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yokohamabeans · 2 years

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Chapter 4: lady of the locust shell (下)

We know how the story ends: in all versions of it, the crane leaves her lover in tears.

(In which: Kakuchō meets you at his worst. Eight years later, you meet him at yours.)

Pairings: Kakuchō x F!OC/Reader (ft. Haitani Ran x F!OC/Reader)

Series Tags / TW & CW / Notes: Dark/Mature Themes, Bonten!Timeline (or rather, pre-Bonten / Rise of Bonten Era), TR Manga Spoilers, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Organized Crime, Blood & Violence, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Japanese Culture, OC will have a name but this will largely be written in 2nd POV, Character Study, Hostessing & Forced Prostitution, etc.

(WC: ~7k)

Series Index | Read on AO3 here!

In the great Lady Murasaki Shikibu’s epic classic, The Tale of Genji, the eponymous prince falls in love with the wife of a provincial deputy. She becomes all the more beloved for her unwavering resistance towards his charm and courtship, and ultimately bests his advances by, quite literally, fleeing from the amorous prince and leaving him with nothing but her robes to remember her by. For her empty garments call to mind the discarded shell of a locust, Genji christens her the name Utsusemi.

Customers will call you Utsu, Mama declared when you first sat down in her office five years ago. She had on her desk a bookmarked copy of The Tale of Genji—you figured it inspired the theme of her club, in which men are promised this: they too can be Genji, conqueror of women.

Utsu is not a pretty name. It cuts the ears and is throaty on the tongue. And though it is written in romaji on your name card, those aware of its origin will know the meaning of the word: empty, void, hollow. Utsu is a hollow woman. You worried it’d turn customers off, but you didn’t protest. Mama must’ve called it as she saw it.

(Utsu, at the very least, suits you more than the cruel joke of a name your parents gave: Yua—yu as in ‘bind’, a as in ‘love’. Despite your mother’s hopes and wishes, it was not love you bound them to.)

“Utsusemi-no-kimi,” Ran says to you, in usual light jest, as he sends an iiwan into the discard pile. My beloved Lady Utsusemi. “Is your real name just as elegant?”

Again, with the questions! As he holds your gaze in his, it strikes you once more that no other client but Haitani Ran can make you feel this way: run to earth, cornered and trapped. He’s been obvious with his interest since you met, and now that it is the third night he’s come to see you, you fear you cannot stave it off any longer. Every line you exchange with him feels like a step closer to the walls of a quarry, or the edge of a cliff.

“Chī,” you take the iiwan to form a meld—the satisfaction on Ran’s face tells you that it isn’t luck; he is right about the tiles you want. Your stomach turns at the idea of him knowing how you think, but you keep your smile friendly. “Well, all I will say is that it’s not as archaic.”

“Mystery is part of onē-san’s appeal,” Atsuko chirps from the opposite side of the table. You swallow a bark for her to mind her own damn business. “Why ruin it for yourself, Haitani-san?”

“I can’t help myself,” his vulpine grin widens. “Your nē-san is irresistible.”

Rindō spares you from responding by flipping his tiles open to boast his winning hand: a chītoi. Seven pairs, all by his own draw. He always did like to play the harder combinations, even if he can rarely win with them. He must think that common, easier hands are beneath him—cocky men are often with the delusion of being favoured by gods. You humour him with some light applause while Ran and Atsuko praise his luck.

The game enters its next round as the tiles shuffle and clatter beneath your palms. When four pairs of hands are in the mix, they are bound to bump into one another but there is nothing accidental about the way Ran’s fingers are brushing against yours. These are small, light touches but with him, they just feel obscene. You clench your toes to keep your hand from recoiling, viciously wishing that Mama and Kokonoi are in the midst of falling out so you never have to see this fucking creep again.

For what it’s worth, you could find Ran favourable. You had been a fool once, the night he’d sauntered into Murasaki for the first time. You were reduced to simmer with intrigue like every girl in the club. Whatever business he dealt in was anyone’s guess, but it was no doubt lucrative because Mama was personally tending to him and his companions. A man’s looks can scarcely matter as much as his wealth in a place like this but he was also—more than any patron—disarmingly young and handsome. So, naturally, you were pleased when Mama beckoned you over to his table and told him your name.

‘Sadly I muse upon the shell of a lady’, he drawled as you sat down beside him. Well, you’d heard that one before, but he hardly needed to recite ancient poetry to prove his wit. More so than any other customer, his banter compelled you to be clever with yours, and you grew mindful about your posture and how nicely your hair fell. Oh, this compulsion to impress—was it not the first step into his palm? And he’d lured you there with his pretty smile! But you shouldn’t feel ashamed about it, you shouldn't be blamed. Ran was a force of nature, after all. His face had been perfectly mapped out to gratify, his voice precisely tuned to charm. Those deep violet eyes and that deadly silver tongue… This was a man specially designed to be adored.

And yet, as you looked at that immaculately arranged face of his, you found yourself wondering if it was, for the same reasons they painted spots on leopards and made the orchid mantis beautiful, that the gods gave men charisma. There were no grounds for this thought. Ran was pleasant and inviting, as opposed to his brother who only had grunts and insults to offer. He ordered more drinks than the prudent Kokonoi and treated you with care, unlike what their pink-haired friend did with your colleagues. By any club’s standards, he was a perfect customer. The thought could’ve only come to you primally, without rhyme nor reason. A rabbit knows in its guts to flee from a fox upon first sight, after all.

Have I done something wrong? Ran asked, as though it truly concerned him. Your stomach lurched. You were certain you’d kept up with appearances. Is it just me, or has something changed between us?

Not at all, it is just nearing the end of my session here. You could’ve sighed in relief that the clock corroborated. Clients are often thrilled and distracted by physical touch so you placed your hand over his, almost surprised that it didn’t feel like cold marble. I had a lovely time, Haitani-san. Come back again. You didn’t hand him your name card.

But there was no way out of his grasp. Mama-san, he made sure to look into your eyes as he called for her. That was when he first flashed his fangs. I really like this one. Can’t I have her for a couple more hours? I’ll pay double. You noticed with growing dread that Mama was still at the table, which was highly abnormal: she would never spend more than fifteen minutes with any customer, but an hour had already passed with Ran and his group. Mama spits on her long-gone days of hostessing, so she could only be here as a businesswoman. In other words, the Mara-kai were interested in these men, who you realised too late were also cut from the same black shroud that covers the underbelly of Japan. Whispers in the grapevine later called them Bonten but only stopped at its name—this group was either new and rising, or efficiently, perturbingly covert.

“Bad cards?” Ran asks, slicing through your thoughts.

You must’ve been scowling. Hauling your mind back to the game, you see that your tiles are indeed terrible: pair of white dragons aside, nothing else comes close to a meld or a triplet. “I’ve been dealt better.”

“Here, will this help?”

“Geez, aniki, you can’t keep playing like this,” Rindō grumbles, eyeing the white tile Ran has put out. “That’s just fucking unfair.”

“It’s free for you to pon too, though.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been trying to feed her whatever she wants the whole damn night.”

You break the squabble by drawing from the pile. “There, I don’t want his tile,” you make sure to smile at Ran as you say this. “Let’s keep the brotherly love, shall we?”

“Whatever.” The younger Haitani rolls his eyes. “Utsu-nē, you should just fuck my brother already so he’ll stop kissing up your ass all the time.”

“Oh, Rindō…” Ran clicks his tongue in mock reproach at the crass remark. “But there’s so much more I want with her.”

You try to remain pleasant. “Well, Haitani-san, if you’ll actually behave like a good boy, Santa may just give you what you want.”

You’ve always found ‘repulsion’ to be too strong a word but there is no other way to describe your feelings towards Ran at the moment. And that’s just it: repulsion. Clinically, without hate or disgust. All you want is to be apart from this man, plain and simple. C’mon now, he told you once, arm snaking over your shoulders, surely you’d know why Genji so desperately wanted Utsusemi? Sleeping with customers is not part of the job, but maybe you should take his brother’s advice after all. Just hike your dress and bend over for him at an After, anything to get it done and over with. It’s not like you’ve never done such a thing before, anyway. But then you’d catch the smirk on his face whenever you stiffen around him, the swirling mud beneath still waters, and everything screams at you again to get away. Giving in to this beast is not an option.

The next tile you draw turns out to be a chūsō, and you notice that every single card in your hand is entirely singular and different. From the looks of it, you’ll have to commit to a kokushi for a shot at anything valuable. Besides, it’ll give you reason not to take any discards from Ran. The game moves through its turns, and you feel a dull chill creeping up as you build your winning set towards completion. Listen, Yua, your aunt’s voice rings out of the blue, Thirteen Orphans? It’s not just superstition. It’ll really bring you bad luck, y’know? I drew one at the Mara-kai’s parlour the other day and I’ve got nothin’ but losing streaks ever since. But that useless good-for-nothing was always blaming the wind for everything, so you fan the memory off like smoke.

Before you know it, you’re a tile away from a full set of Thirteen Orphans. A pure kokushi musō at that, which will grant you maximum points. All that’s left to complete the gap in your cards is a shā tile—the west tile, wind of the third seat. A quick survey of the open cards on the table tells you that there are only two shā tiles left to draw or take, and these are very slim chances with how short the drawing pile has become now.

“Hmm.”

Of course. Of fucking course it is Ran who is holding one of them! He slides it next to the other tiles he’s thrown, and though he did it without a word—not even a glance your way—you are certain he’s dangling the win before you. No player in their right mind will offer an honour tile this late into the round. Neither is he doing it for his brother, who’s blatantly gunning for a ryūīsō and has no need for a wind tile. If you do take that shā tile, Ran alone will have to pay for everyone’s losses because he dealt it to you, and the more money he hands you, the more obligated you are to him.

I really—you reach for a fresh draw, winning be damned—hate this guy.

Well, as it turns out, Lady Luck is merciful: on your thumb you feel the grooves of the final shā tile. It’s come to you. “Ah,” you beam for the first time tonight, revealing your hand. “Tsumo, kokushi musō.” The table erupts. Atsuko explodes with excitement and awe at seeing the rare combination while Rindō scans for mistakes to call a penalty on. No, you little git, you suffer some mild insult in silence, you really think I’d call it wrong? Upon finding none, he curses angrily at his brother for his attempt to offer you yet another expensive win, but sadly falls on deaf ears as Ran occupies himself with counting and passing you his scoring sticks. You brace yourself for a remark that will no doubt make your skin crawl.

“Congratulations,” is all Ran spills from his smiling lips, but you can practically hear what he really means to say: Though, isn’t it amazing? I knew exactly what you wanted, Utsu. I could read you.

I’d say the same to you, you sly bastard! You return the simper. “Thank you, Haitani-san.” You’re not sure what to think about the fact that you do, indeed, understand him.

The door clicks open behind and, as always, you catch a whiff of Mama before you see her. It’s not unpleasant, but Chanel tends to highlight nonenal so you sometimes wonder why she’d want to smell even more like an old lady. Mix that with the stench of her tobacco and cold, hard ambition and you have a scent that is distinctively Mama. Her heels clatter up to the table, accompanied by the soft flapping of Kokonoi’s sandals, announcing that yes: the adults are finally done with their talks.

“Don’t you know, boys?” she leans an elbow on your chair, studying the aftermath of the game. “The house always wins.” There’s a hint of pride in her tone, which you take to be a sign of good spirits. It appears that she’s got her end of the bargain, so what about Kokonoi? His skinny frame circles into view, landing between Ran and Atsuko. He peers over his friend’s shoulder and snorts. “Man, your tiles suck!”

“Better than anything you’ve ever played, you must admit,” Ran retorts without a beat. Like you, he is watching the newcomers closely. “Well? How did it go?”

“The boss should be first to know,” replies Kokonoi, smiling like a cat with cream on its lips. It’s not a rare look for him but the relief is. Despite his constant sneering, he always seemed to be on edge, as though in anticipation for something to happen. The relaxed air around him now tells you that it already did. “So, if you want to find out, I suggest we beat it.”

Your mouth starts to run dry. Or rather, liquid starts draining from your face entirely. A deal with no losers can only mean an alliance. Mara is now in league with Bonten! It’s not quite the surprising turn of events—more of a terrifying plunge. You rack your brain for what they can possibly be conspiring, and, more crucially, what can be exchanged between them. The Mara-kai owns Murasaki. The Mara-kai owns you. Your life is but one of the many lines in their ledger to move or strike as they please. You despise them for impounding you in this wretched cage of theirs, but at least you know your way around it. You’ve befriended your handlers, figured out their routines and temperaments. You’re even smithing a key to your lock. But Bonten, on the other hand… It’s a cloud of black smoke. Kokonoi has his decent moments and Rindō is more bark than bite, but if Ran and that fiend Sanzu are any indication of what the rest of the flock is like, you’d rather have your chain kept by the Mara-kai.

“I’m never gonna play with you again, Utsu-nē,” Rindō sighs as he hands his black card to the staff at Murasaki’s concierge. You dislike it intensely when he calls you that because he is three years older than you, and therefore teasing you with the implication that you’d be his nē-san by his elder brother. It makes you gag, but like much of your job there’s nothing you can do except smile about it. “How else are you going to get your money back, Haitani-san?”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back.” Ran slips his arms into his suit jacket, which you are holding up for him. All hostess clubs practise seeing their clients off at the door, but Mama insists that her girls go the extra mile by wearing their coats and jackets, brushing lint off their shoulders—even fixing their hair and caressing their cheeks, like dutiful wives who spend their days waiting for their husbands to come home. (They aren’t going to hear that from their spouses, so they’ll hear it from you, Mama explained. It’s a little despicable, but effective.) Even under the dim glow of the hallway lights, you can see the snake on his back clearly, the black ink stark against white cotton. In fact, it seems even more visible tonight. More threatening. You cover it up with navy pinstripes quickly.

“Sadly, our time tonight has come to an end,” Ran says, pouting for effect. You start counting down to the second he leaves. “But, don’t be too devastated. Here’s a little something for you to think of me by…” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a diamond necklace. You estimate from the size and clarity of its stones that it’s rather pricey, but nothing too exorbitant. Just a casual present that Ran can throw his wealth around with. Behind you, Atsuko is craning her neck, palpably curious about its carats, while a nonplussed Mama puffs on her long, ornate pipe. “Pretty, right?” Ran asks. “May I?”

You bite down a scoff: as if you ever have the choice to say no! You’d bet your last yen that he brought the jewellery with no box or bag to deter you from storing it away. He wants you to keep it on like a collar. It is not a gift at all—Ran doesn’t need to win you over. He can have you by his side whether you like it or not. Whatever. This thing can probably fetch you a nice wad of cash at the pawn shop—

“Don’t sell it, okay? I’ll know if you do,” Ran adds lightly, watching you fiddle with the thin silver chain. He draws a lengthy breath. “Just when I thought you can’t get anymore beautiful…”

Shit.

“…It is lovely.” You hate that Ran can see you gulp. Your neck feels far too naked under his stare. “I appreciate it, Haitani-san.”

You see what happens next in slow, torturous motion: in a step, Ran closes the space between the both of you to take hold of your chin. He pauses for a bit, as if to let you register what’s about to come, then brings his lips down to your cheek.

You wish you do not have skin to feel him with.

“You know, it’s about time you call me ‘Ran’,” he tells you, pulling away. The black moon tattooed on his throat rises as he speaks. “See you again very soon, my dear lady Utsusemi.”

You cannot decide if your blood is boiling or freezing over.

A black sedan slips into the lot before Murasaki’s porch and several men climb out to hold its doors open for Ran, his brother and Kokonoi, of whom you and the club are finally rid of for the night.

“Come see me again!” Atsuko pipes after Rindō, but to no answer. She accompanies you and the concierge staff to the street, where you all bow perfunctorily as their car drives off. She drops her big, wide grin like an anchor the moment it disappears into a turn. “Onē-san, are you alright?” she asks meekly. The both of you pass the concierge, where Ran just was, where there is a sign requesting for Murasaki’s staff to be treated with respect. “He shouldn’t have done that. Clients aren’t allowed to kiss us if we don’t want them to! You were wincing so hard…”

“Well, every job has its hazards.” You steady your breath through your nose as you wait for your heart to quieten. For someone in the mizu-shōbai, Atsuko is laughingly naïve. But as you look into her large doe-eyes that have become glassy with concern, you hope that she will never meet a man or client who may change that about her. “The money you owe me from mahjong? Keep it.” Before Atsuko can part her lips to thank you, Mama strolls up and sends her scurrying to her next customer with a jerk of her pipe. As for you, she fixes up a hard look before slinking away to the elevator, which you read as an instruction to have a word at her office.

Meanwhile, in the black sedan, Kokonoi whistles in amusement from the passenger seat. He’s caught you scrubbing your cheek with a wrist in the rearview mirror, and he’s certain you meant for him and his colleagues to see. “You do know she hates your guts, right?”

Ran simply widens his smile—which throughout the night has barely left his face—stretching an arm across his brother’s shoulders. “Why, that’s the fun of it, Koko-kun.”

We really need to get black mats, is what Kakuchō thinks as blood ruptures from the curling body at his feet. The dojo floor is slowly turning into a nasty shade of brown and he doubts that it’ll ever be blue again—not when his men are dyeing it crimson every day, like Setoguchi over here. He relaxes his fist.

“Let me see.”

Setoguchi scrambles into seiza and presents his face: both eyes are swollen shut, his nose is busted at its bridge and his mouth is a dribbling, flaming red mess of split flesh and exposed gum. The few teeth it’s missing have fallen by his knees. His head resembles a smashed tomato.

“You’ll be fine after some ice,” Kakuchō decides, satisfied. Once the skin is healed over, Setoguchi will be able to take a couple more punches the next time he finds himself in a fight. He gestures for someone to collect the young man, who manages to squeeze a thank you, sir out of his lungs as he’s dragged away. The other men in the hall begin another round of nervous glancing, each daring the other to become the next body on the ground, and Kakuchō prepares to shout at them for their sorry display and to get their asses on the damn mat. This new batch of recruits is no good… Was it Takeomi who brought them in? He’ll need to have a word later about just who he’s letting into Bonten.

“You’re gonna end up killing all our guys one day, y’know?”

Kakuchō turns towards the door even though he can already tell it’s Mocchi. “Shouldn’t they rather die here, than out in the streets?” he counters, strolling over to the edge of the mat when he sees that Mocchi still has his socks on. They clasp hands in greeting. “How’s Okinawa?”

“Su-perb. Paradise on earth!” Mocchi pushes up a sleeve to show off toasted skin. “Why travel all the way to Hawaii when we have Manza Beach?”

“Weren’t you there for a job?”

“Those Koreans barely took a minute,” he flaps his hand dismissively. “Listen, my friend, it’s about time you get laid again. Tsuji-machi has some pretty nice girls, I’m telling ya. And they’re not at all snooty like the ones here in Tokyo. They’ll do way more too, trust me.”

“Alright, I trust you,” Kakuchō laughs, his mood infected. “But you must’ve left your head in Naha if you think we’re gonna be having a holiday anytime soon.”

“C’mon, now. We’re gonna have all the time in the world once we become the kings of it. Live a little!” Mocchi, still beaming as brightly as the Okinawan sun, is not to be discouraged. He starts for the benches and Kakuchō, sensing a desire to talk, barks for everyone else to clear the dojo and report for training at eight. The men quickly, gladly oblige. “Yes, Kakuchō-san!”

“Man, I can remember the days when you were still Kakuchō-kun.” Mocchi sounds almost wistful above the barrage of moving feet. “You really grew up, huh?”

“I don’t know why you always act like you’re so much older than me. It’s just a couple of years.” Kakuchō rolls his eyes. “And… See that patch of blood over there? In case you forget, I can easily wipe that off with you, no problem.”

Mocchi is provoked into raising a brow. “No problem? You wanna try that now, punk?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Did you have gyōza for dinner?”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are ya?”

“I will if you can finally beat me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do so much worse than that!”

It takes Kakuchō a second too late to catch the pair of socks hurtling towards his face, and Mocchi seizes the opportunity to ram him into the mat. “Oi, that’s fucking dirty!” he yells, shielding himself from the kettlebell-like fists of the older man. But Kakuchō’s lips are curling into a grin. Finally! he celebrates. Since dusk he’s been teased with the prospect of an entertaining fight by the brawny build of the men who filled the hall a minute ago, but those new boys just didn’t have it in them. When will he ever learn that street-chumps are never as tough as they look? More often than not, their bulging muscles and mean glares are only good enough for scaring passers-by into giving them spare change and attention. That is why, ever since Tenjiku, Kakuchō has taken it upon himself to beat them into shape.

His blood roars to life from its stupor and he shoves Mocchi off-balance with a jerk of his legs, pinning him to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He doesn’t remember having this much wind knocked out of him the last time they sparred—Mocchi’s body has gotten even larger and more powerful. He imagines this is what it’s like to wrestle a bull.

“Ow—Okay, okay! Don’t break my fucking arm!” The beast bellows beneath him, thumping his foot in submission. Kakuchō sets him free with a grin and collapses on the space beside while Mocchi seeks consolation in how exhausted he’s made him. “Damn it!”

“So… No gyōza today, huh?”

“Piss off, brat.” Mocchi scaths. “Seriously, it’s been, like, ten years. Let it go already!”

Ten years! The passage of time is not lost on Kakuchō, but it feels as though Mocchi has just dropped a weight on his head. Has a decade really passed since they inhaled all those jumbo gyōzas at that dingy Chinese restaurant? He can still hear the furious cussing of the shop owner, suffer the burning nausea in his throat. Hell, he can even smell Mocchi’s fucking bile off the asphalt. He can still smile at Izana’s laughter when they told him about the whole thing. Kakuchō runs a hand across his scalp upon taking it all in, but even there he is confronted by the reminder that the years have marched on when he feels that his prickly buzz-cut has grown in length and style. “Shit, I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Crazy, right? We’re not kids anymore.” Mocchi’s grin returns. Several strands of his slicked hair escape to his temple, and Kakuchō wonders when he’d gotten so used to seeing that shocking shade of blonde. Even now, a black braided mohawk will sometimes come to mind when he thinks of Mocchi. But this sensation stirring in his chest isn’t really nostalgia—whether by Mocchi’s own accord or fate’s, Kakuchō is just glad that his friend is still around to talk about the good old times with him.

“Speaking of time, when the hell is Koko getting back?” Mocchi moves to grab them both towels. “And I don’t see why we can’t have the meeting tomorrow and not twelve in the fucking night. It’s not like we’re biting our nails for his news. There’s no way the Mara-kai will turn us down.”

“They won’t,” Kakuchō agrees, catching the cloth he’s thrown. “But the Mara-kai is old school and much bigger. They’ll probably try to muscle us into becoming one of their wings.”

“Well then, Kokonoi better make it damn clear that it’s an alliance. I’m not gonna take orders from some geezer on a cane.”

“Even if we do, it’ll just be for a while until we win the drug market over.”

“You know,” Mocchi starts pacing around. He’s never been able to sit for long. “Even after all the fucked up shit we’ve done, I still don’t like this. Mara and all the other big-time yaks? They’re old, near expiration. Once their ancient hearts give way, there will be nothing to stop us from taking Tokyo and the whole of Japan. We should just wait it out instead of sneaking around, playing grandsons.”

“The Mara-kai’s head, Tanida, is only in his fifties, which is what we’ll be by the time he drops dead,” Kakuchō points out, sympathising but also seeing the holes. “Besides, we need access to their network, their reputation. I have to agree with Takeomi that this is our best course of action now, even if it’s a little demeaning to ride on their fame. We’re powerful but no one knows who we are. We’re still nothing but a bunch of brats in the playground in everyone’s eyes.”

It is hard to argue against logic, so Mocchi doesn’t try. “Things were so much easier when all we had to do was beat the shit out of everyone…”

“No need to sulk. We’re still doing that.”

A knock by the door robs Mocchi of the chance to complain any more. They recognize the suited man kneeling outside as Kokonoi’s chauffeur. “Kakuchō-san, Mochizuki-san, I’ve been sent for you. Kokonoi-sama and the brothers have returned, and everyone will be assembling in the boardroom soon.”

“Well, final-fucking-ly!” Mocchi throws his hands up. “I bet you they’re late because those stupid brothers were taking their own sweet time at Murasaki. I heard that Ran’s pretty into one of the broads there lately.”

“We’ll be there in about half an hour,” Kakuchō informs the man, draping a jacket over his bare shoulders. “Mocchi’s gotta wash up.”

“Me? You’re the one sweating like a pig!”

“And you’re looking like a slaughtered one.”

“What the fu—”

Kakuchō doesn’t wait for his colleague to calm down from his tirade about the streak of blood on his white dress shirt—Setoguchi’s blood, just as he’d promised. He waves a hand as he passes through the door. “Thanks for saving my guys some time with the cleaning.”

“Fuck you, Kakuchō! This is Balmain, you fucking asshole!”

“Forty-percent for the father, forty-percent for the mother and…Twenty for our dear little Utsu-chan,” Mama says out loud as she jots the numbers down in her book.

You know full well how your earnings are split—the old bitch is just spelling it out to be unkind. “So, how much more do I have left with Mara?”

“After this month?” She looks up at you for a moment before returning to her ledger. “About two-million.”

“Two-million yen?! How is it still so much?” you gawk, unable to stop your voice from rising. “I’ve been giving them forty-percent of my salary for the past half-year!”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, now.” Mama scolds, nailing a glare on you. “Surely, you’d know that interest compounds?”

“Obviously,” you grit, “but there isn’t a rate for me to keep track with anyway, is there? Seems like it’s always changing to that man’s liking.”

“It’s too bad your aunt didn’t go to a licensed lender all those years back. You’d have it in black and white to sue with then,” her tone drips with mock sympathy, and you grip the armrests on your chair to stop yourself from reaching for her neck. Mama notices that your knuckles are white against the mahogany, so she sighs dramatically and rotates the book in her hand. “Look, maybe it’ll be easier for you to swallow if you see the calculations…”

She flips through its pages until ‘2009’ appears, the year you paid the first instalment. It’s a meagre sum you recognize from your first month at the club, when you were fresh out of high school and therefore still getting used to older men and alcohol. Mama moves the tip of her pen through the lines and you see how much your payments have grown across the years—as does the balance you owe. Her thin red lips bend and fold as she explains the compounding rates that the Mara-kai are applying to your debt—your aunt’s debt—and you have to hand it to her for making something so ridiculous sound so plausible. After a while, you give up on making sense of it all. Even if you are to spot a glaring error, what can you possibly do about it? All you want to know now is how much you need to make to get ahead of the interest and close this book before you.

“Two-million yen, right?” you interrupt her droll. “To be safe, I’ll estimate it as three by the time I can cough that up, which—and consider this my notice—should happen within this year.”

In response, Mama simply purses her mouth and stares at you over the rims of her reading glasses, plucked brows curled and unreadable. You absolutely loathe it when she looks at you like that, like she knows better, and you loathe it because she may be right. There’s no knowing what her and Tanida’s plans are for you. You’ve learned that the most you can do against the unknown is just your best and fastest.

“I will leave this world one day, you know,” you tell her, gesturing around the room. You’re telling that to yourself as well.

She shrugs. “Okay.” She puts the ledger away before turning to her computer, ruby talons tapping on the mouse. “Oh, I almost forgot. You also won fifty-thousand yen from the Haitani boys tonight, and Ran’s thrown in a tip of ten-thousand. As I promised, you can do whatever you want with the money.”

It’s an easy decision. “Add it to Mara’s pile.”

“Sure you don’t want to spend it?” she asks, for no good reason. “You can buy something really nice for Pierre-kun with that.”

You cross your arms over your chest, wishing she’d keep Pierre’s name off her tongue. One of the most foolish things you’ve ever done was mention him to her: your smart little boy had learned something new, so in your excitement, you shared it with the other girls—Mama chose that moment to walk into the dressing room and ask what the commotion was about, and now have to worry about when she will start holding him above your head. Mama eyes you again while she smokes her pipe, perhaps sensing your sudden guard, and decides to switch the topic. “You know, I think Ran may consider helping you out with that two-million yen. How much is your pride valued at?”

“You should know, you bought it off me a long time ago,” you spit. “And where’s the logic in that? Why would I be indebted to one yak just to pay off another?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t consider him, or any of those boys for that matter, as yakuza,” she says, even though it’s beside the point.

“Black is black, no matter what shade it’s in.”

“Fair enough.”

Mama pulls a folder out from one of her locked cabinets and you understand that she’s lost all interest in the topic. She digs around in it and her fingers come out pinching several sheets of film. Your stomach sinks when you recognize what they are. “Anyway, this is why I called you here.” The photographs land before you with a light slap. “Your boudoir shoot’s out.”

There it is in print: the utter ruin of Japan’s finance minister. Citizens know him in a dignified suit and tie in the papers and on television, but now there exists the possibility of seeing him in various stages of undress, blindfolded, ball-gagged and bound in leather. It’s not quite the image a respected national leader should present, especially not in Japan. And he is not alone in these pictures. Resting a heeled foot on his back is a woman of slender figure and no resemblance to his wife. The films cut off at the lower half of her face so no one can be sure who she is exactly, but you recognise those lips—they’re yours, after all.

You flip the photographs over in disgust, weak from fighting the urge to retch.

“Tanida-sama sends his thanks,” Mama tells you as she keeps them away. “Now, Customs and Tariff won’t be questioning those new packages he’s expecting from China.”

“That’s a big fish I helped to reel in. Surely he can take some yen off for my efforts?”

“He already did. That’s how you’re only down to two-million.” Her nose billows with smoke like a dragon’s. “Were you not paying attention to me just now?”

Any bold urge to protest instantly evaporates the moment you open your mouth, so you fall back on your chair without a sound. Perhaps you should be grateful that you are even compensated for it—the Mara-kai henchmen who accompanied you that night certainly didn’t offer the impression that you had a choice, not when they were fingering the triggers of both gun and camera. Once again, you can only gnash your teeth in resignation. “Just… don’t show me the pictures next time. I don’t want to see them.”

“Suit yourself,” replies Mama. She takes one last drag of tobacco before packing a wad of cash into an envelope, which is apparently for you. “Here, your twenty-percent for the month.”

You take your salary and it marks the end of the meeting. But you’re not quite ready to go yet—there’s still something on your mind, weighing you to the chair. You’re not sure if Mama will give you a straight answer, but you try anyway: “What’s the deal with Bonten?”

You regret asking the moment you see her smirk. “Why? Interested in the business?”

“I’m only interested in how it affects me.”

“That’s to be expected,” she nods, as if understandingly. “Well, I’ll say this: don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Nothing will change for you.”

You narrow your eyes. Mama conceals but she rarely tells lies, so you think you can trust her words. But you also find it hard to believe that it’s that simple. You attempt to probe further under the disguise of a joke. “You didn’t sell me off to Ran?”

But she takes it literally, chuckling in your face. “Sell you off? To Ran? Yua, my dear, Tanida-sama will never let you go like that. I know I dangle you before him a lot, but like I said: don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe from that cad.”

Perhaps Mama truly did intend to be assuring—in her own sick, twisted way—but to you, her laughter is the furthest thing from comfort.

It is three in the morning by the time a taxi drops you off at your apartment complex—even after stepping out of Mama’s office, you still had a few customers left to drink and flirt with. One of them nearly vomited on your dress and you had to pretend he was still the most appealing man on earth, but you suppose that’s just all in a day’s work. You lean into a corner of the elevator as it brings you up, brain dull and throbbing from all the alcohol it’s absorbed.

Your apartment, one of the newer but smaller single-bedroom builds, is pitch black when you open the door. Crap—you must’ve forgotten to leave the night light on. A wave of guilt washes away the liquor in your system when it occurs to you that Pierre has been spending the night in total darkness. At least you had the air-conditioner on.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you coo as you flip the switches in your bedroom. “Were you scared? Were you lonely?”

Pierre raises his little head from your bed, bulgy eyes cracking open from your intrusion. This squinty expression, when paired with the creasy, snubbed shape of his face, makes him look entirely displeased. He gives a soft, tired huff in greeting, which is more than you can ask for. You, for one, would not be so courteous if anyone woke you from the kind of deep slumber he appears to have had.

“Aw, you poor thing…” He goes limp when you pick him up to set him on your thighs. You’ve read that this pliancy is wired in his genes. “It must be tiring to watch the house all night, huh? Well, I’ve got a reward for you. Here’s my thanks for all your hard work!”

Having associated the sound of ‘reward’ with snacks and toys (and even a trip to the spa), Pierre perks up in full alert. Long fur spills back and forth as he wags his tail, waiting to see just what you have for him. You reach for the silver chain on your nape, undoing the clasp that Ran fixed on you earlier, and Pierre’s floppy ears begin to lower while you loop the necklace around his small, skinny neck. By the time you are done, he’s back to wearing his sleepy grimace, body sagged in disappointment. You’d be hard-pressed to say he’s wearing that glittering diamond jewellery with pride.

“Don’t like it? Well, neither do I. Guess it’s not much of a reward…” You rub his chin in consolation. “But I think it suits you better, so I’m leaving it with you, okay?”

He wiggles his nose, which you’d like to think is a sign of agreement. The mattress sinks as you fall upon it, too exhausted to change out of your dress even though it stinks of cigarettes and hard liquor. Pierre trots over to let you bury your face in his silky black and white coat, as if to say ‘let’s just go to sleep, woman’, and you doze off to the rhythm of his wheezy breaths. Perhaps this is happiness too, you think, and your mind begins to slowly empty itself of Ran, Mama and the Mara-kai, leaving little else except how this dog is the only thing you love in this world.

Glossary of Terms / References Used | Next Chapter

A/N: So I enjoyed writing this chapter way more than I thought I will! Mostly because of the KakuMocchi Broship scene, tbh. I desperately needed my fix of it especially after Chara-Book 3, which is simply just Wakui's best gift to us. Also, did you guys catch the tiny symbolism in the mahjong scene I snuck in? :) Btw, it's not really necessary to know the rules of mahjong to get that scene!

Reblogs & comments will be greatly appreciated! :)

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfic #kakucho x oc #kakucho x reader #haitani ran x oc #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x oc #ran haitani x reader #kakucho #haitani ran #mochizuki kanji #haitani rindou #requital of a crane

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kradogsrats · 2 years

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raised to spouse the question of “wait, what the hell is Opeli High Cleric OF, exactly, in this setting that appears to be completely devoid of actual religion?” last night, causing us to rehash a discussion that apparently we had before and I somehow completely forgot (thanks ADHD?)

Opeli is very clearly designed to look religious, and she has this explicitly religious title in some official sources (Callum’s Spellbook, at least... I haven’t dug through the novelizations to see if it’s referenced there), but for a fantasy setting TDP is actually shockingly areligious. Where there would usually be gods of various elemental powers, instead there are the primal sources, regarded more as natural phenomena. (And also, through the arcana, instilling a bit of the divine in every Xadian, but that’s irrelevant.) The Archdragons, which could also be a focus of religious worship, are instead portrayed and regarded as essentially political beings. (Rayla acknowledges Sol Regem’s power and prestige, but also that he’s kind of a dick in a very non-reverent way.)

Opeli is also presented entirely as political--every official source description of her emphasizes her focus on law and her competence as an administrator. Not her spirituality. Not her religious morality. Those simply don’t exist. In fact, the rituals we see performed in Katolis are also pretty much devoid of any religious significance. Take Harrow’s funeral: there’s a prescribed set of rituals around the burial of a king, including a set amount of time that the body is expected to lie in state before interment. But Viren breaking those rules is a violation of propriety, not blasphemy. He has offended Opeli and the traditions of Katolis, but not god. And Harrow’s soul isn’t going to be trapped in the the mortal realm because his body was destroyed early, or anything. It’s just rude.

It’s all just legalistic ritual. Which aligns with Opeli’s character as described, sure, but the religious nature of her design still makes me itchy.

I’d like to do a deeper check for references to religion in canon through rewatch/reread, even just any errant “gods/god” light cursing, but until then the only thing I remember is in the Tales of Xadia sourcebook’s section on--get this--Startouch elves. It describes a poem held by the Royal Library of Evenere called “The Epic of the Void,” which pre-dates the fall of Elarion and is held in greatest secrecy and security:

Those hoping to study the poem must petition the High Mage of Evenere personally, but she is notoriously strict in allowing access to the work. Most hopeful readers are turned away without explanation (and often with a stern lecture on the sacred nature of Startouch scholarship), creating ever more mystery around this ambiguous poem.

(Emphasis added.)

A stanza of the poem is included:

Where do the fabled Great Ones hide? What secrets have you locked inside? From rising Sun to Moonlight’s grace I search the Sky for any trace Of Starfolk, fabled, fallen, found-- Once everywhere, now none around. Is all we are to know of thee Consumed by Dark, or cast to Sea? So bound to Earth, are we denied The touch of Stars? Have our Gods died? Where do the fabled Great Ones hide?

(Again, emphasis added.)

So a) nice tie-in with the recent Aaravos short Patience, but b) wasn’t Aaravos just casually standing around at the expulsion of humans from Xadia? Pretty sure that was after the fall of Elarion. So unless he’s like... the only Startouch elf who has ever manifested on Xadia, something’s weird. (Also, just for fun, c) note the inclusion of Dark among the references to the primals.)

So idk but what I’m getting here is that modern humans are largely areligious, but deep in the history of human culture there is the concept of a plural divinity associated with the stars that has, for some reason, not survived. This could be something shared in elven culture, but the inclusion of dark magic with the other primal sources in the poem implies a human author, and the same section in Tales of Xadia describes an elven children’s rhyme that references Startouch elves being gone(tm) but not really distinct from other elves. (Elves are more likely to have religion-adjacent rituals associated with their primals, imo. For example, the ostentatious purification ritual of the Sun elves.)

Anyway, to circle back to what started the discussion: Opeli’s role is almost definitely more of a “master of laws and rituals” one than a “spiritual guide” one, and also (the real reason I was thinking about this) the routine mild blasphemy used by humans for emphasis would likely be “gods,” or possibly some variant of “stars,” “stars above,” etc.

#the dragon prince #yes i did all of this to figure out what people should be saying during sex #i am a simple creature #'stars' bothers me because it was heavily adopted by star wars fandom so now i get cognitive dissonance #i should just buy digital editions of the novelizations shouldn't i #being able to search text would be SO useful

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pridewon · 2 years

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@tvrningout said: ❛ you make me smile … and also super horny, but that’s not the point. ❜ chiyo to atsumu bc i’m laughing thinking atsumu’s trying to be sweet and chiyo just : )) (a meme i lost in the ether)

“And then I told ‘im - oi, Chiyo, listen to meeeee, I’m gettin’ to the best part!” It isn’t new for anyone, especially not his girlfriend, that Atsumu is somewhat of a whiny baby, when he wants to be (stomping for attention and pouting when he doesn’t get it, getting all up in people’s faces until they can no longer ignore him). He takes up space, demands it, imposes on it (but only ever when it pleases him); and with age, has grown to realise that the few people who don’t resent him for his bad habits should be cherished and treasured. Really, how many people have Chiyo’s patience, when it comes to his attitude?

Of course, it certainly helps, that his attitude is softened tenfold when it comes to her; instead of aggressive taunting and provocation, he is content to sit on the floor, his back towards her and he leans back between her legs while she is perched on the sofa, absent-mindedly playing with his hair with one hand, the other busy typing away a couple of texts. Texts that are absolutely irrelevant, when he is busy recounting the epic tale of his latest shenanigans with Bokuto, obviously! Impatience boils over, and Atsumu shifts to rise on his knees, turn around and face his (distracted) girlfriend, one arm on each side of her hips and a clear pout on his face. “Earth to Chiyo... oh. Glad t’see you were payin’ attention, but what have I said that’s so funny?” The question slips past him, as he squints at her poor attempt at concealing a grin; and the light blush on her face. And is she trying to squirm out of his arms?

Atsumu squints harder. Suspicious. Until she drops this tiny bomb; and prompts furrowed eyebrows to shoot sky high.

......... well. Unexpected, but not unpleasant, is how he would describe it; ego suddenly inflated and boyfriend pride tickled, while a sudden realisation that he had not bothered to put a shirt back on after his shower washes over him (maybe a part of Chiyo’s current predicament). “... I do? It’s not?” He repeats (a little stupid - sometimes Chiyo has a way of making his last braincells fall out his ear, as Osamu had once put it); and she squishes his face between her hands, and he grumbles. Yo, hold on - she wouldn’t be trying to drown out the poison, would she? After what she said?

Nuh-huh. He’s not letting that slide that easily.

“Excuse you, I think that’s the entire point. All of it. The whole damn point.” He protests, encasing her further between his arms and the sofa; trapped at the waist like a poor unfortunate prey while he sharpens his fangs (eyes unable to not glance towards her lips). “Is makin’ ya laugh an’ makin’ ya horny all I’m good for, hm?” Not that bad of a deal, all things considered, but it’s the principle of it, y’know. He teases, knowing protest will soon follow (’that’s not what I said and y’know it, Tsumu!’ yadda yadda yadda); lips curling into foxy smile as he presses them against hers, silencing all and any objection - which he feels in the form of breathed mutter against his mouth, and expertly decides not to pay attention to, because according to the hands he can feel curling into his hair, she isn’t really protesting at all.

“I knew it. Y’only want me for my body, don’tcha Chiyo? Un-believable.” Oh, so dramatic; coaxing another chuckle from her while he trails kisses down her cheek, follows the line of her jaw, her neck, not-so-subtly climbing up on the sofa. Lips travel down her collarbones, graze at the birth of her cleavage; his own heart beating as fast as hers under the press of his kisses. Cheks flushed, eyes alight, he looks back up at her; smitten fox milking her adorable slip-up for all its worth. “Well, now that y’broke my heart, I guess we should try an’ do somethin’ about... the other thing.” He taunts, like he doesn’t share the same thoughts.

#tvrningout #(miya a; interactions)#suggestive tw #happy sunday bet you forgot about this meme B)

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laresearchette · 11 months

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Friday, June 23, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: CARPOOL KARAOKE: THE SERIES (Apple TV +) SWAGGER (Apple TV +) THE LAST DRIVE-IN WITH JOE BOB BRIGGS (Shudder) QUICKSAND (Shudder)

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT? GOLD RUSH: MINE RESCUE WITH FREDDY AND JUAN (Premiering on June 27 on Discovery Canada at 10:00pm)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA THE DEFENDERS EL EXTRAÑO CASO DEL FANTASMA CLAUSTROFÓBICO I’M A VIRGO MURILO COUTO COMEDY SPECIAL NOCEBO

CBC GEM JUMP, DARLING

CRAVE TV ALIEN ALIENS THE FAULT IN OUR STARZ IDENTITY THIEF THE LAKE HOUSE MRS. HARRIS GOES TO PARIS PHILADELPHIA PRANCER: A CHRISTMAS TALE THE PRESTIGE SULLIVAN’S CROSSING (Season 1)

DISNEY + STAR JACINTA REVENANT (Season 1, all episodes) WORLD’S BEST

NETFLIX CANADA CATCHING KILLERS (Season 3) !NUMBER NUMBER: JOZI GOLD KING OF CLONES MAKE ME BELIEVE THE PERFECT FIND THROUGH MY WINDOW: ACROSS THE SEA

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 7:00pm: A’s vs. Jays (SN Now) 7:00pm: Mariners vs. Orioles (SN1) 7:00pm: Rangers vs. Yankees (SN1) 10:00pm: Astros vs. Dodgers

CFL FOOTBALL (TSN/TSN4/TSN5) 7:30pm: Alouettes vs. Ti-Cats

STREET OUTLAWS: MEGA CASH DAYS (Discovery Canada) 8:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): Mega Cash Days is back; this time, 64 racers compete on small tires; some of the biggest names in "Street Outlaws" are grouped in Bracket One, and chaos ensues when the light malfunctions on the first race.

MICHIF COUNTRY (APTN) 8:30pm: Indigenous businessman Arnold Asham traps and sets up snares with Métis trappers Earl and Rene; Arnold, famous for his line of curling gear and for touring with his dance troupe, is an experienced trapper himself and shares his own knowledge.

CROSS COUNTRY CAKE OFF (CTV) 9:00pm: Cake makers show off their proudest creations; Judges Mary and Andrew taste a slice of their lives and pick the four best to bake their "Bucket List" dreams in cake form.

THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF MELBOURNE (Slice) 9:00pm (SEASON PREMIERE): Janet, Jackie and Gamble reunite in epic style; Jackie nears the end of her eighth round of IVF and is doing it tough; a chance meeting with a yoga teacher and her wine-executive friend leads to a tense lunch; conflict erupts at a spa event.

MRS. HARRIS GOES TO PARIS (Crave) 9:00pm: A cleaning lady falls madly in love with a couture Dior dress, deciding she must have one of her own. After working to raise the funds to pursue her dream, she embarks on an adventure to Paris that will change the very future of the House of Dior.

CRIME BEAT (Global) 10:00pm: A young mother is found dead in her home; her little girl is missing, sparking an amber alert; police use advancements in technology to find the little girl; her ex is in the spotlight and public opinion points to him, a true whodunnit.

#cdntv #cancon #canadian tv #canadian tv listings #michif country #cross country cake off #the real housewives of melbourne #crime beat #mlb baseball #cfl football

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alabamaonline · 2 years

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Prince of persia the sands of time

Blatant Lies: During an intimate scene between the Prince and Farah, while they're trapped in a tomb.

Also, him managing to survive unleashing the Sands, an act that is supposed to literally be impossible by the laws of reality, creates a Time Paradox that releases the Dahaka, leading to the events of the sequel. Bittersweet Ending: The Prince manages to undo pretty much everything that happened throughout the game - including Farah's love for him.Things will always collapse into a parkour obstacle course for the Prince and a series of cracks and holes in the wall for Farah to slip through. Benevolent Architecture: The palace may be slowly falling into ruin and collapsing, but it'll never do so in a way that renders it impossible to move on.Armor Is Useless: The Prince takes the same amount of damage both before and after he removes his armour.Arc Words: "Honor and glory." It's even the title of the final part of the game.Arbitrary Skepticism: Farah surely had known about the dagger's time-twisting power before the adventure began, but after the Reset Button is pressed, she believes that the whole story told by the Prince could be nothing but a fairy-tale.Vizier: Do you have any last words you wish me to communicate to the Princess before I kill her? Words of love perhaps? Confused over what happened, he finds himself in the company of Farah, a princess of the kingdom he just ransacked and who has knowledge of what he has done, and has to go fix what he broke. The Vizier then tricks the Prince into opening the hourglass and unleashing the curse of the sands upon the land of Persia. Among the spoils of that kingdom is a large hourglass called "The Sands of Time" and a dagger that the Prince claims. The Prince is a young man accompanying his father to an Indian-like kingdom, whose Vizier betrayed them to the Prince's armies. It reproduced the series' popular combination of combat and climbing puzzles, and added Le Parkour and what is still the most successful use of time-distortion effects (previously seen in such games as Max Payne and Blinx: The Time Sweeper), as well as creating an entirely new story with a more complex hero, an expanded role for the princess, and one doozy of a plot twist. A sweeping adventure of betrayal and triumph - The epic legends and deadly creatures of mythic Persia burn to life in this suspense-filled tale, featuring more twists and turns than the labyrinthine Palace itself.Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time is a 2003 video game and the first chapter in the newer Prince of Persia trilogy developed by Ubisoft.Medieval Persia, mythical and deadly, holds a staggering array of landscapes and kingdoms to explore and conquer. Exotic worlds and vast kingdoms - Uncover the mysteries of a world never before explored in action-adventure gaming.Erase the past, behold the future, and freeze the present in real-time for unlimited gameplay variations. The Sands of Time - Ubisoft's Montreal Studio presents the Sands of Time - a technological breakthrough that will change the face of action-adventure gaming forever.An unmatched hero - Wielding powers of mythic proportions, the Prince returns to action-adventure gaming with gravity-defying acrobatics, ferocious fighting skills, and the ability to bend time to fulfill his destiny.A technological masterpiece - Witness some of the most advanced programming in gaming history, pushing the limitations of consoles and raising the standards of games in all areas of production: physics, lighting, graphics, animations, and more!.Aided by the wiles of a seductive princess and the absolute powers of the Sands of Time, the Prince stages a harrowing quest to reclaim the Palace's cursed chambers and restore peace to his land.

Drawn to the dark powers of a magic dagger, a young Prince is led to unleash a deadly evil upon a beautiful kingdom. It speaks of a time borne by blood and ruled by deceit. Amidst the scorched sands of ancient Persia, there is a legend spun in an ancient tongue.

#Prince of persia the sands of time

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sunderedstar · 3 years

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@blitzlowin /cracks knuckles/ i do this for u. there is no order to this list, but here we go -

the jasmine throne - 2021, epic fantasy. fantastic. lesbeans. just gorgeous worldbuilding, and the main characters Priya and Malini are likeable and smart while they’re maneuvering around each other and the other moving pieces in a colonized country under the thumb of an empire that’s rapidly taking a turn towards war. the cover for book 2, the oleander sword, just dropped, and I’m dying.

the luminous dead - 2019, scifi/horror. lesbeans, with even more emphasis on the morally grey aspects this time. absolutely fucking terrifying - the threats in this alien caves are very real, stacked with the psychological tension of having someone above control the caving suit that keeps you alive while underground for weeks at a time and the economic pressures of being trapped on a dead-end planet, leaving you no choice but to keep delving deeper...and deeper...

again, the worldbuilding is insane. I reread it periodically and can never get over how well-paced the beats are. this is the kind of merch you get:

iron widow - 2021, scifi/fantasy. the bisexual poly love triangle we’ve all been screaming about. I describe it as an inverse Pacific Rim, but you won’t get why until pretty much the final pages. all three of these have had morally dubious protagonists but in iron widow Zetian GOES OFF AND WE LOVE HER FOR IT. she’s chaotic furious. she’s unhinged in the best way. “May he stay unsettled.” the author themselves has described this as accidentally furry Dragonball Z with giant Pacific Rim robots and monsters, essentially. I have absolutely no idea what will happen with book 2 but I know it’ll be balls-to-the-walls insane (complimentary).

the outside - 2019, cosmic horror scifi. lesbeans. humanity is ruled by AI gods throughout the stars, the angels are cybernetic post-human cogs in a repressive machine, and Yasira accidentally makes a scientific leap that invites in a disruptive, heretical, reality warping presence that destroys a space station. things spiral out of control from there. the second book didn’t hit as well for me (mostly because mysteriously it was half the length it needed to be? it goes from a novel to a sequel novella almost, so not sure what happened there) but the outside is 9/10.

the world gives way - 2021. scifi. you will cry. like that’s it, it’s a short little novel written entirely to gut you. that is all.

murderbot - scifi. I feel like everyone by this point has heard about/read murderbot by this point, but the fact is I can’t in good conscious leave it off a rec list. there are six books, now, a mix of novellas and one full length novel about Murderbot, and Martha Wells (bless her for this and for the Books of the Raksura, her series full of bi poly shapeshifters) apparently has a contract to write at least three more murderbot books so we’re set for life basically. Ms Wells has never let me down ever, in her life -

the darkangel trilogy - 1982-1990. scifi/fantasy, though you may not realize the scifi at work at first.

okay. okay listen. listen. hear me out. you read the first book description. it sounds like a traditional dracula hetero set up. Aerial and her mistress are kidnapped by the darkangel. it has an almost fairy-tale kind of logic to the magic system. it ends with Aerial literally exchanging her heart with the darkangel’s to save his life, causing him to fall in love with her.

meredith ann pierce then spends the next two books deconstructing the consequences of that choice, as Aerial finds herself more and more estranged from the rest of the humanity-adjacent people of her world - including the darkangel himself - and becoming a sorceress whether she wants to be or not, inextricably linked to the sci-fantasy workings that keep their world turning under the light of a [spoilers] COMPLETELY IRRADIATED EARTH. ultimately she has to make a choice to give the darkangel his own choice back, and take up a responsibility that will leave her cut off from her humanity entirely but for one person who stays with her to the very end. meredith ann pierce’s meld of scifi and fantasy is what I aspire to - the worldbuilding is so subtle at first that you don’t even realize what’s happening until it happens.

(do I like to imagine it ends on a slightly lesbean note because of that last part? maybe so...)

tgcf/heaven official’s blessing - 2017, now being published officially in English starting with book 1 in December this year. putting the g in LGBT. before, I could have linked to the free online English translation, but everything has been taken down since it was licensed officially for publication. Xie Lian ascended to godhood 800 years ago, and through a series of catastrophes and extremely traumatic events was banished, ascended again, got banished again in even more disgrace, and spent the rest of that time wandering the world, luckless and alone, until he finally...ascended again. but the evil and mysteries that plagued him 800 years ago haven’t gone away, either. (MXTX also did MDZS/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, the basis of the Untamed show.)

#blitzlowin #books #yes I will continue to push the 40+ year old book agenda #yes the 1980s were like 40 years ago now

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tanadrin · 3 years

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Dev Patel and the Green Knight

I finally got around to seeing The Green Knight. Overall, I enjoyed it--David Lowery does a good job capturing the essential weirdness of the tale, which is very much about taking a mundane circumstance (a Christmas feast) and suddenly catapulting the reader into a mythic otherworld through the intrusion of the alien and monstrous, and the fantastical costumes, dramatic lighting, and dissonant score all contribute very well to a sense of otherness that permeates the original story.

But I find it interesting--and, I'll admit, a little frustrating--that no modern film adaptation of medieval literature is really capable of taking the story it's adapting on its own merits. This isn't an objection to modifying the source text, or taking it in new, non-literal direction. I can think of plenty of adaptations of work that play with the source material in interesting ways, and are better for it. Even very faithful adaptations like Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings are inevitably going to alter the source based on the need to adapt it for the screen and the whims of the director. But when it comes to medieval classics, texts like Beowulf or Gawain and the Green Knight are always held at arm's length. An ironic layer is always interpolated into the original story, and even in modified form the story is never allowed to stand on its own.

Contrast, for instance, modern retellings of Arthurian legend; or Wagner's Nibelungenleid; or something like Neil Gaiman's book of Norse mythology. These are all adaptations of much older stories, all medieval; and the authors typically happy to let the stories operate on their own terms. In fact, that is often a selling point: dipping into these tales is a way of sampling an alien culture, one that is remote from us in time rather than space, and part of the sense of heightened drama is the understanding that these stories do not necessarily depict the world in the same way that modern realist prose does. They are fairy-stories, in the Tolkienian sense, and something not quite even like "high fantasy," which, although it is a genre which owes much to the mythic tradition, is usually *told* in the same manner as other realist fiction. And you could take these stories and re-cast them in a realist mold--that's definitely been done with Arthurian legend, either via anachronism or trying to place them in an era-appropriate historical context, and even that yields something quite like the original in tenor, even if the language used to relate the story is often very different.

Watching this movie, I was *strongly* reminded of Robert Zemeckis's Beowulf, in that this did not feel like an attempt to adapt Gawain and the Green Knight for the screen. It felt like an attempt to tell a story *about* Gawain and the Green Knight (the text), a story which does not stand on its own. You don't have to have read the text to understand the movie (although I think some directorial decisions would be a bit mystifying if you hadn't), but the movie definitely situates itself *as a response* to the text. Which is an odd choice! Actually, another good point of comparison is Spike Jonze's Adaptation. It started life as an adaptation of Susan Orlean's The Orchid Thief, but Charlie Kaufman sort of gave up writing that halfway through and wrote a movie about the difficulty he was having writing *that* movie, and the result is something very weird (and very good) that is full of metafictional elements that depend on the existence of this other work, in a way that a straight retelling of The Orchid Thief for the screen obviously would not. And while The Green Knight isn't that extreme, it is definitely playing on the structure of the medieval poem, and replying to it.

The core of the movie (as I understood it) is a tension between young Gawain's aspiration to knightliness, his ambition which is born at least in part from his mother's encouragement, and his own failure to live up to the heroic ideal of greatness. Not chivalric--this is a movie in which the ethos of chivalry makes not even the briefest of appearance, which is weird given that it's nominally an Arthurian romance, and that the chivalric ethos is extremely important to the original text. Instead we have a generic greatness being described, one which is associated with renown, with taking part in mythic events, and with achieving high rank and honor. In the service of seeing her son obtain all this, Gawain's mother seems to cast some kind of spell, whereupon the titular Green Knight appears at Arthur's Christmas-feast; and as in the poem, a game of beheadings is proffered. Gawain accepts the challenge, beheads the knight, and the knight rides away, promising he'll meet Gawain a year and a day hence at the Green Chapel. So far so straightforward. When Gawain sets off a year later to meet the knight, his mother gives him an enchanted belt to keep him safe from harm. Gawain goes on to have a couple of side-of-the-road adventures and mishaps, the kind of thing that's par for the course when you're telling an Arthurian romance, until he arrives at the house of a mysterious benefactor, just about a day away from the Chapel, who grants him hospitality until the day of his challenge.

Now, in the original story, this is where Gawain gets the magic belt, and it's hugely important: Gawain and his host promise to exchange anything they might receive at the end of each day, when the host has been out hunting all day and Gawain has been in the house recuperating from his travels. During this time, the host's wife repeatedly tries to seduce Gawain; and Gawain is trapped between the imperative not to sleep with his host's wife (a major violation of the rules of good chivalric conduct!) and the imperative not to offend the woman (also a violation of those rules). He succeeds, for the most part; he is forced at one point to give his host a kiss at the end of the day, since the wife kissed him; this is shown as him holding nothing back and acting in good faith on the vow he made to his host. When Gawain finally rebuffs the wife for good, she insists that, even if he won't sleep with her, he should at least take a magic belt she has woven that will keep him from harm. He does; but he does *not* give this to his host. When he finally goes to the Green Chapel, the Knight returns the original blow as promised--but only nicks Gawain lightly. He reveals himself to be none other than the host who was sheltering him; the nick was his reprimand for withholding that final gift, but because of his good conduct he is otherwise left unharmed. The whole thing was a test of sorts, one which Gawain passed. Despite flinching at first from the blow, and keeping the belt secret, he shows himself ultimately to be a man of good (albeit not perfect) conduct, and *that* is why he wins honor from the whole affair.

The movie takes this basic narrative and alters it in key places, completely changing the valence of the whole thing. First, Gawain gets the belt at the beginning of his quest, as mentioned; he loses it on the way, but when he reaches the castle, the wife of his host (who succeeds in seducing him with a handjob) presents it to him as if she had woven it herself. He does not actually engage in the game of exchanged with his host, who is *also* not the Green Knight. And we're treated to a monologue about the color green from the wife that feels beat for beat like it's been ripped off from someone's undergraduate essay about Gawain and the Green Knight, which is a little weird even in the context of the rest of the movie. Finally when Gawain reaches the chapel, the knight goes to return the blow--and Gawain completely chickens out and flees. We are then treated to an extended sequence of Gawain returning home; being feted as a hero; earning his knighthood (presumably by lying about what happened); succeeding Arthur as king; him abandoning his low-class beau once she bears him a son, and marrying a princess; going to war; his son dying in a war; and finally, as an old man, being trapped in his throne room as a besieging army breaks its way inside. Just before they do, he removes the magic belt from around his waist, his head fall off, and bam--we're shown this has been an Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge thing this whole time, and the Green Knight has not yet landed his blow.

Gawain finally takes off the belt, throws it aside, and tells the knight to go ahead--and the knight bends down and congratulates him. In context, the reading seems to be this: the belt is a talisman of Gawain's mother's influence, of external expectations for what kind of man he is. The Knight is Arthur or perhaps an agent of his, and the test in *this* case is whether Gawain can be his own person. All the events leading up to this point are perhaps a part of the original magic Gawain's mother cast, an effort to Lilith Weatherwax her kid to greatness by putting him into an epic story. Implicitly, then, the Gawain and the Green Knight we all know is the false version of the tale, the tale as Gawain's mother would have it told.

This is all very clever. But I'm afraid it's so clever it falls apart in the end. Because the structure of the original story that this depends on is dependent in turn on taking the whole notion of chivalric virtue seriously, which this movie plainly does not. Gawain is shown as irreverent and lustful and a bit of a party animal--lovable and good hearted fundamentally, but definitely not an Arthurian hero. That's fine, but that's a very modern sort of character, one that feels out of place in a movie that is trying very hard also to be tonally unmodern, firmly embedded in a mythic otherwhen of Arthurian legend. Moments of slice-of-life mundaneness, while charming, strain mightily against the epic tone the movie tries to take in other places, and strange events like a ghost seeking her lost head or immense giants striding the landscape. We are jostled: are we in the land of myth? Or are we in historical Britain? We cannot be in both!

And this is a movie that was definitely made by people who had read the original text; not just the original text, but also a great deal of criticism *about* the original text. The movie namechecks the theme of fivefold symmetry that's incredibly important to the structure of the poem; there's the aforementioned undergrad essay about colors about 3/4th of the way through; and there's the fact that the structure of the original plot (down to Morgan LeFay in disguise as an old woman in the host's castle) is present in altered form in every detail. But none of these details add up to much. There's a weird homoerotic kiss with the host that implies that in fact *he* wanted to sleep with Gawain, in addition to his wife; the ghost Gawain encounters early on tells him the Green Knight is in fact someone he knows (and therefore *can't* be the host; I think it's implied to be Arthur, like I said, but this is never quite confirmed), and while all these things *about* the original poem are shown, none of them ever get integrated thematically into the plot.

I think as a result, whatever Lowery was going for, the whole movie kind of falls apart in the end. And that's a pity, because somewhere in there is just a really weird, visually striking, really gripping, embellished-and-polished-for-modern-sensibilities-but-also-thematically-true-to-the-source retelling of Gawain and the Green Knight. And that would have been a much better movie! What are we to make of this, a movie that purports to be telling a story-behind-the-story, but one that leaves no room or context for the original? After all, Gawain in the end does *not* flee, does not return home a coward and a liar; presumably, he earns his honor, and can be honest about what happened. But if he is honest, none of the rest of what we have been shown makes a lick of sense, or has any point.

One feels a bit as if modern directors, when confronted with medieval texts being a bit weird, a bit alien in their worldview, instead of realizing that's actually something people like some of from time to time, feel like they have to construct an artificial bridge between the Middle Ages and the present day. But because it is invariably metafictional and self-referential, as if to say "don't worry, we know nobody REALLY wants to watch a bunch of boring medieval shit played straight," it comes off as cringing and ashamed of its source material. This isn't a plea for historicity! Gawain and the Green Knight is not history. But one does occasionally want to see an adaptation of one's favorite works without directors being ashamed of the text they are adapting! And since most people will not have read the original, I am rather confused about what the director intends for the audience to get out of all these references that are dependent on it, but don't stand on their own merits within the narrative of the movie itself.

The acting was good, the set design and costumes were terrific, I loved the slow and measured pacing and the weird score, and the design of the Knight himself, and the landscapes and almost everything else about the movie. So I don't think it's a waste of time, especially if you have read and enjoyed Gawain and the Green Knight, in the original or in translation. But it's definitely a pity to see a movie that was, well, *almost* great, but ended up merely OK.

#gotta put that undergraduate degree to work from time to time #we spent a *lot* of time on this poem

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elder-sister · 4 months

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only 1 day cus I'm impatient so VOTE

#tiaet #trapped in an epic tale #tiaet fol #Trapped in an Epic Tale: Fall of Light #TiaET RoB #Trapped in an Epic Tale: Return of Balance #Celestial Labs #CL TiaET

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tiaet-official · 4 months

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#tiaet #trapped in an epic tale #tiaet fol #trapped in an epic tale: fall of light #tiaet rob #trapped in an epic tale: return of balance #art #art tag #artwork #artists on tumblr #tumblr polls #my polls #polls #poll time #tarot cards

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brown-little-robin · 2 years

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Hi Laurelin! @laurelin-of-valinor tagged me to give my ten favorite books, movies, albums, and shows, and said “bonus points if you explain why you love them”, which is a Trap for Me, Specifically. So here, have a long long post! You were right that it was therapeutic. Feel free to join in! I’m curious what @bluesidedown and @lady-stormbraver would put, but no pressure.

Chatting under the cut :)

Books

Okay okay okay, so, I have a Bookshelf of Honor with my very favorite books. They’re almost all fantasy. Nowadays with living in two locations and still unpacking from moving (twice), it’s more a theoretical bookshelf than a physical one, but here you go:

Chrestomanci (Charmed Life and The Lives of Christopher Chant in one volume) — found family fantasy make brain go brr

Howl’s Moving Castle — SO funny. absolute laugh riot to read, and with a theme of love despite human foibles??? perfection. One of two literary romances I really like rather than tolerate. The other is Valancy and Barney in The Blue Castle, bless ‘em.

Going Postal — another funny one! It grabs you by the the throat and shakes you like a dog. A devil-may-care con man is forced to become a postmaster and through his sparklingly amazing exploits slowly learns morality, has several mental breakdowns, and gets religion like no one has got it before. Terry Pratchett at his absolute finest. You can’t help but read it fast.

Watership Down — I read this one out loud with Dad and we had a lot of good talks about leadership and followership, so it’s dear to my heart because of Dad as well as its own story. Deeply researched rabbits that behave like real rabbits on an epic quest to find a new burrow. Its lovingly described scenery really immerses me in the storyworld.

Inkheart — I love its purring, sensuous tone and the morally grey characters and the fight for survival and truth. Translated from German. I love translated books. The prose is by necessity so poetic and unusual. Having read hundreds upon hundreds of books in English, translations make me slow down and enjoy the words in a way I’m unused to.

The Tale of Despereaux — tender, soft, heart-breaking, heart-mending. A tiny and bookish mouse making his way around a castle, unafraid of the humans, breaking the mouse rule of secrecy. A rat from the dungeon who breaks the rat laws and longs, longs, longs for light and beauty. A princess who takes the time to understand them. Poetic prose to the max. UGH it’s so GOOD

EDIT: I can’t believe I forgot The Goblin Emperor! It’s complexly plotted political intrigue, and I love the main character so much—he’s radically kind in a world of backstabbers.

Impulse (the 1995 comic series) would be on this shelf, but I don’t own a physical copy yet. Impulse has nearly everything I want in a superhero comic. It’s light-hearted and fast-paced, yet touches on deep themes of maturity and growth; the overall plot is based on relationships, yet not heavy-handed with them; the mentor is actually good, fallible yet trying his best to help; the female characters are treated as actual HUMAN BEINGS... it all feels so real in a way that no other superhero comic I’ve found (aside from a few individual Superman and Flash issues) does. And, of course, the Mercury Falling arc was so incredible that I’m currently writing a fanfiction based on it that looks likely to become 60+ installments long.

My three favorite nonfiction books are—

The Imperfect Disciple — LIFE CHANGING. I cannot say this with enough emphasis. God used this book to show me his grace. It was the last nail in the coffin of the guilt I’d been carrying for years. Finally I can serve him with gladness and shouts of praise instead of cringing and constantly measuring myself. The joy I share here on tumblr? That joy was let loose by this book.

Mere Christianity — C. S. Lewis on Christianity with all of his gentle yet soul-searing insight.

and the tao te ching, translated by Stephen Mitchell! It’s a book of short philosophical poetry. It does miss the point of everything (Jesus), but it so cleverly states the worldview it does hold, acknowledging the gaping hole in it, that I like to read it and annotate it with the answers it asks the questions to. It’s a thought-provoking little book.

Movies

hnnnng. this is a hard one.

How To Train Your Dragon and Ratatouille: childhood and present favorites. animated movies don’t get better than these. those juicy juicy themes and gorgeous visuals and music...

The Martian and Castaway: oooh. love me a good stranded-alone movie. Dad loves ‘em. The Martian is more fun, with the wonderful humor-used-to-lift-spirits theme, and Castaway is more thought-provoking, going into the psychological results of being stranded. Both invoke the struggle to maintain hope and to find solutions.

The Hunt for Red October — a mental work-out, a nail-biter, and a wonderful reminder that although it takes a lot of work and hope to achieve peace and trust, it is possible and worth that risk. A film full of grace. And wonderful acting, too. Plus, Russian music is awesome.

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi — Space adventure drama! yub yub teddies! luke skywalker being a good boi! what more could I ask? also we always eat mint chocolate cake while watching!

Knives Out — I was hooked by the visuals, compelled by the dysfunctional family, and utterly fell in love with the thematic power of the ending. Because she was kind—

Spider-Man: into the spider-verse: SUPERHEROES?? SUPERHEROES SUPERHEROES THAT ARE FAITHFUL TO THE SILVER AGE NONSENSE AND GOLDEN AGE HEART WHILE INTRODUCING DIVERSITY AND TOP-NOTCH ANIMATION??? yes yes yes yes yes yes ye—

Megamind — A Right Now favorite. A fun ride, surprisingly depthful— and what can I say? Megamind captures my heart for lonely and hurting people.

Edward Scissorhands — a Right Now favorite. The tragedy of American suburban culture rejecting people who are different. it really resonates with me for Some Reason >:) Also I’ve been thinking about it lately since I watched it with my cousins.

I’m sure you’ll have noted with disappointment that Lord of the Rings isn’t on my books or movies lists. Neither is any Chesterton, although I do claim a Lewis. They never grabbed my heart like these ones did, but I do love them and enjoy discussing them! :)

Albums

Usually I’d just pick some albums, but since this is a Get To Know You, I’ll tell you about my broad musical taste and then tell you some favorite albums!

I don’t often listen to entire albums. Instead, I arrange single songs into very specific playlists. I sort them by various categories—genre of music (classical, rock-ish music, celtic...), season (spring, fall, Christmas, etc.), color / visual look (according to my synesthesia), and mood (Running Flying Chase Parkour music... Otherworldly Musical Ambience... Triumphant Battle Is Won...). I also make playlists for fictional characters and writing projects, like my Strange Redemption of Thaddeus Thawne playlist.

Here’s my YouTube channel. I didn’t learn about Spotify until it was too late—I had dozens of playlists on YouTube and liked YouTube’s interface better, so sorry if you’re a Spotify person.

AND NOW FOR TEN ALBUMS! In no particular order:

Cosmo Sheldrake: The Much Much How And I

Fernando Ortega: The Shadow Of Your Wings

Fernando Ortega: Fernando Ortega

James Darren: This One’s From the Heart

Alasdair Fraser and Natalie Haas: Abundance

The Easy Club: Skirlie Beat

Kung Fu Panda 2 soundtrack

Knives Out soundtrack

Yo Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble: Sing Me Home

Onuka: Onuka

TV shows

Hmmmm. I’ve not watched many shows in my life, but here are my favorites:

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (watched it with Mom and drank chamomile mint tea. happy times. It’s my favorite of the Star Treks due to its nice treatment of the darker themes (recovering from an occupation), and also I like ALL the main characters.)

Teen Wolf (so dumb, yet so earnest. A bit uncomfortably gory and full of inappropriate behavior, but I skip it and have fun. It’s been my comfort show to turn off my brain and get me distracted from college for the last year.)

The Mandalorian (the comfort show from two semesters ago. SO CUTE and I love the whole theme of honor and especially honor coexisting with love and love changing everything and even showing the honorable person something beyond their code...)

Due South (so pure. so good. another good honorable and loving main character who is also super clever.)

Perfect Strangers (funny little sitcom that has spawned much of my family’s vocabulary. Balki Bartokomus my darling)

Star Trek: The Next Generation (✨Lieutenant Commander Data✨ my beloved!!!!! also Picard & friends.)

Granada Holmes (an accurate adaptation. The oysters episode is perfection.)

BBC Sherlock (I never finished it, but it’s fun! Captures the sheer manic energy of Holmes nicely.)

Hogan’s Heroes (another just good clean show full of honorable men.)

WandaVision (interesting and heart-wrenching. I am weak for androids)

and I... I think... if you add Star Trek: Voyager... that’s... all the shows I have ever watched more than a single episode of!

BONUS: Video Game and Fanfiction!

Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild is my one and only beloved video game. The exploration!! The beauty!!

And I’m always always down to talk about fanfiction in general and DC fanfics in specific, so I couldn’t not mention at least one in case you’re interested in Batman.

in the shadows, a fanfic where Batman is... not human... is one of my favorites, a tender little piece. Also I’m going to mention no shirt, no shoes, no service, a hysterical piece where Batman and Robin switch costumes, with a fuller cast of Robins (did you know there’s more than one Robin?). And finally, because it’s tradition for a GOOD REASON: Cor et Cerebrum, by Audreycritter, the fanfiction that got me into Bat-fandom, an absolutely gut-wrenching journey, one of the fanfictions I’ve found the most Jesus in. If you want to get into Batfam fanfiction, I’ll be happy to assist. If not, no worries, it’s kind of a flaming mess and definitely not for everyone!

Thank you for the tag! :) it’s also been really fun seeing everyone else’s responses.

#Danielle speaks #SORRY this is so long #book recommendations

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