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rinharu-purple · 3 years

Text

On Jealousy

I owe this analysis/answer to an anon ask which I've accidentally posted, though only with the introduction sentence and then couldn't retrieve.🙈

Dear anon, this analysis is dedicated to you.

I HOPE YOU SEE THIS!!! 🙏🏻💫🙏🏻

Thank you @sin-with-quiche for proofreading and @lunabai78 for the spiritual support 💕💕💕

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We have quite a number of moments in our journey with Gavin... Some are funny, some are cute, some are...mmm over the edge

(。-ω-)ﾉ

If you ask me whether Gavin is a jealous man, I would give you two answers:

1) Pre and early relationship... Absolutely!

2) Established relationship... The fitting colloquial term is "territorial".

In order to look at Gavin's attitude towards other males and whether to categorize them as jealous behaviour or not, first we need to describe jealousy .

Jealousy generally refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety.

The word stems from the French jalousie, formed from jaloux (jealous), and further from Low Latin zelosus (full of zeal), in turn from the Greek word ζήλος (zēlos), sometimes "jealousy", but more often in a positive sense "emulation, ardour, zeal" (with a root connoting "to boil, ferment"; or "yeast").

As you can see, there are different set of emotions that might boil or ferment the reaction of jealousy in one's belly.

My personal take on this is that jealousy arises from two simple things 1) Lack of self-confidence 2) Lack of trust towards one's partner (in terms of romantic jealousy). You don't get jealous when you know you're one hell-of-a-mate and are with the right person. Which is why as we will see in a minute Gavin fits the bill at the beginning but afterwards his jealousy isn't actually jealousy at all!

So which sets of emotions lead to his jealous behaviour and in which conjuncture?

We know that Gavin is completely attuned to MC. This also applies for his reaction towards the presence of other guys around her. So the type of jealousy he displays is attuned to MCs type of reaction to the source of his jealousy. He observes MCs aura and attitude carefully and then reacts in an either desirous, protective, territorial or downright pouty manner.

If he sees the person is overstepping their boundaries like TNTs Tyson or the guys catcalling her during Romantic Date, he gets protective. If he sees someone from his inner cycle being only the slightest overfamiliar with MC as in his phone call with Eli, he gets territorial and draws boundaries. If he gets ditched by MC and walks on her having lunch with another guy all the while she's being touched by him and she's not showing any protest, he pouts in the corner and stabs MC with his words "Too much of anything can get boring after a while" (love this moment and how Joe delivers this line with a strong tonation on the word - boooring-)

If he sees the person is actually drawing MCs attention, well... This is where we can look more into. Because this is actually a stereotypical example of making one jealous. Seeing your love interest with another person in an over-friendly manner.

In Trio Date, he worries that MC might have a crush on Kiro and a close relationship with him. Which is understandably an alarming situation for him, because he isn't that close to her himself and Kiro is... well... Kiro. Pretty much everyone's into him 🌟. But Gavin doesn't show any aggression or envy towards Kiro. On the contrary, he praises him for his charm and even says that he can see what people mean by that as in confessing to being charmed by Kiro himself. I really praise how elegant Gavin acts in the face of this situation 👑 Needless to say, it's a Gavin date, meaning the canon couple in this scenario is Gavin x MC (On a side note pretty bold and disrespectful of PG to put another LI in the supporting male role in a date for another tbh) And also RIP Chandler, the poor guy didn't do anything wrong ^_^

At this point I need to let one thing out of my chest though. I can't say that I appreciate him telling MC when and where to wear revealing clothes <spoiler alert> only for him. Even though we don't actually see him seriously forbidding her to wear them I think it would be better to leave her be the judge of it. But considering the fact that she gets catcalled even at his presence I can kinda see why Gavin gets protective here. On a side note, his girlfriend isn't better on this matter either. MC covers Gavin's body at the beach during 2021 summer event in CN server so that other girls don't drool over him 🤣 These two have some homework to do in that department I tell you that 😅

In the more mature phases of their relationship, we no longer see Gavin feeling himself threatened by the presence of another male. AT ALL! All Gavin jealousy after this point is only because someone is overstepping their boundaries and making "his girl" uncomfortable.

Gavin might be the one acting jealous the most frequently among the LIs, but he never ever gets possessive over her, limits her freedom or makes unconfirmed self proclaims on behalf of her. Being possessive over someone objectifies them and the moment you objectify a person, you no longer need to be in a relationship with them tbh. Leaving your partner room to breathe and respecting their personal space is important and Gavin does this the best alongside with Kiro. We also never see Kiro getting possessive, limiting or doing anything of that nature with MC.

Further in their relationship Gavin still acts jealous, but in an extremely cute, pure and harmless way. Be it against prankster ghosts, animals she's met in the middle of the desert, a wild child, service dogs, birds and co. Basically anyone and anything that diverts her attention from him for more than a nanosecond can be perceived as a threat but an adult male 😂At his core, Gav-babe wants MC all for himself but his jealousy is actually only adorkable.

(´∀｀)♡

In the main story, however, there is a certain LI which becomes the magnet for Gavin's firsthand jealousy and even kinda provokes this. And this is actually what I am dying to write about in this post😈. It only happens at the beginning of the story, but I love it so much and therefore it must be in this post.

Gavin shows signs of jealousy towards one particular LI at various occasions and that is...

Gavin shows obvious signs of jealousy towards our genius scientist and that is completely understandable! Lucien is the one who makes his advances first and is the most straightforward one throughout the main story. Plus, he lives right next to MC and, let's be honest here, is the only one who toys with MC's poor hormones the most. Just to give one example:

Gavin and MC don't become quite a couple before CH12 and S1 Gavin has some issues with self-worth and confidence (towards MC). When he meets MC again after 6 years, he is perplexed and is fairly clueless as to how to approach her romantically. Lest Gavin making the wrong moves, he acts weirdly around MC which further confuses her. Gav-babe is really weird at the beginning of the story 😅

The first time we see Gavin getting jealous about Lucien is in CH2, when he and MC spend a prolonged period of time for the first time as they investigate the time warping incident. Our birdcop is hopelessly in love with MC so when he sees her become so red on the phone with another person, he gets worked up.

Fun trivia, Joe's reaction to this moment can be found here

The second instance is when MC spends two nights in a row with Lucien in CH5 and then falls asleep in her office.

It is crucial to remember at this point that up to CH5, MC seems to be most romantically involved with Lucien and spends most of her time with him. LuLu mercilessly teasing her and flirting with her doesn't help much in that sense either because he is actively making advances on her. Thus announcing his candidacy for "Mr. Love". So when Gavin catches MC spending nights following Lucien, having phone calls with him, living right next door to him, working closely with him and blushes because of him, it's fairly understandable that our birdcop gets fairly jealous because at that point in the story Lucien seems to have a better shot at love with her than he does.

Btw, MC flatlines on his question as to who is the resource of her flustering this time around and doesn't explain herself ;)

Interestingly though, in the third instance, where Gavin sees MC and Lucien, he isn't jealous at all! In the famous "Rude Awakening" moment, the vibes we get at first is as if Gavin walks in to MC and Lucien. But actually our protective boyfriend is there to save MCs life. What's more, he doesn't give credit to Lucien's provocations, such as when he calls Gavin "dangerous" or pulls MC behind him, stays extremely close to her and plays the "protective boyfriend" in front of him. On Gavin's defense, the one actually saves MCs life and protects her is Gavin here as he deflects the bullet shot at her.¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Furthermore, he asks Lucien to take MC home, albeit not before telling her that he will be contacting her later, signaling to Lucien that he shouldn't stick along for long. A highly subtle way of "marking his territory", much like a wolf would. God I love this scene both in the main story and in the anime.

It is necessary to mention at this point that the chapter following this scene revolves around Gavin and MC clearing all kinds of misunderstandings between them and MC trying to bind with him. Hence laying the first stones in the temple of their relationship. After that point we no longer see Gavin showing any kind of jealousy towards anyone. So mark CH7 people ;)

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You know what I would love to see? Gavin getting jealous over Shaw. I wonder whether he even knows that MC spends time with him 🤔 Too bad that PG has left the idea "brother conflict".

If you would like to read another perspective on this, Cheri has posted her analysis here

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whatyouwantedmetosee · 3 years

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Thoughts on some Jack X Joey??

Boy howdy do I have a lot of thoughts!! (I actually love this ship, whoops.)

Disclaimer: a lot of my thoughts are from before the Illusion of Living, but now that I know the IOL stuff, I can’t not factor that in to my thoughts. So, various slight spoilers for the Illusion of Living under the cut!

Secondary Disclaimer: My information about the books is via other people, so I may have slight information wrong. This is a lot of headcanons anyway so please excuse any inaccuracies!

(It’s also honestly a lot of rambling character analysis rather than ship thoughts, so I guess if you want to hear my TED Talk on Jack Fain’s personality that’s in here too.)

SO! Obviously this one isn’t exactly like... an Obvious Pairing. But it’s one I think could, theoretically, be pretty nice.

First off: So like, I’m honestly just, gobsmacked, the amount of fuel for my sorta niche ship that showed up in the Illusion of Living? Joey Drew and Jack Fain have coffee and chat, that’s cUTE??? (Also apparently the audiobook puts weird emphasis on Joey enjoying their... meetings, which IDK, it’s probably intended as a like “haha yeah it’s a work meeting even tho we’re actually just having coffee for most of it” but tOO BAD I MADE IT QUEER NOW.

Anyway, on to actual thoughts, which I have split into mini chapters because I am physically incapable of being succinct:

Part One: The Accidental TED Talk About Jack Fain (Or At Least How I View Him)

A lot of my thoughts on this ship are affected by how I view Jack as a character, I think? I see him as someone who’s soft, and nice, yeah, and overall very chill, but I don’t really see him as a pushover, really? I feel like, Jack’s a character who can tell what people want, and then sorta... gently steer them in a direction, rather than just going with what they want.

So like, with Sammy - Sammy is real direct and blunt and rude, and somehow Jack manages to work with him well. This is actually sorta how I view that one IOL scene where Jack interrupts Joey and Sammy’s Gay Reminiscing:tm: - he sees Sammy getting off track and distracted, and decides to step in to keep things back on topic.

I feel like this probably is also how they’re able to work together so well, because Jack can tell when he needs to step in to keep Sammy on track, while also understanding how Sammy wants him to act and doing what Sammy wants him to do. (And as a side note, I honestly feel like Sammy probably knows this and appreciates it? Helps keep things running smoothly. Probably why he isn’t as much of an ass to Jack as he can be to other people.)

Basically, I see him as having a pretty good skill at like, working out people’s systems, working out how to please them, while also coming to compromises that help him also get his point across.

I also feel like, I’m not sure how much of Jack’s Big Attention Seeking Energy is him, so much as him filling a role to do what needs to be done? I don’t think he necessarily hates it, but like... Working with Sammy, someone has to be doing that role. He knows how to work with people, work an audience, get the attention the duo needs to be successful the way Sammy can’t. (Sammy outright doesn’t want attention, but alas, that doesn’t really pay the bills.)

But then, when you hear about Jack at JDS, he tends to get away from everything and be more chill - and I read that as more like, now that he doesn’t need to draw attention for his job, he’s able to settle down a little in that regard. Writing is a lot different from pleasing a crowd, so he doesn’t need to maintain that persona, and can slip into more comfortable habits, get some more peace as he works on writing.

(Also, wrt the one audiolog he has about not being too bothered about that one award being in Joey’s name - I feel like, if he doesn’t actually want the attention so much, I could see him... like, legitimately just not minding it that much, actually, rather than being passive aggressive about it or anything.)

Anyway!!! Those are my thoughts on Jack, so now we can move onto...

Section B: Jack/Joey? On This Blog??? It’s More Likely Than You Think

So then, with regards to like... shipping with Joey. Note that we’re now sliding into even more headcanon-y territory.

I feel like at the very beginning, Joey probably misreads Jack a lot. He’s still kinda expecting that showy, charismatic, crowd-pleasing persona, the like... what he reads as wanting attention. (Which, true, Jack was seeking that out - because the job required it, not because he, specifically, wanted it.)

So, what he gets is a bit more of a surprise - a bit more chill, calmer. But, he still has that ability to work with people, even though he’s not using it on a crowd.

From the sounds of things in IOL, it seems like, the meeting stuff between Joey and the Music Dept. Boys goes pretty smoothly... but like, I get the impression that later on in the studio’s timeline, things go slightly less well between Sammy and Joey. (Stares at the conspicuous lack of Jack Fain in DCTL. Hm.)

But yeah, I like to imagine, Jack in meetings with Joey and Sammy, helping like... smooth things over more when changes need to be made or the music isn’t working out quite how Joey wants it to. Jack knows enough about Sammy to know how to appeal to his side of things, while also compromising enough with Joey’s side of things, incorporating the changes Joey wants but suggesting ways it could work better, helping tone down Joey’s helpful suggestions that wouldn’t work as well as he thinks they would.

I’m a big fan of the concept of like... Joey originally has a big crush on Sammy, he’s so mysterious, what’s going on in his head, etc. - but then, a lot more slowly, he gets to know Jack better, spends more time with him, slowly works out how Jack actually works. Learns to appreciate that more subdued charisma he has, the way he can tell how people work and work with it.

And then, it’s just nice to imagine a nicer more chill Joey ship. Have some nice meetings, get coffee together, casually make out in Joey’s office. That’s some good content.

(It also works nicely because I feel like... IDK, I don’t think Jack would just put up with Joey’s Being Joey, I don’t think he’s that much of a pushover. So like, IDK, in this scenario Joey learns to be a bit less of a jerk, maybe things don’t go so bad. Or, I mean. Stares some more at the conspicuous lack of Jack Fain in DCTL. Hmmmmm.)

...

Also like, this is also good opportunity for a Joey/Sammy/Jack OT3, give Joey the best of both worlds. Jack cares a lot about Sammy, Joey is infatuated with Sammy and slowly grows to understand Jack, Jack helps Sammy and Joey clash slightly less and work together better, etc. It’s a different ship, but also good.

Act III: Okay But What If I Added Some Angst? Eh? Any Takers???

So, first up, consider: this very good post of Jack Fain thoughts by @inkyvendingmachine. Now hear me out:

Jack Fain, who (through whatever nonsense) ended up with his office nice and tucked away in the sewers where he has some peace and quiet. Due to Some Reason, be it poor memory on Joey’s part or unclear instruction when he demanded that the Ink Demon be locked up...

The Ink Demon gets locked away in the Infirmary... but, unbeknownst to Joey, Jack is still in there. Things don’t go well. Joey realises, and...

Well.

Add in some previous Jack/Joey shipping, and Joey suddenly realising what he’s caused, unintentionally or no. Lead that into either Joey losing it and turning to his weird ink nonsense, or Joey going further than he meant in attempt to somehow reverse what he did.

Throw in some additional: Jack is no longer there to help balance out Joey’s Joeyness. He’s also no longer there to help out with Sammy and Joey interactions - a Sammy who can tell something’s happened with Jack, but Joey sure isn’t going to just tell him what happened, and that certainly isn’t helping things here.

...

maybe i put something like that in my requirement au. just a little. its fine. i lov to cause myself pain

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #mochi writes #mochi replies #anon #bendy: the illusion of living spoilers #jack fain #joey drew #jack/joey #batim requirement au #through technicality #my condolences to anyone who reads this essay i wrote #a lot of this is probably headcanon territory whoops #im not sorry #also apologies for any typos or anything its 4:20- oh hey blaze it- its 4:20 and im too tired rn to proofread #mochi ships

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juuls · 3 years

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Pharmacist/Me = 1 🏆 Doctor/Nursing Staff = 0

Thank you in advance for reading this rant. I’ve been really frustrated and just needed to get this off my chest, and today at least I had a wonderful knight in a white lab coat. 🩺❤️‍🩹🥽🥼💪🏻

Content warnings and squicky squicks: (further down there is) an image of a medical vial with a clipped image of a more benign part of a syringe, health conditions (endometriosis, fibromyalgia), menstrual cycles and associated terms such as bleeding and other things, lack of empathy in my specific healthcare system, hysterectomies, pain, swearing and losing patience. Most important warning: self-administered syringes and injection discussions of legal medications (Depo-Provera) approved of by professionals and properly researched. P.S. this may sound rather Karen-like but I would never do this to someone’s face. Online ranting and acknowledging where I could do better is not the same as screaming in public for bossy requests or comps, etc. Ew.

Another ‘warning’… pharmacists being kick-ass allies and giving a damn about their patients.

I’m really annoyed because (and I know healthcare and scheduling is a clusterfuck right now, but…) for over a month now I’ve been trying to get an appointment in person to get this injectable medication that is, yes, birth control, but is also used for endometriosis in my case. And I have severe endometriosis (exacerbated severely by fibromyalgia, siiiiigh) to the point I bleed enough and lose so much I have to go to the hospital when my care is not properly preventative… like in this case, and the pain is unbelievably severe also to the point I’ve spent time in the hospital, including my 11th Christmas Eve and Day. I started this injectable medication at 13 because it was the only thing that came close to helping reduce my endometrial tissue. Even a hysterectomy wouldn’t help as much, unless they decided to go the super invasive route and remove all the organs (or parts of them) that had become ‘infected’ by the tissue. Again, tissue where it’s not supposed to be, and it causes extreme pain as the tissue tries to flush out of my body each period, even if it’s attached to, like, my pancreas. Just no. That does not work at all. No. That is not fun.

SO. I’m 31, nearing 32, and the doctor’s office knows this. I’ve had the same doctor since I was 10. Been on this medication nearly non-stop for just shy of two decades (with appropriate precautions such as bone density tests) because of the absolute severity of the pain and my inability to function when it hits… which can be months at a time of non-stop bleeding and morning sickness-level nausea and vomiting, migraines and the occasional complete inability to move—in other words, it’s debilitating.

My doctor (even the nurses, as it’s in large print at the top of my file in the system) knows all about this. They’re supposed to call me if I’m overdue by a certain margin (I get they’re busy but months and months???). But my doc’s also a bit of an airhead (albeit a smart one when he focuses) and takes forever to reply to anything on time, even when it’s a severe issue, but not severe enough to go to the hospital. But it’s gotten to the point where the nurses say to go to the ER and then the ER nurses and doctors there get SUPER pissed off (AT ME AND SOMEHOW NOT AT MY DOCTOR/NURSES AND THEIR ORDERS) at the ‘waste of time’, and it’s just a clusterfuck.

Oh yeah, and that ER visit while I was overdue for my injection? Internal intestinal bleeding along with a lovely, even if small, perforation in my fucking uterus from the growth of endometrial tissue. I MEAN COME ON — WHAT IN THE HELL. Totally preventable if they fit me in when I called literally over a month ago.

But I will not change my doctor (the other docs at the practice know what is going on and have offered to take me on, but they don’t have the experience with myself and my conditions or the history, but they can do little else because of professional conduct—it’s between myself and my doc) because he is the only one who treats me with humanity and understands fibromyalgia, endometriosis, pre-MS and pre-RhA/PsA, endo-related IBS, (ulcerative) colitis, and other neurological conditions with any degree of empathy. (See, I told you I’m a mess!) There is no way I’m switching offices in the perpetual shortage of doctors in Canada moving elsewhere for m o n e y (plus Covid-19 being a teen hooligan and constantly coming back to wreck more goddamn shit, including everyone’s sanity, then setting things on fire like the real hooligans in my village have been doing this summer — I mean… what in the hell!?!?), so with all that in mind I actually thank my lucky stars. So I put up with a lot of this shit because he treats me, besides him being an airhead, like an actual human being deserving of compassion and care and quality of life despite my severe disabilities and pain. So.

I’m usually treated really well (even if they often think I’m a nuisance for daring to be severely chronically ill/in pain all the time) so I try to be patient and good and understanding when I can.

But his STAFF (I know they’re busy and I’ve been patient but they’ve been so awful honestly to the point I cried hard enough my dad noticed my red eyes and frustration-tear fracks on my face)! And the doc himself’s inability to reply to notes on time even when urgent and when he knows the circumstances (I admit I am a bit of a hard patient so I can understand if he just kinda ignores me sometimes, honestly). But in this case I was THREE DAMN MONTHS LATE for my injection and they’ve always called in the past when I was coming due if it looked like I hadn’t scheduled an injection, so that I was all on time and squared away and didn’t risk severe pain and damage to my already-fucked hormonal system (learning I couldn’t have kids was absolutely heartbreaking, let me tell you, but even a hysterectomy in that case would solve nothing — this is by far the easiest option, especially considering how my fibromyalgia would fuck with my post-surgery recovery and leave me with lasting pain for years if not decades; sigh).

Anyway. So. After some ridiculous levels of back and forth and some truly remarkable levels of lack of compassion (she kept giving me the exact same, word for word response in a bored tone UGH) considering the severe pain I was in (I was told, in front of OTHER PATIENTS AND STAFF, that I could just wait until I talk to the doctor myself at my next phone appointment and then schedule my injection for my next MONTHLY followup — 4.5 months overdue at that point, it would’ve been — because, and I quote, ‘am used to dealing with pain because of my fibromyalgia and years of dealing with it and other conditions’ which they named in front of others!!!!!!!! what. the. fuck. But I kept my cool because I know all these people, my mom taught their kids music, they’re a fixture of the community, etc. and I refuse to be a Karen…. At least externally.

But here comes the nice part that makes me love our new (okay, he’s been here like 5 years but still, in a small town that’s pretty new lmao) pharmacist that much more. Rasik was aware of my frustration with the doctor and nurses and was even the one who brought to my attention that, at the time, I was 2 months late for my injection and he was a bit concerned since he’s privy to how much pain I exist in without throwing in one or more knives directly into my womb, ovaries, tummy, hips, and other areas my endometrial tissue has taken root. He’s such a sweetheart and he really does care for his patients— the work he does with my father’s diabetes (the tricky one where you’re not obese) management is above and beyond the call of a pharmacist and I will forever be grateful for that alone, never mind how he cares for me.

So I went in today to pick up another medication, after yet another frustrating stop-over at the nurses’ desks, and he suggested I ask for my injectable medication (it’s Depo-Provera, by the way) and the syringe plus the two tips necessary — I’m actually familiar with this since I had to learn epinephrine injections from an early age (not Epipen) and how to give testosterone daily to my ex-husband (sorry not sorry, dude, but congrats on your first kid *grouchy thumbs up*). But yeah! Legally he’s not allowed to suggest I give it to myself, but he was getting super fed up with the nurses and doctors dragging their feet and ‘being assholes with little empathy’ in his own words, so I took the hint and requested my vial plus syringe, as well as the drawing and injection gauge needles…. which he gleefully filled for me, and I reiterated that it was ‘fully my idea, not yours, Rasik, because everyone knows I’m dumb and would never think it’s you if something happened’ (I’m not dumb and I’ve given injections to others many times looool).

Long story short: HERE’S TO PHARMACISTS AROUND THE WORLD, BEING AMAZING AND CARING FOR THEIR PATIENTS AND ‘BENDING BUT NOT REALLY BENDING’ THE RULES TO MAKE SURE THEIR CLIENTS ARE CARED FOR PROPERLY. They are amazing and deserve every last bit of your courtesy, especially when they pull double duty every. single. day. because of Covid and their subsequent boosters. (i.e. boosters in the form of humans who are fucking stupid if they have no medical reason not to get the vaccine… I mean JFC.)

Rasik? You are amazing and I am 100% going to find you some Indian-Canadian (or North Indian; I believe that’s where he’s from originally) treats or desserts or make some myself after slyly asking his assistant what he leans toward liking.

Be kind to one another, yeah, but… my goodness: be kind to those who can truly make a difference in your health, sanity, and even life or death.

Pharmacists, volunteers, and frontline health workers: the true heroes of these times.

Thank you so much. So very much.

💜💙🇨🇦👨🏽‍⚕️❤️‍🩹🙏🏻

P.S. … now I just gotta stab myself intramuscularly after making sure there’s no air bubbles and etc., and swap out to the proper gauge needle (different, smaller, to draw from the vial, larger to inject so that it goes in more quickly and, oddly enough, hurts less haha). I don’t think air bubbles are as much of an issue as when injecting intravenously (ummm I have a doctor uncle and grandma nurse and nurse friends, so shush 😆). But I’ve done this for others and animals so I should be good! :)

I’m a smart enough cookie even if I’ve lost a few nibble-size pieces around the edges. 😉😘 buahaha

Cheers to my pharmacist!!!! You are amazing and I can’t wait for the pain and months and months of bleeding to settle down.

Remind me again why humans are the only mammals (animals?) with monthly fluxes? UGH wtf ever. 🙃

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poptod · 4 years

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induratize (Kenny Al-Bahir x Reader)

Description: Induratize (v.) - to amek one's own heart hardened or resistant to someone's please or advances, or to the idea of love

Notes: I dislike this immensely and I feel embarrassed posting it but I mean... we’re lacking in Kenny fics and every bit counts lmao. Implied male reader. Word Count: 1.5k

In your world, there are certain things you don't understand but have to accept. There are things like that in every person's life, but you're a little too caught up in your own, centered around the school you go to and the home you can't bear. Not that there's any specific reason you dislike your home or your parents – just general teenage angst. It's handy to blame your problems on hormones, but there are adults like you too; adults who refuse to love, who can't open their hearts, who grow sick at the thought of loving others. You know it's unhealthy. You know something has to change, because it isn't like you've never felt love before – only that you've decided no one is truly worth the time and heartbreak.

A closeted, homosexual high schooler in 2005 – what a wonderful thing to be, what a wonderful reason to hate yourself. What a wonderful reason to distance yourself from your classmates, what a wonderful excuse to ignore your teachers. But you know the difference between solitude and being anti-social, a line you cross very easily, though you manage to stay on top of your grades and such.

You've got your life figured out, or at least the life you will have to live for the next couple of years. Stay quiet, stay under the radar, don't make friends, don't spill secrets, listen intently, and most of all stay safe. There's only one problem with all of this:

There is an insanely attractive person trying to get your attention.

Not just any attention, either – romantic attention, and you can tell by his quickened heartbeat when you accidentally touch upon his pulse point, his dilated eyes, his mouth parted ever so slightly in awe of you. You're nothing special, you know that, but you're not willing to debate why this boy likes you. The only thing you're willing to do is try and get rid of him.

During lunch times you try to find the oddest, most secluded spot you can so no one can find you. Usually it works well, and every now and then you go off to find a new spot – this time it's inside one of the trees on campus, far off on the other side of the school's massive lawn for football and soccer practice. Sitting underneath it would've been too conspicuous, so you climbed high into it's branches, and began quietly eating.

Nearer to the school building itself, kids swarm around in all different heights and colors, like a massive swath of bees that don't quite belong to the beehive but can't survive anywhere else. It's a stupid analogy you think, but not entirely incorrect. However there's one distant form that grows steadily larger and clearer, and as a sinking feeling develops in your chest, you realize that maybe sitting in a tree isn't as inconspicuous as you originally thought. It's that boy who keeps trying to talk to you, and his hair looks recently cut. He looks a lot better than he did before.

"Hey," he says, a simple start to what you know is going to be a grueling conversation, at least for you. His voice wavers when you meet his eye, something you're sure is an anxious habit.

You don't respond.

"What are you, um, doing up there?"

"Eating," you reply in a muffled voice, talking around a purposefully large bite of sandwich.

"Can I join you?" He asks, much more straightforward than you thought him capable of. In the one class you have with him, he's rather squirrelly, but you admire the courage he's plucked up. So instead of saying no you say nothing, and wait for him to draw his own conclusions.

It takes him a little while, but he manages to get to where you sit, the thick tree branches easily supporting his weight next to you. As he gets comfortable you note his heavy breathing, and watch with careful eyes as he takes off his coat. He has muscles. How did you never notice that before?

He takes a deep sigh and closes his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky. It's then you notice the discoloration along his jawline, a clear bruise against his tawny oak skin, and a cut across his cheekbone. Curiosity overcomes you, and for the first time in a good long while you say the first sentence.

"What happened to you?"

Impersonal enough, you think – it isn't like you asked him if he's alright, though it is sort of implied... when he turns to you with surprise, you can feel regret bubbling in your stomach.

"I, um, got into a fight," he says quietly, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. You raise a single eyebrow. He's not the type to get into fights. "Alright, fine," he says. "I.. got beat up, just a little bit. You should see the other guy."

What a cheesy joke, you think, but he smiles gingerly and every thought in your head blips out of existence.

"Oh, my name's Kenny," he says suddenly, holding his hand out for you to shake. He's overly polite, but you know your manners as well, and you take his hand to greet.

"I thought so," you say in reply, recalling the few times his name was hinted at you. "I'm (Y/N)."

"You're in my science class, right?"

"AP Biology, second period, Mrs. Holsten," you say.

"Right. She assigns a lot of homework," he comments thoughtlessly, something you know is a desperate attempt to fill any silence that could appear.

"Sometimes," you agree.

"I just.. it takes me forever, 'cause I usually have to help Larry finish his as well. He's in that class too."

"Who's Larry?" You ask slowly, wanting nothing more than to crawl up into a ball and roll away. This is far too close to 'getting to know someone' than you're comfortable with.

"Oh, sorry, he – he's one of my friends," he says as though he has other friends.

You hum in response, directing your attention back at your lunch. Kenny, however, feels very differently, and makes several more attempts to keep conversation going. For the most part you don't pay attention, catching only snippets of the subjects he's talking about – even though you despise talking with people, you can't deny he has a very nice voice, and you (unfortunately) enjoy listening to him.

"– yeah, but no matter if the rumors are true or not, they're still bad to spread around, you know? Like, there's rumors about me, and –"

"What rumors?" You interrupt him, turning to face him.

"Oh, um... some people think I'm gay," he laughs, and it's a horrible fake laugh, "which of course isn't true."

You're so tempted, so, so tempted to say point blank that you're gay, to ask what's wrong with being gay, but you don't. Thank God.

"Interesting," is what you settle on, staring at him and nodding like you're spacing out which, to be fair, isn't entirely untrue.

Kenny seems kind enough – he's practically spilled his entire life story over the course of the fifteen minutes you've been together, and you have little reason to distrust him. That being said, your distrust of humanity is still rooted deep inside you, and you doubt a single man could demolish that. But looking at him, watching the way he bites subconsciously at his lips, the way his eyelids flutter open and closed and the long lashes that line his grey eyes – you want to toy with this boy. It's probably just your gay thoughts irritating you again, but God he looks like a good target, and he's just so damn pretty.

So you give in.

"Has anyone told you yet that you're pretty?" You ask, pretending it's a normal and casual thing to ask. As expected, Kenny flusters and stammers, falling over his words as he tries to string together a coherent sentence.

"I, uh – I'm not, I uh.. I don't think I – not.. um, there's not – I mean –"

You decide to spare him from further embarrassment, which he greatly appreciates (even if he doesn't say anything).

"I'm assuming that's a no, then," you say, to which he quickly agrees with a nod of his head. "That's a shame. I hope that changes."

Your saving grace – the bell rings from across the large field, and tucking away your containers into your too-large pockets, you hop easily down the tree, followed by a much more nervous Kenny. Reaching your hands up to him, you help him down the last branch, landing him safely on his feet.

"There you are," you mutter as he brushes himself off. "Any scratches?"

"I, um, don't think so," he says quietly, his breath halting when you brush a hand down his chest, ridding his shirt of a couple of bits of bark.

"Get some ice on that cut and bruise," you say, patting his shoulder and turning to leave.

After a moment you can hear his footsteps chasing after you, and it isn't long at all till the two of you are walking together, on your way to your separate classes.

"A lot of people think you're rude," he says out of nowhere. You shrug.

"That's on them," you chuckle, and he easily agrees.

"I think you're kinda nice."

"... thanks."

It's the first time anyone your age has complimented you. Maybe talking to people isn't as horrible as you thought.

#kenny al bahir x reader #kenny al bahir #rami malek #war at home #rami malek character #male reader

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allthelovelywriting · 4 years

Text

Champagne Society

Rating: Explicit

Words: 4859

Author’s Note: Look you take Arthur to a bar then fuck him that’s it send tweet. And Arthur has a praise kink don’t @ me. And a breeding kink but we been knew. Trying something new out. 4K words of poorly written smut lets go.

cross-posted to ao3

Summary: Your smile is far more dubious, and you hope he accepts your offer: “Camp is a long way back from here. Maybe we could grab a room?”

The question is out, the intention is clear, the choice is his. Arthur has been respectful the entire time you’ve been together— though hesitantly nervous may be a better description. But you’re ready now; while you may sit among them here, you’re not like the “society gals” that need a ring on their finger to show their love. And that is what you feel. You’ve known it for a while now, even if you haven’t been with him that long.

The streets of Saint Denis weren’t empty, per say, but there was a certain feeling to the town as night rolled in. A sense of freedom, of secrets blanketed with the slight chill of later hours.

It was here you found yourself, pulling Arthur along as you got closer and closer to the saloon. It was one of the few places in the “civilized world” he felt anything close to comfortable, and after all he’d done for you today, you thought it nice to pay him back.

You told him so over a glass of whiskey, to which he smiled and said, “Figured it was ‘bout time to have a proper outing, you an’ me.”

You smiled too, leaning a bit closer to him. “It’s a nice change of pace, all in all.”

Arthur nods and drinks his whiskey. Not too much, just enough to calm down. You place your hand on his arm, just resting there. He tenses— tenses and then hates himself for it, but you move your thumb in calming circles. “It’s okay,” you remind him with the movement. “I understand.”

Casual touch isn’t something he’s used to, not something he’s explored too much. Introduced by you a few months prior, when you had toed the line of friends and something more, then reinforced a little after, when you crossed that line with a day-long fishing trip that ended with a kiss. A soft kiss, hesitant and soft, but caring.

Not unlike the one that you press against his cheek now, though this is less hesitant, more teasing. Flirting.

The richer folk of Saint Denis pay little mind to the two of you and maybe that’s the reason he feels confident enough to take the hand you haven’t moved to his lips, kissing the back of it in an imitation of a scene in the moving picture you saw that day.

You giggle at the gesture and Arthur’s blue eyes seem to shine at the sound. When you pull away and Arthur orders another drink, you look down at your lap.

The dress that adorns you is a pretty one, lace and frills and a large change of pace from your normal camp clothes. When you had mentioned, offhand, to Arthur the marvel of moving pictures being shown in the big cities, where it was far nicer than the theater in Valentine, and how you’d love to see one, you never thought you actually would. You’d almost forgotten you’d mentioned it, it’s been so long ago.

But Arthur hadn’t, and you suspected that journal of his had something to do with it. Early this morning, he had approached you, smiled bashfully, and offered a day away from camp. Before the show that evening, he’d taken you to get a new dress, then a fancy lunch, and finally the event you had waited for.

“Thank you so much for today,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “I had so much fun. I know how much you dislike the city; it was so considerate of you to do this for me.”

You punctuate the compliment with a kind smile, knowing he’ll deny it, refuse it, but you’ll gladly give him more praise. You figure his self-doubt cannot be a bottomless pit, but it does run as deep as an ocean. Still, you’ll freely offer up as much caring as it takes until he agrees: he’s wonderful.

And it starts now, as he looks away and says something about it not being that big of a deal. You silence him with a kiss— not on the lips, but rather right below his ear, where his jaw meets his neck. The sensitive spot quiets him immediately, a large hand of his coming to rest upon yours, tightening briefly. You smile, teasing tongue there, before pulling back.

Your smile is far more dubious, and you hope he accepts your offer: “Camp is a long way back from here. Maybe we could grab a room?”

Maybe that’s what you see in Arthur’s eyes as he nods, pronounces “Sure” in that way that drags out the u into an o and distances him further from the champagne society around you.

You’re filled with something akin to giddiness— though that seems too immature— a healthy dose of arousal and, when Arthur takes your hand in his— initiates that basic contact he’d been denied so long— a deep feeling of adoration.

The stairs up to the room are cleaner than Valentine, but not as appealing as Strawberry. The room isn’t too large, but, you note with something that may actually be giddiness, the bed is.

When you turn to Arthur, you already know it’s going to be an uphill battle to get him to give himself completely to you. Not for lack of trust, no, but because the deep-rooted doubt (or hate, as you hesitate to call it— how could someone like him despise himself?) that festers in him. You can almost feel it when he reaches for you, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. Feel it in the way he tries to distract you, get you too worked up to undress him properly and keep himself hidden from you.

But you stop that as soon as it starts. You slow the kiss into something more romantic, more caring. You trace along his jaw to his collarbones— another sensitive spot— and allow yourselves a chance to take comfort in how familiar this is.

When Arthur’s hold is more relaxed, you pull away. He looks down at you, gaze adoring but lust-filled. “You’re so beautiful,” you say. Then, quoting the earlier show, you add, “my darling.” The term of endearment had been spoken to one spouse to another, but you figured it could work well for you both too. Unlike earlier, when Arthur had mimicked the romantic action, your words held a serious kind of weight to them, one he didn’t seem to miss.

“May I?” You ask, fingers poised on the top button of his dress shirt, bought specifically for this day. You move from one course of action from another, not giving him time to deny your compliment, but still slow enough not to scare him.

“Darlin’,” he starts, voice deep in a way that sends pangs of heat downwards. “We don’t— ya don’t wanna see me.”

“Arthur,” you look straight into his eyes, make sure he’s paying attention to you, “there is nothing I’ve thought of more than how you look in these past two months. I’d love to see you, if you let me.”

He mustn’t of been expecting such an honest response. When he nods again, you brush your lips against his in a sort of thanks, then undo the first few buttons. Enough to see part of his union suit. When you’re done with that, you step back, admiring your handiwork. Arthur follows, almost instinctively, then stops.

You move your hands behind you, finding the fastening of your dress. “I’m wearing so much more than you, I’m sure it’d take double the time to get undressed.” It the truth, but only part of it. You didn’t want him becoming too uncomfortable if you undressed him too fast. It’s always been about an equal exchange with Arthur, from chores and hunting to personal lives. It’s what makes him comfortable, and you see no reason to not utilize it now.

“Need some help?” He asks, and you’re surprised but not unaccepting. You turn, moving your hair out of the way. He steps in close, warm hands staring where you left off.

“This really is a beautiful dress. You have excellent taste,” you say as the feeling of him moving down your back sends shivers up your spine. “I can’t wait to wear it again.”

“Those kinda chances don’t come to often. Not in our lives.” He sounds almost sad, apologetic, and you're quick to try and remedy that.

“You think I can’t wear this around camp? I think if I look pretty enough, Ms. Grimshaw will be too taken by my beauty to yell at me.”

He huffs a laugh behind you, and his fingers finish their work. You almost wished he hadn’t; the movement had been so intimate that it had almost let you pretend you weren’t in a temporary room, but rather a house of your own, somewhere free. But the moment’s over, and your much more taken with what is about to happen.

You turn back to Arthur. With your attention back on him, he seems more hesitant. Now that won’t do at all. You guide him to the bed, sit him down. He looks up at you, so trusting and open, that your heart melts. You’re quick to follow, move to his lap and calm him. Something familiar, again.

You’re pleasantly surprised when he reaches for you on his own accord, and you encourage it with a moan, pressed tightly against his lips. Maybe, if he were a less mature man, he would have bucked his hips up at that. Instead, his hands, one on the curve of your back and the other cupping your face, draw you closer. You oblige readily, greedily, willing to give him anything he asks. You push your hips forward, testing, and move against the growing hardness in his pants.

You do it again, then once more, relishing in the sound it pulls from the man under you. A groan, so deep you almost can’t hear it, that starts in the back of his throat and ends in yours and tells you how much this is appreciated. How much he needs this.

Your hands undo more of his shirt, and don’t stop until it’s completely undone. You pull away from him again, stoping your rocking motions. He still holds you as close as he can though. “Is this alright?”

He looks at you, and you still yourself for the denial you’re sure is coming. He says nothing, just stares at you until a big smile breaks across his face. It’s contagious. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough in a way that’s so appealing. “Yeah.”

You push the fabric off his shoulders, throwing it to the same chair your dress was moved to. You ask for permission once more as you grasp onto his belt. He gives his consent with a hushed whisper, face tucked into the right side of your neck, seemingly intent on leaving a mark. Your fumble with his pants until the red of his undergarments peaks through. When that’s done, you test the waters by pushing him back, gently. He complies readily, and you apply a bit more pressure: “Stay.” And he does stay, laying back on the bed and looking like pure sin.

Laying on his back, chest rising and falling heavily to replenish the breath that you’d taken from him. His cheeks are flushed, color high and warm on his face. His eyes, darken by pure want, look back at you when you meet them, intent and longing.

You could admire him forever, and the breath you inhale to tell him of that reminds you that your corset is uncomfortable and you are far too dressed. Still, you speak up: “You’re gorgeous.”

You stand, undoing your underthings as quickly as you can. Arthur watches you, and you let him. Let your fingers trail from your hair to the right fastenings that push up your breasts presenting yourself in a way you know must be alluring to him.

“I’ve thought about this night so much,” you tell him. “I’ve thought of the way you’d look at me, the way you’d look. My imagination could never do it justice.”

It’s true; the way his pants are pushed open just enough that the significant bulge pushes through, taunting and teasing you is better than any image you could of conjured in your head on many a lonely night.

When the ties binding your corset are set free, you breathe in deep. Your ribs thank you and you let the tight fabric fall away. All you’re left in now is a loose undershirt and the skirt that had poofed your skirt. Your hands find the waistband of it and push it down, little by little until it reaches your mid-thigh.

“Darlin’,” Arthur says from the bed. Your teasing has only been half-intentional, unused to the fastenings of the fancy dresses. But you’ve relished in the fact that he hasn’t taken his eyes off you and watches, intently, as you let gravity take the fabric away, the chamise pooling at your feet. The shirt has kept your modesty, but you could be quick to remedy that.

Could be, but choose not to be. Instead, your hands go to the pins in your hair, letting your arms wind up and pull the shirt with it, tantalizing up, up, up until you see Arthur’s hands ball into the sheets of the bed. How far could you push the teasing on this first night together? Not too much longer, you promise yourself. And Arthur too as his Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, so desperate to see all of you.

You promise him too, in a voice that’s earnest, not condescending. “I promise I’ll make you feel so good, handsome.”

Finally, your hair is free, and you take to pulling the shirt over your head. Not slow, but not hurried either. You slow just as it reaches the bottom of your breasts, just to tease that little bit more.

At last, when your last article of clothing is thrown to the floor, you climb upon him again. Kneel over him and meet him for another kiss. One so unlike any others before, more heated and begging. His hands move to where your knees are bent at his sides and, when not told to stop, moves up your thighs and traces up your curves.

You bring your hips against him again, grinding hard and fast. You’re able to brush your clit against his hard cock in a way that almost makes you wonder if you could get off just like this.

“Shit,” he hisses, hands gripping your hips and pulling you against him. This time, his hips do buck up, searching for purchase against you and, yeah, you figure you probably could. “Darl’ I can feel you.”

Your wetness coats the front of his union suit, the fabric a darker shade of maroon. Any embarrassment you would have felt is wiped away by the way Arthur looks at you, desperate out of his mind. “It’s all for you, baby.”

He curses again, some word lost in the way he goes back to the crook of your neck. It’s almost cute, but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you force yourself to stand again, almost tempted not to when he makes an attempt to pull you back.

He seems to mind less when you start to pull down his pants. There’s no hesitation this time, no resistance. He raises his hips to help you, then sits up at your beckoning. Sitting again, he almost seems like he should be taking on the commanding role, and intimidating as he is. And then he looks at you, blue eyes almost drowned in a sea of lust that threatens to spill over and encompass you too, and you’re reminded that he wants to give up control.

You gladly take it and his union suit off of him, throwing the red fabric to the side. You guide him with a steady hand to the headboard, laying propped up by pillows. You know he’ll give as good as he gets, but you wonder what it would be like to just let him relax and take care of him.

You’ve no time to dwell on it as you move to straddle him once more. Before you continue moving upward, you take in the sight of him, just once more.

His cock exposed to you dribbles our precum in steady amounts, trickles down his thick shaft until it pools on his balls, begging to be licked. You want to, but you want him in you more. Feel him stretching you out, a perfect for you know he’ll provide. You look back at his face, still burning red.

“We still good?” You ask. He nods. Doesn’t respond more than that, so you reach forward and cup his face. “Arthur?”

“Been a while, that’s all,” he says it like it’s something to be shameful of. You tell him it’s not. “Just... don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me. Just being with you is enough.” You make sure to put emphasis on the word; it didn’t matter if it was with him here, now, or every day, when he makes you much happier than you’ve been in a long time. “I— I care about you so much.”

He smiled in a way that’s almost too sweet for the situation, then pulls you into a kiss that’s even sweeter. When you pull away you wait till he’s verbally said to continue before doing so.

You cup his face again, letting your thumb run across his lips. You wonder if he’ll get the hint or you should pull away when he opens his mouth, taking the digit between his lips. His warm tongue encompasses it, the flicks the tip slowly, once, twice, until you can imagine the same movements on your clit.

Your watch his mouth move for a second more until you decide you’ve missed his blush and move your other hand down to his cock. It’s thick, and you can’t wrap your hand around it entirely, but you pump him anyways.

Momentarily, his eyes lose focus, and you think you hear something that sounds like your name moaned around your thumb. But it’s not enough, not yet.

“Besides, your cock’s so big, I don’t think you could disappoint even if you tried.”

His eyes widen in shock, cheeks blazing a beautiful red. You smile at that and continue stroking him. A languid place that must be teasing with how hard he is, but you don’t dare go any faster, lest this night end too soon. You’re sure he would return in kind if that did happen, but you know he’d be so upset in himself.

His tongue continues, long strikes you can image elsewhere until you dip your hand a little lower, cupping his balls and feeling him up. He relaxes, eyes fluttering and it’s equal parts alluring and cute. He groans something you can’t quite understand. You free his mouth; “What was that, baby?”

“Please,” he murmurs in a way that makes it seem like the most shameful thing he’s said all night. You keep your hand in the same place, pleasuring him and relishing in the whimper he lets out.

You nod, even though he has his eyes closed. The bed creaks underneath you as you shift your weight, raising yourself over him, swallowing, then gripping him to steady him as you lowered down.

You inhale sharply as he enters you, almost too big, and Arthur holds your hips, preventing you from going any further. “Are you okay? D’ya need to stop?”

You shake your head. No. Maybe if you hadn’t been thinking about this since his first shot of whiskey, watching him swallow it down then sigh heavily, contently, and so easy to imagine in a different situation, or even earlier, when his steady hand met your waist and guided you through town— maybe then you would need more prep. But you don’t. You want to continue.

“I’m fine.” You push in further. He spears you apart in a way that would be painful, should be painful considering, but just makes you feel complete. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

He whines at your praise, fingers gripping harder, sure to leave bruises he’ll apologize for, but you love them. Love the way he loses controls for just a second, pulls you down closer. A second is all it takes for you to be sitting on him, him completely filling you up. You call his name, just to say it, to hear it in your voice that’s broken and wanting and so needy. Arthur responds in kind, calling back to you like some kind of imitation of the film earlier when the same thing had happened. In much a more pure situation, sure, but it’s because calling your lover’s name is the most natural thing there is.

You call for him again when you see his face, brow scrunched in concentration, mouth slightly agape. He looks at you, and you keep his eye and you raise your hips and fall once more. He pushes forward to kiss you as his hands help you find a rhythm.

Fast and hard seems to fulfill both of your desires. His hands drop to your ass like he’s wanted to all night and can’t find the will to resist now. He moans out shortly after you reach a hand down to find your clit.

He watches for a moment, seemingly taken with the way you please yourself, seeking your own pleasure. His chest rises and falls again, and lets out a cry of pleasure as you land particularly rough. His teeth catch his lip, seemingly embarrassed by the way he does.

“Don’t,” you gasp out. He looks up at you, charming eyes seemingly shocked by the reprimand. “I want— I’d love to hear you.”

He doesn’t hold his lip anymore, lets his breathing become audible and ragged. Sweet moans and breathy grunts come together to form something that promises his enjoyment. When he inhales sharply, you think you can make out your name. Arthur repeated it, clearer, a growl at the back of his throat.

“You feel so good,” you find yourself saying. “I always knew you’d feel so good.”

His head falls back, leaving his neck bare for you to make some marks of your own. You do happily, biting and sucking the skin you find. Arthur, maybe emboldened by this, or too gone to care, starts speaking.

“I was thinking ‘bout you too. Whenever you’d go down to the river and pull your skirt up to go in the water. Took everything I had not to take you right there.” He doesn’t stop bringing you up and down with his hands. The fast pace makes your thighs burn, unused the wide position you have to be in, but it’s worth it.

“You shouldn’t of held back,” you find yourself saying. “I did it so you would see.”

He groans at that, raising his hips to fuck further into you. “You tempt me in ways that are dangerous. Make me want things I shouldn’t.”

“Careful now,” you tease. You catch his lips again, a quick nip before you continue. “Keep talking like that and you’ll start sounding like a good man. And we both know how much you’d hate that.”

He doesn’t give you much of a response other than a huff of a laugh and a kiss that makes you think he might just love you too.

“You deserve everything I can give you,” you whisper to him, more serious. You push more of your weight on to him, making him lay back. The change of position takes the strain off your thighs and moves it to your knees, but it’s better. Arthur lays before you, face impassive but eyes begging for you to finish your thought, desperate for that validation. You give it to him tenfold. Pushing his hands flat against the bed near his head, you slide your fingers over his forearms, across his palms. Searching for something to hold onto. Until finally, your fingers are interlaced and you’re staring deeply into his eyes. Your pace has slowed, which makes him pay more attention to your words.

“You are a good man, Arthur Morgan. And so deserving of every kindness. And you’re— you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He surges forward and kisses you. Holds you against him deeply as he nears his end. One hand untangles itself from its spot at your back and moves to your front, fingers finding your clit. You both let out an appreciative sound—you, as your orgasm draws ever closer, and him, at the way your walls contract ever tighter.

His eyes flutter closed, breath ragged and you know he’s close. Right on that precipice and you so desperately want to push him over. “Arthur, my love,” you murmur, sugar-sweet. “Please cum inside me.”

And he does, hips canting upward to bury himself deep inside of you. The warm that seems to spread upwards is enough to push you over the edge too.

Your walls flutter around him, twice in natural response, a few more times intentionally to watch his shoulders cave, coming to bury his face into your neck. “Yer gon’ be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“There are worse ways to go, I suppose,” you breathe out. You allow yourself to lay like that, awkwardly half on the bed, but numb enough not to care, for just a little while longer. Long enough for Arthur to find your mouth, meet it in a kiss that was sloppy, slow, and tired.

“Meant our first time to be a bit nicer,” you said as you removed yourself from atop him. The juices that flowed from you were less attractive in your post-orgasm clarity. You grab the nearest thing you have—the undershirt that had somehow landed near the bed—to clean up. It needed to be washed anyway, and you aren’t planning on wearing it anytime soon. “There’s always next time, I suppose.”

Arthur nods. He looks different, now. More relaxed then you’ve seen him in weeks, months even. Cute enough—dare you say—to warrant you leaning over and kissing him. A soft bite to his lip for good measure.

“Next time might have to wait,” he mumbles against your mouth when you pull away, eyes still closed. “‘M not as young as you used to be, remember.”

You smile, nod. The soft linen of your shirt cleans his thick cock, tracing downwards. Your fingers brush against his skin, pushing the cloth along, gentle to be an accident if he were naive enough to believe it.

“Darlin’,” he warns, voice a low growl.

You pull away. “The morning, then.”

With both of you as clean as you’re going to get without taking a bath, you reach for the next nearest item of clothing to keep you someway decent. Arthur’s shirt. It a bit rough, not meant to be slept in, but it smells like him. You only do up a few of the middle buttons, just to tease him a little. Then you take your spot at the head of the bed, looking to your lover to join you.

“Keep acting like that,” Arthur warns, taking his spot next to you, “and we ain’t gonna make it till morning.”

You smile, welcoming him into your arms. He pulls you against him, shifts the covers around until your both warm and wrapped in each other’s arms.

And yet, you’re not content. Not yet, not with a secret on your lips, and a burden on your chest. “Arthur—“ you start, a bit breathless as you force yourself to talk with any forethought. “I love you.”

He stiffens beside you. You can feel his arms tense, his heartbeat quicken. Stays like that for a moment before he responds; “Couldn’ta been that good.”

He tries to pass it off with humor, self-deprecation, but you know what he really means. Do you mean it?

“If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. But I wanted to tell you. So you know that I really do care. And everything I said before—I meant it. I really do think you’re wonderful. Beautiful, even. And I don’t care what you’ve been through, or how bad you think you are, because I’ll love you all the same.”

Through your ramble, he’s stayed quiet. And stays quiet still as a moment passes, then another. Give and take, that’s what this relationship is built on. You’ve given—

And he tugs you closer to him, pressed you thought against him in a hug that’s so warm you know his answer before he says it. But the way his deep timber, quiet, whispered against you, but still so sincere responds, with a gruff but honest, “I love you too.”

— it lets you know he’s ready to give it back too.

The streets of Saint Denis weren’t empty; per day, but here, content with the man you loved, they might as well be.

#xr: arthur morgan #wr: arthur morgan #arthur morgan #[ tagged: my writing ]#[ mw: arthur morgan ]#nsft: arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #imagine #arthur morgan smut

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fauzhee10069 · 3 years

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Made too soon? My ‘woke’ OC in a not so woke times

When I was browsing my old drawings, I found one particular work, a work I made for an OC contest back in early 2016:

dA link: Pre-battle Briefing

She belongs to Tolkien’s world, in The Silmarillion. You know? As his fictional universe was created in 1937, surely the standard of female’s portrayal was quite different than today’s standard. You can read further about that here but in short:

"Tolkien's heroines have been both praised and severely criticized", and that his fictional women indeed have an ambiguous image, of "both passivity and empowerment". - Weronika Łaszkiewicz

I was into ‘prominent female character’ at the time, yeah… I prefer to call it ‘prominent’ rather than ‘strong’ because the later often associates with being physically strong/dominant/masculine. I mean, I want my female character to have importance in her role to the plot, but she doesn’t have to be necessarily strong in hand-to-hand combat, genius or superior to the others… problems that are in Dysney’s Rey and many live action princesses (particularly Mulan) at the moment.

What was her story?

My name is Megileth (or Macilё in quenya), I am a Noldorin elf who was born in Valinor near the end of the Years of the Trees. As a Noldo, I’m not really skilled at activities such as gardening and weaving, the results of my work is always messy, let alone to do the work of men like carvers and blacksmiths.

The contest was creating an OC based on yourself (a self-insert), of course I was being honest that I suck at sewing, weaving, and any handicraft works, something that is highlighted in the Tolkien’s world through female characters like Vairë, Míriel and Arwen. However, my OC Megileth also sucks at men’s works (just like me irl).

I feel that accidentally, Megileth is like Dysney’s (animated) Mulan in 1998 that she hardly fits in with the expectations of Chinese female as ‘the perfect bride’ of the time, but when she finally joined the army (aka ‘the world of men’), she was also struggling to be ‘a man’ and to blend into their world. You can watch more about the analysis of Dysney’s Mulan (both 1998 and 2020) here:

Mulan: A Case of Failed Empowerment

During my childhood, I’m interested in studying political science and strategy of war. My father believed in my potential so he made me study and also taught me swordmanship alongside my brothers. When I reached majority, my father and I joined together in Fingolfin’s entourage to middle-earth. Later, I served as military strategist and an advisor in Hithlum from Fingolfin’s through Fingon’s reign.

This is my build up to give her that ‘prominent role’ in story, as The Silmarillion has many battle in it, I wanted her to be involved with those. During the battles, I didn't make her a strong fighter, but rather a character behind the scenes who works as a military advisor. Surely she can fight too but I gave her that ability more as a requirement because she had to be on the battlefield, I thought it would be convenient if she could fight and strong enough to protect herself.

But at this point, it is also my concern that she could be a borderline Mary Sue as her prominence may competes with Galadriel, Eowyn and Haleth. As a side note, Megileth was not meant to work as a sole strategist, she worked alongside several other advisors in strategizing (mostly men with some women too).

I am also one of the advisors who participated during the Nirnaeth Arnœdiad. I'm proposing a marching formation to Anfauglith. Although I know how to fight, but since my martial skill is mediocre at best, I prefer to stay behind the army and observing the situation.

As I wanted her to be ‘prominent’, I gave her role in “Nirnaeth Arnœdiad”. Even though I wanted her to be a character who gets prominent role, I also refrained from making her a Mary Sue, that’s why I gave her limitation that she was just pretty average in hand-to-hand combat.

At the end of the battle which I barely survived, I wandered as nomadic until I reached Eregion and stayed there. Later, after Eregion was destroyed by Sauron, I along with the other survivors fled and settled in Rivendell. I spent my life there to teach the younger generations to prepare themselves if someday war will happen again.

After her role in climactic event ended, I always like the idea of peaceful retirement, that’s why I made her survive and settle down as a tutor.

The Background of Megileth’s story

In the description in my submission, I’ve written as follow:

The reason I chose this role if I live in Tolkien’s world is because I want to defy the stereotypical views on majority of women during middle-age that they are often portrayed and positioned as healers, wives, beautiful maiden, being powerful with magical powers or stayed behind (that's why women like Haleth and Eowyn are awesome).

Perhaps, I was having mentality of “i'm not like other girls” at the time but I am always like this since my childhood… I like to defy what is defined as “mostly/stereotypical/standard/commonly”... whatever. If all my classmates chose blue, I would choose red.

Perhaps, my upbringing from my father also had an effect on that: he wanted me to be an independent woman, not always dependent on men (it was also due to him being made to work so far from our home that we have to be separated for months). I can't always depend on my father so I have to be able to live without always relying on men.

In addition, the role as military advisor is kinda unique. The real me also very fond of real-time strategy and simulation games. The figure who inspired me in this role and background is Qin Liangyu, female general of Ming dynasty.

I am a history lover, I like to study history from different cultures. I'm not always fixated on prominent female historical figures, but whenever I stumble across them, I'm always interested to learn more about them.

Although my OC might deviates from most of the female characters in Tolkien’s world, I am against Mary Sue and as much as possible I tried not to make my OC to be that. Before I gave Megileth an important role as military advisor, I asked myself: “is that even possible?” Then I found some excerpts from The Histories of Middle Earth vol. 10 “Laws and Customs Among the Eldar” that may support the possibility of Megileth’s role:

In all such things, not concerned with the bringing forth of children, the neri and nissi (that is, the men and women) of the Eldar are equal—

There are indeed some differences between the natural inclinations of neri and nissi, and other differences that have been established by custom (varying in place and in time, and in the several races of the Eldar). For instance, the arts of healing, and all that touches on the care of the body, are among the Eldar most practised by the nissi; whereas it was the elven-men who bore arms at need.

Indeed in dire straits or desperate defence, the nissi fought valiantly, and there was less difference in strength or speed between elven-men and elven-women that had not borne child than is seen among mortals. On the other hand many elven-men were great healers and skilled in the lore of living bodies,

but all these things, and other matters of labor and play, or of deeper knowledge concerning being and the life of the World, may at different times be pursued by any among the Noldor, be they neri or nissi.

- (Morgoth's Ring, "The Second Phase", Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, pages 209-214)

Based on my interpretation, this indicates that although certain custom may develop traditional roles for elvish men or women, it does not mean that these roles must be strictly performed. For example, when generally the arts of war are most practiced by men and the arts of healing are most practiced by women, there are also men who choose to become healers instead of warriors and women who are more interested in learning things that considered masculine.

I was happy that I found those excerpts, they gave me ‘a green light’ for the role of Megileth. However, despite the existence of the excerpts, criticism of sexism in Tolkien’s works remain because the lack of actual story/narrative that reflects that.

Then, what was the outcome of the contest?

I did not win.

That’s it. The reason why I did not win and why the winners won remains a mystery to this day.

I didn't expect to get the first place, but I did hope I could at least be runner-up or third, or even to be part of honorable mentions if there is any. If I'm being honest, of course I was disappointed… for not winning any place, but the bigger thing was that I don't know why?

I think I was too ambitious or overconfident at the time, I thought that my concept of Megileth’s story was quite unique and deserves the attention from the judges, I thought that my drawing was quite good (not a top-tier but still acceptable at least). In the end, I did not win anything.

What was the reason they won? What was the reason I did not win? Actually, what were the qualifications to win? My lack of knowledge about this made it even more difficult for me to accept my loss. Had I known the reasons, I will be more relieved to accept my loss: “so, that’s why she won… hmm, congratulation!”

Then to ease my disappointment at that time, I wrote a post about BEST WAYS TO ANNOUNCE CONTEST WINNERS. Although that post looks like a genuinely helpful post, I actually wrote it as "f*ck u!" to the judges, “you hurt my feeling for disregarding my work without reason!” Yeah, I was a whining womanchild and acting immature like a special snowflake.

Was this related to ‘wokeness’?

Of course up to this day, finding the real reason for that loss is absolutely impossible, but in this year 2020, I try to reflect on this matter.

Was my OC too far-fetched? Was Megileth a Mary Sue? Was Megileth incompatible within Tolkien’s world?

With the lack of actual reason and qualification, I have tried to guess it through the winner.

I am Natalie, Queen of Erebor and Wife of Thorin Oakenshield. I am standing with Thorin on our bedroom balcony, in my nightgown with the view from Erebor behind us. This is after the Battle of the five armies and I have just told Thorin that I am pregnant.

The drawing is beautiful so I don’t have any complain there. The winner created her OC as the Queen of Erebor and Thorin’s wife. The illustration is quite romantic, she was also inspired by Agmir's Seasick fanfiction, a self-insert fanfiction with Thorin/Reader.

The concept is pretty average but quite romantic. I've been reading various fanfics for more than a decade, surely self-insert, OC and reader-insert have become common things in various fandoms. Many readers like to project themselves to be paired with fictional characters with charming appearance.

Apart from that, the role of a queen and someone’s wife is also quite common in the Tolkien’s world. Natalie has a role that most of the female characters there have had, as a queen and a loving wife. She stayed inside the palace, welcoming Thorin in their bedroom, giving him happy news of her pregnancy.

Is it this average role that trumps the (so-called) unique role of my OC?

Natalie wears nightgown (feminity) whereas Megileth wears armor (masculinity).

Natalie fits so well in the world of Tolkien whereas Megileth might be trying too hard to be special in that world.

I’m not criticizing the role of Natalie, being a wife and stay-at-home mom does not make you an inferior woman (the funny thing is, I am dreaming of that life right now). But do you think that Megileth is a Mary Sue… as a female character who wants to get a role in the major event of Nirnaeth Arnœdiad?

Was that what the judges thought at the time?

Another interesting thing behind Megileth's story is that initially, I intended to make a female elf OC as a healer.

…the arts of healing, and all that touches on the care of the body, are among the Eldar most practised by the nissi (women)…

- (Morgoth's Ring, "The Second Phase", Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, pages 209-214)

Had Megileth been a healer (perhaps her name might not be “Megileth”) as I had considered back then, would she fit better in the world of Tolkien? Would I have a chance to win?

It was early 2016, although the term "woke" has already been around back then, it was not yet a trend as it is today. I also wonder, is it possible that the judges at that time become woke today if this contest was held this year?

Or perhaps they themselves actually despise the 'woke culture'.

Afterall, it was just a small contest, something that I no longer need to ponder about it.

Most obvious woke culture in these days can be seen in various Hollywood reboots and Dysney’s live actions (particularly, the princesses).

Looking at those princesses and their portrayal in live actions, looking at Mulan in her 2020 live actions version… perhaps a character like Megileth is finally able to get her time to shine.

But expect the criticisms that might attack her as well.

Megileth and Tauriel

Reflecting on this made me think of Tauriel, she is an OC created by Peter Jackson in The Hobbits film trilogy. Tauriel was a wood-elf (silvan) of Mirkwood and captain of the Elven guard of Thranduil’s Woodland Realm. Throughout the film, a subplot develops involving romance between her and Kíli.

The introduction of Tauriel brought quite a cacophony to the fans, various criticisms had attacked her conception. Just like my OC, she got ‘special’ position that isn’t common for the female elves in Tolkien’s world, as a warrior and head of the Woodland Realm guard.

Tauriel’s portrayal in PJ’s The Hobbits struck her like a double edged sword. The canon extremists criticized Tauriel's status as a female warrior and leader of Thranduil’s elven guard, “Tolkien did not write his female elves like that!” On the other hand, feminists also criticized her for being the love interest, “her love story with Kíli was unnecessary!”

There is a legit criticism regarding Tauriel’s character but there is also fan who defended her in the movies, that her existence has brought improvement for The Hobbits.

Tauriel was probably one of the woke characters who came really earlier.

We may not be able to create a perfect character. Among appreciations for your character, there will definitely be criticisms that accompany it. I think, it is enough for us to be happy that the characters we make successfully bring the attention.

As if someone would care about my OC Megileth XD

Self-Insert and Mary Sue

Why do people write SIs? Because to write a decent main character, you need to have a good idea of who you're writing, and everybody knows themselves well enough to write about. A Self-Insert is not only the easiest character to write about, it is the default character to write about. This is particularly prevalent in fanfic, where the setting is already filled in, and the inspiration comes from someone automatically applying their default character. You have to deliberately create an original story, but a Self-Insertion fanfic writes itself (at least loosely).

Going for an SI over an OC can be a lazy choice, and if that laziness continues to the rest of the work, it can be an indicator of a poor story, but this isn't a flaw inherent to SI stories so much as SIs simply having a lower entry bar.

A Self-Insert is also generally considered to be a fair character to write about. ...An SI is assumed to be an audience member, an 'everyman' to some reasonable degree (even if it is assumed that gun-enthusiasts like to write stories in which guns exist, and so on), and this is a key detail. There's never a hard rule on what's considered wanky, but everyone agrees on a gut level that it's fair to write a story on the premise of “this is what I would do in this situation”. Fanfic is often written on the premise of an altered, different or additional protagonist doing things differently/better/more interestingly than the original story, and the use of an everyman as protagonist is usually considered a fair standard, as it usually below the accepted 'power level' of the setting. ...Even the addition of meta-knowledge, whilst sometimes absurdly potent, is sufficiently within the domain of 'the everyman' that people will read it without harming their SoD, so long as there is a tolerable excuse for why that knowledge is present (though many people do include it as their one unicorn).

Furthermore, there is sometimes an element of challenge to it. Many competent original writers avoid giving their protagonists the idiot ball by making a situation really, really crappy. Thus it becomes for many a question of “can I write an interesting story in which the problem is solved better than in canon?” So not only is the SI trying to do a better job than the original characters, the SI-writer themself is trying to do a better job than the original writer.

To be honest, I think the clearest indicator of a Mary Sue is when they stop being an 'everyman', and start being someone whom the audience cannot bring themselves to relate to.

...A non-Mary Sueish Self-Insert is narratively justified. Narrative justification is easier when the character isn't highly-competent, uncommonly popular, or possessed of traits that would not be expected to come about naturally from the circumstances of that story or character, but I feel that the ability of the story to make any oddities of the characters, setting or plot seem reasonable, logical and believable is the ultimate determiner of whether a protagonist is a Mary Sue.

– frozenchicken, from ‘Sufficient Velocity’ forum.

The contest that I participated in was to make a self-insert character (a character based on yourself), in Tolkien’s world.

Megileth is a character that I created based on myself and what was on my mind (at that time).

I was into prominent female figures (be it in fiction or in history), therefore I also wanted to make a character that fits into that.

The idea of Megileth was also influenced after I read several times about the criticisms of Tolkien’s female characters.

…it becomes for many a question of “can I write an interesting story in which the problem is solved better than in canon?” So not only is the SI trying to do a better job than the original characters, the SI-writer him/herself is trying to do a better job than the original writer…

Perhaps I accidentally made Megileth an improved female character of Tolkien, something that is very trending in the circle of feminism today (Hollywood reboots & Dysney’s live-actions) but very much despised by canon purists and casual audiences.

And the judges may have thought that “Megileth can’t be Tolkien’s character,” “Megileth is Mary Sue,” etc (despite her weaknesses and my careful survey not to defy the canon).

I was considering Megileth as a healer, there are many female elves in Tolkien’s world who are healers, according to “Of the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar”:

The scholiast claims that most female Elves do not fight or kill, because it diminishes healing power in which they have chosen to specialize, and that those male Elves who are healers "abstained from hunting, and went not to war until the last need."

Going by the ‘canon’ rules, Megileth as healer can’t be a warrior, she cannot go to war unless until the last need.

Megileth as a healer would lowkey reflect my childhood aspiration to be a doctor. But for a self-insert character (based on myself), she would hardly reflect me at the time (in early 2016). Because by then, I had long neglected my old aspiration that is already impossible to realize.

I thought that ‘Megileth as an elf warrior and advisor’ would reflect me better than ‘Megileth as a healer’.

Then, comparing Megileth with Natalie (the winner) without knowing what the reasons were from the judges regarding the result, I can only assume that Megileth failed to portray Tolkien’s (female) character while Natalie did it very well.

I Nestad in-Edhil: The Healing of the Eldar

To be honest, I felt there was a sense of contrary to this contest. As the contest was about self-inserting, surely I created Megileth to reflect myself (as much as possible) in Tolkien’s world. Then what about the standard for not making her ‘Mary Sue’?

I didn't think about making Megileth so fit into that world, as in giving her the average roles (healers, wives/lovers/queens or handmaidens) because such a role would not reflect who I was at the time, giving her those roles would make her no longer me.

I was not in love to anyone, I did not fantasize about having romantic relationships with any fictional characters. Therefore I can’t be just <insert canon male character name here>’s lover.

Then, my solution to not making her a Mary Sue was that her fighting ability is average, that she was not the only advisor the Noldor relied on in every battlefield, that she is not an exceptionally genius but her capability is quite acknowledged, that she was involved in a losing battle (Nirnaeth Arnœdiad), and although she survived, she does not make a big name like the legendary Galadriel.

Plus, she doesn’t heal people because she can’t be a healer!

I think it was my mistake for participating in the contest, I was tempted by the gifts they offered for the winner. I shouldn't have been involved in that contest.

Self-Insert character is our personal character, they are “us if we are in a world of fiction”. There should be no character better than another. No one should win over another.

Of course my loss at the contest felt like a personal attack on me. “So I made a bad character? But that character is based on me, am I bad then?”

Since then, I have never taken part in any OC contests, especially if it's based on myself.

…an SI can be written like any other character, with flaws and mistakes, while a Mary Sue is by definition flawless.

Of course, it is perfectly possible for a character to be both an SI and a Mary Sue, and it is my understanding that this is the general state of affairs. It is something about writing about themselves that makes authors unwilling to acknowledge their flaws.

…SIs do frequently fall under the Mary Sue label, but not all SIs are Mary Sue fics, and not all Mary Sues are SIs. Thus, it is possible to write a non-MS SI, but it is not possible to write a good MS fic.

- Grey Rook, from ‘Sufficient Velocity’ forum.

Self-inserts are simply characters based on ourselves. People write SIs for the wish fulfillment and power fantasy. It depends on our imagination and how we fantasize, it is possible to make realistic self-insert without making them a Mary Sue, but there will always be a risk of turning your self-insert into Mary Sue.

I think it's not really fair to use “Self-Insert theme” as a contest, it would be better to have it as an event. Artists and writers can have fun with their self-inserts without having to win or lose, without having to feel that their characters are better or worse than the others.

#tolkien elves #oc contest #mary sue #feminism #woke culture #self insert #female character #tauriel #lotr oc #silmarillion #the hobbits #lord of the rings #tolkien elf #elf oc #tolkien oc #wokeness #bad timing #my thoughts #personal thoughts

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marshmallowgoop · 4 years

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What Kumoricon’s Promare Panel Told Me About Kill la Kill

[This post was originally written as a Twitter thread. The Promare cosplay image above was posted on Studio Trigger’s Twitter account.]

Now that NaNo is over, I can finally work on my Kumoricon Promare panel write-up without feeling guilty, but tbh, it might just be another project that never happens. There's also an excellent, beautifully detailed report you can already read right here!

I got my degree in creative writing, not journalism, so my intentions for my own report was (is?) to be on the more personal side. There is a lot I want to analyze and discuss about what was said at the panel, and since I've also had the opportunity to attend three other Promare-y panels in the past couple of years, I've wanted to combine info and sum up what I know.

Like I said, it might never happen. But there is one thing I do really wanna get out there. And that's what the Kumoricon Promare panel told me about Kill la Kill.

Near the start of the panel, it was mentioned that an early concept for Promare involved a human befriending a fire creature. Through their friendship, the two would be able to fuse together into one entity. The panelists explicitly made a comparison to Kill la Kill here: just as Kill la Kill is focused on the friendship between a human and sentient clothes, Promare was imagined as a story focused on the friendship between a human and sentient flames.

However (and minor Promare spoilers to follow)....

As the panel progressed, it was revealed that this original concept was transformed into the Promare we know now. It was said that collaborations between director Hiroyuki Imaishi and writer Kazuki Nakashima work best when focused on human connections, not connections between humans and creatures.

The duo's earlier work in Gurren Lagann and Kill la Kill were mentioned. Gurren Lagann was described as a "boy meets boy" story (presumably with Simon meeting Kamina), and Kill la Kill was described as a "girl meets girl" story (presumably with Ryuko meeting Satsuki).

Which threw me for a loop! Wasn't it stated only minutes before that Kill la Kill is indeed focused on the connection between a human and a creature? Isn't it all about the friendship between a human and her sentient clothes?

I've written a lot in the past that as much as I love Kill la Kill, its intentions have felt confused and unfocused. This Promare panel validated those feelings. There is a clear tension here. Is Kill la Kill's focal relationship the one shared between Ryuko and Senketsu? Or is it the one shared between Ryuko and Satsuki?

In my earlier writing on Promare, I argued that the film essentially combines the Senketsu and Satsuki character into one.

And Kumoricon's Promare panel? Well, let's just say that I think the info supplied very much supports my theory.

Promare's concept went from a human befriending a fire creature to a human befriending a human who had merged with a fire creature. In this way, Galo and Lio's dynamic still has a lot of the same elements as a "human meets creature"-type story. Lio's fire powers mean that many view him as not human. Plus, despite noting that the "boy meets flame" concept was scrapped, a spread in PASH! magazine seems to say otherwise:

Further, like the "human meets creature" story in Kill la Kill, Galo and Lio also "synchronize" and fight as one—an act even Galo describes as the combining of "oil and water." Following the rules of their world, it's a partnership that shouldn't happen. But it does.

And just as Ryuko and Senketsu use their partnership to save the planet, so too do Galo and Lio. In fact, Lio de Galon was even confirmed in a live-drawing session to purposely resemble Kamui.

But Lio has something Senketsu doesn't: a human appearance. While Promare feels very much to me like a "human meets creature" story, it's kind of not because the Burnish are just regular humans who suddenly got fire superpowers. It's not like being born a magical talking shirt.

And on that note, I can see why Promare was changed. There are similarities between Senketsu and Lio, but unlike Lio, Senketsu is easily the most ignored main character in Kill la Kill. I even received nasty messages for comparing the two and their relationships with the hero, which is maybe sadly funny in retrospect, considering that the creative team behind both works have noted this connection explicitly.

But in any case, the drafted fire creature had the appearance of a cute, mascot-type character, maybe not too unlike Senketsu.

And that's... not usually the type of character who's half of the focal relationship of a work. It's hard to take seriously. Believe me, I understand this well.

So, Promare changed. It's ultimately about the bond between Galo and Lio, a human and a human, just as Kill la Kill could be argued—and in fact was argued at the panel!—to be ultimately about the bond between Ryuko and Satsuki, both humans themselves.

And unlike with Ryuko and Senketsu, I think comparisons of the Galo-Lio relationship and the Ryuko-Satsuki relationship have been widely recognized. You know, it's that whole rivals-to-friends/lovers deal. The character archetypes are similar, too: Galo is very much the impulsive Red Oni to Lio's (mostly) calmer Blue Oni, just as Ryuko is the rash Red Oni to Satsuki's calculating Blue Oni.

This post's a little all over the place, but as much as I adore Senketsu and Satsuki and would never wish for either of their characters to be sacrificed in a reboot or alternate telling of Kill la Kill, I think Promare did the right thing by essentially combining those roles.

And I mean, kinda literally, too! The human Lio fused with the sentient fire creature, and it's the fused-human and human relationship that became the core of the work.

The resulting film thus lacks the tension that Kill la Kill has. Our attention is not split between a "human meets creature" story and a "human meets human" story. As far as I know, there aren't the same conflicting statements from the staff, either, with director Imaishi arguing that the focus is the drama between the human leads and writer Nakashima noting, "You could say that Kill la Kill tells the story of a lonely young woman meeting and losing an irreplaceable partner" in the Kamui Bansho.

With Promare, I think everyone agrees. It's all about Galo and Lio. There is no debate. Promare is focused in a way that Kill la Kill ain't.

And I get why Promare changed in development the way it did to give it that clarity. But I also think (obviously!) that Trigger made a fantastic "human meets creature" narrative with Kill la Kill.

In fact, it's my complete and total infatuation with that narrative that got me to the Promare panel at all. I never went to cons before I fell in love with Kill la Kill, and my love for Kill la Kill literally stems from this one frame of Ryuko hugging Senketsu, which I think I made a pretty amusing Tweet about:

Tweet transcription: For real though this one frame made me fall so in love with Kill la Kill that I have since written over half a million words about it, spent like $2,000 on merchandise, and edited like 2,000 GIFs.

Yes, I am really THAT emotional about a girl hugging her sailor uniform.

So, needless to say, I support Nakashima's desire for "human meets creature" stories. I can't speak for anyone else, but it is the "human meets creature" aspect of Kill la Kill that affected me more than anything else about it. I think it's something Trigger should be proud of.

And I would love to see more of those types of stories from the studio—especially if the creature in question doesn't resemble a human! People don't have to look alike for their love to be strong and real, and stories focusing on that... well. They're the reason for this essay.

#promare #kill la kill #lio fotia #galo thymos #ryuko matoi #senketsu #kumoricon 2019 #gifs i made #spoilers #promare spoilers #klk spoilers #shut up goop #ramblings #yes i do take constructive criticism please @ me

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devnny · 5 years

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CHAPTER SEVEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

A SMALL RELIEF FROM DRAMA.... KINDA. i’m laughing i hate this chapter i hope you enjoy it, it was too funny to write

A crinkly set of snaps released themselves free from Devi’s backbone as she stretched in front of the kitchen counter. She shook her shoulders as a secondary effort to clear the bogging feeling of sleep out of her body, but it was growing useless at such a late hour. She gathered her newest cup of water and returned to her seat at her small dining table, across from Johnny, who was focused on what he was sketching. After sharing a late lunch one day at the same table, he migrated his drawing space from the floor of her living room to his new designated ‘spot’ in her kitchen.

Devi watched him with tired eyes while she sipped her water.

Johnny was doing exceedingly well with focusing on his work, but that meant him working later into the night with each passing session, which meant a later sleeping hour for Devi. It wasn’t like he needed her hovering nearby the entire time anymore, but she was still too paranoid to leave Johnny by himself for very long, since he was quite gifted with finding trouble to get into. Devi had let him drag on until almost midnight tonight, since he was so engrossed in whatever he was drawing, but her consciousness was finally at its limit. Pity that she slept so terribly before their meetings, otherwise staying up into the twilight hours would be no problem.

“Ugh.” She mumbled, gathering Johnny’s attention. “Okay, time to pack it up, Nny. My eyeballs are falling out.”

Johnny sulked, looking between his current project and Devi’s yawning face.

“Well…” His lower jaw stuck out a bit while he thought. One of Devi’s eyes twitched closed while the other listed to the side in mild annoyance.

“Well what, Nny?” She asked lethargically. He always had to make up some excuse to stay longer.

“…Would you mind if just— I mean, do you think I could just, stay and keep working? While you’re sleeping?”

Devi’s sleepy eyes blinked open at the question, but Johnny only sat motionless, looking at her curiously.

He really didn’t find anything wrong with a request like that? Just… staying in her home while she was asleep and totally helpless to being stabbed to death? The man that tried to slash her open twice, roaming around her apartment unattended all night long?

Her face pinched uncomfortably the longer Johnny kept his neutral expression settled squarely on her.

“Why?” Devi asked finally, internally demanding an explanation for such a dumbass question.

“I just don’t want to lose my concentration.” Johnny shrugged his body backwards, as though the idea tired him. “By the time I put everything away, and drive home, and unpack it all again, and sit down to draw, I know it’ll be all… fuck-y.”

Devi’s mouth tilted to one side. She could at least understand that feeling; losing your creative mojo simply by being interrupted from it for too long, even if ‘too long’ was something as miniscule as a five-minute phone call, or say, a quick drive home. But did he have to stay here?

She frowned the more she debated it. Johnny had proven himself to be… trustworthy. Mostly. More trustworthy than ever before, anyway. He had really stuck with his promises of self-betterment, at least with the standards she set for him, and he had successfully passed her ‘test’ that he wouldn’t attack her again, even when normal people probably would have. Maybe her brain was just tired, but she figured this could be a decent way to test his self-control again, in a way.

Devi groaned. She was putting herself in harm’s way a lot lately.

“Oh, fine.” She surrendered and got up from her chair. “Just keep it down.”

Johnny smiled at her from his seat and nodded.

“I will. Enjoy your sleep.” He offered casually, then returned to his sketching. Devi pursed her lips shut.

“Thanks. Night, Nny.”

“Goodnight, Devi.” He hummed contently, his hand scratching away in tight circles. She huffed and left to her room, locking the door silently behind her. No need for him to suspect her lack of faith in him.

HOURS LATER:

Johnny inspected his finished graphite drawing with his knuckles curled over the point of his chin. He was perched awkwardly in a lean atop one of Devi’s kitchen chairs, with one of his boots anchored on the seat and the other balancing his weight at the very top of the chair’s back. He chewed away at some unmarked leftovers that he had dug out from the back of Devi’s fridge, and tilted his head thoughtfully. It looked good, Johnny thought.

Finished! Devi will be pleased.

His head swiveled to the clock, and the content face he wore slumped into an unamused frown. It was already mid-morning! What a waste of time sleep was – Devi had been incapacitated this entire time, and he had been working for hours on end! He made a mental note to bring up the many valuable things sleeping got in the way of to her again sometime today; she had already shot down his many very good arguments against being asleep, but maybe his finished artwork would convince her.

It wouldn’t be long now – he hoped – that she would awaken, and Johnny wondered what he should do in the meantime. He stepped down from his post to ponder his options. He supposed he could make breakfast, or something like that, but he had already eaten a decent amount of Devi’s food, and didn’t expect Devi to eat much more than he could – he didn’t even know if she liked waffles or not. He made another mental note to ask.

The mild thoughts in his head rattled like marbles at a sudden thudding sound, and he realized as his mind quieted from the disturbance, that the sound was the apartment’s front door. His pupils thinned in suspicion, and he moved to one of the kitchen drawers. After a quick search, he brought up two knives, one in each hand. He weighed them both with a few lolling wrist motions, debating which one would be most effective in warding off any unpleasant intruders. He settled for the chef’s knife, and slid the drawer shut as the knocking started up again.

Johnny made his way to the door with slinky, quiet steps, only turning his attention away for a moment to watch Devi’s bedroom door for any movement. She was either not expecting anyone this morning, or wasn’t interested in having company. Either way, he would answer the door for her so she could rest.

There were no windows like his house had to inspect whom exactly was on the doorstep, and rather than look through the peephole, Johnny simply undid the locks and opened the door to see for himself. He only parted the door enough to allow his figure to fill the gap, and he stood in a hunch, exposing his weapon of choice to the unfortunate woman on the other side of the doorframe. He wasn’t even allowed the chance to speak before she shrieked to the high heavens.

“AAAAIIEK!!” Tenna screamed, holding Spooky close to her mouth afterwards for comfort. Johnny’s irises shrunk further at the grating sound, and he slunk back a ways, though he brought the knife up higher as if to warn her.

“Oh my GOD! I KNEW she was going to get killed hanging around you!” Tenna cried, then leaned forward thoughtlessly to attempt to call into the apartment past Johnny. “DEVI, ARE YOU LIVING!? I’M CALLING THE COPS.”

Johnny winced in annoyance and pushed her back out the door, making her scream from the contact.

“BE QUIET.” Johnny hissed. “Devi is sleeping!”

“YOU SICKO… YOU SICK, SICK MAN.” She languished, misinterpreting what Johnny meant by the comment.

IN THE ROOM ADJACENT:

Devi was almost at the comfortable end of a good night’s rest, something that she so rarely experienced the past year or so of her life. Most of her attempts at sleeping ended with exhaustion, after her overactive brain dragged her through hours of anxiety driven scenarios that barely made any sense once she was up and able to evaluate them.

Her body was only just rousing itself from the remaining strands of sleep that tethered her away from consciousness, when a piercing cry startled her awake. For a moment, she was half-convinced that the shriek was another figment from her tormented brain, until she heard Johnny’s familiar irritated voice yelling back at it. Devi shot up, realizing instantly that the other person in the conversation was Tenna.

Tenna, arguing with Johnny.

Good Lord.

Devi heaved herself out of bed as fast as she could to rush to the the living room, only to half-run-into her bedroom door when it failed to open. She cursed, having forgotten that she’d locked it, and hurriedly undid the bolt. The moment she flung the door open, both Johnny and Tenna turned their attention toward her, each surprised to see her awake. Johnny grumbled, unhappy that this guest, identity still unknown to him, had indeed woken Devi up.

Devi could only stare in horror at the large knife clenched in Johnny’s hand, and failed to hear Tenna joyously cry her name in relief that she had, in fact, not been murdered and mutilated by Johnny. Devi sped over to where the pair stood and angrily snatched the blade away from Johnny, wanting to disarm him before addressing the situation.

“JOHNNY.” She whisper-yelled at him, her loose hair pricking out over her forehead. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

Johnny didn’t look nearly guilty enough.

“This person was trying to get into the apartment.” He answered.

“SO YOU GET A KNIFE…”

“DEVI, YOU’RE ALIVE!” Tenna sparkled, hugging onto her shoulder with some rapid squeaks from Spooky. Devi shrugged her arm away, mostly because the arm she latched onto was the same arm that currently held a 10-inch kitchen knife. She wondered why all of her associates had such little common sense, but couldn’t dwell on it long.

“Oh.” Johnny spoke, more relaxed, but still annoyed. “You do know her, then?”

“Obviously.” Devi said through clenched teeth. “God.”

She managed to keep some composure, but still stalked away from her two guests to take in a few calming breaths for good measure. Johnny glanced at Tenna suspiciously, but closed the door as he expected Devi would want.

Devi went to return the knife to its proper place, and grumbled about her misfortune. She knew that eventually Tenna and Johnny would have had to meet, seeing as Tenna was, currently, her only ‘friend’, and Johnny was… there, but she didn’t want it to be like this. She was only grateful that the meeting hadn’t resulted in any bloodshed before she woke up to intervene. Devi patted imaginary flecks off of her tank top and sweatpants, then returned to the living room.

Tenna was lounging on the sofa comfortably, with one leg dangling off of couch’s arm, and Johnny stood off to the side, arms crossed and watching her like a distrustful cat. Devi sighed. At least the room’s atmosphere was less erratic now.

She took a seat beside Tenna on the couch, and got an upside-down, puzzled look from her friend.

“What’s he doing here so early?” She asked, adjusting her posture so she was almost sitting upright.

“—Late, actually.” Devi scratched her hair tiredly. “He stayed over to finish working on something.”

“He spent the night?” Tenna gasped, and Devi tilted her head backwards and away from Tenna’s accusing look.

“It’s not that serious.” She replied.

“Why does she know so much about my schedule here?” Johnny’s head lowered as he approached cautiously. Devi went back to rubbing her hairline.

“She’s my friend, Johnny. This is Tenna. She hangs out with me sometimes.” She gestured across to Tenna like she was on exhibit. Tenna sat up fully, a little insulted.

“You’ve never mentioned me before now!?” She puffed.

“WHY would you want me to bring your name into this? It should be considered a favor to keep knowledge of your existence from Nny.”

“Well he tried to STAB ME because he didn’t know who I was!” Tenna argued back.

Johnny frowned, closer to Devi’s side now. He was unused to having to share her attention with anyone else, and he certainly didn’t like it. It was worse than before, with those random, intrusive customers at the bookstore, seeing as Devi actually gave this particular individual a voice in the conversation.

“Why are you here, Tenna-person? Go away.” He asked sharply, and Devi perked an eyebrow at the rather possessive tone in his voice. Tenna gawked at him angrily.

“YOU’RE the one that’s not even supposed to be here! YOU go away!” Tenna shot back, and Johnny steamed in response.

“NO, NO. We are not doing this.” Devi stood up and offered them each an annoyed scowl, not at all fond of her attention being viewed as something anyone had a right to ‘have’.

“Johnny you were invited to be here, you’re fine. Shut up. Tenna you weren’t, but I begrudgingly accept your random visits, so you’re also fine. I don’t want to hear another word about who is and isn’t supposed to be in my house, or near me, or whatever. Okay?” She crossed her arms – what was this, grade school? Both Johnny and Tenna looked unhappy to not have the opportunity to keep yelling at each other, but agreed half-heartedly.

“Devi.” Johnny moved closer to her, as if he had to now with someone else in the room. “I finished my piece, it’s in the kitchen.”

He stopped, having a quick flash of recollection.

“—Do you like waffles?”

“…What?”

“Do you like waffles? I was going to make breakfast, but I didn’t know if you liked waffles or not.”

Devi stared at him lamely.

“I…” She was still not awake enough for this. “Yeah. Sure, yes, Johnny. I like waffles. Make me some waffles, please, for the love of God, waffles.”

ONE MORNING ROUTINE LATER:

“I didn’t even know I had a waffle maker.” Devi commented while she chewed. Johnny’s mouth was full, so he refrained from responding besides a quick nod, but Tenna had no problem talking with a mouthful of dough and syrup.

“REAL GOOD WAFFLES, TOO!” She laughed, forking another half into her cheerful maw. “I didn’t know he could cook things. I think you’ve got a keeper.”

“Oh, please, spare me.” Devi exhaled. She took her empty plate to the sink, and eyed the aforementioned waffle maker suspiciously. She was rather sure that she did not own this particular kitchen appliance, actually.

“Hey, Nny.” She turned slightly, and Johnny perked up on the stool that she had dragged in for him from her art room, lest he bitch and moan about not getting to sit at the table with her.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get this?” Her finger hooked downwards, toward the maker in question.

“Oh, I borrowed it.” Johnny looked to the side, hoping she wouldn’t pry more than that.

Of course, she did.

“You borrowed it? From who?”

“One of your neighbors. They left their window open.”

“You mean you STOLE it, then.” Devi stared at him angrily, and he tapped his fingers together.

“I was going to RETURN it after!” He insisted, but Devi wouldn’t hear it, and only rubbed her eyes in frustration.

Tenna watched on in interest as Devi began chastising Johnny for stealing from her neighbors and potentially endangering her lease, and with even more interest that Johnny’s reaction was to mope and attempt to argue his point like a bratty child. She had been wondering how their relationship had truly developed after months of hard emotional labor on Devi’s part, but it looked as if she hadn’t been exaggerating his attitude about things – which was good! Maybe Tenna had less to worry about than she thought.

“—Ugh!” Devi flexed her hands in front of her like a pair of talons. “You’re impossible, Nny!”

“Oh, so stealing cheese out of my neighbors fridge makes me Public Enemy #1, then!?” He huffed back.

Tenna laughed; stealing cheese was funny.

“No.” Tenna interjected. “Cheese-thievery is a far cry from hacking people to death.”

“YOU SEE.” Johnny waved his arm backwards toward Tenna, as if Devi needed to visualize Tenna’s ‘defense’ of him. Devi moaned in social agony.

“Johnny—!”

“AH.”

“For God’s sake—alright, fine.” She caved. “It’s not murder. but it’s still not good, Johnny. Especially not when it can get ME in trouble.”

Tenna’s mischievous smile grew from watching them interact. The disagreement was winding down, and she thought she might help it along.

“Don’t be upset Devi!” She grinned, sitting backwards on her chair now. “At least his crimes against humanity have dropped from murder to theft, right?”

Johnny turned his head to look at Tenna questioningly, curious to exactly how much about him Devi had disclaimed. A lot, it seemed like. Devi grit her teeth, but snorted and shrugged it off.

“Yes. I guess I can take theft with a SMILE if it means you’ve stopped killing people.” She deadpanned.

Johnny flinched at the assumption, and snapped his eyes to the opposite wall nervously. The reaction did not go unnoticed by Devi, as usual.

“…Johnny.” She spoke warningly. He didn’t respond besides rapidly drumming his fingers against his pants.

“JOHNNY.”

“W-what!?” Johnny looked to the other wall, and continued to fidget.

“You HAVE stopped murdering people, haven’t you!?” Devi lurched closer to him, and Johnny tightened his posture before shuffling backwards and away from her.

“We-ell…” He looked up and around, anywhere but Devi’s face, which only made her fume more. Johnny stepped around the table, hoping somewhere in the back of his mind that he might be able to use Tenna as a shield if this went south rapidly.

“You—I mean, it wasn’t like—there was never any mention about… stopping… err—”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!” Devi screamed, and lunged at him.

Johnny also screamed, narrowly escaping her swipes for him as he scrambled around the kitchen. She stopped for only a minute to gather her footing, and Johnny took the opportunity to again try to reason with her.

“DEVI, WAIT.” He sweated. “It’s really not that bad!! It’s not like I’m holding people prisoner in my basement! Just a couple… spur of the moment… killings! Nothing dramatic!”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT—” Devi jumped at him again, causing a crashing sound of cabinet doors as her and Johnny tore along the side of her kitchen counter. “—YOU IDIOT!!”

Terrified shrieking and the clomping of metal-tipped boots trampled into the living room, leaving Tenna wide-eyed and curious about the sudden turn of events. She chewed up the last of her current waffle, and pocketed another two for later, before peeking out past the threshold of the kitchen archway. Johnny was frantically playing ‘monkey in the middle’ around the coffee table with Devi, who looked like she might beat his head in with the robot statuette she was wielding if he failed to keep the distance between them.

“DEVI.” Johnny called frantically, only to wheeze another scream when she hurled the figure at his head. She only barely missed. “DEVI, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO ASK ME NOT TO MURDER YOU?” Devi hissed, then vaulted over the table, tackling him onto the floor in a flailing ball of skinny limbs.

Tenna’s eyes followed the thrashing ball around the living room floor back and forth a few passes, before her smile returned with some ease. They seemed like they could work this out just fine by themselves.

“Okay, thanks for breakfast, Nny!” Tenna stepped around the carnage and toward the door, ignoring the shrill arguing and sounds of fighting.

“I’ll see you later, Devi!” She piped up again as she slid out the door, leaving her face inside just long enough to allow Spooky to say goodbye as well with a few energetic squeaks.

“AUGH, MY KIDNEYS—DEVI—DEVI—”

SHORTLY:

Devi’s breath was still leaving her body in short, angry puffs, but the pummeling she gave Johnny had eased most of her wrath out of her. Most of it. Johnny sat wearily on the couch beside her as she dabbed the rugburn on her elbow with alcohol. She looked up to the scratch on his cheek and frowned, more annoyed with herself for bothering to care about it. She slapped a Band-Aid onto his face unceremoniously, then closed her shabby first-aid kit and left it to sit on her still-misplaced coffee table.

Johnny jolted a little from the sudden contact on his face, but slouched back down after a moment. Devi sighed.

“What the Hell am I going to do with you, Johnny?” She grumbled into the air. Johnny let his clasped hands fall between his legs, pouting at the floor.

“I’m serious, Nny.” Devi looked to him, exasperated, and Johnny looked up enough to meet her gaze.

The day had been going so well, too, he thought. Well, beside the potential-stabbing of her friend and all that. He hadn’t meant to upset her again.

“I’m sorry, Devi.” He offered softly, and Devi groaned. She hated when he showed off that pathetic, passive side of his – it made her feel almost sorry about attacking him.

“Well ‘sorry’ doesn’t fix you killing people this entire time, you moron.” Devi stared at him and watched him shift uncomfortably from the attention. At least her voice was more casual now, even with the added insults, it just sounded like their normal talks.

“I don’t think it’s making anything worse.” He raised his head to her again. “It’s not as though bludgeoning any of those ass ticks makes me want to hurt you, Devi. It doesn’t make me bloodthirsty, or something.”

“That’s not what I’m bothered by.” Devi’s brows furrowed. “Ignoring the fact that it’s murder, it just proves your impulse control is still terrible!! It means the only things you’ve made any real progress in are art and not attacking me specifically.”

Johnny sulked again. In his mind, those were much more important accomplishments than not breaking a coffee pot over some dickhead’s skull, but he relented.

“I know. It’s easier to control myself when you’re nearby to threaten me with violence.”

Devi snorted.

“So what, am I supposed to do then, Nny??” She stood up and turned to him. “Do you need me to keep a constant eye on you? Is that what I have to do to get your murderous impulses in check? You want to just box up all your crap and move onto my fucking couch? Hm?”

Johnny’s previously downtrodden expression vanished, his face overtaken by his dinnerplate size eyes. He stared at her in surprise, uncertain if that was sarcasm or a genuine offer.

“Are… you asking me to move in?” Johnny asked, nearly breathless. Devi’s face went a strange color.

“WH—NO!” Her lower eyelids bent up while she grimaced. “I mean—well—NO.”

It definitely wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, but it was rather plain that if Johnny was here, then he wouldn’t be there, at that shitty, old, previously-demon-infested house of his. Maybe that would do him good, being away from that place? She had only been in his house once previously, but knowing all that had occurred there, she was certain it didn’t put his mind in a good place to call that glorified shed his sanctuary.

No, there was no fucking way she was debating this.

“No, no, no, no.” She continued, pacing away from him. “Alright, I’m done for the day, go away. Go on, go home, Nny.”

Johnny shifted a little, aware that tonight was supposed to be another one of their tutoring sessions.

“…Do I come back tonight for—?”

“GO… HOME… JOHNNY.”

NEXT.

#jthm #jtrm #mine #devnny #im laughingggg god!!!!#tenna is here to make things.... better?#chapter

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

Note

I dont want to intrude on your convo with your friend but I've been reading all your posts about your changelings verse since you started making them. Is the Alicia you mentioned next to Boyd in the poart about the changeling market meant to be Boyd's little sister from TW? What's her change, if you don't mind telling??

LOL no worries, and you’re not intruding, I don’t mind comments or weighing in on any post I make ever, unless its specifically under a cut and I’m like ‘plz dont reblog Im gonna delete this in ten minutes anyway, IM JUST HAVING A MOMENT OKAY’ lolol.

So yeah, you’re fine, and if you follow me because of TW which you obvsly know well enough to recognize Alicia’s name, you probably know how much I love exploring minor or barely ever used characters, haha. Alicia Boyd is no exception and I have a ridiculous number of headcanons and places I’ve used her in various unposted WIPs considering that she made all of one appearance on the show and it was a hallucination/flashback. BUT WHATEVER.

Anyway, Alicia’s Change is one of my faves, and given that she’s such a barely there presence in TW, she’s a character I’m pretty comfortable keeping just as she is in my TW changeling headcanons, when writing the official ‘to be published’ stuff in this ‘verse.

All Changelings’ physical changes and magic are in some way related to their personalities and individual traits, even if that connection isn’t immediately obvious. And even though the Changelings are supernatural in origin, given that their magic reflects who they are and who they are is a product of a 21st century modern society, I wanted some of them to have changes and magic that seems in some ways almost sci-fi or technology based, even while still definitively being magic at its source.

So for no particular reason other than just its my head, I’ll headcanon what I want, I’ve always pictured Alicia as a STEM girl, very much into science and math, and her change and magic ties into that.

Basically, she looks just like she did before she was Changed, so she’s a fourteen year old black girl who’s just a slightly older version of the character we saw briefly on TW….except for the fact that she’s at all times surrounded by what appear to be like…ghostly versions of herself.

Like, at any given time there’s a half dozen to a dozen different versions of herself, totally intangible and somewhat faded/transparent like a photo that hasn’t been fully developed….and they’re all ‘orbiting’ her, for lack of a better term….kinda like the electrons of an atom orbit it.

And these other versions of herself all look slightly different upon closer inspection - different hairstyles, clothing, a couple have glasses, etc….and some appear like they’re floating in mid-air, others like their feet are sinking into the ground….and most of them usually look like they’re just hovering or flickering around Alicia like half-formed images or ghosts that are all moving, doing something - whether appearing like they’re talking, walking, fighting, reading, any number of things….and all of them seemingly paying no attention to what’s going on around Alicia here and now, if they’re even aware of it.

Which they are though, because the thing is, these ‘satellite versions of herself’ are all alternate versions of herself existing currently in other parallel universes where the Change still occurred and they all ended up with the same magic as this Alicia.

So essentially, there are between ten and sixteen versions of Alicia, spread across an equivalent number of parallel universes….who are all Changelings with the exact same magic….which connects them all.

Just like they appear like ghostly images of this Alicia here, this Alicia appears as one of the ghostly images hovering around each of the other versions of herself in their realities.

And despite them always looking like they’re doing their own thing for the most part and oblivious to anything happening in a different reality, that’s just a matter of them learning after a loooot of practice and trial and error, how to primarily just focus on their main reality and only keep a vague/back of their mind awareness trained on what’s happening with the other versions of herself via their magical connection.

Whenever something big happens to one of them though, no matter which reality, like if one of them is in danger, the others can immediately stop what they’re doing in their home realities and pay attention to the one who’s actively in danger….because all the Alicias can communicate with each other, share knowledge and life experiences and skills with each other, and so whenever one of them really needs the others, the others can all focus on them and come to their aid or support them in a variety of ways, even without being physically present.

And some of these parallel universes are more similar than others, and some of them are just sliiiiightly out of sync with the others….like one of the Alicias lives in a universe that for the most part is almost identical to this Alicia’s universe….except its timeline is like, thirty seconds ahead of this one’s.

Meaning while its not foolproof, due to the very very minor differences in realities resulting in the people in each reality making slightly different choices….that 30 seconds ahead Alicia tends to for the most part be able to give this Alicia a 30 seconds heads up to any unexpected danger.

And there’s a bunch of other ways their magic is helpful too….each of the Alicias’ has their own fields of study…remember since Changeling magic reflects the person, the fact that these Alicias all have the same magic is because all of these versions of her are precocious little science and math prodigies in some way….but they all have slightly different interests and scientific and mathematic pursuits they’ve applied themselves towards or decided to study in earnest. Which means any one of them can at any time draw on the knowledge possessed by one of the others due to studying a specific field that the other one doesn’t know a ton about. Or they can just talk to each other directly, ask each other questions about something, or use themselves as a sounding board or to bounce ideas off of each other.

So sometimes Alicia will just stop in the middle of talking to other Changelings in town here to be like hang on a sec, I need to get this….and appear to just be talking to one of her own flickering reflections in the middle of the sidewalk, while anyone who knows her well is pretty used to this and just chills like someone waiting for a friend to finish up on the phone after she had to take an urgent call, lol.

And since the Alicias don’t have to be in the same or similar physical space to still appear as satellites of each other Alicia in her home reality, one Alicia can be physically present at one side of town and really need something like….from a book she left at home on the other side of town. And one of the other Alicias is usually bound to be at home and by focusing on her, Alicia can just ask her to read from her own book what this Alicia needs to know, or like, check something online, or solve a problem real quick for her and give her the answer while she focuses on doing something else urgent at the same time, etc.

Then there’s the fact that some of the Alicias have a lot of self-defense training and teach the others some tricks, and a couple are very practiced with a variety of weapons they can pass along expertise about….one Alicia excels at picking locks, which comes in handy as this Alicia, along with about five of the others, is kinda like….the Nancy Drew of their respective Bordertowns, the pint-sized, precocious PI that other Changelings often turn to despite her age, because Alicia (all the Alicias, really) is damn good at what she does.

Also via their connection to each other’s realities, when they focus they can basically see what’s going on around one of the others, so for instance, when this one is in danger or running from someone or something like that, and a few of the others are safe and sound at home, they can just focus solely on her and everything going on around her, and its like Alicia has preternatural awareness of her surroundings then, because she’s got five or six other versions of herself flickering around her head and at her back like ghostly shadows…and all of them are shouting instructions to her or to look out for this or that or turn here, etc. So there’s basically six pairs of eyes looking out for her and keeping her apprised of everything that’s going on in her vicinity at the moment.

That really comes in handy.

Everyone can see the other versions of herself that are most present via her connection at any given moment, given that that’s the nature of her physical Change, but since its her magic specifically, only she can actually hear the other versions of her or interact with them….with very rare exceptions. None of them have quite figured out yet how the connection totally works, in the sense that some of them are in sharper focus at times than others, like, there’s always some connection between all of them, but at different times some feel further away and are harder to communicate or interact with than others. And they’re not sure if that’s because like, their different universes are engaged in some kind of movement or orbit or rotation relative to each other, or if there’s some other reason for it, but a few of them are always working on that particular puzzle at any given moment, lol.

But on a related note, on three separate occasions, when one of the Alicias in one reality was in extreme danger, another Alicia was able to temporarily ‘jump into the driver’s seat’ of that Alicia’s body, via their connection….one time was when one of the skilled fighters jumped into one of the Alicias who was being attacked by someone she’d followed during one of her investigations and turned out to be more dangerous than she’d expected….another time one of the other Alicias jumped into the body of an Alicia who’d been knocked unconscious in an accident and the other Alicia was able to assume control of her body and get her out of danger until she woke up and it bumped the other one back into her own body….and then the third time, one of the Alicias saw that this Alicia was about to get hit by a car that she didn’t see coming, and the alternate Alicia tried to warn her by projecting through their connection as hard as she could, to look out….and somehow accidentally jumped fully into this Alicia’s body and threw her(self) out of the way, before almost immediately being slingshotted back into her own body.

Except none of them have figured out how to do anything like that on command, despite it vexing a number of them. They just know it most likely has something to do with the intensity of a life or death threat or situation making it possible…even though it doesn’t always seem to happen, so they try not to rely on it.

And on one particularly memorable occasion that none of them have the faintest clue why or how it happened, eight of them went from flickering around this Alicia like satellite ghosts….to manifesting physically around her in this reality in their own bodies, and shocking the hell out of the guy trying to intimidate her, who was not at all prepared for the teen girl to suddenly be just one of a literal crowd of nine girls all staring him down. So he turned tail and ran, and they all almost instantly winked back into their home realities and returned to just being afterimage-esque glimpses of them still orbiting around her.

None of them have any idea how that happened or why, let alone how to make it happen again, which irritates the crap out of most of them because ugh, screw magic, there has to be a logical explanation for at least the mechanism of this, damn you supernatural forces with no coherent consistency!

(All the Alicias rant quite often about their inability to pin down firm rules for a lot of Changeling magic and how and why it operates the way it does. Big fans of logic, the Alicias. Not so much the bafflement).

Sooooo….she’s a LOT of fun to write, even though she’s very challenging to…maneuver around, narratively speaking, if that makes sense, lol….but like, yeah, I have a blast writing her.

The main Alicia, the one who’s always front and center, is snarky but never in a mean-spirited way. More like….her mind is always twenty steps ahead of everyone around her, sometimes literally, lol, and so she rolls her eyes a lot and sometimes makes a show of being exasperated that she has to slow down and wait for everyone to catch up, but its not because of “oh I think everyone but me is so stupid” or anything like that, its usually just….pure impatience on her part.

The second she figures something out she wants to go, go, go, move on to wherever that leads. She winds up getting in various less than totally safe situations purely because she doesn’t want to stop and grab someone to go along with her when checking something out, but also just because the nature of her magic means she’s never truly completely on her own, and she sometimes forgets to factor that in, or remember that her other selves aren’t usually physically present and able to help her out of a jam.

She’s so used to their presences that every so often she just genuinely forgets that they’re not right there in the room with her, which has caused some confusion to more than one person when meeting her for the first time and realizing those silent movie-style images of her are actually real and she’s actually communicating with them, not just talking to thin air.

Fortunately, she’s smart and capable in her own right, so when you multiply that by a factor of twelve to fifteen similar minds all attuned to all of their best interests….there’s very few situations she isn’t capable of getting out of on her own. Not that this makes her big brother facepalm any less when she blithely handwaves off a recent escapade as no big deal and something she has no idea why he’s getting so worked up about.

(I mean, she does totally get his concerns and isn’t lacking in self-awareness, its just that she’s also committed to giving him gray hairs before he’s forty. She is, among other things, still a little sister after all.)

Due to her many alternate selves, and the vast array of personality differences between each of them, that many of her close friends are at least aware of by proxy, given that even though they can’t hear her other selves, they��ve all heard her casually talk about them often enough to know them in a sense as well….

Anyway, so a lot of Changelings have nicknames based on their Changes or magic, and she’s no exception. She goes by her own name and just introduces herself as Alicia, but its not uncommon to hear others address her as or reference her as ‘Sybil.’

When asked how she feels about that name, she tends to just shrug and stare off into the distance contemplatively. “I don’t know,” she’ll say at last. “Part of me loves it, and part of me hates it.”

And then she’ll just grin as everyone around her just groans, because she’s just Like This, and just looooves being literal in little ways like that - given that she’s literally acknowledging that half of her alternates feel the one way, and the other half feel the other way.

Another common line of hers is something like “Hey, I’m only problematic on Thursdays,” or “that wasn’t me, that was Alicia Number Nine, its not my fault she hates you.”

Her magic is just weird enough and behaves just erratically and unexpectedly enough, that its hard to be entirely sure when she’s just bullshitting you and when she might actually be telling the truth and some weird power snafu had one of the other Alicias in her body the last time you interacted with her and she was short with you.

There’s never a dull moment with her.

#changelings 'verse

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lejojotrash · 7 years

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LA-SQUADRA-LOVER HEARD "NEED MORE LA SQUADRA REQS" AND SHE IS HERE La Squadra with S/O that loves drawing as fuck and trying to draw them when they don't see it (meen whole shitload of sckethes of everyone that is hiding in thick scketchbook in their backpack) hcs or scenario?~☆

Yessss. This is perfect! (I may have taken your request a step further because I love artistic S/o headcanons and imagines they’re my guilty pleasure). The last one deviates from your request a little bit because idk, it was a good idea at the time.

La Squadra with artistic S/o and trying to sneakily draw them:

Illuso:

- Illuso would know you’re drawing him and the other members of La Squadra, he spots you sitting on the couch hunched over all secretly, casting sly glances at him and the others once in a while.

- Like, please s/o, you cannot hide anything from him. It’s virtually and literally impossible.

- It’s amusing though in his mind, that you think you’re being sneaky when in actuality he knows.

- He would let you take your time, until you were done, and then Illuso would go up to you with a knowing smirk and say, “Tesoro, I want to see how good you made me look.”

- And then you would pout at having been spotted. You were being discreet all this time! How could he have known!?

- You muttered little curses under your breathe as you handed him your sketchbook, so he could look at the drawing.

- You cannot out stalk the stalker, keep that mind s/o.

Formaggio:

- He wouldn’t know, until when he looks at you, staring at him intently, almost studying him. He sends you a flirtatious smile and a wink, that makes you blush and look downwards, erasing something in your sketchbook, and that’s when he pieced everything together.

- Aww. Were you drawing him without him noticing? How cute! Formaggio is extremely flattered.

- He flexes his muscles or poses ridiculously whenever you glance upwards to continue drawing. It made you laugh. What a dork!

- When you take a quick peek at him again, he mouths something to you and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively: ‘Draw me like one of your French guys.’ It made you laugh even harder. The audacity of this man had no limits.

- Eventually he comes up to you and asks, “So how handsome have you made me in your drawings, amore?”

Ghiaccio:

- “What the fuck are you staring at?” Are the exact words that come at of Ghiaccio’s mouth when he sees you looking at him, attempting to sketch him.

- Ghiaccio really, really doesn’t get that you’re trying to draw him sneakily.

- You tell him that’s it nothing and that you’re just spacing out, and he grunts as a reply.

- He was just minding his own business again, and then he freaking feels your eye holes stare at him again.

- “Jesus Christ! What do you want?!” He snarls and he looks at you visibly jump from your seat, dropping your sketchbook on the floor.

- Welp. The secret is out. Ghiaccio stomps to where your sktechbook fell, and grabbed it before you can pick it up. He scrutinizes the drawing of… Himself? He looks pretty peaceful: no scowl, no constipated, angry look (his natural look), just… Peaceful.

- He skims through more pages, and he’s actually pretty happy that most are about him, a little bit pissed off to see his squad members, especially that ugly-looking Pesci and that disgusting bastard, Melone.

- He throws you back the sketchbook, and rubs the back of his neck. Was he being sheepish?

- “Tch. You should’ve told me that you were drawing me.” “But you looked picture perfect back there.” “What do you mean 'picture perfect’!? I thought you were drawing me, not taking a picture!”

- Son of a bitch, you caused one of his rants.

Risotto:

- Risotto knows. You can’t hide anything from him either, he is the boss.

- He finds your sketchbook in the conference room, and shakes his head. You probably weren’t paying attention at all during the briefing. Well. If you failed your mission, you were going to be throwing up razors for the whole week, it doesn’t matter who you are, s/o or not… Well… Maybe a couple of days…

- He flips through the pages flippantly, and sees all the drawings of all sorts of things, mostly of him, and at the last page, the most current one was him, and it was hastily sketched out. The expression on his face was serious (when is he not serious?) He was right. You weren’t paying attention during the briefing.

- On the other hand, you were going crazy. Where was your sketchbook? You were panicking because it had all your good drawings of Risotto!

- You traced your steps back to the meeting room, and oh boi. There was Risotto looking through your sketchbook.

- Risotto just looks at you, not really saying anything and thrusts your notebook into your hands.

- “Pay attention to the meetings next time.” “Of course, capo.” Shit. He noticed? “By the way, you missed the letters on my bells.”

- You felt heavily honored that Risotto critiqued your drawing because normally he wouldn’t have said anything.

Melone:

- Melone is also another member who would know you’re drawing him, but he won’t really comment on it.

- He tried to look as sexy as possible, discreetly, twirling his hair, stretching, etc…

- But then Ghiaccio would call him out on his shit.

- “What the hell are you doing?” “It’s called stretching, Ghiaccio, have you not heard of that before?” Cue fight, and cue you having to step in.

- Melone is wounded and so is Ghiaccio, but Melone gets the worse of it with a black eye and crooked nose because he’s not really fight oriented.

- You ended up having to patch him up in the infirmary, and while he’s resting, you couldn’t help but see his vulnerable state as sketchbook-worthy, so you draw.

- “Are you getting my good side, tesoro?” “You just got your ass beat, Melone. There is no good side.”

Pesci:

- Pesci hovers around you almost as much as he hovers around Prosciutto because you’re one of the nicer members of La Squadra, so it’s kinda hard to sneakily draw him when he’s looking over your shoulder to see what you’re doing, so he knows about your drawing hobbies.

- He likes your art, he keeps complimenting it even though you keep insisting that it was just okay.

- Finally, finally! He decides to go hang with Prosciutto, and then you just draw him. He has a unique haircut and facial features that differentiates him from the other members of La Squadra, and his lack of confidence is a refreshing that to capture in your sketchbook because La Squadra is full of confident members.

- That is until Prosciutto sends Pesci away and he gravitates towards you, and sees that you’re drawing again.

- He looks over your shoulder and you’re drawing… Him??? Out of all people? He’s positive that there are better members to draw like Prosciutto, but he can’t keep his smile off his face.

- He notices that you’re having difficulty in drawing his hair, so he can’t help but ask, “D-Do you need me to model or something?”

- Pesci scared the absolute crap out of you, and you let out a little noise of surprise and instinctively hold your sketchbook to your chest. A rush of embarrassment flows to your cheeks.

- Pesci immediately apologizes for causing you any discomfort, but you tell him it’s fine, and that he just startled you. You also tell him that you wouldn’t mind if he modeled for you.

- Pesci feels that pride flow into his chest, and sits down right next to you as you finish sketching him.

Prosciutto:

- Prosciutto doesn’t really care that you sketch him or not because he doesn’t focus on the hobbies of his other team members.

- Prosciutto is a busy man who works almost as much as Risotto, doing paperwork and such, so of course, He’s tired and a bit more irritable.

- He sees little drawings on post it notes tacked around his bedroom door at the base with chibi-fied versions of him and with it are notes of motivation and positivity.

- His first thoughts lead him to you, someone who always kept up positivity in La Squadra, despite the fact that they murder people for a living, but having morale boosts was incredibly important for a team. His lips twitch upwards breaking that cold facade.

- He likes it, so he picks the post it notes off his door, and keeps them.

- When Prosciutto sees you, it’s at the base everyone is sent on missions and you’re just sitting at the kitchen table drawing on little post it notes and sticking it in a black book, which he could only assume was your sketchbook.

- He places a hand on your head, surprising you, and then he ruffles your head affectionately, and then took his hand off your head. You look up to him, nervous smile and all because you worried he was gonna tell at about those notes, but then you see a small smile on his face.

- “Thank you.” No other words needed to be said, but he saw a lot more post it notes later on.

#la squadra di esecuzione #risotto nero #ghiaccio #proscuitto #formaggio #pesci #illuso #melone #jjba headcanon #jjba headcannon #jjba

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sofistudious · 7 years

Text

How to Annotate Literature

Many times language and literature classes require students to annotate the books that are given to them, but in many cases tips and advice on how to do so is lacking. I will be sharing my personal strategy for efficient and successful annotating that will not only help your understanding of the text but also gain the love of your teachers! The tips have been divided into 5 components, each with their own explanation. Sticky Tabs are Your Best Friend

I don’t know how I would manage to annotate without my sticky tabs. They help me organize and navigate the book before the reading, remind me what to look for while i’m going through the text and help me find whatever I may need once I get to further analysis for the class.

Create a key for your tabs, personally I use five colors each having a few specific purposes based on where I place them in the book. Most stickies are accompanied by a specific note that will remind me of what I wanted to point out, these stick out of the right margin.

Pink- Anything to do with characters, be it development or certain traits to remember. It can also be used for when you have questions about character related aspects of the text.

Orange- Refers to setting, in plays it is also applicable for stage directions.

Yellow- Is used for literary devices and use of language (tone, diction, patterns) and syntax, if there is a particular word the author used or a structure you want to take note of, this is the color to use.

Green- Applicable to any important plot events, notable scenes or things that you think will be significant later in the story.

Blue- Themes and context of said ideas, anything to do with time, place and space in which the text takes place. It can also relate to how your context (a student reading a book for a literature course) impacts your perception of the text.

These are the things teachers usually look out for and it is certainly useful in any kind of further task!

The top and bottom margins can be used to divide the book in to sections, such as chapters or scenes, mark the most important pages and to also highlight text to text connections. These colors you can pick yourself! I do not recommend having more than 5 sticky tabs per page, otherwise it gets too crowded and they lose their purpose! (but you will still need to buy aaa lloootttt)

This is my key for the book I am currently annotating, Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw.

Don’t Overdo it With the Highlighter

Find one color highlighter that you like the most and use it to mark explicit words or phrases that catch your attention, you can also use them in correlation with you sticky tabs! I prefer to use a yellow highlighter because it seems to bleed the least, and I usually use it in relation to the the yellow and blue tabs because those are the ones that relate to the most detailed and minute parts of the text. Once again you can find your own preference! But don’t overdo it, otherwise, like the tabs, the highlighter will lose its function to highlight important points.

This is an example of how much highlighting I usually do. For non-fictional texts or parts of a book (like in the introduction you see here) I reserved highlighter for dates and names.

Have a Conversation With the Author

This is one of the first tips that my high school teacher gave me and it’s really one of the most important ones to remember. And I know, it may sound kinda silly, but I find that it really helps me in developing my ideas and remembering exactly how I felt about a certain aspect of part of the text.

Whether the text is fiction of non fiction, anything in between, you can always do these few things

Ask questions- As if you were going to get an answer, ask questions, write them down and write down as many as you want. Writing things down helps people remember so then it is more likely that in a class discussion you will be able to recall your queries or wonders.

If you don’t like something, or you’re surprised by something, write it down! Use exclamation marks, use words that you would use in a regular conversation. I always write ‘WOW!!’ or ‘OMG’ when i’m especially impressed, and having such vocal- well written vocally- emotions will bring you closer to the subject of the text.

Talk to the characters as well, if you are questioning a character’s actions ask them and provide an explanation as to why you speculate they may have acted a certain way. Not only does that further contribute to your involvement (also making things more entertaining) but it also deepens your thought!

What i’m trying to say is write down anything that comes to mind, your first response is your true response, and it is a valuable addition to your notes! And if you want to write a whole essay in between the lines... Actually, i’ll come back to that later!

Pens, not Pencils

I used to make notes completely in pencil but my approach changed when I realized that overtime the pencil would rub off and get illegible. I think it was because I used my book so much, but having switched to pen I realized that it helps me in quite a few other things as well.

The good thing about pen is that you can’t erase it and let’s say you started writing down a note, scan down the page and realize what you are taking a note of is completely wrong. That’s ok! That’s actually really good! Don’t scribble out what you just wrote down, but instead continue and explain why you may have thought a certain way and what your understanding is now. That relates really closely to the previous note. Evidently pen also appears darker on the page, then there’s no possibility of it ever disappearing. It also won’t smudge or bleed as long as it’s ballpoint! That’s a good thing when drawing arrows between lines, underlining in addition to your highlights and circling/boxing whatever you deem necessary.

Time, Effort and Commitment

It’s clear that this post took me a while to make, and it took me a while to develop this system with all of the things that I have considered. So it must be self evident that using this type of annotation won’t be quick. It might get tiring at some times, and for me it really does, but at the end I find that it always pays off! You have to stay committed to this technique, you have to put in the same amount of effort for every page, which means you need time. So here are a few final general tips I will leave you with.

Don’t procrastinate! As goes for any task, and this one more than any, don’t waste time getting to it! I advice you check how many pages you have in total and make sure that you do a certain amount per day (usually 5-10 pages a day is good!)

If you go off on massive tangents in the side bars, make sure that you don’t get too distracted by them because they will take up a lot of your time. But one now and then may be good! Be sure to mark it for later reference!

Play mind games with yourself. This one is actually pretty interesting but it personally gets me a long way. If you have 20 pages left, don’t look at it as 20 pages but instead as 4 times 5, then the amount will seem a lot more manageable! It’s a kind of self encouragement!

That can also be said by looking now and then at how far your bookmark has moved through the book and giving yourself a pat on the back for all of you hard work!

That’s all I have for now! If you have any further questions for advice or explanation please message me and I will be more than happy to help! And I hope that this helps some people out too! (I’m counting this as 21/100 days of productivity as all I did today was related to annotating.)

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thehobbem · 7 years

Text

Write Me In C Major

So here’s my very first multi-chapter! You can also read it on AO3. Description: Victor Nikiforov has just won his fifth GP and Worlds gold medals and doesn't know where to go from here, but Katsuki Yuuri's music just might give him the inspiration he lacks. (It also doesn't hurt that Yuuri just so happens to be an adorable pole dancer.) Word Count: 4,749

Chris whistled, impressed.

“A new personal best, good for Mila! Think she’ll make the podium again?”

“With that score she has to” Victor answered. “What, you think she won’t?”

“I don’t know, that Crispino girl could give her a run for her money.”

“Hmm, true. She just might be the best jumper among them.”

The two skaters watched as Sara slid gracefully across the ice with a big confident smile on her face and her arms raised as if asking for more applause, which she immediately got from the audience. The whole place hushed into complete silence as she took her position; as soon as the first piano notes began to fill the air, her whole body seemed to ripple. Victor sat up a little straighter, his whole attention transfixed; they could talk about jumps and quads all day, but it was always the little things that caught his attention – the way someone stretched their arm or turned their heads, a clap, a snap, a smile. Sara was in perfect time with the music and every little nuance of the piece was accompanied by a little twist of a leg or a flutter of her hands. Those things could not single-handedly place a skater on a podium, but they did draw you further into their performance. And what was the whole point in performing if not that?

She moves like a sea nymph.

A sea nymph. Where had that come from? Belatedly, he realized the music had suggested it to him: it had such a… watery quality to it. The first notes had been like the gentle trickle of a fountain, but the piano had grown to a crescendo and it was like a waterfall now, note after note falling in cascades and washing over him. It evoked waves crashing against the rocks, only to fall back into a gurgling stream.

And while Sara charmed the world with her mermaid-like movement, Victor visualized a pair of hands flying over the piano keys - one hand clearly not aware of the other, each doing something completely different from the other, each creating a different effect, but both working together to cause a fascinating flood.

Victor caught himself wishing he could’ve skated to that piece.

Where was that piece from? He’d never heard it before. Had Sara commissioned it?

The music dripped into a stop, waking Victor from his trance. He hastily clapped along with everyone else, realizing he hadn’t paid attention to her routine beyond the first minute. It must’ve been very good if the audience’s reaction was anything to go by. It usually was.

The skating season had barely begun, but the wheels in his head were turning towards the next one already. Music that flowed with life. That was exactly what he needed.

***

“Phichit, put down that phone.”

“And how do you expect me to post videos of the final if I put down my phone? Honestly, Yuuri, you shock me. Shock me.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, trying (and failing) not to smile.

“Have you ever considered… not posting videos of the final? You could just watch the performances, you know.”

“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Yuuri would’ve taken his argument a step further, pointing out that Phichit would benefit more from actually watching the seasoned skaters rather than filming them – but the whole venue burst into roaring applause and his attention instantly shifted to the ice. His hand grabbed Phichit’s arm with unsuspected strength and the boy winced, but Yuuri paid no attention.

“It’s him,” he whispered reverently.

Victor Nikiforov had just skated onto the ice, smiling and waving at the audience.

Yuuri’s eyes were glued to the skater’s every move. The routine hadn’t even begun yet, and he was already bewitched. When he stopped in the middle of the rink Yuuri could sense the whole world waiting with bated breath, begging Victor to once again captivate them all.

Yuuri already knew the aria and the routine by heart at that point: he’d gone to Osaka just to watch Victor at the NHK Trophy, not to mention he was probably responsible for half of the million views his performance at the Rostelecom Cup had on Youtube. Which was why, as soon as the first verse of Stammi Vicino echoed through the arena, Yuuri could tell there was something different this time: Victor’s face and movements were just as languidly melancholy as before, but as he flowed across the ice Yuuri thought his moves seemed to have a more… fluid quality to them. Like water.

Yuuri beamed with pride, as if he were somehow responsible for this. Only the Living Legend could still make a routine that everyone had already watched countless times feel like something new.

***

“Victor!”

He stopped in his tracks, tired and slightly wary: he’d finally gotten rid of the reporters and all the federation representatives, if he could only reach the locker rooms in peace… He turned nonetheless, practiced smile already on his lips, but to his immense relief all he saw was Sara Crispino smiling at him, bronze medal around her neck.

“Mila said you were looking for me? And hey, congratulations on the gold!”

Even though they’d had very little contact up until now, she hugged him as if they were close friends. He smiled, this time more naturally.

“Thank you, Sara! Congratulations on your medal too! Listen, I wanted to ask you something: I loved the music of your free skate. I mean, I loved the routine as well,” he lied, feeling a bit guilty, “but it’s just that I was wondering where that piece was from.”

“ The Nereid’s Call ? I had it composed for me! I was tired of skating to old ballet pieces, you know.”

Victor nodded, sympathetic. Weren’t they all.

“It was gorgeous! Who came up with the idea of an aquatic theme, you?”

“No, my coach and I were thinking of having something that felt both fresh and classical for my theme this year? So we told him that and he… like, he sat down and watched all of my old routines, back to my junior days, to see what my skating was like. And then he composed The Nereid, and said that was what my skating made him think of.” Then she concluded, blushing slightly, “So the aquatic thing was all his idea, really.”

“Impressive! So who is ‘he’?”

“Oh, sorry! Yuuri Katsuki! You know him, right?”

The name did ring a bell, and he nodded slowly. He’d heard the name being mentioned by other skaters over the past few years – Cao Bin had mentioned him once, if he was not mistaken, and so had Sara’s brother? Jaime Estévez, too, right before retiring. But he’d never paid much attention: Yakov only worked with German and Italian composers and Victor had lazily followed his lead so far.

“I know of him, yes. But I don’t think I’ve ever met him. Do you have his contact?”

“He’s here! And he’s adorable, he even came to wish me and Mickey good luck! He composed Mickey’s short program music last year, so Mickey kinda likes him… Let me see…” she looked around, searching for the composer in the crowd – and as she grabbed Victor’s hand to drag him along, he started to nervously look over his shoulder, expecting Michelle Crispino to angrily pop out of the ground at any moment.

“Look, there! With Celestino and Elena!”

Celestino Cialdini was always a good reference point, standing one head above most everyone else. He and his skater Elena Deschamps, the newest gold medalist for the women, were talking to two young men – a tiny enthusiastic one (a skater, right? He’d definitely seen him before) who was doing most of the talking, and a fashionably dressed one who quietly listened to the others and nodded sometimes.

“Wait here!”

Victor did as she asked, standing close enough to be able to see their faces, but not enough to understand what they said, the noise in the arena still chaotic and everywhere. He saw the quiet man turn to Sara, his face lit up in a warm smile.

Oh.

The expression “cute as a button” flashed in his mind and for the first time he felt he understood its meaning.

But he then watched as his smile faded a little and his cheeks turned pink, and when he glanced at Victor a look of sheer horror crept into his eyes. He shook his head and started backing off slowly, like a little frightened animal, and after a couple more words he practically fled to the exit.

Sara came back, a little crestfallen.

“He said he was in a hurry… places to go and all. But we’ll probably see him tomorrow!”

Victor nodded and gave her his Victor Nikiforov Smile™, distractedly.

Funny, he hadn’t seemed to be in a hurry before seeing Victor.

***

The last group has just entered the arena. All eyes are on Victor Nikiforov, who’s going for his fifth consecutive World Championship gold. He will be skating last.

Yuuri watched Victor on TV, practicing the moves of his free skate on a hallway.

A few months ago he would’ve liked nothing more than to sit next to Minako, watch Victor get the gold again and celebrate. But seeing Victor now just reminded him what an idiot and a failure he was. He walked away.

“Hey, Yuuri! Aren’t you gonna watch it with me?” a tipsy Minako asked.

“Sorry, sensei, I got work to do,” and he disappeared before she could argue with him.

His tiny studio in the back was the only safe place these days, no one ever bothered him there. His parents, Mari, Minako, they all felt like they could barge into his bedroom or when he was at the hot springs at any given time – but not the studio. “He’s working,” they’d say in hushed tones and he’d be left alone. Yuuri had composed precious little since he’d come back home, though. Most of the time his time in the studio was spent just sitting on his old couch, rewatching his last performance or rereading the crushing reviews.

“A flop in every sense of the word”, “amateurish”, “depressing” and “a wretched affair” were some of the bits that had been floating around in his brain for half a year now. Some of the critics had been gracious enough to add “not like his usual self” and remember his past - more successful - performances, but most of them had been merciless.

As if the knot in his stomach and the sting in his eyes hadn’t been enough torture as he’d sat on the piano bench that night. He’d been wearing his lenses as usual but the keys right under his nose had still been a blur, and he’d felt rather than seen his hands shaking. The usual silence that preceded the beginning of a performance had seemed to stretch on and on into eternity, unnaturally, unbearably long. A few murmurs from the crowd. They were all waiting for him and no one else. He’d been this close to throwing up all over the Steinway grand piano.

The first note hit had already been the wrong one, and it hadn’t gotten better as the recital went on. He’d either played too loud, attacking the keys as if they’d personally killed Vicchan, or tried to compensate for it, touching them so lightly they couldn’t even make the sound intended. With every note screwed up he’d imagined what the critics would say the next morning, what his old teachers would think, the comforting, supportive smile his parents would give him, which would only make it worse – they’d say it was okay but it was not . And the more those images swirled around his head, the more notes he missed, in a vicious, cruel cycle.

In the end, he’d still had to stand up and thank the lukewarm applause, which had been one of the most mortifying parts of it all: had it been up to him he would’ve closed the piano and run away from the stage without looking back, but that was not how it was done. The audience had politely played its part, offering him the applause he clearly had not earned, and in his turn he’d stood up and bowed once, before he’d felt they’d both had enough of that charade. He’d walked away as quickly as his last bit of dignity allowed him, hoping his face was not burning as badly as he felt.

And there was that invitation, sitting on the side table and gathering dust. He’d gotten it almost a month before, right after coming back to Hasetsu, but still didn’t have the courage to answer.

He didn’t even know what to answer.

Did he actually want to play in front of an audience again? It had never felt comfortable, Yuuri hated being the center of attention – ironic, considering he’d spent the first half of his life dancing, and the second half making music; both had led him to performing in public, to people who were watching, people who had even paid for it. However, the emotions that shook him to his very core were his. He couldn’t just bare them, so when he danced, when he played, the outside world ceased to exist. He did it for himself, and that was what usually allowed him to perform well.

Until that recital, that is.

Yuuri leaned his head against the piano, closing his eyes: did he truly want to risk going through something like that again?

The answer had to be a resounding “no”, right?

So why hadn’t he answered the invitation yet? Such an easy thing to do.

And an invitation by Minami Kenjirou, too, of all people.

“It’s nothing personal, Katsuki-san, it’s just that Minami-kun’s score suits the movie better. It’s more… alive.”

The director had praised his score in the end, but Yuuri didn’t need empty praise. His music had simply not been good enough, why not just say that? He’d also suggested Yuuri take a vacation, hadn’t he been working non-stop for a few years?

Sure, let’s pretend this has nothing to do with the critics saying my last score was ‘bland’ and ‘generic’, he’d thought at the time, but kept quiet. Yuuri was much too proud to say anything, so he’d just mumbled something about being tired and needing time off.

And none of that was Minami’s fault, really.

Maybe it was the year. It had started with him losing award after award and ended with him running away from Victor Nikiforov who, against all odds, had wanted to meet him.

Him.

Plain, old, mediocre Yuuri.

“He loved The Nereid’s Call and wants to talk to you!”

A decade-old dream coming true in the cruelest possible way. How could he face Victor Nikiforov, a man who’d broken, like, all the records and made history with the same ease a bored barista made coffee? He stood on top of the world while Yuuri was digging his way beyond rock bottom. There was no way he could make a fool of himself in front of Victor, and fleeing from him had been the only available option.

A dull pain in his head made him realize he’d been leaning his forehead against the piano way too hard for way too long, so he sat up and straightened his shoulders.

What did he want to do now ?

Compose? What? He had nothing for the moment. The score the studio had asked for was done (and discarded, but he pushed that thought aside for the moment), as well as the music for Elena Deschamps’ free skate – that had taken quite the while, too. She had a Grand Prix title to defend this year, and Celestino had been particularly demanding. Yuuri had reworked the piece three times. At least this year Phichit would go with Shall We Skate? and Terra Incognita, so he didn’t have to worry about him.

The question came back: what now?

He laid eyes on the single music sheet on top of the piano and felt his face burn. Maybe he could work on that?

The kanji he’d scribbled there formed his own name. That had to be the stupidest working title he’d ever given to a piece. But, well, it was about himself, so. He could think of a better, official title when the piece was done.

If it were ever done.

Because no matter how many times he played it, how much he tinkered with the chord progression or modulated it to a new key, it was still not good. It should be so simple and yet few pieces had given him as much pain as this one. But he’d started it, might as well see it to the end.

***

Maccachin jumped on the couch, tail wagging happily and tongue sticking out, looking at Victor as if inviting him to sit next to her.

“I know, I missed home too”, Victor answered her unspoken comment.

Victor put down his bags in a corner of the living room; he’d left the airport and gone straight to the dog hotel to pick her up. He was exhausted from the flight, but there was no way he’d leave her there for one more night.

She barked and he scratched her behind the ears.

“Sorry, girl, I need a shower first, okay? And then I’ll keep you company.”

He turned on the TV so she’d have the background noise she loved and went for the shower he so desperately needed. When he finally came back, still drying his hair with a towel, Maccachin was quietly chewing her favorite plushie while sprawling on the couch.

“Any room for me there?”

At his motion of sitting she immediately made room for him. In no time, Victor was lying on the couch with Maccachin half under his legs and half on top of him. He wondered if she had any idea of how large she was and smiled at her.

“Forgot to tell you: I got the gold again! Fifth time! You proud of me?”

She licked his hand and wrist for some long seconds, and he took that as a “yes”.

He got his phone out and scrolled through his social media, his mind miles away from the pictures and statuses he was supposed to be liking.

The season was finally over; he had the next two days off (wasn’t Yakov generous), and after that he’d be back at the rink, training for the next one.

Assuming that was what he wanted to do.

But he was just so, so tired.

The problem was not the skating, but rather… the exertion of shedding skin year after year. Every season a new Victor Nikiforov, every season baring his emotions for the world to see - emotions that he, quite frankly, hardly remembered. Every routine a story: of wonder, or pain, love, discovery, bliss, death, and the effort of scraping the barrel of himself to tell stories he barely knew was leaving him emptier by the second.

So what now?

He’d vaguely toyed with the idea of retiring, but had never dared to speak of it, not even to Maccachin. It was not something to be taken lightly – besides, if he ever as much as breathed the word “retire” Yuri would kill him, Yakov would have a heart attack and Victor would get shouted at for days. The mere idea of it all was stressful enough to make him not want to retire till he was 87.

But he could retire if he wanted to.

… Did he?

He still had a few good years of competitive skating in him, and he still loved the feeling of gliding on the ice, landing difficult quads, telling stories and dazzling audiences. He didn’t mind baring his soul for them to see, it was just that he was running out of emotions, with no idea where to find new ones.

He focused on his phone for one second and his train of thought was broken: he’d mechanically liked one of Sara Crispino’s pictures on Instagram, and he pursed his lips. Thank God the season was over and he didn’t have to see Michelle for a half year or he’d never hear the end of it.

He smiled nonetheless: the picture showed the two siblings in front of a cathedral in Florence, and they seemed to be having fun. Sara was as graceful as always, of course. Her free skate was still vivid in his mind, she’d make it to the top of the podium someday. That had been some good skating.

Some great music.

The Nereid’s Call. That piece had enraptured him at the Grand Prix, and again at the European and World Championships. He opened Youtube and looked for it, but the only results “the nereid’s call” yielded were of Sara’s routine, none of the piece itself. He hesitated then, but finally typed “yuuri katsuki” in front of it. Again, the piece was nowhere to be found, maybe he hadn’t released it yet? But there were many results for Yuuri Katsuki, which made sense. Although Victor wasn’t an expert in music, he had the distinct impression The Nereid was a technically difficult piece, so Yuuri was probably good at what he did.

Well, he’d never called, so that was that, he supposed. He was just not interested in Victor – rather, in making music for Victor.

It wasn’t that big of a deal though, right? He could ask signore Scandello to compose for him again, the result was sure to be gorgeous. Stammi Vicino was proof of that.

He glanced at the search results again, and one in particular called his attention.

Yuuri Katsuki New York 2015 performance flop

Victor frowned and clicked on the video. It started with Yuuri, in a tuxedo and with his hair slicked back (looking extremely handsome, he might add), walking onto the stage under considerable applause, though he hardly acknowledged the audience. He collapsed rather than sat on the bench and stood very still for a few seconds, as if he’d been turned into stone; he didn’t even seem to be breathing. A whole minute went by in deafening silence, and the only move he’d made was to weakly rub his knees. At last he seemed to snap back into reality and hastily started to play – and the very first notes just sounded… wrong. Painful, even. Victor’s frown deepened as the piece went on and by the time the video ended with Yuuri hurrying off the stage under polite applause he was this close to having a headache.

That couldn’t possibly be Yuuri.

“If I win this dance-off you’ll skate for me, right?”

Not Banquet Yuuri.

Though it was awfully close to the Yuuri who’d run away from him after the GPF.

The stark difference between the two Yuuri Katsuki versions he’d met had kept Victor baffled for weeks, and now this. Was he the same person who’d composed The Nereid? Or was Victor idealizing the piece (and its composer) by now? Was it really that good?

He went back to the previous search and clicked on the first video of Sara’s free skate, closing his eyes and tuning out the commentators to focus solely on the music. One minute in, though, and he knew he’d been right: that piano solo was every bit as inspiring as he’d felt back in December, the waterfall of sounds every bit as entrancing.

He could associate Banquet Yuuri to The Nereid’s Call (even though breakdancing and pole dancing could hardly be said to walk hand in hand with piano solos), because they were both so alive. More alive than Victor had felt in years. But Recital Yuuri was… wounded.

A quick Google search later and he was skimming through an article:

Yuuri Katsuki Review – A Wretched Affair

The Japanese pianist and composer Yuuri Katsuki made his first (and hopefully last) appearance at the Snow Hall Festival. What had been anticipated as an interesting debut at the traditional New York festival turned out to be one of the most deeply unmusical experiences the audience present that night will ever have.

Uncomfortable, he skimmed through the rest:

Awkward… depressing… piano was savagely attacked… truly gruesome… clangorous… falling apart on stage…

Victor stopped, the reviewer was quite ruthless. But right at the end the word “nomination” made Victor sit up a bit straighter (and startle awake a fast asleep Maccachin).

Google. Wikipedia.

He stared.

1 Early Life

2 Career

3 Works

3.1 Television

3.2 Theatrical releases

3.3 Other works

4 Awards

5 Personal Life

6 References

7 External Links

He didn’t bother with “Early Life” and “Personal Life”, only 2 lines long each, going straight to “Career”, “Works” (quite long) and “Awards”, spending more than half an hour clicking on link after link trying to understand.

Then back to Youtube, “yuuri katsuki”. There weren’t many videos of him live performing, but there were many other things to watch and listen to:

Top 10 Katsuki Yuuri Scores [10 videos]

The Flying Palace, composer Yuuri Katsuki [21 videos]

Katsuki Yuuri and Ogino Takeshi at the recording session of Amaterasu’s Cave

A Night of Winters – Katsuki Yuuri (The Flying Palace)

Spice and Candy OP 1 “If You Find” (Katsuki Y.)

EPILOGUE – THE FLYING PALACE (YUURI KATSUKI)

Katsuki Yuuri plays Stammi Vicino

Your Serenade Without Me (Y. Katsuki)

Katsuki Yuuri’s Nighttime and Daybird Score [19 videos]

Wait. No, hold on.

Victor blinked.

Katsuki Yuuri plays Stammi Vicino

He clicked.

Yuuri at the piano in what was most likely his own house – he seemed to be in a living room (maybe?), a long, messy bookcase to his left and a black & white poster of… someone Japanese above the piano.

Victor had already seen Yuuri wearing nothing but boxers and a (god-awful) tie, but even though he was fully clothed here, this was somehow even more intimate, almost invasive. Like waltzing into someone’s bedroom without their permission. He had his hair down, dark sweatpants, a worn-out white t-shirt and no glasses.

This was Domestic Yuuri.

The video began after Yuuri had been playing for a few seconds, and Victor would recognize those notes anywhere anytime. It was his Stammi Vicino (well, technically it was signore Scandello’s). He’d half hoped, half expected that, considering Yuuri was so involved with ice skating music – what he had not expected was to hear Yuuri start singing at anche tu sei stato forse abbandonato. He sang in a low voice, clearly only for himself, as if he could not help it. Victor noticed with a start that there was no music sheet in front of the pianist, he had his eyes closed, playing it by heart. Perfectly. The notes, the low-key singing, the execution, all flawless, but more than that: it was brimming with emotion, the emotion Victor had hoped to emulate in his free skate; infectious emotion, giving him goosebumps right away and even bringing tears to his eyes at ho paura di perderti. Had the song always been this poignant, this disillusioned?

The silence took over Victor’s apartment when the video ended, though the music still echoed loudly in his mind, along with all the Yuuris he’d ever had a glimpse of.

He looked through his contacts until he found the one he needed.

Mila! 21:34

Hi! =D 21:34

Listen, do you have Sara Crispino’s contact? 21:35

Sure! (?) 21:35

He didn’t answer the implicit question and waited.

Sara 21:36 Message Add to a group

Thanks! <3 21:36

***

Yuuri woke up but didn’t get out of bed right away; he didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to go, so he just stared (squinted) at the ceiling for a while.

Notification sound. He grabbed his glasses and then the phone: Phichit. He smiled a little and answered, but he wouldn’t see it right away, he was probably on his way to the rink, if not there already. Yuuri checked for other messages, Facebook, Instagram (not that he ever posted anything there, but), LINE, e-mail.

He blinked.

Stared.

Rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared again.

Victor Nikiforov > New music

Incredulous, his eyes dangerously close to popping out of their sockets, he opened the email.

Dear Yuuri:

I hope this finds you well! I was wondering whether we could talk about the possibility of you composing a piece for me to use this next skating season. We could talk over Skype whenever convenient for you.

Sincerely,

Victor Nikiforov

#yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanfic #victuri fanfic #victuuri #yoi #victor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #thehob's fic #thehobbem writes #write me in c major

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