#“i would feel guilty living in a world that i poisoned” etc etc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shijiujun · 3 years

Text

[END 2020] My Top 9 Danmei Novel Picks of the Year

As a part of my Round Up post for the year, here’s my pick of favourite danmei novels, that I’ve read! This is sort of an accompaniment to my previous danmei rec list over HERE, so there may be one or two overlaps, but I’ve read WAY MORE after that and am prepared to like give more options here

Note: There should be English translations for all via novel updates if you do a search of the English name, but I don’t think most of them are completed.

If you wanna see my full reading and queue list (it’s all in Chinese tho, for my own records), it’s here.

I’m leaving out the usual MXTX and Priest ones, because they’re already good and we all know that and there’re many carrds and posts dedicated to them.

I am also a sucker for fainting but smart men, and not too overly angsty/complicated storylines, just putting it out there first, which is why I haven’t read a lot of some of the ones on my queue list.

-------

1. 一剑霜寒 | A Sword of Frost by 语笑阑珊

Summary: Jing Yan Ran is the Emperor’s brother and wields military power in the novel, and it starts with an object being stolen from the palace. Jing Yan Ran has to retrieve the item secretly, and so enlists the help of Feng Yu Sect’s Sect Master, Yun Yi Feng, who heads the martial arts world’s one and only information trading post. Yun Yi Feng does not deal in business that involves any royalty, but Jing Yan Ran offers him something he cannot refuse - the Blood Red Lingzhi, a rare and mystical herb that is rumoured to be able to treat his life-threatening condition.

Of course, they have to uncover a plot and conspiracy against their enemies who are plotting to dethrone the Emperor, and also reveal the secrets of Yun Yi Feng’s birth.

My Thoughts: AN ABSOLUTE FAVE AND GEM, I’d say this is my favourite danmei novel ever. This is both hilarious and tears-inducing, to be honest, because for most of the novel YYF knows he doesn’t have long to live and so in the beginning he knows of his own feelings for JYR and JYR also shows him that he loves him, but he is unable to officially reciprocate because he knows his body is like weakening day by day. Halfway through the fear that he’s literally about to die as they are JUST about to find the cure is real, and damn I cried so much at that. Some highlights:

YYF falls asleep very easily in baths and everywhere actually, and pretty much within the first 10 chapters he gets used to JYR carrying him around (even naked from the bath, he’s like oh well, okay cool) and taking care of him, and JYR ALWAYS makes sure he is warm and toasty under his cape

YYF LOVESSSS RICHES, PLAYING THE ZITHER AND COOKING - He’s good at gathering the first one, but he FUCKING SUCKS AS THE LAST TWO - It’s so funny because he’s so beautiful and handsome right, and when he sits down at the zither everyone is like OH DAMN WHAT A DREAM- and then he plays, and everyone’s fantasies is shattered, he’s ABYSMAL at it, and the same goes for cooking

JYR doesn’t actually have the Blood Red Lingzhi, and throughout the first arc, he feels SO DAMN GUILTY because YYF even carved out a pendant that looks like what he thinks the herb looks like, and like carries it with him everywhere LMAO

Available: Novel Online and Manhua on Bilibili

2. 高能二维码 | High Energy QR Code by 青色羽翼

Summary: CEO Xing Ye’s brother Xing Shuo has just passed away at the age of 24, and nothing will make him believe that Xing Shuo died of natural causes despite autopsies and experts telling him that he really died simply of a heart failure. Xing Ye, who has impeccable memory, suddenly recalls the last time he saw Xing Shuo. His brother called out to him just before Xing Ye left for a business trip, and looked as if he had something to say, but ended up just wishing him a safe trip.

At that moment, there was a QR code on Xing Shuo’s phone, and the phone screen was strangely turned out towards Xing Ye, and Xing Ye, with his incredibly high IQ and memory, realizes that Xing Shuo wanted him to see the QR code. Quickly, he reproduces the QR code by pen and then scans it, and finds himself in a game world.

There he meets a narcissistic but also cute mirror which can speak, and finds out later that his name is Lu Ming Ze. Xing Ye’s mission is to clear the game missions in each round that is set by the black and white cubic game system, a system that continuously tempts its players into giving in to committing sins such as killing someone else, stealing and other things. He soon realizes that if he cannot stay on a path clear of these sins, he will never be able to triumph over the game system and return Lu Ming Ze back to his body in the real world.

At the same time, he gains new teammates and friends for life, and also finds out what role his brother played in this game.

My Thoughts: MY GOD I LOVE THIS. I LITERALLY JUST FINISHED READING THIS YESTERDAY, and honestly it’s one of my faves. I don’t like game systems very often (I’ve read three others so far, and this, and KOD are the only ones I’ve liked) but this one is *chef’s kiss*. So LMZ was born like with a really handsome face, like SUPER HANDSOME, and that’s why he’s like a harmless narcissist that cannot bear to look at ugly things LMAO, but he’s not spoilt, he makes sure that Xing Ye stays true to himself, and help him keep his head clear.

THE ONLY THING ABOUT THIS FRICKIN NOVEL IS THAT LU MING ZE STAYS A MIRROR, LIKE DIFFERENT KINDS OF MIRRORS, in the first TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY CHAPTERS. I KID YOU NOT. I FRICKIN KID YOU NOT. I swear I was sooo touched starved at the end of the novel, because they couldn’t even kiss?!! Like Xing Ye kisses the mirror, and then uses his thumbs to like hi-five mini LMZ in the mirror back, they can’t even hug. Do you know how empty my arms felt when I read this book?!! And my arms have never been filled!!!!!!

I really like this one because each game world is set up in such a brilliant way, but it’s not so unnecessarily complex that you literally don’t know what the fuck is going on. Xing Ye’s intelligence as he outmanoeuvres every single one of his enemies and convinces his would-be loyal teammates to trust him is so satisfying, world after world, victory after victory.

Humour is also absolutely ON POINT. A lot of it is centred on Xing Ye getting caught in the real world kissing his handheld mirror (LMZ) by LMZ’s parents (who cannot see him in the mirror) and LMZ’s parents going like ???!!!!!!!!

Available: Novel Online | Physical Novel is coming out on 10 Dec (freebies are, you guessed it, a mirror)

3. 妻为上 | The Wife is First by 绿野千鹤

Summary: This is set in a historical setting where men can marry other men, but it’s usually reserved for sons who were not borne by the official main first wife of the patriarch of the family, i.e. a son born by a concubine in a family may be forced to marry a man to keep him from being able to become the next family’s patriarch for example. This is because any family’s next leader needs to be able to have children with a wife who married in as a zheng shi (lawful wife), and not a ce shi (second wife) or any other concubines/mistresses etc. Most of these men who marry other men have to take them as their zheng shi and lawful spouse in a sense, and the same goes for the royal family.

The story starts with third prince Jing Shao, who was forced to marry Mu Han Zhang, a Marquis’ second son, by the Empress and Emperor, thereby officially and effectively cutting him out of the race for the throne. He’s mocked by the public as everyone knows what this means, and for the next 10 years, he neglects Mu Han Zhang, blaming him for his predicament, and deliberately showers his three other concubines with affection in front of him, but 10 years later, when Jing Shao is accused of treason, everyone leaves him except for Mu Han Zhang. They are chased to the edge of the cliff by soldiers, and Mu Han Zhang dies in his arms having taken an arrow meant for him earlier, and Jing Shao jumps off the cliff with his dead body, and promises that if there’s a next life, he will do everything Han Zhang says, and love him.

He wakes up immediately on the night of his marriage with Han Zhang, and realizes that he’s been given a second chance to make everything right. Han Zhang is definitely afraid of him, humiliated and angry when he first wakes up after how rough Jing Shao was with him earlier on their wedding night, and he has no memories of their past life. Jing Shao then sets to SHOWER HAN ZHANG with affection, love and basically everything, because he realized that this is the only person who stayed by his side until the end, and then he falls in love with Han Zhang properly this time, and also deals with every single person who maligned and schemed against him in his previous life, with Han Zhang by his side.

My Thoughts: OKAY BEFORE YALL GO INTO THE ‘WIFE’ terminology discourse and everything, in this case they do use the term ‘wife’ literally, and it’s a position, that while men frequently fall into (there are a lot of male ‘wives’ in this story), is also used to cut off like sons from inheriting the family and the fortune, and even titles. Male ‘wives’ aren’t looked down upon in this setting, in fact, Han Zhang gets a lot of leeway as one, and in his case he was also able to rise up the ranks to be an actual official later on, but the sad thing comes from sons who are most of the time forced to marry a male ‘wife’ for whatever reason, and then they are neglected as the son goes and find concubines, women he actually wants to sleep with - this is sad af yall. I don’t know, on one hand, yay for equality in marriage in this setting, but on the other hand like, damn, must you use same-sex marriage like that argh.

ANYWAY THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVES TOO?!!! I mean, especially when Jing Shao literally just goes into doting mode 200% and Han Zhang is totally like wtf why is he so nice to me is he scheming or something? And then he realizes that Jing Shao is really, really gentle towards him despite his reputation as a cruel, dark military commander, and Jing Shao always smiles at him. In any situation, especially in the beginning, when Han Zhang thought Jing Shao would not stand with him, Jing Shao literally just protects him no matter what, gives him everything, and cries, I love it.

Especially because Han Zhang is the son of a concubine and he was bullied a lot in the Mu family, and the official Lady Mu married him off to Jing Shao in hopes that he would be unhappy for the rest of his life, and I suppose that came true in the first life, but in the second, Han Zhang gets all the love, respect and support he never got before in this family with Jing Shao and that makes me WEEP.

Available: Novel Online and Manhua on Kuaikan

4. 死亡万花筒 Kaleidoscope of Death by 西子绪

OOOH I intro-ed KOD here in my previous rec list. Still one of my faves and all-time re-reads, especially under the covers in the dark hehehe.

5. 你的距离 | Your Distance by 公子优

Summary: Ting Shuang is a student at a German university, and has this handsome professor Bai Chang Yi who he swears kind of hates him. He’s just broken up with his longtime boyfriend, and then goes on this dating app that matches a profile with him based on distance. The app can also show the matched profile’s distance from him once they enter the same area, and Ting Shuang starts chatting with this Chinese guy on the app, who he finds out later, is 36 years old, 187cm in height and wears glasses.

The guy is a little aloof and cool, very mature in his replies on the app, and somehow Bai Chang Yi finds out who he is later, as Ting Shuang starts complaining to him about his professor to Bai Chang Yi. Instead of getting angry and offended, BCY is pretty much amused and finds Ting Shuang cute. A few days later Ting Shuang finally realizes who it is he’s been texting, and after getting past the initial embarrassment and fear, they start dating for real, and they really fall in love!!!!!

My Thoughts: This is sweet and also hilarious af, if you need to like satisfy your sweet tooth, this is definitely one for you. It’s really funny because Bai Chang Yi runs in the same circles as Ting Shuang’s dad, who he’s estranged from because the dad doesn’t want to recognize a son who is gay, and then BCY convinces him later in the funniest of ways, and there’s a small subplot at the end in which Ting Shuang is pretty cool, and yep, short and sweet! BCY in the manhua is handsome af too guys ;-;

Available: Novel Online, Audio Drama on Maoer FM and Manhua on Bilibili,

6. 神木挠不尽 The White Cat’s Divine Scratching Post by 绿野千鹤

Summary: Mo Tian Liao, a weapons forger and master who ruled the Demon Tribe, was hunted down and killed by other righteous sects in the region when he managed to forge an incredibly destructive weapon that could end the world. Before he died, he placed the only thing he loved, a white cat, into a hole in the tree behind him to protect it. The only thing he was grateful for was that he did not create a blood pact with the cat, Xiao Mao, because if he had done so, when he died, Xiao Mao would have died along with him as well.

Right before he dies, unbeknownst to him, Xiao Mao who is no simple demonic cat, wraps part of his consciousness around Mo Tian Liao, and MTL’s spirit ends up floating about for 300 years, until he finds a suitable time to return with a body made out of a special tree and its wood. The first thing he does, of course, is to find his white cat, but he’s poor, and the body he has isn’t powerful, so he joins Wo Yun Sect, the only sect that did not hunt him down that day hundreds of years ago.

There, he is chosen by Qing Tong shizun to be his direct disciple, much to the astonishment of other shizuns in the sect, and Qing Tong’s shixiongs. MTL has never seen a person as beautiful and gorgeous as his shizun, and if only he could find that cat (who’s actually his shizun, who recognizes him and protects him, even if MTL doesn’t actually need much protection).

My Thoughts: This was hilarious as well, and so romantic?!!! Qing Tong/Xiao Mao waited for MTL to come back, and the moment he came back, Qing Tong was there ready to grab him, and then before he went to sleep that night, Qing Tong thought to himself, “I’ve gotten my person back, I can sleep well now” and AHHHHH at this point they weren’t even like a couple yet? MTL ‘kidnapped’ Qing Tong when he was a young demon cat by accident because he likes pretty things (like his shizun lmao) and Qing Tong is attached to him because MTL never forced a blood pact on him, and gave him everything he wanted as a younger cat before MTL died. Gosh, a mirror in #2 and then a cat now with this one. XD

Available: Novel Online

7. 破云 | Breaking the Clouds by 淮上

Summary: Three years ago, Captain Jiang Ting and his team of the Narcotics division perished in an explosion due to a wrong call of his, and he returns three years later under a new identity ready to deal with the people who set him and his team up. He’s caught in what seems to be a simple murder case almost immediately and meets Yan Xie, who’s Vice Captain and in charge of this case. Yan Xie realizes who Jiang Ting is shortly after, and begins to unravel the huge mystery surrounding the events of three years ago, and falls in love with Jiang Ting along the way as well.

My Thoughts: Okay out of the FOUR crime/detective/thriller danmei novels I’ve read, the poyun and tunhai (below) series is the one that MIRRORS actual narcotics division and undercovers the best. It has the complexity and depth of the drugs/narcotics world, and both this one and its sequel focuses a lot on the position of an undercover and mole. I liked this one a lot because there are SOOOO many twists especially in the last arc, like you honestly won’t see any of them coming until it hits you? And Yan Xie is such a confident, rich-ass narcissist, and he keeps asking Jiang Ting if he can “just touch” him ONCE lmao, he’s thick-skinned af, but that’s why he and Jiang Ting are so compatible ;-;.

Available: Novel Online, Novel Print, Audio Drama and Manhua on Bilibili

8. 吞海 | Swallowing the Sea by 淮上

Summary: Sequel to Po Yun. Yu Wu is a young-looking new detective under Captain Bu Chong Hua’s narcotics team. Bu Chong Hua is Yan Xie’s cousin by actual relation, but brother in relationship because BCH’s parents died early and Yan Xie’s parents have been taking care of him mostly. He cannot stand Yu Wu, who seems to want to coast through at work and keep to a 9-5 work schedule.

It’s only after an altercation and Yu Wu dumping his nonchalant facade to snarl at BCH that he realizes that YW is actually more interesting and mysterious than he thought, and he begins to try to get close to him, understand him. It turns out that Yu Wu is a famous undercover who nearly died a year ago during an operation, and due to various reasons, he was assigned to BCH’s team by higher ups so he can peacefully live the rest of his life out there. However, his past catches up with him quickly, and his enemies turning up forces him to rely on BCH.

With BCH, Yu Wu’s resentment of having to be an undercover in the past and being so easily discarded by his team’s leaders, and of him being forced to be in the shadows while others can announce their achievements to the world, is slowly erased, because BCH sees him, knows him, and understands him more than anyone else.

My Thoughts: I actually liked this one better than the first one - Yu Wu is such a pouty, angry little thing?! And for good reason (there’s a bit of cannibalism in the book, not by choice when he was younger and in a poor village in Cambodia, where some militants forced survivors in the village to eat the meat of boiled corpses of other villagers, so YW is a vegetarian, like if he eats meat he gets really sick) and the twists here are even more amazing?! BCH really, really, devotes himself to YW the moment he realizes how much he likes him, doing a 180 degree turn. Instead of Yan Xie’s flamboyance, BCH is much steadier, grouchy, like an old uncle, but also looks at things even more clearly than Yan Xie does sometimes. Yu Wu is understandably bitter about what he had to go through, and BCH is the ONLY person who can calm him down, whom he listens to, which I LOVE. Some highlights:

Yu Wu grew up in a poor village and thus loves money, and he fights in underground betting rings to earn more money - The stash of hidden money he collects I think is half for his escape money, but if he happens to never need it, his dream is to donate the money to his village so they can open up a school there - ANYWAY because Yan Xie’s parents, and technically BCH’s ‘parents’ are soooooo rich right, Yan Xie’s mom shows her approval to her son-in-laws (Jiang Ting first, then Yu Wu), by giving them winter pants. It’s kind of like inside warmers, and usually meant for older ladies to wear LOLOL so Yu Wu was like staring at the pants when he finally got them and looked soooo reluctant until Jiang Ting told him it costs $6,000 AND HE WAS LIKE :333333 okie

He acts a lot like a kid?!! He likes eating like some snack but it’s really unhealthy for him, and BCH the mother hen keeps catching him in weird places like the toilet, where he’s hiding from BCH so he can eat his fave snack?! And the whole police station knows not to give YW what he wants in terms of snacks and smokes because once BCH finds out, he makes life very difficult for them HAHAHAHA

9. 穿成反派如何活命 | How to Survive as A Villain by 伊依以翼

Summary: Rich and handsome CEO Xiao Yu An finds out he has a terminal illness (cancer), and dies while he’s reading this online novel, where a king mistreats the crown prince from a neighbouring state which sent him over as hostage after losing a war, and ends up being killed by the crown prince years later (SVSSS much?!). He wakes up AS THE KING, and afraid of dying, he immediately goes about befriending the prince, Yan He Qing. Yan He Qing falls in love with Xiao Yu An while being his friend/hostage/bodyguard, and Xiao Yu An tries to avoid all the deaths he read in the book, while making sure Yan He Qing manages to find his three/four wives, including Xiao Yu An’s sister.

Of course, because Xiao Yu An showed him warmth and kindness, Yan He Qing ends up falling for him instead, and Xiao Yu An is an absolute oblivious idiot because he REALLY doesn’t realize until much later. Yan He Qing ends up declaring war on Xiao Yu An’s kingdom because he is duty bound to do so, but doesn’t hurt Xiao Yu An, wanting to keep him by his side, but YHQ’s scheming uncle drives a wedge between them, and XYA leaves, breaking YHQ’s heart.

They meet again a few years later, where XYA is training to be a physician in a small village and chances upon a severely injured YHQ. There, he realizes that it was all a misunderstanding, and that YHQ actually LIKES, LIKES him, but before they can enjoy this short period of happiness, disaster strikes again.

My Thoughts: THIS WAS really enjoyable, and with the manhua visuals, it is *chef’s kiss*. I think this transmigration version actually delved into the part where XYA is unable to change everything, and if he saves one person, someone else is destined to die, and that moral dilemma devastates him a lot. In this novel he actually transmigrates TWICE, once into the king’s body, and the second time into a neighbouring state’s prince/king’s body, who looks exactly like his modern self after. YHQ is real sweet to him istg, and I like that the epilogues are SUPER EXTENSIVE, including an arc where YHQ and XYA transmigrate back to the real world and everyone who died is alive and close to them, and gets their happy ending ;-;

Available: Novel Online and Manhua on Bilibili

#danmei rec list #stebeee recs #a sword of frost #your distance #swallowing the sea #breaking the clouds #kaleidoscope of death #High Energy QR Code #How to Survive as A Villain #The White Cat’s Divine Scratching Post

1K notes · View notes

acemapleeh · 2 years

Note

2, 4, 9, 11, 12 for HWS Canada? Your fics are so underratted!

Thank you, that’s sweet of you <3

Link to the ask game here

2. What is their favorite piece of technology?

Honestly, when you live for so many centuries, what do you pick? Space heaters are definitely on the top of the list, instant coffee and electric kettles for an easy, hot drink in the morning, solar panels to heat up isolated ice fishing shacks. It’s all the little things that have added up that’s made life so much easier and warmer. Telephones took a while to get used to, but having his family and friends so easily available is both a blessing and curse. He’s not afraid to shut off his phone and fuck off for a few weeks, but given the fact the people who understand his existence most are typically hundreds of miles away, this makes reaching out for reassurance for his loneliness easier.

4. Was there anything their parents pushed them to do? (e.g. sports, theatre, band)

Matthew had the absolute joy and privilege of having to be raised under Arthur's roof for the majority of the 19th century. He had already mastered his reading, writing, and arithmetic, so now what was left to teach was how to be a proper English gentleman of society. He didn't need to be a scholar and like hell was he going to be sent to Public School or university. Matthew's education focused heavily focused on sportsmanship, etiquette, leadership, and even confidence, so he would have all of the necessary skills to eventually be a legitimate member of society as well as a proper nation (someday). His governess taught him the waltz, conducting himself at dinner parties, poetry, art, music, languages (such as Latin and Greek), and various other subjects (astronomy, history, classical text, geography, etc.). He was expected to be well-rounded.

Arthur took charge of teaching him hands-on, practical skills. Matthew enjoyed learning to shoot long-range, how to sail on Ullswater Lake, and even military strategy was a useful skill. He could care less about playing the violin or the harpsichord, he still doesn't understand how cricket works, and though he isn't terrible on horseback, the English sidestep and other equine traditions boggle his mind. Also, he will appreciate the works of Shakespeare, but please, he's retched on stage.

9. What chronic illnesses does your muse have if any?

Chronic depression, anxiety, vitamin D deficiency, and hockey ankles.

On a serious note, I think I'll answer the other part of this in the next question as they go hand in hand.

11. Does your muse wear glasses/contacts?

He must absolutely wear glasses. I, like many, say that this all started in World War 1 with the Second Battle of Ypres where the Germans first utilized poison gas. Matthew would wake several days later after his death at this battle, screaming in confusion and absolute agony. His wails only stop when his throat no longer lets him, coughing and spitting blood as his chest feels as though it's on fire. He pauses when a hand holds his and he could hear cries that were not his own. Matthew's death was not a kind one. His eyes were bandaged and sewn shut in order to heal properly. For days the world was darkness, he lay only in content because of the constant morphine being put in his veins. He feels guilty as he's told his sight will soon return, that he was healing well. Too many of his men, some not even old enough to even lie about being a man, were dead.

He could hardly recognize his reflection when he finally has the chance. His eyes aren't focusing, he scolds himself. There were still bandages, his skin blistered and burned from his face to his hands. Deep breaths hurt, sitting up hurts but it won't be until autumn evenings will the true damage his lungs received will come to light. He pants while continuing to march forward, clouds of cold breath painful, he places a hand against a tree, winded.

Things get better with time but his sight is never what it used to be, glasses a must whenever he leaves the house. His lungs are irritated in the cold. He hates that those deep breaths of frigid air that should bring him nothing but comfort now trigger coughing fits and moments of weakness.

12. What are some warning signs that your muse is getting depressed?

It's something that's definitely easier to notice in modern times. Having a case of the morbs back in the day was him wallowing in the halls and staying in bed past ten in the morning like a dysfunctional member of society. He would lounge in the fake graveyard his father staged, reading morbid books and poems while hoping the ground would swallow him whole. He was very quiet about his depressive episodes for a very long time. It was normal, everyone surely had to have felt the same way he did from time to time. Desperately needing a laudanum and opium nap every other day was normal, right? He had yet to realize just how deep his exhaustion was running from upkeeping appearances.

These days it all starts showing by how long it's been since he's looked at his messages. He won’t leave anyone on read, just scrolls to see the notification to make sure it’s nothing urgent, then promptly ignores it. A few days is usually okay, he might have the honest reason of work piling up or he was camping somewhere with no reception. Weeks to a month go by without one call or message to Alfred, there’s a problem. Matthew’s way of coping is self-isolation. His family doesn’t respect him, his friends hate him, everyone only pretends to mildly tolerate him- oh! Alfred texted him to go out for coffee... maybe it’d be best if got out of the house.

If it’s not isolation, it’s his sleeping habits. Are you sleeping too much or too little? Yes. He goes back and forth of sleeping for twelve hours or more a day to staring at his ceiling thinking it’d be easier to have a quick death. He’s lethargic, you have a conversation with him and he spaces out. A quick apology that he’s just tired and has a headache. He takes another painkiller because his shoulders and back were killing him on top of it.

Really, just check up on him once in a while because depression comes from nowhere and sticks like a tough stain. Pick him up, brush him off, and let him know you remember him and don’t hate him, then put him to bed and throw a forty pound blanket on him for good measure.

#hws canada #matthew williams #dumb little headcanons #ask box #man i wrote a wee bit more than planned sorry sorry

23 notes · View notes

readingrobin · 2 years

Text

Well, folks, I think I can say that Jurassic Park is one of the few stories that overall works better as a film than a book. All the problems I had while reading it were either completely nullified or not an issue within the movie, though I may have a bit of a bias seeing as I saw it for the first time a few months ago and it was my introduction to this world. I was already aware of the basic setup, story beats, concepts, etc. so there weren't any surprises other than maybe a few character differences and who lives/who dies. I feel a bit guilty about hinging my whole enjoyment of the book on comparing it to the film, but it's difficult when the adaptation does the story so much better than the source material.

To be fair, there were some things exclusive to the book I liked. Seeing Hammond as a more ego-obsessed capitalist and pretty much the villain of the book was interesting, as well as the concept of the dinosaurs being migratory. Literally everything else? Not so much.

The writing style is dull and not captivating at all. There was a lot of technobabble and infodumps, coming from characters that mainly feel like their only purpose was to give lectures and philosophize. (Ian Malcolm got a great upgrade in the film through Jeff Goldblum let me tell you that.) I understand that these concepts need to be explained so that the story, you know, makes sense, but the film did it in a way that was more comprehensible and condensed for a mainstream audience and just flowed better with the narrative.

Then there's the Sattler and Lex issue. Crichton couldn't write a decent or well-rounded female character to save his chops. Sattler, though she's given so many opportunities to be competent and knowledgeable, is naturally relegated to the dame in the shorts to be ogled at, even by the dang eleven year old. Then there's a moment where she spots poisonous plants that are deadly should anyone touch or eat them and she just....doesn't tell anyone? And God, then there's Lex, the character whose core personality trait is to be the annoying little sister that constantly complains and actively makes things harder for other characters. Her only purpose in this story is to be as irritating as possible and there is nothing that gives her a reason to be here.

When it comes to how threatening the dinosaurs come off on the page versus the screen, there's definitely more carnage here. Bloodier deaths, disemboweling, the works. Yet they rarely have a lasting presence when they aren't in the middle of attacking someone. There's only so many times I can feel tension when the characters go "oh no the T-Rex caught up with us again!" In that regard, it's a lot more thrilling to see the dinos in action, to feel their weight as you see that famous cup of water start to jostle or witness their more gentler sides.

Really, if you have already seen the movie, there's not much more this book is going to give you. If you're curious, I would suggest just checking out one of those differences between the book vs. film lists to see what you're missing out on and you'll get the same experience in a much faster way.

#tbrbusterchallenge2022 #bookbanditchallenge #reading challenge #jurassic park #michael crichton #jurassic park book #reviews

8 notes · View notes

wingsofkpop · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc.

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh.

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again…

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole?

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone.

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…”

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart.

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t.

“I wish you were here, noona…”

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum.

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?”

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.”

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven.

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh.

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.”

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?”

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.”

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.”

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting.

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips.

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze.

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom.

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place:

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?”

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything.

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.”

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?”

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain.

This subject, however, has been a brick wall.

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—”

“(Y/N)?”

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face.

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch.

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger:

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.”

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).”

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop.

“Did you need something?”

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—”

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue:

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…”

“Then you met Jackson.”

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.”

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring.

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.”

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?”

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…”

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…”

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm.

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—”

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care.

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?”

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own.

“I’m sorry.”

You smile at his apology.

“I’m sorry too… for everything.”

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.”

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders.

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?”

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.”

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.”

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.”

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.”

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly…

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.”

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way.

“(Y/N)—”

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.”

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…”

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey.

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill?

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.”

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips.

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.”

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—”

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.”

“Help is on the way—”

“How do you know that for sure?”

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows.

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.”

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison.

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment.

He needs to have hope, if nothing else.

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?”

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.”

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?”

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head.

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?”

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.”

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see:

Im Jaebeom.

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk.

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.”

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?”

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.”

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.”

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff:

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.”

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?”

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.”

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest.

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return.

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?”

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet.

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?”

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.”

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—”

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities.

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...”

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing.

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.”

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!”

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!”

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!”

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.”

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!”

“Every war has its casualties.”

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?”

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!”

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?”

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!”

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer…

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward.

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.”

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder:

“Not yet, hyung.”

“But Jinyoung—”

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.”

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party:

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.”

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.”

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?”

Jaebeom’s face darkens.

“...So there is a cure?”

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.”

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.”

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world.

“You know she doesn’t have much time—”

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead.

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.”

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far.

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!”

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn.

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch.

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph:

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.”

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something…

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.”

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?”

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave.

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why.

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?”

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.”

“He never told me that.”

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.”

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—”

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.”

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further.

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway.

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight.

“Everything okay…?”

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.”

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.”

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—”

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress.

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh:

Die.

“Shit—we need to go. Now.”

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.”

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation.

“What is it?”

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?”

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal.

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!”

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight.

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.”

“Watch your ears.” You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire.

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise.

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand.

“Mark—”

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand.

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat. You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!”

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—”

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!”

“I understand you—”

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!”

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.”

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality:

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two.

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable.

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…”

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears.

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.”

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips.

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!”

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.”

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?”

You nod.

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…”

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!”

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…”

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing.

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile.

“Thank you, Changbin…”

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…”

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.”

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head.

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.”

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.”

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer.

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…”

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.”

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?”

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question.

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?”

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…”

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.”

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.”

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—”

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!”

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…”

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.”

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—”

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...”

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips:

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else.

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse:

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand.

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—”

“Tzuyu…?”

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips.

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?”

“It seems so.”

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one.

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?”

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.”

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…”

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart.

“Everything is taken care of, right?”

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear.

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…”

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.”

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.”

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?”

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.”

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.”

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation:

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues.

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!”

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears.

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!”

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out.

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?”

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!”

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...”

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts:

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!”

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground.

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground.

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!”

“(Y/N)! Don’t!”

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white.

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms.

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!”

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips:

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out.

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so.

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?”

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.”

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.”

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent.

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?”

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest.

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.”

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that…

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human.

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.”

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.”

“Then let me be selfish with you.”

Tzuyu smiles.

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.”

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

58 notes · View notes

adarlingsnightmare · 4 years

Text

Osamu Dazai Yandere Alphabet

this was requested by a lot of people and i wrote it awhile ago but am only posting it now bc i spent way too much time fussing over whether it was any good lol.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

One word: smothering. Dazai's idea of affection involves robbing you of your privacy and getting in your personal space as much as possible. He doesn't even care if you're not comfortable with it, so for anyone who doesn't like being touched, he's an absolute nightmare to be with. He especially likes to wrap his arms around your shoulders from behind and stand like that for as long as possible.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

As messy as necessary! He's more likely to get messy with you than with rivals, though. He is a sadist, but now that he has his precious darling this is all directed towards you, meaning his rivals get fairly swift deaths if Dazai does decide they need to die.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

As previously mentioned, Dazai is a sadist, and therefore loves to cause his darling pain whether that be physical or emotional. Despite this, he can act sweet and loving too, especially if you're not resistant. He does occasionally mock you, but it's not his main tactic of hurting you.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

Yes, definitely. His darling's wants and needs are completely meaningless to him. To his darling, he may even seem oblivious, but the truth is he just doesn't care. You said you don't want him to spike your drink? Oh, well that's just too bad.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Surprisingly, Dazai will actually be himself around his darling, rather than putting on a persona. He believes that since he loves you, you should know his true self. You're the only person in the world who will ever get to see the real Dazai, though that isn't necessarily a good thing. Don't get excited though, this doesn't mean he is vulnerable, in fact he is probably worse now he doesn't have to restrain himself.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Mostly amused. A part of Dazai enjoys someone who fights back and won't give in easily, in fact you could even argue he is somewhat masochistic since he gets rather excited by your anger towards him.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Certainly. Dazai is fascinated by human behaviour and watching you react to various torture and situations is his form of entertainment. He may eventually get irritated if you are constantly trying to escape, but he somewhat admires your resilience.

Hell: What would be their darling's worst experience with them?

Honestly, the whole experience is a nightmare because there is no chance of a good ending. Dazai can't be reasoned with, there are no compromises and it is guaranteed to end in tragedy. No matter how strong or smart you are, you can't escape. The best ending is for Dazai to kill you, because at least then your suffering will be over.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Dazai never expected to live this long, so he's never bothered thinking about the future before, even when it comes to his darling. However, if it came down to it, he'd probably want something similar to the 'typical' married life: a house, loving partner and maybe some kids. He wants to feel more human and he figures acting like everyone else is a good start. Although, despite these fantasies, Dazai will never actually be able to live this life due to who he is.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Oh, Dazai is the definition of jealous. He can't even handle the prospect of you thinking about someone else, let alone anything like actually talking to them. He has to be the centre of your world or he will literally go insane. He's not a hothead like Chuuya, so aside from a very tight grip on you and a dark glare, his jealousy won't be noticeable immediately. However, that's not to say he won't do anything about the situation — scheming on how he can ruin this persons life and if they really don't get the message, he supposes he'll just have to show them what happens to vermin who steal his darling's attention.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He still retains some of his cheery and mischievous persona, but make no mistake, once he's got you trapped, he'll reveal a much darker side. He likes to act oblivious to your suffering just to wind you up— oh, you're crying about how you want to be let out? so... anyways, what should we have for dinner? — and takes pleasure in both your despair and your anger towards him.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Depending on which version of Dazai we're talking about here (Mafia or ADA), his way of courting will be different. If you meet while he's in the Port Mafia, he will be more creepy than romantic. Relying more on intimidation than charm, he'll spend his time sadistically toying with you and jumping out of nowhere to wrap his arms around you in a suffocating hold. ADA!Dazai is pretty much the complete opposite— overwhelming you with endless gifts (mainly pricey chocolate and flowers), reciting cheesy love poetry, flirting constantly and of course always asking you whether you'd commit a double suicide with him.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Definitely. While Dazai appears as a cheerful, suicidal maniac with a penchant for troublemaking, he is actually quite different. Around you he does retain some of his facade, but the cracks will show and it'll be undoubtedly unsettling. He deceives you with his sweeter, more carefree side, before he reveals the merciless, cynical person he truly is.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Punishing his darling is Dazai's favourite thing... much to the disdain of his darling. He'll punish you for just about anything and half the time he won't even explain what you've done wrong, simply wanting an excuse to have his fun. His punishment can take many forms, usually sexual, and always teaches you a lesson. The punishments you receive depend on whether we're talking about mafia!Dazai or ADA!Dazai, the former typically based around humiliation and the latter around degradation and pain. (I have quite a few ideas but I didn't want to write too much on this here).

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Rights? Freedom? What are those? You don't know because you haven't experienced the feeling of independence and being able to make your own decisions since Dazai took an interest in you. He's an unbearably jealous person so he can't allow you to even look at other people, let alone talk to them. Despite how much you prove your loyalty to Dazai, he will still refuse to loosen his suffocating hold over you and your freedom.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

If Dazai thinks it's worth it, he can wait for just about anything, so he is usually relatively patient with his darling. I say 'usually', because while he doesn't mind waiting, he prefers his darling to respond to his questions and advances instantly and you risk getting punished if you don't. Unfortunately for you, you'll never know how patient he's feeling so it's always best to just be alert and reply immediately when he asks you something.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Definitely not. Dazai's life felt pointless until he met his beloved darling, so you leaving/dying would absolutely destroy him and increase his suicidal tendencies tenfold. Without his raison d'être what point is there in continuing to live?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Guilt? Why on earth would Dazai feel guilty? He needs his darling to be around him pretty much 24/7 and kidnapping is the safest option for everyone, why should he feel guilty? I mean, who knows what kind of havoc Dazai would wreak if he couldn't have you by his side...

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Dazai's own ability describes exactly just how disconnected from other people he feels, so it's no surprise that he doesn't really understand love. It's the curiosity of what it's like to be human — to be like everyone else — that will compel him to pursue his darling to the point it develops into an obsession. You'll also have to be different enough to keep his attention, perhaps being eccentric in your own way or being extremely hard to read. He can't feel genuine love, at least not like others do, but he can feel intense obsession and that may be even more dangerous.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Unsurprisingly, Dazai enjoys his darling's tears and despair, being the sadist he is. However, he only likes it when he's the cause of your pain or distress, if you were crying because of someone else it would infuriate him to no end.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He appears like the typical delusional and deranged yandere, but he's actually very calculating and certainly lucid. He's fully aware of everything he's doing and how wrong it is, but does he care? Not in the slightest.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Honestly, it's hard to think of ways you could escape Dazai as he is extremely smart and unlike some other yanderes, no matter how compliant you are he will never let down his guard in the slightest. The only possibility is to kill him: whether that's by poisoning his food, smothering him in his sleep or biting down so hard on his neck he bleeds out. Either way, resorting to murder is the most plausible way of escaping.

Wit's end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Of course! What's the point of being with your beloved if you can't inflict a little pain onto them? Pain will be a daily occurrence for you as nothing is more melodic to Dazai than your cries of pain.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

While Dazai doesn't worship you per say, he does see you as ethereal— an angel that he feels compelled to ruin. Since doesn't see himself as human, you are very different to him in his mind. He wants someone else to feel as inhuman as he does, which is why he takes great pleasure in destroying your humanity. He isn't worried about winning you over either; he may appear like he is trying to do so, but he knows that if you don't return his advances he can just make you love him.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As mentioned previously, Dazai can be very patient when he wants to be and has no problem playing the long game if he feels it is necessary. He won't kidnap you immediately: preferring to slowly worm his way into your life so that by the time you realise his true, much darker intentions, it's already too late to escape.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Well, he wants to mould his darling into the perfect submissive little kitten, so yes it is likely he would break them down until all he had to do was rebuild them in the image he wanted. Even if you genuinely love him back and want to be with him, Dazai will still tear down your mental stability to the point of complete reliance on him. He's never experienced any real love from another person before or been in an actual relationship, so it's safe to say his views on love are a little skewed. However, after he had completely broken you, Dazai would feel the closest he can to regret. He doesn't actually want you to be a lifeless doll, but unfortunately he only realises this after you're already too far gone.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere dazai #yandere bsd #yandere #osamu dazai x reader #yandere osamu dazai #yandere bungou stray dogs #dazai x reader #yandere alphabet #osamu dazai #tw yandere #tw abuse #yandere scenario #yandere headcanons #bsd imagine #bsd x reader #yandere male

717 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Hi! Long time lurker, big fan of this blog. Can I request either a headcannon or a fic of Viv Tang?

Basically, it goes like this, it's an AU of some sort, where Viv and the Poppy leave MC. MC tried to hate them and forget them especially Viv, but couldn't do it. So out of spite and care, MC creates a whole organisation that revolves around protecting Viv and the others. (Making sure their heists go well, the police/government never finding them, making sure that their old enemies never get to them etc.) They've been doing this in private, but Viv and the others catch on, and that thought bothers them. Enough to make them distracted in their latest heist.

Their heist went down in shambles, leaving MC's crew to step in and made sure they're safe, leaving MC's mark to take the blame.

They were confused ofc, but MC's crew was just giddy and happy that they get to meet their leader's old crew.

Basically, they meet MC, MC makes them make it up to her.

And we know how in the original Viv route, we try really hard to pry her open and get her to trust us, well Viv does the same, trying to get MC to forgive her. And just angst ending with fluff please?

Lots of Love <3

This will contain both HC and story parts.

…

· After Vivienne leaves MC poisoned in Paris, of course she’s pissed.

· A talk with Jace (and some stress painting) later, MC feels like she has a pretty good grasp of Vivienne’s decision

“She was scared,” she muses, idly playing with one of her brushes, a thoughtful frown on her face as her mind wanders to the other members. “And they were… willing to give her a way out, I guess? Pretty messed up, considering they got me in this whole thing to begin with…”

Thing is, they hadn’t left her without something. Zoe had made sure MC could return to her normal life ‘after you lay low for a bit, probably two months’, advice left in a letter alongside some cash. Enough to buy a few plane tickets around the world. First class.

Even after their most recent decision, MC could recall how careful and welcoming everyone had been. Vivienne was always a mystery, of course, lingering at the edge while MC got to know Jett and Zoe in the Art Club they had formed, or as MC debated with Remy and Leon about a movie they had been watching. With Nikolai, it was mostly challenges Nikolai loved to issue and MC was too proud to deny. But she was always there, in the background. She had become a rather comforting presence, as MC had formed bonds with everyone.

“This was not the best course of action, but they took it anyway.” Vivienne’s choice had been driven by emotion, raw panic, but MC just couldn’t wrap her mind around Nikolai or Zoe, both logical to the bone, supporting it. “There must have been something else, there.”

· With the anger slowly cooling off, MC thought she could almost begin to understand their reasons. The Poppy isn’t the sort of group to taint their hands with blood, not unless it’s absolute necessary.

· Celine had pushed everyone, even if the heist ended on a positive note.

· ‘I believe you have a place with us’, Nikolai had said. MC remembered the heist and how everything could have gone wrong.

· Their talent and quick-thinking are the only reason they got out of that situation relatively unharmed.

· No doubt the rest of their heists carried the same danger.

· MC thought of Celine, gun aiming at her chest, eyes glinting in Vivienne’s direction and made a split-second decision.

· There was no way, no way at all, that she was going to let anything happen to them.

…

· When Vivienne had first noticed the sudden lack of danger in their heists, she was instantly suspicious.

· She couldn’t afford to brush anything off in her line of work.

· Zoe finds the source in no time.

· To say they were confused as an understatement.

“I thought she was back in New York?”

“I don’t understand, why would she choose this?”

“We’re hardly so incompetent as to need a guard.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Couple months, so maybe they started operating around March?” Zoe throws them a withering look so they’ll shut up, and lets out a long sigh once they do. “Point is, we’ve gained a new stalker, even if it’s her. She got a whole organization going, she’s pretty dedicated.”

“Of course she is, it’s why we choose her in the first place.”

“Technically, Vivienne did.”

“Well, yeah. Still, this is insane. So little time, and yet…”

“MC was always a fighter,” Vivienne says, quietly. “It’s certainly an… interesting choice…”

“She seems to have very good intel,” Zoe continues, eyes glued to her laptop’s screen. “Too good. She knows our every movement.”

“Which means she will be lurking around this heist.” Nikolai drums his fingers against his armchair, a frown firmly in place. “That might be a problem.”

“She’s been doing this for months, but we’ve never caught a glimpse of her. It’s safe to say she won’t approach us, right?”

“We probably shouldn’t, either. Not for now. We need more info on this organization of hers.”

“We’ll proceed as planned.”

· Except nothing goes as planned.

· Jett’s bombs don’t go off when they should, providing no distraction and thus no way of escape for Vivienne and Nikolai.

· No safe way, at any rate.

· The guards get suspicious of their malfunctioning equipment remarkably quick, moving to search the place.

· Remy gets found out first, though he stalls as much as he can.

· It’s enough time for Leon and Nikolai to think for a way out, though Remy is still with the guards.

· The bombs go off at that moment, and Vivienne is trapped.

· It’s at that moment that MC’s crew intervene.

· The guards are the most important issue, and so most of her crew go handle it.

· MC takes care of Vivienne personally.

“Well, that went great.” MC says, flashing Vivienne a cheeky smile when she finds her. Vivienne looks up at her with wide eyes, brown eyes glinting under the light of the room.

“How did you…”

“Questions later, darling. Can you walk?”

Vivienne blinks, taking a deep breath. The motion helps her get rid of most of her surprise. She knows she doesn’t have time to lose, so she accepts MC hand and follows her out. The trip is quiet, of course. Vivienne keeps a carefully neutral expression on, eyes flickering from the woman in front of her to the rest of their escape route.

It’s hard, trying to compare this woman with the one she had kissed all those months ago. She remembers how her hands grasped at her robe, passionate, truthful, those sweet words MC had muttered against Vivienne’s mouth, before the poison had taken effect.

MC had said she would never hurt Vivienne. Vivienne had poisoned her, afraid she would hurt MC.

It didn’t feel like she could hurt the woman before her, though, standing tall and strong and confident, a leader, someone made out of stone. For a moment, Vivienne had the impression poison wouldn’t even work on her anymore.

· MC had changed. It was as clear as the water glimmering outside the organization’s HQ.

· She wasn’t the same bubbly, hopeful girl Vivienne had taken around Paris, teaching everything she could about thievery.

· She wasn’t the same passionate, proud artist she had been, brush in hand, smiling in wonder and then frowning in concentration when she tried to capture something beautiful. Somehow, most of the time, the subject of her painting was Vivienne herself.

· She was steely, snarky, commanding the room with her very presence. All eyes followed her as she went, speaking clear orders for the crew to follow.

· In the beginning, they had stuck to the Gilded Poppy like glue, curious. No doubt they were trying to see why MC cared about them so much to go through this kind of trouble.

· One look from MC was enough to get them to disperse.

· This change… everything it entailed… Vivienne wanted to know more.

“So, how did it feel?” MC had asked her as soon as they got a moment alone. Vivienne shot her a glance, trying to decipher something in her expression.

“How did what feel?”

“Thinking you could force me out of this. You got me in this life.”

“I gave you a way out.”

“But I told you, didn’t I? I wanted this, and you…”

“I’ve lived all my life like this. I didn’t want you to face-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have chosen me, then. Ever think of this little thing called consequences?”

Isadora flashes through her mind, quick, too quick. It leaves a trail of golden hair in the back on her mind, all too real when she closes her eyes. Vivienne presses her lips together, forces herself to focus.

“This organization…”

“Don’t let it get to your head, darling. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“…The others, then.”

“Yes. Quid pro quo, and all that. I’ll see what I can ask in return later.”

“We didn’t ask you to intervene.”

“You didn’t ask before poisoning me, either. I feel like doing drastic things without asking for permission are common place around here.”

“That doesn’t even-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Did I save your lives, yes or no?”

Jett had said, before they got released from the medical ward, that the plan failing was entirely his fault, after getting too distracted thinking about MC to get his usual formulas right. Vivienne didn’t doubt him – Jett was, after all, very dedicated to his craft. A mistake was unthinkable, unless something of this magnitude managed to get to him.

He felt guilty and weirded out, probably, she thinks bitterly, despite everything being my fault, as per usual.

“…you did.”

The smile that stretches over MC’s face is almost predatory, brown eyes glinting with satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear.”

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #lovestruck vivienne #lovestruck qot #queen of thieves #qot vivienne #vivienne tang #queen of thieves vivienne #vivienne x mc #soft angst #light angst #woeful wednesday

73 notes · View notes

itsuki-minamy · 3 years

Text

“K - THE FIRST STORY”

CHAPTER 5: THE LINK (Complete)

* K - The First Story (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

For Misaki Yata, friends were the most important thing.

Since he was a child, he was good with people and was able to confirm his existence by trusting someone.

When he was young, he felt something like the importance of his existence by protecting his mother, who raised him as a single mother. Since his mother had only him, he had a strong determination to be strong in his childhood.

As he got older, his general temperament grew stronger and he came to think it was more fun to do it. He would cut the wind on his shoulder, and if someone messed it up, he would fly and wave his fist.

However, in the end his mother remarried and she had a new child with her new husband, and her mother was no longer the one he had to protect. He went on to do things like "use" instead of "trust."

Leading friends and doing stupid things together, eating alone was irrational and boring. Even if he was having fun, he couldn't laugh alone. However, Yata silently built up his prowess because he did not have the skill and finesse to match others by force, and he could not accept loneliness.

He met a boy and spent several years with him, but when he remembers him, he gets angry, so he erases it from his memory.

For Yata, it was a man named "Suoh Mikoto" who changed his world.

The "King" with overwhelming power that destroys Yata's prowess.

He was cool and he got addicted to all of it.

Yata took Suoh's hand and befriended the followers of the "King".

Friends became the most important thing to Yata. It doesn't matter if it was used, regardless of everything, he just looks at Suoh's back and follows him, and if Suoh says "Burn them.", he becomes a flame with his friends and will do his best to do so.

This place where he can hang out with friends, is the absolute only place to live in Yata.

(Totsuka. Somehow...)

Remember that while he was shedding blood, as if trying to reassure Yata, Totsuka's face tried to laugh somehow.

Two people, Yata and Kusanagi, rushed in after receiving the news of Totsuka's shooting. Fallen on the rooftop, at midnight in December, it was Yata who lifted Totsuka's cold body that was still bleeding. Totsuka touched Yata's tearful cheek and tried to smile, but in the end his hand fell limp and left a mark of blood on Yata's cheek.

(I'm sorry.)

That was Totsuka's last word.

He was a man who always laughed. He was good at finding fun and was in the center of his friends and made everyone laugh a lot. He was an executive of "Homura", an old friend of Suoh, a weak but fluid person, who took care of his friends. For Yata, he was a person whom he sometimes considered a kind brother, and other times a good friend.

That person was killed.

The criminal is now in this school.

"Hey, hurry up, get a PDA!"

However, when he saw a couple of boys walking through that area, he grabbed their chests and they were terrified, the boys made a pitiful voice.

It's nice that Anna's skill revealed the criminal's whereabouts, but it seems like they have to go through a locked door to enter the school premises. Yata and Kamamoto knew they needed a school designated PDA for that purpose, and they were harassing the boys to get the pass.

"I'll give it to you! I'll give it to you, so please forgive me!"

"You should have been this honest from the beginning."

Yata exhaled through his nose and played with the PDA he had obtained.

"Can I come through with this? Sorry to copy you."

Yata turned his harsh gaze towards Kamamoto.

"Let's go."

"Yes."

Yata, along with Kamamoto, headed back to Gakuenjima's gate. Among them, there is a person who broke something important in Yata.

Yata stepped forward with a burning killing intent that was stronger than anger.

++++++++++

After being taken by Neko and returning to the classroom, the boy feels that the situation is strange.

Kuro quickly moved the needle and sewed the costume, looking at the boy.

The boy sits alone in the back seat of the classroom, gazing vaguely out the window. The expression is clearly shaded and the outward-facing eyes are out of focus to show that his heart is not here.

He's a nice guy so he's okay to float more when he found his alibi, but the glow was gone immediately after finding that in his room. Of course, the situation has not been resolved, so it would be a problem if that were discovered, but it is a strange time to put a serious face.

Currently, Kuro's comment about the boy was trying to settle down to the point that "I don't trust him, but he doesn't seem like a bad guy." He seems to be a person who loves this school and his friends.

"Kuro-kun is amazing! The seams are straight and very tight, although the sewing is very fast."

Kukuri looked at Kuro's hand and made his eyes shine. She is a very good, hard-working and kind girl. She was the type of person that Kuro respected.

"This is natural as Ichigen-sama's disciple."

"Kuro-kun, do you have a teacher? A sewing teacher?"

"No. Ichigen-sama was a swordsman and a master of life. Ichigen-sama was not only a kind and thoughtful person, but also a wonderful person who was familiar with all things. I am a swordsman because of Ichigen-sama. I learned various things like sumo wrestling, horseback riding, car, bicycle, helicopter, boat, etc., and studying for licenses, cooking, sewing, cleaning, tea ceremony, flower trail, fishing, dancing, and investment in dance. He faced me with one thing seriously and always led me harshly with a calm heart. Ichigen-sama's beautiful heart and profound culture are reflected in the haikus that Ichigen-sama sang, and I impregnate my heart with that. It is my Favorite moment listening to his haikus. Not only is the phrase wonderful, but the depth of his voice is exceptional as well."

When it comes to Miwa Ichigen, he gets a fever. The boy said something rude, like "annoyed", but Kukuri asked him with a smile. The student next door has a stern look, but Kuro decided that he couldn't hide his surprise from her because she was so versatile.

"Kuro-kun is interesting. I'm glad that Shiro-kun has a friend like Kuro-kun."

Unable to grasp the intention of Kukuri's words, Kuro bowed his head. In the first place, Kuro was not friends with the boy, and although he did not have a single life, the boy seemed like a person with many friends.

Kukuri lowered her eyebrows and laughed, pointing her eyes at the boy sitting vaguely in the distance.

"Shiro-kun is good friends with anyone, but it seems that no one can enter deep places, so I feel like one day he will go to some fluffy place alone, and I'm a bit worried. But Kuro-kun seems to enter Shiro-kun, and I'm relieved that you don't lose sight of Shiro-kun."

Kuro was confused by the words he heard. He was surprised by the boy's reputation, and "they" were not the friends he expected, on the contrary, in some cases he felt guilty for having to kill the boy.

"Kukuri! I have you!"

Before Kuro said anything, Neko hugged Kukuri from behind.

"Oh, that's right. Kukuri-san, let's give you a special super spicy rice cake."

Kukuri laughs and walks away from Kuro with Neko. When he saw his back and sighed, he turned to his hand. He cuts the thread with which he has sewn.

He folded the finished costume, he stood up and lined it up with the other costumes.

"Are they all costumes? Okay, then check yours and report immediately if the size doesn't fit."

When it comes to manpower, he looks at the group doing other work.

"What is the progress of the decoration?"

"A little more…"

"Okay. I'll join. There are other things I can do..."

Looking around, Kuro noticed a thread extending from Kukuri's sleeve trying to open the rice cake for Neko. As he walks silently, Kukuri mysteriously raises her face from him.

"What? Kuro-kun…"

"There is a tear in the elbow of the uniform."

"Oh, really. I wonder if I ripped it somewhere."

"By the way. I'll sew it up. Don't move from where you are."

When he pulled out his own needle and thread that he had been using earlier, he repaired a small tear around Kukuri's elbow. Looking at Kukuri that she got stuck while she was holding a bag of rice cake, Neko seems to be dissatisfied.

While sticking a needle into Kukuri's sleeve, Kuro again snooped towards the boy by the window.

Surrounded by sunlight, the boy looked strangely dreamy. He felt that he would melt into the light just as he was, and when he was poisoned by Kukuri's story, he changed his mind and retreated lightly.

"Isana Yashiro! How long will you be like this!"

"Shiro, he got mad!"

Neko was happy, probably because she wasn't really mad at his voice. Kukuri said to Kuro, who turned his attention from her to the boy, with the needle stuck in her sleeve, "Ah, Kuro-kun, please don't look away now!"

She raised a terrified voice.

The boy clears the look of disgust, changes his face and turns to them.

"Sorry. Well, what should I do?"

"Let's eat Senbe together!"

"I'm telling you to work!"

"Oh, Kuro-kun, please..."

After making a discordant voice, Kukuri suddenly changed her face.

"Oh, that's right. Shiro-kun, if you don't have anything to do, can I ask you a favor?"

Kukuri's request was a small purchase, primarily for the purchase of additional fireworks.

"Will you use them again?"

"Don't complain! Generally, when Shiro-kun was working yesterday, he missed some fireworks, right?"

The lost fireworks were probably used by the boy to evade the attackers from him. The boy seemed to have no words to answer, and he was cheating and laughing.

After her sleeve was repaired, Kukuri laughed happily "Thank you." and turned to everyone.

"Everyone! Shiro-kun will take care of it, tell him what you need!"

"Oh Shiro saved us! I'm running out of nail polish, so buy it!"

"Shiro-kun, can you buy me two purple threads?"

"I want potatoes! Consomme flavored!"

"I want chocolate and cookies! In a large bag of individually wrapped packages for everyone to share!"

"I want to eat ice cream!"

"The ice will melt!"

"Then bring me wool!"

"Take a receipt!"

"Wait, wait, I'll take a note now!"

Surrounded by colleagues, the boy writes on a piece of paper. The laughing boy in the middle of the crowd doesn't seem to disappear one bit, but something is trapped in Kuro's heart.

"Be careful, Shiro-kun. Please come back early!"

Kukuri laughed cheerfully and pushed the boy back, entrusting him with a general shopping mission.

When they accompanied the boy without a PDA and left the school by the back route without going through the gate, Kuro, the boy and Neko walked together across the connecting bridge. Neko was cheerful wanting to walk. As for the clothes, she put on the school girls uniform that she had worn in the morning, and when Neko ran, the hem of the short skirt fluttered.

Neko, who was walking while her interests changed from here to there, jumped onto the railing of the connecting bridge and happily looked at the landscape from there.

Kuro and the boy also stop.

The sea reflected the light and shone.

When he arrived, he ran down the street without looking around his due to his anger and his sense of mission, but when he looked at it like that, it was a truly beautiful sight.

As Kuro and the boy follow Neko and approach the parapet, the sea breeze blows gently and makes his hair flutter.

Looking at the calm and beautiful landscape side by side, he felt calm after a long time.

When he thinks about it, peace hasn't come to Kuro's heart since Miwa got sick. Miwa's death pushed Kuro into deep pain and a feeling of loneliness. Even so, the reason he stayed was because he made a promise to Miwa before he died. Defeat the evil "King". Determination to fulfill that last mission made him walk straight even after Miwa's death.

However, on the way, he was preparing for the festival with boys and girls of the same age, and relaxing with a mysterious boy, and Neko, looking out to sea.

"It’s beautiful."

He leaked from his mouth inadvertently. The boy leaning against the parapet looks at Kuro and laughs softly.

"Right? I also really like the view from here."

"Glitter killer!"

Following the boy, Neko said happily and took a deep breath.

"Shiro, let's finish soon and go home early!"

Neko laughs with her whole face. The boy also looked towards Gakuenjima with a warm smile somewhere in the shadow.

"Yes. Let's go home early. Kukuri is waiting for us."

++++++++++

For Fushimi Saruhiko, the moment his heart moved was extremely rare.

Most of the time, his emotions only move in the direction of irritation or disgust, and he has lived by cutting off most of the joy and sadness from him. He does what he is supposed to do, but most things are lazy and annoying. Additional involvement with others is the worst of all. He is not thrilled by his daily life.

It was partly due to the quirks of Fushimi's growing environment, because he stopped waiting for others early on, and because he left most of the world.

He met one of them and spent a few years with him, but in the end he broke it into pieces with his own hands, so he is not going to tell anyone.

Tatara Totsuka was killed, and the members of "Homura" who are angry are looking for the criminal, but Fushimi was still unmoved and participated in the search for the criminal, because that is Fushimi's job.

"Scepter 4" is different from "Homura", and adapts to Fushimi's character as he is. It wasn't a hassle to get the job done quickly without getting used to it.

However, situations where easy tasks cannot be accomplished quickly, and situations where incompetence becomes a silly obstacle and makes work difficult, is purely painful.

"I am very sorry for the sudden request, but I would appreciate your cooperation. I want to reiterate; we will not cause problems at your school."

"That's right, but... given the current age, revealing students' personal information is not correct."

In the reception room of Ashinaka School, the incompetent-looking headmaster and vice-headmaster give a clear answer as they get confused over Awashima's request.

Fushimi was taken by Awashima to the Ashinaka school, also known as Gakuenjima, which the "Yoshii" system identified as the criminal's hideout. Awashima's job was to persuade the directors, and Fushimi was waiting standing behind Awashima's chair, but he was tired of listening to the careless exchanges.

"I would like you to understand that we are willing to pass through the hands of the judiciary if necessary."

"No, that's…!"

"Yes. I don't want to complicate things as much as possible, so I would like to have voluntary cooperation."

"However, when it comes to searching for a student without knowing his name or class from all the students, it is not realistic to do it right now..."

Awashima's voice also begins to sharpen with irritation. However, the director kept trying to escape with an errant word, he wanted to avoid making a decision here. It was getting harder and harder to hear the silly conversations, and Fushimi looked out the window, letting their voices flow like a distant noise. The wind is strong, he watches the clouds slide and flow.

"Are you sure? This investigation is already a decision. If your school does not have the investigation capacity, we will do it for you."

"Are you going to do it? It's too overbearing."

"I don't want to be misunderstood, but I am not convincing them. I am explaining the situation to them and telling them to take appropriate action."

In Fushimi, this whole situation became irrelevant.

Fushimi turns his back on the exchange between the headmaster and Awashima, who was making noise.

Fushimi quietly escaped from the reception room when he looked at Akiyama and Benzai, who were lined up in a polite manner, and he touched Akiyama's shoulder with the intention of pushing the rest away. Awashima didn't even look at Fushimi, although she did notice.

He walked into a quiet hall with a light humor. Unlike the area where students walk, this building for teachers and foreigners is quiet. Fushimi took out the PDA and slid his finger from it to call the spokesperson for this school. He took a quick look and discovered that the student council room is the right place to fulfill his purpose. The student council room was located in the building across the courtyard from here.

As they exited the building, the soft light of the winter afternoon sun fell on Fushimi.

Contrary to Fushimi's mood, as he walks under the clear blue sky, Fushimi feels the area around his lips twitch and he notices the quiet irritation within himself.

The death of Tatara Totsuka. Suoh Mikoto's selfishness. The Weissman deviation of the "Red King". The "Colorless King" killing a member of the clan. The revenge of "Homura". The "King" who wants to invite the slaughter. Possible consequences.

Maybe Izumo Kusanagi understands it and is on the way, and Anna Kushina knows it. But the others would not know anything. Especially that boy.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and sped up.

When he got to the student council room, he opened the door a little and looked inside the room, there was only one student. A mature woman with braided hair tied next to her head.

Fushimi thought about what to do for a moment, but it became problematic to use an indirect hand and chose a direct means.

He closed the door again, knocked gently and moved his body to hide behind the door.

The door opened and the student appeared. Fushimi presses a medicine-soaked cloth against the student's mouth from behind her. The student who took the medicine lost consciousness and was bent over.

Fushimi lifted the student's body with minimal physical contact and carried her to the student council room. If he borrows her fingerprint to unlock the computer, he will have access to all the students' data. He connects his PDA with a cable and starts hacking.

Once he has full access rights to the campus network using the student council computer as a springboard, he can begin to match the faces of all students, teachers, secretaries, and all the people who belong to this school with the face of the criminal.

Fushimi also felt irritation burning inside his chest, looking at the automatic compilation work. Like static electricity, it is annoying and disturbs Fushimi's thinking.

When he sighed sharply, an electronic sound was heard and the screen showed a screen informing her that the job was finished and the result.

Looking at the screen, Fushimi raises his eyebrows and lifts his back from the back of the chair he was sitting on.

At that moment, he heard a familiar voice far away, outside the window.

"Look closely, don't look away, fool!"

The voice yelling at someone, as soon as it enters Fushimi's ears, it turns into something that bristles his skin and spreads all over his body.

Fushimi stood up, stuck his finger into the hole in the blind that covered the window, and looked outside.

The figure immediately jumped into Fushimi's eyes.

A student intertwines with two male students and is listening to their destiny. A boy with a skateboard under his arm and a beanie that would be more appropriate for a young man, a boy with a boyish look who is lifting a tight fit.

He can understand why they are there and what they are doing without asking. He remains straightforward and can only see what is in front of him.

He remembered irresistibility and destiny.

For Fushimi Saruhiko, the moment when his heart moves are extremely rare.

But now, Fushimi twisted his mouth into a smile, feeling shaken after a long time, as if to repaint the annoyance and little irritation he had felt a while ago.

++++++++++

It was okay to invade the school, but the Ashinaka school was so big that he thought it was stupid.

It is far from Yata's school image, which he thought was at best about the school building, the gymnasium, and the school grounds. Here is a clock tower, cafes, shops like supermarkets, fashionable open spaces, etc. It could be said that it was already a town.

Of course, there is not just one school building, but several school buildings are built in a relaxed way using a sprawling site, and there are other buildings such as a research building, a teacher building, a clubroom building, a dormitory room student, etc. There is greenery between them, a mysterious fashionable bronze statue and an arch with stained glass on the ceiling. It seems that the school festival is near and preparations for the festival are underway here and there.

Yata was stressed while he wandered around such a place while he listened to the murmurs.

"Hey, don't you know this guy?"

"Don't you know where this guy is?"

"Do you know this guy?!"

He asked randomly as he showed the photo of the criminal that he put on the PDA, but he never got a good reaction. They always shook their heads if they didn't know about it, or they were scared of Yata and ran away, and he couldn't find any clues.

As he bit the impatience and irritation with his back teeth, Yata searched for the next student to listen to him, and his footsteps became wild and steady.

"Please wait, Yata-san!"

Kamamoto, who had been left behind before he knew it, shook the giant body and reached for it. Yata clicked his tongue.

"Idiot! Go shopping and eating after asking."

"Yata-san, have you eaten? Did you rest? Since that day..."

He tried to tell him not to change the story, but Kamamoto's eyes on the back of the sunglasses seemed to be more serious than he expected, and Yata was a bit confused and then smiled.

"It's okay."

He has little awareness of whether he is eating or resting properly. If he is hungry, he will put something in his mouth, and if he is sleepy, he will sleep. But since that day, he certainly has felt less hungry and sleepy. He is addicted to the excitement of anger.

The sight of that cold ceiling revives in his mind. Blood spilled onto the concrete and the eyes lost light. Totsuka will never return.

He remembers the back of a man whom Yata respects more than anyone, stretching out his hands before the Blues and being captured without resistance. There is no way Yata knows what Suoh is doing now and what he thinks he is.

With that in mind, he doesn't really care about food or rest.

Yata turned his back on Kamamoto and started walking. He heard a small sigh behind him, but Kamamoto followed Yata without saying anything else.

The inside of his chest is noisy, and Yata searches for the next person to ask as he walks fast as if he's looking for a place to hit his feelings with nowhere to go.

Yata, who was impatient, kept asking with astonishing tenacity, but the results did not improve after all. When he wandered around the big school and asked in a half lost state because he did not know where he was, he felt like a small boat that had gone out in search of a sunken ship and was in danger.

"Hey, you guys! Look at this picture! Do you know this guy?"

When they found a couple of boys behind the school building and he hit the PDA screen like he was hitting the pent-up frustration, they made an openly scared face. Yata clicked his tongue, saying this guy will scare people just by talking to them.

"I do not know..."

The boy said backing away, but it was clear that he was looking for an escape route and not looking directly at the screen.

"Look carefully!"

When Yata asks, the boys' eyes escape even more.

"You've averted your eyes right now, huh? Oh! Do you know this guy?"

"I do not know!"

"I do not know..."

Faced with the guys trying to escape at any moment, "Where is he?" Yata asked, and put his hand on his shoulder from behind.

Kamamoto grabbed Yata by the shoulder and shook his head.

Yata clicked his tongue and turned away from the student, who was leaning forward with his forehead down. Seeing Yata settled, the two boys fled as if rolling.

"Is it a dead end again? I'm angry."

"Yata-san, you can't help it. This place seems to be huge."

"Shut up!"

Biting Kamamoto, who makes a terrifying voice, Yata takes off from the front and starts walking.

"I don't want to delay another second. I will avenge Totsuka-san's death."

Yata told him to ask in a lower voice. At that moment, he heard a small woman cry.

When he rolled his eyes, he saw two schoolgirls, looking at Yata and Kamamoto standing in a way that was clearly inappropriate for this school, and huddled together.

Yata was openly scared.

He may be strong against men, but he is not good at dealing with women. A woman is a different creature from a man, who hurts himself quickly and he does not know what she is thinking. He's not good at knowing what kind of attitude he should have. Yes, he is not good at understanding it, but he is aware of women and gets nervous. Yata insisted on his heart.

"Ah, you there! Come here for a moment. I have something to ask you!"

Ignoring Yata's feelings, Kamamoto called out to the two schoolgirls with a lot of pressure. Being called out by a standing giant with blonde hair, a beard and glasses, the schoolgirls get more and more scared.

"No, oh, that..."

"Ah? What is this? I'm just saying there is something I want to ask you..."

Without saying anything until the end, Yata hit Kamamoto's head with a fist. Kamamoto makes a plaintive voice.

"Hey, don't scare the girls like that! I'll punish you."

He was so upset that his voice changed. Yata turned to the girls with a flushed face.

"Hey, sorry, that was wrong..."

He intended to act like a gentleman to the best of his ability, but when Yata screamed, the female students finally fled with a frightened voice that they could not bear.

Yata lets them go, and then slams Kamamoto's head next to him to shake off the awkwardness.

"Gya! Please forgive me, Yata-san."

"Shut up! I always tell you not to threaten a woman!"

"No, I haven't raised my hand... First of all, Yata-san, you've only asked the boys all this time."

"To find a boy you must ask other boys!"

When Yata said that, Kamamoto made an exaggerated gesture. When Yata clenched his fist again to hit him again, a voice that touched the most sensitive part of his nerve slipped into Yata's ear.

"It feels like the virgin is exposed as usual."

The moment he recognized that voice, Yata's head turned white.

It was a very familiar voice and, at the same time, very distant.

Yata slowly shakes his head and looks back at the sight that he feels like he's shaking.

First, the toes of the boots came into view. Looking up, he saw an abominable blue uniform and a saber with a blue scabbard at the waist. AND…

"Damn..."

A face with a murmuring smile. From the other side of the black-rimmed glasses, his familiar eyes stare at Yata.

"Saruhiko!"

Fushimi Saruhiko, a man who is now a member of "Scepter 4" and was once Yata's partner, was there.

A voice containing rumors flows from Fushimi's thin lips, which form an undistorted smile, and entwines with Yata.

"It's a strange situation. How is this? Ah, Anna. But Kusanagi-san can't let you listen to this recklessly. Misaki lost control without permission? Seriously, as always."

Perhaps by the way, he said the first name of him and of Yata's close friends. Throwing those friends, their spirits, into messing with them was annoying.

"Shut up! Don't call me casually! Don't feel free to talk about my friends! Traitor!"

Fushimi laughed deep in his throat.

"It couldn't be helped. After all, I am of a different race than Misaki and the others. It was inevitable to leave."

"Ah! You are not wrong about that. You are different from us!"

"Yata-san...! If you make noise in a place like this..."

Kamamoto inserts a frustrated voice between Yata and Fushimi, who are filled with tingly air. However, Fushimi behaved as if he hadn't seen Kamamoto's existence.

"By the way, Misaki. How did you sneak in here?"

"Ah? It's none of your business."

"The security level here is high. Where is your pass? Show me, Misaki."

"It's none of your business! Don't call me by my name, you make me sick!"

Fushimi also makes a catchy laugh.

"Oh, that's right, you hate being called by that name right?"

Fushimi locked eyes at Yata. His lips move slowly as in slow motion and a moist, sweet, audible voice is exhaled.

"Mi... sa... ki..."

Something snapped in Yata's head.

A fiery red light seeps from Yata's body as if anger is overflowing with a physical form.

"You asked for it..."

Fushimi lifted the edge of his mouth.

"Yata-san! This is not good! Remember what Kusanagi-san said, don't let Mikoto-san have been captured in vain! What good would fighting that monkey do?"

The word "Mikoto-san" affects the feelings and power of Yata, which he is about to attack. Yata managed to restrain his furious fist with desperate self-control.

"Mikoto-san, huh?"

The tone of Fushimi's voice becomes lower and the laugh becomes darker. It was a voice that lurked with malicious intent, and Fushimi's sheer irritation.

"He seems to have lost his bearing on him, right? After all, he decided to give himself up. I guess it means he has matured. You should learn from him, Mi… sa… ki…"

Yata was filled with an icy rage, which was the exact opposite of the rage that had blood on his head, making him feel cold and icy.

Insult Suoh. Fushimi's mouth said it, no one else.

Yata took a deep breath and threw down the skateboard he was holding. The skateboard turns vertically and falls into a position waiting for Yata to get on. He didn't want to take anything anymore. He hears Kamamoto's impatient voice in the distance, "Yata-san!"

"Saru... You are going to die!"

Yata barked.

Fushimi laughs and touches the handle of the sword.

"Fushimi, ready for an emergency battle."

As Fushimi drew his sword, Yata put one foot on the skateboard and kicked the ground. The red light that overflows from his body turns into a flame and is directed towards Fushimi.

Fushimi lightly avoided Yata's rush with a laugh. Yata spins his skateboard without killing the momentum with which he jumped, increasing the output of the flame.

The flame that rises from the body swirls and becomes a bright red pillar that stretches to the heavens. At his feet, the wheels of the skateboard with the power of Yata sandwiched the tiles on the surface of the street.

Yata, who turned into a swirling pillar on fire, approaches Fushimi again. Fushimi turned the sword with a smile and inserted it into the swirling flame with the tip of the blue light.

As the blade was soft and flexible and entered the column of flame, Fushimi took a deep breath. The power of the blue poured from Fushimi's body onto the sword in one go, scraping away Yata's flame and scattering it.

Yata and Fushimi's eyes were intertwined as the red and blue colors mixed and danced. Fushimi's eyes seemed to be a mixture of pleasure and murder, and some emotions that Yata couldn't read.

Yata jerked it off him, focused the flames on his hardened fist and struck him down. Fushimi avoids Yata's fist with his sword, grabs his arm with a blue barrier, and stops him.

Fushimi is familiar with Yata's movements and fighting style. It was uncomfortable to realize that, and Yata enthusiastically jumped up on his skateboard and launched a nosedive attack. Fushimi received the bottom of Yata's skateboard with the sword from him.

Yata's skateboard and Fushimi's sword fight each other, and Fushimi raises the sword, deflecting the trajectory of Yata's power. However, just before being played, the skateboard wheel scraped off Fushimi's sword. His glasses flew off.

Fushimi, who exposed his true face, narrowed his eyes and looked at Yata, narrowing the distance with the lightness of taking steps, and extended his sword.

Yata jumped to avoid the sword. He flips high as he is, and at the same time he lands, he attacks again.

A fist like a bullet of fire. Kicking with the body on fire. If it's just a knife, it can be defeated, but there is also Fushimi's sword, which uses the power of blue that also serves as a barrier.

Fushimi attacked Yata. A blue light like fluttering phosphorescence. Yata leaped like a small animal and withdrew as he avoided a gentle but violent push, and used the skateboard as a folding shield.

The eyes of the two meet.

When they looked at each other they felt something emotional, and Yata kicked Fushimi down as if to shake him, and he too jumped on the skateboard and came down from behind.

"Ke, you're not as good as before, Saru!"

Fushimi laughed at Yata's provocation with just a sigh. He slowly lifts the glasses that have fallen to the ground and puts them back on.

"No... I'm stronger. Much stronger than before."

"Silly stuff!"

Yata kicks the ground again. He coiled the flames all over his body, kicked the back of the skateboard with his left foot, and jumped high.

Fushimi catches Yata attacking from above with his sword.

After taking action for a short time, Yata jumps once with Fushimi's sword power that can be repelled, regains his position, and charges immediately.

He remembered that he was rushing too much when he was next to Fushimi. However, stupid or not, Yata's haste has set in motion what is in front of him. Fushimi used to follow Yata running aside, but that is no longer necessary. Yata has both power and stamina. He doesn't need to be smart. He will push everything with just force.

He engulfed him with a fist engulfed in flames. Fushimi dodged Yata's attack or defended himself with the power of blue, but his legs slowly fell back.

Yata laughed at Fushimi, who was being pushed passively.

"What's the matter, Saru?"

Suddenly, Fushimi's mouth made a smile.

Fushimi flashes his left hand from the position where Yata becomes a blind spot. He sees a flying red light.

Yata opens his eyes to the red color that Fushimi gives off, and the reaction is delayed. The red light from "Homura" ignited Fushimi's knife that pierced Yata's shoulder.

The first thing he felt was heat, not pain.

When he realized it was a sensation of fire, Yata hit and rolled on the ground. He hears Kamamoto's impatient voice saying "Yata-san!"

Frowning, Yata grasps the right shoulder from which the knife is sticking out.

The burning pain from the wound pulses according to the heartbeat.

Yata removed the knife from his shoulder and gritted his teeth.

This knife is familiar to Yata. Originally, Fushimi was darker. Fushimi mainly used to throw knives as a weapon when he was in "Homura". Yata looked closely many times as if this knife had the power of red.

But now, Yata was completely surprised that Fushimi used a knife with the same red power that he used back then. He can tell that he was scared.

Distorted by anger and the feeling of wanting to cry for some reason, Yata crawls across the ground and covers himself.

Fushimi looked at Yata with a smile.

"Didn't I tell you? I left Suoh and got stronger. This is the test!"

The sword from "Scepter 4" that houses blue light and the knife he used in the "Homura" era that houses red light.

Looking at Fushimi, who is holding both colors, Yata's head was boiling.

"Ah, two colors?"

Kamamoto said in a frustrated voice and stepped out, perhaps trying to protect the fallen Yata.

However, the foot stops in one step. A bright red Fushimi knife flew in and stabbed into Kamamoto's feet. At that moment, the red power in the knife explodes and the column of fire rises. Kamamoto falls on his butt.

"Stay out of the way, I'm not interested in small fish!"

Yata staggered to his feet, staring at Fushimi's profile, who screamed at the impulse to change his voice.

"Saru is right… Stay out of this."

He grabs the knife stuck in his shoulder. Fushimi's red power burned Yata's palm. Regardless of the burning pain, he pulled the knife out hard and threw it.

The flames that were once shared as a partner are hurting Yata. Attacks of the same color are difficult to defend. Even if the blue power can be blocked by the red power, the same red power cannot be well noticed. It is the power of friends, not the ones that originally clashed.

Yata was unable to forgive Fushimi, who used that power as a tool while he was wearing a blue uniform. The more he felt the pain in his shoulder and the more aware he was of the heat of the blood flowing from him, the more his fighting spirit burned.

"Saru, don't get excited just because you have those powers. Do you intend to conquer this country?"

"I'm not interested in the vulgar things in the world. I'm interested i ..."

Fushimi distorted his face. His pupil opens behind his glasses.

"Blood and flesh."

Yata clasped his hands into his fists and screamed from the bottom of his stomach. He blew up a flame to squeeze all the power from the core of the body.

He looked directly at Fushimi. If he hits all the power he has now and knocks him down, that's all Yata has, and he can't see other scenarios.

Looking at Yata, Fushimi laughed with satisfaction.

Fushimi holds the sword. Yata, who has turned into a mass of flames, kicks the ground to hit Fushimi.

He didn't care if he died or killed.

At that moment, a cold, sharp blue wind blew and tore between the hot Yata and Fushimi.

"That's!"

I heard the anger of a woman.

When he looked, a woman dressed in blue was standing there with her two subordinates. Seeing her holding a sword in her right hand, he knows that blue breeze was a power cut from hers blue hers.

The wind it produced scattered the flames of Yata and the hot air between them.

Seri Awashima, a lieutenant from "Scepter 4", a blue-clad woman with an outstretched back, declared it again and sent an attentive glance at Fushimi.

"Fushimi, put your sword away, what are you doing? Where do you think you are?"

Awashima's cut seemed to have dissipated the damp heat that Fushimi was wearing, and Fushimi turned around with a fake smile on his face.

Awashima lowered her eyebrows, but she did not repeat any more words to Fushimi and turned her eyes to Yata.

"Misaki Yata, a member under the command of the "Red King". The captain of the "Homura" team who controls the skateboard, and you answer to the name of Yatagarasu."

He didn't feel bad about being called by two of his favorite names, and Yata snorted and laughed.

"I know you too. Seri Awashima, the right arm of the "Blue King". Call me a ruthless woman."

Awashima had an indescribable look, as if she was angry and stunned.

"I think that name was probably said by the owner of the bar, right?"

"Eh?"

"Anyway, it is a fact that I cannot ignore that you are here, but unfortunately it is too great a disadvantage to be here now. What if you guys postpone the meeting?"

"He was the one who started it."

"Yes? Maybe I was not clear. You are going to postpone a meeting, understood? Is that better?"

Yata looked wryly at Awashima, who was like a teacher, with only one corner of his mouth raised.

"I have no intention of obeying a Blue."

"Yata-san!"

Kamamoto called out in a voice trying to stop him, but he ignored it and continued proudly. He thought that retreating just because these Blues appeared would make "Homura" look bad.

"Your king…"

Suddenly, Awashima's voice seemed to be soft. Yata's shoulder shuddered at the words.

"All he does is complain about the food, but he finishes it and goes to sleep. I'm totally blown away."

He felt him being pushed hard in the chest.

Suoh seems to be Suoh and he's fine. He was so relieved that he wanted to cry over that fact, and he felt his strength gradually increase.

"Mikoto-san..."

Awashima smiled at Yata when he accidentally muttered. At that face, he suddenly felt uncomfortable when he remembered that Awashima, whom he had only thought of as an "enemy", was a woman.

"Let's go."

He turns around to hide his flushed face from her and starts walking with Kamamoto.

As he walked, Yata looked back just once. Fushimi kept his sword down and turned, not even looking at Yata. Yata clicks his tongue bitterly and turns to the front.

His injured right shoulder was annoying.

++++++++++

"Do you have something to say?"

Awashima said in a very calm and simple voice.

"I'm sorry."

Fushimi made an apology, but it was neither an apologetic voice nor an apologetic tone.

However, Awashima forgave Fushimi's attitude as if it didn't matter.

"So how did it go?"

Awashima asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb. You accessed the school's data anyway, right?"

Fushimi was struck by the void for a moment and blinked, realizing that he was discovered.

His thoughts and actions were read by Awashima, it made him feel a bit interesting and he evaluated.

His head went cold because he faced Yata, and his emotions that trembled after a long time settled in the original place, and his head switched to working mode.

"How is he? Is that boy a student from here?"

The result of the collection of data from school officials hacked from the computer in the student’s council room revives in Fushimi's mind.

"No."

No applicable person.

After matching with the photo of the criminal's face, the system concluded that.

"The suspect is not enrolled in this school."

++++++++++

Yata thought it was done.

It was Yata who insisted, "I'll just ask one more person!", shaking Kamamoto, who was persuaded to go home after first aid treatment for the wound on his right shoulder that was stabbed with a knife.

He was wondering if he could go home empty-handed, and he was so upset that he had that conversation with Fushimi that he didn't feel like coming home, and he was worried about Yata. It was also because Kamamoto is stubborn, he would tell Yata to go home as if he was trying to calm his son down.

Yata then stopped a group of students passing by without even looking at the other person's face before being stopped by Kamamoto.

"Yes?"

However, in that group, it was a female student who stopped in response to Yata's voice. The skirt of the Ashinaka high school uniform fluttered, and the hair cut with an ornament on the side swayed.

He stopped a woman. Yata was afraid to notice. On the other hand, the student who stopped didn't seem to be scared of Yata and tilted her head with a clean face.

He can't run away, Yata averted his eyes from her so as not to make eye contact with her, but pushed forward the image of the criminal boy that was displayed on the PDA.

"I'm looking for... this guy... have you seen him?"

The schoolgirl looks at the boy in the picture.

"Kukuri! We will get ahead of ourselves!"

A student who seems to be friends with her spoke to her from a distance. The girl named Kukuri looked at her friend, replied "Oh, yeah!", and then turned to Yata.

"I'm sorry."

Kukuri said with an apologetic bow.

"Do not know him."

#K #k project #k the first story #k novel

34 notes · View notes

a-gorgeous-george · 3 years

Photo

Basic Questions

First name? Georgette

Surname? Foxworth

Middle names? Luciana

Nicknames? Gigi (by her mother)

Date of birth? August 7th

Age? 22

Physical / Appearance

Type of clothes?

Georgette’s style is all about femineity and luxury. She wears a lot of dresses, a lot of skirts, but even her workout clothes are designer. She swears “cheap” clothes give her a rash – and who would want to mar her perfect skin like that.

How do they wear their clothes? Tight and tailored.

What are their feet like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn, etc)

Georgette is rarely seen without heels on, and thanks to regular pedicures and lack of abuse, her feet are soft and pretty always.

Race / Ethnicity? Spanish and Indonesian

Are they in good health? Oh yes, she has a strict workout schedule and diet she sticks to… well, actually, perhaps not, because alongside that she also lives a life of high stress and nicotine.

Personality

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

It really depends on the source of power in a situation. If it is something she has control over, she is optimistic, can’t see how something would ever not work out, but if someone else is in control, her view changes considerably and she is usually fairly certain it will fail.

Do they ever put on airs?

When is she not putting on airs?

What bad habits do they have? She has a serious nicotine problem.

What makes them laugh out loud?

She isn’t really a laugh out loud type of person. She might chuckle or smile in amusement, but laughing out loud indicates a level of ease that she just does not feel around people. Also Al.

How do they display affection?

She is very physically affectionate… I think. She has never been in a position where she felt comfortable being affectionate with a person in that way. Besides that, she shares her wealth in ways that benefit that people she cares about, shares her privilege with them. She is happy to be her friends’ sugar mama.

How do they want to be seen by others? Beautiful and in control.

How do they see themselves?

She very much sees herself as a lone wolf. She knows she’s beautiful, smart, capable, hardworking, but she’s alone and absolutely terrified someone will recognize it. She is also very much aware of her inner rage.

· How are they seen by others?

Because of her past with her family and the lack of ties it provided her, Georgette was left defending herself. Her arrogance and obsessive need to believe in her own importance is directly tied to the lack of importance anyone else gave her.

Strongest character trait?

For all her bravado and arrogance, Georgette is 100% unafraid of hard work. From her work on her blog and marketing it, her history as a beauty queen, her strict adherence to her diet and exercise routine, every aspect of her life, she has no issue knuckling down and putting in the time and effort to succeed.

Weakest character trait?

She is incapable of asking for help, as if it somehow undermines her own achievements if someone else must assist her.

How competitive are they?

Extremely. If you want to manipulate Georgette into doing something, make it a contest. She’ll probably even know what you’re doing and still be unable to resist.

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider?

Snap judgements all the way, baby!!

How do they react to praise?

Smug agreement.

How do they react to criticism?

Strong commitment to your character’s delusion that she is anything other than amazing.

What is their greatest fear?

Dying without ever achieving anything of substance.

What are their biggest secrets?

Georgette is crushingly lonely. Her whole life has been spent pushing people away, trying to protect herself and prove herself, full of anger, and it has left her without anyone she can be close to.

What will they stand up for?

Once her blog is up and running and successful, once the magazine starts to take off, she will have real issues with people saying she’s self-made. She is fully aware that even without her father’s money, her name alone carries a certain currency most people do not have. She is well aware of her own privilege in that area and will stand up against anyone who compares her achievements against someone who didn’t have that head start.

Who do they quote?

She’s a closet book nerd and might not quote directly but will frequently make allusions to literature.

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? Indoorsy.

What is their sinful little habit? Cigarettes.

What sense do they most rely on?

Sight – how someone/something looks dictates more of her life than it should.

How do they treat people better than them?

What people better than them?

How do they treat people worse than them?

That seems like an unfair question when everyone is worse than them.

What quality do they most value in a friend? She wouldn’t know.

What do they consider an overrated virtue? Niceness.

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

She would have people who cared about her.

What is their obsession? Herself?

Friends and Family

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of?

Her mother and stepfather, father and stepmother, Jenny and Oliver (Yes, she considers Oliver as part of her family)

What is their perception of family?

When she was barely cognizant of life, her father had an affair, had a baby, split up her family, quickly destroying the idea in her head. It is an outdated concept made to make people feel like belong to a group, no loyalty or love.

Describe their best friend.

………. Let me get her just a friend first.

Ideal best friend?

Someone who understands her hustle. Someone she can see the inherent importance in. Someone that can still pull her out of her head and get her to have fun.

Describe their acquaintances.

She is jealous of the closeness of Dodger’s gang, watching as an outsider and wishing desperately to be a part of it all.

Do they have any pets?

She is a massive dog person! (Get it?) But yes, she has a little doggo, Valentina.

Past and Future

What was your character like as a baby? As a child?

Awful? Spoiled? She was raised spoiled, but after her father’s betrayal, she sought to teach him a lesson. Even as a child, she would blackmail and torture him, threatening to reveal his dirty secret to the world. She was worse to Jenny even, more easily able to take out her anger over the affair and her birth on the younger girl than the truly guilty adults.

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected?

Neglected – but that is partly her own fault. She is as much at fault due to her reaction and actively hurting her family and her father. She lashed out and did truly awful things and crushed what bond there might have possibly been.

What is the most offensive thing they ever said?

Oh, I don’t know… in my head, I feel like she can be a very problematic person. Add that in with her natural meanness, I am sure she has said some awful stuff.

What was their first kiss like?

It was awful. Some other 7th grader when she was in 7th grade. Too wet. Thought he was trying to drown her.

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved?

Repeatedly blackmailing her father for her own benefit.

What are their ambitions?

She wants to outshine her father, claim their last name as her own and not the sullied version her father left in the wake of his controversy. That is why her blog and future magazine is named after her.

What advice would they give their younger self? It’s not Jenny’s fault.

What smells remind them of their childhood? Perfume and peppermints.

What was their childhood ambition?

Growing up, her mind stayed on the pageant world. Her ambitions usually stayed just one pageant ahead of her.

What is their best childhood memory?

She doesn’t know if it’s real or not, just this soft memory of her father grinning and spinning around the living room with her, dressed in his coat and tails.

What is their worst childhood memory?

Listening in from the hall as his father confessed everything to her mother, hearing her mother sobbing as he threw clothes into a suitcase.

When was the last time they were crushed with disappointment?

The last one? She still hasn’t got over her first one.

Love

Do they believe in love at first sight?

She only barely believes in love in any form.

· How do they behave in a relationship?

Georgette really doesn’t do relationships, thanks to that whole “love isn’t real” thing. They usually last a month or so, but she gets bored and has no issue telling him to get lost after that point.

When did you character last have sex? Perhaps a couple weeks ago.

What sort of sex do they have?

She is looking for something hot, passionate, and with someone she doesn’t have to worry about calling back.

Conflict

How do they respond to a threat?

Georgette doesn’t back down from a threat, though her means for fighting usually involves $$$ instead of doing any sort of fighting herself.

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? Tongue.

What is your character’s kryptonite? Point out her lack of backup.

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? Say it with me… diamonds.

How do they perceive strangers?

Her trust or lack of trust in them is based solely on how they look.

What do they love to hate? Oh, that is way too long a list to put here.

What are their phobias? Bugs of any sort.

What is their choice of weapon? Poison.

What living person do they most despise? Her father.

Have they ever been bullied or teased? That would not go well for that person.

Where do they go when they’re angry? Home, to seethe and plot.

Work, Education and Hobbies

What is their current job? Blogger.

What do they think about their current job?

She has dreams of something bigger, more substantial, but she’s thankful for the success the gossip blog has had and excited to grow it.

What are their hobbies? Painting, reading, dancing.

Educational background? Some college.

Intelligence level?

I believe she is fairly smart, but her work ethic covers a lot of distance for her.

Favorites

What is their favorite animal? Doggies.

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? Her face in the mirror.

What is their favorite song? Ego by Beyonce

Music, art, reading preferred? Ooooooh… probably reading

What is their favorite color? Gold

What is their password?

Honestly it is probably a secure combination of letters put together by a professional.

Favorite food: Lasagna

What is their favorite work of art? Judith and the Head of Holofornes

Who is their favorite artist? Gustav Klimt

What is their favorite day of the week? Saturday

Possessions

What is in their fridge? A lot of water, veggies, meal prepped chicken

What is on their bedside table? The current book she is reading, a bouquet of pink and white roses, a gold lamp, a rose gold silk eye mask

Spirituality

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel?

If she has a guardian angel, she would really like a word with it.

Do they believe in the afterlife? I mean, she now knows Hades, so yeah

What are their religious views?

Once you meet a god, you kinda realize which system of beliefs is the right one

· How would they like to die? Painless and pretty

What is their zodiac sign? Leo

Values

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? Abandonment

What is their view of ‘freedom’?

Able to make your way through life on your own two feet without having to rely on anyone else to support you.

When did they last lie? Probably an hour ago

What’s their view of lying? It definitely can make things easier.

When did they last make a promise?

She doesn’t really bother. You either do things or you don’t. The rest is just extra words.

Daily life

What are their eating habits? Healthy food prepared by a chef.

Describe their home.

Luxurious home in a gated community bought by her father.

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? Minimalist.

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Drink a glass of cold water.

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon?

She can be found putting the finishing touches on her blog post for the week.

What do they do on a Friday night?

She can just as easily be found out dancing as home alone working.

What is the soft drink of choice? She doesn’t drink soda.

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? Merlot.

Miscellaneous

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? Anything sexy.

Are they comfortable with technology? She can do basic things.

If they could save one person, who would it be? Jenny.

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? Over her dead body.

What is their greatest extravagance? Jewelry

What is their perception of redemption? She hopes it’s real.

What would they do if they won the lottery? It would change her life 0%.

What is their favourite fairytale?

She isn’t really big on fairytales, but definitely prefers the darker original versions. So much more realistic than that happily ever after in love bullshit.

Do they believe in happy endings?

She believes in the ability of a person to make their own damn happy ending.

What is their idea of perfect happiness?

Surrounded by a family that loves her

If your character could travel through time, where would they go?

She has it on good authority that life gets more uncivilized the farther back you go, so she’s good, thanks.

If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

Full on mind control. She’ll make you do what she wants and feel no guilt.

#watasks #{beauty for the beholder}

4 notes · View notes

sakaloo7 · 3 years

Text

The Palestinian/ Israeli situation in a simplified example

I’m fascinated by how relationships between two individuals and all their details helps in understanding bigger, more complex human relationships. I’ve been diving deep, studying and reading books about narcissism and abusive relationships, then the Palestine/ Israel conflict popped up these days. I connected the dots to many aspects that I really didn’t pay any attention to before. I always had questions like:

- Why are people turning a blind eye (especially from the west) when we are so obviously almost powerless in front of the Israeli military?

- What about the numbers? A minimum of 83 civilians in Gaza were killed in the previous days compared to 7 Israelis, whenever there is friction, we all know that Palestinians pay a higher price, more homes get destroyed, more children die, more families live in fear..etc.

A brief about narcissists, how they behave, and the link between Israel and Palestine.

- All of us probably have seen or were in a relationship with the toxic people that they are. Narcissists are extremely good manipulators, they’ll find a way to always blame you for any problem, play on your weaknesses, your guilt and shame to make you actually feel guilty for things you didn’t even do. They turn tables, always try to catch a fight with you for no reason and have horrible outbursts of anger thrown at you. If you try to stand your ground and defend yourself, you’ll be denied of this right because: How dare you be so heartless and abusive and not see their pain that led them to be angry at the first place? They’ll always switch to being a victim, they’re the ones that matter, they’re the ones always hurting, they will not see you because the universe obviously revolves around them.

- Defending yourself is always going to be used against you, no matter how you use logic and common sense, they don’t operate the same way we do, it’s THEIR logic and THEIR common sense that matter (that only serves their own selfish benefits). Nothing you say will be heard, no effort will produce any results. If you try to give them a taste of their own poison, they’re only going to bully you more, attack you more and hurt you more.

- Narcissists organize people in hierarchies, in their head, those who deserve respect are those who are richer than them, higher in status, have more fame, are more successful. A narcissist will disrespect, devalue, look down on those who are lower in hierarchy. That doesn’t mean they’re mean to everyone below them, narcissists are the ones who treat everyone so nice to serve their self image as a kind, amazing person, then treat their families and closed ones like shit behind closed doors. Their niceness is only that way because its serves a benefit to their ego.

_______________

Important synonym:

Narcissistic supply: Their fuel. Their main source of energy. In case of romantic relationships it is preying on naive, empathetic people who have weak boundaries. These people will give the narcissist what they want, attention, sacrifice and love (and of course the opposite treatment is devaluing, bullying and disrespect). Without this supply, a narcissist -literally- emotionally dies. Which is why going no contact or “ghosting” the narcissist in a romantic relationship drives them insane and causes them intolerable pain.

In case of Israel, what’s feeding the parasite is the US aid and all the countries that stand by their side, approve of their state and feed their agenda. This approval is what is keeping them alive. Being short of this supply threatens their presence.

The narcissist’s allies: These are the people standing behind them, supporting them, believing them, enabling their behaviors. These allies are what feeds the narcissists ego, in case of a relationship, it’s his other (also abusive) friends who keep talking about how shitty they treat their wives, which makes the narcissist feel that what he’s doing is approved and normal. Without these allies, the narcissist would feel indifferent. He would start to feel a bit wrong if others seriously point out his behavior. Nothing strikes a narcissist as the feeling of indifference.

You might be wondering why do people fall prey to these monsters and date/ be-friend them?

The LOVE-BOMBING stage: The facade the narcissist puts to lure you in. It’s when the narcissist idolizes you, appreciates you, mirrors your good qualities to make you think you’re meant for each other. In the context of the conflict, it’s when Israel shows how compassionate and righteous of a state it is and makes connections with countries to be-friend them (then stabs them in the back).

______________

- You’ll always be the evil one: Because narcissists are master manipulators, they will convince people that their victim (ex.: abused wife) is crazy, even her own children would believe. The woman will find herself alone and everyone’s led to believe the abusive man just because of how charismatic and confident he sounds. This “crazy woman” is the equivalent of these “Hamas Terrorists”. This card is used to discredit you as a human, a card to alienate, stop others from listening to your opinion nor rationalize your actions to defend yourself. Because why would you rationalize a woman who’s irrational? Why would you rationalize someone labeled “terrorist”? Terrorists just destroy right? They don’t think before doing anything they’re doing.

- Narcissists avoid responsibility at all costs, if you hold them accountable for their words or actions they’ll deny, gaslight and play the victim in order to avoid changing their behavior. They will always have an excuse, no matter what.

- These people KNOW they are wrong, they KNOW they’re being illogical, they KNOW their abuse and how it affects others. And they CHOOSE to stay like that because of the privileges that come with it.

Conclusion:

Using common sense doesn’t work with these people. They only recognize and would respect those who have power above them.

Appealing to their moral judgment is impossible.

The way to revenge, is NOT equal destruction. It is power, and turning everyone against them. Social media spreads awareness and Israel will not succeed in concealing their crimes for too long. “ The best revenge is to live on and prove yourself.”

Those Arab countries who are friends with Israel is exactly as if the woman’s sister in an abusive relationship sides with the physically abusive husband just because he’s so charismatic and funny “How could you say such bad things about him?”, the abusive man: “See! even your sister thinks you’re crazy and don’t make sense!”. These Arab countries betray our Palestinian brothers and sisters and enable more abuse for them.

Why are people turning a blind eye? Why don’t numbers matter?

Lets be honest, would you have more feelings of respect or more feelings of pity towards a woman who allowed herself to enter an abusive relationship? You’ll always have this question in your head: Why didn’t she just reject the guy when she saw the red flags in the early stages? People deeply have more feelings of pity or empathy over respect for those who allow themselves to be abused by others.

But it’s different with the conflict, it’s not like a person to person situation. It’s more complex, because Arab governments at a point allowed this cancer to settle. Arab leaders DIDN’T represent their citizens and DIDN’T stand their ground and for sure had common interests with Israel, and no one respects those who betray their own people. Our generations will pay a price they didn’t have to pay, because of their decisions. Just like the abused woman’s kids will pay the price of being in a dysfunctional home, and having a cruel father, even though it’s not their fault, they didn’t choose this.

This puts a responsibility on us, individuals, to take action, send donations and unite as one to help and hope it does an impact.

Please don’t feel shame if you feel helpless. Just like the children who didn’t choose their bullying father. None of us, Arab citizens, chose this. We are paying prices we didn’t have to pay and we either decide to be responsible for it and turn it to productive actions or be bitter about it and give up (not recommended). All of us have to understand the dynamics of such problem and not guilt ourselves, and just do the best we can right now.

So, again, why do people turn a blind eye?

1- Refusing to look at the conflict as an international human rights violation. Same reason why there aren’t laws to regulate domestic violence in many countries and some will justify and say: “The woman chose this person herself”, “We have more important issues to solve”, - even though it can get extremely violent - which is failure to take responsibility for what’s right. Some consider it an Arab problem that Arabs just have to deal with, because they allowed it in the first place! So, international human rights foundations and those countries that have the power to do anything won’t take responsibility because it is against their interests and gain or simply because: “Why bother?”, and blame it on our governments, which kind of makes sense.

2- Because some see the Arab world as a nation that’s inferior. We are not in the top hierarchies in a lot of fields (economy, education, health care,..etc) in terms of what we add to the world or to our own citizens. This doesn’t mean we are failures at an individual level, we don’t lack what makes us excel, but we are seen generally (as countries) as mediocre. For many reasons, like poverty and ignorance. This way of thinking also follows the same ideology of a narcissist: only feel compassion and empathy towards others based on hierarchy.

3-Stereotypes. Since all the middle eastern news is not very decent. That puts the pressure on individuals to reinforce a good impression that their countries and societies failed to make, and correct the false impressions of them as well. If you’re Muslim/ Arab living abroad you might feel you have to smile wider just to prove you’re a good person. Which is very exhausting, and again, you’re paying a price you shouldn’t pay. For a mistake you didn’t make. Many won’t have that Arab friend to prove their stereotypes wrong, so they’ll just keep themselves busy with their own country’s issues.

4- Because people are not connected to us. Take South Korea as an example. They have achieved tremendous success in reaching people with their art and music, people from all over the world recognize their hard work and effort so they’ll therefore empathize with their pain. Don’t be surprised if twitter explodes with hashtags of a K-pop group member having a flu but no hashtags for children getting killed in Palestine. As much as it’s sad, it’s human nature to feel empathy towards those who you have emotional connection to.

5- Its a sensitive topic, so people just want to avoid any clash. They don’t know who’s right and who’s wrong and therefore feel like they don’t have enough info to judge the whole thing.

What to do?

Focus on ourselves, set valuable goals, have integrity.

Be aware that conflict is part of life, don’t paralyze yourself in negativity.

Not be tricked to play the role of the victim. We can change so much if we focus our power into our strengths instead of dwelling.

Do our best to be the best person in our job and excel in our field.

Ending with two of my favorite quotes:

“It’s better to be a warrior in a garden, than a gardener in war”

“When you begin the journey of revenge, be sure to dig two graves, one for your enemy and one for yourself.”

#freepalestine #savesheikhjarrah #palestine

5 notes · View notes

shijiujun · 3 years

Photo

Okay if y’all have read my top 2020 danmei list from a week or two back, you’ll know this is currently my favourite danmei (outside of Qi Wei Shang + 2ha hahaha), so here’s a proper, full rec!

- Part of Min’s ‘Why You Should Read’ Series -

Summary:

Ji Yan Ran is the Emperor’s brother and wields military power in the novel, and it starts with an object being stolen from the palace. Ji Yan Ran has to retrieve the item secretly, and so enlists the help of Feng Yu Sect’s Sect Master, Yun Yi Feng, who heads the martial arts world’s one and only information trading post. Yun Yi Feng does not deal in business that involves any royalty, but Jing Yan Ran offers him something he cannot refuse - the Blood Red Lingzhi, a rare and mystical herb that is rumoured to be able to treat his life-threatening condition.

Yun Yi Feng was used by his shifu when he was younger to test out all kinds of poisons and cures, and since then, his body flushes dangerously hot and cold frequently, with bouts of severe coughing fits in between. Throughout the first mission where he spends time with Ji Yan Ran searching for the stolen object, he allows Jing Yan Ran to take care of him. Their relationship is pretty flirty and touchy right off the bat, with Ji Yan Ran knowing really clearly that he wants to take care of Yun Yi Feng. When Yun Yi Feng goes anywhere without a coat, JYR always has one ready. He promises all his riches to him, even his mother hahaha (but that’s because he knows he deceived YYF with the Blood Red Lingzhi and is willing to give YYF everything else while also continuing to look for the lingzhi for him).

Of course, they have to uncover a plot and conspiracy against their enemies who are plotting to dethrone the Emperor, and also reveal the secrets of Yun Yi Feng’s birth.

Read:

Novel (Online) | Novel (Print) - Not Available | Novel Translations | Manhua

Characters:

1. 云倚风 Yun Yi Feng (right) - The revered Sect Master of Feng Yu Sect as his sect controls the flow and movement of information. People from all over buy information or hire the sect to help them get information, and is considered a neutral sect within the wuxia world. Very intelligent, a cool-headed strategist who also loves riches, whose eyes light up at the sight of treasures and money.

He was a child remnant of a war, and picked up by his shifu Gui Ci, who brought him to this island to live with other kids he picked up. His first few years were spent rather happily there, but then one day the man gave all the children bowls of what they thought was soup but ended up being poison because Gui Ci wanted to test out his new concoctions. At the end, only YYF survived after multiple ingestions of poisons and experimental cures. Because he was the ‘strongest’ out of all the other children, Gui Ci began testing out all sorts of poisons and cures on him after. If someone came to him after having been poisoned, Gui Ci would poison YYF in the same way as a test subject to use cures on, and only after they worked on YYF would he use them on the patient.

His shifu is considered a mad man, and the last straw was when he locked YYF up with several scorpions for a few days and YYF was the closest thing to death at that moment, and afterwards, realizing that he’d gone overboard, Gui Ci is more careful about poisoning him, allowing him to have a slightly more normal childhood, but because of this YYF’s body would flush hot and cold frequently and unbearably. He manages to escape from Gui Ci and sets up Feng Yu Sect.

He only has 5 years left to live if he doesn’t find the Blood Red Lingzhi, when he meets Ji Yan Ran and his request. After meeting JYR he realizes how sweet life is, to have someone who always thinks of him, who cares about his well-being, who wants to make him happy, who buys and gives him everything he wants. In the beginning he is unable to reciprocate knowing he’ll die soon, but they get together anyway after a close call, as JYR tries to find the Lingzhi for him.

He also loves to cook and play the zither, but is so bad at both!! He’s so terrible that every time he approaches the kitchen or the zither the servants themselves try to redirect him subtly and chase him away because they CANNOT stand his dishes or his music hahahaha.

2. 季燕然 Ji Yan Ran (left) - Army commander/general, and a prince. Close to the Emperor, who’s his older brother, and takes a liking to YYF the moment he meets him. He bluffs YYF, says that he has the Blood Red Lingzhi, and then realizing how much YYF needs it, he feels more guilty and guilty for lying to him, and once admitting it, he promises to do whatever it takes to find it for him.

He’s very smart as well, has eyes only for YYF and is willing to indulge him in every single whim he has. If YYF complains that he doesn’t have anything to wear (even in jest), JYR has the garment stores in the whole city send 10 outfits each for YYF to pick. And even though he hates YYF’s cooking and playing of the zither, he lets him do it anyway, fond but exasperated while everyone is staring daggers at him for not stopping YYF.

A few years ago, a close friend of his and the Emperor’s died, and JYR suspects that their father had something to do with it. It’s something that has been troubling him for many years and it’s a dilemma for him because he has to balance between questioning the Emperor but also trusting him and being a good brother/official to him, as clues keep pointing towards the Emperor and his father being involved in shady deals/decisions. His relationship with the Emperor, his brother, can be described as close, but of course even though they are close and trust each other to a good extent, there is still room for a tiny bit of doubt that both brothers are well aware of due to their positions, not that this affects their relationship.

Openly is affectionate to YYF in front of everyone, including his mother, who likes YYF alot as well. YYF once worried if the Emperor would oppose his relationship with him, but JYR said that their relationship should put the Emperor even more at ease, because the world and other officials would not recognize an Emperor who liked men and didn’t have any children, meaning that JYR becomes an even smaller threat to the throne.

3. 暮成雪 Mu Cheng Xue - An assassin who keeps popping up throughout the novel, and is a frenemy to YYF especially because he stole the cuteass snow leopard that was supposed to be YYF’s and refuses to return it. Not good nor bad, he does whatever he’s paid for.

4. 江凌飞 Jiang Ling Fei - JYR’s godbrother, who didn’t have a good childhood with no one to protect him in the Jiang family, one of the big wuxia families in the novel, as he had no parents and was technically brought up by his scheming uncles/cousins etc. He befriended JYR when they were younger and acknowledged JYR’s mother as his godmother because she was truly and genuinely good to him, and spends a large part of his days running in and out of the Jing manor. He’s JYR’s right hand man, but his dream is to be a bum wandering through different parts of the world, having fun whenever instead of being boggled down by duties to the Jiang family and other things.

Amazing Scenes:

YYF unceremoniously using JYR’s arm as a pillow while he’s talking

Basically YYF fainting and getting sick a lot and JYR always there to catch him ;-; To dote on him!!! Ahhhh my heart

Other Things I Like in the Novel:

The first time YYF plays the zither in the Jing manor, JYR’s mother, shaking, goes to JYR and asks, “Is Yun-er learning some evil cultivation music?”

YYF tends to go out to the markets and will buy back 2kg of flour for example, while all the servants shudder in the fear and cry in front of JYR, who can only sigh but indulge him

YYF’s favourite things include JYR’s mother taking his blankets out to soak up the sunlight in the day so he has fluffy, warmth-filled and fresh-smelling covers everyday to collapse into

JYR once asked YYF if it’s a good thing that he met him, and YYF says, “Of course it’s a good thing I met wangye, because of you, I now know that life can be sweet and warm too.”

YYF carves out what he thinks the Blood Red Lingzhi looks like based on some bogus description JYR gave him and because he’s so hopeful and happy about finally being able to have the lingzhi, he carves it out and wears it like a pendant, and everytime JYR sees it he wants to slap himself for being such a motherfucking asshole and deceiving this man

YYF keeps forgetting his cape/coat, so JYR always gives him his, but YYF keeps taking and not returning and on the fourth time it happens, YYF looks at JYR expectantly, and JYR says, “You’ve already taken three, this is my last one, I’m gonna freeze to death, left without a cape if I give you this one”

JYR always tempts YYF into doing things by giving him treasures, and jokingly promises YYF his army commander ring, which symbolizes his authority and power, and YYF unceremoniously takes it knowing what it is, and refuses to return it to him - After a few times this happens, JYR makes a replica of it so they matchy matchy ;-;

They travel South in a holiday for a few months after the first arc is wrapped up, knowing that YYF doesn’t have much time left to live, and every single day is painful for JYR as the time YYF spends conscious decreases day by day

YYF asks for some oil/salve to use as lube from the army camp’s physician, a night before JYR is due to go off for war, and the physician scolds the messenger for having the time to think about such thoughts, and when the messenger says it’s for YYF, physician is like “... oh. okay, here you go, give this to him” without another word HAHAHAHA

#a sword of frost #danmei #danmei recs #一剑霜寒 #min's why you should read #cnovel #i'm determined to complete 10 so bear with me yall!!!#hahahahhaa

330 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

Could you expand a bit on the "death of expertise"? It's something I think about A LOT as an artist, because there are so many problems with people who think it isn't a real job, and the severe undercutting of prices that happens because people think hobbyists and professionals are the same. At the same time, I also really want people to feel free to be able to make art if they want, with no gatekeeping or elitism, and I usually spin myself in circles mentally thinking about it. So.

I have been secretly hoping someone would ask this question, nonny. Bless you. I have a lot (a LOT) of thoughts on this topic, which I will try to keep somewhat concise and presented in a semi-organized fashion, but yes.

I can mostly speak about this in regard to academia, especially the bad, bad, BAD takes in my field (history) that have dominated the news in recent weeks and which constitute most of the recent posts on my blog. (I know, I know, Old Man Yells At Cloud when attempting to educate the internet on actual history, but I gotta do SOMETHING.) But this isn’t a new phenemenon, and is linked to the avalanche of “fake news” that we’ve all heard about and experienced in the last few years, especially in the run-up and then after the election of You Know Who, who has made fake news his personal brand (if not in the way he thinks). It also has to do with the way Americans persistently misunderstand the concept of free speech as “I should be able to say whatever I want and nobody can correct or criticize me,” which ties into the poisonous extreme-libertarian ethos of “I can do what I want with no regard for others and nobody can correct me,” which has seeped its way into the American mainstream and is basically the center of the modern Republican party. (Basically: all for me, all the time, and caring about others is a weak liberal pussy thing to do.)

This, however, is not just an issue of partisan politics, because the left is just as guilty, even if its efforts take a different shape. One of the reason I got so utterly exasperated with strident online leftists, especially around primary season and the hardcore breed of Bernie Bros, is just that they don’t do anything except shout loud and incorrect information on the internet (and then transmogrify that into a twisted ideology of moral purity which makes a sin out of actually voting for a flawed candidate, even if the alternative is Donald Goddamn Trump). I can’t count how many people from both sides of the right/left divide get their political information from like-minded people on social media, and never bother to experience or verify or venture outside their comforting bubbles that will only provide them with “facts” that they already know. Social media has done a lot of good things, sure, but it’s also made it unprecedently easy to just say whatever insane bullshit you want, have it go viral, and then have you treated as an authority on the topic or someone whose voice “has to be included” out of some absurd principle of both-siderism. This is also a tenet of the mainstream corporate media: “both sides” have to be included, to create the illusion of “objectivity,” and to keep the largest number of paying subscribers happy. (Yes, of course this has deep, deep roots in the collapse of late-stage capitalism.) Even if one side is absolutely batshit crazy, the rules of this distorted social contract stipulate that their proposals and their flaws have to be treated as equal with the others, and if you point out that they are batshit crazy, you have to qualify with some criticism of the other side.

This is where you get white people posting “Neo-Nazis and Black Lives Matter are the same!!!1” on facebook. They are a) often racist, let’s be real, and b) have been force-fed a constant narrative where Both Sides Are Equally Bad. Even if one is a historical system of violent oppression that has made a good go at total racial and ethnic genocide and rests on hatred, and the other is the response to not just that but the centuries of systemic and small-scale racism that has been built up every day, the white people of the world insist on treating them as morally equivalent (related to a superior notion that Violence is Always Bad, which.... uh... have you even seen constant and overwhelming state-sponsored violence the West dishes out? But it’s only bad when the other side does it. Especially if those people can be at all labeled “fanatics.”)

I have complained many, many times, and will probably complain many times more, about how hard it is to deconstruct people’s absolutely ingrained ideas of history and the past. History is a very fragile thing; it’s really only equivalent to the length of a human lifespan, and sometimes not even that. It’s what people want to remember and what is convenient for them to remember, which is why we still have some living Holocaust survivors and yet a growing movement of Holocaust denial, among other extremist conspiracy theories (9/11, Sandy Hook, chemtrails, flat-earthing, etc etc). There is likewise no organized effort to teach honest history in Western public schools, not least since the West likes its self-appointed role as guardians of freedom and liberty and democracy in the world and doesn’t really want anyone digging into all that messy slavery and genocide and imperialism and colonialism business. As a result, you have deliberately under- or un-educated citizens, who have had a couple of courses on American/British/etc history in grade school focusing on the greatest-hit reel, and all from an overwhelmingly triumphalist white perspective. You have to like history, from what you get out of it in public school, to want to go on to study it as a career, while knowing that there are few jobs available, universities are cutting or shuttering humanities departments, and you’ll never make much money. There is... not a whole lot of outside incentive there.

I’ve written before about how the humanities are always the first targeted, and the first defunded, and the first to be labeled as “worthless degrees,” because a) they are less valuable to late-stage capitalism and its emphasis on Material Production, and b) they often focus on teaching students the critical thinking skills that critique and challenge that dominant system. There’s a reason that there is a stereotype of artists as social revolutionaries: they have often taken a look around, gone, “Hey, what the hell is this?” and tried to do something about it, because the creative and free-thinking impulse helps to cultivate the tools necessary to question what has become received and dominant wisdom. Of course, that can then be taken too far into the “I’ll create my own reality and reject absolutely everything that doesn’t fit that narrative,” and we end up at something like the current death of expertise.

This year is particularly fertile for these kinds of misinformation efforts: a plague without a vaccine or a known cure, an election year in a turbulently polarized country, race unrest in a deeply racist country spreading to other racist countries around the world and the challenging of a particularly important system (white supremacy), etc etc. People are scared and defensive and reactive, and in that case, they’re especially less motivated to challenge or want to encounter information that scares them. They need their pre-set beliefs to comfort them or provide steadiness in a rocky and uncertain world, and (thanks once again to social media) it’s easy to launch blistering ad hominem attacks on people who disagree with you, who are categorized as a faceless evil mass and who you will never have to meet or negotiate with in real life. This is the environment in which all the world’s distinguished scientists, who have spent decades studying infectious diseases, have to fight for airtime and authority (and often lose) over random conspiracy theorists who make a YouTube video. The public has been trained to see them as “both the same” and then accept which side they like the best, regardless of actual factual or real-world qualifications. They just assume the maniac on YouTube is just as trustworthy as the scientists with PhDs from real universities.

Obviously, academia is racist, elitist, classist, sexist, on and on. Most human institutions are. But training people to see all academics as the enemy is not the answer. You’ve seen the Online Left (tm) also do this constantly, where they attack “the establishment” for never talking about anything, or academics for supposedly erasing and covering up all of non-white history, while apparently never bothering to open a book or familiarize themselves with a single piece of research that actual historians are working on. You may have noticed that historians have been leading the charge against the “don’t erase history!!!1″ defenders of racist monuments, and explaining in stinging detail exactly why this is neither preserving history or being truthful about it. Tumblr likes to confuse the mechanism that has created the history and the people who are studying and analyzing that history, and lump them together as one mass of Evil And Lying To You. Academics are here because we want to critically examine the world and tell you things about it that our nonsense system has required years and years of effort, thousands of dollars in tuition, and other gatekeeping barriers to learn. You can just ask one of us. We’re here, we usually love to talk, and we’re a lot cheaper. I think that’s pretty cool.

As a historian, I have been trained in a certain skill set: finding, reading, analyzing, using, and criticizing primary sources, ditto for secondary sources, academic form and style, technical skills like languages, paleography, presentation, familiarity with the professional mechanisms for reviewing and sharing work (journals, conferences, peer review, etc), and how to assemble this all into an extended piece of work and to use it in conversation with other historians. That means my expertise in history outweighs some rando who rolls up with an unsourced or misleading Twitter thread. If a professor has been handed a carefully crafted essay and then a piece of paper scribbled with crayon, she is not obliged to treat them as essentially the same or having the same critical weight, even if the essay has flaws. One has made an effort to follow the rules of the game, and the other is... well, I did read a few like that when teaching undergraduates. They did not get the same grade.

This also means that my expertise is not universal. I might know something about adjacent subjects that I’ve also studied, like political science or English or whatever, but someone who is a career academic with a degree directly in that field will know more than me. I should listen to them, even if I should retain my independent ability and critical thinking skillset. And I definitely should not be listened to over people whose field of expertise is in a completely different realm. Take the recent rocket launch, for example. I’m guessing that nobody thought some bum who walked in off the street to Kennedy Space Center should be listened to in preference of the actual scientists with degrees and experience at NASA and knowledge of math and orbital mechanics and whatever else you need to get a rocket into orbit. I definitely can’t speak on that and I wouldn’t do it anyway, so it’s frustrating to see it happen with history. Everybody “knows” things about history that inevitably turn out to be wildly wrong, and seem to assume that they can do the same kind of job or state their conclusions with just as much authority. (Nobody seems to listen to the scientists on global warming or coronavirus either, because their information is actively inconvenient for our entrenched way of life and people don’t want to change.) Once again, my point here is not to be a snobbish elitist looking down at The Little People, but to remark that if there’s someone in a field who has, you know, actually studied that subject and is speaking from that place of authority, maybe we can do better than “well, I saw a YouTube video and liked it better, so there.” (Americans hate authority and don’t trust smart people, which is a related problem and goes back far beyond Trump, but there you are.)

As for art: it’s funny how people devalue it constantly until they need it to survive. Ask anyone how they spent their time in lockdown. Did they listen to music? Did they watch movies or TV? Did they read a book? Did they look at photography or pictures? Did they try to learn a skill, like drawing or writing or painting, and realize it was hard? Did they have a preference for the art that was better, more professionally produced, had more awareness of the rules of its craft, and therefore was more enjoyable to consume? If anyone wants to tell anyone that art is worthless, I invite you to challenge them on the spot to go without all of the above items during the (inevitable, at this rate) second coronavirus lockdown. No music. No films. No books. Not even a video or a meme or anything else that has been made for fun, for creativity, or anything outside the basic demands of Compensated Economic Production. It’s then that you’ll discover that, just as with the underpaid essential workers who suffered the most, we know these jobs need to get done. We just still don’t want to pay anyone fairly for doing them, due to our twisted late-capitalist idea of “value.”

Anyway, since this has gotten long enough and I should probably wrap up: as you say, the difference between “professional” and “hobbyist” has been almost completely erased, so that people think the opinion of one is as good as the other, or in your case, that the hobbyist should present their work for free or refuse to be seen as a professional entitled to fair compensation for their skill. That has larger and more insidious effects in a global marketplace of ideas that has been almost entirely reduced to who can say their opinion the loudest to the largest group of people. I don’t know how to solve this problem, but at least I can try to point it out and to avoid being part of it, and to recognize where I need to speak and where I need to shut up. My job, and that of every single white person in America right now, is to shut up and let black people (and Native people, and Latinx people, and Muslim people, and etc...) tell me what it’s really like to live here with that identity. I have obviously done a ton of research on the subject and consider myself reasonably educated, but here’s the thing: my expertise still doesn’t outweigh theirs, no matter what degrees they have or don’t have. I then am required to boost their ideas, views, experiences, and needs, rather than writing them over or erasing them, and to try to explain to people how the roots of these ideas interlock and interact where I can. That is -- hopefully -- putting my history expertise to use in a good way to support what they’re saying, rather than silence it. I try, at any rate, and I am constantly conscious of learning to do better.

I hope that was helpful for you. Thanks for letting me talk about it.

#history #long post #anonymous #ask

75 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

Text

Treat Your S(h)elf: Imperial Boredom: Monotony and the British Empire by Jeffrey A. Auerbach (2018)

The British Empire has had a huge impact on the world in which we live. A brief look at an atlas from before World War One will show over hundred colonies that were then part of the Empire but now are part of or wholly sovereign states. Within these states much remains of the commercial, industrial, legal, political and cultural apparatus set up by the British. In many former colonial areas, political issues remain to be solved that had their genesis during the British era.

The legacy of the British has been varied and complex but in recent years much attention has been on making value judgements about whether the Empire was a good or bad thing. Of course the British Empire was built on the use of and the continual threat of state violence and there were appalling examples of the use of force. As well as the slave trade, there was the Amritsar Massacre in 1919, the 1831 Jamaican Christmas Uprising, the Boer War concentration camps (1899-1902) and the bloody response to the Indian Mutiny of 1857. However, we must not just focus on these events but examine the Empire in all of its complexities.

In the current moment of our times, it would seem that as a nation we are more concerned about beating ourselves up and making the nation feel guilty than understanding how and why the British came to exist, and setting the growth of the British Empire into historical context to be wise about the good, the bad, and the ugly. History has to be scrupulously honest if it’s not to fall prey to propaganda on either side of the extreme political spectrum.

Truth be told I find these questions about the British Empire being good or bad either boring or unhelpful. It doesn’t really bring us closer to the complexity and the reality of what the British Empire was and how it was really run and experienced by everyone.

For myself personally the British Empire was part of the fabric of our family history. The Far East, the Middle East and Africa figured prominently and at the centre of which - the jewel in the crown so to speak - was India. In my wider family clan I’ve come to learn about - through handed down family tales, personal diaries, private papers, and photos etc - the diverse experiences of what certain eccentric characters got up to and they ranged from missionaries in India and Africa to military men strewn across the Empire, from titans of commerce in the Far East to tea farmers in East Africa, from senior colonial civil servants in Delhi to soldier-spies on the North West Frontier (now northern Pakistan).

My own experience of being raised in India, Pakistan as well as parts of the Far East was an adventure before being carted off to boarding school back in Britain and then fortunate in later life to be able to travel forth to these memorable childhood places because of the nature of my work. Having learned the local languages and respectful of customs I have always loved to travel and explore deeper into these profound non-Western cultures. Despite the shadow of the empire of the past I am always received with such down to earth kindness and we share a good laugh. So I always assumed that the British Empire played a central role in the life of Britain has it had in our family history just because it was there. But historians are more concerned with much more interesting questions that challenge our assumptions.

So when I was at university it was a great surprise to me to first read a fascinating history of the British Empire by Bernard Porter called ‘The Absent Minded Imperialists: Empire, Society and Culture in Britain’ (2004). Porter was, in his own words, “mainly a response to certain scholars (and some others) who, I felt, had hitherto simplified and exaggerated the impact of ‘imperialism’ on Britain in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, after years in which, except by empire specialists like myself, it had been rather ignored and underplayed. […] the main argument of the book was this: that the ordinary Briton’s relationship to the Empire in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was complex and ambivalent, less soaked in or affected by imperialism than these other scholars claimed – to the extent that many English people, at any rate, possibly even a majority, were almost entirely ignorant of it for most of the nineteenth century.” It became a controversial book but a welcome one because it was well researched and no doubt made some imperial historians choke on their tea dipped biscuits (and that’s not even counting the historically illiterate post-colonial studies crowd in their English faculties who often got their knickers in a twist).

Years later I read another fascinating collection of scholarly chapters by different historians called ‘Anxieties, Fears, and Panic in Colonial Settings: Empires on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown’ (2016) edited Harald Fischer-Tiné which challenged a rosy vision of Britain’s imperial past by tracing British imperial emotions: the feelings of fear, anxiety, and panic that gripped many Britons as they moved to foreign lands. To be fair both Robert Peckham’s Empires of Panic: Epidemics and Colonial Anxieties (2015) got there before him but Tiné’s history set the trend for others to follow such as Marc Condos’s The Insecurity State: Punjab and the Making of Colonial Power in British India (2018) and Kim Wagner’s Amritsar 1919: An Empire of Fear and the Making of a Massacre (2019).

They all set out their stall by highlighting the sense of vulnerability felt by the British in the colonies. Fisher-Tiné’s edited book in particular highlights the pervasiveness of feelings of fear, anxiety, and panic in many colonial sites. He acknowledges that: “the history of colonial empires has been shaped to a considerable extent by negative emotions such as anxiety, fear and embarrassment, as well as by the regular occurrence of panics.”

The book suggests that these excessive emotional states were triggered by three main causes. First, the European population in British India was heavily dependent on Indian servants and subordinates who might retaliate against unfair masters or whose access to European dwellings could be used by malevolent others to poison the white elite. Second, anxieties about the assumed toxic effects of the Indian climate fuelled also poisoning panics. Diseases such as malaria and cholera were considered to be the ultimate outcome of an “atmospheric poison”. Third, Indian therapeutics and the system of medicine were also identified as a potential cause of poisoning European communities. These poisoning panics only helped reinforce the racial categorisations of Indians, the moral supremacy of the white population, and the legitimacy of colonial rule. Overall the book expanded the understanding of how a sense of fragility rather than strength shaped colonial policies.

Now comes another noteworthy book which again sound a little quirky but is no less meticulous in its research and judicious in its observations. Many books about the British Empire focus on what happened; this book concentrates on how people felt. When I was first given it I was predisposed to be negative because here was a book about ‘feelings’ - the current disease of our decaying western culture. But I was pleasantly surprised.

Was the British Empire boring? So asks Jeffrey Auerbach in his irreverent tome, ‘Imperial Boredom: Monotony and the British Empire’ (2018).

It’s an unexpected question, largely because imperial culture was so conspicuously saturated with a sense of adventure. The exploits of explorers, soldiers and proconsuls – dramatised in Boys’ Own-style narratives – captured the imagination of contemporaries and coloured views of Empire for a long time after its end. Even latter-day historians committed to Marxist or postcolonial critiques of Empire tend to assume that the imperialists themselves mostly had a good time. Along with material opportunities for upward mobility, Empire offered what the Pan-Africanist W.E.B. DuBois called ‘the wages of whiteness’ – the psychological satisfactions of membership in a privileged caste – and an escape from the tedium of everyday life in a crowded, urbanised, ever less picturesque Britain.

The British Empire has been firmly tied to myth, adventure, and victory. For many Britons, “the empire was the mythic landscape of romance and adventure. It was that quarter of the globe that was coloured and included darkest Africa and the mysterious East.” Cultural artifacts such as music, films, cigarette cards, and fiction have long constructed and reflected this rosy vision of the empire as a place of adventure and excitement.

Against this widely held view of the empire, As Auerbach argues here, however, the idea of Empire-as-adventure-story is a misleading one. For contemporaries, the promise of exotic thrills in distant lands built up expectations which inevitably collided with reality.

In a well-researched and enjoyable book, the author argues “that despite the many and famous tales of glory and adventure, a significant and overlooked feature of the nineteenth-century British imperial experience was boredom and disappointment.” In other words, instead of focusing on the exploits of imperial luminaries such as Walter Raleigh, James Cook, Robert Clive, David Livingstone, Cecil Rhodes and others, Auerbach says pay attention to the moments when many travellers, colonial officers, governors, soldiers, and settlers who were gripped by an intense sense of boredom in India, Australia, and southern Africa.

For historians, the challenge is to look past the artifice of texts which conceal and compensate for long stretches of boredom to unravel the truth. Turning away from published memoirs and famous images, therefore, Auerbach trains his eye on the rough drafts of imperial culture: letters, diaries, drawings. He finds that Britons’ quests for novelty, variety and sensory delight in the embrace of 19th-century Empire very often ended in tears. Indeed Auerbach identifies an overwhelming emotion that filled the psyche of many Britons as they moved to new lands: imperial boredom.

Precision in language and terminology is essential and Auerbach begins by setting out what he means by boredom. Adopting Patricia Meyer Spacks’ approach, he points out that the term first came into use in the mid-18th century. Auerbach identifies then the feeling as a “modern construct” closely associated with the mid-18th century where the spread of industrial capitalism and the Enlightenment emphasis on individual rights and happiness that the concept came to the fore. This does not mean that nobody previously suffered from boredom, but that, with the Enlightenment’s emphasis on the individual, this was when the feeling first became conceptualised. Like Spacks, he distinguishes boredom from 19th-century ‘ennui’ or existential world-weariness and also from monotony, which has a much longer history. Whilst a monotonous activity or experience may generate a feeling of boredom, it will not necessarily do so. The two terms must, therefore, not be equated.

Significantly, in a footnote, Auerbach cites a passage from 19th Century English satirical novelist, Fanny Burney, in which an individual is described as ‘monotonous and tiresome’ but, as he emphasises, ‘not boring’. To prevent confusion, the term ‘boring’ is best avoided when describing an activity or experience because this is to beg the question as to whether it does in fact generate feelings of boredom in a particular person.

How then should this state of mind be assessed and what should be seen as the symptoms of imperial boredom? As Auerbach acknowledges, boredom ‘is not a simple emotion, but rather a complex constellation of reactions’. Building on that approach, he says ‘imperial boredom’ reflected ‘a sense of dissatisfaction and disenchantment with the immediate and the particular, and at times with the enterprise of empire more broadly’. If this tends to mix cause and effect, the idea of dissatisfaction and disenchantment essentially mirrors Spacks’ definition of the symptoms of boredom, namely, ‘the incapacity to engage fully: with people, with action, with one’s own ideas’. ‘Imperial boredom’, therefore, was more than a fleeting moment of irritation with a particular situation or person and reflected a mind-set that derived from, and in turn, further contributed to, a sense of disillusionment with the overall project.

It stemmed, so Auerbach argues, from the marked contrast between how empire was represented and how it turned out to be, between ‘the fantasy and the reality’. ‘Empire was constructed as a place of adventure, excitement and picturesque beauty’ but too often lacked these features. Nowhere is this better described than in George Orwell’s Burmese Days, in which the promising young John Flory has become ‘yellow, thin, drunken almost middle-aged’. Beginning with this illustration, Auerbach argues that historians have too often overlooked this essential aspect of empire and sets out to discover the extent to which it was characteristic of what Flory called the ‘Pox Britannica’ more generally.

During the 17th century the British Empire sustained itself on the story that the colonial experience was both righteous and unbelievably exciting. Sea voyages were difficult, and when one eventually did reach landfall there was a good chance of violence, but the exotic foreign cultures, the landscapes, and the wildlife made the trip worthwhile. The British colonialist was meant to be swashbuckling. Advertisements for even the most banal household goods offered colourful and robust propaganda for life in the colonies. Travelogues and illustrated accounts of colonial exploration were wildly lucrative for London publishing houses. All of this attracted a crowd of young Brits eager to escape the drudgery of life in the metropole.

By the 19th century, expectations were catching up. As Auerbach makes it clear, from the beginning, the sense of boredom experienced by many Britons in new colonial settings was much more profound during the nineteenth century. Indeed, the latter was marked by a series of bewildering social, cultural, and technological changes that stripped the empire of its sense of novelty. The development of new means of transport such as steamships, the rise of tourism, and the proliferation of guidebooks jeopardised the sense of risk, newness, enthusiasm that had long been associated with the British imperial experience. Consequently, while “the early empire may have been about wonder and marvel, the nineteenth century was far less exciting and satisfying project.

Auerbach spent 20 years gathering evidence spanning the late 18th century to the turn of the 20th, which records feelings of being bored, miserable and deflated. It’s a captivating history of imperial tedium drawn from memoirs, diaries, private letters and official correspondence. In “reading against the grain”, as Auerbach puts it, he has focused on recorded events normally skimmed over by historians, precisely for being boring – multiple entries repeated over and over again about the weather, train times, shipping forecasts, deliveries, lists and marching; or about nothing ever happening.

In five thematic chapters, “Voyages”, Landscapes,” Governors,” Soldiers”, and “Settlers,” Auerbach shines new light on the experience of traversing, viewing, governing, defending and settling the empire from the mid-eighteenth century to the early twentieth century. The monotonous nature of the sea voyage, dreary and uninteresting imperial lands, daily routine, depressingly dull dispatches, mind-numbing meetings are some of the sources of an utter sense of imperial boredom.

Whilst the first chapter, Voyages, may be the logical starting-point, it presents particular problems. They may have been monotonous, but it is unlikely that they would have engendered feelings of disenchantment and disillusion at the outset of an empire life or career. Auerbach begins with the somewhat surprising assertion that ‘not until the first half of the 19th century did long-distance ocean travel become truly monotonous’, arguing that this was because, until then, the weather had been ‘a source of danger and discomfort’ whereas, by the mid-19th century, ‘it was barely worth mentioning’. Leaving aside the obvious difficulties with that approach – many 19th-century travellers, assuming they survived, described enduring terrifying typhoons in the Indian Ocean and South China Sea – voyages certainly could be monotonous, particularly, when steam replaced sail.

However, his assertion that this ‘helped to produce feelings of boredom that had never been felt before’ is more questionable. For example, whilst Sir Edmund Fremantle (1836–1929) wrote in his memoirs that, although the sea passages were ‘monotonous’, ‘it never occurred to [him] to be bored’, Auerbach suggests that, ‘in several places his memories [sic] belie his claims’, in that they refer to the ‘the monotony’ of various experiences, including cruising out of harbour under steam rather than under sail, which ‘always possessed some interest’. But, this not only contradicts what Fremantle wrote but also equates boredom with monotony and, thus, deprives it of any proper meaning.

Similarly, because the Royal Naval Surgeon, Edward Cree (1814–1901) recorded his passing the time ‘reading, drawing, walking on deck, eating drinking and sleeping’, Auerbach concludes that ‘almost every leg of his 1839 journey to the East was boring or disappointing’. However, he omits the opening words of this journal entry which reads, ‘making but slow progress towards China. Weather intolerably hot … The time passes pleasantly enough on board’, which suggests he was certainly not bored. Much of this chapter is not concerned with monotony but with how ‘dreadful’ sea voyages could be, particularly, for travellers to Australia, most of all transported convicts, who, as he shows, had to endure the most brutal conditions. But they had no expectations of empire and this seems to add little to the understanding of imperial boredom.

It may well be that, because voyages were so unpleasant, travellers became all the more expectant and thus disappointed, when, on arriving, they found, as Auerbach argues in the next chapter, that much of the landscape was dreary and uninteresting. Moreover, many could not decide whether they were in search of a landscape that was picturesque and exotic or ‘normalised’ by reproducing English architecture, gardens and surroundings. This dichotomy generated further disenchantment.

If Auerbach dwells too long on obscure painters who often had little success in making these imperial landscapes picturesque, there is no doubt that many of them were monotonous, not least the vast tracts of Australian out- back. Consequently, whilst ‘the early empire may have been about wonder and marvel, the 19th century was a far less exciting and satisfying project’ and this contributed to feelings of boredom.

In the chapter, ‘Governors’, Auerbach essentially covers the administration of the empire. Here, there was also a lot of monotony, although Auerbach wavers between whether this was caused by having too much or too little work to do. Either way, it leads to the assertion that ‘throughout the nineteenth century and into the twentieth, British imperial administrators at all levels were bored by their experience, serving king or queen and country’. However, this is qualified in the next paragraph, in which he cites the Marquess of Hastings, who served in India in the early 1800s, and Lord Curzon, who served as Viceroy at the end of the century, neither of whom, he says, suffered from boredom. It was ‘during the middle decades, that imperial service was far less stimulating’ but he does not explain why it should have been limited to this particular phase.

Indeed, in terms of the staggering quantity of paper generated by the ICS, the problem stretched back to the early 18th century. Records were copied and recopied, and months were spent waiting on instruction from London. The few encounters with colonised subjects came in the form of long, drawn-out formal events. Lord Lytton as Viceroy of India between 1876-1880 was required to bow 1230 times during one particularly ceremonial reception with the Viceroy.

Whilst it is ultimately fruitless to exchange examples of officials who did and did not find government service boring, some of those chosen by Auerbach are not convincing. James Pope Hennessy, for example, the eccentric Irishman who delighted in antagonising the colonials and endearing himself to the indigenous people with his unconventional views on racial equality, certainly found the European life-style monotonous but, as a result, made sure he kept ceaselessly active. In the words of his biographer, ‘the chief impression [he] made on British and Orientals alike was one of superlative vitality. “He would do better”, wrote Sir Harry Parkes “if he had less life”’, Coming from Parkes, that arch- imperialist, who allegedly died from over-work and could never have been bored, the comment is telling.

While idleness certainly contributed to boredom, it was often the labour of maintaining colonial control that proved to be the most dull. Increasingly professionalised, the management of the colonies became characterised by strict report-making, bookkeeping and low-stakes decision-making related to staff. Whilst these officials may have become disenchanted, it is unclear what sort of mind-set they had when they started out: according to Auerbach, ‘they may well have entered imperial service out of a sense of duty, or perhaps looking forward to a colonial sinecure that offered status and adventure as well as a generous salary, but instead found themselves inundated by a volume of paperwork and official obligations that they had never anticipated, and which they found to be, quite frankly boring’. As a result, they were ‘eager to escape the tedium of the empire they had built’.

Whilst this suggests that, as a result, they threw up their empire careers, the example of Sir Frank Swettenham does not seem to fit the picture. He may have found life from time to time ‘extraordinarily dull’, but he continued as a government official in the Malay States for thirty years, before retiring in 1901. His belief in the imperial cause seems to have overcome the dullness and trumped any possible disenchantment.

In the chapter entitled, Soldiers, Auerbach concedes that ‘the link between military service and boredom can be traced at least to the mid-eighteenth century’. However, he argues, what was different in the 19th century was that boredom was no longer simply ‘incidental or ‘peripheral;’ it was ‘omnipresent’ and this was ‘a function of unmet expectations’, namely, the unsatisfied thirst for action and bloody combat as the ‘small wars’ of the Victorian age became shorter and fewer. However, citing Maeland and Brunstad’s Enduring Military Boredom, he concedes that this omnipresent boredom is a ‘condition that persists to the present day, especially among enlisted men’. This, therefore, divests it of any imperial character and suggests that it was, and remains a feature of modern military service.

Nonetheless, it would have been interesting to know how this boredom affected the performance of the military in the context of empire. Certainly, it gave rise to some of its more unsavoury aspects, with drunken soldiers brawling and beating up the locals and spending much of their time in the local brothels.

According to Richard Holmes, by 1899, there was ‘a real crisis’ in the infection rates of venereal disease of British soldiers in the Indian Army: ‘for every genteel bungalow on the cantonment … there were a dozen young men, denizens of a wholly different world, crossing the cultural divide every night’. Here was imperial boredom in the raw and urgent measures had to be taken to abate its consequences.

Although the final chapter is entitled ‘Settlers’, it encompasses a much broader category of imperial agents, including women, who until this point have been little- mentioned, and, in particular, women in India ‘most of whom went there in their early twenties to work (or to accompany their husbands who were working) and then typically left by the time they reached their fifties to retire in Britain’. It is unclear why these women and, indeed the whole topic of women in empire, should be subsumed under this chapter heading, given their importance in the empire project and the attention given to them in post-colonial scholarship.

In recent scholarship, empire white women have been frequently misrepresented and lampooned in the literature, including the novels of E. M. Forster, George Orwell, and Paul Scott and all too often reincarnated as representing the worst side of the ruling group – its racism, petty snobbishness and pervading aura of superiority and shown as shallow, self-centred and pre-occupied with maintaining the hierarchy of their narrow social worlds. They have invariably been portrayed as both bored and boring.

The wives of these officials were encouraged to run their households in a similar way, managing a large domestic staff and keeping a meticulous watch on financial expenditures. Socially, they were faced with constant garden parties and dinners with whatever small group of colonial families lived nearby. It’s difficult to imagine just how dull the existence of these administrators must have been, yet in reading these colonial accounts, the temporality and the totalising effects of boredom feel undeniably similar to the way that we describe the monotony of work today.

Auerbach effectively reiterates the trope as a clichéd illustration of a female, reclining aimlessly on a chaise longue, conjuring up the familiar image of ‘the same women [who] met day after day to eat the same meals and exchange the same banal pleasantries’ and concluding that ‘it was not only in India that women were bored, which suggests that the phenomenon was not a localised one, but a broader imperial one’.

Of course many western women did find life in empire monotonous and suffered from boredom, if not depression, and no doubt many were insufferable, as were their husbands, but there is an alternative image and the analysis is so generalised that their contribution is, once again, in danger of being dismissed out of hand.

A more nuanced approach would have examined ways in which women overcame their boredom by pursuing activities in which they were anything but bored, including, most obviously, the missions, a category which, despite its importance, does not feature, save for one cursory comment to the effect that, ‘even missionary women, whose sense of purpose presumably kept them inspired, could find themselves bored’. The example given is that of Elizabeth Lees Price, who, at one point during her eventful life, had to help run three schools for 30,000 pupils. But, just because her diary recorded ‘with increasing frequency’ the comment ‘nothing has happened’, it seems a stretch to infer, as Auerbach does, that ‘not even missionary work was enough to stave off the boredom that afflicted women all across the empire’.

For Auerbach, recuperating boredom means reframing the experience of empire as one of failure and disappointment. In the context of colonial scholarship, which tends to focus on the violence of colonialism and the myth-making that went along with it, Auerbach’s book is rather counter-intuitive. He drains the power of these myths, looking instead at the accounts of those responsible for building empire from the ground up: “What if they were not heroes or villains, builders or destroyers,” he writes, “but merely unexceptional men and women, young and old, rich and poor, struggling, often without success, to find happiness and economic security in an increasingly alienating world?” The agents of colonialism struggled to find any semblance of agency in the work that they were doing. Imperial time stretched out, deadened over decades of appointment in far off islands and desert outposts: a sort of watered down version of Hannah Arendt’s “banality of evil” in paradise.

Whilst Auerbach demonstrates that much of empire life was monotonous, to my mind, he is too quick to infer that this monotony necessarily gave rise to feelings of ‘imperial boredom’, properly so-called. He also too easily assumes that, where people were bored, this could only operate in a negative way and, whilst he may be right in concluding that, ultimately, ‘the British were, quite simply bored by their empire’, he fails to draw the evidence together to explore what impact imperial boredom had on the development of empire, for better or worse, during the long 19th century.

If not quite an invention of the 19th century, boredom was a particular preoccupation of the period: the product of new assumptions about the separation of work and leisure and a prominent theme of fin-de-siècle literature. Less clear is whether Auerbach is right to treat boredom separately from other emotional states – anxiety, loneliness, anger, fear – which afflicted the imperialist psyche. After all, a long literary tradition – from Conrad to Maugham, Orwell, Lessing and Greene – describes precisely how those varied shades of neurosis blended into one another.

Besides, a more capacious history of discontent and Empire might help to connect the frustrations of the imperialist experience to the suffering of imperial subjects. When, for instance, did boredom turn to aggression and violence? One danger of Auerbach’s approach in Imperial Boredom is to portray an enervated and under-stimulated, yet still extraordinarily powerful, elite as more or less passive.

As imperial rivalry intensified towards the end of the century, so did the quest for new ways of staving off boredom, not only for men in the British Empire but also for those in the other European empires, and war was one of the most obvious solutions.

As other imperial historians have argued, what Europeans were seeking was everything the nineteenth century, in its drawn-out tedium, had denied them. War as Cambridge historian Christopher Clark has argued, “was going to empower them and restore a sense of agency to their limbs and lives.” Auerbach refers to what Clark called ‘the pleasure culture of war’, citing the example of Adrian de Wiart who, serving in the Boer War, knew ‘once and for all, that war was in my blood. I was determined to fight and I didn’t mind who or what’. But he does not explore the consequences of this mood further, other than to say that these adventurers also ‘ended up bored … and disillusioned’. But, the implications were, arguably, much more far-reaching.

Even if it was not directly causative, this mood was ‘permissive’ of the more direct causes and certainly formed part of the background against which Europe went to war in 1914. It may be thought that it did so in a fit of imperial boredom.

I admire the audacity of Auerbach’s writing and as a revisionist piece of history it has the dash and dare of British imperialism and colonialism. But after reading the book I came away thinking that sweeping statements such as that the empire developed “in a fit of boredom” are a tad unconvincing.

Although he spent about 20 years collecting materials, Auerbach seems not to have visited Africa or India during his research. Had he done so, I doubt if he would all too easily accepted that colonial accounts of being bored represented the full experience. Absent are deeper discussions of how expressions of being bored are linked to racism, arrogance and the need to assert power in exotic, challenging and unstable environments. Emotional detachment, disdain and a demand to be entertained were also part of a well-rehearsed repertoire of domination.

But where Auerbach does succeed is in admirably capturing the texture of everyday imperialist life as few historians have. Most of these examples are compellingly relevant and illustrative of some of the colonial circumstances that drove Britons mad with boredom, challenging one of the enduring myths about the British Empire as a site of exciting adventure.

If you are a lover of histories of white imperial rulers and thumbnail portraits, this book is for you. It’s full of excellent quotes. Lord Lytton, for example, fourth choice to be governor-general of India in 1875 (and appalled by the prospect), later summed up the British Raj as “a despotism of office-boxes tempered by the occasional loss of keys”. It was certainly the case that propaganda about empire and the populist books written about it to make money created false expectations, leading to bitter disillusionment. Nostalgists for the age of pith helmets and pukka sahibs will find little comfort here.

In mining the gap between public bombast and private disillusionment, Auerbach demonstrates that – even for its most privileged beneficiaries – Empire was almost never a place where fantasy became reality. I would suggest that rather than the British Empire being mostly boring, more accurate would be David Livingstone’s verdict on exploratory travel while battling dysentery: “it’s not all fun you know.”

The concept of imperial boredom provides a novel and illuminating lens through which to examine the mind-set of men and women working and living in empire, how it was that, despite the crushing monotony, so many persisted in the endeavour and what this tells us about the empire project more generally. There are all states of mind familiar to historians of empire (in the lives of their subjects, of course). It has long been argued that strategies to relieve moments of white boredom in the empire included cheating and adultery, husband hunting, trophy wife hunting, massive consumption of alcohol, gambling, copious diary and letter writing, taxidermy, berating the servants, prostitution, bird-watching, game hunting, high tea on the verandah, fine pearls and ball gowns, all were par for course in the every day lives for those bored British colonisers.

Auerbach’s book reminds me of a not so nice female character bemoans James Fox’s scandalous but true to life colonial novel White Mischief (1982), as she looked out over the Rift Valley in 1940s colonial Kenya, she declares, “Oh God! Not another fucking beautiful day.”

An earnest post-colonialist studies reader might might feel triggered by such a flippant remark as evidence of all that was wrong with the imperial project but at heart it’s a pitiful lament disguised as boredom at the gilded cage the British built for themselves to capture the enchantment and disenchantment of every day life in the British Empire.

#treat your s(h)elf #books #book review #bookgasm #reading #imperialism #british empire #boredom #british #history #colonialism #imperial boredom #jeffrey auerbach #empire #personal #bio #childhood

54 notes · View notes