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nav-arre · 4 years

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These Birds You Cannot Cage

A piece for FebuWhump 2021, day 3: Imprisonment. 3549 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated T! Tags for violence, broken bones, vomiting, and Nilfgaard being the fuckin’ worst.

Sodden burns and Yennefer runs. Staggers, really, though it’s hard to tell the difference in her state. She can hear nothing but white noise like a distant blaze roaring. Occasionally her vision blacks out and when she comes to she’s somewhere completely different and has not stopped moving. She can’t. She tries to reach inside herself to draw from her well of power, but—

For the first time since learning of its existence, of putting a name to the fire inside her, her chaos is depleted. It’s worse than worn out, it’s so empty a part of her begins to assume it’s gone forever. If she had time to feel an emotion— dread, rage, fear, hopelessness— she might. But all she has is her body pushing her forward, strength and speed she didn’t know she could muster after this level of exertion, towards something shaped vaguely like freedom. Safety.

Honestly, she wasn’t really sure what freedom was anymore. Once, it had been a young man who watched her grow into herself, made her feel like anything was possible. Another time, it had been an academy that promised it could help her craft her chaos. Later, it had been proximity to wealth, riches, royalty. After that, it had been her, alone, making her own rules on her own terms.

And then, of course, freedom had come to her in the form of a world-weary witcher, amber eyes, and the unspoken promise to never tie one another down. Never clip the other’s wings.

Freedom was meant to be choice.

Freedom, Yennefer thought, was a beautiful, wretched lie.

When she finally stumbles, she crashes on the ground in an unceremonious heap. Her head swims and when she tries to rise up, push on, she finds her arms shake too fiercely and betray her. The white noise in her ears begins to fade and as she tries to focus on the ground in front of her she sees them. Boots, surrounding her. Shadows, looming.

They stand stock still. Someone is yelling, “Now is your chance, you idiots—” and then “She’s empty. Poor little mage used up her powers… but she’s still useful to us. Grab her, now.”

Freedom may have been a lie but actual imprisonment… that was something else entirely. Yennefer pushes herself away, bumping into what’s either a tree or somebody's legs, and hears laughter dribble out from the guards. She nearly wretches in disgust.

Next is the feeling of hands (she thinks it’s dozens, must be, but it may only be four,) gruff and far too tight. They wrench her off the ground and her vision is too blurred to make out any of their faces.

And just when she tries to steady her head and meet her captors face on, her vision swims again and consciousness slips away.

Yennefer wakes and immediately wretches what little she has in her stomach into a bucket next to her.

She’s cuffed in dimitrium, and everything feels so wrong. The floor is grimy, and as soon as she has a moment to breathe she heaves, pulls against her binds like she has even a chance of escaping.

“Thank fuck.”

Of all the voices she had to hear right now—

Yennefer lifts her head, tosses some hair out of her face to see better and there, directly across from her, is the continent’s most irritating bard. She groans.

“Mmmmm, yeah, not my choice of company either, but thank you for that,” he says. She gives him a stare. He looks… messy. Hair grown out a bit, stubble on his face, dark circles under his eyes. His shirt, which may have once been a cream color but was now a rather unfortunate motley of filth, is opened low enough to see a few dark bruises peeking out. There's a long scar on his neck, healed, but concerning nonetheless.

“But you were… really out there for a while. You alright? Relatively, I mean.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes.

“I’m in a prison cell. Actually, I’m in a prison cell with you, which is worse. There not much relatively to it.”

“Listen Yennefer, I don’t like you either but so long as we’re here together we might as well not be at each other’s throats. I love a good drama as much as the next bard but I don’t have the energy to fight both you and them.”

He’s not bouncing his leg as he so often does, and she wonders if there are bruises there too. Wonders how deep they run.

“Fine,” she says. “Only so long as we’re stuck. How long have you been here?”

Without the use of his hands, Jaskier’s taken to using his head to gesticulate. It looks absolutely nonsensical. “Oh,” he says after a few moments, “Three of four months?” Yennefer’s eyes bulge. “What month is it now?”

She tells him, and his head tips back in laughter. “Oh, okay, lovely. More like 6, then. Ah, how time flies when you’re being held against your will!”

Yennefer frowns. “And he hasn’t… come for you?”

Jaskier’s expression darkens, and he shakes his head. “Can you do that mind thing?” He whispers. She shakes her head.

“Not with dimitrium on me.”

Jaskier sighs. “I’m not saying anything about him, not out loud, not in here. Though, they said their mage will be seeing me next, so I don’t know how long that will matter for.”

Yennefer frowns, and thinks. They should be able to communicate this quietly without the guard's understanding. They’re not nearby, at least, and there are none likely smart enough to realize what they’re doing if they’re smart about it. “The mountain?”

“What? I— Oh, I see: Yes.” He catches on quickly.

“And then the two of you…?”

He shakes his head. “Just me.”

“Just you?” He'd left the mountain alone?

He hums in agreement. “And nothing since.” That'd been over a year ago now, and he hadn't seen Geralt in all that time?

“Idiot,” she mutters. “He tore his whole life to shreds.”

Jaskier shrugs, and looks… truly downtrodden, for the first time. She could see the months of wear against him. “I’m far from his whole life. That’s more of your specialty.”

Yennefer snorts. “Not really. And not by choice, apparently.”

“Would you be?” He asks and seems genuinely curious. There’s no bite to it. Like he really wants to hear her opinion. “If you had the choice?”

It’s an honest question, and she realizes she’s never stopped to think about an honest answer to it without being clouded by anger. She doesn’t like what this bard is doing to her already— what right did he have to make her feel important?

“Maybe if he’d given it,” Yennefer says after a second. She doesn’t like that it took even that long to consider it. “Taking away my choice takes away any goodwill we had, though.”

Jaskier nods. “Makes sense,” he says. “Can’t imagine an eagle likes its wings being clipped.” He sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. It strikes her that he doesn’t sound pleased. Of anyone, shouldn’t he be happy for her misfortune in love with the witcher? His witcher?

Well. Their witcher, she supposed. She hated the implications.

There’s silence. There’s silence, with Jaskier. As if things didn’t already feel dismal and strange enough. It was like a stream suddenly going silent. It was supposed to make noise. She stares at the scar on his neck and wonders.

It feels like the walls are going to fall down around her as she lets the reality sink in. There’s likely no getting out of this, she’s just here, they’re both just here, and unless someone on the outside does something, they’re likely to be there until her chaos eats her alive, or one of them is otherwise killed.

She wants to hear the steady stream of his voice. She wonders where his lute is. She tries to picture something to take her out of the place she’s stuck, the four walls that may end up as her casket.

“You’re not going to… sing something? Or whatever it is you do?” What had stopped the bird from singing? (Was that a worse fate than clipped wings, or the same?)

Jaskier opens his eyes to look at her and it feels like he’s seeing something she doesn’t even see in herself. It’s uncomfortable. He closes his eyes again.

“I haven’t sung,” he says softly, “in nearly 6 months.”

They’re there for weeks.

“Do you have any way to get out of here?” Jaskier asks late one evening when they both can’t sleep.

“Maybe, but only if I got these cuffs off me,” she admits. “Even then, it’d be a gamble. And if you’re still cuffed as well, I’m not sure I could do both. My chaos is… broken.”

There are a few beats of quiet. She wonders if he’s somehow fallen asleep. Then,

“I asked if you had a way out of here, Yennefer.”

Ah. She can hear his soft smile. Shit. That wasn’t what he’d meant? Was that not— did she really just assume him into her escape plans? Of all people?

“I assumed you meant—”

“Listen,” he says, “assume away. But when it comes time… don’t let me slow you down.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t.

She doesn’t sleep, that night.

“Do you hate him?” he asks another night.

“Yes,” she says, and everything aches. “Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

She nods. “And you?”

He nods back. “Only sometimes.”

The days slip and fall together.

This is what it feels like to be in a cage:

Her bones feel like lead, her mind feels like lead. The dimitrium weighs down something inside her, too, and it’s even more difficult to stomach the gruel they serve day in and day out. The cell is dark and cavernous, large enough to fit fifteen more prisoners at least, but it seems to be reserved for the two of them. Small sounds echo for ages and threaten to drive her mad.

(It feels like a door locked from the outside, a handle too high to reach.)

This is what it feels like to have a cage inside of you:

Yennefer had a scream inside her, ripping at her insides, desperate to get out. Her chaos, budding slowly, had never felt so oppressive and unnatural before. She knows if she goes too long with these cuffs on her, it’ll explode outward, and she knows Nilfgaard is willing to play that game of chance.

(It feels like knowing you’ve already ruined everything.)

This is what it feels like to be in a cage with Jaskier:

The bard was quieter than normal, but when he talked it was a mile a minute— when they let themselves argue or hiss at each other, whenever they would banter or bitch. She could lose herself in his stupid, often unfairly funny, labyrinthian trains of thought. She often did. She suspected that was what he meant to happen. He still doesn’t sing.

(It feels like being handed a key.)

The guards are cruel. When they pull Jaskier away, he goes softly, sometimes throwing a quip at them but more often allowing it without a word. She tries to pull attention away, tries to make an ordeal of it, but they barely look at her, even when she screams bloody murder. And every time, he comes back bloody and bruised, sometimes with a bone broken, and every time he fights it in near silence. She complains about the meaningless drama of the powerful people in her circles to pass the time, and occasionally he smiles through his pain, or gives a laugh behind quiet sobs.

When they pull Yennefer away… it’s not nearly as often as they haul away the bard, but every time, he snaps at their heels like a dog. Now there was a bard she recognized, running his mouth and saying everything he ought not to. Once, a guard twists her sending her falling to the ground, and feels a bone in her hand snap. She expects Jaskier to make a fuss, but he’s quiet.

“I’ll kill you myself,” he says softly to the guard, and somehow she feels it’s a promise he’d do anything make good on.

“Yennefer,” Jaskier says one morning, low and careful. “Would you be able to do it today?”

She closes her eyes, concentrates. She can feel her chaos locked within her, scratching at her, desperate and hungry. But how much she has to burn, there’s no way of knowing. It’s something, though. She looks up at the bard, his gaze on her steadily.

“I could try.”

He nods. “You’re going to think I’m mad, but— I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

They stare at each other. Somewhere, a door slams.

“Of course not, obviously not, have you met me? But it’s an idea, which means it’s got a better chance at working than all of our other nonexistent, well crafted and reliable ideas.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, but she finds she’s… smiling again; he has a talent for that. When she glances back at him he’s got a small grin as well, but he’s biting it back. She wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“Will you at least tell me what it is?”

“Nope! Actually, no; need to preserve the surprise, keep everything feeling authentic. Crucial to a major performance. Possibly my most major to date, considering the stakes."

“Fine. But if things go wrong, I’ll carve you open with a rusty nail and replace your liver with a salamander.”

“You know, I could also just take this back!” he says, “I could undo the idea! Idea gone, I like my liver where it is, it’s very hard to operate with a liver on the outside of one’s body, thank you.”

Their smiles are almost real now even in this false reality of a cell. She can really say anything to him, right now, and he won’t look at her like damaged goods. Then again, once they’re out, he could very well attempt to discard her. She’d beat him to the punch.

It hurt to think about. Wasn’t she above this, by now? Above her own heart?

She looks at the bard, disheveled, smiling, and with something that looks like excitement in his eyes, and sighs.

“Best of luck,” she says, and she doesn’t know who she’s talking to anymore.

The lone guard comes later than usual, and Jaskier is so full of anxious energy she thinks he might burst. He’s been making low humming noises all day, like he’s warming up for a performance— a bit dramatic, she thinks, but she’s not going to fault him his coping mechanisms while they were restrained in a Nilfgaardian prison. If they made it out, however, she made no promises.

(The thought of an After, where she saw this stupid, bumbling bard, spoke to him willingly and without malice for his general incompetence, disgusted her. She wanted it so, so badly.)

The regular soft thudding of boots down the corridor made both their heads snap up to the door. Jaskier took a breath in and closed his eyes.

“You ready for your pièce de résistance?” Yennefer jokes, straightening her back and lifting her chin. No sense in letting them see her any less dignified than she already was.

Jaskier doesn’t meet her eyes and reply until the boots are just outside the door. “I am,” he says, and it’s so deadly serious Yennefer reels for a moment.

The door opens, and the guard that comes in is the same that usually comes to drag them off; today the oaf saunters in and makes sure to wipe some grime of undetermined origin off the sole of his shoe and onto her already ruined dress. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, gods,” she mutters sarcastically, “what will I do now with a stained dress.”

He bends forward to grip her chin, and she finds herself less than an inch away from his face— it looks like hatred. Warm breath from his nose hits her face and she can hear Jaskier’s chains rattling as he strains forward, wanting to rip the two apart.

“Better play nice, doll,” he says softly, a voice like cheaply cut gravel, “or I’ll make it so you can’t play at all.”

His breath smells like—she makes a face.

“If you let me out of these cuffs,” she says, sweetly as she can manage, giving a flutter of her lashes, “I could help you with your… dental hygiene?”

She expects the slap. What she does not expect, is Jaskier’s reaction.

“This is so fucking boring.”

Yennefer frowns and the guard frowns deeper before turning.

“Excuse me?”

If she hadn’t known to expect something from him today, she would have missed the quiet fire in his eyes. He sits back against the wall, looking otherwise nonchalant.

“You do this every other day! I want some real fucking entertainment.”

The guard snarls and turns back to Yennefer, reaching to undo her cuffs from the wall.

“Well, fine then. If you won’t provide any, I will.”

Oh, fuck. She knew exactly what this was.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

His voice is rough with disuse and lower than she’s used to hearing it. For a moment, she thinks it sounds like a million birds flying, like a key in a door, like the most beautiful sound in the world.

“CAN IT, bard. You know what happened last time you sung.”

“With Geralt of Rivia!” he shouts more than sings, “Along came this song!” His voice echoes throughout the complex, hitting them from a million directions. The guard yanks Yennefer to her feet and looks deeply, deeply angry.

“From when the White Wolf fought, a silver tongued devil—” The guard takes a few strides to loom over the bard, a wild look in his eyes, pulling Yennefer with him. The echoing was overwhelming already, Jaskier projecting with full force. The guard bent to get his face close to Jaskier’s. He’d been right— she thought he was mad, even now as she realized his move.

“His army of elves—”

“You’re done with, you fucking—”

“With his HOOVES—” Jaskier sang, and threw his foot up, hitting the guard squarely between the legs. He dropped the keyring to their cuffs and fell to the ground with a groan. “—did they revel,” Jaskier cackles as he lets the words flow out.

Yennefer seizes on the opportunity, twisting to grab up the keys even with her hands behind her. She takes delight in stomping on the same spot Jaskier had a moment before, watching the guard roll over in agony. The bard keeps singing, even louder now, and the guard’s cries are dwarfed easily.

She fiddles with the keys until finally, she unlocks herself. Her chaos ripples out, and already she hears footsteps thundering toward them. It feels like she’s grown wings, like her chest has opened, and she realizes after a moment she’s screaming in relief, arms thrown wide, head tipped back. She shakes it off, lets her power crackle through her. By now, Jaskier had gotten to the chorus.

“O’ Valley of Plenty, oh— RUN!” he shouts, and she smiles so wide she feels her lips crack. She reaches out a hand and prays she can still focus herself after all this time.

Jaskier’s cuffs explode.

She grabs at him, and throws out a portal just as the footsteps clattering to their door get close, and she turns to see a dozen guards and a mage— not Fringilla, thank the gods— rushing toward them. She’s still got something left, so with Jaskier still singing by her side, she caves in the ceiling above them and lets the bard pull them into the portal.

On the other side, it’s approaching evening. She can see a mountain, in the corner of her eye. The bard, looking frantic, takes up most of her field of vision. Breathing is difficult at best, and she feels him adjust her against a tree. She coughs, and breath returns to her slowly. He kneels beside her, and lays his head against her shoulder. It’s the first kind touch she’s felt in weeks; the first for him in over half a year. Yennefer leans her head against his and soon he's wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Maybe, she thinks deliriously, freedom could just be a warm embrace at just the right moment.

“Not bad,” she says when her chest moves more easily, “for being out of practice nearly 7 months.”

He laughs. It’s wonderful.

“Not bad for someone with ‘broken’ chaos.” He leans back to look at her, and then at their surroundings. “I…” he frowns. “I know where we are.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t.”

“It’s. Ah. We’re in Kaedwen. Near Ard Carraigh. It’s near Kaer Morhen,” he gives by way of explanation.

“Of course,” she groans.

“Let's... let's get to an inn, I'll find us a room. Rooms? We’ll figure out payment later, but you need rest. If you’re willing to extend the peace treaty a little further, that is?”

She looks at him and chooses to believe it's chaos that puts her heart in a viselike grip and squeezes, not something in his eyes.

“I can go a little further,” Yennefer says, and lets her eyes fall closed as a breeze kisses her cheek.

#Yennskier #Jaskier #Yennefer #Yenskier #There's no confessions of love or anything but there are. Emotions. Happening #Fuck Nilfgaard 4 real tho #Violence #Vomiting #Whump #(loosely)#From the Inkwell #witcher fanfiction #ButterBard's FebuWhump #FebuWhumpDay3

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dgcatanisiri · 3 years

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So... something kinda hit me abruptly and pushed me to feeling about ready to snap, so... Have a word vomit. Kinda feels like a greatest hits compilation of my “another angry queer rant” tag, but I need to get it out, so...

I know I’ve been over plenty about how I don’t feel represented even when I have something with gay representation. How I’d give dozens of Dorians and Iron Bulls to get even one run of Inquisition that properly has my male Inquisitor romance Cullen. How when I look at Mass Effect - this franchise that I love - I can only see how much it hates me for being a gay man who dares to seek content for me. How godawful it is that Gil’s story, a story that is explicitly a story centered on a gay man and the difficulties he faces BECAUSE of being gay, was written by a straight person who ABSOLUTELY does not GET. IT. And how fandom as an entity sucks, because so often it feels like the attitude of the people in it comes across as telling me that my desire to be represented in my media somehow comes in second to celebrating the advances solely for women, that my needs as a queer MAN (the emphasis usually theirs) are less important, because I can still see myself AS A MAN in other characters throughout media.

But... That doesn’t change the fact that this is a very real, very tangible THING for me to grapple with. And sometimes it feels like no one ever, EVER talks about this.

I mean, my go-to example is that after Inquisition dropped, you could not say A WORD in criticism of Dorian without people jumping down your throat, chomping at the bit to call you a homophobe for it. No matter what reason - but ESPECIALLY if you thought he was “too stereotypical” - you got hit with that label. Even if you were gay yourself, it was just your “internalized homophobia” that made you dislike him, or even being biased against the people who genuinely do lean in to the stereotypes, don’t they deserve representation too?!

Well, yeah. It’s not like I was saying they don’t. But that it’s a stereotype means it’s often still in media, still often THERE. It’s not always good representation, but it’s something. Meanwhile for those of us who AREN’T? It just meant further exclusion from the narratives. A continuation of our invisibility.

And sure, one queer character cannot represent every queer person, one individual who embodies one letter of the alphabet soup cannot be everything to everyone under that individual label. But, again, it still means that I don’t get to see myself.

If media representation is a life preserver, then I’m getting pulled out to sea while the lifeguards are busy with people who are closer to them than I am. Which, you can call it triage, cast the widest net to hope to get the most people, but when you’re one of those who are not even able to grab on to the net and use it to pull yourself closer, it’s not helping. And, because they’re focused on those who have grabbed on to the net, your struggle continues to be ignored.

Worse, sometimes they aren’t factoring you in the net they’re throwing (yes, I’m aware my metaphor is getting increasingly strained, just work with me here) because they think you’re not in the trouble they think others are - if you can “pass” as cishet, if you can exist without actively fearing for your safety, if you are the kind of person who can walk down the street and not expect to be harassed because you “present” gay, then you’re not as in need as those people who can’t, who are going to be threatened for existing while visibly queer.

But the truth is that you’re still suffering. I’m not gonna get in to the whole oppression Olympics nature of it all, but there is an element that those of us who “pass” as being “straight-acting” (and, for the record, I think these terms are bogus and bullshit, but I’m using them for the sake of simplicity in getting my message across, because I’m stream of consciousnessing this post instead of going to bed so you’re getting babble and word vomit so that this isn’t playing on a loop as I try and sleep) suffer that... I’m not going to say that it makes it worse, but it does have this level of SOMETHING that is a unique pain that you aren’t going to find from the people who are visibly and noticeably queer at a glance - it’s not just isolation, because this is something that you end up not talking about because no one around you realizes that you are queer, but also this voice in the back of your mind that starts questioning “are you REALLY queer? Are you queer ENOUGH?”

And that’s why it hurts that little bit more, is that much more a twist of the knife, when I see these people who push the “joke” of like “why did they even HAVE male Shepard?” or “the only way to play is as Kassandra.” Because it does reinforce this idea - that there is this attitude of this thing, this character that I was seeing as representation doesn’t matter. So that I take strength in that character, well, that’s just me latching on to REPRESENTATION AS A MAN, and we’re not here to protect your fragile masculine ego.

When all I’m looking for is a queer man like I am.

And sometimes, I don’t even feel like the other queer men I can look to get it. Like, there was that time about a year ago that I looked up issues of queer men in video games, and the three videos I found all got an “...and NOPE!” reaction from me - the first argued in math about how “queer people are a small portion of the population, we can’t realistically expect to be represented equally,” even though we’re talking about FICTION, which is, by definition, NOT reality, the second was clearly a cishet who compared not being represented as a queer person to not being represented as a Swedish person, and then a third who first had a thumbnail on a video of “good and bad representation” and Kaidan was the example of bad (so a negative mark against this video to begin with, but I was desperate), only to lead with Dorian as a good example, which... *vague motion above and at the “dorian critical” tag* I staunchly disagree with this stance.

Like... I have to struggle to think of who my role models in being a queer man are. It’s not just who fits my story, but who do I look up to, who inspires me. And, admittedly, the luster for any personal hero seems to inevitable wear off at this point, I’m in my early thirties, and most of the media I consume will have characters who are my age or younger PERIOD, so my queer heroes would have to be people I’d consider either peers or even someone who I am older than...

But then, that’s kinda the thing about being queer period - we lost a generation to AIDS, and for those who followed that generation, we’ve had to live in this world where our heroes don’t exist like us, while trying to pave the way for those who come after us, and who can’t conceive of what it is like to age - as in “go from adulthood to middle age to elder,” not just the matter of growing up from childhood to adulthood - and so even as they’re the one who we want to give all of this to... It still means we suffer because no one is there to offer US that hand.

And yet, try to explain this to media creators, and you get ignored or even shut down. Like, I about a year ago, I directly replied to tweet from Patrick Weekes, explaining how Inquisition failed me, how all bi LIs actually HELP me feel more represented as a queer person than the mix of sexualities that BioWare on the whole has said that they intend to do (re: the difference of LIs in DA2 and Dragon Age Inquisition). It got no response, not even a like to indicate that it’d been read by them. I could form in my head the response I’d have inevitably gotten from David Gaider when he still had an active Tumblr of what would amount to, nicest, “we cannot please everyone, enough people were moved by Dorian’s story to make it worthwhile, sorry.” Given some of my cynicism, I can’t help but believe that it would also have come with a “sorry you feel that way.” Particularly considering some of the comments he’s made about Cullen and Kaidan as LIs, both of whom being characters I connect to more than others in their respective games...

And like... Gaider is a gay man. Weekes is nonbinary. But they are from that generation who view being able to exist openly as queer as a revolutionary statement, which... It’s a statement I want to make, sure, but it’s not a revolutionary one to me - “existence” is the bare minimum. To me, focusing on existence as a queer person is to say that the queer character must justify existing as queer in order to be a part of the narrative. But what is revolutionary to me is to give the queer person a story in the narrative that has NOTHING to do with their queerness.

Like... Fantasy world here, Inquisition drops with Cullen and Cassandra as same-sex exclusive LIs, while every other aspect of their stories are the same. Women can’t romance Cullen, Men can’t romance Cassandra. Other than that, we have Cullen with his addiction/redemption arc and Cassandra not just struggling with her faith but even getting the chance to be Divine. Yes, fandom would FLIP. THE FUCK. OUT. But here’s what it says - the things that these characters go through in the course of the game are not defined by their sexuality. Hell, with these characters specifically, you get characters with MASSIVE relevance to queer stories that AREN’T exclusive to being queer - addiction is a real issue in queer communities, given how many of our safe spaces are bars or clubs, places where alcohol (and thus alcohol abuse) is easily obtained, and, by extension, drugs as well. Meanwhile, there are SCORES of queer people who struggle with the question of faith in the wake of their queerness manifesting.

THAT is revolutionary. To take these stories that straight people get all the time, that certainly have meaning as queer stories for the queer audience... And yet, when they go to these (hypothetically) queer characters, it has that subtext without making the story ABOUT their queerness, while still making it clear that, in this version of things, they are queer - players couldn’t pretend that it’s only in some parallel universe that they are queer, they would only be attracted to the same sex PC. THAT is revolutionary.

Or, y’know, take it back beyond BioWare for a little bit here - all the characters I feel the most connection to emotionally in TV shows are straight. All these men who are my role models only ever get shown being involved with women. At most, they’ll get queerbaited as MAYBE being queer, if you just keep watching! Inevitably, of course, they are not queer by the end of the show - the closest to date is the debacle that is Supernatural.

Yeah, there’s representation for ya.

And then there are those who end up looking at what I see as thoroughly inadequate and... They’re happy. They praise it. They look at this thing that hurts me, that excludes me, that can, when I’m in the bad headspaces, even make me question myself... And they have found something they like with it.

Which, for the record, good for them, genuinely and sincerely, I really am glad that someone is getting something out of this, but... Well, see above: life preserver, isolation, “sorry you feel that way.” Everyone else is getting what they needed, but what about me? When does my representation get to appear? Why am I always being left, scrounging for the scraps of the scraps? Why does other peoples’ representation always seem to get shoved to the front of the line, leaving me languishing in the back.

That’s the real thing about all of those lines of “if you don’t like it, go make your own!” At this point, even if I did manage to get something in my to-write folder cleaned up and ready to go, in reality... How am I supposed to feel like anyone other than me WOULD proceed to read it? That the audience would exist? Because... no one seems to care about this audience. Hell, how would I get anyone to publish it if it is only going to appeal to me?

I feel on the margins of the margins, where no one really cares. Hell, even here in my own blog, I feel afraid of backlash - I’ve had the assholes show up in response to like little brief comments that are off-the-cuff rambles, not worded in a way that makes them a full, detailed accounting, and either take them as evidence that I, personally, represent all that is wrong with fandom at large, or that I am a target for their trolling. Because saying that “I find the jokes about male Shepard not mattering to be diminishing of me as a queer person, can we please stop this?” is somehow not just lesbophobic, but VIOLENTLY lesbophobic. Or that saying that I don’t care that bad things happen to a fictional species is somehow advocating for violence against actual women. Or even explicitly calling out BioWare for lovingly lingering the camera on Miranda’s ass is slutshaming her. And of course, there are the assholes who responded to me saying on the BioWare Twitter announcement post for the Legendary Edition that, if it didn’t have a full trilogy male Shepard/Kaidan romance, I wasn’t buying it, and proceeded to a) call me entitled for it (like, read a dictionary, the very fact that I have to call for this content that doesn’t exist in the game proper is the OPPOSITE of entitlement...), b) tell me that I “shouldn’t deny [myself] a great story just because it doesn’t have gay people in it” and c) just generally be homophobic. Even in rolling with it on the basis of “the trolls are gonna show up period if you make it clear that you care about something, especially if you are trying to get representation for some group that is in the minority... It gets exhausting. It can be harmful. It makes it clear that you’re not welcome, even when you’re supposedly united by the fact that you and these people supposedly love the same piece of media.

I mean, among those examples, I’ve given the statements that inspired those responses no tags other than my own organizational tags, but SOMEHOW they find me anyway, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I got accused of like being another White Gay™ with this post, that I simply want to center the conversation wholly on myself at the expense of all other intersections of queerness and other identities or something for saying all of this, even though this is, and it says so from the start, a vent post, which, by definition, is centered on myself because it’s about me and my experiences and emotions. *sigh*

Anyway...

And, y’know, when BioWare actively refuses to even ACKNOWLEDGE that the absence of a full trilogy M/M romance option is a bad thing, it just ends up saying that the trolls are actually the audience they’re willing to court. That Supernatural ending with a brothers only focus that doesn’t even allow Cas to be mentioned other than offhandedly while suppressing ANY kind of emotional fallout to his admission of love says that they don’t care about the queer people who at the very least the actor was trying to be respectful and representative of. That every piece of media that says that to have a queer person in it, their presence must be explained and justified is saying that there needs to be a REASON for queerness, a reason that is not “because people are queer, and queer people come in as many stripes as cishet people, and so media should reflect that spectrum just as much.”

Even when the numbers of queer characters in media goes up, it doesn’t really move the needle. And that’s not even getting to the difficulties when you are any mix-and-match combo under the queer umbrella, or any other identity that intersects to marginalize someone in our society. It just...

Y’know, it doesn’t feel like “it gets better.” Rather it just feels like being stuck in position, just with a changing backdrop. Sure, things look different by the end of the day, but that doesn’t change that you’re not getting anywhere.

#dg gets personal #another angry queer rant

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belovedstill · 3 years

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hi!! i have a question... i saw your reblog about freewriting and i wanted to try it myself cause i have a hard time with writing because of my anxiety but i'm not sure i understood 100%. what do you actually write while you freewrite? is it related to what you're working on at the moment, like do you freewrite a scene (kind of like sprinting in a way) or just random words/thoughts in your head?

hi <3 i understand you 100% because sometimes (most of the time) when i sit down with the intention to write, my brain subconsciously goes "okay, the pressure's ON, everything i write must be useful for the fic" (and then i go "wait, @ brain, what fic? i don't even know what fic i would write, i just want to write" and brain says "it must be useful for the fic" (which btw doesn't help, thanks @ brain but no thanks))

i will start by honestly saying that while I've been doing this for many years, I've never had a word for it. If my memory's right, then I've never heard the term "freewriting" before. I'd either call it stream of consciousness or messaging a friend or word vomit or scribbling

(i'm going to share some photos & screenshots as examples because i personally appreciate examples for things i don't know how to even start doing; i'll include content warnings above the photos wherever applicable. These things were not meant to be seen by other people, obviously, so not all of them are neat, not all of them are in English or spelled correctly, and not all of them make sense, some might not even be Socially Acceptable (i'm very anxious as well, you see, so I ask people to be kind if you do take a look at the examples and decipher what's written), but that's the whole point of these: you let your mind go without worrying about where it's going)

I'm sure every person who does freewriting does it differently but here are several ways i do it (under the cut because it got very long as i pretty much (ayyyy) freewrote it):

test a pen/pencil! you know when you get a new pen and write down the most random thing on a piece of paper to see what the ink looks like and how it feels to write using that pen? for me it's usually a single word or a phrase from a song (my go-tos are hello, wait, Beloved (my MC's name, shhh) and other fictional characters' names or Why you gotta be so mean? from Taylor Swift's song "Mean", don't ask me why because i have no answer)

writing down the lyrics to a song that's currently stuck in your mind and living there rent-free, and if you forget the next line or if something else pops into your head - let it take you over

write on random pieces of paper! the less it reminds you of a notebook/blank page, the better! sometimes that means what's left of printer paper or post-it notes. actually, most of the photos of paper pages in this post are from my poor quality notebooks - the paper is too thin or not smooth or the pages are yellowish, so i don't feel bad """wasting""" the notebook for doodles, random scribbles, etc.

a diary entry? a diary entry, except there doesn't have to be depth to it, no journaling type of reflection on your feelings, on your experiences, on the Daily Journaling Prompt necessary--unless you want to. in my case it's mostly complaining about the pen i decided to use or the quality of the paper but!!! because i let myself write anything and everything on one page, at one point it feels natural to write some random story sentences on the other page

CW: implied past physical abuse

brainstorming! here's where, for me, the "messaging a friend" name came from. i have a very vague idea for what i want to write or a very small detail i want to write about, but nothing else. i set up a timer and write everything down (the screenshot is taken from my very own personal discord server, it's just me and a writing bot. at one point i realised that whenever i was brainstorming or writing cheer up ficlets in my friends' discord DMs, writing went super easy because my brain didn't register it as writing, but as chatting. At first, I formatted a new google doc so it looked exactly like discord's dark theme, but ultimately decided that just creating a new server just for my writing process/practice/etc and stuff is easier)

CW: harmful & discouraging stuff asexual people face

"I don't know what to write, I don't even think I want to write an actual story, it's not going to stop me" kind of writing. Anything goes and I mean anything. The sentences aren't connected. There's no actual idea or story behind the sentences. You're just writing a word after a word after a word. Sometimes a question appears in your mind, so you write it down. The question leads to more questions, or maybe an answer, or maybe you realise you like the feel/sound of one word so you write it again and again. After you wrote the word three times, tiny ideas form in your mind, things you relate to that word. Then you lose track of the thought so you write "I lost track", then a piece of dialogue floats in your mind that's probably inspired or part of a song lyric you wrote earlier

CW: unconventional/controversial lovers

if your writing anxiety is caused by fandom wank regarding some topics, tropes, themes, or even genres, know that if you freestyle about the thing you're worried somebody would judge you for, nobody else will read it. you can delete the doc afterwards. you can password protect it. you can tear the page out of your notebook and shred it to pieces. i won't include a photo example of this one (anxious, remember? also, it's nsfw) but i did this with smut-specific words and phrases. i got a blank piece of paper and wrote--first, just words (nouns for genitalia, verbs for action, etc. let me tell you - i was alone in the room and even trying to write the first word was difficult, in my head i kept thinking back to people's conversations on how "problematic these words are" etc etc etc and that fed my anxiety even further because "oh god what if they knew i was about to write this, what would they think of me"), then the words combined into phrases, then common smexy phrases that characters in smut say, and so on and so on. no punctuation because it's not a story. you know what happened after i put that first word on the page? nothing. i felt silly, sure, but i repeated the word several more times and still no People From the Internet barged into my room to ridicule & judge me. during that session, freestyling for that genre got easier and easier with every word.

Two posts that helped me realise that warming up for writing (and anything creative) is a good idea:

Writers need warm up sketches too (my way of warm up is usually either freewriting or using a typing speed website)

The anatomy of a pen/pencil etc

...and I think that's all from me 💕 apologies for how long this is but I hope it helps you in some way *hugs*

#shhh B #B replies #Anonymous #...aaa i don't want this to show up in the general tags but i want to find it later #you feel me?#writing #anyway i really hope it helps and if anything's too confusing please let me know and I'll try to explain better alter #*later

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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Ugh. I’m fine with ‘kill your darlings’ and get why its a thing and good advice even and downright necessary at times. Its just. I always have to kill so many of them whenever I write Bobby Drake POV fic, and I don’t know whyyyyyyyyyyy.

I mean, I headcanon he is ADHD like me, so when I write him, he rambles like me, like yeah, I connected those dots, that wasn’t that hard.

But the weird thing is, I headcanon a lot of characters I project super hard onto as being ADHD like me, and that tends to pop up here and there in various ways with all of them, but its just when writing Bobby that what comes out is this....absolute tidal wave of unnecessary word vomit.

And I have to cut soooo much of it, and the obnoxious part is I really really like a lot of it? Like, yeah, most of it has no business being there or in any work of fiction or just anything meant to be read by other human beings except as a torture method. But its still usually pretty funny, I think, because Bobby’s probably the easiest character for me to write and just.....be pretty decently funny with IMO, without necessarily having a reason or need to be, just in terms of the story context.

Sooooo....the end result is a shit ton of Bobby rambling about stuff that doesn’t have anything to do with anything and contributes absolutely nothing to the story, and I end up cutting his POV sections down by like, half their total word count when I’m done slicing and dicing, lol. And yet I still want to be precious little dipshit and cry about it each and every time, like I actually just trashed the next great American novel instead of just cutting and pasting 2K of the most random stream of consciousness shit you could ever imagine and dumping it into a scratch file, where it still exists, is just fine, and tbh is probably just as relevant there as it ever was to the story I wrote it in in the first place.

Me: But it was funny!

Also me: Okay yeah but it had absolutely fuck all to do with the story or the characters or anything that’s happening anywhere, it slowed everything down, it was completely out of left field, I mean, I have no idea how he set out from Point A in a straight shot towards Point B and somehow ended up arriving at Point Q six hours later, and I’m the one who wrote him doing all that in the first place, and also, I am rarely a good judge of whether or not shit is actually funny, or just extremely fucking random and thus by extension, utterly hilarious.

Me: Those are all good points. Just as a counterpoint though, consider this: but it was funny!

Also me: Oh good. Glad to see I’m right on track with keeping this some kinda whatchamacallit....right, a ‘productive’ day. Cool cool. All other paragons of self-control, get wrecked. I am obviously the best at this, everyone else can die jealous.

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rena-rain · 5 years

Text

The Shortcut Home ch. 1

I totally forgot to post this on tumblr! It’s also posted on my AO3 under rainforestgeek.

“Marinette!” Alya wrapped her roommate in her arms as soon as she came through the door. “Are you okay? Are you still feeling sick?”

Marinette nodded. She’d been having dinner at her parents’ house, but was hardly there for fifteen minutes before she vomited in the kitchen sink. The smells emanating from the dining table had sent her stomach into a mutinous upheaval even though she normally loved her parents’ cooking. They’d wanted her to stay to take care of her, but settled for escorting her back to her and Alya’s apartment. “Just a little nauseous. Did you get my text?”

Alya pulled away and handed her a paper bag. “I got you three just in case. You know I have to grill you about this, right?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Marinette sighed. “Just please get me something to drink first.”

Ten minutes later, Marinette poured herself her second glass of orange juice while Alya sat frozen on the couch.

“You’ve been sleeping. With Adrien.”

“Yes.”

“Adrien Agreste has been having sex with you. And you didn’t tell me?”

“We’re not together, Alya.”

“That’s what I don’t get. I never took that boy to be a fuck buddies type.”

Marinette cringed at the term. Yes, she and Adrien were having sex alongside their platonic relationship. But it sounded too crass. Too casual for their close relationship, lack of romance aside.

She got up. “I need to pee.”

“Don’t forget the tests!”

“Okay, but this one says it’s negative?”

Alya rubbed her back. “False negatives happen, Mari. False positives don’t. These two are positive you’ve got a mini-Agreste in your belly.”

Marinette groaned and left the bathroom. She flopped face-down onto the couch. “How – ”

“If you say ‘how did this happen’ I’ll smack you with this pillow.”

“Alya, how am I going to tell Adrien?”

Alya sat down, Marinette flipping over to rest her head on her best friend’s lap. Alya stroked her silky black hair contemplatively. “Let’s take this one thing at a time. When was the first day of your last period.”

Marinette counted in her head. “Nine weeks and five days ago.”

“Okay. Do you want to have a baby? Because you have two weeks to decide.”

Marinette’s immediate thought was yes. She’d always wanted children and now she had the chance to have Adrien’s child. Her infatuation may have died down over the years, but no matter what, she did love him.

But was she prepared to be a single mother? She and Alya had to share an apartment just to avoid living paycheck to paycheck. Marinette’s savings weren’t impressive, and that’s money she’d been saving to open her own boutique someday. Yes, she wanted kids, but this was risking her dream career. She still had plenty of time to have children.

She peered up at Alya. “I don’t know if I’m ready. Do you think I would make a good mom?”

Alya grinned at her. “Girl, you’d be an amazing mom. Nobody’s ever ready for a baby, that doesn’t mean you’d be a bad parent. But it is your decision and you have no obligation to tell Adrien before you make it.”

“I think I need a few days to think about it. God, I wish I could have some wine.”

“I could drink two glasses tonight if it makes you feel better.”

Marinette laughed. “That actually makes it worse.”

Nino met his girlfriend at their favorite café. The weather was nice, the sun out and only slightly chilly. He greeted her with a kiss and sat down across from her.

“Babe, I just wanna start out with saying I wasn’t doing anything weird. I accidentally kicked the trash can over.”

“Why would I think that’s weird? It was an accident right?”

“Yes, totally, 100%! So I did not mean to look at anything private, I was just cleaning it up, and…”

Alya touched her boyfriend’s cheek. “Nino, what’s going on?”

“Are you pregnant?” he blurted. Both of their eyes went wide. Nino rushed, “I swear I’m not trying to corner you or anything! I saw a couple positive tests when I was cleaning up the trash in your bathroom, and I couldn’t not tell you that I saw them, so…are you pregnant?”

Alya sighed and looked around the café. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “I’m not pregnant. Now I need you to promise me you’ll keep this under your hat. The tests weren’t mine.”

Nino gasped. Alya dove to put both hands over his mouth, accidentally knocking over a glass of water. “Ugh! Dang it. You don’t say a word or make a sound, okay? Marinette’s not ready to tell anybody yet and I don’t even know if she’s keeping it so you’re sworn to silence.”

Nino helped Alya mop up the water with a pile of napkins. “Of course, I’d never betray her like that. Just gotta, like, process for a minute.”

The waiter came out to take their order, effectively ending the conversation.

A knock came from the front door. Adrien told Plagg to hide before opening it to reveal a very anxious-looking Marinette. Her eyes darted to and away from his face rapid-fire, and she fiddled with her purse’s shoulder strap. “Marinette? Are you all right?”

“I – ” Her voice broke. She took a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or if I wanted to tell you but I haven’t decided anything yet, I really need to talk to somebody and I want to talk to you – this is big, but I need to talk to you as my friend right now.”

Adrien took her hand and coaxed her inside, closing the door behind her. He pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him tight, so he hitched both arms around her back to bring her as close as possible. He felt like he was absorbing her anxiety like a sponge, making his own blood jitter along with her. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

Marinette lifted her lips to his ear. She murmured two soft words to him.

He froze for a moment. They were still hugging, so hopefully she didn’t notice his shock. Adrien gathered himself, gently untangled their limbs, and held her face to look in her eyes. “Why don’t you go sit down, okay? I’ll make us some tea.”

She nodded. He went to the kitchen and filled up the water heater. While he waited for it to boil, he leaned against the fridge, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

Marinette was pregnant. He’d gotten her pregnant. She was probably here to talk about whether or not to stay pregnant. Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Hold your horses there, kid, he told himself in a mental voice that sounded alarmingly like Plagg. Gabriel doesn’t have to know if she decides not to keep it.

Adrien pushed the thought aside. His father didn’t matter right now; he’d burn that bridge when he got to it. Right now, his pregnant friend needed his support.

And her tea, he realized when he heard the water heater beeping. Adrien prepared and poured two steaming mugs and reminded himself that while he was culpable in creating this situation, Marinette had a lot more at stake here.

When he came back to the living room, Marinette had a ball of yarn out and was crocheting in the round. He was glad she’d brought something to do with her hands. It seemed to help keep her nerves in check. She set the project aside when he handed her the cup and took a sip. Adrien sat down on the couch next to her.

They drank in silence for a minute, neither sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, Adrien gathered his nerve. “So, how long have you known?”

“Four days. I’m about ten weeks along.”

“Okay. You…you said you wanted to talk about it?”

She puffed out a sigh through her teeth. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should keep it or abort it. I tried talking to Alya about it, but she’s so stuck on not influencing my choice that she just refuses to give any advice. But I need to talk through it.”

Adrien drank a hot sip of tea, letting himself think. “Thank you for trusting me. Let’s start with what you’ve been thinking. Feel free to word vomit.”

And word vomit she did. Marinette babbled about her career, her body changing, not being ready to take care of a kid, the money she didn’t have, the fact she wasn’t married – all in no particular order. Her stream of consciousness sentences ran together, making Adrien focus hard on keeping track of what she said.

Once she’d run out of breath, he asked the question she hadn’t addressed at all.

“Do you have any ethical issues with terminating the pregnancy?”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “Do you?”

“That’s not what I asked.” Adrien didn’t love the idea, but he’d thought a lot about what it’d be like to grow a human inside him and then push it out of his ass, so yeah, he figured it was okay to say no to anything or anyone using your body as a house-slash-IV bag.

(Plagg says he’s too morbidly curious for his own good. Plagg doesn’t get to judge, he’s a cat and once caused a mass extinction.)

Marinette looked him straight in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

Adrien chose his next words carefully. “If money and single parenthood are your main concerns, you’re not alone. I’m here, I have a good job, and a trust fund that’s just gathering dust. Only if you want to. Whichever you decide, I’m all in.”

He took her free hand. “We’re a team. I promise.”

The words rang jarringly in both of their ears with a familiarity that didn’t belong in this context.

She smiled at him. “That was quite a speech.”

“Yeah, that came out cornier than I intended. I meant it, though.”

“What are you trying to say, Adrien?”

“I’m saying it’s not a matter of what we can do. It’s about what you want to do. You don’t have to give up your dreams for this.” He gazed at Marinette’s face, wished he could read her better. “Do you feel ready for a kid?”

“I feel scared,” she said quietly.

“Me, too.”

“But I…I think I want to. But only if you commit to being a dad.”

Adrien’s heart pounded. “Like I said, Marinette, I’m all in.”

She nodded and stood, wrapping up her yarn and putting it in her bag. “I don’t think I should decide tonight. I’ll tell you by the end of the day tomorrow.”

He stood as well to see her out. “Good idea. Sleep on it, take your time. I’ll just be here freaking out where you can’t see me.”

Marinette let out a little laugh. Her eyes crinkled adorably. “Thank you, for talking with me. And for the tea.”

“Do you want to stay over?” Adrien wasn’t sure what possessed him to ask that without thinking. Was that inappropriate? Did their relationship change after she got pregnant? Did she think he meant he wanted to have sex? Was it okay to ask your pregnant friend with benefits to sleep over after an emotionally draining conversation? Okay, come to think of it, that does sound kind of suspect.

“I’m too nauseated to fool around tonight.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you can’t stay over.”

Marinette gave him a long, searching look. He wondered what she was looking for. He wondered if it was there. “I should go back to my apartment. Where my pajamas and toothbrush are. Goodnight, Adrien.”

They both ignored the fact that he kept a toothbrush for her here anyway, and she’d slept in his clothes more than once.

Plagg was being insufferable. “Baker girl’s got a bun in the oven!”

“You’re not funny, Plagg.”

“Screw you, I’m hilarious. It’s not my fault you decided to mix your milk with her eggs.”

Adrien groaned. “You’re really not funny, Plagg.”

Marinette fiddled with a lock of hair while the dial tone sounded in her ear.

“Mari?”

“I’m going to have the baby.” All at once. Ripped off the bandage. Besides, Adrien had to know why she was calling him, and he was surprisingly okay with when she cut past the pleasantries.

There was a pause. “Okay. I should tell my father soon.”

“My parents, too. Maybe we should have those conversations alone, so my mom and dad don’t grill you about not being in a relationship.

“Am I a dead man?”

“I’ll throw my body in front of yours. It’ll be better than a bullet-proof vest.”

“Is it too much to ask you to tell my father with me? I know he’ll stay calm, just…”

“Cold,” Marinette finished. She should’ve known Adrien would want emotional support when he told his dad he was about to become a young, unmarried parent. “Of course I can. Just tell me when.”

“Thanks. Have you gotten a doctor’s appointment yet?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. She was looking at six to seven more months of this fretting.

Chapter 2

Ko-fi

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historicity-was-already-taken · 5 years

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Coming to Terms with Reality: a Personal Stream of Consciousness/Meditation on Traumatic History, Forgetting, Learning, Unlearning, and Relearning

This isn't the kind of post where I get excited about something and write an informational post about it, or where I get mad and yell about something. It's more like I've been doing the research for my writing project for long enough that I've finally been able to come to terms with some things, and this is my way of intellectually and emotionally processing it and just...getting it out. I've done minimal editing of this...brain dump of thoughts and emotions.

Originally I was on the fence about even posting this, but I do think there's some value here, especially for people who are studying to be historians etc, about knowing your own blind spots, about learning and unlearning at a pace that's healthy for you, and the general study of very upsetting historical things.

Two things before I get to it. 1) Fuck you if you feel the need to respond with something snotty about obviousness or naivete. Literally I'm still coping with all of this, pushing myself to reach the point where I’m able to fully comprehend the personal nature of this, and dealing with what I recently learned about the nature of my great great grandma's death in a labor camp and I will not be nice to you. 2) This post contains really upsetting traumatic material about the Holocaust and there's really no need to read it unless you really want/feel the need to go there.

So, I've studied the Holocaust and issues surrounding it for years. Refugees, law, immigration, gender, military history, ideology, numbers, chronologies, ghettos, and so forth. But I avoided looking at it, you know? Like I didn't want to look into the sun~ or get sucked into the black hole or whatever metaphor you want.

It was easier to stay outside the center and look at surrounding issues. That way I could do my thing and tell myself "it's fine the Holocaust is such a big deal in part because it was carried out so industrially with poison gas and then the corpses were burned sure that's horrifying but it's so civilized no blood no gore it's fine." I knew that there was some stuff involving death pits, and then of course there was that time a Hebrew School teacher assigned me to read Night when I was 10 and I started hysterically crying after he described a soldier throwing a baby into the air and shooting it....not to mention the B'nai Mitzvah Schindler's List incident but whatever we can compartmentalize and push away things we're not ready to cope with intellectually.

The project I'm working on now has to do with stuff involving women in the Holocaust. Obvs as a Responsible Historian (tm) I had to read all the historiography, so I got a list together of all the books I had and all the books I needed and got a nice pile going. And when I was gathering the pile of books I already own, my eyes fell on one title in particular: Sexual Violence Against Jewish Women During the Holocaust, ed Sonja M. Hedgepeth and Rochelle G. Saidel. I'd actually bought it back in 2012, but I'd never actually read it. I was not ready, but baby Holocaust historian me knew that one day the time would come. And it had. So I read it. And then I couldn't sleep for a week. But I'd read it. The deed was done. I'd torn of that "it was so industrial and sterile!" band aid and read it; though in all truth I'd started pulling at that band-aid a little when I read Bloodlands by Timothy Snyder, but whatever. Anyway, the deed was done, I'd finally looked at the thing, the Holocaust, in all of its actual barbaric awfulness. Then I was ready to read some of the more similar books in my pile. Just more stuff that got very real and in-depth and the reality of the gas chambers and the crematoria and...everything.

I learned (relearned? acknowledged? internalized?) that before the whole gas chamber death camps thing was even a thing, Hitler deployed death squads to the territory won from Russian immediately after that invasion. Trailing behind the German army, they'd round up Jews town by town, city by city, march them away from civilization, sometimes have them dig a pit, line them up naked, and shoot them one by one, dead bodies falling over corpses already lying there. Eventually higher-ups decided that it wasn't an efficient way of cleansing the occupied territories. So that's when the gas chambers at the death camps became a thing. They didn't just pull that idea out of nowhere--it had been regular Third Reich policy to gas disabled and mentally ill Germans deemed "unworthy of life" to death long before anyone marched into Poland.

It wasn't like you stuck a bunch of people into a room and turned on poison gas and they just quickly died. That's what I wanted to think and made myself think even though, tbh I knew it wasn't what happened. But in reality it was people jammed so tightly into a fake shower room that there was no room to move. People died with their limbs all mangled and stretched out because of some extinct to get through the crowd to reach the walls or the door. People died covered in feces and urine and menstrual blood and vomit, and it took up to 32 minutes for everyone to die in some cases. That's not clean or sterile or efficient or industrial, whatever the hell those words mean. It's gross and depraved and inhumane. It always was, but I never let myself look at it.

Another subject of "relief" for me was the crematoria situation. Right? Like, well, they're all dead so ok whatever. But that was an even higher level of naivete. Not everyone who was sent to the death camps were sent straight to the "showers." Many of them--the young healthy ones, generally--were selected for slave labor. (Though they obvs didn't stay healthy for long since they only had access to starvation rations and it was kind of the point to work them to death until like, super late in 1944 when the Germans realized they were murdering a huge chunk of their labor supply I literally cannot with them). And those prisoners not immediately selected for death...shit would happen like, guards would punish pregnant women for being pregnant by dragging them by their hair and shoving them alive into the crematoria.

An underground movement was organized at Auschwitz. Several women carried out some of the most dangerous tasks. One of them, even after being punished, continued to remain so loudly defiant that they took her off the gallows, gagged her, and threw her in the crematoria alive instead of going through with the hanging as planned. I don't know how frequent this was, as out knowledge of it comes from eyewitness and survivor testimonies, I don't think the Nazis recorded that....

There's some stuff I read--mainly related to sexual things, medical experiments, and torture that I'm still processing. Like, I still can't look at it, or think about attempting to write it here without feeling nauseous and my chest getting all tight.

#holocaust #tw: holocaust #cw: holocaust

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supercorptrashcan · 5 years

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Legends of Tomorrow “Terms of Service” and Sara Lance: Thoughts

Okay, so I’ve never actually full-on ranted/processed/word-vomited?? before on this app....but tonight, I’m having some pretty hefty thoughts here so IMMA DO IT. (Bare with me, please?)

I want to talk about Sara Lance. She’s long been my favorite Arrowverse character. To be honest, her introduction to Arrow in season 2 was primarily the reason for hooking me into the entire storyline of the show and, subsequently, into the DCU (of the CW variety) as a whole. As such, I’ve been in love with Sara Lance- as a character, as a woman, and as a truly remarkable human- for years. I have loved every second of her on Arrow. Whether or not I can say I agree that she was treated well all the time (character development or otherwise) I cannot say, BUT, I always felt like I knew her, understood her, and could feel the very essence of her soul shining through during each of her scenes (That sounds pretty lame, probably, I recognize that, but it still has always rung true for me so WHATEVER). Now here’s the thing, and by “thing” I mean here’s the confusing and up until this point “annoying to me” part of Sara Lance as a character on Legends of Tomorrow versus on Arrow: up until tonight, I don’t think I’ve fully understood Legends of Tomorrow’s Sara Lance. At all. And I think, maybe, tonight I finally do? It’s just a theory, a stream of consciousness really, but here are my thoughts on Sara Lance and her progress, development, and portrayal on LOT tonight versus since she first hit the screen on Arrow years ago.

Tonight, I felt like there was something very important to discuss that I doubt many people would even stop to consider. What I’m talking about is Sara’s reaction to Gary once she realizes the fairy godmother has bewitched him into a position of magical power as the “captain of the waverider.” Now I understand that the following scenes were intended to be comedic (and even to me, for the large part they were) but, I couldn’t help thinking that Sara’s reaction to the whole situation was much less amusing than the producers/writers intended it to be. The reason why I say this is because I felt Sara’s reaction was actually extremely poignant and telling (even though it still, somehow, managed to retain its humor - because, probably, Caity Lotz is a literal God of all things acting related :-P) of Sara’s past experiences and trauma while held captive on board the Amazo.....

Okay, and now I REALLY get it that this was a stupidly long exposition to lead into talking about what I headcanon as part of Sara’s past traumas on board that hell ship. But, I guess here we go? So the thing is, I feel like Captain Ivo, while obviously exuding much more overtly threatening and abusive tones towards Sara, was still a comparable experience (in terms of a frame of experiential reference) for her in terms of how she related to Gary’s sudden forced “reign” over the Waverider. What I mean to say is, I felt like Sara’s clear, and in my opinion, startlingly automatic response of “faked subservience” to Gary during this episode, while intended to be goofy and in alignment with the whole show’s campy, comedic shpiel was actually extremely telling and reminiscent of Sara’s most deep-rooted and long-guarded traumas as a person, that she sustained while under the control of Captain Ivo during her 12+ months held captive on his ship. Anyway, sorry to be a big bummer and possibly make people mad or anything. But I guess I was just wondering if anyone out there shared any thoughts (either agreeing or disagreeing) with any of this, regarding tonight’s LOT episode. I’m open to whatever ya’ll got :-P

#sara lance #legends of tomorrow #character study #sara lance’s psychological trauma

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ladyfl4me · 5 years

Note

A,E,F,G,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y,Z ;o

Okay *cracks knuckles* let’s go! F, M, and S have already been taken from this list, so feel free to send in... B, C, D, or H, I guess. Yeehaw. This is really fucking long.

A: How did you come up with the title to [TMWCIFTC]? -- It started, as many things do, as a bad pun. The novel The Spy who Came In from the Cold was a cold-war spy thriller, about a British spy who goes over to East Germany as an apparent defect, except he’s actually there to spread misinformation and fuck shit up. He falls in love, becomes disillusioned with his superiors, and is shot dead over the corpse of his lover after climbing over to the east side of the wall. Needless to say, this is nowhere close to what happens in TMWCIFTC. I chose it early on because of the literal meaning: there’s a moth(man), he’s coming in from the cold WV weather, boom shaka laka, we have a title. Over time, though, it’s evolved into another meaning. Indrid himself is coming in from an isolated, lonely existence: he’s rejoining the family that cut ties with him, he’s in love, he’s warm and safe. The moth sure did come in from the cold, and hopefully he stays that way.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [TMWCIFTC], what would it be about? -- Hm. Considering my entire TAZ fic career is a tangled hairball of sequels and prequels, I kind of have this base covered. At the moment, TCOS - aka The Children of Sylvain, the sequel to TMWCIFTC - is about three things: a Pine Guard road trip race against time and the feds, the Spanish Sylvan Inquisition That Nobody Expected (least of all Jake and Hollis, who have to set aside their differences and past conflicts to save Kepler - and who knows, maybe they’ll fall in love along the way), and Alexandra the Interpreter getting woke to Sylvan politics and doing what she can from the inside to change them. In other words, it’s going to be a massive sequel that is the finale of the Amnesty alternate universe I’ve created. It’s this series’ Endgame. (That reminds me, I need an actual title for this collection of stories I’m writing. The “Tin Cinematic Universe” doesn’t quite have the ring to it that I’d like.)

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? -- eh, it kind of depends. It’s like a buffering bar on Youtube videos. I outline what I can until I run out of ideas, then start writing, then add outlines to the end, until the outline is complete and I just have to keep writing.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? -- I don’t have one for reading, but for writing, I fucking love structuring chapters around songs. Classical or otherwise, I love music. All my stories play in my head like a movie screen, and I just do my best to describe what I’m seeing in my head with an accompanying score. It’s not so much a guilty pleasure as it is a writing process. Frankly, I don’t think I actually have a guilty pleasure; the act of writing itself is all the happiness I need.

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic]. -- An alternate ending for The Devil Went Down To Georgia would be... interesting. It ended with Boyd-as-Jersey-Devil scaring the pants off some poor broke college kid, who stole his worthless fiddle; then he changed back, and he and Ned went on their merry way to go break into Aubrey’s house and send everything down the drain. If there was one thing that I could change in there, it would be how fast Ned ran. If he ran a little faster, he would have seen the alley; he would have witnessed Boyd turning into the Jersey Devil, or at least turning back into himself; and he’d get a very rude awakening as to what Sylvans are and that his partner (in crime, and everything that mattered) was a fucking cryptid. God, that’d be a fun AU to write. Who knows, I might go do that someday.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with? -- At the moment, the only angsty idea that I’m actually conceptualizing is a Hollis/Jake angsty breakup for TSG. (Spoilers, I guess.) I once wrote a very grimdark ending to TMWCIFTC where everyone fell through the ice and drowned. It wasn’t fun. I’ve also mentally killed off each Amnesty protagonist and NPC in various ways, but I never felt comfortable writing them down. I only write angst with a happy ending because those are the kinds of stories I need to hear.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting? -- 9 times out of 10, I just throw it into the void. I write as much as I can in big chunks, and then kind of hope for the best. TMWCIFTC, for example, is a completely unedited, unbetaed vomit draft. I usually do a quick reread of my oneshots to catch grammar and spelling errors, but other than that I just trust myself that it’s fine.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? -- Can I get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night? Can I please get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night??? I was 14 chapters into that bastard before I a) became a more casual MCU fan and b) discovered TAZ. It was such a niche fic with such a niche structure - LOTR as galactic Asgardian propaganda to cover up Odin’s mistakes - that at some point I lost interest in it. I just saw Endgame though, so now I might get some inspiration for stuff to bastardize.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? -- Characters. When coming up with character backstories, I can usually find ways to slot their lives together that necessitate a plot. I love character-driven stories, where their actions actually do shit and their words actually mean something, in favor of getting dragged along behind the plot like tin cans behind a car.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) -- I’m definitely an architect, but in a really messy way. My friends can attest that I do an insane amount of planning for each story - often in their DMs, sorry about that, Fae, Cro, Indy and Aline 😬 - and all that usually ends up in a stream-of-consciousness rant outline on Google Drive. Knowing where the story is going helps me a lot, but the planning I do is definitely just building flower beds in which to sow seeds. Or building a greenhouse. I plan the bare bones of a story, and things get really wild within it, but it does follow a logical plot structure.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations? -- I have a lot of respect for the people who can successfully pull it off, but idk if i’d ever want to do one myself. I get really possessive of my stories and ideas and like to be the one in charge of their execution. That being said, some collabs have produced amazing stories. I don’t mind reading collab fics, but actually being in a collab grates on me more than it should.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? -- I’m definitely influenced heavily by Neil Gaiman. I read American Gods and Good Omens a lot while I was trying to write TMWCIFTC; not only was it a good brain break, but I was able to pick up a lot of tips on scene pacing, concise yet expressive language, and character interactions. My creative wriitng professors have always told us to read so we know what to steal - not in terms of content, but in execution.

On the fanfic side, @miamaroo is a huge inspiration for me. I’ve been reading Northern Migration a lot recently, and I love how its canon divergence is so worldshaking and so complex, but is still familiar in nostalgic yet terrifying ways. I read it back in October, went, “Huh, I wanna do something that wild. And if miamaroo can do it then I sure as fuck can too,” and I started planning TMWCIFTC during that one month dead zone the McElroys took last year. Northern Migration is one of the best, most coherent, most stunning, and most incredibly written TAZ Balance AUs I’ve ever read, and if I hadn’t read it, I wouldn’t have been inspired to take the fuckall huge plunge into TMWCIFTC.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist? -- Bed sharing and cuddling, hand kissing, wrist kissing, whump, sympathetic villains. Canon divergent AUs are my absolute favorite things to both read and write. Anything that would turn me into Charlie Kelly slamming his finger on a bulletin board screaming, “CAROL,” is a fic I would give my life for.

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand? -- Not a fan of a) woobification and b) flat villain characterization, to the point where the story is riding on villain tropes instead of an actual person or plot. Character nuance is always something I look for when I read. I don’t usually get bitter about tropes, though; some stuff, when subverted, works really well. I fully subscribe to don’t like, don’t read, don’t write, which is why I don’t write anything that warrants AO3 content warning tags or an Explicit rating, in favor of focusing on plot. Every author has a reason for what they write and how - be it their level of experience, personal preference, or simply the joy of writing something and getting it out there - and I respect that. Within reason, of course.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. --

@miamaroo, for reasons I’ve already discussed. My favorite TAZ Balance author hands down. Read Northern Migration and give it the love it deserves, or I’m replacing all the faucets in your house with silly straws.

@transagentstern. Fae has a bunch of absolutely incredible fics and an amazing grasp on characterization. We come from the same place with AUs, in that canon is but the bare planks on which we put the drywall of our plot an characterization. They structure AUs and character backstories from the ground up in believable and emotionally raw ways. Also they have great music taste. I especially like their interpretation of Indrid in Moth to the Flame; he, like all the other characters in the story, is far from perfect, and his character arc is explored in relatable ways that I love to read.

@keplersheetz. Aline - theneonpineapple on AO3 - researches like a motherfucker and has a wealth of knowledge/experience/viewpoints to draw on, making author-author interactions with her an absolute delight. She’s also doing the lord’s work with rarepairs. Spin a wheel, find a ship, and she’s probably written for it or at least conceptualized it. Reading her character studies and stories of the old Pine Guard - aka Mama’s original crew, before the current PCs joined - is always a delight. I’ve also hashed out a lot of details for The Children of Sylvain, especially for Mr. Boyd Mosche, guilt-wracked Jersey Devil extraordinaire, with her help.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose? -- Not gonna lie, I’m fine with a lot of stuff that’s out there right now. It’s been a hot few months since I’ve actually stopped to read fic, but from what I recall, most of the fics I’ve read have done a good job of keeping things intact.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones? -- The vaguer, the better. With really specific prompts, it usually feels as if the story’s been written for me already; with vague, general prompts, I have more agency to explore my own ideas. Some accompanying detail is usually nice, though. For example, the coffee shop/college/flower shop AUs that @transagentstern wrote are my ideal prompt for drabbles: premise, a little bit of open-ended detail, clear explanation of what’s going to happen while leaving the rest up to the imagination. Good stuff. If it’s for a long-form piece, though, I prefer full agency, or even just some time to lie facedown in the dirt and wait for an idea to strike me.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer. -- Yes.

Y: A character you want to protect. -- Tim.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate? -- I do read lots of major character death, yeah, though not always for TAZ. There’s something cathartic about seeing a character die, but sometimes it sits wrong with me in ways that I don’t like. As for writing, I’d rather kill a character for a reason rather than for shock value/for the Feels, though said Feels can accompany the reason.

#anon please dm me so i know who u are #please #i'm begging you #i'm in hell #asks #anon #ask game

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claennis · 8 years

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Back in December 9, 2009 in my pre-tumblr days (livejournal ya’ll), I was taking Media Theory and Criticism in university and for my final, wrote the following about the above. It’s 3,400 words long including endnotes and just manages to tentatively tickle away at postmodernist theory before descending into I-think-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about-collegiate-word-vomit. Also, why there are I’s and we’s dropped in at the end beats me (so nonacademic who let me get away with that?!). I remember I got away with an A on this but...could be written 10 million times better by somebody else frankly (see horribly cheesy, over the top dramatic conclusion).

Anywhere You Go Samsung Will Be There: Aesthetics of the Commercial Fictional Reality

From candy commercials to ones of drinks and snacks, Korea television advertisements’ are a series of visually engaging images, showcasing the hottest celebrities from the often juxtaposed film/television/music industry[i]; one shot strategically placed after another in a highly attractive and persuasive selling fashion. No other conglomerate than the Samsung Group knows how to dominate televisual marketing in this field. Within its many branches, Samsung Electronics established the Samsung Anycall mobile phone brand, a product that has been heavily advertised by celebrity spokesmen and spokeswomen. A giant number of domestic actors and actresses as well as pop group individuals have participated but one of the most famous has been mega pop icon, Lee Hyori, who signed a contract from 2005 to 2007 to produce “music video advertisements” for the Anycall phone. Such advertisements include high quality seven to nine minute music dramas, following a format of a short film plot and often including a specific track, written to promote the model of the phone. While Lee (and now world-renown pop star, Rain) have played a huge role in commercials of a massive scale of production, the one television advertisement that warrants more than a double take is Samsung Anycall’s 2007 “Anyband” campaign[ii].

Two years ago, Samsung Anycall produced a nine-minute commercial mini-movie that replicates science-fiction attributes: portraying a dystopian society in an ambiguous, probably futuristic, timeframe and place. On giant television screens throughout the city, a masked figurehead (eerily reminiscent of both V for Vendetta’s state-run British Television Network’s giant headquarters screen and 1984’s Big Brother) dictates the rules (antithesis to Anycall’s catchphrase): “No talk, no play, no love.” The government’s police and security officials monitor citizens closely as they move in singular lines. But within this oppressive society exists a secret alliance between four individuals, four artists that Samsung brought together to create a band: internationally known Korean pop singer BoA; Xiah Junsu from boyband TVXQ/DBSK; Tablo from hip-hop group Epik High[iii]; and Jin Bora, a jazz pianist. Though isolated from each other, they operate under Samsung Anycall’s motto, “Talk, Play, Love” by communicating and recording songs through their “illegal” Anycall mobile phones. Clever and quick enough to escape from the disciplinary police on numerous accounts, Anyband is able to broadcast their theme song they recorded on their phones (named “TPL”) by infiltrating the system. At the end, they perform on skyscrapers, using their phones once again to stream their music live on the massive screens in the city. The masses connect to their message, retaliate, and the commercial ends on a happy note: oppression is defeated.

During the airing of the commercial, Samsung Anycall released Anyband’s debut single on November 8, 2007. On November 27, 2007, Samsung held an Anycall Concert, in which the fictional band made their debut on stage, performing their fictional tracks live with an additional cover of German trio, Monrose’ “Scream” under the title, “Daydream.” The individual artists (BoA) as well as their respective groups (Epik High and TVXQ) also gave solo performances, creating an intriguing combination of a simulated reality (a band that manifested inside the televisual world), adjacent to actual reality (artists and bands that have flourished in Korea’s music industry).

Anyband is not the first fictional band to grace the world of televisual consumption. The Beatles-esque Monkees from American 60s television serial, The Monkees, and the cartoon creation called The Archies from The Archie Show, both have esteemed as popular contemporary groups in the States decades ago. But the startling division that stands between the likes of The Archies and The Monkees, and Anyband is the fact that the latter came into existence through a massive commercial means on the behalf of a conglomerate as huge as General Electric.

The power of the advertising entity has created an imaginative unreal, an unreal that is so fascinating that Anyband, is now conceived as the real across viewing audiences. In this case, we turn to post-modernist thought in concern of the simulation effect. Along with the interchangeability between illusory and reality, another question arises in concern of the post-modernist belief that distinctions between high and low culture have vanished. But there is also the false reality to consider. The fictional dystopian universe is not only enhanced by the appearances of popular celebrities but it also places the seller (Samsung) in a position that is more associated with rebellion against a higher, oppressive power. Thus, we will have to turn to the Frankfurt School’s cultural theorization on hegemony’s relationship to its counterpart, dissent. Through the combined efforts of specific aspects from both the Frankfurt School and post-modernist thought, analysis of Anyband, the “band” and the advertisement itself, may widen not merely the preconception of what constitutes a commercial but also of the cultural and social atmosphere of advertising in our post-millennium world.

Postmodernism cannot be grounded to a single working definition for it varies from medium to medium. But what one can do is offer a series of aligning definitions. Jim Collins, essayist of “Television and Postmodernism” suggests a compilation of meanings that provides a sort of overarching, umbrella-like insight into the term. From “a distinctive style” (i.e. artistic, musical,) to “a condition…that typifies an entire set of socioeconomic factors” to “a specific mode of philosophical inquiry”, post-modernism can be any of the mentioned but it is crucial to indicate that it is “an emergent form of cultural analysis shaped by all of the above” (Allen, 327). This emergent form begins shaping itself in reaction to modernism, moving away from the “objective”, “realist representation” and turning to a more “subjective inward consciousness” and a more abstract, fragmented emphasis on human experience and society (328). From the firm grasp on progress, post-modernism uproots that concreteness of the past, present, and future. Within the cultural industry, a certain exhaustion takes place, in which the face of originality is now replaced by either repetition and recycling of old material or a continual quoting of what has already been stated. Amidst the wide range of postmodernist concepts and theorization, there is a specific concept called the “simulacrum”, which shall be further looked at through Mark Poster’s essay, “Baudrillard and TV Ads.”

The essay particularly studies the phenomenon of the TV commercial as a specific social event within a society where mode of information has replaced the mode of production. Poster first lays out something crucial to television advertisements, which is their lack of clarity between illusion and reality. Television advertisement are “invented models of reality which themselves contest the distinction between the real and the fictional” (57). In order to create that illusion of a reality, “the ad takes a signifier, a word that has no traditional relation with the object being promoted, and attaches it to that object…constitut[ing] a new linguistic and communications reality” (58). A new system of language presents itself and redefines the meaning of not only speech but also what associates with the product being sold. In terms of Anycall’s 2007 campaign, the words, “talk,” “play,” and “love” redefine the Anycall cell phone as a celebration of happiness and independence and as a device that aids the freedom-fighters (Anyband). The commercial further redefines Anycall’s favorite three words into a system of opposition: “no talk, no play, no love”, inventing another level of imaginary: this time, oppression, isolation, and lack of connection. Herein, the relations that link back to three simple words engage in the first step of constituting a commercialized reality.

As we look at the television advertisement, functioning with redefined signifiers, what Baudrillard calls “a simulation of a communication…which is more real than reality”, is established and the idea of the simulacrum comes forth (Poster, 63). The simulated effect, which is the commercial, turns into a hyper-reality. It takes what the viewer regards as magical and desirable, and heightens its attraction so that the viewer’s perception of what is real and what is not, becomes inter-exchanged. The fictional dimension becomes a hyperrealist dimension, an additional appendage to our already existing reality. In the case of Anyband (the group), their role as mere promoters of a phone outlives itself and proceeds to cross the line separating the simulated (the commercial) from the physical (sales of single and live concert). Samsung Anycall may not be aware of the coinciding effects of the simulacrum within their marketing strategy in 2007 but the utilization of a couple of famous faces and capitalizing off their success to invent a fictional group did not fail in grabbing the attention of millions of viewers. From natives to Korean pop enthusiasts around the world, this imagined band is merely another collaboration that places different artists on the same stage and takes the music scene to another exciting level.

Another point to consider within this ideological apparatus is the postmodernist approach towards culture capital. As essayist John Beverly states in “The Ideology of Postmodernist Music and Left Politics”, post-modernists imply that through “the traditional intellectual or aesthete in the face of the processes of transformation of culture into a commodity”, also known as “mass culture”, it leads to the “consequent collapse of the distinction between high and low culture” (sec. 2). The separation defining high art as its elevated form and containing low art in a subterranean level ceases to exist in the cultural industry today, argues the post-modernists. In regards to this hierarchal distinction, then there is something to be said in terms of Anycall’s commercial drama.

Within the context of the visual culture hierarchy, the televisual commercial occupy a considerable low rank. They hold no “aesthetic effects”, “little truth value”, and above all, they “fulfill no socially redeeming value” (Poster, 47). Above the television advertisement would probably be the music video, a phenomenon that can represent low form as well as high art, then working one’s way up to the short movie, and so forth. The hierarchal archetype then allows the viewer to differentiate between a short film or a music video and their respective attributes. But conventions and classifications can be blurred, redefined, and even broken. Samsung expands the idea of the conventional commercial with the airing of advertisements of considerable length and high quality. The Anyband campaign is filmed as an uncanny imitation of a music video. The nine-minute music-video-esque advertisement, in turn, imitates a short film drama. Like a short film, the plot unfolds; the protagonists represent concrete ideals; and the antagonistic force clearly represents an opposition that needs to be defeated. Hence, the commercial music drama manifests, complete with a narration, a paradigmatic contrast between protagonists and antagonist, a soundtrack that is not just catchy but also feeds into the Korean music scene[iv], and an underlying message. Techniques used in music videos transfer over to the commercial so that its aesthetic effect resembles more of a music video than a commercial. The object being sold is subtly placed in a specific role within the diegetic frame of narration so that the simulated reality is not interrupted.

Quality-wise and substance-wise, the Anyband commercial employs a higher form of symbols, images, and one can even argue, music, to sell a mobile phone. Such an advertisement further bridges the divide but it would not be considered as exemplary proof of the collapse of cultural differentiations. Instead, it cleverly utilizes borrowed techniques, increasing the “traffic between high and low culture” as Brian McHale states in his essay on “Science Fiction and Post Modernism” (236) to strengthen the idea of the invented reality. By transcending its categorical norms, a certain niche of the audience is convinced that this commercial is perhaps “better than a movie”[v]. What needs to be taken into consideration here is not precisely the statement itself (nor its level of ridiculousness to those who see through the illusion of Samsung’s commercial) but the experience behind the statement. A certain audience will not respond in such a way if they did not recognize the details and characteristics that often describe a different media form more than an advertisement.

Concurrently, the differentiations that elevate Samsung Anycall’s commercial to the next level does not completely redefine its category; it is still a commercial nonetheless. The symbols that are present, the signifiers, the words used, all come together in a presentable package to sell a product. The product itself represents a certain ideology, perhaps an ideology that also participates in the process of selling. Therefore, we need to further explore the combined efforts of message and motive within the false reality in the televisual advertisement. In doing so, the invented narration and ideologies present must be considered in regards to the relationship between seller and consumer and the role of music.

Rewinding back to a previous critical theory movement, the Frankfurt School, if not famous for names such as Adorno, Horkheimer, and Marcuse, approaches mass culture and societal formation with a critical theory more so than the critique of Marxist predecessors. Amongst studying numerous aspects of Western capitalist societies, “the Frankfurt School produced some of the first accounts within critical social theory of the importance of mass culture and communication in social reproduction and domination” (Kellner, par.1). While observing and witnessing the rise of media industries, the thinkers of the Frankfurt School articulated the function of the cultural industry as an agent legitimizing the ideologies prescient in social life and integrating citizens into such ideologies through exposure to mass culture.

In 1947, Theodor W. Adorno and Max Horkheimer collaborated together to write Dialectic in Enlightenment in which a segment was called “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception.” Adorno and Horkheimer argue, “Anyone who resists can only survive by fitting in. Once his particular brand of deviation from the norm has been noted by the industry, he belongs to it” (p.3, par.1). In other words, rebellion, dissent, even reason merely pseudo-exist, for the act of incorporation will occur and they will be consumed by the larger hegemonic body. Though largely on the pessimistic side, this critical theorization of the cultural industry is an important part to investigate, especially in terms of commercial conceptualization.

By setting up easily recognized opposing forces (freedom-fighters versus totalitarian-like regime), Samsung makes their job easier when transforming the cell phone into a symbolic icon. The four rebels cannot communicate with each other but because of the Anycall cell phone, they are able to contact each other and fulfill their roles as emancipators. The motto, “Talk, Play, Love”, constantly re-emphasizes itself through its connection to the message. Because the Anycall cell phone has the ability to connect to other mediums (airings on the giant screens), the message becomes associated with the object. As we view this advertisement, we can deduce that the concept of the commercial is a means of promoting the cell phone as a unifying object. It is an object that provides, not only the necessary connection, but also an escape to leisure and fun.

Thus, because of the system of relationships that establishes itself within the advertisement, the viewer sees the cell phone as a resistance to the repressive regime. But the dominant ideology does not stay in power for long for the rebel movement, as symbolized through the phone, overthrows the current system and “No talk, no play, no love” is replaced by “Talk, Play, Love.” What we witness is Samsung’s role as a dominant force in economic and business reality, position itself as an anti-hegemonic force against the dominant ideology. Samsung Anycall plays the good guy in the story, mobilizing the resistant force. But at the same time, Samsung Anycall, in its physical reality, is a corporate branch, a capitalist group that thrives off the success of clever marketing techniques. The clever marketing technique at play here is what the Frankfurt School has noted about revolutionary thought: the commonly perceived image of the anti-mainstream and dissent will be absorbed by the dominant force, in this case, capitalism. By selling itself as one of us, an independent and critical body of thinkers, and not one of the evil overseers, we are persuaded into a mass following of not the anti-mainstream ideology, but one that has been swallowed up by Samsung’s corporate power.

From the Frankfurt School’s critical analyses, the Samsung Anycall campaign occupies numerous levels of deceit. But I would like to also explore a different path, maybe an idealistic one but one that considers something else. Walter Benjamin, a post-Marxist, at times linked to the Frankfurt School, introduces another take on the notion of the “aura” of art in his essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” in which he argues the art-aura (the “presence of the original”, “the concept of authenticity”, the artwork’s “sensitive nucleus”, its “uniqueness”) does not exactly “wither in the age of mechanical reproduction” and against the idea that “the quality of its presence is always depreciated” (3). Instead, the act of “mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependence on ritual,” or what is known as the “location of its original use value” of merely the author (3). As a result, the art-aura moves towards the mass audience and a wider critical attitude.

If we are to perceive the Anycall cell phone, as advertised, similarly as to Benjamin’s attitude towards means of reproduction, then the mobile phone can be a means of democratization. Music is mobilized as an emancipator force through the mobile phone technology[vi]. Its purpose does not only serve art (the creation and publicizing of music) but also serves a greater purpose of enlightenment. The experience of transferring message through song, first by audio, then by visual and audio, can be argued as not a loss of art-aura, for the cell phone bridges the distance from the creators/rebels to the audience/receivers. In this case, Anycall’s commercial concept of viewing the cell phone as unification aligns with Benjamin’s approach towards mechanical reproduction and art.

By looking at this specific commercial of Samsung’s through the numerous eyeglasses of different points of theory, I hope to point out that the analyses explored are open for further speculation. Focusing on specific aspects of both post-modernist theory and the Frankfurt school testifies that no theory can be summed up, used, or to prove something else in its entirety. Within the several niches I have mentioned, we can see the different levels a single commercial can function and persist, complicating a phenomenon that is more scorned at than tolerated. I have also provided both sides to the argument of distrust and dismay towards the corporate, from a company that tricks and deceives to one that promotes an object in celebration of ideological benefit to the people.

In the end, it is difficult to call Samsung’s Anycall commercial music drama as a commercial because of its complexities. Given the growing complexities of advertisements in our world at this time, we will have to consider the fact of the matter: we as an audience are not passive consumers. To sell us a product, the company needs to consider a wide variety of marketing approaches that both complicates and hides their ulterior motive of selling a product and making profit. On the other hand, the company may not have to hide their motive for as Adorno and Horkheimer state, “The triumph of advertising in the culture industry is that consumers feel compelled to buy and use its products even though they see through them” (p.7, par.10). The Anycall campaign may not convince everyone that the cell phone will bring unity or the concepts it preaches. But the illusory reality created, imitates high quality forms of art and pop culture so well, the skeptics can be intrigued by the product and even believe that the product is of high quality as well.

Samsung outdid themselves on this certain commercial and at the same time, built a reputation of advertising that is immense. While I hold no numbers in my hand to show how profitable they were from the Anyband campaign, there is the post-result of people around the world who still demand for more material from the group, Anyband. Recently this year, Samsung Anycall has created another fictional collaborative between four girls from four different bubble-pop groups called ‘4Tomorrow’. The truth of the matter is, strategy behind fictional bands and fictional reality works. Why else would a huge conglomerate recycle and reuse the same method again? And thus, the legacy of this commercial drama, as a singular entity and as an entire phenomenon, lives on.

Endnotes

[i] It is interesting to note that pop artists that thrive within the Korean music industry are not confined to the music industry but they also blatantly cross boundaries into other fields such as acting and modeling. Their popularity and success thrives on their ability to multi-task as much as possible. Xiah Junsu’s (guitarist and vocalist in Anyband) occupations on his Wikipedia page list the following: “singer, actor, model, songwriter, dancer, composer.”

[ii] The Anyband Campaign is considered to be the fourth installment of commercial music dramas. The first three star Lee Hyori and they are called, “Anymotion”, “Anyclub”, and “Anymotion.” This is the first time Samsung switches to another famous female figure, BoA, as their main model.

[iii] Tablo from Epik High often writes songs and lyrics that are highly critical of the mass consumerist/materialist culture as well as the ideological institutions in South Korea (education, religion, government). One could say that he was the face of rebellion, lashing against the hegemonic forces of the 21st century. Interesting enough, Samsung Anycall asked him to campaign in their advertisement, which makes one wonder about his “rebellious stance” against massive conglomerates (hence the utilization of past tense: “was”).

This is a personal blog article, with a lack of factual claim and citation, but the thoughts and ideas towards Tablo, his background, and his participation in Anycall should be considered: http://www.soompi.com/content/79916.

[iv] Many viewers of the advertisement constantly comment on the songs and how they highlight the artists’ skills and talent and how much they enjoy listening to them: http://www.channel-ai.com/blog/2007/11/08/anyband/

[v] The comment, “better than a movie” can be found as a personal opinion at this blog: http://spazzes.wordpress.com/2007/11/07/download-anyband-cf-talk-play-love/.

[vi] I did not want to go into the debate of whether Anyband’s music would be considered as “quality” music, or music that transcends beyond the electronic repetition and digitized vocals that are rampant in Korean pop. Instead, I wanted to take the term, music, and consider it on a broad, overarching sense as an art form.

#university #papers written #kpop #post modernism #i prepared this post pre-going back to work

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infinite--eight · 7 years

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Word Vomit.

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shiroi-365 · 8 years

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１・3/14/17

もう一度、ここから。

What am I doing here, 4 years later on this abandoned blog? I feel like as of late I’ve been pretty out of touch with my own thoughts and myself. I’ve been experiencing a headrush of sorts, especially with respect to the career aspect of my life hurtling 80 miles per hour at me. Well, yeah.

I’ve always been the type to not fully register when Big Things happen in my life, maybe because I’m emotionally kind of dumb or because it just takes a long time for me to digest and process things (which is true for food too).

I’ve been heavily out of touch with my own self and also a lot of people because of this frantic hurry to get into internships, get good grades, etc. This is all very stream of consciousness btw. Kind of a word vomit of sorts? I don’t expect or think anyone’s gonna read this so that’s strangely comforting in a way.

Anyways, I guess it’s time to start this up again so my days actually are distinct and individual versus an entire week passing by as a blur.

First things first, this entire quarter (oh god it’s coming to an end it’s almost finals week) has been a massive sprint for me. Academically, much less challenging than previous quarters but career-development-wise, super ultra difficult. Man. I had to boost the hell out of my resume, whip up a whole new cover letter, write my own reference letters (a rather strange experience), rush out an application for and internship so I could bust it out before ALA, etcetc. The writing process was tiring, the revision process (thank you to all the people that helped me!) was tiring, the self-doubt-holy-shit-i-don’t-think-i’m-gonna-make-it process was very tiring, everything was really tiring. I shafted my school work for quite a bit to do this (though I’m okay now), and for a good long time all I got was radio silence.

Part of the internship (I guess this is the focus for today? Probably gonna be the focus for future entries too as I chew and digest this) application process is emailing PIs. I honed into this one influenza researcher almost instantly because this one paper I read in a previous class referenced it, and woah cool! Pandemics! What a thing to study! I emailed him, my top choice of lab, and nothing. 5 or so weeks later and I can confirm I still haven’t gotten a reply from him. Either way, I would spend 30 min - 2 hrs per email to a PI, reading over their papers and absorbing all the information I could to write up a measly personalized 3 sentences in hopes that they’d offer me this too-good-to-be-true internship for the summer. Just around last week or so I was starting to give up.

I think on top of stress it just wasn’t a good time for me, since rejection emails were starting to come in (fucking sucks, no matter what it is you’re applying to) just as coursework was picking up. I knew as a matter of fact that I should’ve started writing my application and going at the pace I did at the beginning of winter quarter way back in November/December, when I first learned about this internship (I gave up on like 2 other ones but that’s another story for another time). I started it late, dicked around all of winter break when I could’ve been working on it, submitted it a week or so “late” (since 1/15 is considered early and advantageous etcetc), and I had only emailed 17 PIs at this point. My brother’s friend had emailed 60, and I was just in a pretty shitty place and it was all my own doing.

I’m pretty cowardly in terms of personality. I’m very good at talking myself out of things, which is handy when I’m hungry during grocery runs, but not very good when it comes to taking risks and making that leap of faith. Maybe it’s a confidence issue, but I feel like I am pretty good and aware of what my limits and capabilities are; it’s just that either I’m underselling myself to, well, myself OR I am too uncomfortable with overselling myself and not being able to live up to that claim. It’s probably some bastard child mix of both, but you know what? That’s my goal for this year: to stop being a chicken, which is kinda ironic given that it’s the year of the rooster. Oops.

I wimp out of a lot of things, and hopefully over the course of these entries there’ll be some ~character development~ and go for it!!! Channel your inner sports anime, shiroi!!!

Either way, yes! I did get the internship, and I interviewed for it last Friday. Crippling self-doubt and paranoia (translation: mild worry that perhaps they would change their mind about taking me on) consumed me all weekend, but I have official confirmation today since I got emails asking me about paperwork! I’ve never been happier to get a request for paperwork! Though as I’m filling out said paperwork I am not as happy!

Anyways, it’s getting late, and I have class early tomorrow! Some things (Bad Time Management, TM) just don’t change.

I’ll write again tomorrow!

shiroi

PS. fuck yeah I made shitty references to A3 like twice in this post. Goddamn, I love A3.

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