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#source + all the context you’ll need
bdubsgreen · 2 years
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Unfortunately I couldn’t add the full video to the original post but OP WAS NOT LYING ABOUT IMPULSES PIERCINGS >|^~%|<{%AUD17;$,)6
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Twitch Vod Link
(1:28:51)
@simplydm @milo-hypno
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papercorgiworld · 2 months
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No girls, no fights, no smokes
The things Mattheo Riddle does for love
This is like Theo’s ‘Tutoring first years’ a request based on the scenarios from Pansy’s Interrogation.
If you want a little more context, you can read Pansy’s interrogation, but it’s not a must.
No warnings except maybe foul language, but mostly just fluff and a bit of angst.
Picture source: https://pin.it/4r1PsBsvn
Not proofread. Feedback is as always very welcome. Happy readings, my dears!
“Slughorn is too lenient with him, because Riddle suddenly decided to show up to class, he gets an assignment to improve his grade. Ridiculous.” Hermoine says and Ron raises his eyebrows. “Slytherin privileges.” Harry joins his friends in their judging. “Not just that, Slughorn is making the same mistake he made when he trusted his father and told him about the horcruxes instead of sending him straight to Azkaban.” The three of them are startled to hear Mattheo’s voice from behind them. “You want to say that to my face, Potter!” Harry curses himself, he really wasn’t looking for a fight.
The trio turns around to face Mattheo, but they all keep their mouths shut and surprisingly so does Mattheo. The rage in his eyes is undeniable, but he simply walks by giving the trio only a quick death glare. When the trio is sure Mattheo is out of earsight Ron is the first to speak up. “Odd.” Hermoine shakes her head. “Not as much as you would think.” Harry and Ron give their friend a questioning look. “I don’t know why but he’s been on his best behavior for the past weeks. When was the last time he punched or hexed someone?” No one can immediately come up with an answer, proving Hermoine’s point.
***
“Matt, that’s my jacket.” Theo drily states thinking Mattheo mistakenly took his, while Mattheo searches every pocket of Theo’s jacket. “I know, I’m stealing your cigarettes.” Mattheo mutters with clear frustration in his voice. “You lose your own?” Theo asks as he takes his cigarettes off the nightstand to offer one to Mattheo. “No, I quit a month ago, remember.” Theo thinks for a moment, eyebrows knit together. “I honestly thought that was a joke.” Mattheo just flings Theodore an agitated glare. “Look, Matt, you can’t quit smoking, fighting and fucking at the same time.” Mattheo doesn’t say a word and lights the cigarette, just as Enzo enters the room. “No smoking inside!” “Say that one more time and you’ll be the first I punch in two months.” Enzo stops in his tracks at Mattheo’s ice cold voice and looks over at Theo with raised eyebrows.
“So, if I’m correct, no sex or blowjobs for three months, no fights for two months and almost one month of no smoking.” Mattheo lets himself fall on his bed. “Theodore?” Mattheo asks calmly, making both Enzo and Theo hold their breath. “Shut up.” Enzo can’t help but laugh as Theo rolls his eyes. “Pansy and Blaise were right the other day weren’t they? You’re doing this to impress (y/n).” Mattheo forces his eyes shut. He can barely admit it to himself, leave alone to his friends, but it is true. He so desperately needs you to like him. You are always nice to him, but you rarely ever approach him and honestly he can’t blame you.
***
Transfigurations, that’s where Mattheo realized that you weren’t just nice on the eyes. Three months ago Mcgonagoll had assigned everyone new seats and Mattheo had ended up next to you. Suddenly you weren’t just a kind stranger anymore, you became the girl that he can so easily talk to and laugh with.
Mattheo smiles when he sees you’re the first in the classroom. “Eager to score points with professor Mcgonagoll.” You look up and instantly a little blush creeps up your face. “Apparently, I’m not the only one.” Mattheo avoids your eyes, but takes his seat next to you. “I’m not early for Mcgonagoll, trust me princess.” You stare at your book and press your lips into a line in an attempt to not look like a total love struck idiot. Mattheo glances over at you while reaching for his books. When he notices your cheeks redden his heart fills with joy.
A few more students enter the classroom, forcing you both out of your love bubble. You watch him out of the corner of your eyes, while you gather enough courage to talk to him about what you saw yesterday. You lean closer to him so you can talk without being overheard and Mattheo turns towards you. “I’m sorry about what Harry said yesterday. He’s an idiot sometimes.” Mattheo keeps his eyes focussed on you, but it takes all his effort to not get angry again especially now that he knows you heard what Harry said. “I want you to know that despite that they’re my friends, I really don’t think like they do.” You slowly move your hand to lay on top of his arm as a way of showing him you care and aren’t afraid.
Mattheo searches for words, but all his mind can think of is how badly he wants your arms around him and not just your hand on his arm. When he finally opens his mouth Mcgonagoll walks in and you pull your hand back and focus on her. Mattheo adores you quietly before quickly brushing his fingers against yours. You turn to look at him and he leans in. “I know you don’t judge like they do. Maybe you should hang out more with me, could be fun?” His sweet whisper and genuine smile have your cheeks redden again. You smile and nod, thus silently agreeing that you should most definitely hang out more with him.
You spent the afternoon studying with Mattheo and right before dinner you even spent some time with his friends. It made it obvious that there was something blooming between you two and when you finally said your goodbyes you walked away the happiest girl at Hogwarts, unable to hide that happy glow around you.
***
After you spent yesterday afternoon together, Mattheo hadn’t been able to talk to you. It was like your friends were purposely keeping you away from him or maybe you didn’t like spending time with him. Either way Mattheo’s mind was working on every possible worst case scenario. Part of him wanted to stop pursuing you, because getting attached and then losing you would be worse. Maybe that thought is why he couldn’t keep his cool this time. “Everyone knows his dad’s evil and insane, but I mean his mum must’ve been absolutely mental.” Mattheo clenches his jaw but decides to turn around and follow his friends to the great hall. “Why else would the whore fuck someone like Voldemort.” At those words Mattheo snaps, dropping his bag and taking a few long strides to tackle the asshole who was talking. “Didn’t you hear that you need to keep your mouth shut, ‘cause their son is equally insane.” His fist hits the guy right in the face, causing his nose to start bleeding. The second punch doesn’t come in as hard since Blaise already has a hold on Mattheo.
When Blaise puts some distance between Mattheo and the other guy, Mattheo takes a breath and looks away from the douchebag. Mattheo’s heart breaks when his eyes land on your horrified face. No need to worry about losing her anymore. You just lost her, well done. You watch his figure disappear in one of the hallways and make your way to the great hall for lunch. You feel miserable for not being with him. Even worse, you can’t spot him anywhere in the great hall. During transfigurations the chair next to you stays empty and it’s almost impossible for you to pay attention, but you try your best to make notes with the intention of giving them to Mattheo later.
No need to worry about losing her. You’ve already lost her, well done.
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***
The knock at the door of Mattheo’s dorm startles him mainly because he doesn’t hang out with the kind of people that knock. I’m either going to punch, smoke or fuck the idiot that’s come to bother me. He opens the door to see your flustered face, making him drop his attitude. “I first thought you were in the infirmary, but I’m glad to see you’re alright.” Mattheo nods still shocked to find you at his door. “You came to check on me?” For a moment you feel a bit like an obsessed person, showing up at his dorm without invitation, but then you remember your notes. “I also brought you these.” Mattheo laughs a moment and you look confused. “That’s sweet, thanks.” You feel awkward, but Mattheo notices. He clears his throat and opens the door a little more. “I’m really grateful for these, I just- my mind wasn’t thinking about class at all.” He signals you to come inside and you carefully take a few steps. “I honestly didn’t expect to ever see you outside of class again.” Mattheo admits, making your eyebrows knit together as you shake your head expressing confusion.
“The fight, earlier, I know you hate it, me.” You take a step towards Mattheo when you sense the vulnerability in his voice. “I don’t like it when you fight, but I do get that some people really deserve to get punched.” Mattheo stares at you trying to figure you out, but failing miserably. “I remember your face from a few months ago when I was fighting, I’ll never forget the disgust in your eyes and today again you looked horrified.” A soft chuckle escapes you as you feel the embarrassment boil up about what you’re going to confess. “I probably made that face, because I hate to see your pretty face all beat up. That’s why I was so relieved that you didn’t get hurt today.” At a terribly slow rate a bright cheeky smile creeps up on Mattheo’s face. You can’t help but feel like you’re dying of embarrassment as his face lights up at your confession. I’m such a love struck loser with my notes and petty excuses. He totally knows I’m in love with him. This is so embarrassing. You get pulled out of your train of thoughts when Mattheo’s hand reaches for the back of your head pulling you into an intense and loving kiss.
When he realises you really like him.
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earthtooz · 11 months
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x : POISON :*+゚
in which: kaiser is undeniably in love with you. tonight, he makes it known. you accept.
warnings: 1.4k words, making out, reader is injured, gn!reader, SPY!AU, 16+ content!! sexual tension lol
context: this was originally a snippet of my 5k celebration where i planned a spy!au for kaiser. however, that idea ended up being scrapped so now i just have this makeout scene that i wrote one night and i don't want it to go to waste. there's more to this scene than just the making out, but, reader gets hurt on a mission gone awry and kaiser kinda lost his shit and went feral on the enemy and that's where we are now ! enjoy whatever this is !
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“don’t overdo yourself. no intense training for a week. remember to do your breathwork and stretches everyday, five times a day,” the monotone voice of the nurse fills your ears as you try your best to stumble through the hallways to remain in pace with her. “come back in three days for a checkup. recover quickly, agent.”
“thank you,” you grit, dawdling out of the hospital wing with your bed at the forefront of your mind. goodness, you just needed to lie down and think about how you’re going to train back into top shape again.
because despite only being out of commission for five days, your senses are already failing you, unable to detect the looming figure behind you. hands abruptly grab you by your arms, pressing tightly into you as you both stumble into the darkness of your now unlocked room. 
you would fight back, but the assailant’s scent is nothing but familiar, and instead of fear, your heart begins to race in anticipation.
especially as kaiser smoothly spins you around in his grasp, forcing you to continue walking until you hit the edge of your bed, causing you to sit down. the door closes behind the two of you and the only light source were the lamps coming from outside your window, allowing you to see the outline of kaiser’s face.
“what’s your problem?” you ask, irritation brewing from how abrupt his entrance was. “seriously? do you know how reckless that was to just grab me and force me into a dark room? i’m recovering too, what if you pulled one of my stitches? jackass.”
he doesn’t reply. in fact, kaiser is uncharacteristically silent and you wonder if the man in front of you was kaiser at all.
it has to be, no other agent in this facility has blue hair like his, or such a recognisable tattoo, or an addictive aura like his. 
“kaiser?” you say, this time breathy, quiet, and cautious. “is everything okay?”
the sigh that escapes him causes his whole body to shudder and you’re caught off guard when two hands come to hold your face, followed by the press of lips against your forehead. your breath lodges itself in your throat, unused to this kind of intimacy and closeness from kaiser. 
he doesn’t speak but neither do you because you’ve never heard a more sadder, disappointed sigh from anyone… ever, not from noel when you failed an assessment, not when you were unable to shoot the dummy in the heart, not even from yourself when you failed to clear a skill stage for the umpteenth time. so you’re willing to wait for kaiser to come around, for the silence to naturally melt itself away, for his closeness to stop overwhelming you, for your heart to stop racing as fast as it is. 
his hands then move to begin playing with your hair.
“i hate that i can’t protect you,” he finally confesses; a breath of rushed words rather than an actual sentence that is easily decipherable. 
“i don’t need it-”
“-i know; you don’t need help, especially from me, but fuck, i can’t help it.” you bite back the urge to say ‘i know’, suddenly remembering the crazed look in his eyes from that night. the memory sends shivers down your spine. “i can’t help but want to hide you from the world, to be beside you all the time where you’ll be safe- where i’d kill to keep you safe.” 
his words are no louder than a breath. the weight of his words fall upon your shoulders with undeniable force, causing you to sink against him, surrendering to the pressure of his admission.
“kaiser-”
“-i know. i know you don’t need anyone’s protection, i fucking know. because you’re stupid and reckless but so brave and admirable in everything you do that i need to be selfish when it comes to you. if i’m not then you’ll go flying off to somewhere i can’t reach and my love-” 
he pauses, faltering a little as he leans away from you, tilting your head carefully to make you look up at him. “-i can’t let that happen.”
something within you crumbles. with your own ears, you hear your ruination come alive with his words. “kaiser, we can’t be doing this. you know that. we’re bad for each other.”
“why can’t you be selfish with me too?” 
stunned into silence, you can’t look him in the eye, fearful of what would become of you if you did. you’re already overflowing, the walls that you once made unbreakable finally beginning to reveal their first crack. kaiser is maddening; truly maddening.
“why can’t you be careful with me?” you ask, voice cracking against your will. “you say these things but you spin me around like a headless horse. one second you’re at my throat, ready to push me off a cliff then-”
“-my love.” 
“don’t call me that!” you plead. “don’t call me that when you don’t mean it. i’d rather bleed from a stab wound than from love, don’t you know? i can’t keep fighting against you and your cruel games.”
you quiver at the feeling of him kissing the side of your face. the crack widens. 
“you win. you’re the emperor, you’re the mastermind, whatever, i surrender.”
he breathes in, exhaling roughly too as he speaks against your skin: “you’re not understanding me. i’ll be anything you want me to be. tell me to leave and i will. i’ll never speak of this moment again and i’ll never speak of my love for you again, but accept my heart and it’ll be at your mercy.”
as if matching his promise, kaiser sinks to his knees between your legs so that you were now eye-level. his eyes gleam with heart wrenching genuinity, his expression serious like you’ve never seen him before. you’ve witnessed kaiser gone manic, gone crazed, gone rogue even, but you’ve never seen him like this. 
he’s terrifying but deliciously tempting. 
the first step is terrifying, your hands trembling when they go to cradle his jaw. he falters.
the second step is even more horrifying, as you lean closer to him, you try to unlearn the security protocols you’ve needed to put up to protect yourself. 
the third is nothing but liberating because you’re now falling, so utterly helpless as you meet your demise, landing in kaiser’s embrace.
“you’re insane,” you mutter, stopping just briefly before his lips. 
he keens, desire dripping off of him like honey as he wills himself to not close the gap. “so you’ve told me. countless times before, actually.”
“your insanity must be rubbing off on me,” you joke, “be my lover, kaiser. for the night or for eternity, i’ve picked my poison.”
“then i’ll so happily drink it for you.”
with that, you seal your lips against his and his touch shatters you from the inside, walls fully collapsing at his will when his hands go to hold your waist, grabbing your shirt as if anchoring himself into this reality. 
“shit,” he breathes against your lips. “i can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”
“what if i was?”
“then never wake me up, my love,” he grumbles before standing up, never going too far from you as he slowly pushes you down. using your elbow to support you before you could fully give in and kaiser uses his arm to hold his weight as the other goes to your hip. “i’m yours, i’m all yours.”
he sighs heavily. “i can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you.”
this time, his kiss consumes you, intent on committing all of you to memory as his hands roam, too antsy to be able to remain in one place. your hands tangle in his hair, a subtle way of telling him to not go too far; not that he wants to. how could he when he has everything he’s wanted for the past decade in his hands? 
rendered so helpless in your grasp, the only thing kaiser can think about is pleasing you.
pain shoots up your body, causing you to fall back onto your mattress, breaking away from kaiser who gazes at you with shining eyes. 
“you-” you cough. “you have to be nice. i can’t breathe very easily. everything hurts.”
kaiser laughs, the sound reverberating through the darkness. “i can make an exception for you,” he promises, hands caressing against you like glass as he connects your lips with his again, intent on fully becoming yours.
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© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
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msafterhours · 5 hours
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Saccharine | Act One
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]
Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)
media darling.
an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.
an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.
absolutely spotless.
nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—
What a load of shit.
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They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.
You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.
As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.
Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.
Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.
It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.
The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.
You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.
Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.
After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.
You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.
The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.
All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”
And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.
And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.
Yet.
The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.
Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.
If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.
The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.
You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.
The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.
One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.
You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.
Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.
Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.
Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.
Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.
Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.
One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.
Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.
A moment passes.
Another.
The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.
That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.
You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.
The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.
Might as well toss them a pacifier.
You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.
And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.
You don’t.
There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.
What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.
Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.
Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.
But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.
Yet.
It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.
Then the world shuts down.
Thus, it’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.
In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.
Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.
Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.
Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.
You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.
As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.
A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.
You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.
You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.
For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.
Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.
A forgettable account name? ✔
Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔
A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔
Oh, and of course the message itself:
ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Check.
Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …
No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.
So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.
You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:
TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing
You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.
ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection
You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.
Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.
It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.
In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.
Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.
In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.
But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.
So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.
A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.
And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.
They yearn. They burn.
A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.
A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.
It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.
You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.
The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …
ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.
Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?
The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.
“(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”
You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:
“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”
Okay, maybe a little petty.
You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.
ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life
And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.
The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.
Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 
The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.
The reflection staring back has aged forty.
Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.
In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”
“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”
“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”
“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.
Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that—especially by seeing her live and in-person.
It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.
Fuck, where’s seat 239?
Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.
Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.
She’s next.
You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.
ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same
The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.
You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.
Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?
You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.
It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.
It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.
All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.
You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.
It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.
ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures
And that’s all she has to say.
… that’s it? Really?
You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?
You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.
It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.
And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.
But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.
You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.
You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.
A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.
You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.
TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do
Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:
ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve
It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.
Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.
This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 
This time, you aim for the heart.
"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)
The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.
ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?
Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.
TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better
You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.
ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)
Another pause.
ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed
This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.
Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.
You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.
It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?
So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.
ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me
… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?
TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?
It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.
TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?
As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!
You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.
TurnThePage: You too
You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.
It’s deafening.
You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?
The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.
You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.
The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.
SBS Gayo Daejun is next.
It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.
You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.
Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.
TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where
For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.
A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.
She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.
As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.
Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.
Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”
She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”
You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.
You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”
“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”
“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”
She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”
“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”
“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”
As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.
“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”
“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”
“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”
"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 
“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.
“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”
“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.
“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”
“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.
With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.
You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.
The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”
“Fuck off you—fuck!”
Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.
“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.
Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.
In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...
"Fuck."
The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?
Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.
“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.
“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.
“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.
“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.
“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”
A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.
Only one way to find out.
Continued in Act Two …
(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)
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closet-keys · 2 years
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Haven’t finished severance yet, but one of the themes of the show that I’m really appreciating is the idea that humans will find and create the meaning they need from the media around them, even if it is incredibly limited.
For those who haven’t seen the show, the central premise involves people for whom their entire lives, their memories and consciousness, is limited to just being at work in an extremely isolated office with no access to the outside world at all.
The only book available that they’ve ever known is the employee handbook, the only art they’ve ever seen is the art that hangs on the walls of the office. And of course, these pieces of media are incredibly heavy handed workplace propaganda. As viewers with outside context, we can understand its disturbing messaging. But the characters, having known only this book, have made a sort of religion out of it. It becomes a sort of scripture that they quote when trying to make decisions or are trying to explain complex ideas (even ideas that are against the workplace itself!)
And then another book shows up. It’s a ridiculous memoir full of very eye-roll inducing truisms by a very entitled and self absorbed author. But to those in this workplace, it is the only competing source of information they’ve ever had. It is something from the outside world that has shown up, unapproved by the company. They read it in secret, it is heretical and challenging. Basic truisms without much meaning take on enormous rebellious meaning to the people there. Basic ideas about valuing yourself and your friends, about working together for common goals, about deserving to breathe fresh air, become highly radical passages that they begin quoting to each other in secret.
It makes me think about how we all have different access and different life histories that influence what media and messages we’re taking in. And sometimes you’ll meet people, people who seem to have good values, who express a real fondness for what feels like objectively bad media. Or you can think back to some of the super problematic media you absorbed as a child before you knew anything about the world. And you have to sit there and think through, despite the reality of what this text is, taken with all of the context you know, you have to think about what lessons that individual took from it, what passages they projected their own values and human need for meaning onto.
There’s a poem called “Confessions of an Uneducated Queer” by Lauren Zuniga that involves similar themes-- piecing together meaning and knowledge about ones self and one’s community from whatever scraps you can find, from random comments friends make, from tumblr, from books your friends leave at your apartment when they go to college. There’s a line, “This is for the first time I heard the term heteronormative and felt like I was handed a corkscrew after years of opening the bottle with my teeth.”
So many people have a strong sense of important ideas relevant to their lives, and go long periods without words to communicate them. I’m thinking about the profound, almost spiritual, relief of finding language to speak about these ideas, to communicate ones own experiences to people around you, even if you find that language in less than perfect places.
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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 years
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Just Trying to Save You
Yandere Male Alpha Ferret Hybrid x Gender Neutral Omega Human Reader (CW: Kidnapping, dubious content, A/B/O dynamics, smut, musk/sniffing kink, ferret monster man, general yandere behavior, biting, claiming/marking, dacryphilia, breeding, heat cycles, implied impregnation) Word Count: 1.7k (I am still working on the much longer and complicated yandere wolf pack fic, but since it will be a longer project I like to take a break to do other things too. I was chatting about ferrets with one of my beta readers and got the idea for a ferret man. Shout out to @lilliumumi for beta reading, making suggestions, and helping me develop the idea. A quick fact about ferrets to put the whole fic into context: female ferrets die if their heat is not taken care of.)  You were an omega, alphas and omegas were especially rare in humans. Many of your fellow villagers looked down on you, but what choice did you have but to stay for your own safety? Monsters and stronger races could easily be attracted inadvertently by your scent.  You were a bit miserable, you could feel your heat approaching. It was once a month and always lasted about 4 days. 4 days of being bed ridden and horny with no release. 4 days of feeling too hot for your own skin.  You were all by yourself on the outskirts of your village, just outside the fence that helped prevent wolves from getting the chickens and deer or rabbits from getting the vegetables. You liked to walk around the village to be alone with your thoughts.  At least you had thought you were alone, out of the woods walked a thin man with a long, brown, slender, furred tail, fur up to his thighs, and soft looking ferret ears on top of his ears. His skin was white which contrasted well with his dark brown fur, His yellow eyes locked with your own and he came towards you, his long brown hair swaying gently in the breeze.  “Excuse me sweetie, what’s your name? I am Remy and I do believe you are the source of the most tantalizing scent I have ever smelled.” He, obviously having no sense of personal space or boundaries, nuzzled his nose into your neck and underarms, making you blush deeply. “You smell like you are unmated and are about to go into heat. Do you have a mate?”  “Uh I am (Y/N), and uh, n-no I am not mated, but that’s okay! I-I don’t need one.” Your mind was a bit fuzzy from the strong musk emanating from the ferret man. He was clearly an alpha of his species.  You backed away but he grabbed your wrist suddenly and pulled you closer.  “WHAT!? You don’t have a mate?? But you’ll die if you’re not knotted and bred, oh you poor thing, you’re lucky I happened by! Don’t worry, I’ll take you and keep you safe and breed you as much as you need.” And with that Remy pulled you into the forest, your mumbled protests and cries for help ignored or unnoticed.  “I’m not a ferret! I won’t die if I don’t get b-bred!” You twisted and turned in his grasp, but he did not let go and just continued dragging you.  “Ah, you don’t have to worry about it being a burden, it is no imposition, I promise! I was looking for a mate anyway! You smell so nice~ And I just know that you’ll love my nest, and I have so very many trinkets and treasures in my hoard, but you will be the crown jewel of my collection.” He was so engrossed in his excitement that he barely even took notice of your struggles until you tripped him and made a run for it.  You bolted off in the direction of your village, weaving around trees and through bushes. He wasn’t far behind though.  “(Y/N)! I am just trying to help you and keep you safe!! Please come back!” His voice wasn’t that far behind you and could tell there was genuine panic in his words, but you did not know him and were scared of what he would do to you. If anything his pleas only motivated your legs to go faster.  Suddenly you were practically tackled from the side and knocked down. Remy had managed to catch up and flank you. He was smiling down at you as he jumped and hopped erratically in in all directions.  “Haha! Yes, I got you!” The triumphant ferret continued his odd dancing, but you just stared at him with fear. “Oh.. uh.. sorry, sometimes my people dance when we successfully catch something. Anyway…”  Remy pulled you up to your feet and began dragging you off again in the direction of his home, his scent was stronger after the chase, it kinda made you want to submit to him, but you had to stay focused. You resumed your struggles in his grasp.    “I know you’re scared, but you gotta calm down. You can’t just leave me and run off on your own, what if you got away from me and your heat hit? You could die! I am trying to save you!! So just relax. I won’t let your heats hurt you. Here maybe this will help.” He stopped dragging you and instead pulled you close with one of his hands pushing your head into his hairy sweaty underarm.  You tried to hold your breath and turn your head away but you could only delay the inevitable and eventually you had to inhale. His pheromones were powerful, so manly and dominant. You nuzzled your nose into him to get more of the scent, you could not help it, it just made you feel so calm and safe.  He chuckled at your sudden change of heart and kissed your forehead gently, “Come on sweetie, we got to get home.” You were much more compliant. You couldn’t help it. You felt a flutter in your stomach and your instincts and timid personality told you to just submit to the nice smelling alpha. They told you that Remy would take care of you. And that would probably be a good thing, since his smell accelerated your looming heat cycle and you could feel slick start to run down your thighs.  You shyly clung to his arm and let him guide you to your new home, you stared at him the entire way, had he always been so handsome? He was all smiles. Remy knew a powerful dose of his scent was just what you had needed to know that he was a strong, safe, and compatible alpha to be with.  He led you into his den at the base of a great tree and took you into his room. It was a surprisingly large space with a big bed. The ferret man stared down at you as sat you on the bed.  “You’re so precious (Y/N), you’re lucky you found me, it smells like you’ll going into heat much sooner than I thought!” Remy sniffed all over you, nuzzling his nose between your thighs as his cock got hard. He pulled off your shirt and started licking at the sensitive scent gland on your neck.  You blushed at the new scent of his arousal and submissively leaned your head to one side to give him better access. He sucked gently at your neck before starting to remove your remaining clothing.  “You’re such a good little mate for me. So obedient~” The alpha scooted you to the edge of the bed and got on his knees, positioning himself between your thighs with your legs over his shoulders. You gasped as he started licking around your slick-lubed hole. The strong muscle grazing over your entrance teasingly.  Remy, unable to hold back any longer now that he was losing himself in your scent and juices, plunged his long tongue into you hungrily. His tongue explored every inch, groove, and contour of your insides, eagerly lapping up your slick, savoring the flavor. It was, by far, the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.  He started stroking his cock as he continued tasting you, your little gasps and whimpers of pleasure spurring him on. You spread your legs wider for him, desperate for more, your mind too sex-addled and clouded by the powerful scent of aroused alpha surrounding you, far stronger than any human alpha.  You started sobbing, his tongue no longer enough to satisfy the heat inside you. You felt so hot, you were starting to become drenched in sweat, his scent and attention finally sending you into a full blown heat.  “R-remy I n-n-need more”, you managed to choke out between sobs.  “More what babe?” He looked up at your face, red from your heat and tears streaming down your cheeks.  “Remy pl-pleeeeease!” You could not even form the words to ask for what you needed, you were sobbing so hard now, so desperate to be knotted and for your heat to calm down. Your whole body was shuddering with the force of your crying.  As beautiful as he thought you were all wrecked and sobbing for him he wouldn’t tease you any longer. He’d give you what you needed.  “Okay, okay, don’t worry (Y/N). I got you.” Remy pushed you back on to his bed and put you in a mating press, kissing your lips sloppily as he plunged his entire cock into you all at once. Your wet hole accommodated the large man eagerly and with no pain.    Your sobs started to fade and you relaxed slightly as you finally had a nice dick in you. Remy started by fucking you slowly and deeply. He caressed your side with his soft tail as his lips dominated yours and his tongue explored your mouth.    He removed his lips from yours and started biting somewhat hard in various places, your wrists, your arms, the area around the scent glands in each side of your neck, your chest. It hurt but it mixed beautifully with the pleasure of him breeding you faster, diving his cock in and out of your needy little hole.  “So good, such a good mate, perfect omega~ Gonna knot ya, gonna fill you with cum (Y/N), gonna fill you with my kits!” His knot inflated inside of you and locked him into you as he came deeply. Remy did not stop yet though, he kept rocking his cock inside of you, his knot rubbing so wonderfully against your walls, until he came again. When he did he bit the scent gland in your neck hard, causing your whole body to shake as you came.  Your tummy was bulging with his seed, you would almost certainly be knocked up.  You clung to him tightly as he was still tied to you and he licked all the bites he left on you clean, with  much emphasis on the beautiful claim mark he left on your neck. Your heat had calmed down a lot, though you would probably still need a lot of breeding for the next few days, it probably was not done flaring up.  Maybe life with Remy wouldn’t be so bad, you couldn’t convince him you would not die like a ferret if your heat was ignored, but at least you had a nice alpha to take care of you and a knot to fuck away the worst symptoms of your heats.
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21wanderer · 4 months
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MacGyver and son
This story is a fanfic of a show, I've never actually watched, apart from a very few scenes. Nevertheless I think, that viewed in the right context, it would be a very interesting plot twist.
Body a day - #19: Dad
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“I still can’t believe he fell for it,” laughed ‘Sam’, whilst Murdoc began to take off all of MacGyver’s clothes.
“Tell me how you managed to achieve this, whatsyourname?” Murdoc asked his partner as he was stripping the former agent and sworn enemy.
“It’s Sam now, and you better not forget it, dad,” said his partner in the guise of a nice young man firmly, “Sean Angus Malloy, but everyone just call me Sam.”
“All right then, Sam... Tell me...”
“Oh, Old MacGyver was a real heartthrob, when he was young, not difficult to imagine with that face and that body, I managed to track down one Kate Malloy, who he had a loving relation with, she was an excellent source of information…”
“How did you get her tell you all this?” Murdoc asked now standing with the naked husk of MacGyver.
“It was easy, really,” Sam replied, “I told her, I was interviewing her for a book. She was apparently very fond of him, so she spent a long time telling me all sorts of stuff about him, and I also got her to tell me about herself. And with your help, I had all that I needed to successfully play his 'long-lost son'. And he believed every single word I told him, I even managed to get him to quit, just to spend time with me.” Sam laughed again at the last remark, then got up from his chair to help Murdoc with the MacGyver-suit.
“Heh, now you’ll certainly live up to your title as ‘master of disguise’, you couldn’t have asked for a better disguise,” Sam grinned.
“You are absolutely right,” gloated Murdoc, having stripped himself naked. He held the hollowed out skin of MacGyver up in front of him, “let’s get to it then.”
Stretching out MacGyver’s mouth ludicrously wide, Murdoc slid his legs one at a time into the warm and squishy skinsuit. Sam pushed the toes into place one by one, as Murdoc pulled MacGyver further up his body. MacGyver’s strong legs were now in place. Murdoc continued, pulling the skin up further, covering his torso, he forced down his arms down MacGyver’s mouth and guided his upper limbs into the empty husk's. He flexed his new hands. Murdoc caressed the rest of his new body, still with MacGyver’s hollow head hanging off his shoulders like a hood. Sam rubbed him on the back, helping him smooth out any creases or flaws.
“Now put on the face, dad” urged Sam, “Heh, all right,” grinned Murdoc and pulled MacGyver’s face over his own, he pushed the facial features into place and opened his eyes. “How do I look, son?”
“You look amazing, dad,” came the reply.
“Yes, this guy is fit,” the new MacGyver said, rubbing his hands across his bare chest and arms, "and pretty handsome too - now the way is open for us, Sam, nothing is going to stop us,” MacGyver laughed, replicated the voice of his enemy perfectly. He paused, looking pensive, then asked; “but if Sam isn’t the son of Malloy and MacGyver, then who is he?”
“I don’t know,” said Sam indifferently, “just some random pretty young man, that kinda looks like MacGyver, I don’t think there’s any relation between them. But hey, I’m not complaining, and the idiot believed me.” Sam’s boyish demeanour was incredibly convincing and effective at hiding the evil within, and he played the role of easygoing young man with an innocent smile and disarming laughter perfectly.
“I’m ready,” said the MacGyver imposter, having pulled on his victim’s t-shirt, jeans, socks and boots, “get the biker jackets and the rest of the gear, and let’s get going.”
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“Sure thing, dad,” laughed Sam. Now they only had one final little role play to wrap up, then they’d be on their way. Murdoc had big plans for using MacGyver’s body, and Sam was the perfect partner. The two imposters went outside to get on their bikes.
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‘MacGyver’ and ‘Sam’ arrived on their motorcycles, in their matching leather biker jackets. ‘Sam’ was quickly of the bike to greet MacGyver’s boss and best friend, Pete Thornton. “Hi Mr. Thornton.”
Mr. Thornton shook his hand, “Sam. What, are you guys all packed for your trip?”
“Just finished,” MacGyver replied. “Oh, MacCyver, the Phoenix Board asked me to give you this,” Thornton said pulling out an envelope from his inner pocket.
“Pete-” said MacGyver trying to cut him off. “It’s an offer of a new contract, and it’s very generous, and I think you oughta look at it.”
“We’ve been through this before,” MacGyver said impatiently, silently pleased with how easy he could deceive even MacGyver's closest friend. “Sam, and I got a little catching up to do,” he continued and padded Sam’s face, Sam laughed.
Accepting defeat, Thornton put the envelope back in his pocket. “Well I – I told them that you wouldn’t go for it,” he paused, “You know… I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like without you around here.” That statement had the most delicious irony, thought MacGyver to himself, trying to look just a little sad. “Well, it was bound to happen – things change.”
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“Not always,” replied Thornton, “good things don’t.” MacGyver and Sam both suppressed the urge to laugh. “Don’t you ever change, MacGyver” Thornton continued, clearly being moved by this ‘sad goodbye’, that both MacGyver and Sam played through. “Don’t you either,” replied MacGyver. Thornton opened his arms, and the imposter gave him a hug.
“Well, can I expect to drop in once in a while anyway?”
MacGyver placed a hand on Thornton’s shoulder, “Count on it, my friend.” “Sam,” Thornton said and stretched out his hand to the young man again, “take care of your old man, will ya?” “You can count on it,” Sam replied delightfully, shaking Thornton’s hand a final time.
'MacGyver and son' mounted their bikes. “So – where to?” asked Sam rhetorically as he grabbed his helmet. “Somewhere else,” replied MacGyver rehearsed. Sam sent him one of his boyish smiles, after which they both put on their helmets. They started their engines and headed off. That was the end of the old MacGyver and the beginning of a new.
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genshinnrambles · 1 year
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[3.5 analysis] The Uncanny, Fate, and the Machine
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In Genshin Impact, machines and automatons matter. They are everywhere in the world, from small devices and gadgets to hulking, imposing mountains of metal created for the purpose of war. I wanted to know what happens when we look at these machines through the lens of the uncanny in hopes of better understanding their narrative purpose. It turns out, machines tell us a lot about the plot's direction, from smaller stories like Karkata, Benben, and Tamimi’s relationship to humans, to the larger story of the twins landing in this strange world. This theory will deal with the larger story by applying the uncanny to the Akasha, Irminsul, and the Loom of Fate.
SPOILERS: Caribert (and all Sumeru Archon Quests preceding it, basically), Inversion of Genesis, Aranyaka (Aranara world quest), Alhaitham’s Story Quest (like two screenshots), two of Faruzan’s hangout endings, and one out of context screenshot from 3.5’s Windblume.
DISCLAIMER:
A part 0 to this can be found here, which was produced along the way to writing this theory. It is not absolutely necessary to understand the points in this post, but might be of interest if you liked the psychoanalysis bits and want to take a closer look at the meaning and significance of dreams.
All external sources will be listed at the bottom! If digital, they are linked. If print, the title and author are given.
The Uncanny 101
To be clear, this theory won’t be overly reliant on the psychoanalytic perspective of the uncanny, but I think Freud is a good place to start in order to get to where we need to go. If you’ll indulge me for a moment…
In his essay Das Unheimliche (1919) [The Uncanny], Freud proposes the psychoanalytic significance of the uncanny by first examining its linguistic meaning and then by applying it to literature. In order to fully understand the uncanny (unheimlich), Freud argues that we must first understand heimlich. We will follow suit. Heimlich has two common meanings, and we will start with its first meaning.
Heimlich’s most common meaning denotes familiarity, “belonging to the home,” homely, tame, and intimate. The literal translation of heimlich to English is also “of the home/house.” Seems simple enough. It is something pleasant and familiar.
But, heimlich's second meaning complicates this definition. Heimlich in this second context is “concealed, kept from sight, so that others do not get to know about it, withheld from others.” Secret. Private:
“To do something heimlich, i.e. behind someone’s back; to steal away heimlich; heimlich meetings and appointments; to look on with heimlich pleasure at someone’s discomfiture….to behave heimlich, as though there was something to conceal; heimlich love, love-affair, sin; heimlich places (which good manners oblige us to conceal)” (Freud, 3).
I like to think about heimlich's two meanings as a matter of perspective. Imagine that you are in a house in the middle of an unfamiliar place with your loved ones. The feeling of being together in this familiar, intimate setting puts you at ease. This is the first meaning of heimlich. As the days go by, you settle into the monotony of your routine within the house's walls and begin to wonder about what is outside of the house, concealed from your sight. This is the second meaning of heimlich.
The reason this difference in meaning is interesting to us is because unheimlich has only one use and meaning, and that is strange, unsettling, eerie:
“‘Unheimlich’ is the name for everything that ought to have remained . . . hidden and secret and has become visible,” (Freud, 4).
In other words, unheimlich means the opposite of the first definition for heimlich, but it is synonymous with the second meaning. In this way, what is heimlich is also unheimlich. What is familiar is also strange. What is of the home is also outside of the home. But how can that be?
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Dainsleif: My memories are quite foggy, but my subconscious and instincts both assert that something once happened here.
Central to Freudian psychoanalysis is the notion that both traumatic and non-traumatic memories and thoughts we experience throughout life, but especially those experienced as children, are forgotten and repressed in the unconscious, censored from the ego's perception. Freud thought that even if we cannot immediately recall these things, they do not simply disappear from the psyche. 
The process of repression, which relegates these formerly conscious or “preconscious” thoughts to the unconscious, makes something that was once familiar to us, in this case a thought or belief, feel strange and unfamiliar upon its resurfacing. Freud argued that this is the true nature of the uncanny. It is why uncanny feelings are characterized by dread and anxiety - because the object or story or phenomenon triggering the memory's resurfacing reminds us of something we once knew intimately, but that has become unfamiliar through repression and distortion. 
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Alhaitham: However, these memories aren’t truly lost, but merely sealed away. They can be restored with the appropriate stimulus. 
The uncanny, then, is characterized by a return of the repressed, a recursion or repetition if you will. This was quite long-winded, but the most important takeaway here is that the boundary between the uncanny and the familiar, the unheimlich and heimlich, would seem impermeable on the surface but is in fact fluid and changeable. With time, things that were once familiar and pleasant can become strange and unsettling.
An example might help here. Let’s take a line from A Drunkard’s Tale, an in-game fictional book (credits to Tuna for this example, which I would not have thought to analyze with the uncanny without having read their observation thread on Caribert):
“What you humans call wine, we wolves call the Abyss.” 
There is a sentence in Freud’s essay that has a very similar structure to this one, printed here:
“We call it unheimlich; you call it heimlich” (Freud, 3)
Or, to more closely mirror the structure of the quote from A Drunkard’s Tale:
“You call it heimlich; we call it unheimlich.”
So, let’s break this up and analyze it in parts:
“What you humans call wine/You call it heimlich.” Wine is a “known” thing, it is a product from an ordered world with rules. We know how it’s made and what effects it has when consumed. It “belongs to the home,” the “home” being an abstraction of all that is familiar.
“We wolves call the Abyss/we call it unheimlich.” Unheimlich is something strange and unfamiliar, a feeling of dread, but it is synonymous with the second meaning of heimlich, a word most commonly denoting what is familiar. The Abyss is "beyond this world," it is everything that exists outside of the boundaries of “Teyvat.” So how can the Abyss even be compared to wine? Maybe because there isn’t as big of a difference between them as we would initially think. The quote is asking this question: how can the Abyss be something beyond this world/outside of it (unheimlich) when it’s right here in your very human/Teyvat things (heimlich)?
Or, if you’ve ever experienced the sensation of déjà vu, that’s also an uncanny feeling. Speaking of déjà vu…
Recursion, Repetition, Samsara
“We think we are creating the system for our own purposes. We believe we are making it in our own image... But the computer is not really like us. It is a projection of a very slim part of ourselves: that portion devoted to logic, order, rule, and clarity.” -Ellen Ullman, Close to the Machine: Technophilia and its Discontents
One of the many machines we became acquainted with in the Sumeru Archon Quest was the Akasha. The Akasha was advertised as an access point to knowledge from Irminsul, but in reality it was a dream-harvesting machine unevenly distributing “bundles of human wisdom” to the terminal-wearing Sumeru populace in exchange for their dreamless sleep.
We know how the story goes: Nahida leads us to the truth of the samsara in Act II by having us make associations about our strange environment ourselves - a process that takes inspiration from Freud’s method for dream interpretation, free association (more on that here). She does this because delivering the truth to us without having made these connections ourselves would “blow our minds,” permanently confusing our sense of reality and dream. Basically, she has us do the opposite of repression - we take information from our strange environment, associate it with things we are familiar with, and arrive at the answers on our own. This exercise helps us understand the hidden truth of the Akasha, a secret concealed by the Akademiya’s sages.
To take our understanding of this a step further and connect it to another angle of the uncanny, I want to turn our attention back to the first meaning of heimlich, specifically how it describes things “belonging to the home.” Another English word for this would be domestic, things pertaining to the house and running the household. Familiar things. All other things outside of the house, like the wilderness, the foreign, would be unheimlich. As we’ve established earlier, the line between these two categories is changeable. Things previously regarded as domestic, belonging to the home, can become unfamiliar with time.
There is a lot we can do with this, but let’s focus on its applications to the Akasha first. Aranaga actually takes a very similar approach when explaining its function in Agnihotra Sutra:
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Aranaga: Here, Aranaga's remembrance, is this flower. Cannot blow him away, the Ad Oblivione; cannot destroy him, the device that takes away dreams.
Traveler: The thing that takes away dreams...?
Aranaga: The living memory of nature, dream. Man-made dead thing, mechanism. Taking away living memory, grinding and crushing to extract its juice, like a grinder, for dominion and domestication... Don't like this, Aranara.
Paimon: Eh... Why?
Aranaga: Because the garden of freedom, the source of power, dreams and memories, not only for Aranara, but also for Nara. But Nara don't know. Not good action... extraction, grinding.
Aranaga: Memories and dreams are gone, reason for action is gone, strength is also gone.
Domestication is the process by which things “outside of the home” are brought “inside.” In human history, we can observe this process through the domestication of crops, livestock animals, dogs, and so on. What was once wild and outside the realm of human control is tamed and cultivated within the boundaries of the city center. Domestication has a greater purpose: to extend civilization’s power and control over what is “outside” by controlling its reproduction.
It’s an apt description for the Akasha under the control of the previous sages - it was a Dream Domestication Machine, bringing a “source of power” within the Akademiya’s control in order to populate the Akasha’s records with knowledge. Eventually, it would also be used to attempt to create their own mechanical God, in hopes of bringing a sliver of divinity within human control. In essence, the sages made the strange (dreams) into the familiar (a power source). Domestication, then, is the inversion of repression and the uncanny. 
We can see this in the Akasha’s predictive capabilities as well. Given enough information, the Akasha can use behavioral logic to predict (though not dictate) the movements of a person, but only to a certain point. Its ideal subject was someone like Cyno before the Archon Quest - a “decisive and principled person,” someone who prefers to operate independently of other people and their behavioral logic, which can muddy and change our own. Cyno’s behavior was once predictable and familiar to the Akasha’s algorithms, but by changing his behavior he became unreadable, unfamiliar, and strange, if temporarily.
“A Flower Not Of This World”
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Considering the Akasha was made by the Dendro archon, whose origins lie in Irminsul, and the copious foreshadowing in Act II’s samsara for the resolution of Inversion of Genesis, it is not outlandish to view the Akasha as an analog to Irminsul. Though they may not function exactly the same way, we can already observe that Irminsul behaves more like a machine than something biological, what with Nahida functioning as a sort of system administrator to it (with limited privileges, it would seem…), its use of system permissions, its virus vulnerability (forbidden knowledge), its strictly literal interpretation of commands executed to its database...you get the picture.
So what is the purpose of this arboreal machine? And what are the rules?
While the intimate details of Irminsul are still murky, including who all can control it and who made it, we do know a few important things about it:
It contains a record of everything that has happened in Teyvat in the form of collective memories. It acquires memories through the Ley Line network, which stretches all over Teyvat, and records information as it happens. It also seems to acquire the memories of those who pass away - it is repeatedly stated in Aranyaka that everyone “returns to Sarva” when they pass.
It can alter memories of the past when edits are made to its database. We have two known instances of this so far, both of which are deletions: the removal of the memory of Rukkhadevata, and the removal of the identities “Kabukimono” and “Balladeer.”
The Traveler's memories are not affected by edits to Irminsul because they are not of this world. This is because of the truth hidden by Irminsul’s records - it contains no records of “descenders,” because to do so would be to admit that the sky is fake.
Deleted memories are not lost forever if necessary precautions are taken. While non-fiction books, quest dialogue, domain descriptions, and other quest items are altered by Irminsul edits, fiction is outside of its reach. Nahida understood this intimately, so she hid the true history of the Wanderer in a fairy tale story, which was her own unique form of distortion independent of Irminsul’s distortion. This allowed her to freely associate the elements of the fairy tale back to the truth, just like what we did in Act II to arrive at the truth of the samsara, and just like what Freud had his patients do to interpret their dreams. Through this, she resurfaced her memory of the truth.
Returning to the idea of the uncanny and the familiar, what happens when we think of Teyvat as a “home,” and everything considered separate from it (like descenders, the abyss, or forbidden knowledge) is the uncanny, outside of this world? The utility of Irminsul becomes clear: it delineates the boundaries of “Teyvat” so as to maintain a closed system of memory production in its inhabitants.
Another way to look at Irminsul, then, is as a Memory Domestication Machine. This analogy requires us to stretch the definition of domestication as not only involving something under human control, but it still functions the same way. 
It’s important that we understand the rules of this machine and familiarize ourselves with its boundaries - only then can we understand its limitations and exploit them:
Alhaitham: You may find it hard to believe, but for those people, everything the Akasha transmits to them is nothing short of absolute truth.
Alhaitham: Imagine if you've been using a device like the Akasha since the day you were born. And this device has always supported you during times of need...
Alhaitham: After all that time, what do you think you'd become?
Paimon: Uh... A fool? A machine?
Alhaitham: A slave to orders. And that's why rules are so important. In addition, those who understand the rules can delineate boundaries, and identify gray areas.
Paimon: Hmm... but why would you need to identify the gray areas?
Alhaitham: You could say that those kinds of ambiguous zones can be very interesting. One might even say they're advantageous in the right hands…
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Dottore: And now, it seems they can no longer hold back their sheer adoration.. 
Under the dominion of the Akasha, the line between human and machine was blurred. The same can be said for Irminsul – even alterations to its records produce the same fates with different recollected details, further calling into question the notion of free will under Teyvat’s laws. In the real world, we use the Turing test to measure a machine's ability to imitate a human, but the Akasha and Irminsul turn this idea on its head - are humans, in fact, the machines here? 
If free will is an illusion, then one perspective might posit that human lives in Teyvat are no better than programs running to completion. It’s part of the irony that the remnants of Khaenri’ah’s technology are humanoid automatons (“Machines of war built in man’s image”). Whether or not that perspective is correct is for you to decide.
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Alhaitham: One way to stabilize a collective consciousness is to remove the test subjects’ humanity altogether. 
(look, I’m not saying Irminsul is a machine with an Overmind using it to create a collective unconscious, but that is also what I am saying).
Although it can change how the past is remembered, Irminsul has to abide by fate. Considering that the Akasha had predictive capabilities and is an analog to Irminsul, we might be tempted to ascribe predictive capabilities to Irminsul as well. It’s not outside of the realm of possibility. But, I think what is more likely at this stage is that Irminsul and the Ley Lines are just parts of a greater system of machines delineating Teyvat's boundaries, and one of those machines has dominion over fate.
One last piece of information we gained from the Sumeru Archon Quest was that the Traveler’s sibling is recorded in Irminsul. The Wanderer states that “[the sibling] only came to this world because the heavens responded to the summoning,” that Khaenri’ah was their first destination upon arriving sometime before the Cataclysm, and after which they traveled the Seven nations before their fate became “deliberately obfuscated” by “someone.” Now, they are running the Abyss Order.
At the end of "Akasha Pulses, the Kalpa Flame Rises," Nahida told us this: 
Nahida: There's only one possible explanation: [they] belong to this world.”
But Nahida’s wording here is very important. It reminds me of Sucrose’s philosophizing about the prophecy Collei found in this year's Windblume:
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Sucrose: I was thinking about the flower that is "not of this world." It could mean a human-cultivated variety that doesn't occur in nature... But that's basically claiming that it doesn't come from this world in the first place, when actually it's just a variant of an existing breed.
Sucrose: So the initial question is: Can the flower's origins be traced back to a natural organism? If so, it cannot be correctly described as "not of this world."
Sucrose: But then... supposing we identified something outside of that category, whose job would it be to decide whether it belongs in this world or not? Then the question becomes: Do "of this world" and "from this world" mean the same thing... or is it deeper than that?
The heimlich and unheimlich are divided by a permeable, fluid boundary. While there is absolutely still room for more plot twists regarding the Abyss Sibling’s origins, for now I think the additional information we have about their arrival to Teyvat simultaneously contradicts and supports Nahida’s initial hypothesis. The Abyss Sibling may indeed not be from Teyvat, just like the Traveler, but that does not preclude them from being brought into the boundaries of Teyvat through an unknown method of tampering with Irminsul, so that they now belong to Teyvat and are “of this world.” I mean to suggest that the Abyss Sibling was domesticated into Irminsul’s memory, and therefore into the boundaries that delineate Teyvat. How exactly, by who, and for what exact purpose is currently unclear. But if I were to guess….
The Uncanny and the Abyss
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Chlothar: To us, you were the Abyss…a wondrous mystery far beyond our imagination and comprehension…and the one who controls the Abyss can control everything!
So like…we need to talk about Caribert.
In Chlothar’s despair at having failed to recover Caribert’s consciousness, the Abyss called out to him and opened a strange domain near Sumeru’s entrance to the Chasm. Once there, he and the Abyss Sibling discover a mysterious hanging crystal which whispers about a power the bowing Hilichurls and Chlothar covet. This power, which Chlothar understands as the Abyss, does indeed resurface Caribert’s consciousness, but it comes with a price. Chlothar’s obsession with the crystal steers his attention away from his son, who in child-like wonder gazed upon his maskless reflection in a hand mirror, only to discover the horror of reality: this is not a fairytale world like his father said, he has really become a Hilichurl, his home has been obliterated, and there is no going back to life as he once knew it.
So, he rejects his fate and removes his mask one final time, unleashing a dark power that engulfs his body. Though the player passes out at this moment, Chlothar later says something cryptic regarding his son, who has now vanished from sight:
Chlothar: You saw it too, didn't you? Unmistakable... The power inside Caribert and the power of the one you call a "Sinner," it was one and the same...
Chlothar: I am positive now... it's the power of the Abyss, isn't it?
Chlothar: At long last, I have seen it with my own eyes...
Traveler: I didn't see clearly...
Traveler: What happened to Caribert?
Chlothar: That is no business of yours!
Chlothar: A sinner... Yes, salvation for a sinner can only come from a sinner...
Chlothar: Caribert did not deserve his fate, but now... It's wonderful — he will be able to weave his own destiny anew.
Chlothar: Born into abject sorrow, he shall now become... "The Loom of Fate."
There is a LOT in this dialogue to unpack. First, let’s talk about what happened to Caribert. Though we do not see it ourselves, Chlothar says “salvation for a sinner can only come from a sinner,” and that now Caribert can weave his own destiny anew. He also states that he has never seen the power of the Abyss before now, but I also wonder if he is saying he has never seen the Loom of Fate’s power with his own eyes before. To me, this suggests that Caribert fused with the Abyss, or even with the Loom of Fate (assuming these two are separate things to begin with).
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Then, Chlothar says more strange things about the Abyss Sibling:
Chlothar: ...Sinister? ...Dangerous?
Chlothar: I never imagined that you, of all people, would deny the Abyss... How ridiculous!
Chlothar: We once believed that you would bring new strength and hope to Khaenri'ah.
Chlothar: To us, you were the Abyss... A wondrous mystery far beyond our imagination and comprehension...
Chlothar: ...And the one who controls the Abyss can control everything!
Chlothar: We yearned for that future. We looked to you to take us there.
Chlothar: But what did you bring us instead?
Chlothar: O Prince... of Khaenri'ah?
Remember how in Inversion of Genesis, Wanderer told us that the only reason that the sibling was able to come to Teyvat was because “the heavens responded to the summoning?”, and the Traveler immediately suspected that Khaenri’ah had to do with the sibling’s appearance in Irminsul’s records? Yeah, well. I'm not exactly saying they summoned the twins, but they clearly were up to no good once they encountered the sibling.
“To us, you were the Abyss.” The Twins are external to the laws of Teyvat, making them unknown, strange, and unfamiliar to this world. Chlothar’s dialogue suggests to me that Khaenri’ah has been seeking a power from beyond for a long time now. My speculation is that Khaenri’ah has known for a while about this “Loom of Fate,” but could never prove its existence. The Loom of Fate is likely what materializes fate into reality, if it does not also dictate fate, and it seems to be located in the Abyss itself. A loom is a wooden machine of sorts, used to hold thread or yarn taut as the user weaves them into cloth or tapestries. This is the machine I suspect Irminsul is working with as a system. Whether the Loom of Fate is a “Fate Domesticating Machine” is unknowable for now, but surely we can conclude that the Loom of Fate Operation is a fate domesticating mission. Perhaps they sought to control the Loom of Fate through the sibling. Perhaps they hoped to do so in order to change their own fate, as ignorant beings ruled by a cruel order imposed by the heavens above.
One final, somewhat tangential remark I’d like to make is about the name of the Hilichurl curse, the “curse of the wilderness.” This again gestures toward the idea of a home place and a wild place, what belongs to the home and what is outside of it. Something tells me from the last quest with Dainsleif in the Chasm that Hilichurls do not go to Sarva when they die, they disintegrate into the dark mud of forbidden knowledge. The curse casts them “outside” of the cycle of life and death, outside of the memory production system, and outside of fate. Though they are still from this world, in a sense they no longer belong to it either.
A Companion Machine Manifesto?
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Faruzan: As for me…I want to stay with Tamimi for a bit longer. Just a bit.
I don’t want to get too into it now since this post is already too long, but it would be normal to wonder after all of this what to do with these boundaries at the center of Genshin’s world structure and conflict. We can’t just get rid of them all – King Deshret already tried that, and it didn’t work out so well for him. For now, when I think of the answer to this question, I can’t help but think of Karkata, Benben, and Tamimi, and their unique relationships to humans.
To be honest, they are what originally got me thinking about domestication as a way of reading Genshin’s worldbuilding. They participate in mutualistic relationships with the humans around them, living together in what feminist scholar Donna Haraway calls a relationship of “significant otherness.” As automatons that belong to lines of machines designed for war, their difference seems significant. I don’t have the precise language for this yet, but when I think of these care-full relationships they share with Tighnari, Jeht, and Faruzan, I can’t help but feel hopeful that things can change.
If you’ve made it this far, I truly from the bottom of my heart thank you so much for reading <3 Until next time!
External Sources/Further Reading
Das Unheimliche by Sigmund Freud, translated by Alix Strachey.
Against the Grain: A Deep History of the Earliest States by James C. Scott.
The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness by Donna Haraway.
“The Uncanny Familiar: Can We Ever Really Know a Cat?” by David Wood (this is amazing btw).
…Okay but the wild part is this is the second post I’ve made about the uncanny since this idea was born in September and I STILL HAVEN’T WRITTEN THE POST I WANT TO WRITE YET. When I get back from my thesis hiatus, we are talking about the ‘bots. And I mean ALL of them. And Dottore. And the Golden Slumber!!
edit 6.16.23: cleaned the post up! edited sentences for clarity, added to some unfinished thoughts, and re-formatted a few things that got lost between gdocs and tumblr. also grammar is hard :[
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hopefull-mindset · 7 months
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How do you feel about the difference in Nagito's confession in Japanese and English?
In Japanese he kinda pauses saying something along the lines of 'in love with y...' before going on about hope inside.
But in English it's straight to loving the hope in Hajime.
I was hoping I’d be able to talk about this! If anyone needs a further explanation on the translation error, I recommend reading this first. It’s my favorite explanation because it deconstructs the Japanese to English process thoroughly, and the ambiguity of the whole thing really explains why Hajime was so confused. I’ve seen doubt as to fan translations being right at all, so I hope this helps out.
Now there isn’t many new things to say about a game this old with a large fanbase like this, but with new fans means more information to be spread (and misinformation respectively), so I’d be happy to speak!
UMMM I have no idea if anything I said down below is even what you were asking me, maybe you were just asking me about the decision of changing it, which um I don’t blame the official translators for going straight into it because it’s a fairly ambiguous line and most japanese fans go straight into it too when they qoute it, but official translators are not credible for their care of finer details that could be clearly translated into English, so it’s whatever I guess. Japanese fans also shouldn’t be our guide to consuming media of their language since they’re also just people, and I think it’s probably just easier to quote it like that without it sounding confusing the way it does in text.
This has been practically common knowledge by now to know that it was an aborted love confession, meaning there isn’t much to be said on its own. With all that’s been spread about this, a common misunderstanding is with the use of “Aishiteru” (愛してる) being “more romantic” than any other form of “I like/love you” (Suki/Daisuki), which is not true. It’s much more intense than the other two because of it directly using “Ai” (愛) and in turn used less compared to them because of its intensity. In same line of thinking, usually it’s reserved for serious occasions like marriage, a loved one on their death bed, a final goodbye for someone you care for deeply, etc. but none of it makes it anymore romantic because all three can be used platonically. It’s solely dependent on the context it’s used for.
It’s just like how we use “I love you” in English and how many things it could mean at once, albeit we don’t have three separate ways to express it. Well there’s actually more ways to express love, but you only really need to know these three. I know a lot of sources tend to say “Aishiteru” (愛してる) is romantic, but that’s most likely because you’re looking at sources that are talking about it in a romantic context. It’s not platonic in the sense that you’d go up to your friend and say it, that sends a lot of mixed messages and real odd to attempt, but platonic in that someone you truly have a deep connection with, family member or otherwise.
On the contrary, it’s much more common to use Suki/Daisuki (好き / 大好き) in a love confession and everyday life. Usually you wouldn’t even use “Aishiteru” (愛してる) in your entire life, that isn’t uncommon. So typically the most you’ll see or hear “Aishiteru” (愛してる) used is in fictional japanese media or songs. Using it in a confession like Komaeda almost did is like… imagine going up to someone and telling them that you want to spend your entire life together, meet their parents, fully commit to each other, raise children (if that’s what you want), and die together before you’re even in the relationship or even had your first kiss yet. Like obviously you’re not saying all of that, you might not even mean that, but it’s implied with the intensity of it. It’s that extreme and would definitely confuse someone if you tried. It’s not exactly for someone you just started dating either.
Why does “Ai” (愛) make it so intense though? Compared to other ways of saying love like “Koi” (恋) for example (not gonna explain that one), it’s the purest, most heightened form of expressing love verbally in japanese culture because of the giving and profound nature of it. It’s loving in a way that encases a warm feeling all around you, so painfully genuine yet committed. Its something that’s formed over time with much care, and doesn’t ask for anything back. It’s that big to use, but siamotainously it’s awkward and a little embarrassing to use because it’s practically unsaid irl. There is a lot to personal reservations and such, but as a culture, japan is more reserved with their verbal expressions. This doesn’t speak for the entire country, but just in general actions speak louder than something as literal like “Aishiteru” (愛してる).
I had to go over that before I talked about Komaeda because I don’t want there to be a misunderstanding with what I’m about to say. Sorry to break the news to anymore who was star-eyed after learning what “Ai” (愛) meant in context, but the reason I went over that first with extensive context is because Komaeda is not at all liberated when he uses it. Not only does he use it here in the infamous error of all errors in sdr2, he uses it when he talks about hope, talent, and Junko. Shocking I know, but that’s why I had to go over that “Ai” (愛) is not just romantic love so this will be less awkward for all of us.
Ignoring the oddness of it and how dramatic this usage is, it’s incredibly in-character for Komaeda to use it like that considering his sincere and devoted nature when it comes to hope and talent. He says himself that what he feels is selfless, so that’s going to reflect in his speech, but he uses it so casually that it feels like a joke. It’s a quite poetic expression of love, even with all the cultural context, so it’s fitting. He’s pretty no filter with how he talks about it, but with anything else with Komaeda—it’s more complex than that. While being 100% honest with everything he says, his deep connection with hope and talent is borderline obsessive and that brings into question his relationship with love.
I have many thoughts on how his hope/despair stuff works, but let’s stay on topic this one time because a lot is intertwined. With his usage of “Ai” (愛) with reference of Junko, we should all know he doesn’t love her. He doesn’t love the embodiment of despair and despises it in the same breath he even expressed love for it at all. What he feels for Junko is obsession through and through, but what he feels is still genuine connection, it’s just absurdly twisted. It’s why he still uses it, even though at most what he feels for her is contempt. He “loves” it because it’ll be destroyed for what will truly shine in the end. The connection is deep enough for him to take her hand and finally become one with it.
Junko didn’t twist his concept of love completely, it was already a little off, she exploited the potential of it. I’ve mentioned this point before in my twitter thread, but when faced with the motivations in trials 1, 2, and 3 he cannot see past their motivations other than their “hopes”, rather than their actual reasons: various forms of love. My immediate thought while writing was, “was it not really absolute hope that he needed or wanted, but instead the selfless love people like Naegi or Hajime could wield for others?” I can’t tell you how correct that is, but it holds close to when he said what he wanted was somebody’s love before he died.
To really talk about that with more depth, I’d have to do a separate post about his view of people in general. If you’d like to see that, just let me know. I really would like to stay on topic, and you weren’t exactly asking about that.
Now don’t be weird guys, it doesn’t make his confession any less genuine just because his concept of love is kinda fucked due to only being able to feel it through his obsession with hope since all genuine connection is very limited (non-existent) for him, it just puts into more context as to why Hajime was confused. He’s said something similar about his feelings of hope as early as chapter 1.
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Does this mean he really did just meant the hope that sleeps inside Hajime? Well obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking about this. It also doesn’t mean that his love for Hajime is on the same obsessive level as Hope, talent, or freaking Junko for the matter. Junko was a whole other situation when his mental stability was at its worst. Here’s what actually happened: right when he admitted he wanted somebody’s love, he immediately backpedaled that claiming everything he said was just something he lied about because he started to see that Hajime might want to grow closer and forgive him, and then then started rambling about total bullshit about Hajime killing him and the potential hope in him, even though he just said that he didn’t get the same feeling from him as other ultimates.
Very funny Komaeda, though I don’t think he wasn’t being genuine there. Maybe he did think that regardless of the “both miserable bystanders” comment because he also thought he himself could be ultimate hope in chapter 5. I feel like we knew this part well enough, so I’ll talk about the confession finally. I don’t know what compelled him to try and confess like that, but maybe he was trying to be more honest after what he did to derail him and backtracked again? Who knows.
He was starting with an actual confession, but why did he backtrack the way he did? I have two potential answers. First answer was that he didn’t want to weigh Hajime down with the burden of his feelings, and made it sound like his typical Komaeda bullshit instead. Second answer is that Komaeda doesn’t know how to express his love for Hajime and derailed it to Hajime’s hope instead because that’s the only context he’s used “Ai” (愛) in and is used to that. Him using it here doesn’t make it less sincere in his almost-confession, it’s just… complex.
Maybe if this was his only hint of loving Hajime, his feelings for him would be more controversial as “canon”, thankfully it isn’t! Maybe both answers are right in their own right, it would definitely correlate with my own thoughts about his stupidly complicated justification’s for getting closer to Hajime and making excuses for him. If you haven’t read it, I said that while Komaeda was catching feelings for Hajime as an individual, he made excuses for himself that the reason he cared for him was because he was an ultimate (meaning someone who carried potential Hope), but the only reason he let himself be close to a “supposed ultimate” was because we felt that they were similar and that he had “an air unlike the others”. Which was probably why he was so confused as to why he still cared after finding out what he did in chapter 4 because his justification no longer worked.
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Although we know that Komaeda absolutely does love Hajime, I am relieved that they used different expressions of love here (both Suki and Dasuki) to make sure we know he does love him. Can it be used platonically? Sure, but the context does not position it like that.
That’s my um opinion I guess?? Hope you got more than what you were expecting? I wonder why I keep making long posts when it’s not going to get that much attention…. I was originally going to say that what’s important about him using “Ai” (愛) is the genuine intent there and not the romantic implication of it since context matters more, and that hasn’t changed at all, but this turned into a completely different conversation. My bad.
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3rd anni req 1: lucifer / night dagger scene
ao3 link
note: what better way to kick things off than to make lucifer so very sad! this is based on lesson 38 of the original game, during the whole three-realms-imbalance-lucifer-amnesia arc. requested by anonymous - thank you!
little bit of context: in our version, the source of the imbalance is an 'aberration', which ik is the 'host' of - owing to the weird time stuff + exposure to extremely potent foreign magic, meaning she has the exact specific constitution that allows the aberration to form
∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎
“I’ve told you everything I know. Do what you think is right - I trust you.”
Solomon tells me this, presses a cold blade into my hand, and leaves. Lucifer stands in his wake and stares at me in blank silence.
Do what you think is right.
For the first time since he woke up without his memories, I’m grateful that he doesn’t remember anything. I don’t think I could have looked him in the eye if they’d held even a shred more clarity.
“How much did you hear?” I ask.
“...enough.”
Ten frozen seconds tick by without a word. Lucifer steps forward - cautiously, as if approaching a stray dog - and slips the dagger from my hand.
I watch as he balances the blade between two fingers. It looks so fragile that it might shatter at a touch. A single ray of light glances from the sharp edge, into the red of his eyes.
He doesn’t flinch. “So this is the solution.”
He’s holding the blade just out of reach - just high enough that I can’t snatch it back. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
“It’s only a last resort,” I say, without really processing it. “Solomon’s clever. He’ll come up with something else. He will, he— he has to.”
Lucifer’s eyes flash down to me. Slowly, he crouches down.
“...it’s strange. There are certain things that still haven’t disappeared, even if I’ve forgotten everything else." He smiles a little. "This house - I don’t remember how we came to be here. But I know it is where we've all been together, and I know it is where I want to stay.”
He reaches up, cradling my cheek in a gloveless hand. His skin is ice-cold - but I can only lean closer, grasping for comfort where it lingers, in the way that his thumb still moves in exactly the same soothing motion.
“I don’t remember who I must have been,” He says softly. “But the feeling remains. If this is what it takes to keep you safe, so be it. If we don’t fix this quickly, you’ll all suffer for it. I cannot allow that.”
I hate that he can make it sound so easy. When he presses the dagger back into my hand, I can’t fight it.
“Just close your eyes.” He cups his hand around mine, closing my numb fingers around the handle. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
And he points the tip into his heart.
My hand trembles. He holds it steady. He won’t look me in the eye, won’t raise his head - he keeps it bowed in supplication, waiting silently for the blow.
I can’t do this.
Lucifer doesn’t know how to die. I don’t want to be the one to teach him.
Do what’s right. Do what you think is right.
Do what’s right.
Do what you think is right.
I don’t understand. This is all to restore balance - but why? Why does it have to be like this?
The dagger needs power if the aberration is to be cut out with precision. It has to be done with precision if I don’t want it to tear me apart on the way out. Once torn from its only host, it’ll disappear.
...I should’ve put two and two together. It’s not that I’m special enough to need this whole fancy scheme. This is all a work-around for just how mundane I am.
Solomon hasn’t been telling me everything. Either he’s tricked me, or he’s tricked himself - into thinking that the only solutions for this end with me alive. He watches over humanity, and that includes me - so of course he wouldn't tell me. Of course he's decided that this is the best course of action, because he thinks he knows best.
The dagger could drain the life from my weak human body in an instant - no extra fuss. With that, everything would be fixed. But he's chosen something else. And for this version of the plan, Lucifer has to die instead.
I suppose Solomon doesn’t know me as well as I thought he did. Surely he’d realise that this is worse than anything else he could have asked me to do.
Do what’s right.
Or maybe that’s why he asked me to do it. He knows what would happen if I realised I had any other choice, and it goes against his very purpose to let me do it.
In fact, he's known for a while now. He's just pretended not to, and I haven't questioned it because it's so obvious. If it did work, he'd have brought it up, right?
And that's exactly what he was banking on. Too bad I've outsmarted him at this turn.
Do what you think is right.
I’ve made up my mind.
“No.” Before Lucifer can pull away, I reach up and seize the knife with my other hand as well. “I’m not doing this.”
His expression stutters. “What—”
“This is stupid.” I try to wrest it from him, but he holds fast. “Why are we doing this? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if I just—”
His eyes widen, and he interrupts sharply, “That is not an option.”
“If I'm gone, it all ends." I can't fool him. All I can do is try to reason with him. "I can fix this. I can give you your memories back.”
“And what do you expect me to do after that?!” His voice cracks. It feels as if the sound might break him apart. “You’ll give me my memories - and what will happen when I remember who I am mourning?!”
“You’ll carry on. You always do.” I try to look him in the eyes. He refuses to look back. “If I let you die— that’s thousands of years gone, and thousands more that you won’t have anymore. I know you - you'd want those memories back."
"Your family matters more to you than anything - you'd never want to forget them." I try to offer him a smile - just as he did as he prepared to tell me to kill him. "I'm not important enough to make you give that up."
He stops struggling. His expression is hollow. “...you are lying to me.”
"I know."
Stalemate. Neither of us will back down. Neither of us will let go.
My sleeve has slipped up. There’s a pin-prick of dark blue light winking up at me - a pact he once made to protect me.
I won’t make him do it. But I have to make sure he won’t stop me.
“Lucifer. Give me the dagger.” My head is clearer than ever before. “That’s an order.”
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thesunismoody · 2 months
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Uranus, Neptune and Pluto : the generational planets ✨🪐
Today’s post is about my opinion about these 3 big planets that are quite misunderstood because of their impact which can be individual and on a whole generation at the same time. I hope it will help beginners and give some insights about how to interpret some heavy placements ! (ps : english isn’t my first language, sorry if there’s too much mistakes or misunderstandings 🙏)
A “transpersonal” planet ?
Uranus, Neptune and Pluto are called “transpersonal” planets. Etymologically, the prefix trans- means “across, beyond”. They transcend the personality, go through the individuality to change humanity and soul in its core. Indeed, that’s exactly what it sounds like : these planets will send the same energy to the whole world at the same time to produce a global change.
You’ll answer me that every planet does so. Indeed, yes. When the Full moon is in Leo, the moon shares the same fiery energy to everyone. And, because of the velocity of these little planets and luminaries, it will influence everyone’s individuality for some days, some weeks in some cases. But, with transpersonal planets, the impact is more of a chemical change, like it’s changing the whole constitution of an environment.
Metaphorically, whereas the other planets will act like waves in the ocean to modify for a brief time its strength or calmness, transpersonal ones will have an impact on the Ph of the water, the constitution of the molecules, and THAT will impact all the fishes - without them not even acknowledging it sometimes.
Generational planets ?
As they’re very slow, their influence impact a whole generation. On the following list, I’ll explain how long each one stays in a sign before moving to the next one, and I’ll also explain the context of their discovery and how it expresses well the energy they spread.
Uranus needs 84 years to make a complete orbit. It stays 7 years in a sign.
It was discovered in 1781, era of the Age of Enlightenment, between the American revolution and the French one.
=> community, liberties, revolutions, new ways of living and thinking…
Neptune needs 165 years to make a complete orbit. It stays approximately 14 years in a sign.
Discovered in 1846, it chooses well its era to be found. 19th century is the peak of spiritualism, mediums and other divinations which were still condemned a few decades earlier.
It’s also a major era for art. The end of the 19th century has shown some open-mindedness : news ways of painting and writing were democratized, accepting some liberties in the way artists were expressing their feelings.
Pluto needs 248 years to make a complete orbit. It stays approximately from 12 to 30 years in a sign.
It was discovered in 1930, between the two world wars. It was the period of fascists regimes, abuses of power and death. It empowers primal instincts, chemicals, lies and destruction. Often related to atoms, quantum physics…
Disclamer : Yes, Pluto is one of the greatest source of power, and yes it has been used badly. However, with good intentions, this planet also purifies and transcends to help us regenerate, like a phoenix from the ashes.
An insight of 2024 ?
With all of this, how these 3 planets will influence our present ?
✨ Uranus is in Taurus ♉️ 2018-2026
Correlating to what we’ve seen previous times Uranus were in Taurus, we can guess that governments will try to pursue traditions and stubborn ways of governing.
Uranus isn’t at ease in Taurus so it diminishes its power. However, we could see some revolts about earth, agriculture, climate… The Taurus energy will increase the desire to possess things, to ensure a materialistic life, and Uranus presence will provoke some crisis about it. To resume, it creates another relationship with nature.
✨Neptune is in Pisces ♓️ 2012 - 2025
Each time Neptune is in Pisces, the accent is put on health. From Pasteur in the 19th century to the rise of alternative medicines nowadays, we continue to observe this tendency. We’ve also seen a lot of improvement about mental health these last years. It’s also the end of a cycle. Some values are discussed, tolerance between all religions for example. Global spirituality is fostered. Meditation and hypnosis, dreams, are placed in the center of this reflection. We also have to be careful : Neptune is the ruler of illusions so, in Pisces, we have to stay realistic.
✨Pluto is in Aquarius ♒️ 2024-2044
First of all, you should know that Pluto will come back in Capricorn from September to November. Because of how violent Pluto’s energies can be, the planet goes back and forward in a new sign to soften the transition. Then, what could mean a Pluto in Aquarius ? It requires liberty, freeing ourselves from traditions and hierarchy. There could be some revolts and new ways of organizing societies and communities. New technologies and new ways of communication will appear.
It’s the end of this post ! I hope it was instructive for some of you ✨ I’ll try to explain how they can influence an individual chart by explaining their transits in another post these next days 🌷 Thank you for reading me 🙏
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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 year
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BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP W/ EDDIE BROCK & VENOM (616 | generalized canon)
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random Headcanons
SFW, minor canon action
pic source: Venom: Lethal Protector (2022) comic
part two
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Your worst arguments happen because of them being so quick to engage in fights with Spider-Man if they so much as catch a glimpse of the web-slinger. (this was more of a problem earlier in the relationship)
Eddie is very much a man of action, and is allergic to inactivity, so oftentimes he has no idea about the newest pop culture phenomena. If you want him to engage in that media with you you’ll have to be the one bridging the gap.
You can however coerce him into watching a show/movie with you if you ply him with cuddles. He’ll 100% be paying you more attention than the screen though.
Alternatively though, the symbiote loves watching the silly little pictures on the screen and will usually request to watch movies with you if not already preoccupied.
One: because he likes being around you (you’re gonna get real used to the feel of the alien, trust me) and Two: because the dialog helps him improve upon his people skills for talking to civilians.
(Eddie’s natural gruff straightforwardness is only so helpful - ie:not helpful at all - for them when trying to save or soothe spooked people as Venom.)
Eddie’s eyes are a very intense blue-steele and the first time you met you told him he had “doll eyes”. However, he was so baffled he laughed so you count that as a win and mention the natural uncanniness of them every once in a while to tease him. You love his eyes though, really.
They love to kiss (and bite) at the junction between your neck and shoulders. I have a longstanding headcanon about marks and shit but I’m not gonna go into that rn.
Get comfortable with the distinct knowledge that you technically come second for both of them. It’s just that there’s a difference between being romantically involved (you and them) and being codependent and in love(Eddie and the symbiote).
On another note they do call you Precious (and if we take the name out of the context of how some of us were bullied with it it’s actually beautiful so…just let it happen). Eddie let alone Venom is clueless to the connotation. Plus Eddie’s got a really obsessive personality so I think that coupled with Venom’s own baggage coming into play makes the nickname very fitting.
They always reach for your hand in public, especially when around others to show that you're theirs cause they’re possessive like that.
They don’t need to sleep per say, as long as they have the right nutrients, so honestly sometimes they don't even go to sleep whenever joining you in bed. They'll just lay beside you smiling to themselves and watch you sleep.
They end up telling you they love you purely by accident after you had gotten hurt by falling debris when Spider-Man and Rhino were fighting. (They say it mid rant).
The only good thing to come out of the whole situation is Venom getting to carry you.
The symbiote, not possessing the concept of human shame, will say the most inappropriate things to you in public without a fuck to give. Eddie, shamelessly, also quietly does this to you because most human conventions mean nothing to him anymore.
They think you're adorable when flustered, and like it even better when on occasion you join in.
They’re constantly fretting over the possibility that Carnage might come and kill you for shits and giggles or that somehow Peter will manage to take the last pure thing in their life away from them.
Being away from them? Ha, ya right. They’ve always got you physically close or monitored by a part of the symbiote (I’m mixing up symbiote abilities so if it bothers you a lot then just say the part that stays with you is the clone of venom). You're really never without a part of them but you don't quite mind it. They’ll also resort to stalking with zero hesitation.
They take great pleasure in making their "mate" feel worshiped so you’ll have a lot of fun with that. Just make sure you accept and are vocal about your appreciation for their antics if you don’t want them to stop. Reciprocation doesn’t hurt either.
you(little spoon) eddie(big spoon)
The symbiote definitely appreciates being held more than Eddie with his intimacy issues and the ingrained notions of how men “should” act.
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!
If this looks familiar know it’s because it’s from an old blog I ran (just rewritten a bit), but otherwise it doesn’t really matter. I also noticed that I have a lesser amount of Marvel imagines than I do DC so this is definitely me trying to rectify that. Also, trust me, I know the Lord of the rings connotation I’m just not addressing it.
btw: This is a side blog so while comments are welcome I won’t respond.
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"Fighting is one of the most unpredictable, chaotic sports on the planet yet you have coaches that think the tire drill is effective because they saw it in a Rocky movie. A lot of gyms outside of the ones producing good to great competitors treat fighting like it is a closed sport when in reality, the best knowledge I have gained for my training and coaching has come from basketball drilling & conditioning methods and not methods I’ve received from coaches who focus exclusively on combat sports because many combat sports have almost no extensive theory or pedagogy and treats fighting like a multiple-choice exam. The way many participants view combat sports is entirely wrong because they completely undervalue how much environmental factors play a large role in one’s fighting ability regardless of how they look on the pads or in the gym. Even at the highest level of fighting, you’ll have athletes get paid to fight under a certain ruleset such as in a cage, and never train once inside a cage throughout their whole fight camp leaving them at a tremendous disadvantage that will get exposed even if there is early success prepping in that manner."
Extra relevant for historical fighting where we should be extra careful about context or environmental factors, and with the diversity of rulesets and training areas we could learn a lot by both participating in it all whenever we can, and from picking up ideas from other sports that happen in a variety of competition spaces, or dances from various different social contexts etc.
For anyone who hasn’t yet seen the following links:
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Some advice on how to start studying the sources generally can be found in these older posts
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Remember to check out  A Guide to Starting a Liberation Martial Arts Gym as it may help with your own club/gym/dojo/school culture and approach.Check out their curriculum too.
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Fear is the Mind Killer: How to Build a Training Culture that Fosters Strength and Resilience by   Kajetan Sadowski   may be relevant as well.
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“How We Learn to Move: A Revolution in the Way We Coach & Practice Sports Skills”  by Rob Gray  as well as this post that goes over the basics of his constraints lead, ecological approach.
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Another useful book to check out is  The Theory and Practice of Historical European Martial Arts (while about HEMA, a lot of it is applicable to other historical martial arts clubs dealing with research and recreation of old fighting systems).
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Trauma informed coaching and why it matters
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Look at the previous posts in relation to running and cardio to learn how that relates to historical fencing.
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Why having a systematic approach to training can be beneficial
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Why we may not want one attack 10 000 times, nor 10 000 attacks done once, but a third option.
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How consent and opting in function and why it matters.
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More on tactics in fencing
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Open vs closed skills
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The three primary factors to safety within historical fencing
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Worth checking out are this blogs tags on pedagogy and teaching for other related useful posts.
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And if you train any weapon based form of historical fencing check out the ‘HEMA game archive’ where you can find a plethora of different drills, focused sparring and game options to use for effective, useful and fun training.
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Check out the cool hemabookshelf facsimile project.
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For more on how to use youtube content for learning historical fencing I suggest checking out these older posts on the concept of video study of sparring and tournament footage.
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Consider getting some patches of this sort or these cool rashguards to show support for good causes or a t-shirt like to send a good message while at training.
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coinandcandle · 1 year
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How To: Deity Deep Dives
As I mentioned before, my deity deep dives will be a bit more scarce as I am focusing on other things right now, but here’s how you can do them yourself!
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Step 1: Pick a deity.
Sweet and simple! Pick a deity to deep dive on. You can even make a list of multiple if you'd like.
Whether it's because you're fascinated by a deity or you want to see if they'd be a good fit for you to worship, there are many reasons for you to research deities.
Step 2: Gather Resources.
Primary and secondary sources involving their myths, legends, and how they were worshipped in the past are your best resources to start out.
You can also reach out to other people who work with or worship this deity and ask about their experiences. Plenty of people also post about their experiences online so make sure to check those out as well.
Wikipedia is a good place to start—I know what your teachers said about Wikipedia but hear me out: Go to the wiki page for said deity and scroll all the way down until you see “references”, this will show you a list of articles, books, lectures, and other resources for the page. They also usually have a “further reading” section of texts that you can look to for info on that deity.
Step 3: Make a list.
What is it that you want to know specifically? Usually, I’ll look for the deity’s relations, history, myths, symbols, correspondences, and epithets. I will set up a note with these main points as subheadings and then I’ll have a “notes” section for any miscellaneous or extra information.
Here are some examples of what to look up when researching deities:
(deity’s name) primary sources ← this one isn’t always helpful but it’s always worth a shot! If you can find the primary sources for a deity that's all the better.
(deity’s name) mythology ← will show you the myths involving said deity.
(deity’s name) history ← will show you the culture and religion that the deity is from.
(deity’s name) ancient worship ← will show you how they were worshiped in the past.
(deity’s name) worship ← will likely show you more modern worship which can be helpful!
I’ve also had good experiences with mythopedia, worldhistory.org, britannica, history.com, and sacred-texts. Some cultures and pantheons will have whole websites dedicated to them.
More research tips:
Don’t try to view ancient myths from a modern lens. Learn the history of the culture and religion that the deity comes from. This will help you put the myths and worship of the deity into context. There are certain nuances that are important to be aware of when researching different cultures.
Make lots of notes. Even if you think you’ll remember it, make a note of it. This can be something as simple as “Artemis was a virgin” or “The Morrigan is a triple goddess”, just put down enough info so that, if you need to look it up again, you can find the info pretty easily with a simple google search.
Sounds like a lot of work?
That’s because it is! But if you enjoy learning about the past or just want to learn about a deity in order to work with or worship them, then these tips can help you out.
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worflesbian · 1 year
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right okay i dont know exactly how persistent an issue this is bc i almost never go into the tags on this website, but even ive noticed this happening so i feel like that’s justification to make a post about it. the whitewashing of julian bashir as an established Thing not just in the fandom but in official merch has been discussed before, but recently i’ve noticed the inverse happening with martok and b’elanna, a white character and a lighter latina character who people seem to often draw darker than they are in canon. and there’s like. a Lot going on there to unpack.
so this video goes into some detail about the racism baked into the origins and design of the klingons in tos, it’s very informative about the anti-asian stereotypes especially in a 60s context but i feel like it doesnt really cover the way that antiblackness becomes a more significant factor in the next gen era so like. if you didn’t know, the majority of the klingon characters in the next gen-ds9-voyager era are either played by actors with dark skin or Very frequently by white actors in heavy dark makeup. if you look up the actors of grilka, alexander, kehleyr, and sirella for example you’ll see what im talking about like the difference is Stark and these are some of the main recurring klingons across both shows. hopefully i do not need to explain why packing white actors in brown makeup to play members of a species characterised as violent, warlike and animalistic is racist. i say hopefully bc who knows with this website. anyway i’d recommend this video for a wider context on the legacy of blackface in tv!
martok is a rare example of a klingon played by a white actor who, as far as i can tell, does not have his skin significantly darkened. so to see him frequently being drawn with darker skin is uh Slightly Concerning given everything in the previous paragraph! ive even seen art where he’s drawn darker than julian in the same post which... anyway im not trying to blanket condemn reinterpreting the design of alien characters in fanart, but i am asking white fans like myself in particular to think critically as to why, out of all the white characters and aliens on ds9, martok is the one you want to do that with.
because b’elanna is not a white character i think its a slightly different situation, but at the same time she does have lighter skin and i have seen fanart of her drawn much much darker and once again, im not condeming it especially in works ive seen which explore the relationship bewteen her latina and klingon identities, but its something white fans need to handle carefully. in the voyager episode Faces where she gets split into a human and klingon version of her (dont have time to unpack all that) you can see the difference in undertones between human b’elanna and klingon b’elanna (also included a pic of regular b’elanna for reference). the brown makeup is obvious here too and if you can see why it might be racist to attribute a person’s rage and violent impulses to a part of themself that is then personified as darker skinned/more brown, then you might also see some of the wider problems going on here and can understand that this is something that demands a lot of thought and consideration.
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i’d like to reiterate that this is a very complex and nuanced issue, especially considering the intersection of fictional race within the setting and the racial biases operating behind the scenes/metatextually, and i’d love to discuss it more (and to cite better sources than youtube videos when i have the time). but for now i’d just like to say yeah just ask yourself what the implications might be to drawing these characters in particular darker than they are in canon, especially if theyre the only characters you do that for, or you’re intentionally contrasting them with other characters (e.g. b/7 fanart) or yk. drawing a white character darker than a character of colour like ive seen people do with julian and martok.
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joelstoes · 2 years
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Peter Ballard
Warnings:Sexual Context,Forced Orgasms,Jealousy
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“Jealous?”The woman you despised laughed in your ear while turning her gaze to your only source of happiness.
The Man you loved happily smiling down at Eleven while helping her.“He accepted my offer to lunch has he accepted yours?”
The annoyance of her tone made you wanna snap her neck and be done with her then and there.But keeping your calm you only smiled up at her.
“Well I haven’t had the chance to ask him but maybe thanks to you I will now.”She laughed at your words shaking her head.
“I doubt he will seeing as how I’ve seen him look at me before.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s interested in me.”
The woman turned down to you since she was slightly taller then you.Flicking her head towards Peter again she waved her hand towards him.
Now he was staring at you both with a sweet smile waving his hand as well.You shot him a glare which surprised him a bit causing him to look away and drop his hand.
“Hey how about you meet me for lunch after you’re done with him Hmm? Tell me how it went and I’ll take some tips from you?”
She couldn’t believe the words that left your mouth but never-less nodded.“I’ll see around 7 in your room okay? Maybe you’ll learn something from me.”
Leaving while laughing you couldn’t help but smile already knowing how you were gonna humiliate her and her big ego.
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Coming from her “date” the woman couldn’t stop smiling at herself Thinking it went great with her work crush.
Although they weren’t supposed to be romantically involved she didn’t care and as a matter of fact no one did.
Everyone did it without those in charge knowing it.She played with her hair and walked towards your room ready to brag on about her date with the guy both of you have been fighting for.
As she was about to open your door she stopped seeing as it was already opened a bit.Hearing a small whine she stopped herself from going in.
“Did you have fun with her?”You asked Peter raising a brow while pressing him against your desk.With his back pressed towards the desk he gripped onto it tightly as you rubbed yourself on him.
The Woman couldn’t believe her eyes and what she was seeing.But she couldn’t look away too enchanted by what would happen next.
“Come on answer me whore.”Gripping Peter by his hips you pulled him towards you and grinding down even more.
He couldn’t help but let a small whimper escape his mouth while shaking his head.“I-I’m not a whore…I’m not.”
You nodded while rolling your eyes taking a hand and squeezing his face roughly.“You’re not? Then why did you accept eating with that woman hmm?”
“I was just being friendly I swear….”He whispered gasping loudly as you opened his lips with the thumb of your finger.
“You’re Not allowed to be friendly with anyone other than me.”
“I guess I’ll just have to show you who you belong too.”
You frown your hand slowly going down his shirt and undoing the buttons.Opening it up you smiled at your work from yesterday.
Red marks going down and up his stomach all over his chest and shoulders.
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It wasn’t long before you had Peter riding you as you sat down on your chair.He gasped and whimpered bouncing up and down on you.
His messy blonde hair moving along with his bounces.Your hand groping his ass roughly while spreading him on you to get more access to his entrance.
“Give me a kiss.”You breathed out feeling Peter twitch on you at the request.Happily he pressed his lips towards your making you laugh at how desperate he was.
It all felt too good.The way you slid in and out of him hitting the deepest parts and maybe even going all the way inside his tummy.
Peter couldn’t help the loud squeals that left him mouth.You pounding in him so rough and fast it went so well with how he moved his hips.
Although he was starting to get tired he couldn’t stop now.He didn’t want to stop all he need was you to feel that good.
Letting out a loud Yelp Peter sobbed crying and screaming at a special spot you managed to reach.That sound was a cry from the angels.
Holding onto his thighs that were wrapped around you.Standing up and pressing him on your desk with your thrusts going even roughly had his mind blank.
Clinging to you with his arms around your neck and all his cries going towards your ears.That’s when you noticed who was watching.
A laugh couldn’t help but escape you.Seeing her there was enough to motivate you to turn Peter into a stupid mess.
Whispering dirty little things in his ear to watch his cute reactions.Feeling him squeeze around you more if it was even possible.
His cute little head shakes and how he twitched the moment you would pull out only for you to quickly go back in.
Tears already slipping from his eyes and how he cuddled his face into your neck.Everything he did was a sign at how much he loved you.
How much you had done to him to get Peter to be such an Obedient boy.
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