself doing things behind the scenes to avoid that Kono would come closer to Ishikawa, a side that only she knows since she hides those feelings deep inside of her. Nobody would have known that she hid the fact that she wasn’t actually dating Ishikawa or that she purposely said mean things in that sense, since the Yoshikawa everyone knows is energetic and happy-go-lucky.

But it’s not limited to Yoshikawa, beside the main characters we also have Sengoku who is also hiding his cowardly self, scared of most things and not as amazing as he seems to be. A side that only Remi knows and secretly loves about him as she mentioned that he started to change toward the end of the anime but that she loves both the new and old Sengoku, yet he tries to be much more manlier and strong for Remi without Remi asking for it.

The latter also hides many things she could have said to Sengoku, many of her feelings and the way she acts when alone or around Sengoku and Kono, who knew her for a long time now look past her cute and happy act, Remi is a very smart and observant person who is not unaware of the things happening around her it is quite the opposite in fact.

All of those characters have a side they do not want to expose, as it is human nature that we adapt to the environment around us and put on the facade or personality we need to distinguish between work, school, friends, family and more.

The sad reality is that sometimes we even lie to those around us, those who are close and maybe like Remi or Yoshikawa just cannot express the true feelings that we are desperately hiding inside of us waiting for somebody to notice, that is hiding a little part of yourself that nobody shall ever see.

2. The past that haunts

It is nothing new to hear that we should leave the past behind us and just focus on the future ahead, or use the past to learn from it and correct our mistakes to step into a new light.

But that is easier said than done and that very example is represented in two characters especially: Miyamura and Tanihara.

Apart from their connection and the past they

overcame becoming closer, leaving their dispute behind there is still a conflict that each of them are fighting on their own respectively.

Miyamura, whose present self is no longer the same as he was in middle-school, learned how to interact with those around him, considering people as friends and even getting himself a girlfriend who he cherishes dearly as she does the same in return. Still there is never an episode where he doesn’t think back of the past or get anxious about it, even in the opening we see the correlation of Miyamura’s past haunting him until his graduation day of highschool, obstructing him to be truly happy despite the fact he overcame the difficulties and made friends with Tanihara who was one of his problems in middle-school as well.

Nissa wrote a whole analysis on that, if you are interested check it out, I won’t go much deeper into that topic here.

We also have Tanihara who seemed to hate Miyamura, but we also see that he is not just living his life as if nothing happened but still let’s the past replay in his head. He used to bully Miyamura and tried to continue that when he saw him in highschool as he was walking with Hori but due to some events both of them became more involved and started to hang out as friends after talking it out. Tanihara still used to dream about the incident that happened in middle-school and was even frustrated why he was actually bullying Miyamura in the first place as he simply didn’t like him for no apparent reason. He is aware that the things he did to Miyamura were in no way justified and doesn’t know where to start to redeem himself, or how he should apologize to him causing him to have nightmares and being scared to encounter Miyamura in some cases (also due to seeing Hori being a threat he considers both of them dangerous).

In our lives we cannot always do things right, leading us to mistakes towards ourselves but also towards others. Sometimes other people can forgive what we cannot forgive ourselves, as the past is nothing that can be overcome overnight. We struggle with ourselves to become a better person in the future.

But simply letting the past go even when we are now at a better place, Miyamura and Tanihara show us, it’s not that easy to just pretend the past never happened.

3. To be liked is a matter of heart

Another thing that we often experience in our lives is that no matter how good or nice we are, people simply cannot fall in love with us, or like us in a way or another.

Winning someone’s heart can take some time, but in some cases no matter how hard we try it just doesn’t spark or click.

“A matter of heart”, as we can say since some things cannot be solved by logic or forcing kindness on a person.

In Horimiya again this parallel is represented by Kono Sakura, who has a crush on Ishikawa after an encounter.

Kono being a quiet, cute, reserved and responsible person who cares dearly about the people around her is in no way not appealing, on the contrary even Sengoku mentioned that the ones who rejected her was simply dumb/blind to not see the good qualities in her.

But Ishikawa as well who used to like Hori for a very long time was rejected by her not because he was someone bad, but since she was simply not interested in him romantically while as friends she also cherishes him dearly.

As Kono started her pursuit of giving Ishikawa sweets and becoming more bold when it came to her indicating her feelings for him, at the same time Yoshikawa and Ishikawa started to become more aware of their own feelings for each other.

With Kono still being adamant to confess her feelings, being true to herself and make it clear that she likes Ishikawa, Ishikawa himself mentions that she is a nice girl, she is good in baking and more compared to Yoshikawa, but the one he is interested in in the end is Yoshikawa.

Sometimes we cannot help who we love and like, and sometimes even when we dislike someone but cannot grasp why despite trying our best to like them it’s still a matter of heart and feeling who we like.

No matter if one person seems like the better choice in other people’s eyes.

4. Loneliness is a hidden pain

Loneliness is a big topic in Horimiya, even visually we see that feeling being represented with colors and auditory with a representative sound.

A feeling so familiar yet strange, a feeling that every human experienced at least once in their life.

But despite loneliness that can be detected in some cases most of the time people struggle with it deep inside nobody aware of the hidden pain tugging inside.

We get to see a variation of loneliness that the characters carry with them.

Hori being the oldest sibling and with her parents always away due to work, grew up becoming rather independent and relying on herself. When she fell ill for the first time we get to see her vulnerable side as she was struggling with that deep-rooted loneliness since her childhood, when her parents didn’t even give her the special time back then so for her it was common to be alone until Miyamura was there for her and suddenly the loneliness that she subconsciously tried to push away gushed out of her.

With Miyamura we have someone who was lonely from the very start, not in a sense like Hori was since she still had friends who surrounded her but Miyamura didn’t have anyone around. The feeling of loneliness was so familiar to him that he never considered what it would feel like to have many people around before meeting Hori, as Shindou was his only friend in middle-school and they aren’t able to meet that frequently since they attend different highschools. Miyamura struggled with constant loneliness and even deceived himself that it wouldn’t bother him anymore if he was alone or not but in the end all along deep inside he knew that it was.

Additionally we have Kono who hangs out a lot with Remi and Sengoku due to the student council yet feels like she is always left out in a sense, may it be due to them being a couple or just generally when they ask her for advice as she feels like that’s the only thing she is good for.

Speaking of the student council, the former problem with Remi hiding her true feelings, we can see that there is a sense of loneliness as well, as she sees Sengoku slowly changing despite her liking him the way he was even with his little flaws. When she narrates the way they met and that she was fond of him, she doesn’t seem to give off the feeling of a sweet everlasting romance that started from that point, but rather talking nostalgically and with a hint of missing the old Sengoku she fell in love with.

Last but not least we have Honoka who appears to hate Miyamura in the beginning but we get to see that he reminds her of her deceased brother. Coping with the death of her brother who used to get along with her very well, the strong underclassman of Hori and Miyamura is fighting with the loneliness of having lost someone very dear to her as she sees Miyamura every day resembling that very person.

Loneliness cannot be simply defined and is a complex feeling as we can see in those characters that we have a variety of that feeling and most of them represent someone out there who may have experienced the same, making us think which of this loneliness is my own?

5. Communication is hard

With the last and obvious sad truth we see that one of the things we probably do often in our daily lives but still struggle with it the most is communication.

Each human is individual and different, we may share similarities some more than others but in the end we communicate with each. May it be through words, gestures, letters, chats and so on we are always connected in a way.

Still it always happens that no matter how hard we try, there are misunderstandings and we often conclude after a dispute or later on when we re-analyse the problem, there was a lack in communication or miscommunication.

In Horimiya especially in the beginning where Miyamura and Hori start to see each other more often we see from a viewer standpoint that both of them enjoy each other’s presence yet each of them thinks about the possible concerns and outcomes of problems that could occur.

In some cases there are incidents that could have been solved if someone would have just started explaining or maybe the other one trying to resolve the matter by speaking up, but just like in real life we humans tend to make assumptions about what the other person probably could think instead of asking them directly in most cases, or we are afraid to know.

Hori for example thinks it is obvious that she likes to be around Miyamura while Miyamura thinks she is probably pitying him and at some point they won’t meet anymore. That again results in Hori thinking that Miyamura may see her as pushy and therefore she doesn’t want to force him to do things with her in the beginning and Miyamura thinks again she is getting tired of him.

If neither of them would have spoken up this would have continued despite that both of them shared the same thought of wanting to stay with the other person.

We also get to see that with Yoshikawa and Ishikawa.

Even with Yanagi when he confessed to Yoshikawa, if it wasn’t for him clearing the misunderstandings that he caused most of the characters would have had the wrong impression of him and Yoshikawa would have thought he wasn’t serious about the confession he made in the beginning.

Same goes for Remi who tends to say things in a round-about-way, which mostly Kono or Sengoku need to clear up so other people wouldn’t misunderstand her actual good intentions.

Sometimes talking about a matter a bit longer than needed can resolve it than letting it sit in our heads and becoming a far worse misunderstanding. Often we get into disputes, discussions or become angry but in the end the longer we try to get across that what we really mean (if we mean well of course there are always people who mean harm as well), and try to make the other person aware of that what made us act or talk the way we do, the easier it becomes in the future to resolve matters just like Hori and Miyamura became much better in understanding each other towards the end of the series.

What do you think made Horimiya relatable for you?