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wandas-sunshine · 4 years

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Strike Three

Summary: Everybody makes mistakes. Your first mistake was telling your family that you were seeing someone when you were just as single as ever. Your second mistake was asking Pietro to fake a relationship to keep your family off your back. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a mistake.

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3,826

You didn’t have the best track record with relationships, you knew that. Even if you didn’t know, your family would have made damn sure to inform you. You knew they only fussed so much because they loved you, because they wanted the best for you. But they were such a headache sometimes.

You were going bonkers now. Your mother was becoming overbearing with her insistence that you needed to hurry up and settle down, and your sister was positive that she could handle the whole thing for you. She herself was engaged, so your mom agreed that she probably knew how to steer you back down the proper path.

And maybe it was the exhaustion of hearing them try to arrange a good relationship for you, or maybe the panic of listening to your sister talk about her new coworker (who was a very impressive man, don’t you know?), but for some reason, you went and said something so painfully stupid.

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

That was nearly a month ago, and your entire family was pestering you for more information. You felt bad avoiding their calls, but you were bluffing and you had barely gotten out of that conversation alive. Your sister was bringing her fiance to Christmas, so of course that meant you were expected to bring someone as well.

Avoiding conversations about your nonexistent boyfriend was growing difficult. You’d been holding out hope that you would find someone by the time the holidays rolled around, but no luck. A real boyfriend would have been ideal, but your frantic attempts at finding someone to play the part also yielded no success.

You had of course contemplated faking a breakup, but that would only further their idea that you couldn’t handle your own love life. You had dug a hole that you just couldn’t climb out of.

So with one week to your family’s Christmas gathering, you were sitting on your best friend’s bed with your head in your hands.

“I am so royally screwed, Wanda. Stevie is going to force me to go out with some accountant or one of Adam’s firefighter friends, and my mom’s gonna make me marry him. Then what?” You wailed. She laughed, finally looking up from her phone.

“Who’s dating an accountant?” Pietro’s voice made your complaints die on your tongue. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. With him standing there having heard about your pathetic predicament, you couldn’t help the embarrassment that coursed through your veins.

“(Y/N) apparently. If they don’t find a date to Christmas with their family.” Wanda answered him. You groaned again. “They told everyone that they have a boyfriend, and now they have nobody to show.”

“I’ll do it.” He offered so nonchalantly that it took a second to process. Then you’d sat up so fast that you got dizzy.

“For real? You’ll do it?” You clasped your hands together in a silent plea, and Pietro shrugged.

“Why not. Text me the details,” He left you shouting your appreciation after him as he made his way back to his own bedroom.

A week passed by, and you had confirmed your plus one. You kept the information you shared minimal, just giving his name and saying that you hadn’t wanted to say anything until you were sure he’d be able to come. You were nervous about the whole thing, a whole list of things that could go wrong playing on an endless loop in your head as you tapped against your steering wheel.

A few moments passed before he finally came out with his suitcase in hand. Three nights at your parents home with your sister, and your friend who you’d somehow coerced into pretending to date you seemed like a nightmare. But Pietro’s presence was calming. He sat his bag in the back and settled into the passenger seat. He had the brightest smile on his face.

He buckled in and sorted out the music as you started on the drive back to your childhood home. The quiet between the two of you lasted a while before he broke it.

“So what’s our story, cupcake?” He smirked and turned the music down, looking over as you spared him a confused glance.

“Our story?”

“Yeah, you know. How we met, how we got together. The story we’re gonna tell our kids one day.” Your stomach flipped. What were you getting yourself into?

“Um, I guess we met through Wanda,” You started, keeping your eyes on the road and gripping the steering wheel tightly so you didn’t have to focus on how strange the whole conversation felt.

“And I saved you from some drunk creep at a party,” He started. “I took you to iHop-”

“And we’ve been together ever since!” You finished with a laugh. It was mostly true, everything he mentioned had happened, just not exactly like that. It made you feel a little better knowing that you weren’t lying to your family, just...rearranging the truth.

“See, baby, we’re gonna be just fine,” The sound of the pet name flustered you much more than you were willing to admit. You rolled your eyes and cleared your throat.

“Okay. But if we’re gonna make it, there’s gotta be rules.” You warned him. He motioned for you to go on. “Rule number 1; No saying I Love You. Rule Number 2; No kissing. Not under any circumstances. And Rule Number 3; No catching feelings.”

“Easy peasy,” He chuckled. He didn’t understand why you were so paranoid. There was no way he was going to let them set you up with one of their awful picks for you. No, you deserved better than that. So he’d follow your rules, and he’d save the day if it killed him.

The rest of the drive consisted of him playing music, and the two of you joking around like nothing was any different than it had been from the beginning. But you couldn’t ignore the way your heart stuttered when he’d jokingly call you by those stupid affectionate names, or the way your cheeks burned under his attention. The tension and worry lingered, thinly veiled by his stupid knock knock hokes and classic rock.

It was mid afternoon by the time you pulled into your parents driveway. You were helping Pietro unload the boatload of presents you’d brought along for your family when your older sister came racing out of the house. She squealed and bundled you up into a tight hug like you hadn’t seen each other in years.

“You brought a boy,” She noted as she stepped back, hugging herself against the cold. You bit your lip and nodded a little.

“Stevie, this is Pietro. Pietro, my big sister Stevie.” You stepped back and glanced at Pietro. He had the most dazzling smile on his lips, one that made your stomach flutter. And Stevie certainly seemed charmed enough.

“So you really do have a boyfriend. I was beginning to think he was fake,” She teased. You and Pietro shared a look and he seemed to be barely stifling his laughter. You glared, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut. “They barely told us anything about you. I can see why they were keeping you a secret, if I didn’t have Adam I’d be stealing you away.”

“Well, good thing we’re here for a couple of days. You guys can get to know everything about each other. But can we pretty please get this stuff inside before it gets nasty out here?” You begged, readjusting the armful of gifts you’d grabbed. Pietro huffed and took them easily.

“I can get them, don’t worry.” He insisted. You hesitated a little but he was already following your sister inside. So you grabbed your bag from the back and closed the car up to join them inside.

Once you walked in, you were met by the smell of baked goods wafting out the door. You kicked your shoes off and set your bag down by the stairs. Your family had already stolen your boyfriend- fake boyfriend- by the time you slipped into the kitchen.

“Your favorite kid just got home, but all you care about is the new boyfriend, huh?” You teased, sliding up to hug your dad, then your mom. Pietro sort of liked the way it sounded when you said that. Boyfriend. He knew he wasn’t really the boyfriend, but it was a nice thought.

“You didn’t tell us he was so handsome,” Your mom chided, giving your shoulders a squeeze. Your face flared hot and you glanced at Pietro.

“Don’t worry about me. Your family is great, they’re already trying to feed me.” He smirked. Truthfully he seemed oddly comfortable in the role, but you were glad he wasn’t freaking out. Of course for the sake of not having to date someone with a stick up their ass. But the fact that he was giving you his usual laid-back grin didn’t hurt.

“Why don’t you two go up to your room and get settled in. Dinner will be done soon. (Y/N), your old room is all set up for you two.” Your mom cooed, turning back to the food she was working on. You glanced towards the stairs.

“He’s sleeping in my room? With me?” You asked, glancing between faces. You were used to sharing a room with your sister on the holidays and whatever guys you brought along were usually put into her old room. You supposed that changed now that she was properly engaged.

“Well duh. Adam’s sleeping in my room when he gets here.” Stevie answered. You gave a tiny nod. Made sense. You grabbed your bags and nodded for Pietro to follow you upstairs. He gave a smile to your family and let you lead the way to your bedroom.

Once the door was shut, you groaned and leaned back against it. Once again you were asking yourself the same question. Just what had you gotten yourself into. The idea of pretending to be in love with Pietro was one thing. But now you’d be sleeping in the same probably too-small bed for three nights. That must have been crossing some sort of line. You could sleep on the floor. It was hardwood but you were pretty sure you’d survive it. Or maybe you could take turns.

“Piet, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t think they’d put us in here together.” You sighed. Pietro was too busy perusing your room to really think too much of it. There were still a few pictures decorating the back of the door of you and your family and friends. A couple band posters were left up, and there was a stack of books in the corner. “But now that Stevie and Adam are actually engaged...I’m sorry.”

“Chill, it’s no big deal.” He sat at the edge of your bed and you nodded. It was nice seeing him settle so easily into a space that used to be strictly yours. You supposed it wasn’t so bad to share it with him.

The evening passed much faster than you had expected. The worst part was dinner. Your future brother-in-law had shown up which helped to ease some of the tension. But nevertheless your family was all over Pietro. He reached over and gave your hand a squeeze as you sat down, and you knew he’d never let you down.

Throughout the meal, he complimented your mom’s cooking. He talked about his classes, and about being on the track and field team at his college. Within minutes he had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.

The most startling part was just the way he talked about you. The way he’d just look at you for so long that it would make your throat go dry, or the way he’d beam when asked about the two of you.

“I just knew when I first saw them that no one else could compare. I love them,” He’d said. And he’d looked at you like he never wanted to look away. Your stomach did somersaults and you’d focused on the mashed potatoes you were poking at.

Strike one.

Once dinner had come to a close, you and your sister worked at clearing the table. Your mom ushered the boys towards the living room to relax while the three of you worked on cleanup. You carried an armful of dishes into the kitchen, depositing them on the counter and drawing up some dish water, but not before flashing Pietro an apologetic smile. He just winked and slipped away.

You stared into the sink, watching the suds as they foamed up. Maybe asking Pietro along was a bad idea. Your dad was becoming pretty buddy-buddy with him, and your mother seemed to adore him already. Your fake breakup was probably going to be harder for them than it was for you.

“So,” Stevie set a last stack of dishes on the counter and smirked. “Pietro is really something, huh?”

You chewed on your lip, giving your full attention to the dishes you were scrubbing clean.

“He’s sweet. And he seems pretty in love with you,” Your mom added. And just like that your heart was leaping back into your throat. Who knew Pietro Maximoff was such a good actor? And who knew you cared so much?

“Yeah, he’s pretty great isn’t he?” You smiled, a sick sort of despair clogging in your chest. “Too good to be true,”

With the three of you working together, the cleaning went by in a jiffy. Soon enough you were settling in the living room with the others. You sat on the couch beside Pietro as they all continued their discussion.

You tried not to tense up as he pulled you closer by your waist without so much as a glance. You slowly relaxed and snuggled even closer. Your head rested against his chest like it was meant to be there, and your arm found its way around him. He was warm, that was all, and he smelled nice...You were selling it, nothing more. Just selling it, even as his fingers moved to play with your hair.

“It’s getting late. You four had a long day, we should all get some rest.” Your dad decided. And with the way you were half asleep in Pietro’s arms, you couldn’t argue.

He carefully maneuvered you off of him so he could stand up. You weren’t sure when the two of you had started holding hands, but yours was clutched firmly in his, fingers intertwined as he pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon baby, you’re sleepy.” He mumbled. You nodded and said your goodnights to everyone before letting him lead you up the stairs. You slipped into your room and dug through your bag for your sleep clothes. Once you’d pulled them out you glanced up at Pietro. He chuckled and turned his back.

Once the both of you had changed, you laid yourself down, watching and waiting for Pietro to join you. The silence as he climbed into the bed was heavy, both of you deep in your thoughts and being exceptionally careful not to cross any lines or take up too much space. You were hyper aware of every breath you took, and of every miniscule brush of skin.

You did not have feelings for him. Sure he was handsome, and considerate. Not to mention how funny he was, and the way he fit in with your family better than anyone else you’d brought home. But it was cliche. He was your best friend’s brother. He was Pietro for fucks sake. Falling for him just wasn’t in the cards.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, or moving a muscle all night, but you woke up in a mess of tangled limbs. He’d slung his arm around your waist and nestled into your chest, and you had flipped your leg over his. He was warm, and you could feel his breath tickling against your neck. That alone had your heart rate flying through the roof.

You were careful not to wake him as you slipped out of bed. He shifted and you froze until you were sure he’d fallen back into his deep slumber. You took a moment, just admiring him all sweet and conked out, his hair a mess and a tiny bit of drool slipping past his lips. Gross. But adorable.

You got ready for the rest of the day and slipped downstairs to find your mom and sister back in the kitchen working on a breakfast spread. You leaned against the door. You could hear Adam and your dad chatting from the living room.

“Want a hand?” You asked. Your mom smiled at you.

“We didn’t want to bother you guys. Where’s the other lovebird?”

You rolled your eyes, but it was too late to hide your smile.

“Still sleeping. I thought I’d let him catch a little extra shut eye.” You explained, moving to help set the table while they cooked. Nobody said much after that, just talking about all of the family gossip you’d missed out on while you were away.

Meanwhile, your mind was drifting to all the ways you could make this up to Pietro. You didn’t have the opportunity to think much on it as he came down the stairs.

He was still tired, you could tell. But his hair was wet from a shower, and he’d changed into a charmingly ugly sweater that clashed with his usual vibes. It was endearing, you couldn’t deny that. He moved to stand by you, arm wrapping around your waist and his hand landing on your hip.

“Good morning to you too, sleepyhead.” You teased. He laughed quietly, but then he pouted.

“You left me.” You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You just looked so peaceful. Plus I wasn’t ready to deal with you yet.” You dodged away from him as he tried to grab at you, giggling and stealing away into the kitchen again to grab the platter of pancakes. Your mom and Stevie shared a knowing look that you disregarded.

Breakfast, much like dinner, had gone without a hitch. The two of you bantered the way you always did. He stole a bite from your plate, and you took a drink from his cup in retaliation. As he finished eating, his hand found yours. You gave him a puzzled look, and he simply slotted his fingers in between yours.

The conversation lasted until everyone was finished. Then everyone was ushered to the living room for the gift opening. You and Pietro were still hand in hand when your mom stopped you in your tracks. You were about to question why when Pietro guided you to face him by your hips. Your hands pressed against his - rather firm - chest.

“Mistletoe,” He whispered. Your eyes flicked up, then back to his.You were suddenly very warm. You had rules, and this was seriously not fair. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Both of you were fairly willing to call that good. Stevie, however, was most certainly not.

“That’s pathetic. Give him a real one. It’s Christmas, (Y/N)!” She argued. You looked at her, then back only to find that he hadn’t looked away from you.

“Yeah, baby. It’s Christmas.” He half-teased, hoping to ease some of the building tension. You thought on it, considering shattering what was left of your rule into pieces. But before your flustered mind could come to any sort of decision, you were being kissed.

You curled your hands into the front of his sweater, and melted against his lips. They were softer than you’d expected, and the kiss was much less demanding than you had thought it would be. When you pulled away, he brushed his thumb over your jaw.

“Sorry,” He whispered. You shook your head, but you still couldn’t look him in the eye. The urge to feel his lips against yours was a little too strong, and who knew what you’d do if he kept looking at you like that. You pressed your lips together like you could forget his taste.

“Don’t be.”

Strike two.

The gift exchange was exceptionally uneventful after the mistletoe ordeal. Your mind was still wading through the fog when your mom opened the last of the gifts. You were all about to sort everything out and pack your gifts with your things when Pietro spoke.

“Oh, I almost forgot something. Stay put.” He carefully freed himself from where you’d been leaning against him and headed for the stairs. You sat patiently, sharing curious looks around the room. You hadn’t talked about presents.

He only took a moment, coming back with a small box wrapped neatly in pale blue paper. You figured that was Wanda’s doing.

“Here. I don’t know if you’ll like it but…” He passed you the gift, and you smiled at him. You stared at the little box for a long moment before you finally took off the paper. You didn’t notice all the attention shifting to the two of you as you took the lid off.

“Oh my god, Pietro,” You gasped, your hand moving to cover your mouth. Inside was a stunning silver bracelet with several little charms on it. You carefully picked it up and worried each charm between your fingertips. “You shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t need to. Look, this one is for that iHop trip, remember? And this one is for the when Wanda introduced us at the beach. And this one is for the butterfly exhibit you made me take you to. Oh, and this is for this trip, see?” He rambled. Tears pricked at your eyes and you giggled. You were in so deep, and the bracelet must have cost him a fortune.

“Put it on me?” You looked up at him and he nodded. There was a pause as he took the bracelet from you and fastened it around your wrist. You admired it with a lovesick grin.

“I’m in love with you.” He spoke firmly, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I love you too, Piet.” You slid your hand into his and he looked down at how nicely your hand fit into his. Like you were meant to be.

“I don’t want this to end,” He locked eyes with you again, praying that you really understood what he meant. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to build up the confidence to confess all over again if you didn’t. But he didn’t need to worry about that. You lifted your hand to cup his cheek.

“Then I’m yours forever, Maximoff.”

Strike three.

And there was so much to talk about, but in that moment none of it mattered. Not when the pretending was finally over, and you were having the best Christmas of your entire life.

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i-only-know-fandoms · 3 years

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Descendants Royal Wedding and why it wasn’t as good as you think

I’m seeing a lot about how great Descendants Royal Wedding was and it’s just.... not? It actually upset me a lot so can I lay it out for you?

Elephant in the room is sweet, sweet Carlos and sweet, sweet Cameron, our Angel. No way of doing this without his would have been easy (Honestly it wasn’t needed but I was excited for new content until it got closer and the end is very revealing as to why they did this). But they championed they were honoring him, but not in way they should be patting themselves on the back for like they are. It was sweet, don’t get me wrong! Let me explain.

They imply Carlos is dead (I’ll get into my problem with that later) (also I refuse). They never outright say it but that’s the closest we get to an explanation so.... But they have the “I wish Carlos was here scene” and then his charm on Mal’s bracelet glows at the end, which is something, but not as big and grand as they made it seem like they were. Beyond those moments he is never mentioned. Ever. It’s like he doesn’t exist except for their mini memorial so they can say they honored Cameron.

“Well what would you have them do?”

Well first off, not kill of Carlos. That’s not honoring Cameron at all.

“You’d have them replace Cameron!?!”

Absolutely not. At the very least Disney hasn’t tried to do that (what they are doing with how the short ending is Not Good though. Please be patient, I will get to that)

“What would have them do? Have some half assed excuse to why he’s not there?”

I mean, it wouldn’t have been ideal but I think it would have been better? I don’t think killing Carlos is honoring Cameron at all. Descendants is big for Disney (Channel at least). If Carlos stays around, it’s like part of Cameron is still here, heling people, keeping his memory alive. Killing him (and not even properly explaining it) is more disrespectful.

What would have been ideal is if Carlos was there and either not talked but still was with them participating. I mean, Jay barely talked. They could have made it work. Or, they could have used old dialogue Cameron has done in the past. The past Descendants, Jessie, Gamer’s Guide, maybe some interviews Disney did. They would have access to that and not have to pay anyone to get it. Throw in a few generic lines and he has as big of a role Jay does.

“That sounds easy to say but hard to do”

Probably, but everything in art is and it would have been worth it. Besides, no offense to the animators who were probably overworked as is, but the whole thing seemed rushed? They’re isle outfits were basically color blocks. Again, the animators did a wonderful job, it would be Disney’s fault for rushing it to get it out (Probably for the ending. Be patient!)

“Wait! You said you don’t want Cameron replaced, so how could he live on through Carlos’ story”

Books? Most of the content from Descendants is from books (which the movies ignore along with Wicked World, which is a whole other issue I have. Like, you just had to mention Freddie or CJ, not cast them or anything. The cross media continuity could have been beautiful. What happened to Beelzebub, is she okay? This haunts me)

But yeah, books. Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos could still have meaningful and important adventures together in books, it would honor Cameron, and he wouldn’t be replaced. H*ck, they could have had a way deeper story if they made the Wedding a book, or even a graphic novel (that sounds like I’m belittling graphic novels but I assure you that’s not what I mean. I think a graphic novel would be a shorter story than a novel, even was used on content sized. I assume it would be like the mangas in length verses Melissa De La Cruz books) That would be a better and more lasting way to honor him

Just a little thing here that ties in the Descendants 3 complaints I have. They make it seem like Maleficent loves Mal and is maybe a good Mom? You spend the first two movies and the books nailing in their parents are abusive and terrible and they are afraid of them but the it’s all “Oh, they really love their kids, it’s not that bad” ??? Like, I’m sure not everyone parent was evil to their kids, I can believe Smee was a loving father, but the other are canonically bad and abusive and it’s actually upsetting they threw that all to the side and pretended it wasn’t real? More of a D3 complaint but they have Maleficent too nice and loving, even as a lizard in this. (Also why didn’t she turn back when she went back to the Isle in D2? Mal’s curse breaks in D3 when she crosses the barrier)

“Please, tell us why you hate the ending already!”

It’s an obvious cash grab? They want to make more money from the franchise but can’t continue without Cameron, and Dove, Sofia, and Booboo wouldn’t continue without him (this was hard enough for them) so they needed a new story to tell since they hate books I guess? This wasn’t made to tie up Mal’s story, it was there for them to add in the “someone else’s story is starting” as showing that Alice in Wonderland tease so they can move on without Cameron and the others and still make their money without caring about the actors that made the story what it is or the characters they created and people or the existing stories. That’s not honoring Cameron, that’s finding a way to make more money without having to dedicate it to Cameron or worry about what to do with Carlos. It’s disgusting.

Listen, the past few days I’ve been panicking about this (not a panic attack, I’m not making light of those and I have had several, but my chest was going tight and my heart was racing off and on when I thought about it) because I was so worried they were going to kill Carlos and shove him to the side and not really care about him, and they kind of did? At least I’m angry instead of frightened now but it’s bumming me out that it’s being praised so much. Hopefully I’m not the only one to feel this way......

(sorry, this get long and I don’t feel like proof reading but tonight has made me Tired)

#descendants #descendants royal wedding #Carlos De Vil #Mal #Evie #Jay #cameron boyce #dove cameron #sofia carson #booboo stewart

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melanielocke · 3 years

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Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 19

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 18

Next Chapter: Chapter 20

Cordelia and Lucie returned to the lake when Cordelia was finally done training. She looked forward to going for a swim and cool down a little, training all afternoon in the heat might not have been the best idea ever, and she understood Lucie had given up on practicing magic sooner. She had no idea how exhausting it was to open a portal. It looked like Lucie simply asking for favors, but Cordelia expected it was exhausting in its own way, different from swinging a sword. The last time she’d even seen shadows gather around Lucie, although she didn’t think Lucie herself had seen anything. It made Cordelia wonder how her magic worked. Did the darkness come from inside of her? Or did it come from everywhere, finding its way to Lucie? And could it be dangerous? What if such power corrupted people?

It wasn’t that surprising magic tired her though. Alastair’s ability could exhaust him too. As far as Cordelia knew he was always tired, and she wondered if his memory had anything to do with that.

Alastair and Thomas were already there, they’d swum all the way to the island. Cordelia didn’t think Alastair had swum in some time. Cordelia hadn’t either before coming here, mostly because she had struggled so much with finding swimwear she liked that also fit. Boys had it easy when it came to finding swimwear, she thought to herself. All they needed was find a pair of swim shorts that fit around their waist, whereas Cordelia needed a top that fit properly and a bottom that was high waisted enough for her to feel comfortable. She knew it was stupid, but she didn’t like wearing something that bared her stomach. She did enjoy swimming though, now that she could.

They returned just in time for dinner, and Lucie changed into her lounge clothes, which consisted of a very large and long Green Day shirt she wore as a dress, tucked in the waist with a black lint she’d tied into a bow at her side.

‘I’d been wondering where that shirt had gone,’ Thomas said when he saw her.

Cordelia loved that Lucie could look so good in a shirt that apparently belonged to Thomas and was supposed to fit him.

‘I think I asked you if I could borrow it,’ Lucie said.

‘I don’t remember that,’ Thomas said.

‘It was several months ago, so that could be why you don’t remember.’

‘Are you going to give it back at some point?’ Thomas asked.

Lucie shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ she said.

Thomas sighed. ‘At least Barbara has a boyfriend she can steal clothes from now. Sometimes I feel like my closet is a free for all.’

Cordelia didn’t think Alastair was the type to steal Thomas’ clothes, he always dressed in well fitting clothes, eager to impress. She guessed Thomas’ shirts and sweaters had to be comfortable, but Cordelia didn’t like to wear clothes that were baggy and oversized. Cordelia always felt like they made her look much bigger, and being both muscular and chubby had caused some issues with her body image.

Thomas returned to his parents after dinner, and Alastair went to his room. Cordelia followed him upstairs while Lucie was writing. She’d been meaning to talk to him.

Alastair was cleaning up in his room. She didn’t think it could get any cleaner, yet here Alastair was, carefully rearranging his bed.

‘Did you want to ask something?’ he asked without looking up from changing the bed sheets.

‘I did, can I come in?’

‘Sure, but give me a moment to finish this. Thomas is coming to sleep over tonight,’ Alastair said, ‘I figured I’d change the bed sheets and add an extra pillow.’

‘That’s sweet of him,’ Cordelia said.

‘It is. Thomas said he wanted to protect me from nightmares. I don’t think that’ll work but I’m learning to feel safe around him.’

Cordelia knew to Alastair, a sense of safety was hard to come by. He’d been unsafe for so long he struggled to recognize when he was safe and loved. They’d been working on that together, Cordelia trying to figure out the best ways to support him and make him feel safe, ways to help him through flashbacks and panic attacks. It had taken some time, but Alastair had slowly started trusting her with his feelings.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ Alastair asked.

‘I think I’m in love with Lucie,’ she confessed.

Cordelia had been close to Lucie for a long time, she struggled to tell the difference between their friendship and falling in love, but lately she’d started to suspect what she felt was romantic love.

Alastair grinned. ‘Well, that means your taste in women is decidedly better than your taste in men. Do you think she likes you?’

‘I don’t know. I know she likes girls, but I’m not sure she likes me.’

‘Isn’t her story about you titled the Beautiful Cordelia?’ Alastair asked.

Cordelia tilted her head. ‘Yes, but I think that’s not so uncommon. I mean, she started writing that story when she was twelve and lots of twelve year old girls write main characters who are constantly described as being exceedingly beautiful and perfect and courageous.’

‘But aren’t many of those characters an idealized version of the author themselves?’ Alastair asked. ‘Lots of twelve year old girls are insecure about how they look and some write themselves as how they wished they looked.’

Cordelia had definitely been insecure, and she knew Alastair was still insecure about his dark features. She often made fun of his dyed blonde hair, which he’d thankfully died back to black, but she knew it was because Alastair was insecure about how he looked as a brown man. His hair was one of the few things about his appearance he could change.

Cordelia had too, she’d been insecure about her brown skin and dark eyes, she’d believed her red hair, a very uncommon feature for an Iranian girl, was the best part about her appearance. But Lucie’s story had dedicated pages to describing the beauty of Cordelia’s brown skin and dark eyes, and Cordelia had read many books written by women of color where girls were celebrated for their brown skin and dark hair and eyes. And she’d read books about fat or mid sized girls written by fat authors where their bodies were celebrated or just not that important in the long run, which had helped Cordelia feel less insecure about her body

‘Lots of twelve year old girls describe their main characters as so skinny people thought they had an eating disorder, but you know that although it’s written in a negative light, it’s supposed to be a compliment,’ Cordelia said. ‘You’re probably right, that the authors wanted to be thinner and therefore wrote their characters that way.’

At twelve, she’d gravitated towards stories with those main characters, because of her own insecurity. At that age she’d barely been able to read books with a fat main character. Of course, most fat girls in books back then hated themselves and could only have a happy ending after losing weight, but Cordelia suspected back then she would not have been able to appreciate books about fat girls loving themselves as she could now. Even though at twelve years old, Cordelia hadn’t even been fat.

‘But Lucie didn’t write an idealized version of herself,’ Alastair said. ‘She wrote about you.’

‘There was a side character called princess Lucinda, who was the fictional version of Lucie,’ Cordelia said. ‘But when it came to descriptions of how characters looked, Cordelia was always the most beautiful girl around and everyone fell in love with her at first sight. And I mean literally everyone.’

‘The obvious explanation would be that she likes you,’ Alastair said.

‘She didn’t realize she liked girls until recently,’ Cordelia said. ‘She started writing the beautiful Cordeliayears ago.’

‘She might not have realized she liked you,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ve never read much from the story, but from what did read, I cannot think of another explanation for this.’

Cordelia had to admit her brother had a point. Still, she was nervous when she returned downstairs to Lucie, who was still writing. She looked up when Cordelia sat down next to her with a book.

‘I introduced Mabel,’ Lucie said. ‘Eloise just fell asleep and woke in the dreamworld, and is trying to figure out where she is and how to get out, and although she doesn’t trust or understand Mabel, they are forced to work together. And Mabel at this point thinks Eloise is just a conceited rich girl. So a bit like Pride and Prejudice.’

Cordelia wondered if she was anything like Mabel and if Eloise was anything like Lucie. Or perhaps the other way around, she wasn’t too familiar with either character yet.

‘I like Pride and Prejudice,’ Cordelia said. ‘So they go from being enemies to being in love?’

‘Not enemies in the sense that they’re on opposite sides or anything, but they do strongly dislike each other at first, which will slowly develop to grudging respect to genuine respect to friendship to I would die for you. It’s a fun dynamic, but difficult to write and space out. And of course Eloise is in the dreamland the whole time, whereas Mabel is only there at night when she’s sleeping.’

‘So, if Mabel can talk to Eloise while they’re asleep and she also wakes up into the real world, could she serve as a line of communication between Eloise and her family?’ Cordelia asked.

Lucie’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course, that’s an excellent idea. Now the first time Mabel visits Eloise’ house, her family doesn’t listen to Mabel, which reinforces her negative beliefs about Eloise, but eventually she gives in and tries again and tells them something only Eloise could have told her and then the family does begin to trust her.’

‘How exhausted does Mabel get from all this?’ Cordelia said. ‘Since she gets to adventure in her sleep?’

‘Well, the adventuring in her sleep does count as sleep,’ Lucie said. ‘But you have a point, it would probably be less restful than normal sleep. Perhaps Eloise’s family can take her in and provide for her family so she can get enough rest to visit the dreamland.’

‘What do your characters look like?’ Cordelia asked. ‘I’m thinking about drawing them for you.’

Cordelia hadn’t drawn in some time, but had brought some art supplies with her. She wasn’t particularly talented, but decent when it came to drawing Lucie’s characters, although she still struggled with drawing men.

‘Oh that would be fantastic,’ Lucie said. ‘I always like to have something to visualize, but I can’t draw a straight line. Alright, so Mabel is from a poor family, and works in a factory to support her family, so she’s going to look a bit dirty and stained. She has dirty blonde hair and brown eyes and freckles and is a little underweight because she struggles to feed herself and her mother and younger siblings.

Eloise on the other hand is from a wealthy family, although her mother was poor, and she wears fancier clothes like the dress Jessamine wears. She has dark brown hair and gray eyes and because she always had enough food and likes sweets, she is fat.

Maybe Mabel judges Eloise for her weight at first, because Mabel is poor herself but I’m thinking that might not go over well to a modern audience.’

Cordelia tilted her head. ‘Maybe not. But it’s nice to have a fat main character, I don’t think there are enough of those.’

Nor were there enough queer main characters, women of color main characters, the list could go on. Cordelia often wished she could see herself more in books, and Lucie understood that. Lucie often recommended her books based on what she was looking for.

‘Yes, exactly,’ Lucie said. ‘And it gives me an opportunity to write away any insecurities I have about gaining weight. One of the great benefits of stealing Thomas’ clothes is that it rarely happens that they suddenly don’t fit anymore.’

Lucie had told her she’d gained some weight over the past year, but as it had happened slowly, Cordelia found it difficult to tell the difference. She and Thomas used to have eating contests together, which was a bit of an odd hobby but both seemed to enjoy it, and Lucie was probably the only one who stood a chance against Thomas, but ever since gaining weight she’d gotten too insecure about it.

Cordelia thought Lucie would look good at any size, and hated how being taught to be insecure had made her give up on a weird but fun hobby.

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’m going to get my art supplies and get started.’

***

Alastair and Thomas were in Alastair’s bed together, in each other’s arms. It was nice, warm, comfortable, Thomas asking every now and then if it was still okay, if he wanted to be kissed, if certain parts of his body were alright for him to touch. Alastair didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this. Thomas’ arms were firm and strong and applied just enough pressure to his body to be comforting.

He was whispering to Thomas in Farsi, terms of endearments he had not imagined using for someone else after Charles.

‘What is it you’re saying?’ Thomas asked. ‘Is that Farsi?’

‘It is,’ Alastair said.

‘What were you saying?’ Thomas asked. ‘Lucie and I tried to learn Farsi for Cordelia, but so far we only learnt a few phrases and my accent is probably terrible.’

‘Likely,’ Alastair agreed, ‘but it’s nice that you’re learning. I could help you.’

Charles had never cared much for his language, or his culture. Of course, at the time Alastair had tried to distance himself from his heritage, all too aware how people treated him for it. He’d thought people would accept him better that way. After all, people often claimed foreigners should adapt to the dominant culture. He knew better now, and loved that Thomas showed an interest in the language.

‘That would be amazing. You are fluent, aren’t you?’

‘My mother mostly spoke Farsi with us at home, and aunt Risa still struggles with English. She understands everything you say, but cannot express herself well enough to feel comfortable, so we always speak Farsi with her. So I’d say Cordelia and I are fluent, yes.’

‘So, what were you just saying for me?’

‘Kharâbetam. I am ruined for you. Nooré cheshm-am. The light of my eyes. Ãtashé del-am. The fire of my heart.’

‘Wow. That all sounds so romantic,’ Thomas said.

‘Farsi endearments can be dramatic, but I like that,’ Alastair said.

‘I’ll try to learn some of those,’ Thomas promised. ‘Learning the language will undoubtedly be easier with a native speaker around.’

Thomas started kissing him again, wrapping his arms around Alastair, still checking if everything was alright. He threw in some terms of endearments of his own, phrases Alastair did not understand, but recognized as Spanish. He remembered Thomas saying his father often spoke Spanish around the house and Thomas was fluent himself. Alastair wasn’t sure what exactly Thomas was saying, but it sounded sweet.

He started to wonder if Thomas wanted to move things along. Part of Alastair wanted to, part of him was scared. Truth to be told, he wasn’t sure what he wanted, and he’d much rather follow Thomas’ lead.

He didn’t realize what was happening at first. Thomas, apparently, did long to move things along, and asked if it would be alright to take off some clothes. Alastair said yes, even if part of him was still scared. It would be fine, he told himself. This was Thomas, who loved him and would stop if Alastair asked him to.

And at first it was amazing. Alastair gently traced the stretch marks on Thomas’ back with his fingers. It must have been hard on the body, to grow so much in only a few years. Thomas used to be so small… He didn’t feel like it was going too fast, he was taking his time admiring Thomas.

And Thomas was still sweet as always, asking what was alright. Alastair said yes to everything. He wanted Thomas, wanted to find out what it could be like with someone who cared for him. But the more intimate their kissing, their exploring each other’s bodies became, the more Alastair was reminded of previous times he’d done this. Stop, he told himself. This wasn’t like it was with Charles. This was Thomas and he was sweet and perfect and would never do anything Alastair wasn’t comfortable with. But he fell back into the memory anyway. It wasn’t real, he told himself. He was here with Thomas, but he couldn’t feel Thomas anymore. Instead, he was with Charles, and he was scared and uncomfortable, but didn’t dare say anything because what if Charles would abandon him? It wasn’t real, he told himself. He’d done something wrong, he felt, Charles had been upset with him most of the evening and Alastair didn’t know why. He couldn’t figure what he’d done wrong, and at the time he’d thought it reasonable to make it up to Charles like this, pushing himself despite his fear and discomfort. Doing whatever he asked for because he’d clearly done something wrong and he wanted to show Charles he loved him. Now Alastair felt shame for allowing all this to happen. He felt Charles’ hands on him, and yelled at him to stop but it was a memory and in the past Alastair had never asked him to stop. There was nothing he could do now, nothing to change the past. In the distance, he heard a voice calling to him. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. He wasn’t with Charles, he’d done nothing wrong, and he had nothing to make up for.

‘Alastair, are you alright?’

‘Get away from me!’ Alastair yelled and he wasn’t sure if it was directed at Thomas or Charles or both of them.

‘Alastair, what do you need me to do?’

Thomas sounded like he was freaking out, but he was still there. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. Thomas was real. His bedroom was real. He felt something in his arms, something soft and hairy. He focused on that sensation, stroking the soft thing. Alastair had always had a fondness for soft things, his hedgehog, nice blankets. He loved how it felt under his fingers, how it could put him at ease to stroke his hand over something soft. It was his hedgehog, he realized. Thomas had found Mr. Prickly somewhere between the sheets and shoved it into his arms. It was something to focus on. He held Mr. Prickly against him, stroking it gently, focusing on the sensation underneath his fingers. This was real. He could see the hedgehog. Could see Thomas, asking him to breathe, talking to him.

‘Don’t panic,’ Alastair told Thomas as he sat upright, hedgehog in his lap.

Part of him was tempted to send Thomas away, to not let him see Alastair like this. He wanted to yell at him to get out of here and retreat into his protective shell, but what would be the point? Thomas had already seen the worst, nothing to be done about that now. Besides, it would be rude to expect Thomas to sleep on the couch or go back to his parents at this hour. This was a bad idea. He tried to breathe, keeping all his attention on Mr. Prickly. Perhaps he should give trust a try, he told himself. Perhaps he and Thomas could work through this. He knew it was unlikely, but Alastair forced himself to at least give it a try.

‘I’m not panicking,’ Thomas protested. ‘I just really didn’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘This was a good move though,’ Alastair said, cradling Mr. Prickly against him.

‘What happened?’ Thomas asked. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Alastair sighed, how long until Thomas would give up? He wanted to take this further, he wanted to be able to have sex with Thomas without it reminding him of past times. He was older now, and although he was still scared he also wanted to have sex. And Thomas deserved it, deserved a partner who could satisfy him. Alastair wasn’t so sure he could.

‘It’s not you, eshgham,’ he said slowly. None of this was Thomas’ fault. It was his, for being too broken to be a good lover. ‘You know I have these flashbacks, right?’

‘Yes, I do. Did I do something to trigger a flashback?’

‘I didn��t realize it would happen,’ Alastair said. ‘I thought I was ready. I wanted to sleep with you. But then something reminded me of him, and I fell into a memory. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s nothing to be sorry for. I just don’t want to hurt you,’ Thomas said.

‘I do not always know what will happen,’ Alastair said. ‘One thing that helped me greatly in therapy is learning to identify triggers. Alcohol is an obvious one, of course. But because of Charles, intimacy is also difficult. I thought it would be alright. I was a little nervous, but I also really wanted it.’

‘It’s alright to wait,’ Thomas said. ‘As long as you need. We haven’t even been together that long, and I’m fine just cuddling. If that’s still alright. Honestly the idea of having sex makes me nervous too. You know, since I’ve never done it.’

Alastair could still see a hint of disappointment on Thomas’ face, but right now he just couldn’t. He was so tired, he didn’t think he’d ever feel rested again. He’d had a long day, he reminded himself.

‘You know what, maybe we should go outside,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘Outside?’

What did Thomas have in mind? Cuddling outside in the grass? Alastair imagined it would be cold.

‘I like watching the stars,’ Thomas admitted. ‘When I was young and so sick I had to stay in the hospital, Barbara gifted me some books by Stephen Hawking. Children’s books he’d written with his daughter, not the complicated ones. I had a bit of an obsession with the galaxy then because of these books. It’s very calming, so maybe it’ll help you.’

‘So, you want to watch the stars with me?’ Alastair asked.

‘I could point them all out to you,’ Thomas said. ‘If you like that, I mean. London is too light for stargazing, there’s nothing to see, but here that’s not the case and the sky is very clear tonight. Not a cloud to be seen. Unless you’d rather go to sleep?’

‘I’m not sure I’d be able to fall asleep right now.’

Alastair reluctantly followed Thomas. Will and Tessa were still downstairs, both reading as they often did.

‘We’re going to watch the stars,’ Thomas announced.

Will looked up from his book. ‘Well, enjoy. Don’t stay out too long, it’s cold outside.’

Will was right, it was cold outside. Alastair wished he’d worn something warmer than his pajamas. They sat down on the garden lounge set, Alastair finding a comfortable position sitting in between Thomas’ legs in front of him, laying back against his chest with Thomas’ arms around him. He was exhausted, flashbacks always did that even if he was still too alert to fall asleep. Perhaps after a while he’d doze off here, leaning against Thomas.

‘Do you know how to find the polar star?’ Thomas asked.

‘I’ve heard it had something to do with the bear constellation?’ Alastair asked.

He’d read about this ages ago, but stars had never been a particular interest of his even if he’d had many unusual interests in his youth. He’d read a few things here and there, but barely remembered anything.

‘Yes. That there’s the big bear.’

Alastair tried to look where Thomas was pointing, which was difficult, but he recognized the saucepan shape of the big bear constellation. He’d long been confused why it was called a bear when it clearly resembled a pan or a ladle more, but later he’d learnt there were actually more stars to the constellation, the pan shape was just the brightest.

‘Now you must follow the two stars at the side of the pan shape, into that direction and there’s ursa minor. Although ursa minor doesn’t really look like a bear, it just looks like a smaller version of the saucepan.’

Alastair had to look for a while, but he could find the constellation Thomas described.

‘Now, the end of the pan, that’s Polaris,’ Thomas said proudly. ‘True north. So, if you ever get lost at sea, you now know how to navigate.’

‘If I get lost at sea, I’d probably die of other causes first,’ Alastair said. ‘Dehydration would be the obvious choice.’

‘I guess that’s true. But if you’re lost at sea with a huge supply of water and food that won’t go to waste, then it might be nice to actually know how to navigate.’

‘You think that’ll happen?’ Alastair asked.

‘Oh, probably not,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’ve always liked the idea of finding my own true north. I’m actually planning to get a tattoo. I haven’t told anyone, I’ve been working up the courage to ask my parents.’

‘What kind?’ Alastair asked.

‘A compass,’ Thomas said. ‘But I was thinking of combining it with a flower, a rose I think. I have made a few sketches, I’ll show you someday.’

‘Where did you want to get it?’ Alastair asked.

‘Just here, on my arm.’

Thomas leaned a bit forward, against Alastair’s back, and showed him a spot on his wrist. Alastair mindlessly traced the spot with his fingers, and he could feel Thomas’ shiver beneath his touch. If a subtle touch on his arm could get such a reaction out of him, what would happen when Alastair was able to move things along and have sex with him? He felt another pang of guilt, at being unable to, at wanting to please his partner yet falling into a memory of a previous partner he’d been desperate to satisfy.

‘It’ll look amazing here,’ Alastair said. ‘Do you think your parents will not approve?’

‘Oh I’m thinking they will, they were supportive when Genie wanted to get her nose pierced at least. I know some parents can be absolutely horrified about their children getting tattoos and piercings.’

‘My mother would probably have a heart attack,’ Alastair agreed. ‘When I was fifteen, she caught me smoking in the windowsill. Let’s just say I did not dare smoke again. Which was probably for the best, because quitting now would have been harder than it was then.’

‘I remember you smoking just outside school,’ Thomas said. ‘Back then I thought it was attractive. Now I’m glad you quit, I really wouldn’t want you to get sick because of it.’

‘I wasn’t really occupied with that at fifteen,’ Alastair admitted. ‘I guess I figured I wouldn’t live long enough to get cancer from smoking anyway. But I also didn’t really have the money to keep buying cigarettes, so there’s that. Smoking is a very expensive pastime. And I could breathe much easier after I’d quit and had far better stamina.’

Alastair wasn’t even sure why he’d liked it back then. Part of it was to fit in, sure, but he’d also smoked at home, hanging out of the window so his room wouldn’t smell. Nowadays he found the scent of cigarettes disgusting and overwhelming and he couldn’t imagine ever smoking again.

Thomas pointed out several more stars and constellations for him. ‘That’s Orion,’ he said. ‘With the brightest star, Sirius. The dog star.’

‘Like in the Black family in Harry Potter,’ Alastair said. ‘Looks like a face with a crooked mouth.’

‘I think J.K. Rowling just pulled out a constellation map when she needed names for Black family members,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you like Harry Potter?’

‘I used to,’ Alastair said. ‘But that was before Rowling’s transphobia became widely known. I understand why some people still like the series and separate it from her, but I heavily associate them with the damage she did to trans people.’

‘Understandable,’ Thomas said. ‘Those books were a great comfort to me as a child. Besides the George’s secret key to the universe series.’

‘What was that about?’

‘Those are the space books I mentioned. It’s about a boy named George, whose new neighbor is a scientist with a daughter around his age. He grows closer to the girl and her father, and discovers he has a super computer that can create portals into space. And then there’s an evil former colleague of the scientist who wants to steal the computer. It was very entertaining, but also educational, explaining the universe and the stars and planets in a way that’s understandable for children. And when I could go back to school I told everyone I’d read a book by Stephen Hawking. Of course, at that age half the children had no idea who that was.’

‘That’s just adorable,’ Alastair grinned. ‘Was your teacher at least impressed?’

‘I think so. I think she did suspect I read his children’s books and not his more serious work, but I could tell the others everything about the stars.’

‘I’m getting very cold,’ Alastair said. ‘And sleepy. I could probably fall asleep right here if I wasn’t so cold.’

‘Oh, am I that comfortable?’

‘Don’t let it rise to your head. I’m going to bed, you coming?’

They returned upstairs, both Will and Tessa were still reading and Alastair wondered how long they would keep that up.

They both found a comfortable way to lie down in the bed, and Alastair found it reassuring that Thomas was still here, even if it was difficult to be near someone. Charles wouldn’t have stayed. Charles would not have helped him through a flashback. Charles would have scolded him for being so emotional and left him alone.

‘Good night,’ Thomas said.

‘Good night.’

Alastair slept peacefully that night. Perhaps it was Thomas, perhaps the hedgehog, or perhaps he was simply too tired to still have nightmares. He didn’t feel rested when he woke up the next morning, but he didn’t feel as tired as yesterday either. Thomas was still asleep, his mouth slightly open, clutching the blanket. Alastair was very glad Thomas didn’t snore. He was quiet in his sleep, breathing softly.

Alastair checked the time, six in the morning. What a useless time to wake up. No one else would be awake yet, but there was no point in going back to sleep either. He remained in bed, not exactly motivated to get out either. When would Thomas wake up? He was an early riser too, but six was a probably a bit too early. Miraculously he did fall asleep for a bit longer, with a hazy dream he did not remember when he woke up. Seven thirty, which meant he’d gotten another hour and a half of sleep.

Thomas woke around eight, and Alastair was still in bed, contemplating getting up to make breakfast.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Thomas asked, yawning.

‘Well enough,’ Alastair said. He didn’t usually fall back asleep after waking up around six, and had slept about as well as he could. He was still tired though, which didn’t surprise him after yesterday, and unmotivated to get out of bed.

‘I thought so. I woke at some point in the middle of the night and you seemed so peaceful.’

‘I have been told I am very still when I don’t have nightmares,’ Alastair said. ‘When Cordelia and I shared a room, she once thought I might be dead in the middle of the night when I was just sleeping.’

Of course, at the time Cordelia hadn’t quite understood his mental illness yet and feared he might be suicidal. She’s panicked and woken him up to make sure he wasn’t dead, and Alastair had assured her he had no intention of leaving her alone.

‘I didn’t think you were dead,’ Thomas said. ‘Just at peace for a change. So, do you feel rested?’

‘As I said, I never feel rested,’ Alastair said. ‘But I feel like I can face the day, and that’s good enough.’

‘Maybe someday,’ Thomas said. ‘I liked sleeping next to you and I do feel rested.’

Alastair groaned. ‘Of course you do. So, if you have an endless supply of energy for the day, you would have no issue making me breakfast.’

‘For sure,’ Thomas said to Alastair’s surprise and he got out of bed. ‘Do you want toast? ’

‘And coffee,’ Alastair said.

‘Maybe you would be less tired without the coffee,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘What are you talking about, coffee is what keeps me alive.’

‘Yes, but frequently drinking coffee builds tolerance. Drinking lots of coffee regularly won’t make you more energetic, it only makes you more tired when you don’t drink coffee.’

Alastair fell back onto the bed. ‘I still want coffee,’ he said, not willing to give in and admit Thomas was right.

‘Alright, coffee it is,’ Thomas said and he changed out of his pajamas.

Alastair took his time to admire the view until Thomas put on his shirt. He still found it hard to believe that this Thomas was the same small boy who’d followed him around years ago.

He didn’t get out of bed until Thomas returned to announce he’d made breakfast. Part of Alastair had still expected him to only make his own breakfast, but when Alastair was dressed and entered the kitchen, there was a cup of coffee and some toast with jam finished.

Thomas was sipping from a cup of English tea. ‘Do you want milk or sugar in your coffee?’

‘No,’ Alastair said. ‘I just drink it black.’

‘I’ve never liked coffee,’ Thomas said. ‘I think it tastes terrible.’

‘It does taste terrible. It’s supposed to be terrible. But at this point I’ve drunk so much coffee that I tolerate the taste. I need it for energy.’

‘I prefer tea myself.’

‘That’s not tea,’ Alastair said. ‘That’s an abomination.’

Thomas stared at him.

‘Wait until I introduce you to my mother,’ Alastair said. ‘She makes the best rose tea you’ve ever tasted. You’ll never drink that stuff again.’

‘Rose tea?’ Thomas said.

‘It is common in Iran to add rose petals when making tea. Tea is a very popular drink, and my mother is very precise on how she makes her tea,’ Alastair explained. ‘Just tell her you like her tea and she’ll adore you.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Thomas said before taking another sip of his English tea.

‘Risa is more critical though,’ Alastair added. ‘She might not be so impressed.’

When Cordelia had dated James, his mother had instantly adored James because he was polite and loved her tea. Risa had not been impressed at all and had not been afraid to let it show. All English people were polite after all and it was often only a façade. Alastair hoped she would treat Thomas better.

‘Maybe we should work on your Farsi before meeting Risa,’ Alastair added. ‘If you speak Farsi with her she’ll probably like you.’

‘That sounds promising,’ Thomas said.

‘You’re up early,’ said a sleepy voice.

Cordelia was still wearing her pajamas, her red hair tangled and messy.

‘As you well know, I’m always up early,’ Alastair said.

Cordelia nodded. ‘Are you ready to go find a selkie skin?’

#Cordelia Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Thomastair #Lucelia #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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sevenkittensinatrenchcoat · 3 years

Text

You See: Jellylorum’s Arc and Why It’s the Best Grizabella Arc

Yeah, so, I got writer’s block trying to organize and write this properly, so I’m just writing off the top of my head. I can only hope that any of it makes sense.

I said that I might elaborate on Jellylorum’s hatred of pubs and Grizabella, and I decided to go ahead and do it, even though literally no one asked.

So, the general arc with Grizabella for most characters, especially Munkustrap and Bombalurina, is that Griz did something to offend everyone and they still hold a grudge, so they won’t let her back into the tribe, even though she might be literally dying. Then Grizabella sings Memory and everyone’s moved and they learn to forgive and Grizabella goes to the Heaviside Layer, which was probably Old Deuteronomy’s plan all along.

However, many people, even if they like Memory as a song, don’t really follow the Grizabella story. I’ve gotten the feeling that she’s not a popular character on this site, which is not helped by Munk and Bomba, much more popular characters, being against her for most of the show. The main problem with the forgiveness story is that the audience lacks any context. We don’t know what happened, so we don’t know if this is a story about forgiving someone for something petty, or forgiving someone who seriously wronged you. Most attempts to solve this problem fall flat. The 2019 film said that Grizabella went off with Macavity, but the movie had to alter the roles of several characters to get that to work. Mungojerrie worked for Macavity, and the tribe took him back. Demeter and Bombalurina had some sort of relationship with Macavity, and the tribe took them back. So, the movie makes Jerrie and Bomba more villainous and removes Demeter’s connection to Macavity, so Grizabella stands out. If you have to throw out large portions of what’s interesting about three characters to make your backstory make sense, it’s not a good backstory.

But, the show already sort of has a built in solution to this problem. While most of the characters hate Griz because of some past incident, there’s still at least one character arc about accepting Grizabella that’s based entirely on what the audience can see and hear.

This is where Jellylorum comes in.

If you pay close attention to how Jellylorum reacts to Grizabella, as well as to several other characters, you’ll notice that, though I’m sure she’s upset over whatever Griz did too, Jelly is not motivated by a grudge. It’s not about Grizabella’s past. It’s about her present.

Grizabella the Glamor Cat

Jellylorum, for the first few numbers, doesn’t really stand out. She’s always part of a larger group. In Gumbie Cat, she’s in a trio with two other queens. At this point, the audience really wouldn’t know what makes these characters stand out from one another. In Tugger’s number, Jelly is one of four older cats who are shocked and offended by Tugger’s antics, but the reactions of all four characters serve the same purpose. Jelly, Jenny, Skimble, and Asparagus are part of an older generation and they don’t get the things kids are into these days, finding them downright offensive.

If isn’t until Glamor Cat that this starts to change. At first, Jelly’s still the same as Jenny and Skimble, an older cat who stops the kittens from touching Grizabella. What’s different is how Griz reacts. Skimble leads Jemima away and Griz doesn’t comment. Jenny slaps Electra’s hand away and Griz doesn’t comment. But, when Victoria and Etcetera crawl towards her and Jelly runs in to stop them, Griz turns on her. Up until this point, the song has been fairly quiet. This is the first time Griz raises her voice, taking the orchestra with her.

You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand

Grizabella is dirty and beaten up by life and she accuses Jellylorum of responding to that, assuming that someone in Griz’s condition must be a threat to the children. This isn’t about a grudge. It’s about judging by appearances, specifically, the appearance of poverty, which will become more clear as we go.

When Demeter starts singing about Grizabella, she doesn’t sing about her glamorous past:

She haunted many a low resort

Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court

Tottenham Court Road, at the time this poem was written, was associated with crime. It’s a street in a lower class neighborhood which was infamous for theft and prostitution. So, Griz has been seen in a place where bad things happen. To think of her as a criminal is guilt by association.

The play decides not to tell us what Grizabella did to become an outcast, but it does tell us about her life as an outcast. From her character design, we can also see that Griz is in poor shape. This is the information the audience is actually given.

Bustopher Jones

Bustopher is easy to compare to Tugger, since the cats that don’t like Tugger all adore Bustopher. But, because we met Grizabella right before this, he can be compared to her too. Bustopher is everything the older cats see as ideal, while Griz is the opposite. Bustopher spends time among the rich in gentlemen’s clubs. Griz spends time in a working class neighborhood with a high crime rate. Even though they’re both probably strays, Bustopher presents as rich and Grizabellla presents as poor.

Just as different cats have different reasons for hating Grizabella, different cats have different reasons for liking Bustopher. For some, it’s his skill and gaining access to good food. Jenny has a crush on him. Misto likes that they look similar and that he’s the mature and sophisticated adult Misto wants to be. But, though Jellylorum’s part in the number is small compared to Jenny’s, the first thing she has to say about Bustopher is:

He doesn’t haunt pubs

Unlike gentlemen’s clubs, which are exclusive, pubs are everywhere and are for everyone. They’re frequented by the working class. Bustopher is only seen in the upper class parts of town.

Meanwhile, some of the locations Demeter mentions in Glamor Cat, The Rising Sun and The Friend at Hand are pubs. Bustopher doesn’t haunt pubs. Grizabella does.

The Glamor Cat Reprise:

So, a lot’s been implied about Jellylorum and how she admires things associated with the upper class and has disdain for things associated with the working class. But, this is where it all comes together. Grizabella accuses Jelly of treating her as someone to be feared and shamed because she’s from the bad side of town and looks it. Here, by repeating Grizabella’s words, Jelly confirms the accusation:

You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand

Jellylorum turns to Victoria, the pure white Symbol of Innocence who wears a sparkly pink collar, implying a wealthy owner, and points out that Griz is dirty and is both someone Victoria should avoid and strive not to be like. Victoria ignores her. Victoria is the feline equivalent of the sheltered princess, a proper young lady from a good family who hasn’t seen much of the world. But, Victoria is unaware of the implications of her status and sees someone like Grizabella as an equal. She doesn’t acknowledge class and doesn’t listen when adults try to explain it to her.

When Jellylorum pulls a kitten away from Grizabella, it’s always Victoria. The first time, it was Victoria and Etcetera, but Victoria is always involved. Victoria is never stopped by any other adult either. She seems to be Jelly’s responsibility, which creates and interesting contrast.

Gus: The Theatre Cat

After the Grizabella Reprise confirms that Jelly’s prejudice against Grizabella is based in classism, it would be easy to see her as a villain. The unspoken grudge of Munkustrap and Bombalurina is more sympathetic.

But, very early on in act two, Jellylorum is given the spotlight, and we can see her good side. Gus is a lot like Grizabella. They’re both old and past their prime, but they once were stars of some sort. But, Gus is loved and cared for by everyone. Grizabella is one her own.

Gus meets with his friends at the pub to tell theatre stories. You can tell from Jelly’s delivery when she brings it up that she’s not happy about this. But, she loves Gus anyway. Gus is old, his coat is a mess, and he hangs out in working class pubs, but Jellylorum loves him anyway. She’s perfectly capable of seeing beyond classist prejudice when it’s someone she already likes. She just hasn’t realized that Griz and Gus are the same. She can learn the lesson she needs to learn. She’s not a villain. She’s antagonistic, but she’s redeemable.

Memory

Griz appears one last time, Victoria tries to touch her, Jelly stops her. Same old, same old. Things don’t get interesting until everyone sits down. Jellylorum, along with Victoria, sits with Old Deuteronomy and Munkustrap. She’s right up there with the leaders of the tribe. This puts her on the same level as Munkustrap, who has his own lesson to learn from this.

Memory makes Jellylorum realize how much Grizabella is suffering. She’s not on Tottenham Court because she does bad things. She’s there because she’s in a bad situation and has nowhere else to go. Griz is also caught up in memories of her past like Gus is. Jelly, like everyone else in the tribe, figures it out.

When Victoria gets up to touch Grizabella, she looks back to the adults to get permission. Old Deuteronomy nods, letting her go ahead. But, it looks like all of the adults in that corner consulted each other. Munkustrap, at this moment, makes the decision to forgive Grizabella. Jellylorum, at this moment, makes the decision to accept Grizabella as an equal. She’s no longer beneath someone like Victoria.

Then, when all the cats greet and welcome Grizabella, Jelly looks very guilty, more so than the other older cats do. She’s realized just how petty she was being, that she was even worse to Griz than most of the tribe, because they either had a more emotionally-charged reason, or they just didn’t know any better.

Jelly’s story arc is a classic “don’t judge a book by its cover” story, with the symbols of class being the cover she judged.

In Conclusion:

Everything about this arc is based on information the audience is given. We can see that Grizabella is in bad shape. We know where she’s been spending her time because Demeter tells us. We can confirm Jelly’s motivation with the Grizabella reprise. We can compare how the characters of Gus and Griz are described:

You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand

vs.

His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin as a rake

Jellylorum sings the former line with disdain, but she sings the latter line with sympathy.

Jelly’s arc is where Grizabella stands out the most. Griz calls her out on her bullshit, is shown to be completely right in her judgement of her, and then is able to change her mind.

And, the emotional impact is all there, because no important information is hidden from the audience. The arc begins with the words “you see”, because you can.

#cats 1998 #jellylorum #grizabella #cats victoria #gus the theatre cat #bustopher jones #i did an essay #i had a surprising amount to say about that #jellylorum hates pubs #and it's actually important #class consciousness #but with singing cats #don't be a dick to poor people #this isn't edited #so i have no idea what typos it has #and i don't care right now #it's two o'clock in the morning #i give my last fuck at midnight

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holydragon2808 · 3 years

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Thoughts On Dragon Age II after Replaying (Massive Spoilers)

Hello fellow DA fans! It's been quite some time since I last posted anything here on Tumblr. Hope everyone has been safe during all of the world's craziness. Figured I'd post something to let people know I'm still alive.

Anyway, DA2 was first released back in 2011. I was 20-21 years old at the time. Back then, while I still acknowledged the lack of genuine player agency with Hawke (in comparison to the Warden before them), I did belong in the camp of people believing that people went way overboard with the DA2 critiques regarding those complaints, at least back then.

Now though? After replaying the game again a decade or so later, and also in light of the Inquisitor and DAI, I now personally believe that Hawke's story stands out as (overall), all the more unbalanced in comparison to both the Warden and Inquisitor.

Massive Spoilers for the franchise abound beyond this point. Last warning.

Despite a lot of the old critiques leveled at DA2, it isn't a 100% terrible experience, and despite the oncoming rant, I do love the game overall.

Even though I've personally always thought that DA2 story was centered around tragedy a bit TOO much, in light of the growing franchise and the directional tone of the other protagonists thus far, it unfortunately stands out even more to me, and not in a good way.

A shame really because DA2 could have been a better and interesting contrast to DAO in tone and direction had it been more balanced with meaningful successes and failures for Hawke as a character rather than veering too far over into angst and tragedy.

For example, in DAO, your Warden character is railroaded into success against the Blight no matter what. Regardless of the origin, regardless of what sort of allies you acquire, no matter if you live or die in the end or which warden gets the final blow, you succeed.

This sort of narrative framing gave the writers a much easier way to balance genuine tragedy and success throughout the journey without veering too far in one direction or the other, and also without making nearly everything the player does seem like an exercise in futility.

In other words, there were failures and successes more properly balanced throughout, from experiencing meaningful failures and heartache during the chosen origin stories, to failure at Ostagar, to having more balance with the party members and their struggles (they weren't too boring or too dysfunctional), romances that stood out as a light for the Warden amidst all the fighting and death and their massive burden, to succeeding with building the army to take on the Darkspawn, to potential personal sacrifice to save the world and so on.

The option to play a more tragic, angsty or "evil" character who alienates everyone around them and then ultimately dies in the end is there too. The point is that the game largely gave the player the reins and let THEM decide what sort of story they were interested in shaping within the confines of the narrative railroading.

This balance just isn't there with DA2 as the player progresses. Hawke is railroaded into failure in almost every way from start to finish, whether in their personal life or with the massive political struggles in Kirkwall.

I'm sure most people would have been fine with the main plot between the mages/Templars spiraling out of their control in the end (thanks Anders), the Qunari rampaging no matter what, and even the Hawke family being forcefully separated as the story progressed.

However, to me some of the railroaded bleak tragedy should have been offset by Hawke (and by extension the player) at least having the OPTION of being able to keep their family alive.

I'm fine with the tragedy of losing the whole family being ONE POSSIBLE option in the game, but when this tragedy along with the main plot failures, the dysfunctional party members that are too problematic to help ease Hawke's burdens (in fact, they all add to Hawke's worries, which if Inquisition shows anything, that it finally takes its toll on Hawke) is THE ONE AND ONLY OPTION in light of everything else wrong in Kirkwall, then that's a potential writing issue and could potentially alienate the player more than make them care about anything that happens and wonder why they aren't given the option to just nope out and leave Kirkwall to its fate.

Tragedy can be fine, don't get me wrong, but not everyone wants to role play a COMPLETE AND UTTER tragedy from start to finish with no option to deviate in any way from that narrative. Options in the way people progress (especially where people can break the story down and see the holes in the narrative where it COULD have possible but just wasn't allowed), should be presented in a ROLE PLAYING game.

I personally find it more realistic and relatable when a character experiences a nice blend of both MEANINGFUL success and failure. However, the writers seemed intent on railroading Hawke into just being at the mercy of the main plot with little to no agency.

In stark contrast to DAO, planning for the entire story in DA2 (or just in an RPG period) to end in failure no matter the player choices is already a bold enough risk on its own. It can definitely work with the proper balance of both positive and negative experiences along the way though in both the political and personal aspects of the player characters life, to keep the player actively engaged in a way that doesn't leave them thinking that their presence in the story amounts to little more than the equivalent of holding a book and simply turning the page rather than actively doing something.

But combining an already planned bleak ending with a very corrupt setting where the leaders on all sides are either completely moronic or passive, party members where the majority of them have too many burdens of their own to give Hawke a genuine sense of a reprieve from the madness even if romancing one of them (except for Varric, Aveline, and Bethany, if alive, everyone else is either a whiner or dysfunctional. It's very telling that Hawke's PET DOG gets more no strings attached visits from the party members than Hawke does. Just saying), railroading Hawke to lose the majority of their family in some way, AND having what little success and influence Hawke DOES acquire to come back and bite them in the ass in the end (Hawke struck it rich and became Champion of Kirkwall?! Awesome!.....right up until its revealed the red lyrium idol they found in the deep roads played a part in screwing up everything), then at that point, a serious argument can be made that the writers veered far too heavily into tragic overdone melodrama for some people.

How cool would it have been to be able to leave the game with "Well, okay, I couldn't do anything about the corruption in Kirkwall or the mage/Templar tensions spiraling out of control, but at least my whole family is alive and well"? There could have even been an achievement/trophy for this very outcome called "The pride of the Hawkes" or something.

Just one possible example of how the railroaded political failures could have been offset by giving Hawke, (and by extension the player), the OPTION for personal success in a more meaningful way. The option for extreme tragedy with some or even all of the Hawkes dying can still be there of course for people who want that degree of angst, but again having multiple OPTIONS is more likely to accommodate more people and their preferred play styles or stories, and thus, give more reasons to play the game multiple times.

As it stands now, sure, Hawke can save the life of one sibling, but they're still railroaded into losing one of them before the prologue is over, the other is either killed by the Blight or forced from their side in act 1 because the game said so, and the mother is forced to die in the most shock value induced way possible (nevermind not even being able to warn Leandra in act one or follow up on this quest until it's too late in act two or the guards and Templars being forcefully incompetent for this to play out like the writers want).

Those have just been my thoughts as of late. Some people argue that in a way, this is the entire point of the game. That sometimes only REALLY crappy choices exist and there may not be a third option. I agree with that to a point.

But "there might not be" and "there NEVER is" an option for an ideal third way are two very different things and IMO, DA2 suffered in veering far too heavily in the direction of the latter, often being too focused on heartbreak and shock value (looking at you "All That Remains") to really work as well as it could have.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts a decade later. Make no mistake, I still love DA2 for what it is, love the general concept and idea of DA2, just not the execution. It's just sad to me that this game could have been so much better with more development time, more options to shape Hawke's story on a more personal level (whether with an ideal outcome of everyone in the family living, or a semi tragic one where some can die depending on choices, or everyone dying), and not being railroaded into tragedy to nearly nigh ridiculous levels to the point where a giant spider nightmare residing in the Fade in a whole other game mocks Hawke for their "failure is the only option" status.

And just to further clarify my point here, true, Kirkwall was a ticking time bomb with or without Hawke being there. They made the tensions between the two factions apparent as far back as DAO. A Mage/Templar war was all but inevitable, as was Anders eventually losing himself to Justice/Vengeance and after exhausting all peaceful options, finally doing the unthinkable and "forcing everyone to choose a side". That part was fine. And it makes sense for this part of the story to remain static and unchanged no matter what (as I said before, the issue isn't necessarily that DA2 had a planned tragic ending or was framed as a set story within a story).

The issue is that, at the end of the day, regardless of whether this is framed as a recounting of events already played out, Bioware still chose to present this part of the story to the world as an RPG, not a novel. It's just too easy to pick apart the current execution of the narrative and find too many holes and inconsistencies, far too easy to see that Bioware wanted tragedy and completely railroaded the player into it regardless of whether or not it made sense to do so at times. Part of it is definitely that it was rushed, but not all of it.

" Genuine inevitable tragedy" (example: the mage/Templar rebellion) and "railroaded and just never given the option to question/change anything because the game/developers said so but still forcefully insisting and trying to frame it as an inevitable tragedy" are two very different things (outright confirming in Act 1 that the remains of the serial killer's vicitms did indeed belong to one of the missing women (Ninette's wedding ring) and he gave them white lilies but conveniently never given the option to bring any of this up to the guards/Templars or pursue the quest or warn Leandra until it's far too late). Leandra's death isn't the only example of this problem, but it definitely is one of the most prominent and IMO, takes away from the intended story of a good woman who met a bad end with their oldest son/daughter being unable to prevent it when the game failed to let them (and by extension the player) truly try.

DA2 could have been a great contrast to DAO. Rather than having the influence to shape the fate of the world like the Warden and succeed in their goal, they could have compromised in DA2 with having the fallout of the Kirkwall Chantry destruction and the rebellion still happening no matter what (i.e. Hawke "failing" to stop any of the madness and still ultimately forced to flee Kirkwall in the end after finally dragging the Amell line back into prominence) but still given the player the option to save their immediate family members across the story if certain choices were made throughout. I'm sure most people would have been fine with a more "bittersweet" option being presented for Hawke, (and by extension the player) in the game, especially where again, one can pick apart the narrative and see where it could have been an option, but just wasn't allowed for no other reason than seemingly because of the "True art is angsty" trope.

Bioware could still have their own canon (similarly to how Alistair is shown to be king in their canon no matter what as an example) of the ultimate tragedy if they wanted, but again, DA2 is still an RPG where players expect to have more meaningful choices reflected in how they progress, even with an inescapable darker and downer ending.

Complete and utter tragedy is fine, but I just don't think it was the best decision to have it as THE ONLY option in an RPG.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #marian hawke #garrett hawke #bethany hawke #varric tethras #leandra amell #leandra hawke #da inquisition #dragon age #carver hawke #dai

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matthiasschoenaertsdaily · 4 years

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Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

#matthias schoenaerts #interviews #misc #by us

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kessielrg · 3 years

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[Kingdom Hearts] Occupational Hazard

Summary: By far, Ven’s got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 6 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player]

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,541

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

Ven thought about having children exactly once before. It had been a really random thought too. What made him space out that day? Had he been preparing for a test, or was it just another slow day at the flower shop? He hated that he had daydreamed about it enough that he knew exactly what kind of kid he wanted. (A girl, by the way- with the rest depending on if he could convince his ideal lady of being with him.) Either way, seeing Ephemer’s 19 month old son brought about feelings of wanting to be a father one day, while also making him glad that he wasn’t.

Furthermore, he wasn’t used to Ephemer being dressed to the nines either. The teen couldn’t help but stare at his coworker as Ephemer handed off various baby supplies to Skuld. It was a weird juxtaposition seeing Ephemer in a well pressed suit, and passing a wrinkled and well worn duffle bag to Skuld.

“There should be more than enough diapers to cover any accidents he’ll have in the next few hours.” Ephemer told Skuld. “Anora insisted we keep him from eating the foods that make him super gassy, just in case. She’s a smart one, that Anora. There’s a reason why she’s my wife.”

“Don’t have to convince me.” Skuld snorted. “Don’t know why you’re so dressed up for a night to the movies. We all know you two are going to be making out in the back of the car by the end of the night.”

Ephemer’s face immediately went up in a deep scarlet. He let out a sheepish laugh as he scratched the back of his neck. Skuld just laughed at him.

“Luca will be safe with me,” she then told him. “We’ve got a supply truck coming around in another hour or so, Thursdays are usually kinda dead anyway, and Ven’ll be here manning the main front. The next four hours will go by quickly.”

“I knew he’d be safe.” Ephemer laughed, albeit somewhat forced. “It’s how often you’ll be actually looking after him. You’re the one babysitting, and you’re still at work.”

Skuld gave Ephemer a rather dry laugh of her own before telling him, “I can do both.”

At Ephemer’s skeptic raise of his eyebrow, Skuld went on to say, “I will. After the truck gets here, my attention will be on nothing else.”

“Right…” Ephemer mused. He gave a shake of his head before getting down to Luca’s height. His son had been politely standing next to him while the old friends talked. Luca seemed to have understanding of what was going on- Ven just couldn’t get over those large blue-grey eyes. They just… stared between Ephemer and Skuld with severe inquisition. It almost made Luca look a good three or so years older. So young and yet so serious looking…

(Oh no, now Ven wanted to ask Brain if there were any surviving photos of Sabrina as a baby. She would hate knowing that he saw them, but he had to know. Did she always look that serious at a young age too?)

Ephemer gave his son a bright smile- one that was almost returned.

“You be good for Auntie Skuld and Venny, alright Luca?”

The toddler looked at his father for a long time, the wheels turning in his younger mind to register what was said, before giving a little nod. Ephemer grinned as he ruffled his son’s hair. He grunted slightly as he got back up (which Skuld was quick to snicker at) before starting his way out the door.

“See you two in five hours.” Ephemer waved at them.

“You told me earlier it was going to be four.” Skuld refuted, putting a hand on her hip. Ephemer just shrugged.

“You know I have a hard time keeping my hands off my wife, Skuld. And without a kid around? We’re practically kids again ourselves.”

Skuld let out a small ‘tsk’ sound and smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here. Go conceive your next child away from the flower shop for once.”

Even with his face flushing again, Ephemer gave her a playful salute before closing the door behind him. Skuld just looked at the door for a moment or so just to shake her head at him.

“Come up, Luca.” she then told the toddler, bending down a bit and extending her arms to him. “We gotta look out for the delivery guy.”

Luca gave her a glare so mean, Ven had to cough to cover up his laugh. The toddler even went into a string of sounds that could have been interpreted as sass. But he went over to Skuld, regardless. He allowed himself to be picked up by the woman, and together they disappeared into the back room. With the boss out of earshot, Ven felt free to let out the snicker he had been holding in for the past three minutes. The last thing on his mind was how Skuld would inevitably take her work at the flower shop over watching Luca. He’d figure it out soon- he just wished that peace had lasted a bit longer.

. . .

A good hour or so later, and Ven decided to make himself useful by making sure everything had a price sticker on it. No ceramic pot could go unturned without a sticker declaring its probably high ball price. Better than just sitting at the register and drifting off into who knows where until Skuld caught him.

Ven happened to notice Luca out of the corner of his eye. The toddler casually walked (or as casually as you could at 19 months, since you didn’t quite have the best balance still) out of the backroom and into the main store front. Ven slowed his movements a bit to watch Luca look over the area, then go over to a certain large vase with some faux reeds in it. It was rather amusing watching Luca plonk his little bottom down in front of it. Ven gave a quiet snort before properly returning to his work. He almost had to stop because something new happened.

Luca started babbling at the flowers.

At least, Ven thought it still counted as babbling. Every now and again he could pick out sounds that certainly sounded like real words; like ‘same’, and ‘daddy’, and ‘kiss-shun’, and ‘mommy.’ Or maybe Ven was imagining it. Putting price tags on everything was ridiculously boring.

“Ven!” Skuld suddenly shouted from the backroom, scaring both Ven and Luca alike. “Do you see Luca?”

“Yeah.” he lazily replied. “He’s out here talking to some reeds.”

Skuld immediately left the backroom just to glare at Ven. He flinched a little at her gaze.

“Get him away from those!” she demanded. “I’m still going over what’s come in.”

Ven blinked at her, then looked over at Luca. The kid was literally doing nothing but staring at the other flowers now. He probably even had an acute awareness he was being talked about, but not being talked to. Ven turned his attention back to Skuld with a face that was trying to feign innocence.

“Why? They're edible.”

“Not when you're still able to choke on fine cut food!” his boss immediately retorted. All it did was spark a moment of defiance.

“Skuld, there are full grown adults that still choke on normal cut food. Your point is getting more moot by the moment.”

“I can't believe you and Sabrina aren't dating yet.” Skuld mumbled under her breath. “You share the same amount of… Urg. Just get Luca away from those flowers!”

Perhaps a bit too amused at his superior's frustration, Ven let out a short chortle before setting the price stickers down. Skuld only grimaced as she went to the backroom again. Still grinning, Ven walked over to Luca, finding himself bemused by the kid still, and asked without meaning any harm; “Whatcha doing there, Luca?”

The toddler immediately jumped, then looked up at Ven with wide, curious eyes. Slowly, as if he were aware he could be in trouble, Luca's little face started to break. Poor Ven was in no way prepared for the kid's wailing. He immediately flinched and covered his ears at the sound.

“You're not in trouble! You're not in trouble!” Ven quickly said, awkwardly making his way down to the floor to be at Luca's eye level. “Just gotta be careful, alright?”

But this didn't stop Luca from crying. If it was any consideration, Ven was sure the toddler didn't even hear him. Cursing under his breath, Ven looked around the flower shop for anything that could distract Luca. There were some plush toys in a display close by. Maybe one of those would work? Ven wasn’t going to leave it up to guessing. He quickly went to the display, quickly located and snatched a dolphin plush, then went back over to Luca.

“Here there buddy,” he said, bringing the plush close to Luca’s eye range. “Do you wanna cuddle buddy?”

Luca stopped crying just long enough to give the plush a glance, shove it of his eyesight, and let out a rather clear, very angry, “No!”

Ven let out a long (and very tired) sigh of defeat. Wasn't Skuld the one that was supposed to be babysitting this tiny person? Why did it feel like he was doing all the work?

But first, he had to shut Luca up.

What else could Ven distract Luca with? Better question- what did Luca even like? Was there anything in this store that could calm this kid long enough so he wasn’t the loudest sound on the block? All this crying had to be stressful for him. Heck, it was stressful for Ven! An even better question right about now was ‘where on earth is Skuld?!’ because that was rather important too. Could she really not hear Luca wailing from the backroom? Maybe he should check on her…

Luca’s crying hit a note so high pitched the Ven flinched. He turned his attention back to the kid in defeat. Unsure of what else to do, he tried to rack his brain on what Ephemer and Anora did to calm Luca down. But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? Usually Luca wasn’t whining. Ven did get an idea though. Carefully, Ven put his hand on Luca’s head, trying to mimic the way Ephemer ruffled his son’s hair. To his surprise, it actually seemed to work. Luca started to settle down little by little until he gave nothing more than a few sniffles.

“There you go, buddy.” Ven cooed, sounding like he was more addressing an angry bear than a child. “Feel better now?”

Luca rubbed his eyes before turning to Ven. It was slow to make sure Ven didn’t stop gently kneading his fingers into Luca’s hair. The toddler gave Ven a few tired blinks. Apparently crying for five minutes straight was particularly draining.

“Tell me.” Luca said to Ven, pointing to an arrangement to his left. Ven blinked. He didn’t hallucinate that sentence, right?

“Tell you what? About the flowers?”

Luca gave him a determined nod.

“But I don’t know-” Ven tried to tell him, but Luca was a smart kid. He purposely started to make his face break again, and even started a little whimper before Ven caught on. “Wait, wait, wait!” Ven quickly stammered, removing his hand from Luca’s head to throw them up in defense. “I might know some stuff. And look, I could probably look some things up on my phone too. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Still milking his leverage over Ven , Luca wiped his eyes as he gave another nod. Ven let out a relieved sigh. It should be that hard to fake what he knew about plants, right? As Luca gave a long yawn, Ven hoped that he could probably even be able to lull the kid into sleep. Honestly, he was practically doing Skuld’s job for her.

. . .

Ephemer and Anora returned to the flower shop thirty minutes earlier than expected. They seemed to be in good spirits, so the date must have gone on well enough. Skuld was quick to hand Luca and his baby paraphernalia back to his parents.

“He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Ephemer asked, taking the duffle bag as Anora got their son.

“Not at all.” Skuld affirmed. “I was a bit preoccupied with the shipment that came in, so Ven helped out a bit.”

Hearing this, Ephemer and Anora looked at Skuld like she had proposed murder. Ephemer was the one who let out a forced laugh before saying, “Skuld…? Your shift ended before I dropped Luca off, that’s why we left him with you.”

“Knew it.” Ven mumbled under his breath. The parents looked at him before returning their attention to the rather unapologetic Skuld.

“I still watched him.” she insisted. “And now I still have some work to do before heading home for the night. Ven’s shift is ending for the night, and we all know he won’t do the inventory count tonight.”

“Because at this time of night, we do it in the morning.” Ephemer told her. Skuld didn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. Instead, she went to the backroom before anyone could stop her.

Ephemer let out a long sigh of exhaustion. He should have known better, honestly. He looked at Anora and grinned. It was meant as a signal for them to head out, but Anora had other plans. She carefully nudged Ephemer, giving him a small look that he could read well. Ephemer nodded before digging into his wallet to find a twenty dollar bill.

“Here Ven, take this,” he offered. Ven just looked back at him with the most bewildered look. Ephemer saw it and just laughed. “We all know how Skuld gets when she doesn’t leave work. I’ll come in on my next shift with another twenty for you.”

“But I don’t-” Ven tried to argue, but it was Anora who stepped up to place a gentle hand on Ventus’s elbow. The teen froze right then and there. It was honestly the more polite thing to do- Anora didn’t really have much of a grip on him.

“Thank you for watching Luca tonight.” she carefully told him- for a moment it made him wonder if she thought she was to blame for some reason. “If Ephemer doesn’t pay you back, I will. And that’s a promise.”

“O-oh no, ma’am.” Ven quickly stuttered out. “It’s fine! Honest! It wasn’t even a big deal. Nah. Not really. Luca’s a pretty cool kid when you sit down and play with him. Pretty smart too. Nothing to sweat about. Hardly interrupted anything. Really.”

Anora offered a polite smile, although Ven felt guilty under it all the same.

“See you later, Ven!” Ephemer waved as the family left the shop. Ven waved back, still feeling guilty from Anora’s generosity. Luca watched Ven from other his mother’s shoulder- the expression was particularly hard to decipher. Ven just hoped it was one of respect. That little brat better not forget what Ven did for him today.

“Definitely having a girl.” Ven mumbled under his breath before clocking out for the day.

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ichika27 · 3 years

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Mairimashita! Iruma-kun s2 ep18

Was gonna post this days ago but I decided to do twewy-related stuff first lol.

Anyways, lots of pictures below again. At least 20, I think. Talks of ships below as well.

The last time we saw them, Iruma had jumped in front of the beast preparing to shoot a blast of magic in front of Ronove. Everyone else is worried but don’t know what to do cause if they tried to help, they’d get blasted, too. It seems though that Iruma himself has a plan.

Iruma plans to use Ali-san’s ability to swallow the huge amount of magic to eat the blast of it the beast is going to release saying he thought it was possible since Ali-san is the Ring of Gluttony. Arikured is surprised by this and complains at first but agrees he could do such a thing but Iruma's strength will be needed to succeed.

Remember that spell Iruma learned before about changing the appearance of something? Iruma uses that magic spell to turn Ali-san into this... cat thing. Giant cat thing idk so it could swallow the magic. Ali-san swallows the entire beast and let it explode inside him. Once it was over, the sky clears up, too. The plan totally worked and Ali-san is full!

Does this mean Iruma could use the power that got eaten from the beasts?

Trouble is over and Iruma gets together with his friends again. His friends were all worried about him though and Kalego-sensei came up to tell him he'd been reckless again. Iruma says he hasn't forgotten about what Kalego-sensei had said before at the home visit and that he had now finally understood what sensei meant. He was so used to danger due to almost always being in one himself that he never realized how bad such situations were until everyone else he cared about got affected. He adds that he gave it everything he's got even though he wasn't sure he'd even win because he wants to protect everyone and holding onto that ideal is part of his "desire".

I’m happy this arc helped some of them grow and show the growth of those who already have. Pretty cool.

Random screenshot but I just wanna direct your attention to fluffy Kalego-sensei who is being adorable right now. I cannot take him seriously when he’s like this and even when he’s angry, this form makes it look adorable.

Back to the story.

While all the mess is happening on the surface, Kiriwo-senpai has finally been found by the Six Fingers who are there to help him escape under the orders of Baal. The other escaping inmates are also in the area but still behind bars and Kiriwo-senpai tells them that he never planned to help them escape alongside him and never said he'd do such thing in the first place.

I kinda feel bad for them but they are also bad people so, eh.

Upon donning the same coat the Six Fingers' wear, one of the prisoners had the realization that unlike all of them there who are merely "bad", Kiriwo is actually "evil".

One of the Six Fingers asked why they couldn't just let the prisoners escape, too as it'll help in causing chaos and Kiriwo-senpai answers that seeing the despair the prisoners are gonna be in when they realize they'd never be let out despite going this far will be fun to see. Plus, they're not strong enough and will be caught again anyways.

I missed seeing Kiriwo-senpai’s evil hairstyle. It’s been a while. I guess this answers the question I had back in season 1: Kiriwo-senpai chose to be evil. Sad but I should’ve seen it coming.

Back on the surface, a parade starts and on the float are the heroes who saved Walter Park. While Iruma is properly mentioned, the owner, Rossevelt also shows off his son (Ronove does call him Legend-daddy as in the English word lol). The owner thanks Iruma for saving the park and calls him a hero.

They look alike except for the mustache and hair length. Anime genetics never fail. Does Legend-daddy also sing his own bgm?

Unbeknownst to our heroes, Kiriwo-senpai is around the corner watching the parade. He's surprised to find out that not only was Iruma also at Walter Park at this time but Iruma is also the one to defeat the beast. Instead of being angry at another evil plan foiled, Kiriwo-senpai says that this must be destiny and was happy to see Iruma. He was gonna walk out into the crowd but snaps out of this happy state by a call from Baal.

Senpai really blurs the line between love and hate cause he acts similarly when it comes to Iruma. Congrats to the fans of this ship for getting this scene and also, I still don’t know the ship name for them. How do I tag this?

Back to the phone call, Baal isn't happy that the park still stands. Walter Park is created to vent out demons' evil cycle after all and he has no need for that in his goals as he prefers that the demons go way beyond the evil cycle and just become ultimately evil. Unfortunately for him, the authorities are coming and they can't really do much else so he tells Kiriwo-senpai and the rest to escape already.

After being told to escape, Kiriwo-senpai says that this isn’t the end and declares that he and Iruma will meet again as they are destined enemies.

I guess in Iruma’s harem, he’s the “enemies to lovers” love interest lol.

Iruma looks at the direction where Kiriwo-senpai was but of course, he doesn’t see anything and he’s none the wiser.

Opera gives Iruma back his backpack at the float. As Iruma looks inside for his stuff, he finds the note his grandfather gave him of things he must do on his trip with the final one on the list being "Have fun with everyone!". Iruma looks at his smiling friends and thinks that even though a lot of scary things happened today, he still did have fun with them. Aww so cute!

Iruma gets reunited with his worried grandpa who goes to the hotel to check on him. Iruma says he couldn't go home early as Ronove's dad let them stay at the hotel as thanks for saving the park. Ronove’s dad adds that they are also Sullivan's students so he's happy to give them such things. Iruma tells his grandpa that he's happy and okay and that the teachers and Opera protected them. Grandpa Sullivan decided that the three adults would be given the job of protecting Iruma from now on (and Kalego-sensei felt a chill down his spine elsewhere in the hotel lol).

These two adults are the same. They probably won’t stop talking about their kids if you’re around them. Reminds me of FMA’s Maes Hughes (thought still makes me sad).

While the teachers are discussing information about the attacks, Kalego-sensei goes to his room to find his team on the bed making fun of the stuff he said earlier much to his annoyance. The boys said wanted to stay in the teachers' room as it's better than the room they got but Kalego-sensei quickly kicks them out.

The girls also get rewards and are allowed to get any clothes they wanted which made them happy. Ronove’s dad is pretty generous, huh? Like, I know these guys deserve it for all their hard work but the guy looks so happy that he’d probably still be nice to them even without all the trouble happening.

They are all also given an all-you-can-eat buffet. Iruma eats a ton of food obviously. Clara is having fun at the chocolate fountain thing and Ronove is trying to make Agares eat. Those two got close, huh? lol I wonder if Ronove’s doing this to try and make Agares unattractive or something. It’ll be cool if they became friends though with their very contrasting personalities and all.

While everyone is having fun inside, Iruma leaves without anyone else realizing except for Ameri who decides to follow. They end up at the rooftop by themselves with Ameri trying to calm herself down as she's thinking of romantic stuff as it’s just the two of them. Iruma then reminds Ameri of the question she asked him before about his goal and tells her he finally found one: he wants have fun with everyone. He's willing to change in order to be able to protect that ideal of his. Ameri is happy to see Iruma has grown.

Ameri decided that she also wants to give it her all for her own desires and ambitions. She then tries to tell Iruma something but sadly she gets cockblocked by Clara and Azz both appearing. Ameri gives up for now and tells Iruma to just go with his friends.

Before leaving, Iruma asks Ameri a question - the same thing she was going to ask him earlier! He asks if they could hang out sometimes but just the two of them and she passes out from this lol.

Congratulations to Iruma x Ameri fans for getting a scene like this, too. I also don’t know the ship name for them. Anyways, why is it just the senpais getting a moment with Iruma? Ameri has been getting a lot of moments, too and it’s making me wonder if she’s endgame.

lol also, Ameri is worried about the other female rivals not realizing there’s another threat somewhere else.

While all that teen drama is happening, both Romiere's dad and Iruma's grandpa are being interviewed on tv. The two men then tell everyone how their kids and those kids' friends are the heroes of Walter Park. Since Iruma's name had been specifically mentioned (with everyone knowing the heroes are "Iruma and friends"), there ends up being reporters outside the hotel wanting to see Iruma the next day. Iruma, of course, doesn't like this popularity. With the thought that there may also be reporters waiting at his home, Clara offers to let Iruma stay at her house.

Oooh... will we finally get Iruma x Clara and Iruma x Azz moments as well? Hehehe

There's something new in the ED video by the way! This used to be for Kuromu but now it’s for these boys! Cute!

---

I’m guessing this is the end of this arc? I wonder what the last one will be since we only have like, what, 6 episodes more? What kind of arc will it be, I wonder cause this one had battles.

Okay, the end where the heroes are mentioned to be “Iruma and friends”, I’m happy and surprised that none of the others were bothered by this at all. No one complained about why Iruma is the only one specifically named. It didn’t cause a fight between the entire group unlike what would’ve happened if this was any other story. I get why Iruma got proper credit as he is the one to end the incident and saved everyone around from being fried but his friends did a lot of work, too and it’d have been better if they were all credited properly in the news. None of them were mad though and are happy that they won because they did their best.

Ronove calling his dad “Legend-daddy” will never not be cute and funny to me. His dad, despite being rich enough to own this entire park, isn’t an annoying, arrogant asshole and I like that. I’m happy that most characters in this show subvert my expectations and they make me like them more.

I’m sorry if I don’t tag ships in my mairuma posts but I don’t know any of the series’ ship names lol. Speaking of ships, as I mentioned before, Ameri’s been getting a lot of moments with Iruma or focus on her growing feelings for Iruma. Kiriwo-senpai only showed up a bit in this arc and got a bit for himself, too. Kuromu and Clara only had a bit when Iruma went evil cycle and I wonder if they’d get more, too. I personally ship him with Azz so I wish they’d gets some moments as well. Eiko gets hers mostly on the “Interval” segments.

So... is it possible to have a mairuma dating sim or not? Look at how many routes are available! XD

Anyways, focus next time is on Clara’s family probably with Iruma spending time there. I expect another Valac Family musical! XD

Thanks for reading!

#Mairimashita! Iruma-kun #welcome to demon school iruma-kun #sana_post

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ot7always · 4 years

Text

Fractured (part 1)

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Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (platonic); future Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, (future) smut

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence including murder (non-explicit). Mentions of sex (non-explicit). Mentions of drugs, guns, neglect, physical abuse, parental death. Toxic household, implicit mentions of mental illness (depression).

Rating: 18+

Summary: You’d always known something was strange and different about your “family,” but it wasn’t as though your environment encouraged curiosity from you. You thought you wanted to know all the answers, but nobody ever told you that the more you learned the more pieces of yourself you would leave behind.

A/N: This is my first story in this fandom, and I haven’t written anything for any fandom in years. This plot came to me all of a sudden last night and I decided I needed to write it. Please let me know what you think!

Masterlist

You used to be naive.

You were 11 when you first held a gun.

12 when you first made every shot through the centre of the target.

13 when you first noticed the fathers’ proud eyes rather than empty ones.

14 when you first defeated one of the boys in a spar.

15 when you first learned the details of why this was all necessary.

16 when the boys last saw you smile for real.

17 when you first participated in a mission, knuckles bloody for the first time.

18 when you first gave yourself to a man, only to later drug him and strangle him in his sleep.

They say ignorance is bliss, and you can’t help but to agree. Knowledge is not always power – you understand that better than anyone. Because the day you sought more knowledge was the last day you might have considered yourself truly happy.

“I said no. You’re not going anywhere.” The man looked at you, stone-faced in the doorway to his office. You had sought him out for permission to attend a classmate’s birthday party, but already regretted trying. It wasn’t as if you were ever allowed to go anywhere but school and back, escorted by the man’s driver.

Your neck had to crane upward to give him the pleading looks that often worked on his wife, but to no avail. With your head barely reaching the man’s waist, his cold stare had your six-year-old heart pounding, tears filling your eyes.

“But-“ you started, however it appeared there was no room for negotiation. The door was slammed in your face, door rattling in the frame. The noise was enough to make you jump, hands rising to wipe away the wetness that you could no longer hold back after being denied again.

Wanting to hide under your covers for the rest of the night lest you run into the man again, you turned around but instantly collided with another body. Gasping, your eyes immediately fell to the floor, hands falling to your sides.

“I’m sorry,” you uttered with as clear of a voice as you could manage, unwilling to invite the anger of another in the household, especially not the other adults. But the response was not one you expected.

“Y/N?” a soft voice questioned, reaching for your trembling hands. Your eyes rose to meet those of Namjoon’s, who only looked at you with more concern once he properly saw your state. His eyes swept over you quickly, assuring himself you weren’t hurt. He was only a few years older than you, but he worried for you greatly. “What happened?”

Hearing a kind voice after such an icy rejection only caused you to cry harder, stepping forward to wrap your arms around Namjoon’s waist, head buried in his chest. He accepted you without hesitation – it isn’t as though this is the first time this has happened. His hand rose to rub at your back, his warm touch calming you down some. But still, you did not offer an explanation. You knew the rules in this house, and it was your own fault for wanting more, after all. As you begun to pull away, still seeking the safety of your bed to avoid the rest of the world, Namjoon’s hands remained on your shoulders.

“Did my father say something to you again?” he questioned, sympathy in his gaze. You breaking eye contact was answer enough for him. And while he wished he could do something more for you, approaching his father about this would only invite him to unleash his anger on both of you.

Instead, he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with your own. When you peered at him inquisitively, he was glad to see that while your eyes were shiny and nose runny, you were no longer crying. Unwilling to let you mope for the rest of the day, he begun leading you away.

“I’ll make you some pasta, okay? I’m sure you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” he said, continuing the long trek from the upstairs rooms down to the kitchen.

While no, you hadn’t eaten, the last time you ate Namjoon’s pasta you ended up throwing up into the toilet hours later. But unwilling to reject his kindness, you allowed him to seat you at the dining table as he looked for ingredients in the fridge. You had planned to sit and watch him quietly, until you felt somebody collide with you from behind, arms wrapping around your neck.

“Y/N! We need one more person for Mario Party!” an excited voice yelled right by your ear, making you wince. After giving you the appropriate 0.3 seconds to formulate a proper response, hands begun shaking you at the shoulders hard enough to whip your head forward and back.

“Taehyungie…” you started, ready to deny him, unsure if you could handle the raucous of three young boys yelling at each other for stealing stars.

“Pleeeeeease! Please please please pleaseplease,” he begged, rocking your smaller body back and forth in the chair. His enthusiasm had you cracking your first smile since returning home from school.

“Y/N! We’re waiting for you!” a softer voice called from the living room. While you had been thinking about denying Taehyung, you never would’ve been able to deny Jimin. While mischievous, he had never been anything but kind to you growing up, leaving a huge soft spot in your heart for him.

Namjoon let out a small laugh from the stove, where he was stirring a pot that seemed to be letting out a suspicious amount of smoke for what he claimed to be pasta.

“You’d better join them or you’ll never hear the end of it,” he chuckled, giving you a wide grin when he saw you looking significantly happier than before. He was thankful that even if each of their parents might give you a hard time, at least you had seven brothers who only wanted to make you happy.

By the time you were ten years old, you had grown to accept that your life would not be like the lives of your classmates. You would not bake cookies at other girls’ houses, you would not join the after-school volleyball team, and you would not walk with friends to the ice cream shop down the street from school. That isn’t to say you hadn’t been invited. You had, years ago, but a child can only be told no so many times before they stop trying. After all, who wants to ask a question knowing the answer will always be rejection?

You were friendly with your classmates, but they knew you were some type of untouchable. You heard the whispers. She says she likes us, but why won’t she hang out? Why does the same car with tinted windows pick you up everyday? Why were you always alone on Parents’ Day?

While others had always wondered about your life, nobody dared to ask you. Whenever anyone mentioned family, the friendliness stopped. “It’s none of your business,” you would always answer, ending the conversation then and there. If your teachers ever tried to get information out of you, you would tell them not to worry. You always had an excuse for your parents not being there.

“They’re away on a trip.”

“My mother is ill.”

“They need to work during the day.”

The staff at school thought your parents were government officials, and you had likely been instructed not to talk about it. They were half right – your entire living memory you have been instructed not to talk about your family or your living situation no matter what.

It was easy to lie about why your parents weren’t there when your parents were dead. After all, who was there to refute your claims when the only family you had to speak of wasn’t even related to you by blood? The seven young boys – teenagers now, you supposed – had always been close to you, but you weren’t family.

No, you had been told that your parents were business associates of the seven families, but they had unfortunately died in an accident shortly after your birth. Unwilling to send their friends’ newborn to an orphanage, they instead took you in and allowed you to live with their families, where they raised you.

If raising you was the right term. In fact, many of the boys’ fathers ignored your existence. Namjoon’s father seemed to loathe you, though you didn’t think you did anything to cause such hate. However, you supposed that since he was not a kind man to his own son either, you could not complain. He was the head of the household, after all. You didn’t dare anger him, preferring to keep out of his way than to risk his booming voice and hard gaze.

It was not an ideal life. This much you understood, after seeing your classmates boast of their grades to their parents, happily shoving their report cards in their faces. When you see fathers raise their sons above their head, making obnoxious noises and pretending they’re an airplane, something deep inside you mourns something you’ve never had. You’ve never laughed at your father’s jokes, nor picked out an outfit with your mother.

It was not an ideal life, but at the very least you had the boys. They were perhaps the only people you could ever call a friend. They were loud and annoying, but also the only people who made you feel that you had a home.

By the time you were eleven, you had become curious. After all, every television show you’ve seen only had one family in one house, sometimes two. Seven was unheard of as far as you knew, and your adolescent brain with a newfound passion for science and mystery novels needed to know why this was. Of course, nobody could know about his goal of yours. This was top secret.

It started with casual eavesdropping. Before, you had tried to avoid the men in the house at all costs. Their serious looks scared you, and though the majority never specifically targeted you with their anger, you dared not risk it. However, you knew the men of the house frequently gathered behind closed doors, sometimes their wives too. It almost seemed like a business meeting, based on the dramas you’ve seen Seokjin watching in his spare time.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak around in the house, considering your presence was ignored by most. Even the maids didn’t look twice at your antics, knowing how teenagers always seemed to play weird games.

It was difficult to listen well, and you didn’t want to risk getting caught. You’ve only heard snippets of conversation, but it was enough to raise suspicion. The words you’ve been able to catch recently – “mission,” “warehouse,” “armed,” had you furrowing your brows, but what confused you most was “Bangtan,” or what you thought was Bangtan. You didn’t know what that meant. But what surprised you most was how often the others boys’ names seemed to come up, particularly Seokjin and Yoongi, the two eldest.

Your sleuthing continued through the weeks, but the words were hard to hear and you didn’t gain much from it. In fact, you considered giving up and trying to figure things out based on what you already had, but you figured one more try couldn’t hurt.

Perhaps you should have stayed in your room. Not that you knew now whether that could have helped you or not.

On one Wednesday after school, you returned home quicker than normal, traffic having been light for some reason. You figured you may as well use the opportunity to listen to any conversations that might be going on. After all, you made it home earlier than expected, so perhaps nobody would think you to be there to hear anything at all. Not that anyone paid attention to your schedule at all.

So there you sat – squatted, more accurately – outside Namjoon’s father’s office. You heard two muffled voices inside, but could not place who the other belonged to. What you did not expect, however, was to hear your own name coming from their lips.

“We’ve waited long enough. Y/N is useless right now, a liability more than anything,” a gruff voice said. The domineering tone itself told you it was Namjoon’s father, even if you couldn’t see anything at all.

“She’s still young-”

“And your son was years younger than her when he learned of everything. Stop babying her.”

Hearing a conversation centered around you was definitely not the norm. You leaned closer, hoping to hear better, but that was your downfall. Your shoulder brushed against the door – barely a touch at all, but enough to shake the door, and clearly noticeable to the men inside. Before you could even think to stand up, the door swung open, your eyes meeting those of Taehyung’s father like a deer in the headlights.

You felt as though your chest was going to explode, bracing yourself for the worst berating of your life. Would they kick you out? Would they hit you?

“I-I’m sorry,” your voice trembled along with the rest of you, “I thought I heard my name and I was curious, I promise I didn’t mean to,” you let out all in one breath, flinching and preparing yourself for the yelling, the fists, for anything.

What you didn’t expect was laughter. Namjoon’s father’s laughter, to be exact.

“The choice has been made for us,” he declared, directed toward Taehyung’s father.

“Sit.” he instructed you harshly, gesturing toward a chair across from his desk. There was just enough distance between you and him to feel that you were miles away. It made the man seem even more powerful than before.

“Do you remember what we told you about your parents?” he said as he fixed his stare on your wide eyes, more a demand than a question. You nodded, afraid a verbal answer would only get caught in your throat.

“Then you know we were in the same business,” he continued. You nodded again. This is the nicest he’s ever been speaking to you, and that had you relaxing some.

“You see, the boys here are all involved in this business as well. That is their responsibility to their family. Their duty. And it is time for you to fulfill your duty as well. This is what your parents would have wanted, and it is what we need from you in return for sheltering you all these years,” he went on, taking in your expression. The confusion and wariness must have been apparent on your face, because he kept on without waiting for a reply.

“You will train. After school for four hours everyday. You will become part of this business. The boys will help you,” he stated firmly, and you clearly knew these were not requests. These were commands, and you had no place to deny them, despite the questions you wanted to ask. You turned your head to look at Taehyung’s father, who had been one of the only people in the house who treated you as human. He nodded at you reassuringly, hiding his own hesitation well.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to get out, the first words you’d spoken since you entered the room. Even those were a struggle considering your shock.

“Good. You start tomorrow. Now leave.”

And train you did.

You were 11 when you first held a gun.

12 when you first made every shot through the centre of the target.

13 when you first noticed the fathers’ proud eyes rather than empty ones.

14 when you first defeated one of the boys in a spar.

15 when you first learned the details of why this was all necessary.

16 when the boys last saw you smile for real.

17 when you first participated in a mission, knuckles bloody for the first time.

18 when you first gave yourself to a man, only to later drug him and strangle him in his sleep. That was the first night you’d made yourself vulnerable in years, sobbing into Hoseok’s arms lamenting what you had done.

19 when you finally seemed to earn the respect of Namjoon’s father.

19 when you finally seemed to realize you would never be happy, never hold a real job, never get a real education.

You were no longer just part of the house, invisible to the powerful men and their wives who lived there. You had skill, talent.

No, you were no longer just a thing. You were a weapon, an asset. A tool to be used.

But a tool can only be used for so long before its shine fades.

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#bts fanfic #bts series #bts x reader #bts mafia au #ot7 x reader #yoongi x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fic

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vagabondedlife · 4 years

Link

Kei Fujiwara’s name is hardly recognizable to most fans of Japanese cinema despite her crucial role in director Shinya Tsukamoto’s early cult classics. As Tsukamoto’s “right hand” woman in the 1980s, Fujiwara became closely involved in his underground theater troupe, Kaijyu Theater, and contributed to the productions of the experimental and DIY films The Phantom of Regular Size (1986), The Adventures of Denchu Kozo (1987), and Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989). Her credits include actress, cinematographer, prop artist, makeup artist, and set-designer (her apartment was used as a primary set). She also engineered Tetsuo’s iconic phallic drill.

Born in Kumamoto in 1957, Fujiwara moved to Tokyo in her early twenties and discovered theater troupe director Jūrō Kara, who became her mentor. After a decade, she created her own troupe called Organ Vital, which underwent a series of evolutions but remains her life work. Her new project this year is Ibunkitan, a form of micro-nomadic theater, whose kanji characters mean “strange-listen-machine-story.” A private person now living in the reclusive mountains of Nagano, Fujiwara rarely gives interviews, but seemed excited to talk about her rarely discussed directorial debut, Organ (1996).

An avant-garde exploration of violence, pain and pleasure with an operatic amount of coagulated blood and extrasomatic body horror, Organ follows two detectives after they break into an organ harvester’s warehouse and collide with yakuza gangsters, a drugged doctor, and his eye-patch wearing sister Yoko, played by Fujiwara herself, who also produced and wrote the film. A cherished work among hardcore fans of Japanese cult cinema, Organ is still ripe for rediscovery. The film’s offerings of a full-bodied sensorial experience and an abusive questioning of cruelty prove tirelessly relevant.

Fujiwara’s work was recently revived at FFFest in New York City with a double feature of Tetsuo: The Iron Man and Organ. Fujiwara prepared a special statement that was shared as an introduction. Following the screening, we had the opportunity to speak to the artist about her life, practice, and ideals in more depth. The conversation was held over the phone in Japanese.

NOTEBOOK: Is Ibunkitan a new Organ Vital?

KEI FUJIWARA: Yes, it’s a new Organ Vital. When I was young, I lived in the rural area. I always just read theater but never had the opportunity to see state-of-the-art theater. When I was in high school, I was always reading, and I picked up an Antonin Artaud book that featured this French term. It meant the vessels of life. When translated to English, I’m told it just becomes, “vitals of organ,” or something, but in Japanese it is called gozōroppu and to me signifies the corporal. That’s the name of my theater company, and it has always been that for me. Born into this three-dimensional world with bodies, we sense and express. That’s what’s interesting in life. Ibunkitan can be done in a very small space. We’ve done it in temples, in the corner of a shop, in salons. Our first performance was in March, and we’re planning to do another in November. We've been invited to perform my new Jomon-inspired piece in a live-house in the mountains in Nagano, so we’re preparing some woodwork for that now.

NOTEBOOK: You were working in Shinya Tsukamoto’s Kaijyu Theater production between working with Jūrō Kara?

FUJIWARA: Jūrō Kara, my mentor—when I was in Jōkyō Gekijo [Situation Theatre], he took a liking to me and wrote roles for me. A lot happened, and Kara said he would make a new troupe with me, but I had other plans, so I left once, and he said, “As my mentee, you can leave but wait for me to come get you.” That’s when I went to work with Shinya Tsukamoto on his plays and films. It was after Tetsuo: The Iron Man [1989] that Kara started the new troupe “Kara-gumi” and I returned to work with him.

NOTEBOOK: How was it that you began working with Tsukamoto?

FUJIWARA: I had just left Kara and after a while a friend said that Tsukamoto was looking for someone to act in his plays. He was Tsukamoto’s classmate and an actor, and he made the introduction. I found Tsukamoto interesting and talented. So, I began working diligently as his right hand after that.

NOTEBOOK: I wanted to ask you about Tsukamoto’s 1987 film, The Adventures of Denchu Kozo.

FUJIWARA: Denchu Kozo and Tetsuo were actually both shot in my apartment where I was living at the time. You know all those cats? I couldn’t rent a normal apartment, so I had to live in a cheap nagaya tenement house on the verge of getting demolished. I just needed a place to live that permitted pets. Denchu Kozo and Tetsuo’s interior shots are all at my place.

NOTEBOOK: Are the scenes projected in the TV monitor in Tetsuo from Denchu Kozo?

FUJIWARA: Yes. They’re from Denchu Kozo.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: What turned you onto making Organ, if you were always only interested in theater?

FUJIWARA: That was because of my experience filmmaking with Tsukamoto. It prepared me for how arduous it would be. Theater is an impermanent art, and that’s why it’s such a luxurious art form. But film is like capturing a world in a crystal ball. The joy of creating film is like making your own universe. My staff members at the time— six men other than myself—were all talented, and I thought, “Everyone’s here, why don’t I just make it?” So, all the staff also became the actors, and that’s how we started filming. But it was so difficult at first. We used the atelier space we had and reformed it over and over and shot it like that. It was time-consuming. It became the warehouse set, the school set. It kept on transforming. We did it all in the same space.

NOTEBOOK: That seems like a very theatrical way of using space.

FUJIWARA: Yes.

NOTEBOOK: But first, you started writing it?

FUJIWARA: Yes, I first started writing it. I’m actually not very good at planning. I just think that if I put my mind to it, I can make it happen. So I wrote the script, and had the staff pool in their savings. Between the seven of us we had 200,000 yen, so I thought, “Great, if we have 200,000 yen and one reel of film is 5,000 yen, and even if we bought lights, we can make 30 minutes of footage.” As for the equipment, there are countless aspiring-filmmaker boys who have camera equipment lying around collecting dust, so we borrowed from them. As for the set, we were all used to making it for our theater. We were good at foraging free stuff to make things. That warehouse set in the beginning of Organ was made with an extremely cheap budget. Then we started filming. All those organs in that scene were worked from what was supposed to be our dinner for the day [laughs]. We used real food. We took some gelatin- and konjac-noodles and thought, “This can look like veins!”

NOTEBOOK: And then you had it for dinner?

FUJIWARA: Well, we ended up not being able to, because it was covered in fake blood! It was all about how little money we could spend and still make something, which was a valuable lesson for me.

NOTEBOOK: You’ve mentioned the Kenji Miyazawa poem, Ame ni mo makezu1.

FUJIWARA: Yes, I just really like Kenji Miyazawa. I like the way he thinks, and his philosophy. He’s a Buddhist, and as I haven’t studied Buddhism properly, I cannot say for sure, but I think his seimeikan, or view of life, is on par with that of Osamu Tezuka. Osamu Tezuka and Kenji Miyazawa are two gods with the same perspective regarding seimeikan. No matter how great their art is, Yoshihide Otomo and Hayao Miyazaki can never reach Osamu’s level. Osamu’s core is love. There’s only love. The way they think about life is totally different. I was reading manga before I was literate [laughs]. I like Osamu Tezuka, but also Sanpei Shirato. And in my teens, I liked Daijiro Morohoshi. He’s an extremely interesting person.

NOTEBOOK: Do you think that your films need to be discovered?

FUJIWARA: They need to lock in perfectly with someone’s desire to watch it, or else watching it has no meaning. It just appears as a confusing, grotesque film.

NOTEBOOK: Please tell us about your make up and special effects.

FUJIWARA: Since Tetsuo, my method is always the same. I don’t have any background knowledge of special effect makeup. I just have a gut feeling of what can and can’t be used. Tsukamoto had these drawing storyboards for Tetsuo, like the steel body and the drill penis. For the latter, Tsukamoto just wanted to make something simple and said it would be enough if we could just pretend like it was moving, but I thought it would only be interesting if it actually moved. I didn’t have any hi-tech skills, so I thought, “That’s it!” I took the nearest working electric fan, dissembled it down to its core, used all the rubber and tape I had at home, sprayed it up and got it to go, vroom [laughs]! It was the same for Organ. I used household products, mostly kitchenware.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: What about your cinematography?

FUJIWARA: I had no background knowledge. The first time I started shooting was on Tsukamoto’s set. A lot of people who graduated film school and wanted to help were there, but Tsukamoto didn’t trust any of them. Just because you have technique doesn’t mean you can shoot well. He thought that the person wielding the camera needs a certain amount of power, of energy. So I, who had never touched a camera in my life, was given the camera and told where to press to get it rolling, and shot all of the scenes Tsukamoto was in.

NOTEBOOK: Do you still shoot with a camera lately?

FUJIWARA: Rarely.

NOTEBOOK: As the occasion for this screening was FFFest, Female Filmmakers Festival, could you comment about your experience as a female filmmaker?

FUJIWARA: Something men don’t have—there are two types: female filmmakers who focus their perspective on their immediate surroundings and daily lives, and those who focus on creating a worldview from the even more intimate bodily perspective. That’s what’s a little different from male filmmakers. Even in theater, most female directors write familial narratives, although I don’t [laughs].

NOTEBOOK: The podcast Ladies Horror Night, on the occasion of this screening, recorded an episode that raised the question of why you, a female filmmaker, didn’t include more female characters. I’m not sure about this pressure for female filmmakers to represent female subjects, as I think there’s power in the female filmmaker re-writing the male-centric story. Can you speak on this and how you came to write the police story in Organ?

FUJIWARA: When I think about seimeikan—our view of life—it appears to me that the moral judgment of good versus bad is not something universal, but just a rule that protects our lifestyle in society. It’s a regulation. We make regulations to protect ourselves. That takes the form of “good” and “evil.” But that’s not the good and evil that holds ground in nature. Animals kill other animals for their own predation, right? Humans, too, in the context of war, can kill other humans and become heroes. The concept of zen-aku, or the notion of good and evil, is just a societal regulation. The police represent upholders of this regulation. And then there are those who defy this regulation, who lie in a realm completely different from this conventional morality. Organ is a clash between these two groups. That’s how I formed the police narrative. As for why there are few female characters, well… In the case of females, expressing them requires—for many, not all—a focus on the micro world, the micro perspective, that is, if you pay attention to their priorities. In other words, if you have a goal and you want to finish something, but she says she needs to take a bath at this certain time and cannot participate, there’s nothing you can do. In my theater, only men can keep up with me. Because of this standpoint, if a woman were to express a woman, she would need to create a micro world. But when describing a police story, a macro worldview, the direction would lose focus.

NOTEBOOK: It would become more internal?

FUJIWARA: Right. That’s why there aren’t as many female characters. But the wife of Numata represents the reality for women. And also the female teacher who approaches the criminal but gets killed. Woman participated in this way. But it’s hard for them to take leading parts for the narrative. It’s hard to let them be there and have their perspective be represented, because their perspective is in a different dimension.

NOTEBOOK: What about the character you play, Yoko?

FUJIWARA: Yoko is outside of that realm. She’s an outlier. She doesn’t represent family or the household or the joy of daily life, because she didn’t enjoy any of those things. That’s why she can exist there.

NOTEBOOK: How did you direct your actors in Organ, was it different from how you usually direct them in theater?

FUJIWARA: It’s the same. The only direction I gave them in Organ was that they only get one shot. I don’t give actors multiple takes. If there’s a camera or equipment problem that requires another take or two, I’ll do it. But I won’t do it for the actor. The actor has one chance, the take. But, on the offhand that the actor makes a mistake and requires a take two, I tell them they need to buy their own film roll. That was the rule. So, no one ever made a single mistake. They were all dead serious, completely focused. They’re all broke and have no money to buy film.

NOTEBOOK: In that sense it’s theatrical.

FUJIWARA: Right, and I had one actress tell me that that it was brilliant. She said, “I do lots of work for TV and film, but everyone is so lukewarm and they do take after take, and think about it so leniently. But there’s none of that here. The one take is the real thing.”

NOTEBOOK: So, that urgency was good for the actors?

FUJIWARA: Right. They said they couldn’t afford to buy their own film.

NOTEBOOK: If you give theater actors the same direction for film, how does that work? The performances in Organ don’t come off as exaggerated; I doubt a viewer without knowing would assume they are all theater actors.

FUJIWARA: There’s no difference. In theater, my scripts are like music scores. The lines come out and dance, modulate, sing, calling on the innate sensation playing the instrument that is yourself on stage. The actor, with this music-score-as-script, has a multitude of possibilities of how to play it. In film, the scripted character is a part of the environment. They are simply material for the scene. I didn’t need to explain this to them, they naturally just became materials for the scene.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: That’s a good transition into my next question: can you talk about your music and sound design direction?

FUJIWARA: Music is difficult. What I say doesn’t get across, because I was working with new people. They hadn’t even seen any of my theater. I like German bands, something strong and hard. But even if they mimic the Germans, the Japanese can’t avoid making music that doesn’t sound soft and weak. One day I said, “Make it more powerful, something that alludes to the power of nature, more animalistic and sturdily-built,” and they said, “Okay.” The demo they brought to me literally had animal sounds, like elephants wailing and dogs barking, and I was like, “…That’s not what I meant” [laughs]. It didn’t get across. But there were some interesting sound bites that I could use. But Japanese band musicians can’t get over their own softness. I think what they have is different.

NOTEBOOK: So you’re not happy with the results?

FUJIWARA: Well, I’m the type of person that thinks, que sera, sera. So I wasn’t satisfied, but…

NOTEBOOK: You’ve mentioned that you a very easily scared person. But in Tetsuo and Organ, your characters say, “I won’t be afraid.” How do you interpret this difference?

FUJIWARA: When I came to Tokyo in my twenties, the first theater directors I met said they’d never met anyone as weak and sensitive as myself. They didn’t think I could live on a few years longer, much less do theater, and that I might find myself drugged up in a brothel in the near future. Kara was the only person that ever said to me that I was the strongest person he’d met. In other words, the fear and strength that I have appears to others as a weakness that can barely withstand life, but it’s just my highly sensitive nature they see. In actuality, I’m very strong. I feel very easily, so that seems weak, but my capacity for empathy is just very large. I feel others’ pain and sadness so strongly that I throw up thinking about them. That’s why I don’t watch TV or read the newspaper. Or else I would be crying all day [laughs].

NOTEBOOK: Watching Organ feels like you’re making the audience feel this extreme pain you describe.

FUJIWARA: Yes, that’s the result of the film. My second film, ID [2005], is even more so.

NOTEBOOK: In addition to fear and pain, pleasure is another large theme. After the screening, someone told me your film was grotesque but something about it was so pleasurable. How do you maintain that balance?

FUJIWARA: I think humans, in order to live, can’t cut those away from existence. If you deny desire, you’re not human. The existence of such things causes our misery, too. Thus, desire and slaughter are inescapable. My fear and sorrow regarding this, and my questioning what are they anyway. That’s what I wanted to portray.

NOTEBOOK: What’s interesting about your portrayal of violence is that Yoko uses the gun as a weapon but doesn’t shoot from it. The one time she tries to shoot at her father, it wasn’t loaded. She mostly hits with it.

FUJIWARA: When I act a role, it needs to be real for me to imagine it. I can’t shoot a gun just like that. I need to feel it. Whenever I do something I feel a corporal build-up that can’t just be released by shooting away.

NOTEBOOK: Shooting it would be too easy?

FUJIWARA: An action needs to be taken. The body and the heart are connected. It’s not that easy.

NOTEBOOK: What was the biggest challenge in shooting Organ?

FUJIWARA: The most difficult challenge was the first scene, in the warehouse. When the doctor and yakuza fend off the police while trying to dissect the man. That shoot was in the middle of summer, but we had to close off the warehouse because it was a night scene. It was hot, smelly, only men, and everyone’s body odor was suffocating the room. That was really difficult. At the time there were seven of us, and now there are three of us, just Takahashi, Mori and I. In Organ, all the actors take on multiple roles. Whenever they weren’t onscreen they were doing lights or shooting. We shot it scene by scene in order. I remember towards the end of the film, during the scene in the tunnel, when my role Yoko comes in on a bike and there’s a fighting scene, we couldn’t get a permit to shoot. We were able to shoot outside the tunnel on the road but not inside. But I badly wanted to shoot inside so we went at midnight, and the characters got all bloody and we were shooting, and the police came. They thought it was a real yakuza fight and took off the safety on their pistols and were about to shoot at us. We thought we were done for. The character Yasuda, who later falls into the ditch and gets stabbed with a Japanese sword, was responsible for getting the permits and he had all the documents on him. So, he came out from the ditch all bloody and with a sword in him, screaming, “We’re shooting a film!” terrifying the police even more. While he was negotiating with them we finished shooting the scene. The police just told us to be safe and left, but it was all thanks to him for putting his life on the line. We really thought we were going to get shot. Usually film shoots have large crews and it’s obvious, but in our case, all the crew were also the actors, so it was hard to tell, and the lights were hidden.

NOTEBOOK: What about the camera?

FUJIWARA: Yes, but it was a small 16mm Scoopic, and the police were so focused on the bloody actors they didn’t notice it. The police were terrified, but it was a great location and I just needed to shoot there no matter what.

#link #in case they delete it

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bonesliketambourines · 4 years

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Hiya! It's the Festive Fanfic Author Ask! Drop this on or off Anon into the askbox of your favorite authors you'd like to know better: Which one of your own fics do you think feels the most You to you? Which one of your stories would you suggest to read if someone wanted to get the gist of your personality?

Hi there anon!

I got this ask twice, so I’m going to answer it in two somewhat varying ways, if you don’t mind indulging me! I’ve posted part two here.

This was a tough question, and my friends can attest that I panicked and said “what if you don’t have an actual personality and are in fact just a cobbled-together mishmash of every person you’ve ever found cool” when I first got it. But the more I looked at it, the more it made me think, so thank you for that!

First, I’d like to say that a little bit of me goes into every single one of my stories. I can honestly say that out of everything I’ve written (and that will be 50 Drarry works in 2020 once I post my December drabble, can you believe?), none of them were anything less than from the heart. That doesn’t always translate to an excellent fic, of course, that wouldn’t be realistic, but all of them are Me, at least a little bit.

In these asks, though, there are two fics I’m going to highlight, and this part got super wordy so I’m putting it under a cut; thanks to anyone who reads through to the end of my rambles haha.

The first one is just tell me when it’s alright, which was my @hd-wireless 2020 contribution. This was my second major fest fic for the Drarry fandom (and my second major writing attempt in years; I abandoned fanfic and my other fandom in 2012 and just came back to it again in 2019, and didn’t start interacting properly with fandom and writing until 2020), and I poured a lot of time and effort into this fic. It was an idea I’d had for months, but if it weren’t for @tackytigerfic pushing me to sign up for the fest, and the unending support of the friends I’ve made this year, including but not limited to @maesterchill @shealwaysreads and @p1013, it would have lingered forever unfulfilled in my mind.

This was also a pretty major fic for me in that it was written from Harry’s POV. I tend to gravitate to writing from Draco’s eyes (which I’ll address in the second part of this answer), but this story could only have been told from Harry’s perspective, and I was very nervous about that.

I love Harry Potter as a character; I always have. There’s a lot of negative to be said about the source material and the author (let me just stop here to say that TERFs are not feminists, feminism isn’t feminism unless it’s intersectional, and transphobia and any other type of bigotry is not welcome on my blog; I am fallible and make mistakes but I always want to learn, so if I’m saying or doing something wrong please don’t be afraid to message me, and if you don’t agree with my above statements please unfollow me), but the Harry Potter series did so much to enchant an entire generation of kids and get them into reading; its importance really cannot be understated, and it’s doing the series a disservice to minimize its impact.

There was a time in the HP fandom where disliking the character of Harry Potter was sort of en vogue, and I never understood that. Here we have a boy who experienced some of the very worst humanity had to offer, and came out on the other side still brave, and kind, and forgiving, and generous, and good. He was handed the shittiest luck imaginable, and he wasn’t the smartest, or the most magically talented, but because he was able to rise above it all and love he was able to triumph.

As I grow older, as I see more and more of what this world is like, and how the systems of power in both my country and others actually function, I find myself returning to the story of a boy who became a man much too soon, who was given no breaks and provided no quarter, who watched as friends and family alike died around him, and despite it all managed to do good. What a powerful message. What a powerful character. What an incredible example, for a young child growing up in the divisive environment we find ourselves in these days; a fictional hero who won not by strength, or cleverness, or outwitting and othering his enemies, but by love.

So, with all of that, how could I ever write from the perspective of this character?? I’m much better at writing from the eyes of someone who sees and loves Harry, I’d always thought. But again, this story necessitated being told by Harry, and so I had to do it.

I probably spent more time thinking about this fic than I did writing it. I agonized and stressed and worked myself into a lather about how I was going to make it live up to the idea I had in my head. How, I thought, am I ever going to get such an iconic character right?

This Harry has a lot of darkness in him, a lot of sadness that, based on the comments I got, resonated with quite a few people. He’s traumatized, and he’s unaware of many parts of himself because he was never allowed to learn or to grow, and he’s still trying so hard to live up to the idealized image of himself he was confronted with the second he stepped through that archway into Diagon Alley when he was eleven. He’s not straight but he’s not gay, and he doesn’t know how to articulate what he wants or how he feels; and once he does figure it out, once things seem to settle for him, he’s suddenly up against yet another enemy to battle, but this time it’s his own mind.

Depression is an insidious, horrific thing. It slinks into your mind and crushes you down while simultaneously tricking you into thinking you’re not that bad off, and this is normal, and everyone probably feels this way, and who are you to complain after all? It slowly chips away at your joy and your purpose until you’re left surrounded by an uncleaned house and an inability to do anything to right yourself, no matter how much you want to. I don’t think it would be surprising to anyone to know that I’ve dealt with depression for my entire life, back almost as long as I can remember; I struggle with the apathy it presses into me daily, and there are days when, just like the Harry in this story, I can’t get out of bed, I can’t make my home a pleasing, calming place for me to be, and I can’t do anything but dwell on what I’ve done wrong and who I’ve done it to, and how they’re all going to leave.

There were scenes in this story that were incredibly hard to write. There are scenes that I had a hard time re-reading when I went back and revisited this story a few weeks ago. But this, more than anything else I’ve ever written, is the closest I’ve ever come to addressing my own personal demons, to articulating how it feels to be pinned in place by your own brain like that. And truly, Harry Potter himself was the only character I could ever write who would be able to fully embody this particular battle that so many of us face.

This fic has some of the sex scenes I’m most proud of, and some of the character interactions I like the best, but at its core it’s about a young adult adrift in the world, battling with his own brain and doing his best to bring himself some measure of peace and happiness. And for that, as hard as parts of this were to write (and read), I will always be thankful I was given the opportunity to publish this.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

#ask me whatever #fandom asks #fandom stuff #thoughts on writing #my fic #depression tw #in which lis has too many feelings and makes you read about them #about me #harry potter

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olderthannetfic · 4 years

Text

Escapade Vid - The Untamed

I could say this was my attempt at meta on an underappreciated character and that's why I wanted to vid Wen Ning…

Nah, I just think he's hot.

Wen Ning has this adorable babyface and big eyes. Just my type. And then he got a goth makeover and became a creepy zombie, increasing his hotness by ten thousand times. The Living Dead was everything I wanted except for dubcon possession porn, and it both irritates and cracks me up to see how many people find it OOC and badly made. I agree the colors are an abomination though--but more on that later.

I like Wen Ning the best because 1. He's hot and 2. He's one of the most competent characters and compromises his morals the least. Mianmian might be one up on him given how her story turns out, but in a whole series of craven idiots, I like the suicidally moral characters, especially when they're competent.

And also JC. Because I like his face. (What? I never said my Untamed feels were deep.)

I wanted to make this vid last year, right after Escapade. I spent forever finding a song, and I'm glad I did it then because it was a nightmare. I can find love songs easily, but I don't really care about WN/WWX, nor would most love songs fit that. It's clearly one-sided, but WN is also clearly totally happy to follow him around forever. Happy love songs are out. Pining angst is out.

WN is also motivated by high ideals more than specific family feelings. WQ wants to protect her family. WN wants to repay his debts. WN is a shy doofus on the surface when we first see him, and he acts flustered around most of the older characters, but this is deceptive. I feel like the most revealing scene is when he pops up at Lotus Pier, ready to grab JC and take on his entire clan. In what universe was this a good idea? What is he even doing there? Why did it actually work???

I wanted a song that encapsulated WN's quiet stubbornness. The trouble is that like 99% of popular music is either about romance or about being a confident badass, and most of the confident badass music is "Fuck you, ex boyfriend, I'm stronger now". I did not want an ex boyfriend song. A bunch of other songs are macho, flexing dudes talking about how they'll win the sports competition. Obviously, that was out. There are a very few songs like Try Everything, but they're awfully perky for covering Wen Ning's entire story, including him getting, you know, gruesomely murdered.

I honestly can't remember how I found the song I picked. I was probably listening to Happy Hanukkah on endless repeat and saw it in the Youtube sidebar. (Look, it's a great song for all times of year. Shut up.) Matisyahu has many amazing songs that build and move in ways ideal for vids.

I then sat on this source/song combo for a year because, well, it sure was a year. But when we got close to Escapade, I realized I wanted to finish it for the con.

Clip choices:

I'm not going to include the full lyrics on their own since they're in English and on every lyrics site. Instead, I'm putting the relevant bits between my explanations of what I chose and why. A lot of it came together quickly. I knew I wanted to include cute WN moments, like him being bullied by kids, and they wouldn't fit in the main narrative, so I had to put them in the intro.

Feel like the world don't love you They only wanna push you away Some days people don't see you You feel like you're in the way

I had a lot of trouble with 'push you away' since, generally speaking, no one does push him away. However, this is a vid from Wen Ning's own perspective, so it felt like an acceptable match to use the part where Wen Qing tries to leave him behind as they go on a hunt. She's objectively correct to do so given what happens, but Wen Ning is clearly upset that she tried. He doesn't want to be protected, especially at the cost of other people's safety.

Today you feel as if everyone hates Pointing their fingers, looking at your mistakes You do good, but they want great No matter what you give they still wanna take

I was very clear from early on that I wanted to use 'mistakes' for what Wen Ning is actually upset about: ruining Jin Ling's life. Of course he feels super guilty about what he did, despite it not being his fault, but the specific fallout Wen Ning is going to care about is a kid's feelings, not the political drama. That gave me the idea for what to do with 'good' and 'great'. More than most characters in the series, WN is not impressed by the power structure or reputations--scared, yes, but not impressed. WN likes bringing people food, at little things that are quietly good, and their society does not value that. (Cf. everything about Jiang Yanli's betrothal before Jin Zixuan catches feelings.)

'No matter what you give' I used for a shot that is probably not going to read as anything in a convention vidshow. He's bruised up, so I was hoping it would read properly visually. The actual context of the shot is WN having been thrown in the dungeon for being a traitor to the Wen. And yet, when the Wen are defeated, does he get a pardon? Nope, ignominious death. It really didn't matter what he did: these factions are all thoroughly corrupt and the entire system is garbage. It's all power-hungry assholes and sanctimonious prisses ripe for manipulation. All that mattered was that he was a Wen, and the Wens were either on top or being exterminated.

Give your love and they throw it back You give your heart they go on attack When there's nothing left for you, Only thing that you can do, say

The next part is WWX being an ungrateful little bitch. He's understandably stressed, but it still cracks me up that he's all up in WN's face and WN is literally only there to help him. WN might feel an obligation, but WWX sure isn't earning it here.

'When there's nothing left' I wasn't sure about. WN hitting rock bottom is arguably when he gets killed or maybe when they're in the burial mounds, but that didn't work with my structure. I chose to put a montage here of all the times that WQ tells him to stay safe by ditching WWX. I sympathize with WQ, but as WN comments in one of these scenes, he's following their own family code that she taught him. WQ cares so much about protecting WN (and the rest of their little part of the clan, but let's be real, it's mostly about WN) that she's willing to collude with a mass murderer just to keep him safe. Maybe it's only because he's a younger sibling, but WN seems to see things a lot more clearly. I laugh every time he's like "Uh huh, uh huh" as she lectures, and then the next scene is him running off to do something dangerous again.

Today, today live like you wanna, Let yesterday burn and throw it in a fire, in a fire, in a fire, Fight like a warrior, Today, today live like you wanna, Let yesterday burn and throw it in a fire, in a fire, in a fire, Live like a warrior

For this round of the chorus, WN is burning his Wen clan membership in a fire, and the heroic thing is running away, living to fight another day. WN has no ego, nor would ego be helpful here.

Buuuut, equally, being an actual warrior means hurting people, and while he was literally mind controlled into murder, that still couldn't have happened if he hadn't been already involved in violence and fighting. Violence you regret is also part of this life, and so is accepting responsibility for your actions. (Sure, he's very literally not responsible here, but WN doesn't know that at the time and doesn't feel that even later.)

There's some things you should let go, They're only gonna pull you down, Just like weight on your shoulder They are only gonna make you drown

I swear The Untamed has the best casting for a variety of face types. I recognized everybody from the moment they appeared… Except for Su She. Whom I forgot entirely and couldn't recognize at all. Doh.

It wasn't till I was clipping the whole series for this vid that I realized that the reason Wen Ning gets possessed here is that he's the only one to notice Su She's plight and go to his aid right away. I think on first viewing, I read it as him just getting possessed before he could get in the air, but that's not what's happening at all. His dumb ass stayed behind to try to help someone. Seriously, fuck Su She. They live in a grotesquely shitty power structure, but WN responds in admirable ways, while Su She just whines that he's not on top.

We all swing high, we all swing low, We all got secrets people don't know We all got dreams we can't let go, We wanna be brave, don't be afraid

WN's secret is that he gets possessed so easily and why. WQ is refusing to tell WWX in this scene, but he has figured out something is up and gives her a talisman for WN, which shows up later in the plot to great emotional effect--though not in this vid, alas.

The butterfly reveal was one of the first things on my timeline as I recall. I have Many Feelings. Also, this is me, so yes, I totally ship them. >:D

WN and WQ showing up to accept responsibility is kind of a dumbass move, but it's definitely brave. I enjoy how WN just keeps barrelling through the plot in a way that should mean he's the cute woobie who dies early on to prove the world is bad… and that instead leads to him being one of the strongest fighters, making it through the series, and finding A-Yuan again. (Though, okay, he did that first thing also. Heh.)

I ended on Jin Ling because I was so struck on rewatch at how the juniors first meet Wen Ning.

I dimly recalled this fight, but it wasn't till I was clipping that I realized just how much focus each of them gets and how WN is literally strangling them and such. I just remembered him fighting people, not who. It's hilarious how quickly after this (in their timeline) we have doofus woobie WN being cute and them being like "He's my murder zombie! ♥"

For this chorus, I focused on that change. WN is rescuing them. "Yesterday" is their scared faces. Here, being a "warrior" is apologizing to JL. And maybe WN doesn't really owe an apology, but JL does deserve one. Almost no one in the series seems to give a shit about how JL is feeling.

And then my favorite scene with my two faves! WN is finally telling JC what he has probably wanted to for ages. WN is a wuss when it comes to himself, but he gets righteously pissed when someone else is being mistreated. The yesterday he's letting burn here is his promise to keep quiet… along with viciously burning down every bit of self perception and hubris JC ever had. Ouch!

Your heart is too heavy from things you carry a long time, Been up you been down, tired and you don't know why, But you're never gonna go back, you only live one life Let go, let go, let go, let go, let go, let go,

Bless the sequel movie for literally being entirely about Wen Ning's internal struggle. The way he breaks free of the bad guy's hold is by accepting the past and letting go of his guilt over things he can't change.

Today, today live like you wanna, Let yesterday burn and throw it in a fire, in a fire, in a fire, Fight like a warrior,

He's just so hot in this movie! This first chorus is him coming out of the hallucination, having beaten his self doubt and then beating on the villain.

Today, today live like you wanna, Let yesterday burn and throw it in a fire, in a fire, in a fire, Live like a warrior

Okay, in actual canon, JL mostly joined them because he was competing with LSZ like the bratty little asshole he is, but I wanted to highlight how JL got over himself enough to join the other juniors on team WN. Also, WN defends both him and LSZ in this scene in ways he couldn't back then.

Today, today live like you wanna, Let yesterday burn and throw it in a fire, in a fire, in a fire, Fight like a warrior,

This I wasn't planning on at all. As I was clipping the whole series, I was thinking that WN's possessed footage here wouldn't be narratively useful since he went and got taken over again, but when I rewatched for visually impressive stuff to use interstitially, I realized that--holy shit--he's defending Jin Ling in this scene. And he succeeds. I included both a shot of Jin Zixuan, which everyone caught in the vidshow, and a shot that nobody mentioned: Wen Ning's bloody fist after ripping JZX heart out to go with Wen Ning's bloody hand on the sword in the present as he struggles to keep it from Jin Ling. Here, fighting like a warrior means keeping the sword off of JL, even if WN can't defeat the spirit or resolve the entire situation himself.

ALSO I HAVE MANY FEELS ABOUT JC JUMPING IN FRONT OF JL.

Today, today live like you wanna, Let yesterday burn and throw it in a fire, in a fire, in a fire, Live like a warrior

Sometimes, WN is not that sweet. He traps this dude in a hell of his own making instead of letting him kill himself because Wen Ning can be a vindictive little bitch. And then he strides off into the matte painting sunset.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Other vidding notes:

I totally wanted to do something with Chinese characters, but there wasn't really space, and after much dictionary-searching and asking, it's clear that Chinese does not use morality metaphors involving a compass pointing true north. But that effort was not wasted since I needed a good font for my other vid.

Vidding The Living Dead turned out to be a pain. I had completely forgotten it was in another aspect ratio. The shots look much more beautiful before one crops them. That said, none of them are that beautiful because the entire film has this atrocious green color filter over it. It's like they're all wading through mud at all times. Ughhhhh. I spent so long trying to fix the color on that final scene to be at least a little pretty for my vid.

Still, the film had exactly the emotional tone I wanted. It very much skewers the fanon that WN is entirely the bashful wimp he appears to be on the surface when we first see him. It makes overt the change that we see over the series. It's also fundamentally different because it's a situation where WN is the senior person and in charge of someone. We've seen him babysit a small child, and we've seen him around the juniors with lots of people of his generation also there, but we've basically never seen him out from under WQ and WWX's thumbs. It's only natural that he's acting more authoritative here. His smackdown of the villain is very much in line with how he treats JC during the golden core reveal. WN is not a forgiving guy when he thinks someone has been selfish and awful.

Throughout this vid, there are shittons of color, speed, and motion effects. I don't normally use a lot, but it turned out to be a lot of fun this time. I should find another project to use effects on.

The vid:

Available on AO3.

#vidding #wen ning

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cuttlefishkitch · 4 years

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hello! i haven't talked to you before, but ron said that i could ask you for some advice on writing eds? (i'd like to know things to avoid/common things that could come up in everyday life that would be good to mention/the sort of aids and stuff they'd have maybe?/anything else you think is relevant)

Hi! Sorry this took so long, a combination of ADHD and chronic pain slowed me way the fuck down. Thank you for being patient!

EDIT: WEIRD HEEL THINGS I FORGOT!!

So, before I get into this I should probably say I technically haven’t been diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS for anyone reading) because it’s one of those syndromes that takes forever to get diagnosed with (it took a friend of mine’s mother over 30 years to get dxed). Many doctors, and everyone I know who does have EDS agree with me that it’s probably what causes my chronic joint pain and some of my other chronic issues. But just because three separate doctors have said “Yeah Probably” doesn’t mean I’m diagnosed!! Only a geneticist can do that!! And they had two-three year waitlists BEFORE the apocalypse happened.

I am diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Small Fiber Neuropathy, and potentially misdiagnosed with Fibromyalgia (once I get properly tested for EDS I might get undiagnosed with this because I don’t have most of the main symptoms of Fibro, but I got diagnosed with it anyway because it’s what doctors misDX you with when they don’t know what’s wrong with you and don’t want to do more tests).

All that said, I’ve done a lot of research about EDS (mainly because it’s the only thing that explains all my symptoms since doctors seem incapable of doing so), and know a few people who have either confirmed or suspected EDS, so I’ll link to some stuff, talk about the symptoms that often come with EDS, explain how the symptoms I have affect me, because just because someone’s not diagnosed doesn’t mean they aren’t having symptoms, and probs elaborate a bit about writing physical disabilities and chronic pain in general because it’s super important to me!

So RESOURCES aka how to make sure your post never sees the light of day because you’re linking things and tumblr hates it when people give other people information!!

Youtubers! If you want to know about the day to day of living with EDS or any disability or chronic illness I super suggest finding a youtuber that makes videos about their life. My EDS favorites are

Jessica Kellgren-Fozard

Annie Elainey

Amy Lee Fisher

Websites! If you’re asking random folks on tumblr I’m assuming (and hoping) you’ve already done the basic WebMD google searches and looked over the seemingly ridiculous lists of symptoms and related conditions, so here are a few websites that are made more for people than for doctors.

The Ehlers Danlos Society

OhTWIST (That’s Why I’m So Tired)

ChronicPainPartners (the fact that they have an entire section of articles called “Dealing with Doctors” should really tell you something)

Books! If you feel like doing actual reading! I suggest reading books written by people with Ehlers Danlos, to get a feel for how they portray themselves. I’m not saying steal, but it’s probably a good point of comparison to see how your portrayal feels. (haven’t actually read these b/c my ADHD doesn’t let me read)

Ria Ruse by Morgan S. Ray (a superhero book with a disabled super MC!!)

Mysteries of Maybelle by Imani Benfell (Imani is still in high school and has already written and self-published a book cause she didn’t have enough representation for herself how cool is she!!)

Bodies in Motion by Liana Brooks (tw for pregnancy problems and miscarriages in the link, because it’s a blog post talking about integrating EDS symptoms into the story without explicitly naming them as such)

OKAY, now for some rambling about EDS SYMPTOMS!!!

Ehlers Danlos is one monster of a genetic condition in complexity and variety. There are THIRTEEN different identified types of EDS, it often comes with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) and/or POTS, and can lead to various other conditions like gastroparesis, chiari malformation, craniocervical instability, and/or bad teeth. So if you’re going to be writing a character with EDS consider what other comorbid conditions they might also have. I’m mainly going to be talking about Hypermobile EDS (hEDS) because it’s what I probably have and what I’m most familiar with. That said there is a lot of overlap in symptoms with the other varieties.

I started typing this section and realized I was going to have to break it down even more so we’re going to talk about Chronic Pain, Unstable Joints (Dislocations and Subluxations), Skin Things, Mobility Issues, and Other Weird Shit and how those things get addressed separately.

Gonna get the Other Weird Shit out of the way first. Because EDS is a malfunction of connective tissue it can fuck up all sorts of random things. For instance, I and many other people w/ hEDS have trouble swallowing. Shit gets stuck in my throat, I sometimes choke on and have to cough up food, and pills can be hard to swallow, which sucks cause I take A Lot Of Pills. If it doesn’t cause full-on gastroparesis it can cause IBS or other digestive problems b/c the digestive tract is mostly made of connective tissue. It can potentially cause heart problems even if they aren’t as big of a risk as in some other forms of EDS. Premature osteoarthritis is common because what you need is more joint pain. And Fatigue OH BOY THE FATIGUE. And of course the headaches, can’t forget those pesky migraines can we!

AND piezogenic papules!! I completely forgot!! Piezogenic papules are little white bumps that appear when you put weight on your heel. In some people they hurt, but in others they don’t. They’re technically tiny little herniations of fat peaking through the fascia in the heel. They were added as part of the diagnostic criteria for hEDS in 2017!

Now for Skin Things cause it’s not as big a thing in hEDS as it is in other forms. Basically, in a lot of forms of EDS, the skin is extra stretchy and extra delicate. It bruises and tears easily, people with the extreme versions of this can accidentally scratch something into an open wound if they aren’t careful. My skin is pretty soft and sensitive, I def have the typical velvety skin, and as is pretty par for the course of someone with hEDS my skin is a little stretchy, and sorta delicate. I’m not as tissue-papery as some people get, but I almost always have at least one mystery bruise or scrape b/c existing is hazardous. Most of scars are also pretty normal, unlike the extremely papery and atrophic scars (though I have a few tiny acne scars that are atrophic) that are common with other kinds of hEDS. Something that I DO have is Lots of Stretch Marks, all over my thighs, and even down to my calves. Which wouldn’t be abnormal, except for the fact that I’ve never been over 145 lbs and I’ve never been pregnant. Having a lot of stretch marks or striations in the skin without due cause happens because the structure of the skin isn’t as strong as it is in people with a normal amount of connective tissue.

I don’t have to worry as much about my skin but people that do are usually very careful with adhesives because they can irritate or tear the skin, which sucks when you need a lot of bandaids cause your darn skin won’t do its job.

Now on to the meatier stuff and since I’m mostly working backward let’s do Mobility Issues!! These can happen in loads of ways, but a lot of what causes these in people with EDS are the other two things I wanna talk about. Unstable joints lead to increased risk of injury when doing stuff people with fully functioning joints can do.

For context, I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user, meaning I can walk, but a lot of the time it’s better if use a chair. Mine is mostly for my POTS symptoms, but the fact that my legs aren’t also in absolute agony is a big plus. I use a custom manual wheelchair with a SmartDrive (b/c I’m very fucking fortunate and have good insurance) whenever I leave the house and have to be “walking” for more than a few minutes at a time. I can’t fully self-propel in a manual chair because it would be damaging to the joints in my arms and hands, but the smaller chair is easier to maneuver in less than accessible spaces (like almost everywhere). There was about a month-long span where I used a very cheap and very bulky electric chair while I was waiting on the ideal set up I have now. Before that, I also briefly used, and sometimes still use, an up-right posture cane.

People with EDS have widely varying mobility issues because of how uniquely it can manifest. My cane only gave me a little help with balance because if I used it in any prolonged capacity any pain it took away from my legs was relocated to my arms, and as an artist, my arms are more important to me!

If you’re going to write a character with EDS having mobility issues as a result of their EDS the best thing to do is to narrow down their specific needs. Are their knees complete and utter garbage but their shoulders and wrists strong? Maybe they can get away with using a cane. Can they not stand for longer than 5 minutes because of the vertigo from their POTS? Maybe they need a manual wheelchair. Would propelling themself damage their back and arm joints? An electric chair might be necessary! Plenty of people with EDS use all sorts of combinations of these aides to get around their life, consider how your character’s good and bad days would be. Do they have back up plans if they overestimate themselves? There can be a lot to manage, but don’t let it scare you off! Sometimes I try and make it into a resource management game (because I’m a game designer and that’s what I do), to make evaluating my energy and mobility needs more fun!

But now let's tackle some of the reasons those mobility aides might be needed. Unstable Joints.

Ever stepped wrong and rolled your ankle? It hurts for a few steps and then kinda fixes itself, or maybe it bothers you for the rest of the day and you put it up and ice it when you get home? When I was walking around outside my house that would happen AT LEAST once a month, usually more. Some times I’m sitting wrong and when I get up my knee isn’t a knee anymore and decides to just give out from under me. My knuckles are made of unruly popcorn and they Don’t Want To Stay Home!! Oh! And my shoulder is more often out a little out of its socket than it is fully in.

Unstable joints lead to Dislocations and Subluxations of varying intensity, and some people get them more frequently than others. Some can be severe enough to necessitate hospital visits and even surgery, some subluxations are so banal (like my fUCKING SHOULDER) that you just learn to live with the pain.

If a character is going to be in high action, combat-heavy scenarios, chances are they’re going to be popping out joints left and right. Hell, depending on the severity of their joint laxity they could be doing the same sitting at a desk. Again, it’s incredibly varied. I’d suggest setting some sort of baseline for yourself, of what a character’s joints can and can’t stand up to, and maybe do some research on which joints are most likely to pop out in general (hips and shoulders are big culprits being the wacky ball and socket motherfuckers they are). Then maybe have something pop out or hold up every so often when it shouldn’t cause hey! EDS is kinda just like that! Unpredictable!

Some ways people manage joint laxity is with braces, KT tape, and physical therapy. Braces come in many different forms, since I’m currently getting pretty much no treatment for my shitty joints I use mostly compression braces made for sporty people. It really is amazing how much a bit of tight fabric can do to keep my wrist in place.

More specialized braces often have solid parts to prevent the joints from hyper-extending (bending the wrong way) and causing further damage. If you ever see someone with what looks like diamond shaped rings around a bunch of their finger joints, chances are those are Ring Splints, and are there to keep the finger shaped like a finger. I want to get my hands on some and get some on my hands Very Badly, because my fingers hyper-extend SO MUCH when I type, and it makes my hand pain way way worse.

KT tape is another thing people often use. It’s stretchy tape you put on your skin and it basically functions kinda like a second ligament as well as reinforcing the joint and keeping the bones mostly where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this is a lot of people with EDS have very sensitive and fragile skin like I mentioned before, so KT tape can cause allergic reactions, chronic skin irritation, or just straight up take the skin with it when someone goes to remove it. Hence a lot of folks are really careful with it.

Physical Therapy is kinda the best (and only) treatment for joint laxity aside from Very Invasive and sometimes Highly Experimental surgery. It focuses on strengthening the muscles around the joints so they can do the work all those bone ropes made of body glue can’t. The problem is finding a physical therapist that 1) knows what EDS even is, 2) knows you have it, and 3) knows how to treat it without doing stuff that’ll Phucking Hurt You Worse!! Because exercising wrong with EDS can do Permanent Damage!!!

Again most folks use a combination of all of these things, or have next to no access to them b/c healthcare sucks.

Anyway, on to one of my favorite topics, Chronic Pain!! One of the reasons this post took me so long!!!

Chances are if your character has chronic pain as a result of their EDS there are gonna be some things they hate, including stairs, rain, thunderstorms, stairs, hills, uneven terrain, oh and did I mention stairs??? It’s going to vary person to person, but almost everyone I’ve met with pain from EDS has complained about their knees. For me the most debilitating pain is in my fingers and wrists. They’re by far my least stable joints but I use them constantly for stuff like drawing, typing, and sewing.

Because my joint pain is so wide spread, like most people’s with hEDS, it effects every single part of my day to day life. I can’t carry a heavy ceramic plate, open a bottle, or even use my computer without pain. It’s practically impossible for me to get comfortable in any position be it sitting or laying down, and as you can imagine that makes it hard to sleep a lot of the time. Moving too much hurts, but so does sitting still. I’m constantly taking braces on and off or cracking/stretching my joints so they pop back into place and hurt less.

Also being in pain makes everything else That Much Worse. I get tired way faster than I did before my pain was this bad (I had chronic pain for a while before actually realizing it wasn’t normal to not be able to walk down the block without feeling like your foot bones are trying to escape). My sensory issues and anxiety disorder are more easily aggravated because my base level of comfort is way worse. It fucks with my depression. And OH BOY does it make my ADHD worse because being in pain is fucking distracting as hell and makes it harder to make decisions and switch tasks. Also my ADHD often makes my other symptoms worse cause I forget to take my meds, don’t drink enough water, or can’t find my fucking braces because the item eating black-hole that comes with ADHD stole them. The intersection of mental and physical disabilities is probably a rant for another time though, so back to chronic pain.

Does it suck? Yes, undoubtedly. Is this incredibly debilitating? Of course it is, I spent the last several months unable to feed myself without assistance because there was a staircase between my room and the kitchen and I could only manage to climb it once a day. Is it overwhelming? Definitely, I’ve frequently broken down crying from a combination of pain and frustration because I’m having a bad day and there’s no relief to be found. Am I able to predict when it’s going to rain with uncanny accuracy because any change in barometric pressure makes me feel like every bone in my body is trying to kill it’s neighbors? You bet your fucking ass I am!! Does it sometimes make me irritable, angry, and occasionally dismissive of when abled people get cold or a temporary injury because the stuff they’re complaining about is my life every single day and all avenues of treatment and recovery I have could take years and still not entirely solve my issues? Yeah, and while I deserve a little extra patience I also have to be sure to check myself because I don’t want to turn into someone who’s nasty to be around. Do I sometimes need to sleep for 17 hours straight because it’s raining, I have migraine, and I’m in too much pain to be conscious? Yup, sometimes a few days in a row. Does living in constant pain mean I’m unable to do all the things I want to and does that sometimes make me wanna curl up in bed and never leave? Yeah, it happens.

But! And here’s the big important but, that’s not everything! I still write, draw, and talk to my friends!! It might take me a little longer but I get there. I’m still happy and excitable and make the time to write out five page long posts about EDS because it’s something I’m passionate about! My chronic pain doesn’t stop me. I refuse to let it. I never really wanted to go mountain climbing anyway, so I’m perfectly happy being able to make it up and down the six steps in my house, even if sometimes I have to sit and bump down them on my ass, or crawl up them like a cat. Chronic pain isn’t all I am. It isn’t a fate worse than death. It isn’t the only thing your character should talk about (though I do talk about my pain a lot cause I’m a complainer about almost everything). You can have your character be hindered by their pain, realistically they would be. You can have them seek comfort, support, and relief. Other characters can commiserate and be sympathetic, but it doesn’t mean their whole life is going to be one big pity party, that would be incredibly fucking boring. I know I’d be bored out of my mind.

All that said dealing with chronic pain, especially from EDS, is Complicated. Physical Therapy is the gold standard, but like I said before it can be a long and difficult process, and isn’t always accessible. Stabilization methods like I talked about before can help prevent pain, or reduce it by keeping bones mostly where they belong. Heat and cold help joints, relax muscles, and reduce inflammation but keeping them applied is rough and the relief doesn’t always last. Doctors prescribe anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sometimes even anti-epileptic medication to help manage pain, but everyone’s mileage with those varies. And I’m not at all qualified to talk in-depth about narcotics or other heavy duty pain-meds, but suffice to say the war on drugs fucked shit up for people that legit need that kind of help BIG TIME.

Now for my closer/bonus rant about EDS and Disability Writing in General!

Everyone always says write what you know, so if you really want to do disabled people justice, get to know disabled people! Make friends with disabled people, get involved with advocacy groups, consume content made by disabled creators both about disability and not! Disabilities are so fucking diverse, even EDS is such a complex disorder, and comes with so many potential co-morbidities, that practically everyone with it has a unique experience. There’s no way I can fully explain everything in a tumblr post. Hell, even if I could talk to you for hours probably couldn’t give you enough info to answer all your questions (especially since I’m still in diagnosis hell :,) ), so talk to a wide range of people with EDS and other disabilities!! I know it sounds like a lot of work but trust me, disabled people are some of the strongest, raddest, coolest, people you will ever meet that it won’t feel like it.

And don’t be afraid either, the fact that EDS and other disabilities are so wildly varied means that you have a little bit of wiggle room with your character’s experience. There’s so little disability rep out their I think people are WAY to scared to try their hand at writing it. So long as your character is a fully developed person in addition to being disabled, you give some logical thought as to how it would affect their life, and you don’t make their disability the butt of any joke it isn’t difficult to avoid ableist writing. PLEASE WRITE MORE DISABLED PEOPLE AND PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC PAIN/CHRONIC ILLNESS!!

Okay that’s it, again sorry it took so long for me to get back to you! My fingers were being little pests about it, and my ADHD (which is honestly more disabling than everything else a lot of the time lmao) was being an asshole! Hope this helps, and feel free to ask me more questions if you need clarification! It might take me a bit but I do love talking about this stuff.

#neela-chaan #ehlers danlos syndrome #EDS #hEDS #hypermobile ehlers danlos #disability #writing advice #disability writing #Chronic Pain #asks #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IM JUST SLOW #also i'm sorry the formatting is such a wreck #my adhd won't let me go back and fix it #and i've already spent way too much time

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dreamerwriternstargazer · 3 years

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Everyone needs a distraction sometimes, so open the gates of soliloquy, step out, stare up at the starry skies and tell me: what does Doctor Who mean to you ?

I quite literally did stare up at the stars for a little bit today so I could answer this XD What does Doctor Who mean to me....the short answer, the best one, the most poetic one: the evergrowing expanse of fantasies, of kindness, and of love. Consider that to be the core idea, the thesis statement, to my soliloquy though, since you asked for one. When I was a little girl one of the first memories I have is of being in my grandparents house and seeing Rose and 10 on TV, I remember being a little obsessed with those two actually because of the adoring way he looked at her, and because of how powerful I thought Rose was. She’s far from my favourite companion now but her and 10 hold a special place in my heart as the first faces I remember watching on TV. When I got a bit older, maybe 7? I saw a bit of the Christmas Invasion, the whole time I was waiting for Rose to appear but then the Raknos spider lady scared me and I never finished it, I couldn’t sleep for weeks and my mum banned me from ever watching the show (I wasn’t really allowed to watch it in the first place). I was quite alright with that, but I eventually got round to watching the show again. This time, an episode from Martha’s era, New New York the rerun, and I loved it, saw The Eleventh Hour as well and I loved that, but I was still too frightened of any monsters there were so I avoided the show. It wasn’t until 2013, the anniversary episode, that I finally properly sat down and fell in love with the show. What made me fall in love with it, what did it mean to me? As I said, the fantasy, the kindness, and the love held in it. I think I fell in love with it way back when I first saw it, I just needed some time to grow into it. Whatever it was that interested me all those years ago, that dormant fascination I had, awoke the second I saw Clara and 11 onscreen and their unbeatable chemistry (or so I thought at the time). Not only the chemistry between them, the best friends, the Impossible Girl and the Impossible Doctor, but the sheer....ethereality and at times ridicule of the story, the perfect blend of emotional, and humorous. You’re giggling over 10 and 11 bantering and messing with War, then you’re depressed because “how many children were on Gallifrey that day?”. You’re impressed and empowered (I was at least) by Clara’s confidence, her courage even when in grave danger, her dry wit towards the boys as they “show off” and then deeply touched at those big brown eyes and the sorrowful compassion she holds in them, as she tells the Doctor, reminds him, of the standard he holds himself to. “You told me what your name meant once”. The moment I realised that the Doctor was a girl as well, and she was a Doctor that day, as she always has been. Everyone has one Doctor that is theirs and while I would definitely name 12 as my Doctor, I think Clara came first. She was the reason I kept watching after 11 became 12, because of course I was deeply saddened by that, but in time, came around again because of Clara, and stayed for...Whouffaldi. Whouffaldi does have the greatest claim on my love for Doctor Who because they, as a story, embody everything I love about the show. The extreme kindness that the Doctor is, and should be, the love that is held in every act he commits for the universe. There’s losses, of course, but there’s this unbound idealism to their time in the TARDIS together. “If you have 2 choices and you don’t like either of them, make a 3rd choice” - a concept I think that is held throughout the entirety of Clara’s run, the standard she holds him to, but it’s never shown quite as blatantly as the both of them standing at the end of the universe, and all she needs to do is clasp his hand in hers, and ask him to stop. The fantasy aspect is not only the various and illuminating worlds they travel to, the dangers they face and tackle (if it was, then well apparently London is a fantasy since one of my favourite 2 parters is the Zygon Invasion/Zygon Inversion, for the beautiful and heart wrenching analogy for war that plays like a faint symphony in the

background right until the climax where it rises to an unforgettable crescendo) but the way they tackle it, the hope at the heart of every adventure. Whouffaldi is a romantic fantasy, a completely equal and loving relationship, the woman uplifted as far as she is to growing into his true equal as no other has, and in some ways better because of the power of compassion she holds and holds him to, however the fantasy element of the show is just the sheer idea of....the everyday ordinary person getting to run off into space, and do the most daring things, finding the bravery in themselves that they never knew they had, and equally, finding the extreme capacity for human kindness that they hold in their hearts. There’s a great deal of difference between RTD and Moffat era companions, with the most distinct one being that Moffat companions more overtly teach the Doctor of their humanity and this is conveyed through Moffat’s brilliant framing of the everyday as the ethereal, but at its core it is always this mad and entrancing alien who is made his best by the humans he love, by his Companions. Companions, such an archaic term don’t you think, for a friend? The show could easily call them his friends, they are, but they choose to stick with Companion in canon as well as out of it. And one could argue it’s due to the legacy of the show, but I prefer to think of the implications narratively, it’s a romanticism, there’s a connotation of a deep bond to the title of Companion. They keep him company, they are his comfort, they ground him as nothing else does, these “mayflies living for a day”. Companion is the one word summary, the one word answer, to this question, because the strength and weight of the stories are given by the companion, because we see it all anew with every new soul who enters those big blue doors, we are risen to courage and kindness with each new character who rises under each adventure. Whether it’s the Girl In The Shop and the Last Of The Time Lords, the Girl Who Waited and her Raggedy Man, The Impossible Girl and her Daft Old Man, whether it’s only to cross paths for a day or to be bound together til the end of time (or as can be the case with this very topsy turvey show, both), whether platonic or romantic, as caretaker, imaginary friend, lover, husband or teacher, the unrelenting power and commonality to every adventure, every story, is the Companion, is us, living the fantasy of fantasies. The dream of the impossible, of being ordinary and daring to run through space and time being as brave and kind as possible, seeing all the wonders over and over again, never the same because nothing is ever the same, and doing the best they can to make some kind of difference in the universe, without even realising they’re doing it, finding that ordinary is a special sort of extraordinary. If the Doctor offers the whole universe, within those doors, the Companion offers their soul in the humanity they teach him, in the moment they love the Doctor and take his hand, and their face is “seared into [his] hearts”. The universe and the soul. The exact fantasy that a lonely little girl who was afraid of her own shadow needed. “Never be cruel, never be cowardly, and if you are, always make amends.”

#doctor who #whouffaldi #clara oswald #12th Doctor #11th doctor #rose tyler #asks answered #star speaks

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