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mandoalorian · 4 years

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Perfect To Me [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Author's note: This is so self indulgent. I've been having a bad night and this just, kinda happened. I have a really bad relationship with my body image n stuff and so writing this sorta helped me vent out my feelings. Maxwell is like my fave character and I love him so much so ofcourseeee I wrote it with him. Anyways I want you to know that your favourite character loves you so much even when you feel like you're not worth it or in the moments you don't love yourself. I mean it, they love you.

Warnings: body dysmorphia, disordered thinking of a self conscious reader. And also. A little self conscious Maxwell.

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: PG-13

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You hated it. You hated everything about it. You didn't understand, when you had tried it on in the store just a few hours ago, you loved it. It fit you beautifully. But now, it wasn't the same. It was like something had drastically changed but you couldn't place your finger on what exactly it was.

"Honey we're going to be late!" you heard Maxwell call from downstairs. Anxiety filled your body knowing that you had to be at the gala in— you checked the time— twenty minutes. "The carpool is waiting!" he called again. You could hear the stress in his voice. He hated being late, especially for events.

"Just a minute!" you shouted back but the words left your lips as a croak, breaking at the end. You scrunched your nose up in disdain and hoped that Maxwell hadn't heard the change in your voice.

You couldn't do this; your blood running cold as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You wanted to rip the dress off, climb under the blankets of your enormous bed and cry. You looked disgusting, embarassing… you didn't look like someone who should be dating Maxwell Lord. Tears pricked your eyes as you imagined the way everyone would be looking at you if you attended the gala wearing that monstrosity. You believed that the dress would be beautiful on every single other person; just not you.

You didn't know what to do. Quickly, you ran to your walk in closet and angrily began to pull out all the dresses that had been neatly organised and hung up. They fell in messy pools on the floor. You wanted to scream in anger, desperately trying to find a dress you could quickly change into. The anxiety only got worse when you could hear Maxwell downstairs making small talk with his driver. You knew they were waiting for you in the lobby. You didn't have time.

You picked up a red number that you had wore last year at the Christmas office party. You tried to weigh up if it would be appropriate for tonight's events, holding it against your body. You threw it to one side, screaming in frustration when you decided it probably wouldn't fit you anymore. You couldn't go. You'd embarrass yourself, and you'd embarrass Maxwell, and his company.

You clutched onto the edges of your dresser, knuckles turning white as you forced yourself to look at your appearance in the mirror. The kohl black eyeliner was smudged from your tears and your foundation had begun to separate from the anxious sweat you had broken into. He would just have to leave without you.

"I'll go check on her," you heard Maxwell tell the driver. "I'm sure she's just deciding on a pair of shoes." you thought his voice sounded apologetic. You imagined him marching into your shared bedroom, angry that you were taking so long. You imagined his face burning with red rage when he saw you sitting on the edge of his bed, a complete and utter mess. Maybe you deserved it. You heard his footsteps get louder and louder as he went up the stairs and you figured there wasn't anything you could do now. Thoughts raced your mind as you wondered how you could possibly explain this to him.

"Sweetheart, I know what you say about being fashionably late but—” Maxwell stopped and froze up when he entered the bedroom, his eyes blinking between you and the pile of your dresses on the floor. You watched him, feeling ashamed, as his appearance turned from confused to concerned.

He slowly walked further into the bedroom, looking around. He glanced over all your cosmetics and hair products that were scattered across the dresser and examined the mountain pile of clothes on the floor, trailing from the closet to where you were sitting. He moved the red dress you had considered from the bed and sat next to you in silence.

Maxwell turned to face you, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. He placed a finger under your chin and turned your head so he could get a good look of your face. He swiped his thumb under your eye, trying to clean up your messy eyeliner, and cupped your cheek. The familiar coolness of his rings pressed against your skin eased you slightly, but you still felt an anxiety. He eventually spoke.

"Darling… what happened?" his voice was gentle and cautious. You tried to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and looked down at the carpeted floor. You didn't answer him. He waited a few moments, and then he said your name.

"I made a mess." you gulped, looking around the bedroom. His gaze followed your eyes and he sighed.

"I can see that," he shrugged. "But I mean… you've been crying?" You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up in shame. "Why?" he asked.

You sniffed. You could think of a thousand excuses less embarrassing than the truth. But he was your boyfriend, and this was a big problem in your life. You figured that he should know what was really going on with you. It was still scary. He was Maxwell Lord— feared by everyone. And there was a reason for that. While he had shown you nothing but love and care during the course of the relationship, you imagined the worst. You imagined him laughing at you or belittling you. Something you've had to deal with from plenty of people before. You rubbed your sore and glossy eyes before taking a deep breath.

"I hate the way this dress looks on me." you said, and Maxwell frowned, crinkles forming in between your eyebrows.

"I don't understand." there was an air of bewilderment in his voice, like he couldn't comprehend what you were telling him. It was a simple fact to you, but your opinion seemed lost on him.

Feeling frustrated, you stood up and flattened the dress down, standing before him. His jaw dropped slightly and his eyes widened as he drunk in the sight of you. The dress fit your body perfectly. He could swear that it was made for you and only you.

"If I go to the gala dressed like this, I'll embarrass you," you sniffed, scrunching up your face in disgust and immediately feeling even more self conscious as you stood in front of your boyfriend. "People will state, and laugh. They will write about me in the tabloids and-"

"Write about how beautiful you look in that dress? Damn sure." Maxwell mumbled, reaching out and taking your hand. "You're wrong. You're so wrong." he pulled you close to him and settled his hands on your waist as he continued to admire you.

"Please don't touch me," you shook your head, pushing his hands away from you. "I feel disgusting. I look disgusting. I am disgusting. Max… you should know that this isn't just a one off thing. I feel like this often, and I don't know why."

"You were obsessed with the dress when you tried it on for me earlier." Maxwell raised an eyebrow, brushing his lower lip with his finger as he processed what was going on.

"I know. I loved it. But now? I hate it. I'm sorry, you probably think this is so stupid."

Maxwell stood up and shook his head quickly. "No! No. Don't apologise. Don't ever apologise, okay? You're not stupid. I understand. I understand completely."

"No, you don't." you sighed, holding your face in your palms. Maxwell stiffened up and shuffled uncomfortably. You pulled your face away from your hands and pulled on his wrist, reading the time on his gold wristwatch. "Max, just go. This is your big event and you don't want to be late."

"No." he told you, loosening his bowtie and shuffling out of his suit jacket. He threw it to the floor, amongst the pile of your dresses. He kicked off his Armani shoes and folded his arms over his chest.

"If this is you being stubborn because you're upset with me for not getting dressed…" you trailed off and Maxwell looked at you. He looked hurt that you had made such a suggestion.

"You really don't think I understand how you feel?" He quizzed, and you didn't reply. He was confident, he exuded charm and charisma. He was a television star, he had done speeches in the White House and spoken to the most influential people in the world. You looked at him, waiting for him to continue. He stuck a finger into his belly. "I hate this."

You gulped. "Your tummy?"

He nodded. "I never used to have a tummy… when I was younger, I mean," he revealed, although it meant nothing to you. "But in recent years, you know. I drink a little more, have more steak dinners and don't exercise. So…"

"You're in great shape," you spluttered in disbelief. "And I love your tummy."

"Wouldn't you rather I had an eight pack?" he asked and the thought made you burst into a fit of giggles. The smile he made when he saw that he had made you laugh was unmatched.

"No, not at all!" you chuckled, nudging him playfully.

"So, I do understand," he told you. "I say I hate my tummy, you say you love it. You say you hate the way that dress fits you, and I say it's the most beautiful thing I've seen you in. Although, I think you get more beautiful everyday," he blushed and you beamed at his kind words. It was rare Maxwell would tell you something like that. "I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you. But your feelings? I'm so glad you told me. We can get through it together. I promise." he reached back to hold your hand and gave you a comforting squeeze.

"I still don't want to go to the gala." you bit your lip and he nodded understandably.

Maxwell leaned over to the phone that was on his bedside table and called down to the lobby where his driver was waiting for you both. He cleared his throat. "Yes, it's Maxwell. Take the night off. Myself and Y/N have decided we will not be attending the gala tonight."

"But sir-" the driver began and Maxwell abruptly cut him off.

"Do I pay you to question me? Hurry along now." He said before putting the phone back down on the hook. He sighed before turning back to you and smiling.

"What- what do you mean you're not attending the gala? Max, it's your gala. You have to go."

"You think I could stand schmoozing with those slimy CEOs without you by my side? I couldn't be productive knowing that my beautiful girlfriend was at home, alone, probably watching some sad movie when her boyfriend should be with her and comforting her."

Your eyes were bright and your lips curled into a grin at his sentiment. You swung your hands around him and cuddled him tight, taking in the scent of his luxury fragrance and resting your head into his soft shirt. "I love you Maxie." you whispered, and he slung an arm around you, pushing you further into his lap.

"I love you too darling," he confessed, pressing a kiss onto the top of your head. "Cmon, let's get you out of your dress and into some cozy pyjamas."

You smiled, tugging on the collar of his shirt and pulling him into another kiss, this time on the lips. It was soft and brisk yet passionate. He pulled away slowly and you took in his dark lust blown eyes. "I wanna wear your shirt," you whined, beginning to unbutton it.

"Okay." he replied simply, leaning back and letting you pull his white button up shirt from his body.

"I love your tummy." you reminded him and he smiled, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes and a dimple in the left of his cheek.

"Dress off, shirt on." He told you and you nodded, getting up from the bed and getting changed. Maxwell unbuttoned his belt and pulled down his tailored pants, throwing them to the floor. He took off his socks and clambered under the bed sheets, his arms out, waiting for you to join him. "I love seeing you wear my shirt." he told you as you curled up into him.

You hummed in contentment as he played with your hair. He said your name, in an almost questioning tone.

"Yes?" you replied.

"No matter what, you'll always be perfect to me."

Permanent taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!): @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord

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jae-canikeepyou · 5 years

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| connecting | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader genre: fluff a/n: i was really excited to write this since it was inspired by my fave disney movie “tangled” ! hope you enjoy reading ^^ still thinking if there should be a part two(?) for this. let me know!! :D

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the sun rose just in time at the moment you opened your eyes. a new morning, a new day, and a new hope. shockingly though, the alarm clock did not do its job. that meant you had to place new ones if it was the batteries. the smell of bacon made you up on your toes, leading you downstairs to the garden.

on most days and most often, you stayed at the tree house your uncle had built. it kind of became your permanent room rather than the one you had at the actual house. you lived at the countryside. not exactly though. when you moved houses, it partially felt like it was a forest, fresh air and greenery.

oh the sound of the raw meat sizzling was making you drool as you saw your mother— stepmother, to be precise, smiling as she told you to sit with her. “only bacon would make you step out of that tree house.”

“ah well, it’s my little paradise after all.” you eyed her with a grin on your face. your stepmother raised you as her own since your birth parents, didn’t really know how to care for an infant. your father was blind and needed assistance; and your mother cared for you a little while but eventually left for another man. so your stepmother came into the picture at the time before you even turned one. “i get to do things i want without being disturbed.”

“that’s alright. an artist like you need space and quiet. how many canvases have you painted on?” she asked as she plated your meal, getting the meat from the grill.

you took a bite almost immediately from the serving tong. a joking but soft scoff escaped from your mother’s lips. “mom, there’s too many that i lost count. but remember the huge boxes you got for me on christmas? yeah one of those are close to be full of em’.”

“oh wow, you have to show me your masterpieces.” she clapped her hands together. she checked her watch, only to jump slightly at the time. “i’ll be late for the flight.”

“you’re leaving, mom?” you asked, a tiny complain from you made her giggle.

“it’s a business trip again, sweetie. i’ll be back in four days.” she cooed you with a tight hug.

“but you’ll miss my birthday.” you sighed, placing the plate down onto the wooden table.

“i’ll make it up to you when i get back, alright?” she pecked your forehead before leaving you. “see you in three days. love you my princess.”

hardworking as she always was, your stepmother would often go overseas for meetings since she worked with a company that required a translator. and apparently she was ranked at the top category, so the demand for her was quite high.

“love you too mom!” you yelled back.

you finished your meal and headed back to the tree house to continue with painting the canvases. the paintings you started, were something you hoped your father could be able to admire. he never got to see the world, the people, the beauty, and you.

the childhood you had was something you remembered; still so fresh, as if it was yesterday. the house that was passed on from your father’s side ultimately became a shelter of nightmare. the word cancer was foreign to the teen you, definitely out of your vocabulary. you needed explanation as to why your father had gotten it, and why he had to leave the earth early. it had been three years after all.

not long since you began to paint almost half way onto the third canvas, the radio you were listening to blasted the playlist with your favorite boy group; that alone kept you hyped up, nearly knocking down several acrylic paint bottles over. the music moved your toes, then your legs, eventually your whole body. even your hair swayed in motion, as if the wind had blown it.

“i just wish i could get to see them live.” you sighed, colors you puto onto the canvas blended with your emotions. “ugh, i’m so senti.” (sentimental). the clock showed quarter to four, it already had been hours since mother left.

the once upbeat vibe came to a halt when you heard a couple of boys yelling with bicycle bells ringing. it also seemed like one was being chased too. you scoffed as you went to take a peek off of the window. they ruined your moment of jamming. the yells were increasing when the half of your body was out of the window. you saw a couple of figures at the far distance of your front yard.

a ruffle from the bush that was near your tree house gave a sound of light crash. a bell rang from it too. was it a bicycle? as you further your body look at the bush on the just on the left side of the tree house, your sight suddenly came to a dim.

your body met with a boy with pink hair. as your eyes kept closed, bracing yourself for the impact, you knew his body slammed into yours and for sure you heard his honey-like voice. “nghh agh!” he gasped as his body was on top of yours, but your head rested on something you assumed it was his hands.

the light from the sun made you open your eyes. the pink haired boy smiled sheepishly and the first you noticed was his ears.

“can you get off me?” you asked sternly.

“oh my g- i’m so sorry!” he stood up as he dusted his clothes. the yells from the boys grew louder, making the pink haired boy flinch at their presence. you took a peek at the front yard, around four boys on their bikes, looking for someone. “ugh man, they chased me until here?” he took a peek as well and hissed at what he saw, before sitting back down by the bottom of the window.

“you know i could report you for trespassing.” you stood up, pointing your paintbrush at him.

he had his hands up in the air as if he was caught by the police. “hold up now i don’t want my shirt to be dirtied.” he said. “i’ll explain later but is it okay if i hide here for a while, maybe for tonight too?” he asked as his eyes trailed off.

you wanted to refuse but girl, his dimples showed and to be honest, you thought guys with dimples were the most sweetest. how could you resist him? especially as of right now, he was smiling at you, clearly embarrassed. but after all, he was a stranger and interrupted your jam session. “i don’t normally allow strangers here, let alone you.” you furrowed your brows.

“ah c’mon! with a face like this?” he suddenly pouted— no, was that a smoulder? gross. “look, i’m having a rough day today and i really need a breather-”

“then i think a breather for you would be outside?” you pushed him to the window, his footsteps hit the wooden floor with such impact at the force he received.

“hey hey hey! watch it!” he yelled with his palms touching the edge of the window. “do you want me to die?!”

“i don’t see why not?” your attempt to push him stopped as the radio continued to play the playlist you were listening earlier. “ooh yay!” you hopped back to your paintings.

the pink haired boy eyed you with confusion. “girls have such weird mood swings.” he walked up to you, mouthing the lyrics to the song.

“you know them??” you turned around to the boy. “man i love them!” you felt yourself heating up realising the boy still climbed your tree house. “i- i like them..” you cleared your throat.

“i can tell.” he laughed at you.

“anyway, you have to leave.” you pushed the boy to the door. not the window this time.

“please, can i stay here for tonight? i can’t have my buds chasing me like i’m a prey.” he sighed. his tone made you wonder how a pretty boy like him could utter such cute tantrums.

he sat down at the table by the door, taking a sip from your cup. you crossed your arms at how he felt so homey immediately after invading someone’s property. “why were you being chased?” you questioned with curiosity. the boy seemed desperate to hide and you had to hear him reason out.

“i skipped rehearsal yesterday.. and today. told them i wanted a break because we’ve been practicing non-stop.” he walked to your hanging cradle chair and sat on it. an long exhale escaped from him. you eyed him from head to toe. his whole body worn out with slight shakes.

“i’ll let you stay..” you said, the boy’s eyes beamed with life.

“yes! haha! thank you so much!” he placed his hands at the back of his head.

“..with one condition.” you continued.

“anything for you, miss..?” he now stood up and walked up to the window where he had entered earlier.

“y/n. my name’s y/n.” you said, blending the colors for the last time before actually stopping for the day.

“y/n.. i’m yoonoh.” his voice trailed off but with a tone of amusement. “what’s your condition then?

the amphitheatre at the distance’s horizon caught your eye as you looked at the view. you remembered your mother’s words: “only bacon would make you step out of that tree house.” funny fact though, food was the only way to make you go out of your residence’s area. as you made up your mind, your sigh caught his attention. “see that park with that shade thing flying above it?” you asked.

the boy turned to the direction you had told him. he squinted for a clearer and distinct view, where it shortly came into his sight. “yeah, the amphitheatre. what about it?”

“i want you to bring me there.” you smiled, making yoonoh do the same. his response was a tilt of a head. you exhaled before continuing. “tomorrow evening, that ampitheatre will light up in colors. it does that every year. i want to see it in person, like how it’s special.”

“it does, yeah. you haven’t been to the city?” yoonoh asked, his arms crossed.

“never. i’ve haven’t seen the city since i moved here and when i was a wee baby. more of i didn’t want to because i tend to limit myself from seeing the world.” you opened up to him as you tidied your art supplies.

“why is that? there’s more to see out there! i can tour you if you like.” his dimples showed again.

your body hesitated for a while, lips tried to find words to answer him. “my father was blind. he never got to see the world’s beauty, so i thought i’d do the same, y’know, experience things he did and understand him. now that he’s passed, maybe there’s benefit from a different point of view. my hearing got sensitive, in a good way.”

yoonoh stayed silent, respecting your words. he didn’t want you to stay caged in here any longer. “coming from someone who hasn’t seen outside beauty, you’ve got great imaginations.” he pointed to the wall of canvases. “i’ll bring you to the amphitheatre, first thing in the morning.”

to think that you would step foot to the lands of the city made your stomach churn. the whole experience would be something new. yoonoh sat back at the hanged cradle chair, taking several selfies at different angles, and there was no signs of stopping any sooner. you let him be, he looked tired anyway. his sweats slid down from the temples, and as he wiped them, he caught you looking at him. “i know i’m handsome.” he said. cheeky fella’, but he ain’t lying.

luckily though, the tree house had an extra room besides the one you both were in now. your uncle had included it in the design if you had friends over. yoonoh could stay there even if it was a little cramped. he wouldn’t complain, would he? the day seemed to end quickly; with three completed paintings and endless conversations with your ‘new-found friend’? wait you weren’t there yet. he was someone you had met accidentally.

maybe sometimes accidents can lead to something new.

#jung jaehyun #nct 127 #jung yoonoh #nct #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun nct #jaehyun au #jaehyun writings #jaehyun scenarios #nct writings #nct scenarios #jaehyun oneshot

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derryhawkins · 5 years

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I Love Him, Your Honor [2 of ??]

summary: During college, Richie works part time at a law office for the sole reason it pays well, and he honestly thinks it’s utter hell. But then he meets another part time employee who works down in the file room and, well, maybe the law office isn’t completely hellish. word count: 4.1k a/n: our fave boy mike makes an appearance near the end & rich sees eddie’s clothed ass for the first time, so enjoy

AO3 link; chapter one

chapter two: boring as all hell

The work load at the law office ends up being relatively easy. At first, on that Tuesday when he first started once he sorted out the hours he'd come in with the three lawyers, everything sounded complicated and Richie fully believed he had gotten himself into a extremely hard job with just the simple persuasion of money on Bev's part. That, thankfully, isn’t the case at all. The rest of the week goes by smoothly though, much to his surprise. He doesn't really do much Tuesday. Various other employees sat him show him how to do different things throughout the day so he would be able to do what they asked and what they lawyers needed, and he catches on rather quickly, impressing everyone. He essentially becomes their little elf as the rest of the week rolls by - as much as his six foot, lanky being could be an elf. Mostly, he just does things on the computer. He scans stuff in, searches clients, checks people's files in the N-drive or whatever it’s called, and other various boring shit that's mind numbing.

It's easy. But it's so boring.

Richie is just glad he's allowed to listen to his music while he works or else he would have gone batshit crazy on the first day and the ones following. He doesn't even have to work on Fridays; the law office is closed, and people only go in to make up hours or catch up on work they got behind on. He just has to work from eleven to five Mondays, and then eight to three Tuesdays through Thursdays. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

A tune of one of Hozier's songs plays through his ear buds as he sits in the rolling chair in front of the computer. His fingers tap against one of the arm chairs as he checks the releases that had been sent back by clients, making sure they signed where they needed to and that it was stamped correctly. His eyes lifted up for a split second as someone walks by the cubicle, the woman's blonde hair catching his attention, and a split second later the woman is shouting down the hall to one of the other women. It's mostly women who work at the law office, and Richie can only this that this was his teen's wet dream. Only, it's not at the same time. He doesn't find any one here attractive, and he doesn't mind that, and he would include Bev - she's one of the prettiest girls he knows - but she’s engaged and basically his sister so she’s bunched in with the others, but his hormonal side of him wishes there's someone worth his ogling. The only other guys are the two other lawyers, Thomas and Peter; middle age men.

A sigh leaves his lips as he sits up to take the staple out of the papers so he can scan them in, only to stop short when someone enters the cubicle. Richie blinks at the woman and takes out an earbud. Her hair is brunette and looks to be styled in an 80s sort of way. She's probably the oldest one who works at the law office other than Peter, and she has a look that kind of reminds Richie of Stan when the Jew has had enough of his best friend's shenanigans. He half wonders if they would get along, and completely wondering what her name is.

Her dark brown eyes squint a little through her tiny glasses as they look him up and down. "You look tall," she states.

Richie slowly nods as he pauses his music. "I am. My whole family's pretty tall, actually. Dad's over six foot, Mom's close to five nine, and the little demon I have as a sister is probably the tallest girl in her grade."

She grins, pleased. "Perfect! Follow me, there's a few lights out and all of us women aren't exactly on the tall side here," she tells him. With a hand, she hurriedly motions for him to follow and then walks away just as fast. Richie scrambles out of the chair, nearly tripping over his own feet, and follows her closer to the back of the building where the back door is, the one the employees use to come and go when getting to and leave from their job. She suddenly stops and points up. "The bulbs went out, have been for weeks, and the maintenance guy is a slacker."

Richie looks up with furrowed brows. "Listen, I dunno how to tell you this, but I'm not Mr. Fantastic. I gotta have a ladder even if I am six foot."

"Mr. Who?"

"Comic character, I think, Sasha," the blonde woman who he saw pass by his cubicle a minute earlier says, sitting at her desk in the office that's right by them. "DC, maybe? I dunno, my son mentioned something about it the other day."

Richie gives a tight smile. "Marvel," he corrects. "Mr. Fantastic can-."

Sasha waves a hand. "I don't care! I don't care, just fix the lights."

His eyebrows shoot up and he holds his hands up. While Sasha goes to get the new light bulbs, Richie and the blonde, Deb, search for the ladder. They do, eventually, but it’s broken, the things that hold the ladder up right are only attached to one side of it. The next ten minutes are filled with the two searching for something to help Richie get to the ceiling, and he finds a somewhat sturdy green card table. Once he gets back to where the lightbulbs are out, he unfolds the table legs, waving off Deb’s and Sasha’s concerns.

“Hey, it’s better than the ladder,” Richie tells them, leaning on the surface of the card table to see how wobbly it actually is. Then he climbs on completely just as Thomas walks up. The man stares and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Are you trying to get the newbie killed?” Thomas asks. He walks over and goes into Deb’s office to set his coffee down before walking to the card table, holding the edge as Richie reaches up to screw out the old bulb.

“He’s tall and we need them changed, Thomas,” Sasha says.

“You could’ve used the boy in the file room.”

Richie looks down at the adults and hands Deb the old light bulb as she hands him the new one. To make us seem as if he’s not listen, he busies himself with putting the new bulb in.

“He’s out today – something about a test.”

“He is coming in later, though,” Deb says. “After, of course.”

“Also, he’s short. Hence Richard.”

“You women are something else,” Thomas sighs.

Richie grins as he finishes up the first one and climbs off of the table, scooting it under the next bulb that needed to be fixed. He climbs back and on repeats what he did before. The three adults continue to talk about File Boy. Apparently, he’s part time too, but none of them except for Sasha see much of him since her work space is in a room in the very back of the large file room; no one else really goes to the file room unless they need a file, which isn’t too often but often enough to at least see a glimpse of the working boy. Richie keeps his mouth shut from asking anything about him, planning on just bombarding Beverly with them later.

Richie half wonders what the other guy looks like as he does the third and final bulb. Blond or brunet – or, maybe a dyed bright color like blue, or a darker red – with green eyes, or maybe he has brown eyes? Light skin or dark skin; how short is this File Boy anyway? Apparently not as tall as himself, Richie thinks, if any of Sasha’s words are a hint. He blinks rapidly, half from his thoughts and half from the light of the new bulb as it got screwed in correctly. He’s so interested in the file guy already it’s almost comical.

I’ll just blame it on the fact I haven’t gotten laid in three months, Richie thinks. Not whatever Beverly is going to come with – which will be the total opposite of needing and wanting a hookup.

He rubs his eyes under his glasses and gets off of the card table not so gracefully. “There ya go, madam,” Richie grins as he uses a British voice, bowing dramatically at Sasha. A screwing joke sits at the tip of his tongue but he keeps a hold of it. He doesn’t want to get fired yet. “Gives off an enlightening point of view, does it not?” He asks, still using the British accent and still smiling.

Thomas laughs at the pun as Sasha smiles amusedly. Deb half rolls her eyes as if exasperated by the pun, and Richie turns to her feigning hurt.

“Do you not like puns, Deb?”

Deb shakes her head. “Nope. They’re just not funny to me.”

He drops his jaw. “I think you just broke my heart.”

Deb rolls her eyes again but there’s no annoyance or fire in the action. “You’ll heal,” she tells him with a small smile.

Thomas laughs, a loud sound that goes through the building. He lays a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “You’re funny, kid.” Then, he’s grabbing the coffee he set in Deb’s office and leaving, Richie grinning wide.

Sasha chuckles. “You are interesting, I’ll put it that way. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“Ah, ‘s no problem,” Richie says, almost sheepishly, and puts his hands in his hoodie pocket.

He then helps put the card table back where they got it while Sasha throws the busted bulbs away. Then he’s back at his desk, boredom hitting him like a train.

+++

The café and grill Stan works at isn’t as busy as Richie thought it was going to be. There are still a lot of people about, but it’s not over flowing. The line to the front is just a bit longer than it usually is when Richie normally visits, and more tables are filled. It's nearing close to rush hour, which explains the abundance of people, and Richie knows that its only going to become more busy, but that doesn't stop him and Stan from sitting at a far back table and moaning about their jobs.

"Literally none of my co-workers polite to the customers half the time," Stan tells Richie, angrily sipping on a cold brew tea he made himself moments before Richie entered the building. "I'm amazed we have customers to begin with - and I know there have been complaints about them! Roger needs to fire all these assholes."

Richie bites into the cinnamon muffin he paid for. Crumbs fell into his lap and on the table, but he doesn't bother to brush them away. "Dude, I know," he says with a mouthful of muffin, "That girl - Grits, or whatever - seemed like she wanted to murder when I ordered this muffin. Speaking of, if this were a person, I'd fuck it. Marriage is plausible, too."

Stan's face contorts into disgust. "Who are you, that underage kid in that one movie with a peach kink?"

It takes Richie a moment to understand but then he's belting out a laugh, sliding down the seat he's in. "Stan gets off a good one," he says, still laughing. It's only when he calms down a bit when he talks again. "But, gross, man. No. If I ever actually become that just toss me in piranha infested waters."

"Deal. So, how's the law office?"

Richie lets out a groan and sinks farther down into the chair. "Boring as all hell," he says. He pulls off part of the muffin and stuffs it into his mouth. "I mean, it's easy. Having lunch with Bev like we're in high school again is cool, and the ladies are pretty nice, I guess. Lawyers are chill. But, fuck, it's so mind numbing. And usually I don't mind that, but its all the time!"

"Honestly surprised you're alive." At Richie's slightly confused look, Stan elaborates, "Your ADHD."

His mouth forms an 'O' shape. He hums and nods, things making sense all of a sudden. It's not like he's forgotten about having ADHD - he has to take medicine for it, so it doesn't ever really leave his mind - it's just that it hasn't been such a big deal since his senior year of high school when his parents were finally brought to the realization that their hyperactive son has ADHD. His grades sky rocketed that final year, he was actually on time for school, and his impulses died down. Of course nothing was perfect; even with the meds Richie still struggles. It's become a normal thing in his life within the past few years.

Stan chuckles. "Dude, you're screwed," he says, fixing a few crooked napkins on table.

Richie makes a face. "Tell me about it," he mumbles, eyes watching Stan as he scrunches up his nose when unable to get the napkins just right. Richie grabs them and sets the napkins in his lap, away from Stan's sight. "Speaking of disabilities," he starts, "How's the OCD thing?"

Stan looks slightly annoyed that Richie took the napkins, but the look is gone within seconds. He shrugs and leans back in the chair, but still somehow sitting up straight. "Good, actually. Obviously a few things still bother me, but the meds help. Have since middle school, you know that."

"Just makin' sure, Stan," Richie says, smiling softly. "You're my best friend."

"Oh, don't get all sappy now, bitch!" Stan exclaims, grinning wide.

Richie laughs and says sorry repeatedly for a few seconds. After that, silence falls over them, and Richie finishes the muffin while Stanley finishes his drink. Richie swipes the crumbs onto the floor and sets the napkins back on the table as neatly as he can, and doesn't take them away when Stan reaches over to fix them again, this time satisfied with the outcome. Richie looks around as Stan pulls out his phone to check the time, noticing that it's getting even busier than when he first came in. He's about to ask if Stan needs to get back to work when his eyes land on a guy in a blue polo shirt, and jeans that outlines his ass perfectly. It's unfortunate that Richie can't see the guy's face because there's no doubt in his mind that the guy's face looks as stunning. But Richie can see that he was brunet, the hair styled nicely out of his face; and the guy is tan, and only a few or so inches taller than the blonde girl beside him.

Stan looks up then and to Richie, who's head is tilted at a ninety-degree angle to get a better look. Stan turns around, quickly noticing the boy in the blue polo but also noticing the blonde. She's positively stunning; the hair is in a loose braid, and Stan can see the blue her eyes from where he's sitting. The nice shirt she has on brought out the blue color, and the skinny jeans hugged her legs nicely. Stan forces himself to move his eyes back to her face and a dopey smile forms on his lips as he watches her laugh at something her friend says.

"I think I just fell in love."

"Look at that ass."

Both nineteen year olds still and quickly move to look at one another.

"How are we friends?" Stan asks, brows close together.

"Beats me," Richie says. He goes back to look, but sits up straight. "Where'd they go?" The question causes Stan to turn back around again. They have to look completely weird as they search around the café and grill for brunet boy and blonde girl. With their luck, they don't spot either of them, and it confuses the two best friends, wondering how the hell either of the two people they were staring at disappeared so quickly. "His ass was too perfect, it has to be a hallucination."

Stan rolls his eyes. "That's bullshit!" He pauses and looks at Richie once again. "You gotta stop checking out random people's asses."

"Like you weren't checking out his friend!"

"I was captivated by her beauty, there's a difference, Richard!"

"No-."

"Uris! Back to work! We're getting too busy," the manager calls from a bit away from them.

"Be there in a sec!" He then turns to Richie as he stands. "See you at the game night, Rich."

Richie smiles and stands as well. "Text me if you see the girl again."

"...For why?"

"So I can rush over and embarrass you."

"I hate you."

They then say a quick goodbye, and Stan is heading back to work while Richie grabs their trash and throws it away before leaving, doing one more look over everyone inside just to make sure they didn't over look the two earlier. He shrugs away the disappoint when he doesn't spot them, and leaves, texting his dorm mate if he wants to do a Forensic Files marathon later.

+++

"Y'know, sex is cool - I love it, personally - but that cinnamon muffin might just come back up."

Richie, he realizes, should have known something was up when Mike Hanlon, his dorm mate, never responded. During the Lyft ride back to the university, he just assumed Mike was neck deep in studying for one of his classes. And, technically, he had been studying, Richie guesses; it just wasn't for school.

Mike Hanlon smiles awkwardly and side glances at the boy in bed with him. The two covered waist down thanks to the bed sheet; Richie doesn't know what he would have done if everything had been out for all to see. "Sorry, man, we thought you'd be out longer," Mike explained.

He shrugs. "I mean, I'm not mad, no need for a sorry in that regard," Richie explains, eyes landing on Bill Denbrough. The auburn haired student looks awkward as ever and they both know why. They were friends for a short time in middle school because Bill dated Beverly for a few short months. It didn't last long and the break up was mutual. Nothing had been exactly awkward between everyone until high school when Bill drifted off to become one of the more popular kids after joining the baseball team. It caused a sort of rift between Bill and Richie, where as Stan and Beverly, as hurt as they were, just moved along. The last time the two boys talked had been at graduation when they accidentally ran into one another. Now, almost two years later, Richie is walking in on his former friend and current dorm mate fucking. Things are definitely awkward. "Bill," Richie says, putting on a smile that lacked any emotion.

Bill shifts awkwardly, lifting a hand for a second. "R-Richie."

Mike looks between the two with a frown. "Do... Do you two know each other?" He asks slowly, uncertain whether or not he can ask.

"Yeah, we d-d-do," Bill answers.

"Big Bill here dated my best friend, Bev, in middle school," Richie explains. "They broke up quick, and Bill stayed our friend for a bit. Then he fucked off in freshman year to be with the popular kids, leaving his only friends behind, not bothering to stand up for any of us the following years when his so-called new friends picked on us." Richie doesn't mean for it to come out: bitter filled. He doesn't even realize that he's still mad at Bill for what he did until the words leave his mouth.

Bill frowns. "Richie," he starts but doesn't continue, unsure of what to say.

Richie waves a hand and backs up. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Don't care at the moment," he says. Then, he's walking out to let them have a bit more privacy to get dressed.

Just a couple minutes later, Bill is walking out. Thankfully, the guy is dressed. The only indication that he had been messing around with Mike is sec hair and a hickey right under his jaw. He stops and looks at Richie who is leaning against the wall opposite of the dorm’s door. “Have a g-good night, Rich.”

Richie grunts and pushed himself off of the wall. “Ditto, I guess,” he says. He walks bun Bill and into his room, and shuts the door. He looks to Mike who is sitting on his bed with sweatpants and socks, no shirt. “Genuinely sorry for stopping your good time, Mike.”

Mike shrugs. “It’s fine. Look, if I knew you and Bill-.”

“Dude, You can fuck him or date him or whatever with him, I don’t care,” Richie interrupts as he jumps on his bed, laying on his stomach. He turns his head to look at Mike. “It’s your life. Didn’t even realize I was still mad at him until now, and we’re just dorm mates.”

“Yeah, but it’ll still be awkward.”

“Not if you make it awkward. I mean, other than that shit he pulled in high school, he’s a decent guy. Have your fun with him, Mike ‘n’ Ike. So, what, are you dating? Just hook ups? Give me the details, lover boy!”

Mike laughs and shakes his head. “Just hook ups from time to time. But we are friends, so we hang out too – mostly with his other friends, or guys from the baseball or football teams.”

“Oooh, friends with benefits! Life imitating art!”

“So what about you? Any cute girls or guys?” Mike asks as he gets off the bed. He grabs his phone from the floor and checks his messages as he walks to his closet, pulling out a pack of beer. He gets one for himself and one for Richie, handing it to him after opening both.

Richie sits up, criss cross apple sauce, and takes a sip. “Nope,” he sighs. Then he perks up. “But there was this cute dude at Stan’s – you know Stan, right, he stopped by a few weeks ago when we were watching Snapped-.”

“Yes, I know Stan,” Mike chuckles.

“Right. Yeah. Okay, so I was at Stan’s work earlier after leaving mine. He was on break so we sat for a bit and talked when all of a sudden my eyes land on the cutest ass in the world. On the short side. Brunet. Wish I could say something about his face but his back was to me, but I can’t complain too much. Stan saw too, but was focused on the girl Cute Ass was talkin’ to; said he fell in love or whatever. Then they, like, disappeared into the growing crowd.” Richie gives a disappointed look and takes a sip of the beer.

Mike winces sympathetically. “Nothing more disappointing than a cutie getting away.”

“There’s also this guy at my work who’s in the file room but I dunno his name, or what he looks like, so I can’t say much about him, but I want to meet him just so I can see if he’s as cute in person as he is in my mind.”

A laugh tumbles out of Mike. “You need to get laid, man. Or – fall in love.” He waggles his eyebrows, laughing more at Richie’s reaction.

Richie makes a face. “The day I fall in love is the day pigs fly.”

It isn’t that Richie is opposed to falling in love – the more time he’s around his engaged friends, the more he wants that for himself. Rather, it’s just that he’s a bit scared to, if he’s being completely honest. He doesn’t want his heart to get shattered into a million pieces like it did in sophomore year. Actually, it more like a hundred pieces, because he wasn’t completely in love back then, but he did get a taste of it, and it was wonderful until everything came crashing down. Since then he’s relied on a few months long relationships and hook ups from time to time, not getting too emotionally attached to any of them.

The rest of the night is filled with the two boys neglecting school work that was slowly starting to pile up as they watch a true crime show, sipping on their beers and talking every once in a while. They drop the topics of relationships and love, and move on to ones about the crazy murders, episode after episode, until one in the morning when they went to bed.

Only, an hour later, Richie sits up in the dark. “Wait, Bill doesn’t even go here!”

Mike groans. “How d’you ‘ven know tha’,” he slurs out the question, his mind too plagued with sleep to utter the words correctly.

“Snapchat. The Uni across town’s. He’s been on there multiple times. Holy shit, this is like some Romeo and Juliet shit, our schools are rivals!”

“Stan goes there.”

“Yeah but that’s different. We’ve been friends since childhood. You didn’t go to our high school either, so-.”

“Go t’sleep, Richard.”

Richie lays back down, muttering a few ‘okay’s to appease Mike. Then, “...I ship it.”

#reddie #it #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #my writing #*#this fast updating won't stay so enjoy while u can #it (2017)#it chapter two

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franeridart · 7 years

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are you going to draw more of that lovely erasermic? :o

Unless I find reasons to stop shipping them in the near future, then sure~ as I said, I really like that ship

Anon said:i love it when you draw chris and josh, you should do it more!! Your oc's are great!!

THANK YOU! I’m really really happy to hear you like them! I draw them just as much as I wish to, tho haha

Anon said:THANK YOU FOR BLESSING US WITH MORE CHRIS!!

Anon said:Honestly I love your ocs so much! I like seeing your fanart because you really flesh out characters we don't get enough development of, but I really love seeing your ocs. I can tell you love them and enjoy drawing them just by looking at it, and that makes me love them even more! You're a wonderful artist!

SOB thank you!!!!! holy heck!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ;O; I can’t believe how much love my kids get hahaha I’m so so grateful aaahhhh!!!!

Anon said:Okay, so I was just going to tell you how great your comic is (and it is), but I just read your last ask to that anon, and I'm sorry, but deku didn't do nothing to gain his quirk? Like, what? He risked his life and almost killed himself trying to say his exfriend/then bully? That isn't just "being nice"? He didn't know all Might would save him? He risked his life even though he was powerless just to help another person? He earned the quirk, all Might said so in the second episode, like, what?

Since you don’t seem to want a polite and civil exchange of opinions on this, and are actually being incredibly rude here (whether you meant for it or not, I don’t know) I hope you won’t mind me keeping this as short as I can. All Might worked in the beginning of the bnha manga as a textbook definition of a deus ex machina, came around, solved an otherwise unsolvable plot point out of the blue bending the laws that had just been established for that universe, and Deku literally (literally) didn’t have to go through any conscious trial, soul-search or any other self-aware journey with the intention of fixing his own problem. All he did was to be heroic and to be quirkless, which for him are circumstances since those are innate traits of his character. And the only singular thing he has is that he’s quirkless, his heroic personality is shared by all of UA (Mina acted in the exact same way in Kirishima’s backstory as he did to save Bakugou, didn’t get any cool op powers out of it)

All Might was supposed to give OfA to Mirio, the literal most heroic character in bnha, a boy who had been working his ass off to become a proper hero since he was a child, but instead he found a quirkless kid and decided that he deserved a chance to become a hero too. I’m not saying that’s not true, or that Deku didn’t deserve it. I’m saying that he didn’t actively or consciously do anything to gain that power. He simply acted in a way true to his self, and that was it.

I’m gonna have to make present to you that the next time I get an ask with that tone in my inbox I’m blocking you without answering. I’m not here to be called an idiot by the first random stranger I find online, if you want a conversation with me all I’m asking is for you to be polite, that’s not too much at all in my opinion.

Anon said:Your last BakuShima comic was so cute!!! AAAAA!! 💖

Thank you!!! I’m super happy you liked it!!!!!! :O

Anon said:I love you. So much right now. Can I give you a virtual hug because I swear

I dunno what I did to deserve this but SURE *holds u back*

Anon said:do you think you'd ever sell any minajirou merch? (maybe like the one with the flower background) because if you do i would buy 20 (not literally but,, i think you get the point) Sorry if this sounds annoying or anything! im just curious

Not annoying at all!!! If I remember right the one I posted was a bit small tho, I’ll have to see if I can work with the size in a way that would fit the default redbubble dimensions... if I can’t I’ll be sure to make the next one big enough to fit, tho!!!! And thank you for wanting to buy my stuff!!!!! :O

Anon said:I'M NOT THAT ANON BUT I CAN HELP W MOMOJIROUS & yes we totally agree they're fuckin gay and canon there's no doubts here. SO anyway I at least see them liking in each other exactly what you said- they have what the other lacks (or thinks they do), and still find the other to understand them and be interested in them in every sense of the word, also tol and beauty and smol and cute are def the first thoughts about each other, damn maybe I should have thought about word limit I need more space

Awwww anon I thank you for trying to explain to me why they work!!! But that’s not the problem I have with it at all haha I understand the ship on a superficial level perfectly, that’s why I ship it! I just can’t seem to find myself in the relationship anywhere, so empathizing with it comes harder than it does when it’s MinaJirou haha

Anon said:you draw kirishima's eyes so pretty I can't look away from them

THANK YOU Kirishima’s eyes are super pretty in canon, I’m so so happy I can portray that in my style well enough!!!!! :O

Anon said:Ok, sorry for going through ur hq!! tag sjeow, oh gosh I love ur art and ur art style and I love the way I draw the boys !!!! Aaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!! Thank u for blessing my night!!!! I hope something makes ur day the way going through ur art *cough* again *cough* made my day!!! (Also a question: what's ur second fave ship from hq!! after bokuroo?? )

MATSUHANA :O and thank you so so so so much for liking my stuff!!!!!!! I hope you’re having a great day today too, anon!!!

Anon said:I love you Fran, but I completely disagree with what you told the last anon about the idea behind bnha. You had me with the positivity concept, and I would also love it if eri could fix mirio and nighteye, but the rest of that was just so far off to me; and probably for many other fans in this community. Like, first, a story does not have to be the level of snk or dgray man to have bad things happen. That is how all story telling has been since the beginning of time.

A good narrative story is never straight sunshine and happiness throughout, even if it doesn't involve death. People don't just enjoy the bad things that happen in a story because it's realistic or because it's sad, they enjoy it because that is how a story and it's characters grow. They make mistakes and learn from them; these moments help the characters change and pushes them forward through every new obstacle.

It helps drive them and gives their stories/actions/ideals meaning and gives the audience a reason to care. And that is where I wonder if we are even reading the same story, because this concept is shown throughout the entirety of bnha. It is no where near the "positive-to-a-naive-point" you seem to believe it is. The story starts off with a weak, defenseless deku being beaten by his once best friend?

Like, I really don't want to sound condescending, but I don't understand how you could come to this conclusion. Bakugou has an inferiority complex from hell and suffers constantly from his own inner turmoil, todoroki has an an abusive father with a horrid childhood, iida's brother/idol was paralyzed and almost killed, shigaraki unknowingly killed his parents as a child, toshinori may still be alive, but all might (the hero) is gone to the world forever,

eri was used and experimented on HER ENTIRE LIFE, believing she was a disease to the world and could only cause suffering. I could go on for pages about the suffering these characters have ALREADY gone through- but that is okay, because the story is better for it. Because we as an audience wouldn't have cared nearly as much for deku's gain of one-for-all, if it wasn't for the trials and turmoil he faced his whole life living as a quirkless child;

Bnha is a positive story, but it does not rely solely on positivity to get by. It is a story about determination; to push back against adversity, to go on even in the face of the unknown or impossible; even if fate itself is against you. It's about climbing your mountains and beyond that, dare I say, beyond plus ultra. It's is not trying to adhere to its genre, it's is trying to be everything the genre could be and more, and as succeeded thus far.

Which is why I can understand the disappointment from the last anon, because solving everything through friendship and "hand holding" has become a norm in this genre specifically- and bnha is anything but quick and easy ways out.

Sorry if this is long, and I really hope you don't take this as an attack against you or your opinion. If that is all bnha is to you, and if that is how you perceive the show, who am I to say you are wrong. But I hope you understand what I have said at least, because you still are a huge inspiration to me as an artist and in this community. Hope the rest of your day goes alright.

Alright, first off, if you don’t want to come off as condescending try and maybe don’t be condescending. I’m nearly sure you didn’t do this consciously, considering how you ended the rant, but going “are we even reading the same story” when you supposedly want a civil exchange of opinions is the worst thing you could do ever. You pretty much said “I don’t wanna disregard your opinion but here is a list of reason why you’re wrong and I’m right”, please next time you mean to keep it civil try and avoid that, because that sounds just as bad as you’d assume.

Second, I thank you for the recap of all the tragic backstories bnha gave us, but my answer was about conclusions to arcs, not beginnings. I literally never once said that bnha is a happy-go-lucky story from start to end, I only said it made an habit of reaching for the best possible conclusion it could ever go for by the end of every arc up until now.

“The story starts off with a weak, defenseless deku being beaten by his once best friend”, sure (aside from the “once best friend”, Deku and Bakugou were never friends to begin with, please do reread the second Kacchan vs Deku for Bakugou’s view on their relationship) that’s how the story starts, and it ends with Deku with the strongest quirk on the planet, mentored by his childhood hero, with a civil and friendly rivalry with his childhood bully, on his way to become the number one hero, happy and loved and respected. “”Bakugou has an inferiority complex from hell and suffers constantly from his own inner turmoil” again, sure, and he could have given in to it and become a villain or let his terrible personality just become worse and worse, every single bad thing happened to him could have made him closer to a bad guy or given him good reasons to go against the heroes, and instead he’s working to become better, is loved and cherished, has friends that will build him up and care for him and risk their lives for him, and is actually in a way healthier place than he was in the beginning. “Todoroki has an an abusive father with a horrid childhood” SURE and now he’s got his mother back, he’s learnt to be the bigger person and put distance between himself and his father to instead use him to reach his own goals, is happy and has friends and, again, he’s supported and loved and is in a way happier place than he was in the beginning. “Toshinori may still be alive, but all might (the hero) is gone to the world forever” yes, and in any other manga the reveal would have brought a whole damn lot of drama and people calling him a fraud and turning against him, but instead that scene is the most heartwarming one in the whole manga, the whole world supporting and loving him and yelling his name to cheer him on

I could go on, but I think I made it pretty clear? Every single arc, be it a character arc or a story arc, starts tragic to end up with the most positive outcome you can have for it. There isn’t one arc that has had a tragic conclusion yet. So is it really that weird for me to think it’s believable and not surprising at all that Eri’s story, for however tragic it might have started as, could also have a happy ending? That this manga never tried to present itself as one in which things can and will turn out for the worse?

I’m not even sure exactly what your incredibly long ask was about, man. What were you trying to prove to me? Which part of the answer I gave were you trying to disprove? You just went on about how sad everyone was at the beginning of the manga as if that proved somehow that Horikoshi isn’t actively working to give everyone the happiest future they could have.

A recap of my answer is: “I personally don’t mind Eri having a fix-it quirk because it fits well in Nighteye’s plot and falls perfectly in line with how every other arc has turned out for the best up until now”

And you came at me with an eight asks long rant that can be summed up in “you’re wrong because people in the beginning of the story were sad”

Listen. I’m always open to conversations about different opinions and takes on a story. But, again, I’m gonna need you to be polite about it and open to an equal exchange. Simply going at the end “I hope you won’t feel attacked” and “have a nice day” isn’t enough if for the rest of the rant you talked to me as if you were assuming I’m an idiot. And I’m actually gonna need you to properly read my answers before trying to follow up with them, next time. Please. I don’t have the time to rephrase my answers sixty times just because people keep answering without actually reading them.

#fran answers #i'm sorry about the tone of a couple of the answers i gave in this #being talked down on is one of the things that make it harder for me to remember im trying to be as polite as i can get #but well #that's the last time anyway #this is an art blog after all #i didn't make it to have this sort of arguments #we'll just stick to the doodles from now on shall we (=u=)#anonymous

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vermiculated · 7 years

Text

books 2017 finale

this is almost brief.

december: The Lying Game - Ruth Ware Every Heart A Doorway - Seanan McGuire Saving Morgan - MB Panichi Call Me By Your Name - Andre Aciman City of Fallen Angels - Cassandra Clare City of Lost Souls - Cassandra Clare (see below) Barry Lyndon - William Thackeray Into Thin Air - John Krakauer

that was the brief part, this is the ‘almost’ part. 279 for the year, up from 188 last year.

Why Did I Ever - Mary Robison fiction, re-read, it is a delight always.

Binti - Nnedi Okorafor fiction, I read a couple of other interesting explorations of "what does it mean when I am more like the monster than the hero?" which is pretty astoundingly generative as a genre, this was my fave. Binti herself explores two alien cultures, and reacts in practical ways to the unexpected, which is always a delight in a heroine. Space is strange; let us not dwell on realism, it's a different real. This willingness to abandon what does not work is characteristic of young women. Young women are great sff protagonists, and young women of historically-disadvantaged backgrounds who are incontestably heroic are the greatest sff protagonists of all.

The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage - Sydney Padua art, complex and excitingly rich alternative history, which not only explains computing history but also, at the last page, yanks at the heart of anyone who has ever yearned. The art is propulsive and antic, and the visual puns are very good. (not to be missed: the encounter with Queen Victoria!) Even I, a person who is bad at reading graphic novels, loitered over the drawings to understand them rather than reading the words and flipping the page.

IQ - Joe Ide fiction, what Sherlock Holmes would actually be like in a modern novel. A loner in a big important city who feels that he has much to make up for, check the convincing depiction of depression, and the real nightmares who actually do fall short in the world's estimation, except that the world is too busy to notice them at all. The main thread is a fun romp, and the minor characters are so exquisite that it is almost a picaresque. I was talking about this loudly on a train, and when I and it stopped, a man came up to me and asked if I could give him the title again as he wanted to buy it. TRUE.

Hild - Nicola Griffith fiction, on the recommendation of @inclineto This is what historical fiction should be like: it's not that this was somehow better than everything else, it was merely relevatory. Historical fiction can be about religion, power, families, war and how to card wool. (You don't have to pick if you are an inside or outside person! Girls, you can be both Thayet and Buri!) The protagonist can be cheerfully bisexual, too. It's as though all of the novels we have determinedly pretended were about gals being in love with other gals came true, and also the heroine gutted bad guys and was eventually canonized.

Everything is Teeth - Evie Wyld and Joe Sumner art, teeth were a big theme this year (as ever) and this is the one where a) no one talks about the shameful inequalities in provision of dental care to children in the United States and b) no one fucks a fish. just letting the distinguished reader know that I have a selection process for what I read, I can see how that might not be clear. I would be delighted to talk about a) and b) mentioned here, or anything else I read this year.

Water Dogs - Lewis Robinson fiction, re-read, always always. the person who loves novels about well-off and unusual families falling apart in opulent squalor either literal or metaphoric and maybe murder? that person is tuv. Inexplicably, no part of this was ever published in The New Yorker.

Margaret the First - Danielle Dutton fiction, on the recommendation of @elanormcinerney The subgenre of “garrulous historical person in his or her own words" is becoming something of a crowded field (Ruth Scurr's book on/with John Aubrey is the other best entrant, there are others) and the artistry involved in this example is particularly fulfilling. This is smart and I remembered all the stuff about science and poetry that Arts & Letters Daily is always trying to teach me. That's why to read women, among other reasons. The smarts.

Blood in the Water - Heather Ann Thompson non-fiction, persistent mismanagement, gross racism, and inadequate communication turn out not to be the way to run an organization. This is really a masterpiece of microhistory, about the Attica Prison Uprising, and the ways in which people in power blind themselves to consequences of their actions, while the people who suffer the consequences of those actions suffer and continue to suffer.

See Under: Love - David Grossman trans Betsy Rosenberg fiction, goes well with the Quay Brothers' "Street of Crocodiles," while we are talking about Bruno Schulz. I read parts of it in my head to the neighbors' dog. the dog understood. my voice would have shredded with sadness if I had spoken. thanks, Astro, for being there.

Sarong Party Girls - Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan fiction, this is the novel that Kevin Kwan isn't tough enough to have written. It's about how grown-ups deal with the consequences of their actions, and also about drinking with pals. A person can be both of those things, and Jazzy is that, and more.

Emotionally Weird - Kate Atkinson fiction, a strong taste for the picaresque, and a crystalline capture of youthful aimlessness and disorder even as it is being shaped by larger forces. Effie wanders through words and life, and I had a wonderful time with this one summer afternoon. No one else appears to have much liked this book, other people are wrong, it's funny. It is profoundly show-offy and unrelateable to play parlor games in the car, say book reviewers with terrible personalities -- sounds like someone lost a game of fives recently. (I’m very good at the game of fives, and I did not quite feel personally criticized when this book was unpopular, if only because I have my expertise at ‘name five mountaineers who did not climb Mount Everest’ to console me.)

A Line Made By Walking - Sara Baume fiction, I just really love books about depressed women acting as they see fit.

Chemistry - Weike Wang fiction, I just really love books about depressed women acting as they see fit.

The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue - Mackenzi Lee fiction, recommended by @mysharkwillgoon see "Hild" above, books are just better when the main character solves problems and kisses everyone. This is how historical romances should be, this is what we have all received for those years of crossing our fingers under the cover of a Heyer and hoping 'maybe he'll love his best friend! maybe she'll tell her cousin what she really thinks!" and they DO. and then they escape from pirates, “The Monk,” and robbers.

Raven Rock - Garrett Graff non-fiction, read this first and then think about how we all got from there to a study of underground bunkers and the places where some of us were going to go when the rest of us died. Offutt AFB is along the way, which only served to remind me that I have family in Nebraska and I live in fear of the day when one of them does some casual genealogy and we have to talk; "so. your state. big in the planning for our forthcoming and yet reucrring nuclear crisis, howdoes that feel? feels powerful and also sickening, yeah? anyway, your great-aunt's ashes aren't scattered in the Lincoln Tunnel, but we thought about it."

The Art of Charlie Chan Hock Chye - Sonny Liew art, here is what we are up against. The theme this year appears to have been "weeping at what could have been." This is a first rate textbook, and a cunning subversion of the whole notion of textbooks. I learned a great deal from this; had I learned nothing, my eye would still have wandered along, marvelling at the layout. There are several overlapping stories about narrative, success, and Singaporean history, yet the metatextuality (horrible word, apologies) is never confrontational. Which is truly a pleasure.

The Story of a Brief Marriage - Anuk Arudpragasam fiction, this is the book I've been telling everyone about as my fave book on the year. Only the most literary of adjectives will suffice: brutal, lyrical, lambent, noctilucent, I'm just typing words.

The Unwomanly Face of War - Sveltana Alexievich trans Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky non-fiction, more incisive than more recent collections, and in a shimmering translation. Pevear and Volokhonsky have tossed words out like diamonds on black velvet. The rare wartime history that is more appealing without a map.

City of Lost Souls - Cassandra Clare oh give me a fucking break, Jonathan nee Sebastian brainwashed Jace nee whatever while they were in the magical flying Gormenghast pied a terre, they absolutely schtupped.

#books 2017

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