#they are too pervasive in my brain to not finish this at this point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

generallypo · 4 years

Photo

in all sincerity, kim dokja makes me happy and he deserves to be so too :^(

incoherent yelling and sobbing under the cut. these fEELINGS will not be contained aaauuunnghhh.

------

anyway i binge-read all 500+ chapters of ORV this week and i honest to god feel bad for this -- completely! fictional! aghhhh -- guy. in case you haven’t figured it out, the following is some spoilerly shit

i went in expecting a fun, brainless power trip fantasy for dudes with an isekai addiction. instead, it turns out ORV is actually a gigantic, self-deprecating prank on the entire genre itself. kdj plays more into the sad -- if high-functioning-- clown trope than the sexy, edgy, chuuni bastard type i was prepared to laugh at. there were -- gasp! -- female characters with personalities! parents (aka ADULTS who act like ADULTS) who actually survive and feature prominently! adorable children! a real sexy, edgy bastard! a power trio with amazing fashion! sexual tension and bickering! friendship! life and death bonding!

*breathes in deeply* fouND FAMILYYYYYYY.

like, yeah, the plot around the first few arcs seems a little aimless, but the buildup is worth. the world-building is pretty decent. there’s discernible effort put into the fight scenes, and i can appreciate that. but -- but! what i stayed for were the characters -- namely, the fantastic OT3 of KDJ, HSY, and YJH -- who come together despite their initial rivalries and end up saving each other’s asses, like, every other day. granted, the other characters don’t get as much focus, and they do fall into certain character tropes..

but a trope done well is nothing i would gripe about. every significant character in ORV has a coherent, and more importantly, respectful take on their respective trope. maybe it’s because sing-shong is actually a married couple, but all the interactions between even minor characters are a convincing blend of awkward rambling, suggestive humor, sharp remarks, and casual banter. in other words, this cast of mostly working adults (plus a teen and two kids) talks like working adults. the relationships built throughout the story are, frankly, some of most realistic of its genre. sing-shong has managed to craft a dynamic that undoubtedly brims with fluffy fondness all around, but also drips with sarcastic tension, with unspoken urgency, with a wariness that softens into sincerity over the course of many, many chapters. it’s the kind of progression that makes even stock characters read like more than just the 2-bit villain or comrade or love interest. here, we have relationships both straightforward and not, strained or otherwise, romantically-oriented as well as decidedly the opposite -- and then numerous others scattered along the spectrum with the freedom to shift either way.

it’s also an interesting point of note that our MC kdj actually does not end up with a stated romantic partner, much less a conventional heteroromantic harem. he gets teased about that fact from time to time, but it’s with less of the sleazy shonen locker room humor one would expect and more of the good-natured ribbing you’d find among friends or that one especially nosy auntie at the yearly family reunion. kdj is a grown ass man. in the background, i applaud his maturity, and he handles all the prodding like a champ.

so instead of finding and fulfilling his horny, he builds himself a wealth of loving family. yeah, there are beautiful men and women around him. yeah, they unequivocally adore him. but they’re also adults, and they have priorities, too -- which are not so much finding a way to bang kdj’s brains out and more so simply keeping the damn guy alive. this is truly not ‘oblivious mc with his thirsty, sex kitten harem’. it just so happens that a guy proves himself to be unflinchingly gentle and capable in an apocalyptic setting despite his broken self-esteem, and lots of people find that attractive, romantically and platonically.

it.. kinda makes sense? he’s a hard worker, thoughtful, and good with kids. kdj is the kind of guy you know would make a reliable partner, and anybody with eyes can plainly see and appreciate that.

and it’s not that our MC’s a total brick wall. in fact, it’s likely the opposite, and he’s just too darned repressed to admit it. from what has been implied, kdj does indeed recognize and accept love, or at least a primitive concept of it. i like to imagine that the kind of love that he ends up seeking out simply manifests itself more easily as acceptance and safety, as warmth and a home of people to return to every day. even better, the people who surround him know this, and they give him exactly that. it’s refreshing, and honestly, really sweet.

(as a side note, i really, really do appreciate the cosmic bi energy radiating off of kdj, who canonically earns the title of being loved by all and is all but in name married to yjh and hsy. he also respects women and small children and honestly anyone who isn’t total scum to him or his family. i respect that.)

but the happy stuff aside, you know it it just ain’t ORV without the generous screaming dollop of angst. admittedly, there’s self-sacrifice, injury, lonesome wandering, more sacrifice, some epic fighting, reunion and confrontation. all of it is a lot to digest, sure, but never does it feel entirely hopeless, or truly, truly heart-clenching. ORV, up until the final act, is a mostly light read. you relax in your chair, thinking that nothing beyond this point can disturb you.

yeah fucking right.

------

and then the beginning of the end arrives. when the squad finally break through to their ‘ending’, the scene that kind of breaks me is the reveal of the Most Ancient Dream. it ties so much thematically into the little tidbits that we get of kdj’s past, and it though it feels like almost a joke that the source of the goddamn apocalypse is a kid with bruises smeared across his skinny ass body -- it’s such a pathetic picture that it’s kinda poetic, actually. you’re left mystified but somewhat convinced, like a math problem explained halfway through. this.. child.. is a villain somehow, isn’t he?

and then 999th turn uriel speaks up, and she. just. hugs him.

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]]

that. that gets me. kdj’s reaction immediately upon this revelation? absolute murder. seeing him essentially self-destruct upon realizing that all these people he’s surrounded himself with -- some who continuously proclaim their loyalty and affection for him throughout their journey, some who suffered eons of war and loss and trauma because of his existence -- not only forgive his younger self but smother him with unconditional acceptance and love is stifling, is too vulnerable and exposed and he simply can’t cope -- it’s so telling of his true mentality, of his crippling insecurity and crumpled sense of self-worth. kim dokja is a liar, through and through, so much that he fails, or perhaps refuses, to comprehend the veracity of others’ kindness and love towards himself.

by some miracle, the events at the end of the world somehow resolve.. or so it seems. there is a departing train, a liberated team of ex-gods, and a child rousing from his slumber. in the aftermath, i am left shaking. somehow, despite the ending having been (happily?) reached, there’s still another chapter ahead. what is this witchcraft?

------

and then ah, yes -- the epilogue arc. i teetered on the edge of being critical for a little bit there -- is that display of deus ex machina, of sad, self-sacrificing nobility a bit too egregious to be acceptable? is this some wild last let-me-yank-this-outta-my-ass plot twist to drag out the chapter count? i sincerely thought that the arc before it would have been the finale. i was wrong. thank god.

anyways, as an answer to the above: no, and no. i stake my firm claim on the belief that the epilogue arc was meticulously planned out well in advance of its release, confusing and time-warpy as it is. i liked it. tremendously. even if it entirely invalidates all of kdj’s supposed development (”haha lol yeah sure i won’t sacrifice myself or anything anymore guys don’t worry about me” -- KDJ, at some point because he’s a lying rat bastard). actually, our beloved MC disappears for a large chunk of this arc, and i think it’s great. in his absence, the other characters not only go absolutely fucking nuts, but they have to figure out this new problem on their own, even if the lure of peaceful complacency in the newly saved Korea might convince them otherwise.

and then the whole time paradox thing comes around. yjh goes to space, hsy saves the only life she can, and kdj grows up. the crew waits, holding onto their hope even if it bleeds them dry. sing-shong does a damn good job of illustrating their fraying calm, their lurking madness, the unseen but pervasive depression that seeps in from kdj’s absence. the kids lose their father, lhs and jhw lose their reliable leader figure, ysa loses a best friend and confidant, lsk -- as distant as she pretends to be from her son -- loses her only child. and then there’s hsy and yjh , who are essentially bereft of the other half of their existences. their pain is palpable, is grounded in the hopeless, gnawing frustration of an utterly meaningless victory. emotionally, ORV hits all the right -- if agonizing -- beats.

however, a story can’t sustain itself just through its pathos. i’m happy to say that ORV doesn’t drop the ball after the first milestone, and after all the hurt, the characters do leap straight back into action. even better, the plot holes actually do get patches, and the poetic cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader comes full circle by making use of all those supposedly throwaway characters from the myriad world lines.

at the end of the road, there is a distinct sense of unity, of a delicate but undeniable cohesion to the world lines and their origins. sing-shong lets us guess a little here at the finish, but there’s just enough information to feel hopeful. maybe there never had been a definite start -- or finish -- to the story of kdj company, and... that’s okay. everybody ends up where they were meant to be, where they fought and struggled to reach. it’s.. almost like a happily ever after, if we’re allowed to dream of that.

------

now, i realize, this was all an orchestrated maneuver.

i’ll take it.

to me, all of this work sounds like someone put some serious thought into this behemoth of a plot. it cements the entire original premise of the story. it suggests -- but never explicitly confirms! -- the possibility that breaking free of the cycle is possible through the exact same system that sustains it. it’s terribly interesting -- and inspirational! with all the dramatic revelations and life-threatening scenarios and the cast’s resigned acceptance of them that essentially make up ORV’s entire mood, there’s still that last hint of rebellious and righteous anger that lights up the whole damn nebula. it’s like the kdj company blasting away at the heavens just to yell into the nether: we’re not looking for the happy end, but the free one. stay alive.

it’s subtle, and yet it’s such an emotional gut punch. i came away with the most ruinous, frustrating, bittersweet sense of longing in ages. i pined. for these fictional darlings. god, i am weak.

so. yeah. ORV is pretty good. flawed, but ambitious and impressively thought out. i’m stoked that the webtoon is making pretty good progress, even if it’ll take an eternity and a half to meet that monstrous chapter count. i’m still gonna follow it. hell yeah.

------

(by the way the idea that secretive plotter and co are literally gonna take care of and raise baby kdj and spoil him and be the best friggin family a kid could ever want does things to me. protect him. he’s suffered too much. let at least one worldline’s version of him know happiness. and actually, aLL OF THEM DESERVE DOMESTIC BLISS TOGETHER IN A BIG OL MANSION WITH SUN AND FRESH AIR AND TENDER FAMILY MOMENTS UGH)

------

and there you have it, folks. you made it to the end. in the far, far distance, i’m cheering you on and crying my eyes out in gratitude. thanks for tuning in!

#omniscient reader #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #kim dokja #fanart #kdj happiness rights!#protect him!#let! him! have his big house! with everyone! he loves!#please!#long ass emotional screeching #look i can't do him justice with drawing but hell can i yell out my love for him :'^DD

604 notes · View notes

oneeye-onthesky · 3 years

Text

Hey Old Friend

Do you know why she screamed?

I remember. I remember everything, even if you don’t. Even if you chose to forget, like a coward. I remember how dark it was. How empty, and cold, and silent. I remember. I won’t forget. Not ever.

The silence was the worst part. It got into everything, poisoning it, like a plague of rats hunting for a bit of cheese, raging through the house after a single scent. It hurt. It ripped everything away. Swallowed it. Every sound from a shriek to a breath. Gone, hidden in its belly.

There was nothing to do there. Nothing to do but wait, in the silence and the pervasive fear. You couldn’t eat, although there was food. Couldn’t drink, although there was water. It all tasted like ashes. Like the ashes of the dead.

They say I’m crazy, do you know that? They’re telling me I’m insane, that I imagined it, every moment of it. I’m not though. They’re the crazy ones, not me. It was real. I know it was.

You would know too if you weren’t such a bloody coward. You could have saved me. Just one word from you and I would’ve been fine. All you had to tell them was that it was true. That it was real. That you saw it too.

But you didn’t and now I’m here, in the madhouse, with all the freaking crazies. It’s your fault. I wouldn’t be here if not for you. I hate you. You know that? I hate the goddamn hell out of you.

They scream here too you know. At night, I mean. During the day, there’s always someone to make them be quiet. The nurses in their pretty white outfits, all acting like they care. They usually shut them up pretty quick. But not at night. At night, you can hear them, wailing like they’re losing their minds.

Not that they haven’t already.

It’s driving me to distraction. I’ll probably join them sometime soon, with these goddamn white walls closing in on me like they want to eat me. Bet you’d like that. Me finally gone for good, just another screamer inside the looneybin, never to be heard from again. You’ve always been cold like that.

Wait. Wait. I’ve gone off-track haven’t I? This wasn’t what I was talking about. That stupid doctor distracted me, with those stupid meds they stuff me with at every opportunity. What was I talking about?

Ah yes. It was back then wasn’t it. The good old days. Do you know, I miss them a bit, now that I think about it. At least they were honest about what they were playing at with us. Not like these guys with their plastic smiles, like they think we’re too crazy to see through them. At least they were honest.

Do you really not remember a thing? I know you said you didn’t but… really? How could you forget? How? I don’t understand. It was…everything. The house, the cold, the pain… how could you just forget like that? Is it just a gap in your memory, like amnesia? Or did they fill your mind up with fake memories, like they did the other girl? Amanda, or whatever her name was. The one who got taken away.

I heard you got married soon after it ended. Did they fill your mind with memories of you meeting her? Is your wife one of them? What did they do to you?

Whatever. You chose this. You chose them over me. You deserve whatever it is you got. I hope it hurt.

…Wait I’m still off-track. I was talking about the food wasn’t I? What are you eating these days? Home-cooked stuff I suppose. Your wife’s a good cook isn’t she? I bet it’s nothing like what we used to eat back then. That food was good too, you know. Not the best, but not the worst either. Filled your stomach didn’t it? Better than nothing. Better than the ones who didn’t get to eat anything at all. You remember that at least? Remember the way they starved until they realized the only food they had to eat was each other?

It was kind of funny, looking back. The way they all started out, proclaiming that they were best friends and would never hurt each other and then ended up tearing each other to pieces with their teeth? Blood everywhere. The whole room dripped with it. Stank to high heaven too.

I remember, at one point one of them literally started scooping out someone else’s brain with their bare hands and then just shoved it in their mouth. So much for best friends.

The doctor’s back. Hey, do you think you’ll come visit anytime soon? We can chat a bit more. Reminisce, about those good old days, you know? I can’t talk about it with these guys, they all think I dreamt it up. Idiots. Wait until it’s their turn. Then they’ll wish they’d listened when they had the chance.

Hey, I’ve really got to go. Come back okay? Let’s finish this chat. There’s so much I haven’t told you yet. So much else to talk about. I’ll make you remember everything, I promise. It’s all your fault anyway, why should I be the only one suffering? No way. If I have to hurt and hide behind these white walls and fakers, then so do you. So visit soon, okay? I’ll be waiting.

That’s me signing off-

Wait you haven’t answered my question. Do you know why she screamed?

#writing #writeblr #flash fiction #creative writer #horror #letter #cannibalism #original writing #my ocs are my children #writers of tumblr #Writerscommunity #OneEyeOnTheSky

7 notes · View notes

holidaywishes · 4 years

Text

The Only Girl For Me

Requested: 👍

Summary/Request: can you write about you and freddie having a really bad fight and he throws the fact that he can have any girl he wants and and you run out and he finds you crying? ends in them making up? weird request but I love your writing sm !!

Warning: ANGST! (YAS BABY, I’M HERE FOR THE ANGST!), some fluff just to soften the blow

Author’s Note: I’m sorry that I’m only now getting around to writing this, anon! I just found out my best friend is moving and we can’t seem to figure out a day to meet up before she leaves next weekend, so that’s been consuming a lot of my brain space lol. Plus, now I have more angst in me so there’s that. I’m not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for but I hope you enjoy it! <3

masterlist

the other masterlist

You had been looking forward to this date night for months. Freddie had told you once the season had ended, the two of you would spend as much time together as possible before he had to start training again, and tonight was one of those nights.

“BABE!” Freddie shouted from the kitchen as you coated your eyelashes with a final coat of Mascara, “WE GOTTA GO! THE MOVIE STARTS IN LIKE 20 MINUTES!”

“I’m ready!” you laughed as you bounced into the room, kissing him on the cheek before he led you out the door. You had found a pop up drive-in movie theatre just outside of the city and they were playing a bunch of black and white movies that you’d fallen in love with when you were a kid and Freddie was more than happy to indulge your nostalgia. Once the two of you found your parking spot, Freddie grabbed a couple blankets from the back seat while you made your way to the back of the SUV where you had popped the trunk so the two of you could cuddle in the back.

“I’ve never been alone with a man before, even with my dress on. With my dress off, it’s most unusual. Hm, I don’t seem to mind, do you?” Audrey Hepburn drunkenly asked Gregory Peck on screen while you snuggled close to your boyfriend, laughing when he popped M&M’s in his mouth

“What?” he whispered to you with a smile and you shook your head in response before turning back to watch the rest of the movie; thinking in that moment how lucky you were to have such a wonderful man by your side. “So..” he asked as the credits rolled on screen and you sat up, “what’s next?”

“Uhmm.. I think it was just Roman Holiday tonight...” you laughed, packing up the blanket and empty candy wrappers from the back seat

“No,” he scoffed with a smile before pulling you into his lap, “I meant what should we do next? Unless you want to end date night here?”

“We still have to get home,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows, “maybe there’s a surprise for you there...” His posture straightened immediately and he rushed to the driver’s side, mockingly telling you to get in so the night could continue. When the two of you pulled into the underground parking lot of Freddie’s apartment building, Freddie glanced over at you and smirked at you as if to say ‘tonight, it’s on,’ making you scoff as you opened the car door and walked toward the elevator where Freddie had somehow already gotten to. Damn him and his long legs, you thought to yourself while your average legs pushed you toward where he stood.

“Come on, shortcake,” he teased, in turn, making you giggle and quicken your pace, “I know your little legs can move faster than that”

“Hey!” you laughed, “it’s not my fault your legs are the length of my entire body!” When you finally met up with him by the elevator, you wrapped your arms around his waist and he leaned down to kiss you; capturing you in a kiss that seemed to intensify and err on the verge of pervasive for the space, stopping only when the elevator door opened so the two of you could step in. You pressed the button for your floor before pushing yourself up onto your tip toes to kiss him when you heard someone calling for you to hold the door open, which Freddie was happy to do.

“Thank you” the woman said breathlessly, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulder as she pushed the button for her floor and smiled at the two of you

“You’re welcome” Freddie replied, pulling his arm away from you and placing it by his side, an action that wasn’t lost on you. You looked up at him, following his eyes to the girl in front of you and, out of insecurity, you tried to curl into Freddie’s side but he didn’t seem to appreciate the movement, jumping slightly just as the elevator door opened on the woman’s floor and she nodded politely, leaving you and Freddie to finish the ride to his apartment. When he moved closer to you after the doors had closed, you let him kiss you but something about the way he was kissing you was... off; he led you off the elevator to his apartment door, moving quickly to get you inside.

“Freddie...” you whined as Freddie nipped at your neck and moved down your body until he ultimately picked you up and began carrying you toward his bedroom, “wait..” you whispered and he stopped in the middle of the room, looking up at you as your chest rose and fell against his chest

“What’s wrong?” he asked and you sighed, laying your forehead against his

“I--” you stammered, “I think I’m more tired than I realized...”

“What do you mean?” he replied, keeping your legs wrapped around his hips as he moved toward the couch to set you down there

“I think I should go home...” you said quietly, “we’ll have another date night tomorrow but..”

“No no.. wait, hold on,” he said, shaking his head hastily, “what happened? what changed? why one second are you telling me that you’ve got a surprise for me here and then the next second, you’re telling me you’re tired and that you should go home?” You could tell he was agitated but you were embarrassed to tell him that you were feeling insecure

“Maybe I’m just not in the mood anymore..” you finally said and Freddie let out an exaggerated scoff, “what? I’m not allowed to not want to have sex with you?”

“It just seems a little random!” he yelled

“I’m not into it!” you yelled back, standing up to make your voice seem bigger but when he stepped toward you, you remembered how easy it was for him to make you seem small, “just drop it, Fred!”

“No!“ he shouted, following you as you made your way into his kitchen, “I want an answer!”

“I gave you an answer! I’m just not in the mood anymore okay?! I’m not feeling well, I feel gross..”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE I JUST DO!”

“(Y/N)!”

“FREDDIE, DROP IT!”

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS? WHY NOW?”

“STOP!” you tried, feeling tears welling up inside you but Freddie continued

“WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR EACH OTHER, THAT’S WHAT YOU ALWAYS SAY RIGHT?!” he screamed, “AND WHEN WE FINALLY MAKE TIME FOR EACH OTHER, FOR US, YOU BAIL?”

“YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT SEX FREDDIE! THAT’S IT!” you screamed back only for him to take a step back, “I’M NOT BAILING ON YOU OR ON US, I JUST DON’T WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU RIGHT NOW!”

“YOU DID WHEN WE STEPPED INTO THE ELEVATOR!”

“WELL I DON’T NOW!”

“WHY THE FUCK NOT?!”

“BECAUSE I DON’T FRED. AND, JUST SO YOU’RE KNOW,” you continued shouting, feeling a vein in your neck bursting out of your skin, “THIS ISN’T HELPING ANYTHING!”

“IS THIS SOME KIND OF GAME?” he yelled once more before taking a breath and smiling at you, “some kind of role play?”

“Jesus Christ, Freddie...” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief before walking to put your shoes on

“FINE THEN!” he shouted again, “LEAVE! IT’S NOT LIKE I’LL GO LONELY TONIGHT!”

“What?” you said, back turned to him and your eyebrows scrunched together at his words

“You know I can have any girl I want. Dial a number and she’ll be here the second you leave without hesitation. So go on, leave. See if I care!”

“Are you serious?” you finally turned around, seeing his face flush with anger and hysterics before he nodded in your direction

“You were fun... but if you don’t want me whenever I want you, I can find someone who does...”

“Like that girl in the elevator?!” you finally admitted, one tear falling from the corner of your eye

“What girl from the elevator?”

“Don’t play dumb now, Freddie, it’s a little too late for that”

“Are you talking about the girl I held the door open for?” He asked and you nodded with a small scowl on your face, “I’ve never met her before, I was just being a nice guy. Normally, that would’ve got you so wet”

“Ew” you said once before continuing your point, “it doesn’t matter if you’ve never met her before, you sure made a real effort to keep your distance from me when we were in that elevator together!”

“I DID NOT!”

“YOU ACTIVELY PULLED AWAY FROM ME WHEN SHE CAME IN!”

“NO!”

“YES YOU DID!” you argued, stepping closer to him

“I--”

“WERE YOU IMAGINING HER TAKING MY PLACE?”

“N--”

“DID YOU THINK ABOUT HER BEING THE GIRL WHO WOULD FUCK YOU IN AN ELEVATOR? OR IN A CAR? OR IN A MILLION DIFFERENT PUBLIC SPACES?!”

“NO!”

“YOU’RE LYING!”

“I KISSED YOU AS SOON AS SHE LEFT DIDN’T I?! I KISSED YOU AND PICKED YOU UP AND WAS TAKING YOU TO MY ROOM. NOT HER!”

“YOU KISSED ME AFTER SHE WAS GONE, AS IF SOMEHOW SHE MADE YOU WANT TO KISS ME!”

“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”

“YOU WERE MORE TURNED ON BY HER THAN BY ME!” You yelled, only for the room to fall silent and he scoffed in your direction, “YOU WANT HER? YOU THINK YOU CAN GET ANY GIRL YOU WANT, ANY TIME YOU WANT? FINE. GOOD LUCK.”

“FINE!” he yelled back at you as you threw your jacket on, slamming the door as you ran out. You’d hoped he would follow you but when you didn’t hear his door open, you let a few tears fall down your cheeks before you flung open the door to the stairs and ran down to the lobby.

“Shit!” you said to yourself when you noticed your phone was out of battery and you couldn’t call an Uber to pick you up, “shit...” The tears began to slowly trickle down your face as you paced around the front of Freddie’s building once you’d been locked out; trying to decide what to do now. But it was cold and it was dark and you couldn’t control your tears any longer and found yourself falling back against the stone building before sitting on the cold concrete of the Toronto street.

“(Y/N)!” You heard Freddie yell as he finally came running after you and you tried to hide your puffy eyes when he finally saw you, “baby...” he whispered to you

“What now Freddie?” you scoffed

“I wanted to apologize, I shouldn’t have acted the way I did up there...” he said, moving toward you slowly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just confused”

“Why would you get all pissy and say that you could have any girl you want?”

“I told you. I was upset and confused”

“But why would you say that?” You repeated and Freddie was silent, “do you want other girls?”

“No..” he replied but you didn’t really believe him

“Do you want me?”

“Of course I do!”

“Do you want only me?”

“Yes”

“Do you think I’m as beautiful as all the other girls you could have?”

“What?”

“Freddie, I hate being this girl,” you admitted, sighing as you stepped toward him, your tears glinting in the street light, “I hate being the girl who so quickly changes her mood because she’s insecure about something. Or because she’s jealous of another girl. But you gave me no choice. I saw the way you looked at that girl in the elevator, deny it all you want, but you pulled your arm away from me and kept your eyes on her -- and her ass -- the entire time. Then you expected me to just... fall into you like I always do?”

“I was being careful!”

“FREDDIE STOP!” you yelled, “God! I can’t believe you don’t hear yourself. Or hear me! You deliberately tried to hurt me by saying that you could have any girl you want. You deliberately tried to make me feel like shit when I said I wasn’t in the mood.”

“That’s not true. That’s not what happened!” He raised his voice ever so and a new flood of tears fell from your eyes

“You say you were being careful, in the elevator, but it’s not like she didn’t know we were together or what we had been doing before she walked in.”

“Did you want me to just keep going with her in there?”

“NO BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

“WHAT IS THE POINT THEN?!” He shouted and you scoffed at his lack of awareness while you continued to sob

“THE POINT THAT I’VE MADE A MILLION TIMES ALREADY!” you screamed back at him, “YOU. PULLED AWAY. FROM. ME!”

“I DIDN’T!”

“YOU DID!”

“I D-”

“WE’RE JUST GOING AROUND IN CIRCLES, FREDDIE” you breathed, rolling your eyes and dropping your head to your hands, “I can’t do this anymore. Not tonight. I’m tired and I’m cold and I really don’t want to be around you right now.”

“So what? You’re just going to run away?” He asked, stepping back

“We both need some time away from each other tonight,” you said, training your eyes to the ground, “before we both say something more we’ll regret.”

“Don’t.” He tried but you had already turned around, “(Y/N)...” His voice had softened enough that you thought about turning back but you were still too hurt to be around him right now. When you turned the corner, you leaned against the building and sobbed silently before looking around the corner to see if Freddie was there only to catch him standing where you’d left him, almost defeated, before he slumped back into his apartment building.

Freddie’s P.O.V

You should’ve run after her. You know you should’ve but for some reason, you didn’t. You thought that giving her space was what she wanted. You thought that being around her would only cause her more pain. So you left it. You let her walk away. Defeated and in tears. But when you walked back into your apartment, you were met by the stunning silence and the memories of the words you’d just shouted to your girlfriend.

“Shit” you whispered to yourself before collapsing on the couch. It didn’t take you long to realize that you needed to fix this, so you ran out, like you should’ve in the first place, to make things right. You sped through the Toronto streets to (Y/N)’s apartment, slamming your door when you were parked there, yelling up at her window when she wouldn’t buzz you in

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! I’M SORRY BABY! LET ME IN!” you yelled but nothing, you didn’t even see a light on in her apartment

“SHUT UP!” A voice shouted at you from one of the windows

“(Y/N)!!” you called again, “(Y/N)! I SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID WHAT I SAID OR ACTED THE WAY I DID!”

“SHUT UP!” another voice repeated

“I LOVE YOU AND ONLY YOU. YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON THAT MATTERS TO ME, THE ONLY GIRL I WANT. THE ONLY ONE I SEE!”

“SHE DOESN’T WANT YOU, JACK ASS, GET OVER IT!” one more voice screamed down but you ignored it

“I’M SORRY, BABY, PLEASE. PLEASE, FORGIVE ME!”

“Freddie?” you heard (Y/N)’s voice whisper from behind you, forcing you to slowly turn around as your face burned with embarrassment, “what are you doing?”

“I.. I came to apologize...” you admitted, “did you walk all the way back here?”

“My phone died,” she said, “my wallet is in your apartment so I couldn’t call a cab.” You walked slowly toward her, gauging her reaction as you tried to wrap her in a hug

“I love you so much. I don’t know why I acted or reacted the way I did,” you said as she cuddled into your chest, feeling small sobs escape her, “I guess my temper got the best of me and I’m sorry.”

“I should’ve been more up front with you” she said with her face buried in your chest, “I’m sorry”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I was a jerk, I mean a World Class Ass Hat,” you laughed and she finally looked up at you, wiping away her tears as she smiled at you, “I promise, you’re the only girl for me.”

“I love you so much.” She said, smiling up at you before you pressed a soft kiss to her forehead

“I love you more” you replied, winking at her and she just shook her head before cuddling into you.

“You’re such a dork.”

#Frederik Andersen #Freddie Andersen #Frederik Andersen imagine #Freddie Andersen imagine #Frederik Andersen request #Freddie Andersen request #masterlist #the other masterlist #nhl #tml

99 notes · View notes

comicreliefmorlock · 4 years

Text

A Reader’s Guide to Writing: Lesson #2

I... expect to get shot for this.

-sighs and puts on a helmet- Body shots, fine, but I’m trying to avoid taking a headshot for what I’m about to say.

The Constant Reader... does not give a fuck about flat, cardboard-cutout “representation.” We just don’t. In fact, it’s downright insulting to your Readers to assume that labeling your character “insert woke points here” will automatically endear them to us.

(...god I’m going to get in so much trouble for this...)

When I see a book described as “it has two lesbians in it!” or “these characters are transgender!” my immediate and automatic thought is “...okay, but what is the story about? will I give a fuck about these characters?”

And that, right there, is something that can actually carry a weak plot (to a Reader’s mind) or absolutely drag a good plot into “well, I might as well finish reading it.”

Do I give a fuck about your characters?

Now this does not mean your character has to be Wholly Unproblematic or an Adorable Cinnamon Roll, Too Good, Too Pure for This World.

What it means is “do I respond to your character like they’re fleshed out well enough for my brain to read them as a person?”

For Comparison-- Two Characters:

Here’s an example of what is honestly a really well-written character (in a... very... ugh, look, the pervasive racism makes it terrible to read now and I just kind of wince and groan at it and wince even harder knowing how well it was received) because the character has caused Emotion in a Reader.

Scarlett Fucking O’Hara.

I hate her. I’m not even kidding, I just hate this self-absorbed bitch. She drives me nuts. I’d love to yeet her off a literary cliff and watch her drown.

...but I consider her a well-written character because she inspires emotion. I react to her. I legitimately read a page of “Gone With the Wind” (*again, I know, I’m sorry, the book’s slimy feel of ‘but... slavery was good!’ is just... horrific) and I want to grab the nearest heavy object and slam it onto her empty skull. She has obvious flaws--and they’re explicitly spelled out in the text--and those flaws totally fuck up her life. Scarlett doesn’t get what she wants because she is her own worst enemy in a lot of ways. And watching her make decisions based on what She Wants and then dealing with the aftermath feels legitimate. It feels pretty real to watch someone make a decision based on a want only to see them struggle with the result OF that decision. Not to mention the moment of realization that came too late, as let’s be fair, hindsight is 20/20 and a lot of us have had that ‘Ohhhhhhhhhhh...’ moment ourselves.

What Scarlett has a lot of, however, is Emotion. And I don’t mean she has a lot of emotionally wrenching scenes. What I mean is Scarlett is actively driven by or affected by An Emotion at nearly every part of her story, even when that Emotion is just some self-absorbed Glee at how she’s gonna one-up this whole town.

Let me compare my reactions to Miss “I’m So Self-Absorbed I Should Be Taxonomically Classified As A Sponge” O’Hara to a character that I... honestly couldn’t give less than a fuck about, despite having read six whole books she’s the main protagonist of.

Ayla of “Clan of the Cave Bears” Jean Auel fame.

In the first novel, Ayla is... actually kind of interesting. A Homo Sapien child found by Neanderthals and raised in their society, there’s a bit that can be read into just how hard it is to fit into a culture and how sometimes that involves more self-repression than is mentally healthy. And in the second novel, “Valley of the Horses,” all the parts with Ayla before her Male Perfection Love Interest shows up are also fairly interesting.

She’s alone, she’s fighting to survive with only her hard-earned skills to carry her. It’s great!

And then... Jondalar arrives and we see her through His Eyes.

I’m not sure exactly what happened here other than the novels (and Ayla) turn into a constant Display Of How Amazing Ayla Is. Everyone loves her! (And the people that don’t are Obviously Flawed and So Empty Inside.) She can do anything! She invents the needle! Horseback riding! Domesticating dogs! The travois! She’s drop-dead gorgeous, an accomplished healer, wants only to be a Good Wife (it’s a little icky, but considering the time period these books are set in, I give it a pass on that) and is always so confused as to why people seem amazed by her.

She becomes basically a Perfect Woman and to be honest, all her struggles after that just feel like they’re directly tied to how Perfect She Is. Ayla suddenly doesn’t have An Emotion behind her. She’s just a vessel for everyone’s awe that such a “perfect woman” exists. And it just... turns her completely fuckin’ flat.

What I’ve found after doing a LOT of reading is that a Writer should keep one big thing in mind.

(And this goes triple for stories that tote themselves on the representation platform.)

Emotion--the experience of it, the sharing of it, the looking for validation of it--is one of those defining things that make what we’d call the Human Experience.

People who are looking for representation in media are looking for actual representation. For a Person like them on the screen or page. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be a teenager struggling with a realization of sexuality, but you can ask people who do. And you can relate YOURSELF to that on some level.

Everyone in the world has had a moment where they’re trying to reconcile something about themselves with what the world expects or with what they expect from themselves. You can take that seed, that memory of sitting in your bedroom and listening to the same song on repeat while thinking wistful thoughts of what life could be like if This Was Different or imagining a future where What You Want is accessible, acceptable and within reach. You can find the Emotion and appeal to it.

I know that the experience of being gay or disabled or neurodivergent or trans or a minority is not universal; everyone has a different life, different experiences, different fears, worries, hopes, dreams.

And I say this in full awareness that someone could very rightly be angry at me for paring off societal issues and cultural problems to make this accessible to writers who may want to write a specific character FIRST and THEN find sensitivity readers to help them refine it*.

There’s a “but” to the whole “different life” thing.

Humans have felt the basic range of emotion across the board, across the world, across time, regardless of where or when or who they are. And a Character that makes you Feel is a character that you can give a fuck about. Pare off the labels and start with the tinest, most concentrated idea of who this person is so you can find their emotions to use in the story. Are they a dreamer? A fighter? A creator? An explorer? What Emotion drives them? Hope? Curiosity? Anger? Sorrow?

Because I personally have seen myself in characters that I have absolutely no surface experience in common with whatsoever, but I responded to the Emotion that drove them because I recognized it. I’d felt it. Maybe what created the Emotion was different (wildly so!) from what created it for me, but I had the Emotion. The character is having the Emotion.

And that makes me give a fuck about the outcome of their story, whether the personality carrying the Emotion makes me want to cut a bitch (fuck you Scarlett) or see them succeed in every aspect of life.

[*You will want sensitivity readers to refine the character because representation should actually represent and not be A Writer Getting Woke Points.]

#A Reader's Guide to Writing #On Writing #Reading is life #Writing is life

35 notes · View notes

mamabearcatfanfics · 4 years

Text

Instinct - Chapter 5

I’m posting this a little early, but I need to take my youngest to the park, attend the Inuyasha Book Club meeting, do laundry ready for the school week and finish writing other things, and I didn’t want it to get forgotten in the general Sunday madness!

You can read it on AO3, or continue on below 😘

Kagome did her best not to panic as the ambulance door slammed shut. She tried to listen to the slow deep voice of the paramedic explaining what he was doing, slightly muffled by the surgical mask he’d donned as soon as Inuyasha had laid her down on the bed and jumped down out of the ambulance. The paramedics hands were steady, his voice calm, and she tried to focus on watching him as he wrote down numbers on a chart and twisted dials on equipment .

Mama’s hand reached out to stroke her leg over the white sheet that had been pulled up to her waist, and Kagome closed her eyes, concentrating on the familiarity of Mama’s soothing voice and touch in the jarring interior of the brightly lit ambulance. But she felt adrift without him.

Strange as it may seem, she’d come to take comfort in the predictability of Inuyasha’s abrasive personality. It had taken her a while, but over the emotionally charged months that they’d spent together, eating, sleeping, laughing, fighting, she’d worked out that it was all a front. It was hardly surprising really, that he would build up emotional armour in response to his hard and lonely childhood. But he’d begun to gradually let that front slip as the trust between them built, at first offering grudging friendship, and now she hoped, something more.

Over these last few days as he’d cared for her, he’d allowed his true personality to shine through, and he’d become her lifeline, her one point of stablity in the pervasive fog of pain and fever. Inuyasha had promised he’d follow, and he never broke his promises. That was the only thing holding her together. Because she’d heard the second paramedic say the name of the place where they were going – the hospital where her father had died.

She’d been seven – a happy little girl with no concept of how cruel life could be. Her father was late coming home from work, and all she’d been concerned about was whether he’d arrive home in time to read her a bed time story, because he did the voices better than Mama. But the familiar sound of his key turning in the lock never came. An unfamiliar knock on the front door at that time of night was jarring, breaking the usual evening family routine. It had surprised them all.

When Mama opened the door, instead of her father’s smiling face there had been police, their faces sombre. They said there had been an accident. Mama was crying. Grandpa had stroked Mama’s arm while she stood behind them, unsure of what was going on. She tried her best to cling to Mama’s waist, but Mama’s stomach was now so full of her yet to be born baby brother that she couldn’t make her arms meet. The kind police lady had tried to take her hand, but she didn’t want a stranger, she wanted Mama and Papa. Mama never cried and Kagome was terrified.

The police had driven them to the hospital, and she’d sat on the back seat, squashed in between Mama and Jiji, holding their hands tightly, the city lights going past in a blur. She hadn’t known what to think, what to say. There had to have been some kind of mistake that would be cleared up when they got there.

They were told that they’d only be allowed in the ICU ward for a few minutes. The ward had felt alien, like another planet, the large open space filled with machines and curtains and beeps and whispers. Strangers with masks passed by them, with shoes that squeaked on the grey rubber flooring. The room stank of bleach, reminding her of when Mama had to clean up after Buyo’s little accidents when he was a kitten.

Jiji had held her hand tightly as they walked past other patients, telling her softly that she must be careful not to touch anything, and that she had to be brave. She wanted to be brave, wanted Jiji to be proud, but she was scared, more scared than she’d ever been.

And then they’d stopped at a bed at the end of the ward. She hadn’t wanted to believe that man in the bed was her father. He was completely unrecognisable, his chest and one arm covered in dressings and bandages, with more bandages wrapped around his head. He had tubes coming out of one arm, and a plastic mask with tubes coming out of it over his face. He wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d left the house in that morning, or the watch Mama had got him for his birthday.

Mama’s shaking fingers had reached out to stroke the man’s unbandaged hand, so softly, like she was worried he would break more if she wasn’t careful. But that couldn’t be right. Her Papa was strong. Strong enough to throw her high into the air at the park. Strong enough to pick up Mama and whirl her around the kitchen until she giggled. Strong enough to help Jiji lift heavy things onto high shelves in the store room that she couldn’t even move.

She’d told her mother quietly but clearly that the police had made a mistake, and they should go home. This was some other little girl’s Papa, and her Papa would be home any minute, wondering where his dinner was.

Then her ears were filled with the frightening sound of her Mama’s anguished voice calling out Papa’s name. Nurses came running, drawn by the sudden beeps and alarms of the machines near the bed. Jiji had picked her up and taken her out of the way as she cried out for Mama, taken her back through the big room and down a narrow corridor.

She’d sat with Jiji in a waiting room that smelt like sadness, with a tv that only showed one channel. There was a toybox, but the toys were all for babies. She flicked through a half filled colouring book that sat on a little table for something to do while they waited for Mama, but the crayons in the plastic tub next to it were all broken, with most of the pretty colours missing.

It wasn’t Mama that came to get them, but a doctor. He’d asked them to follow him to a little room close by, refusing to answer Jiji’s questions until they’d gone inside and he’d shut the door. It was a small depressing space, with faded artwork hanging askew on the wall, empty apart from a few chairs and a table with a box of tissues on it. Mama was already there, crumpled in on herself like crushed paper, her face buried in her arms to muffle the sound of her crying.

The doctor had said he was sorry, but there was nothing they could do – Papa’s injuries from the car accident had been too severe. The words had whooshed over her like an icy breeze. She didn’t want them to be true, and she’d frantically looked at Mama and Jiji’s faces in turn, wanting one of them to say that the doctor was wrong. How could those words be true, when he’d patted her on the head just this morning, and told her to do her best at school? Told her that he hoped she’d have a good day, and he’d see her tonight?

But Mama was still crying, her hands reaching out blindly for them both. Jiji had turned and collapsed onto the chair next to Mama, his own face ashen. Then he’d picked her up and rocked her on his lap, even though he usually said she was getting too big to be cuddled like a baby now that she was almost a big sister.

Shocked tears had begun to pour down her cheeks, even as she felt Jiji’s tears dripping on to her neck, and Mama’s soft hands pulling her legs to rest on the small amount of lap she had left, stroking her softly as she tried to comfort her with broken words. And then she knew it was true. Papa was gone. It had been an accident, but that accident had taken her Papa away as surely as if someone had killed him on purpose.

Now they were going back to that same hospital ten years later, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. Part of her felt like that same petrified little girl, stepping into an unknown world. It was so hard to focus. Her mind was swimming, the constant fight for air was making her feel panicky, like she needed to run away. And her chest hurt so much lying down. She tugged on the paramedic’s arm weakly, trying to sit up.

“Is your pain worse when you’re laying on your back?” he asked, making adjustments to the bed when she nodded. “Sorry about that – I didn’t quite get the bed set up properly before your boyfriend carried you in. We’re nearly at the hospital Kagome-san. Deep breaths – let the oxygen mask help you.” Her brain tucked the word ‘boyfriend’ away to think about later, when she wasn’t struggling to breathe.

The ambulance pulled to a stop and the back doors opened. Someone helped Mama step down, and she was startled when the paramedic clicked a safety belt across her waist and her bed started to move, jolting her slightly as the legs extended to the ground and locked into place. Everything was a blur.

Large sliding doors swished open and she was wheeled into a small room, unable to see everything from her position on the bed. A nurse was taking her temperature, taking her blood pressure, talking to Mama and the paramedics, asking her questions, but she couldn’t answer, her breath wheezing behind the mask on her face.

The urge to run grew even greater, so much so that she half sat up and tried to swing her legs off the bed, but the belt still around her waist held her back. The nurse tried to restrain her arms gently, telling her to be calm, that she was safe. But she didn’t feel safe at all! She wanted to leave. A feeling of claustrophobia swept over her as she struggled to free her arms, her chest heaving as her body tried to breathe and cough at the same time. And then his voice cut through the static fogging her brain.

“Kagome. It’s gonna be okay sweet girl. Deep breaths, remember?”

People were arguing in the background, commenting on Inuyasha’s lack of mask and shoes, and Mama was saying something, trying to smooth things over, but none of that mattered to Kagome. He’d promised he’d be there and he was. Her hand shot out to grasp his fingers tightly, and she lay back weakly on the pillow, no longer struggling to run.

“Inuyasha…”

“Promised I’d be here didn’t I?” Kagome nodded, taking in gasps of air behind the mask, squeezing his fingers, her eyes locked on his. Inuyasha stroked his thumb over her wrist. “You gonna be good and take your medicine?”

“Please don’t leave again”, she wheezed, her eyes filling with sudden tears.

“Keh. Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” His other hand reached up to smooth her fringe back, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his face and voice a point of calm as the medical professionals bustled around her. “Just lay quietly, that’s my good girl. I’m here, and I’m not goin’ anywhere else.”

💕

Inuyasha’s nose twitched behind the surgical mask they’d insisted he wear. Even though he disliked the feel of it against his face, it actually blocked out some of the scents that had irritated him so much when he first arrived, making him feel like he constantly needed to sneeze. Besides, they’d said if he wanted to stay in the hospital room at Kagome’s side it was essential, so he put up with it.

Mama had tied the strings on the mask on for him, over the top of his bandana, and had somehow found some hospital slippers for him to slip onto his feet, because apparently him being barefoot was also an issue. They were now both sitting beside Kagome’s bed, watching her as she slept.

His heart was full of gratitide. Thankful for Mama, who had made it clear to the healers that he was family and she wanted him to stay. Thankful that she had somehow found a way to explain things to him without making him feeling totally useless and stupid. Thankful for the medicine that was allowing Kagome to finally sleep, a proper sleep for the first time in days.

She’d been asleep for a few hours now. The nurse kept coming in and poking and prodding her, making him want to snarl at them to leave her be, but her eyes remained closed, her breathing still congested, but steady. Her face was still pale under the breathing mask, but it had finally lost that expression of constant pain and panic that had made him feel frantic over the last few days.

He really hadn’t paid much attention as Mama had spoken to the doctor after they’d got the results of all the tests. The phrase ‘viral pneumonia’ meant virtually nothing to him, but they’d said that Kagome was responding to the medication, and would probably start feeling better in a few days, seeing she was young and healthy, providing she took her medicine and allowed her body to rest and heal.

Before they’d given her the sleeping medicine, a nurse had come in to show Kagome how to cough effectively to help get rid of all the mucous in her lungs, and to show him and Mama how they could help her. Kagome had told the nurse proudly that Inuyasha had already been doing that for her, her eyes glowing as she gazed at him, and he’d felt his heart swell and his cheeks flush as all three women gazed at him approvingly.

He’d quelled his sudden urge to smash the window and leap out of it to avoid the sudden unwanted attention, but only just. He understood it would cause problems for Kagome and Mama and it wasn’t worth the momentary reprieve from the embarrassment. He was proud to think that what had come to him instinctually had actually been helpful, but that didn’t mean he wanted people talking about it, and looking at him.

“Inuyasha?” Mama’s voice was gentle and quiet, and had lost that sharp edge of panic that it had contained ever since he’d come through the well and told her that Kagome was ill, and he was glad.

“Mmm?” he replied, his eyes never leaving Kagome’s sleeping face.

“Now that Kagome is resting comfortably, I was thinking of getting something to eat from the cafeteria downstairs before it closes. Will you stay here with her for me? I could bring something back for you to eat if you like?”

“Course I’ll stay.” He thought for a moment. “Do ya think they’d have ramen? Or those po-ta-to crunchy things in the crinkly bag?” Mama stood, reaching for her handbag with one hand and stroking his shoulder affectionately with the other.

“I’ll see what I can do. I won’t be long. Don’t go roaming around the hospital while I’m gone, okay?”

“Feh. I'm not goin' anywhere. Why would I leave Kagome unprotected like that when she’s asleep?” He reached his hand out to stroke Kagome’s fingers resting on top of the blanket, so softly, like he was worried she would break if he wasn’t careful. Mama made a small sound behind him, and he turned his head curiously. The paper mask on his face seemed to be messing with his senses, because Mama’s scent seemed to be both sad and happy all at once.

“I’m so glad she has you Inuyasha” she said quietly, with a little hitch in her voice. And with that she turned quickly, moving out of the room and down the corridor.

“I’m glad I have you too.” Kagome’s voice was still raspy, but her eyes were clear, and he could see her smile beneath the plastic mask.

“Oi. You’re meant to be sleepin’. Quit talkin’ and close your eyes.”

“I’m awake now.” She tried to pull herself upwards, reaching for the strap that hung over the bed, but Inuyasha was too fast. In moments he’d helped her sit up, letting her lean forward against his strong arm while he tucked pillows behind her back like he’d seen the nurse do earlier.

“Thank you Inuyasha. Thank you for looking after me.” Her fingers stroked his hand, then twined their fingers together, her thumb caressing his wrist. She was looking at him with so much emotion in her eyes, he could hardly stand it.

Out of habit, all the usual words to push any contact away popped reflectively into his mind, but they stuck in his throat, and he swallowed them down. He didn’t need them anymore. Not with her. Not with Kagome. He tipped his head forward so their foreheads were resting against each other.

“I’ll always look after you my sweet girl, because you are precious to me”, he said softly, his fingers squeezing hers. But then he pulled back, grinning behind the paper mask, his eyes teasing. “That don’t mean you can slack off when you’re better though. You’ll have done more than enough layin’ around by then.”

Her sudden giggles turned into coughs, and it was second nature by now to help her, easing her mask off her face so she could cough up the phlegm. Even her cough sounded easier since she’d had that special medicine that went through the breathing mask.

He’d made the right decision, bringing her back through the well to her mother. If she’d stayed in his time, like she wanted to, he wasn’t sure she would have made it. His gut churned at the thought making him feel sick to his stomach, and he pushed the horrible images that came to mind away quickly, not wanting to waste his time on them. Kagome was right in front of him, and was going to recover. She was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He breathed out a sigh of relief, but she’d already noticed the fleeting change in his expression. She always noticed.

“Inuyasha?”

He stroked her cheek, taking the chance to feel the soft skin under his fingers before he had to put the medicine mask back on her face, and shook his head.

“Ain’t important.”

“Yes it is, if it makes you look like that! What’s wrong?”

He sighed, dropping his hand down to caress her fingers, unable to look at her face.

“You could’a died Kagome. If you were livin’ with me in my time with this sickness, with no way back through the well, you probably would have. And I wouldn’a been able to do a damn thing about it!”

He drew in a ragged breath, his heart beating fast, his youkai instincts rising at the thought of what he was about to say, snarling at him, but he pushed them back. This wasn’t about him. It was about Kagome’s safety, and he would always put her first. He stared at her hands as he gathered his courage to say what he wanted to say; they were so much smaller than his own. He couldn’t risk her.

“Kagome… when all of this is over, when we’ve found all the shards and beaten Naraku, I… I think it would be best for you if-“

“Don’t you dare!” she said, her eyes incredulous. “Don’t you dare say that I should stay apart from you! When I promised to stay by your side Inuyasha, did you think I didn’t mean forever? Did you think they were just pretty words?!”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “No, but… I nearly lost it when I thought you were gonna die Kagome, and I-.”

“News flash Inuyasha! People die in this time too! Look at my mother – her and Papa were so happy together, and he died. Modern medicine couldn’t save him even though we loved him and needed him. Does that mean everyone should keep apart from the people they love? Should we both be unhappy just because something bad might happen? Huh?!”

Inuyasha worriedly tried to soothe her with his hands, stroking her shoulders but she shrugged him off, her eyes snapping even as she took deep gulping breaths of air.

“No! It means the exact opposite! We should hold onto people we love so tightly, because we never know when they might be taken away. We should cherish every moment! I love you Inuyasha! And if you think I will let you push me away-“

Another coughing fit stopped her tirade, and he rubbed her back, getting ready to place the mask back over her face. The machine next to the bed began to beep faster, irritating him. She pushed his hand away, and he growled.

“For fucks sake, just hold on, would ya? I know ya wanna yell at me, but you can’t do that if ya can’t breathe stupid!” he huffed, securing the mask back over her face. “Just concentrate on taking deep breaths. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Kagome’s eyes filled with tears, and he brushed them away gently with his thumbs, but more kept coming, and he gazed at her with a heartbroken expression, blinking away tears of his own.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad Kagome. It’s just… watchin’ you be so sick – I’ve never been so scared. It made me realise that I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t. And I thought, if there was some way that I could prevent that sickness happenin’ again, even though it would hurt me so much to let you go, I just…” He gulped, unable to go any further, swallowing his own emotions as he brushed his thumbs on her cheeks.

She closed her eyes breathing deeply for a few moments. “Being apart from you would hurt me more than anything else”, she whispered, panting as she spoke. “Please don’t pull away from me now, not when we’re so much closer. Please.”

He whined at the heartbroken tone in her voice, desperate to fix it. Mama’s voice spoke softly behind them.

“Kagome is right you know. No one knows how much time we’ll be given with those we love. It’s very easy to take that time for granted.” She moved quietly into the room, sitting down on the chair next to Inuyasha. Her voice was serious, but not sad.

“But it sounds like you two won’t ever do that. And it also sounds like you still have time to be able to make decisions about what happens after your quest, however long it takes. But whatever happens, it’s important to make those decisions together.”

Inuyasha sighed and nodded, dropping his hands away from Kagome’s face to grasp her hands in his. He wished he didn’t have the stupid paper mask on so he could kiss her fingers.

“Alright”, he muttered gruffly, sniffing quietly. “One thing at a time, wench. Let’s just get you better first, huh?”

Kagome gave him a watery smile, almost hidden by the breathing mask. She squeezed his fingers tightly, as if to show him she wouldn’t be letting him go in a hurry.

“Alright.”

💕

Inuyasha walked slowly and carefully along the thin dirt track, worn through the grass by years of villagers footsteps between the village and the Bone-Eaters Well. He leaned forward a little, not wanting to dislodge his sleeping cargo.

It had been just over a week since he’d carried Kagome back through the well in that desperate dash from Kaede’s isolation hut, and today was the first time he'd brought her back to his time. She’d only been out of hospital for two days, and even though her health was much improved, she still got out of breath easily and tired quickly.

She’d had a short visit to school this morning, just enough to see her teachers and pick up assignments for her subjects. Her mother had taken her, and he’d waited at the shrine at their insistence, sitting in the branches of Goshinboku and fretting about being apart from her.

All his senses were constantly attuned to her now – smelling her scent to make sure the illness wasn’t returning, listening to her heartbeat and breathing, needing to be close by so he could see that she was okay and reach out and touch her. He knew he was smothering her a little, but he couldn’t help it. Last night he’d sat outside the bathroom while she soaked in the tub, on alert just in case she dozed off in the water, and she’d almost tripped over him when she came out.

She’d understood his constant monitoring of her to some extent, but she was beginning to get a little exasperated at him. He was pretty sure if he kept it up, there’d be a solid string of ‘osuwari’ commands in his immediate future. But he couldn’t help it – she’d been so ill and still wasn’t quite recovered and probably wouldn’t be back to her full stamina for some weeks yet, and it brought out every protective instinct he had.

When Kagome and Mama had returned from school, Kagome had the bright idea of coming back to see the others, to show them she was okay. Her mother had agreed that a quick visit should be fine under Inuyasha’s watchful eye, even though he’d wanted to veto it, but he’d been helpless against Kagome’s pleading. It seemed he was turning into a spineless lap dog every time Kagome turned those persuasive blue eyes his way, and he wasn’t entirely upset about it.

Even though Inuyasha had been popping backwards and forwards through the well daily to keep everyone informed about Kagome’s progress, her arrival had provoked much excitement. Her friends had been delighted to see the physical proof that Kagome was on the mend.

Kirara and Shippou had burst out of Kaede’s hut the moment they sensed her drawing near, Kirara winding herself around Kagome’s ankles in greeting, and Shippou bouncing about more like frog than a fox. It was only Inuyasha’s warning growl that he would take Kagome home again if he couldn’t be calm around her that had settled the tiny kit down.

Kaede had welcomed them both into her home with warm smiles and the offer of tea. Sango had pounced on Kagome with a delighted hug, eager to talk and reconnect with her best friend, and Miroku was there with a grin and a brotherly pat on her shoulder, pleased to see her looking so much better.

They had visited with everyone at Kaede’s hut for an hour, Kagome chatting happily with everyone, but the moment she had yawned Inuyasha had been insistent on taking her home again.

Shippou had clung to her tearfully, but she’d assured him that Inuyasha would bring her back again tomorrow, and she’d stay longer. Her promise of a treat had probably helped dry his tears also, Inuyasha thought. He snorted. Shippou was nothing if not predictable.

A gradual increase in the speed of Kagome’s heartbeat had him looking over his shoulder as she stirred back to wakefullness, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. He watched her yawn out of the corner of his eye, and smiled as she rested her chin on his shoulder, pressing her soft cheek against his.

“Oh look, how pretty!” she said quietly, mindful that her mouth was very close to his sensitive ears. “Do you think we can stop for a little while?” She pointed over to the grassy meadow near the well, which was currently filled with pink and purple cosmos flowers, swaying in the gentle breeze, and dozens of butterflies flitting about in the bright sunshine.

“I dunno”, he grumbled. “You’ve already been out all morning. This has been a busy day for you – ya only got outta bed for the first time the day before yesterday.”

“Please Inu? I promise I’ll be good! It’s so cloudy in Tokyo at the moment, and the weather report said it was going to rain this afternoon. It would be nice to sit in the sun for a little while, and I’m sure it would be good for me!” she wheedled in a pleading tone.

He sighed. “Okay, just for a bit then.” The phrase ‘whipped’ came to mind, but when she reached up to gently stroke his ear as a thank you, he found he didn’t care in the slightest.

Walking over to a particularly lush patch of grass, half in and half out of the sunshine, he eased her down off his back and they both sat down. Inuyasha sat up straight with his arms braced so Kagome could lean on him as a back rest.

It really was a beautiful day – birds chirping, clouds drifting far above in a sapphire blue sky. A pair of dark swallowtail butterflies fluttered directly overhead, and he tipped his head back to watch them, the iridescent colours in their wings flashing in the sunlight. A thought crossed his mind that he would never have really sat down to enjoy a grassy meadow like this before meeting Kagome. His mind would have been on where his next meal was coming from, his eyes, ears and nose vigilant to catch any traces of other youkai entering his forest. But now all his senses were trained on her.

He focused for a moment on the warm weight of her leaning against him, the regular movement of the muscles in her back as she breathed in and out. There was still a slight wheeziness to her breathing, but nothing like it had been before. The sun went behind a cloud and she shivered slightly.

“You’re not cold are ya? Cause I can take you back through the well right now if ya are”, he fussed.

“Stop it will you? Mother hen!” Kagome elbowed him hard in the ribs, and he grunted, clutching his side and pretending to be mortally wounded as he flopped down to lay on his back in the grass next to her. He squinted as the sun came back out from behind the clouds suddenly, and she shaded his eyes from the bright sunlight with her hand as she giggled. “Let me just enjoy the sunshine for a little while longer. I’m perfectly fine. It’s nice sitting outside after being in bed for nearly a week.”

She leaned over him to cast his face in shadow, her hands either side of his shoulders and a bright grin on her face. The light behind her gave her dark hair a radiant halo, picking out iridescent blue highlights much like the butterflies’ wings, and her clear blue eyes were more luminous than the skies above. He stared up at her, a rush of emotion welling up, filling his heart. She was so beautiful, inside and out. This girl. His sweet girl.

Reaching up he cupped her cheek, and she turned her head to place a soft kiss in his palm. Even though he’d hated that she’d been ill, they were so much closer now. All his barriers had fallen away – he was an open book to her now, and he wanted to be.

“Kagome… you know I’m not good with words, but-“. Her finger pressed down on his lips.

“Don’t use your words then” she whispered. “You’re much better at showing than talking Inuyasha, you always have been. Show me what you want to tell me.”

“C’mere then wench.” His clawed fingers curled around the red tie of her school uniform shirt, gently tugging her downwards to press his lips softly to hers.

She whimpered, her voice and her scent conveying to him just how much she wanted this too. It seemed like they had been dancing around their feelings forever, but there had never been the time or space to allow it to happen, with constant interruptions. But right now, nothing was going to stop him showing her the things he was never able to say, the emotions he’d tried to hide up until now, the absolute wealth of adoration that he held in his heart for her.

The first touch of their lips was intoxicating to him, and his mouth moved hungrily, savouring their connection. Her lips were soft and sweet, just like he’d always imagined them to be, and he couldn’t resist sucking gently on her bottom lip, fangs scraping slightly as he slid the tip of his tongue over the plump pink flesh. He almost pulled back in surprise when her own tongue tentatively met his. His youki rose as her scent spiked, and he eagerly deepened the kiss, growling his approval, unable to hold back any longer.

Kagome traced the contours of his face with her fingertips as they kissed, and he took her hand in his, entwining their fingers. He reveled in the weight of her over him, their racing hearts almost beating in tandem. With his fervent kisses he desperately tried to convey the depth of his feelings, and she responded in kind, her own lips eager as his.

Stroking her hair with his free hand, his claws grazing against her skin now and again, Inuyasha sighed against her lips, knowing that he would have to pull back soon, as much as they both wanted to keep this going. She was still recovering, and her breathing was becoming erratic. He would not rush this. They had time now, time to let this happen gradually, at their own pace.

He pulled back from the kiss, grinning at her little whine of discontent even as she panted for breath, and he soothed her by pressing soft kisses along her jawline, then nuzzled his nose into her neck, inhaling the heady scent of her as he struggled to get his own breathing and libido under control.

“You okay?” he whispered, using his hand to gently lay her head down on his chest, combing his fingers through her dark hair.

“Wow”, she panted.“Just gotta… catch my breath. We’re gonna do that again, right?”

He chuckled. “Definitely, if I have any say in it.”

They lay there together in the sunshine, holding each other close. Time didn’t seem to matter. Nothing mattered, apart from the feel of her lying safe against his chest, her heart beating strongly against his. He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent. The contented rumble in his chest made Kagome grin, turning her head to rest her chin against his chest.

“I love that sound”, she smiled, gazing into his eyes. “I love how it makes me feel, like nothing bad could ever happen when I’m in your arms.”

“Damn straight.” He swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Cause… cause you’re mine Kagome, and I protect what’s mine.”

Her smile widened, rivaling the sun in it’s brightness. “And you’re mine Inuyasha, and don’t you forget it.” She yawned widely, her eyes blinking, and he reached up to cradle her cheek.

“Sounds like you need a nap wench-o-mine.” She smiled sleepily.

“I am a little tired. What a good thing you’re so comfy”, she teased, poking at his stomach with her fingers and rubbing her cheek against his chest.

“Oi! What am I now, a futon?” he chuckled. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, snuggling in to get comfortable.

“Shhh, futon’s don’t talk.”

“Are ya sure you don’t want me to take you back through the well?” he asked with concern. “It’s gettin’ later in the afternoon, and your bed’s probably better for ya right now.”

“Nope. Nothing could be better for me than being right here with you. Now shush.”

He listened as her breathing settled and her heartbeat slowed to a steady resting pace. The shade of the tree moved over them, and he wrapped his arms around her, the voluminous sleeves of his fire rat acting as a protective blanket as she slept contentedly in his arms.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her; he’d never really understood what she could see in him that he’d never been able to see himself. All he knew was that he would thank the Kami every damn day that she’d somehow come into his life, against all odds, and he would freely give her his heart and soul. Would continue to protect her with his life as they fought this battle against Naraku together.

He was still worried about what might happen after the jewel was purified, but for now, he was content to let the future look after itself. Because how could his future be anything but bright, with Kagome by his side.

#mamabearcat fanfics #inukag fanfic #Instinct #last chapter - finally!

81 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 4 years

Note

omG i adore all the packtan verses soso much, the latest yoongi fluff u posted?? AGH so SOFT i loved it sm!! would the reader ever talk to the boys about her old pack, and like why thats the reason shes wary about being super close with packtan?

i think she would eventually- and I think there would be a moment, maybe some soft snuggles happening in the morning, and namjoon is kinda super soft thinking about how you’re in Hoseok’s pajamas- the dark silk fabric making you have sweater paws. all ruffled from some sleep- and he doesn't know how they got on the topic but now you’re confiding in him and hobi and suddenly namjoon is fucking enraged as you tell him how they treated you.

they best hope they never cross namjoon’s path, namjoon will end them. Hoseok too, (Hoseok might find out their names and draft several very strong kakao talk messages only to delete them before he sends them- just so they know- if they ever even think about coming near you again- hoseok is going to end them and their careers)

emotional abuse can be just as pervasive and as harmful as physical abuse, how they slowly wormed their way into your mind. now it all makes sense- the way that you’d kinda acted like you didn’t care about them- leaving and walking home late at night- putting yourself at risk. never telling them you were having a rough day until you practically burst into tears, the way you’d been genuinely surprised when any of them expressed wanting to spend time with you, wanting to spoil you, any time they’d complimented you and you’d kinda acted like they were joking.

there are signs of it- and the others- yoongi and Hoseok, in particular, are the most vigilant and aware- especially when your actions hurt the others- it’s honestly not your fault. They all realize this after you leave early one morning- without saying bye, and then the aftermath- Seokjin crossing his arms, “you didn't even think to wake us? or have us drive you home? the subway isn’t exactly safe at 5am- I just- can't imagine why you didn’t stay- or shower in our shower- or borrow our clothes” jin continues his tirade until you lookup

“I didn’t think you wanted me to” you say, voice small, “what? what made you think that” “you’ve just- never said you wanted me to stay before, we fell asleep on the couch- and then I woke up in your bed and I didn’t want to- overstep. you guys are already in a pack and I’m just- I’m just me- I’m sorry I just- I didn’t know, so I figured it was just better if I didn’t overstep” and then their eventual realization all of them tripping over themselves to reassure you “we always want you to stay babe- of course, we did- why else would we invite you so late at night if we didn’t want you to stay over?”

The hear more, about booty calls from your old pack and others, how they’d make it clear they didn’t want you to stay after- sure everyone likes an omega before the sex but not after when they get needy (after they hear you spew that vitriol at yourself they make sure they’re always giving with physical affection- and they see you slowly turn from being worried and kinda trepidatious about it- to sinking into their arms fully and becoming the most cuddly omega of them all- sometimes not even greeting them before you’re sinking into their arms and scent marking along their shoulders)

they get better- get used to telling you explicitly when they want you to stay, trying to work around the way your brain works.

jimin remembers vividly- the first day he’d realized how much damage your old pack had done to the way you’d seen yourself. the day he’d taken a selfie with you in a coffee shop, and you’d kinda rolled your eyes, whining that you didn’t like photos to be taken of you, and then jimin sending it to you before he sends it to the group, you freezing when the notification comes through, the way you’d looked so unsure, “Jiminie...do I really look like that?” jimin is already sending the picture through the pack group chat and getting about a million heart emojis from Hoseok through, tea sends though “oh my god- get in my bed right this instant”

“what do you mean baby?” and when he looks up, he sees you staring at your phone- at the picture, a weird look on your face, like there's something not real about what you’re seeing, “do I really look like that? do I look pretty like this?” this isn’t you phishing for complements this is you genuinely looking for his reassurance- and Jimin nods cutely his hand closing around yours on your phone to tilt it towards himself so he can point out the things about you he loves- your shoulders are really nice and not to broad for an omega, your hair fits your face perfectly and your cheeks are cute, jimin loves them, tilts your chin close with one hand to kiss them until you're giggling.

later jimin tells Tae and Jungkook while they’re washing up, “you should have seen the look on her face today- it was like she’d thought I photoshopped the photo” “do you think” Tae spits out his toothpaste “she might have body dysmorphia or something?” Jimin shrugs, Jungkook wraps his arms around Tae’s middle, nuzzling in slow to his back, “finish up- we should talk in the nest”

and then later- with Jimin and Tae's heads balanced on either of Jungkook’s pectorals “do you think it could have something to do with her old pack?” jimin feels anger take hold in his chest, a growing hiss in his throat, his words come out strange and pitched, “if i ever get my hands on them i swear i’ll tear them apart”

#packtan #idolverse #bts abo #bts omegaverse #Anonymous

311 notes · View notes

drneilfox · 3 years

Text

Scarlet's Swords: Music Films Book Blog 10 (July 2021)

A rollercoaster of a month emotionally with ‘the book’. So many moments of insecurity and anxiety washed away by a series of related and tangential moments and experiences. I went on annual leave finally, to await the arrival of our new baby and to spend a few weeks as a family with little to no responsibility or expectation beyond that. It was freeing to put on my out of office at work and simultaneously put a quasi-OOO on the book for the foreseeable. It might have been foolish given how far behind where I wanted to be I am currently, but it was liberating.

It caused me to rethink my approach, or at least know I need to (I haven’t done it yet because I’m stepping back a tad). In the downtime away from writing I have been tinkering and moving forward at a snail’s pace. One thing I did was to map out all the films I still need to see or see again, or at least have told myself I need to see or see again. It’s up near the 300. Obviously I can’t watch that many and write and read and edit and submit my first draft in February 2022. So I stopped worrying that I had to. I have been prioritising viewing and making peace with the fact that I can’t see everything. It’s weird how pervasive that sense is when writing about cinema and how hard it is to escape. The feeling that I am writing about something I love and want to share with people is subsumed beneath the fear of being ‘tested’ on my knowledge and the facts of it all (even though I’m not presenting fact) and what ‘gaps’ might tell people about me. This is sometimes stronger than the feeling that I am just a terrible writer writing a book no one has any interest in ever reading. I wonder if that’s my age, or the social media age, the fact that it’s taken me so long to get to this point or some wretched combination of all three.

The writing of the list certainly helped put the next few months into focus and my sketch of a new plan, once I am back in earnest at the desk, looks ok. I’m excited to work through the final films and get the book into even better shape. Other events in July certainly helped. One was finishing a draft of the fifth chapter on my list, on films about making music. It was a slog time wise, because of so many interruptions, but I got there on the final day of ‘work’ before annual leave. So it felt momentous and a good way to sign off for a bit.

There was also the arrival of some films from the U.S. I took advantage of the Barnes and Noble 50% off Criterion Collection sale and the fact that I have a dear, dear friend in New York (thank you JC!) to post stuff to me that would mean avoiding import tax, to get my hands on some classic films. I mainly wanted them for the extras but also because I love them. I picked up A Hard Day’s Night, Gimme Shelter (a July rewatch), Transes and one I’ve never seen, Murray Lerner’s Festival. I also picked up maybe my favourite ever music doc, Les Blank’s A Poem Is A Naked Person, and a box set of Blank’s work which includes a ton of music, music-centric, or music related works that I can’t wait to get stuck into. Blank is fast becoming one of my favourite filmmakers.

July’s watchlist was heavy hitters galore as I was watching and rewatching for my Milestones chapter so films and filmmakers included The Last Waltz and other Scorsese works (is Rolling Thunder Revue his best music film maybe?), Jonathan Demme, Julien Temple and films about the Beatles, Stones and Bob Dylan. Big. One such film was Demme’s beautiful concert film Heart of Gold, focusing on Neil Young not long after surgery for a brain aneurysm. It’s a warm and soulful film and one I saw on DVD, in New York, on a lazy afternoon before heading home, while staying with my friend John Carlin (the JC who sent posted me some DVDs this month). I was tired, I was all New York-ed out, and John put it on and we loved it. It meant a lot, maybe more, than it would normally had because a couple of years earlier I had written a play called How It Plays Out, that John travelled to Luton to perform in as the lead, and in the play he performed a Neil Young song, Only Love Can Break Your Heart. John Carlin is a brilliant songwriter in his own right. Check out his work here and buy Songs From The Black House, it’s one of the best records ever made, Fact. I love him.

I also read the first book that will feature in my book since I started writing back last year (nearly 12 months ago!), Thomas F. Cohen’s Playing to the Camera: Musicians and Musical Performance in Documentary Cinema. It was invigorating. Not only is it a great book, but it reminded me why I am working on mine. I want to be in dialogue with these other works that exist, reach out to and pull from them and survey the land of ideas that is music documentary and the writing on it. I loved Cohen’s style and confidence too. It gave me strength to be more confident about my own writing. It was also nice to see so much time dedicated to Shirley Clarke’s Ornette: Made in America, a truly magnificent doc I loved writing about.

So over the next few months I shall be reading more and more for the book. I am excited. That trip to the BFI library (where I learned of Cohen’s book), really galvanised me, in ways I’m becoming more aware of as I think more and write less.

Don’t forget, you can track what I’m watching (and maybe try and work out which films I’m referring to above and in the note fragments below) via my Letterboxd list, here.

Don’t forget you can listen in to my book themed playlist here.

Here’s what I was listening to while writing in July:

Finally, a bit of fun. Here are my favourite notes from this month’s viewing sessions:

Demme knows

“I just wanna play well and share the stage with my friends”

“He had a lot of ukeleles in the trunk”

Imagine booing one of the greatest live shows ever by one of, if not the, greatest rock n roll backing bands of all time.

Joan Baez’s Dylan impression is bang on.

“I don’t even wanna get in tune”

People lying around everywhere.

Need a shower after watching this.

Babies, planes and Nick Cave

Bob Marley tats and flags

Coke in the nose

Clapton - boring

Bob looks amazing!

“you booed!”

Keroauc’s grave

“I don’t want this shit to work. I hate it”

Bawdy

Ludicrous outfit Mick

Chilly at the heliport

#book #music films #music #music documentary #film #movies #cinema #documentary.

0 notes

fall-lightning · 5 years

Text

Day 4: Halloween Party

Wow I am so very behind. This one is really bad cause I had to write on my phone instead of my laptop and I also like, didn’t edit at all. ✌🏻

************************************************

Killua wasn’t one for Halloween parties. It was remarkably hard to get him drunk, for one, and that was supposed to be the whole point of a Halloween party.

Killua wasn’t one for Halloween parties unless they were being hosted by the cutest guy in the school, coincidentally the boy so bad at math he needed a tutor- the tutor being Killua. When Gon Freecs, biggest football jock in the school, had asked Killua to go to his Halloween party, well, how could Killua say no?

Killua was the captain of the soccer team, with scholarships lined up from every college with any sense, so it’s not like he wasn’t athletic. He saw Gon plenty. Gon was just in a different world. The world of letterman jackets and endless concussions. Hitting his head off of the ground and other people must have done something to his brain because the boy was horrible at math. Hence the tutoring.

After spending an hour every day after school together, the two had inevitably started to become closer. So when Gon invites Killua to his famous Halloween party, he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Killua had been to the party before with some of his teammates, but this was the first year he was actually officially invited by the man himself.

As Killua approached Gons house he nervously ran his teeth over and over his fake vampire teeth. So he was going as a vampire just like every year, sue him. It was easy and he looked good. He went for simple, just with the fake teeth, some black boots, a white puffy shirt, and a black vest.

The noise coming from the house was so loud Killua felt like he should be able to see the sound waves. Loud rap music was blaring from what sounded like multiple speakers, and the screaming of the students inside nearly doubled the sound. It sounded like hell, but there was no turning back now.

The party was just like Killua had remembered it last time. The pervasive stench of sweat and vomit, overlaid with the strong smell of alcohol. Strobe lights in one corner of the room mixed with green lights in another corner mixed with disco lights in another provided for a completely chaotic and disorienting space. Geez, Freecs clearly wasn’t good at decorating. Killua could hardly walk through the throngs of teenagers frantically grinding on each other. He was pretty sure that at one point he pushed his way straight through a couple.

Killua made a beeline for the corner of the room lit up by green light, deciding it looked the least awful to be in. He settled against a wall and closed his eyes for a second. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Damn Gon and his sparkling grins and attractive voice, why had he agreed to this?

When someone tapped Killuas shoulder he nearly decked them. Instead, his eyes flew open and he raised up a hand as if to hit whoever it was. He stopped at the sight of Gon, who was raising his hands in an obvious ‘mercy’ gesture.

“Woah, it’s me, Gon. Y’know, the host of the party.” Killua lowered his hand, cheeks growing warm. He never thought the green light would actually come into real use, but it was doing a good job of hiding his blush. Well that was embarrassing. Time to die now. “I’m so glad you came, Killua! I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course I came.” He replied, nearly mumbling.

“What?!” Gon yelled. “Sorry, you have to speak up, it’s hard to hear in here!” Killua stood up and took a breath in so he could bellow back..

“Yeah! I’m glad you invited me! It’s a cool party!” Gon grinned when Killua finished speaking.

“You wanna know the reason I really invited you?!” Gon shouted while simultaneously leaning forward so Killua could hear him better. Ouch, too loud.

“Why?!” Killua half-yelled back.

“I wanted to see you outside a school setting! I’ve seen you play soccer but I’m never really close enough to really see you! Also, I kind of wanted an excuse to make out with you!” Gon somehow said while keeping a straight face. Killua had to have heard that last part wrong. There was no way Gon Freecs, who exuded more straight energy than almost anyone else Killua knew (not saying much, considering all of his friends were gay) had just said he wanted to make out with him,

“What?!” Killua responded for clarification.

“I said that I wanted to see you outside of a school setting!” Gon cocked his head a little. Killua wasn’t sure to be relieved or sad that Gon didn’t actually want to make out with- “I also said that I wanted an excuse to make out with you!” Oh. So Killua could hear perfectly fine. And Gon was less straight than Killua previously thought. Okay Killua, you want this, you can do this, just flirt back.

“Well what’s stopping you?!” Killua couldn’t help but think the line would have sounded a lot hotter coming out of him not in a yell, but he had to work with what he had. Clearly Gon thought it was hot enough, because his smile grew and his eyes danced mischievously. He only waited a second more before surging forward, crushing their lips together, and ultimately making coming to the party worth it for Killua.

#killugon #killua #gon #halloween #parties #gon stahp #actually no dont stop #my writing

25 notes · View notes

questionablygourmet · 6 years

Text

I Like This Show A Normal Amount: Will Graham As Autistic Representation

In a previous meta post about Will, I briefly alluded to my appreciation for Will as good autistic representation, and for Free-For-All Friday, @tin-can-paladin prompted me to do as I’d said I might and write a Thing about that. (Hopefully today is the day I actually get this post finished and up!) So here we go.

First of all, this post will be starting from the premise that Will is an autistic character. I don’t particularly care if Hugh’s said he’s not; whether or not he meant to, he and Bryan gave us an autistic-coded character and I reserve the right to be delighted about it! (Actually, that’s not quite true - I do care, in the sense that I wish he hadn’t said that, because acknowledging portrayals of characters on the spectrum that aren’t a walking fucking stereotype played for lulz *cough BBT COUGH* or as a tragedy inflicted upon their neurotypical family members as being on the spectrum is Important. But whatever.)

This post will address aspects of Will as a character, but also to an extent how he’s handled in the wider context of the show, and why that matters.

Agency

This was my primary focus on that previous Will meta post, but in context of autistic representation, I think it’s an important thing to highlight in this post as well: Will Graham is a whole-ass adult in control of his actions even when other characters don’t think so (see: Alana, Jack, et al in late season 1) or are actively trying to subvert that (see: Hannibal, You Asshole).

Autistic characters in various media are all-too-frequently infantilized and handled as though their environment/circumstances completely dictate their behavior. Will both implicitly and explicitly (“You can’t reduce me to a set of influences” - ironically for a later part of this post, the next thing he says mentions behaviorism), resoundingly rejects this, and I love that as part of his narrative in general but also as an autistic character in particular.

Empathy

This one’s gonna be a doozy. There’s a lot to talk about here that all generally falls under the heading of “autism and empathy,” so I’ll do my best to stay organized.

First, the simplest: He cares! So! Deeply! And complexly! And we know that throughout the show!

Frankly, this in particular massively exacerbates my irritated wish that the creators would explicitly acknowledge him as autistic because holy shit the stereotypes he combats with this. Autistic people in the real world have widely varied, diverse relationships with empathy and compassion (which are different things, and I have some beefs with the way the show uses the word “empathy,” but that’s a digression and this is already going to be a long post), but media largely erases this, conflating difficulties with normative, neurotypical-passing social behavior with inability to empathize, and/or display compassion, and/or even feel emotions (FFS).

There’s a related point about “normative-passing social behavior” that I want to expand on a bit, here: we see a lot of profound differences in demeanor for Will over the course of the show, and that’s something I’ve seen interpreted as manipulation sometimes when it really isn’t. (Not to say Will is not manipulative/capable of being manipulative, because he is, very! But not everything calculated is necessarily manipulative, and I see the two conflated a lot and that annoys me.) Will has, to my eyes, four basic social “modes.”

I’m Dealing With Most People With Whom I Have No Particular Antipathy Or Affection - Aloof, and either standoffish or polite depending on how his boundaries are being treated. He’s not particularly interested in making people comfortable when they’re making him uncomfortable (and being a white dude generally enables him to take this attitude without big repercussions), and people frequently make him uncomfortable.

I’m Dealing With Someone I Perceive As Vulnerable - Exaggeratedly calm, kind, careful. He’s trying to connect and provide comfort and support. He’s minding his every move and word because he doesn’t want to cause harm incidentally. (Abigail, Peter, Walter, etc. and to some extent, Margot, though with her it’s mixed with other attitudes.)

I’m Dealing With An Enemy - This is where the manipulativeness (and even, particularly in the cases of Bedelia and Hannibal, cruelty) comes in. He’s minding his every move and word because he wants to elicit a specific response from the person he’s interacting with. (This comes into play with Jack and Alana at various points even though they are rarely full enemies.)

I’m Dealing With A Trusted Friend - Has neither the deliberation of 2-3 nor quite the standoffishness of 1. He’s neither projecting an image appropriate to a specific kind of fraught social situation, nor actively trying to deflect attention and interaction. In my opinion we really only see this with Hannibal (in season 1 and then with flashes of it in 2 and 3) and Molly, though he gets close in a handful of moments with Alana, Beverly, and Jack.

All these modes deal with a) to what extent he is acting, and b) why he’s acting. And I love that we get to see this breadth of social interaction modes from him, because that is an accurate and sensitive portrayal of an autistic adult, reflecting the often-dramatic differences in “difficulty setting” of an interaction - how and to what extent are we expected to (or otherwise have a need to) mimic neurotypical mannerisms? What are the stakes of the situation? These are explicit considerations for a lot of autistic people, and Will demonstrates that vividly throughout the series.

Another way in which empathy and social interaction come into play in terms of autistic representation is that Will can and does form strong social bonds - not very often, because the way most other adults treat him isn’t conducive to it, but with people who display acceptance/a lack of judgment for his non-neurotypical reactions and behaviors, and importantly, who don’t treat him as Other for the way he can reconstruct crime scenes, we see that can form very strong bonds. Hannibal is obviously the prime example of this, but also Molly, and to a much lesser extent, Alana and Margot. (Though Jack refers to him as a friend and they have some friendly interactions, their bond is not a strong one and not at all marked by the kind of humanizing acceptance it takes to get truly close to Will.) People who accept who he is, and who are neither threatened by his skills nor dependent on them.

Finally, in this section, let’s look at the crime scene reconstructions and “getting inside killers’ heads” bit.

I have complex feelings about this aspect of the show, or more precisely, how other characters talk about his reconstructions and serial killer profiling - they (even Hannibal, to an extent) talk about it in mystifying terms, and I thoroughly dislike the term “empathy disorder” that gets thrown around so much in seasons 1-2 to explain what he does. Will is apt to testily correct people that he just interprets the evidence, and that is exactly what he is doing. His vivid imagination coupled with years of active study of criminal psychology allow him to take that interpretation a lot farther than anyone else would, and sometimes make intuitive leaps that the other characters can’t follow. But it’s clear that this intuition is founded in concrete evidence, as we frequently see him stymied when he doesn’t quite have enough of it, much to the frustration of Jack, who is particularly shitty about treating him like an oracle.

I like that Will gets to stick up for himself and correct people on several occasions, but I wish the ableism and the Othering was less pervasive amongst the other characters because it makes me want to slap them. I find that I really appreciate how most of the fic I’ve read since entering the fandom thoroughly and often explicitly rejects the pseudo-magical divination and/or Crazy Person With Magic Brain angle.

Perspective

There was something I was reaching at that was eluding me in my first attempt at this draft, and then I ran into an excellent article about writing autistic characters that suddenly and thoroughly solidified it for me. It’s really brilliant; it discusses and illustrates the strong difference between a behavioristic (see previous reference) approach to characterization and a humanizing one. Behavioristic analyses divorce themselves from the actual mindset and experience of the subject, whereas humanizing portrayals display the subjective experience of the person who is perhaps behaving in a way other people may find confusing.

Since Will is the main point of view character in the show, we get front-row seats to his subjective experience and can therefore more properly empathize with him. An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior. The behavior that Jack and various other characters are exasperated, impatient, and/or unnerved over all looks pretty reasonable when we know how Will is experiencing the crime scene, or are seeing his nightmares and hallucinations along with him! And while the nightmares and hallucinations in season 1 are a matter of encephalitis and trauma rather than neurotype, it still matters that we’re led to understand something of what he goes through, from his own perspective rather than an outside one.

It’s incredibly necessary emotional context moving forward in the show, giving us an autistic character who is flawed but deeply human and whose darkness we can understand.

#hannibal #will graham #my meta #meta #thanks for the nudge to actually write this #it was difficult enough that it probably wouldn't have happened without said nudge #but i really wANTED to write it so #I Like This Show A Normal Amount

131 notes · View notes

violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Pieces of April [9/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro. Jason and Isabel Ardila

Author’s Note: Exactly what it says on the can. I’ve had this idea kicking around my head for a while, getting in the way of finishing the next chapter of Philtatos and I figured if I started jotting down the basics of it, I could stop thinking about it.

________________________________________________________________

Jason really wants to say something caustic to Tim about that Robin comment—about how it’s something Dick would say, or that he’s watched one too many Hallmark specials.

But the thing is, he can’t argue the logic.

There is something about being Robin that creates a bond, and an inherent something you can trust in. They might disagree, and fight and even try to kill each other on occasion, but when it’s down to the wire, there’s no one you can trust more to have your back.

Not even Batman.

Which is why Jason hefts his duffel bag and allows Tim to lead him up the stairs of the open-concept apartment, through the upper floor that’s just as unnaturally clean as the rest of the house. Jason suspects that’s down to not really being lived in; his replacement probably spends more time falling asleep in his secret nest than anywhere else. Jason would bet his no-longer-extant trust fund that the only bit of the house that Tim spends much time it is in front of the flatscreen TV in his living room, playing on one of the fancy gaming consoles.

“This room’s yours for as long as you want it,” Tim says, disrupting Jason’s musings. “That’s the bathroom over there—clean towels in the cupboard under the sink—and my room’s down the hall if you need me for anything. Just shout.”

Jason takes a wary step into the room and blinks.

Tim probably thinks it’s entirely modest, but the room is huge, possibly bigger than some of his bolt holes; it’s practically its own self-contained unit minus a kitchen or bathroom. In addition to the usual trappings of a bedroom, there’s a loveseat and coffee table by the window, a desk and shelves in the corner, and another flatscreen on the wall opposite the queen-sized bed. Even with all of that, it doesn’t even feel crowded.

In fact, they could bring up all the stuff Tam Fox bought, store it here, and Jason still would be in no danger of knocking into any of it.

The reminder of the pile of baby things downstairs makes him frown again. Just how much help is he going to be accepting? He doesn’t take charity well under normal circumstances and receiving it from Tim—fellow Robin or not—is a bitter pill.

Could be worse, he tells himself a beat later. It could be Dick or Bruce, and then he’d have to endure the double-teaming of concern and disappointment from both.

Right. Disappointment from Bruce. Because that’s new.

Still, he feels a very pervasive and irritating sensation in his stomach at having to take Tim Drake’s help, especially after everything he’s done to him in the past. He sort of wishes the kid was being an asshole about it—holding it over his head or something—but the fact he’s not makes it ten times worse.

“Listen, I’m going to pay you back for all of this,” he begins. “Once I figure everything out, I’ll make sure we’re square.”

“I already said you don’t have to,” Tim dismisses.

“I’m still going to. I don’t like owing people. So, name your price.”

Tim sighs, and fixes him with an exasperated stare, like Jason is being needlessly stubborn or something. “I can’t think of anything. But how about we start with you getting some sleep? At some point, you need to be capable of making decisions for the baby yourself, and it’s not going to happen while you’re brain is stewing in shock and the attempted alcohol poisoning you subjected it to earlier.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. But your sleep schedule’s about to take a major hit. Tonight might be the last time you actually get a few solid hours in a row for a while.”

“If you think I’m sleeping tonight after all this…” Jason trails off, shaking his head.

“Fair,” Tim allows and turns to leave. “I’m going to head out now. I won’t be doing a full patrol, so if you’re still awake when I get back, I’ll help you bring the bassinet up and set it up. Unless you want to do it yourself. But Tam says those things require an engineering degree, and you’re not exactly the most patient person ever.”

“I’m not going to set fire to anything in your place. Probably.”

“Is it weird that that’s actually somewhat reassuring?”

“It’s the honesty. I’m fully aware of my faults. Unlike some people.”

“Speaking of…are you absolutely sure you don’t want to tell anyone else? I know for a fact Alfred’s way more qualified—”

“No.”

Bruce’s disappointment he can live with; Alfred’s, not so much.

“Right. Then I’ll see you later.”

And then he’s gone, leaving Jason alone once again.

He stares around the room, imagining a cradle set up beside the bed, and the mountain of baby supplies. Even having seen and held the baby—even knowing her name—he’s still having a hard time picturing bringing her home.

However temporary that is.

It’s yet another reason he’s not cut out to have a kid—you have to have a home and roots and stability. And the closest thing he’s ever had to a father figure was far from stable, judging by the propensity to dress up as a giant bat and fight crime.

Jason digs out his phone, tempted to call his friend again and to try to convince him he needs him to be here.

Except, if Roy’s in the thick of a job, Jason doesn’t want to risk calling at an inopportune moment just to bother him with his shit. And he knows how touchy a subject it is, especially considering what happened to Lian.

Better not.

Roy will contact him when he can, or he’ll likely just show up. Until then, Jason just as to…figure all this out on his own.

Which he can do.

He’s a goddamn adult, isn’t he?

Shit, I’ve got to be now.

There’s a knock at the doorway, which even if he didn’t know it was her, would tell him it’s Tam Fox.

(Bats don’t knock; that would mean understanding the meaning of privacy.)

Tam lingers against the doorjamb, shifting uneasily, and isn’t this a blast from the past?

Jason has done a pretty good job of avoiding running into anyone who knew him before he died, especially when it comes to civilians. The only person who knows for sure outside of the Family is a prostitute named Rhonda that’s walked the streets of Park Row since before Jason ran away from his first foster home. And while she knows he’s Jason Todd, she doesn’t know he’s the Red Hood or that he was Robin.

Which, I guess, Tam probably doesn’t either. Tim just said I was a ‘friend’, not what kind of friend.

Still, it’s a whole different thing, having someone from high society, who remembers the kid he was, even if it was the distant relationship of acquaintances. He has to remind himself that Tim trusts her, and Bruce has always trusted her father, and if those two paranoid freaks consider them good people, it would be stupid of Jason not to do the same.

“Tim asked me to stick around for a bit and keep an eye on you,” she says after a few seconds of awkward lingering. “I think it’s kind of pointless—I mean, look at the size of you.”

Jason shrugs. “He probably thinks I’m going to take off.”

“Are you?”

“Considering it,” he admits. “But what’s the point? It’s not like it would change anything.”

There would still be a kid out there—my kid.

Tam’s eyes soften. “You must be scared out of your mind.”

“I don’t get scared,” he replies automatically.

“That’s a bald-faced lie. Even people who plan to have kids are terrified when it happens.” She folds her arms. “Now, I don’t know your story or where you’ve been all these years, or how you’re involved with Tim and his…night job. And I probably don’t want to know. But you’re barely older than me, and if I was in your place, I’d freaking out.”

Jason clenches his fists.

“Also, Tim probably didn’t bother asking, but are you going to be okay?”

“I have no fucking clue,” he admits at last. “This was never the plan. It was never part of any plan.”

“I bet. The, uh, nightlife isn’t exactly one you want to bring kids into. Especially if you’re like Tim.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…look, Tim’s a good guy,” Tam says. “But when it comes to stuff like this, he’s sort of…” She tilts her head to one side as though thinking of the right words, and then says, “He’s sort of like Pinocchio.”

Jason huffs in amusement. “Because he’s so small and wooden?”

“Because he spends most of his time pretending to be a real boy and has a very casual relationship with the truth,” she corrects. “That’s not the sort of environment you want to raise a child in. Parents shouldn’t have to lie to their kids, even if it’s to protect them. And kids shouldn’t have to lie to their parents.” She pauses, clearly chewing on something, and then asks hesitantly, “Does your…um…does Mr. Wayne know you’re…?”

“He knows,” Jason replies shortly.

“Right. Of course. Though…I mean, I would have assumed if he did there’d have been a big press conference or media thing.”

“I didn’t exactly come back here on good terms with him.”

“That wouldn’t matter. He was devastated when you died. He stopped going to work or doing anything. Dad had to take care of everything.”

“Oh, yeah, he was really broken up,” Jason pretends to agree, feeling his mouth twist unpleasantly. “Didn’t take him long to move in the new kid, though.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tam protests. “Tim told me. He said that B—”

She cuts herself off, clearly unsure of how much he knows. Jason can’t help be impressed by how in the know she seems to be; knowing about Tim’s extracurricular activities is one thing, but knowing Gotham City’s biggest secret as well? He begins to reevaluate just how far up her metaphorical security clearance is.

“He said Bruce was self-destructing,” Tam concludes, clearly deciding to remain vague. “It was going to get himself or someone else killed if Tim didn’t step in.”

And Jason knows that now, of course, and doesn’t even blame Tim for it anymore; but it doesn’t make things hurt less.

“Who’s to say that wouldn’t have been the better option?” Jason challenges. “Maybe if Tim stayed out of it and B crossed that line, Gotham would be safer now.”

The slight widening of Tam’s eyes is the only indication she’s noticed his acknowledgment of just how much he knows. But Jason is now too distracted by his thoughts to remark on it.

“See, dear old Dad and I have philosophical differences about some pretty common sense stuff. Namely, taking out the scumbags who deserve it. The unforgivable types, like rapists and child molesters and the Joker.”

“You went up against the Joker?” Tam gapes. “Are you crazy?”

“Seemed fair, since he was the one who killed me,” Jason shrugs. Tam’s mouth actually drops at this; clearly, she hasn’t heard those details, either. “Not that I’ll ever get the chance since B’s always there to get in my way. The number of times that crazed clown almost killed me—almost killed all of us—”

He cuts off with a choked growl because it’s an argument he can perform by rote now, in several languages.

His fists clench tighter in anger, seething at the old resentment. It’s not as fresh as it was when he first came out of the Pit, or even when he was carrying out his plans to force Bruce’s hand. But there will always be a stinging ache just beneath his breastbone whenever he thinks about the situation.

He remembers that other Earth, where after losing him, Bruce effectively ripped apart Gotham’s rogues and made the place safer; where the cost of peace for the city was his own soul.

It’s a sacrifice Jason’s always been willing to make.

He wonders if that’s all going to change now, with the…

Jason pauses, and realizes for the first time tonight since receiving that voicemail from Dr. Kerry, he hasn’t been thinking of the baby.

Granted, it was because his mind went back to fixating on the psychopath that killed him, but he’s finally feeling something beyond numb disbelief.

This feeling he knows; these thoughts are familiar ground.

He squints at Tam, considering.

“You’re good at that,” he says at last.

“At what?”

“Being a distraction. I see why he keeps you around.”

“He doesn’t keep me around, I keep him alive,” she retorts. “I’m way more than a distraction, thanks very much.”

“Obviously. You know the big secret and you’re still here. There are only a few people who can cope with it.”

And not everyone does it well.

“It’s been a steep learning curve. A lot of which was playing catch-up and learning to decode Tim’s everything. And I almost walked a few times,” she admits. “Last year was the closest I came to it. Tim faked my father’s death for another one of his convoluted plans. He didn’t tell me anything, and then just expected me to be okay with it.” Her mouth turns downward; obviously it’s still a sore spot. “After a few weeks of thinking about it, and talking things through with my dad, I understood why he did it. But I also decided I’m not cut out to be kept in the dark. If I’m going to be in on this stuff, I’m going to be in on it.”

“That’s a different take from your dad,” Jason says. “He always liked being ignorant until the last possible moment.”

“Pretending to be ignorant,” Tam corrects him. “For plausible deniability. But if there’s anything I’ve learned working for WE and for Tim, it’s that ignorance can get you in just as much trouble as knowledge can. And if I’m going to get killed by ninjas, I’d rather I knew what it was for.”

Jason can’t help a chuckle at that. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“Well, if you’re too wired to sleep, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Jason pauses for a moment, not entirely comfortable with the offer—it’s somehow too easy, too normal; in his experience, sitting down with old acquaintances leads to bloodshed.

But the lure of keeping his mind off his own troubles is too much.

“I’m all ears,” he tells her.

⁂⁂⁂

________________________________________________________________

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels

Next Chapter

#jaytim #jaytim fanfiction #babyfic #accidental baby acquisition #enemies to lovers #slow build #jason todd #tim drake #tam fox #angst #drama #snark #tam doesn't get paid enough for this

3 notes · View notes

endearinglysarcastic · 5 years

Text

Taylor Swift’s Current Form of Hell

Some thoughts considering Taylor’s current situation. Feedback is welcome (especially if it can be added to the analysis!), but please don’t @ me to argue that she’s a bully or a bitch. I will eat you.

Firstly, let’s talk about age. Taylor is 29. Scott and Kim are 38, Kanye is 42. Famous was released in 2016, when Taylor was 26 and Kanye 39. So, not only was it released without her permission, not only was she filmed without her permission, not only did it defame her, not only was it implying sexual promiscuity in return for fame, not only was it entirely beyond the bounds of anything she would’ve agreed to regardless of Kim’s ‘proof’, she was 26. Let that sink in. There is more than a decade between her and Kanye - think about someone a decade older that you (a cousin, uncle or friend) and imagine how you would react (me, I’d go all Tangled on them, and hit them in the face with a saucepan; and that’s my calm reaction). Then remember how you were at 19 - considering that, in 2009, when Kanye said ‘imma let you finish BUT’ she was 19. Fast forward a little to 2016, and Kanye has 2 children, a wife and an established music career. He should be the elder, the one that understands the industry, the one that works with RESPECT. Taylor is only just older than his second youngest sister-in-law - and you best believe that if something like this happened to Kendall, Kanye would be coming after them. But this ‘feud’ was deemed appropriate, Famous was deemed ‘funny’. Scooter and Justin Bieber and various radio hosts etc have decided that all this is ‘not a big deal’. But there we were, Taylor was 26 and being TAGGED by people a decade older than her in this revenge porn horridness. Is it because we now think it’s okay to be horrible to white girls? Is that it? Is it because she’s American? She certainly isn’t a Trump fan, so we can rule that out. Maybe it’s because Kanye was threatened - maybe it’s because he was made to apologise by Queen B and he’s been looking to reassert his masculinity ever since. Maybe it’s his own past, insecurities, problems. But that in no means makes it okay; nor does it condone the behaviour of his wife and associates like Scooter. Hence, we have defamation, revenge porn and cyber bullying, all of which started when Taylor Swift, pop princess supreme, was 19, 26 and now 29.

One of the people who brought this 2016 pain about, now owns the rights to her music. Sounds a bit iffy (it still has her name on it! you cry), but let’s think about this legally. This means that if Taylor wants to work with, rerelease, remix or reconsider any of HER prior works, she has to a) work with Scooter, b) have the changes approved by Scooter and c) give a portion of the profits to Scooter. And yes, kiddies, that means concerts too. Performing her music, at her concerts, for her fans, is giving her abuser a profit. Imagine having to do that with a high school bully, or say, prior boss that you never really liked, with a report or a paper. Objectively these things are worth nothing, but you did the majority of the work; despite this, it’s technically part of their group or company, so it’s theirs too. It’s like sharing custody of your child with an abusive and absent ex. Except, that child is worth a literal fortune and took 14 years to create; and you’re well aware that your ex will completely abuse their side of the contract for their own amusement. Furthermore, while she’s sharing those rights, we have to remember that Taylor has no legal recourse - he owns the masters by CONTRACT, that she no doubt signed at one point or another. Now while I have things to say about the lawyers that advised her to sign that contract, please remember that she was just 14 when she entered the industry and that a human female brain does not fully develop until at least 23 (men are develop by 27 but this is about Taylor so I’ll refrain from making that joke today). Business savvy she might be now, but that comes with experience and practice and a good team. People who are good at their job, understand your vision and you trust entirely are hard to find; especially when your vocation is as all encompassing as Taylor’s must be. Perhaps there was a mistake there, perhaps she shouldn’t have signed the contract; but hindsight is 20/20, and perhaps blaming Taylor isn’t the most progressive thing to do. What is both interesting and considerably more gross, is that Taylor was offered a chance to, quote, ‘earn back’ her masters - not only is this bribery, it’s an attempt to further abuse and power over one of the biggest earners in today’s music industry. With such a power over her, there is no way that Big Machine will ever willingly let her go - perhaps they’d enter into a never-ending negotiation; for every album she produces (which would belong to Big Machine), she earns back a prior album that belonged to Big Machine. Sounds fabulous and abusive, doesn’t it? If you are so naive as to think that she was not a guiding factor on the purchase of Big Machine, please reconsider your brain. No one wants to buy the cow if you can get the milk for free - which essentially is what Scooter did, plus now he gets to kick the cow and the calf if and when he wants to. Lovely, right? However, please consider that in signing any new contact under this offer, one can see definite similarities with Kesha’s situation, though the abuse hopefully be only mental and emotional. Taylor has made an incredibly hard and painful choice; she could leave her legacy behind in favour of happier life, or continue with her legacy and ‘earn it back’ and be generally miserable. This desire to make Taylor ‘submit’ is misogynistic, horrible and really really gross. Hence we can conclude that not only has she been abused, bullied and used, we may now note that she has no way of ‘winning’ this argument - in that she may never get her masters back without paying a very serious life consequence.

Taylor has posted a 2 paragraph statement on Tumblr. (Fun reminder - I’m not even halfway done and I’ve written a longer defence that she did.) She is being called attention seeking (‘turning the the public has worked for her before’ - what my local FM radio told me), bullying, gaslighting etc etc. which are all things we’ve heard about before in relation to her. Certainly, Taylor, like other people in the media spotlight, has done things that people don’t approve of or deem problematic (because she, like all others, is just a person) but this by no means should overshadow her present situation. You don’t need to be a Taylor fan to consider this issue problematic; the facts alone are indicative enough. There is no element of like, love, favouritism or adoration that even needs to be considered here. Taylor is being judged, abused and publicly bullied as she dared to speak her mind and feelings about her own works. If Scooter had his way, we would revert to simply calling her hysterical, and strip her of all capacity to reason - god forbid a woman in the music industry be of sane mind and conviction. Despite this, we have to note that these events, this treatment, these discussions have led to one of the most prominent and successful women of the 21st century retreating from public, and posting her defence, in her own words, on TUMBLR, which is widely considered a niche site when compared to say Twitter or Instagram. Hence, we must ask ourselves, why would Taylor choose Tumblr? She has been so widely supported on Instagram and Twitter in the past. Maybe this is where she feels supported and like she is least chance to be attacked; what does that tell you about her headspace? Maybe it’s where she sees the least tagging, comments of ownership, masters related from people who are meant to be her colleagues - cyber bullying is, effectively, so harmful because it can truly follow you anywhere. Imagine the outrage if this had been done to Justin Bieber, Ed Sheeran, Shawn Mendes. But it wouldn’t happen to them - not because producers and owners are incapable, but because they do not deem in necessary for them to need to show who the ‘alpha’ is. But having Taylor as the more powerful, pervasive person seems to offend many men to the core. Hence, maybe Taylor posted it is simply for herself, knowing it would be unedited and seen by people who might sympathise without yarns of criticism that related to the anatomy between her legs. Certainly, I know I would want to have my say for my own peace of mind as well as for my mental health - and I’m just a law student with 7 followers. How does someone so wildly popular feel so unsafe in the social media sphere? This. This bs is why.

So why are we just hearing about all this now? Well that’s just it; Taylor. She has brought this to the public attention. She is not so naive as to think that there would be no backlash - she’s been the victim of that too many times. Taylor, despite knowing all of this, despite standing alone, despite the lack of media, social media, peer and male support, has said something. She has expressed her thoughts and feelings, knowing she would be labelled unstable and narcissistic - because that is the fastest way to depreciate and devalue anything legitimate or threatening that comes from a woman or girl. Taylor has, in a sense, reported her abuse; except she reported it to the public. She has been bullied, cyber bullied, defamed, indicted, disliked and gaslighted. In her position, many would be anxious, depressed, scared, paranoid, running crying to their parents (cough me cough). Instead, she has made a rational, intelligent and self-caring decision that led to a well written statement, conveying her feelings in a timely and eloquent manner. She is effectively telling us that Times Up, and it’s coming for the music industry. As always, she has handled this in the most dignified and elegant of ways, while Scooter and his supporters seem to be borderline aroused at the pain they’re inflicting. How anyone can get their kicks out of another persons pain will always be beyond me, though that seems to be the way women are accustomed to men acting. Taylor is, as she has often been, at the forefront of changing social issues and bearing the brunt of the backlash in the public eye. I hope that there are other young women and young artists that are watching and listening - she might very well break the glass ceiling - again.

Taylor has gone through an immense amount of pain throughout her music career - she’s been labelled an attention, money and boyfriend seeking crybaby for over a decade. The behaviour of men in the music industry is neither appropriate or acceptable. I do not accept it - we, the public, cannot accept it.

Although I know it is of little help, I will no longer be listening to or streaming Taylor’s old work in an effort to support her. I will also not be streaming or purchasing any other Big Machine productions until her work is returned to her. I will also be signing this petition in her favour. Please consider doing the same - Katy Perry already did.

I hope Taylor is okay, I hope she is caring for herself, I hope there is some legal action she can take. I hope Lover is wildly successful and her heart is full. Remember that this is not about receipts or feuds or drama. This is about the cruel and unfair treatment of a woman in the music industry and the escalation of that when it became public information. This is about changing the conversation and changing the working conditions. This is for more than just Taylor; this is part changing a toxic culture, where cyberbulling and revenge porn and spiteful purchases for ‘funzies’ (and the torment of others) is appropriate, provided it is against a woman. Whatever you might say or think of her, this is an example of injustices that occur to women everywhere and everyday. We have proven only one thing with these injustices, and that is that you can kick Taylor Swift down are hard as you can - she has discovered feminism and she’s going to get back up. She might not be perfect, she might not be your favourite, but she isn’t a push over. Taylor Swift is taking up space and taking no shit, and I am here for it.

Petition: https://www.change.org/p/taylor-swift-make-taylor-swift-re-release-her-6-albums

You can find Taylor’s statement here: https://taylorswift.tumblr.com/post/185958366550/for-years-i-asked-pleaded-for-a-chance-to-own-my

You can also check her Tumblr out here, though this is less related to this analysis and more if you want a good giggle: @taylorswift

#Taylor Swift #lover #law #scooter braun #kaynewest #kim kardashian #masters #feminism #timesup #famous #rant #analysis

12 notes · View notes

fallout2282 · 5 years

Text

The Office of the President, Hall of Congress

Shady Sands, New California Republic

Yulia Arteaga sat in her office chair, fiddling with the Two Headed Bear Flag pin between her fingers. She unclasped it, bringing it up to her chest so that she might wear it at her heart, as was customary. It was a gift from her predecessor, a symbol of office. She wanted nothing of Kimball’s and she refused to watch as her staff moved his portrait into storage, replacing it with a painting to rival it, depicting her own visage. She stood for four hours so that the artist they commissioned, someone from her home state, the Boneyard, could accurately transfer her image to the canvas. She wore the pin in the painting too, a detail added afterwards. It had originally belonged to President Tandi, the Great Mother, before being passed along to Tibbett, Peterson, Kimball, and now her. It was a symbol of office, no matter what she wore, as long as she carried that pin it was like she like she radiated with the commanding aura of high office. Her predecessor, now retired against his will to some ranch outside the Hub, preferred old world style suits where as Yulia was often accused of looking something like a cross between a field hand and a factory worker. She liked the brahmin leather vest her Bear Flag was now pinned to, and the earthy tones of her checkered button up and slacks. She wore the same outfit in the painting. The artist thought it fitting, she was the young populist who was taking California by storm. Her majority in Congress was secure, now that Chief Hanlon won the race in Redding and was now Senator Hanlon. She was going to need the allies in the months to come as it became apparent making peace was far more complicated than making war. A detail Kimball neglected to mention when he handed over the keys to the Republic. Her train of thought was interrupted when the door to her office flew open.

“Yulia! You’ll never believe it. Dennis Crocker agreed to stay on until the drafting process for the treaty is finished. It’s just like you said, maybe he really is different from those other Kimball holdovers after all. He thinks you should meet with Chief Executive-” It was her aid, Maxim. He had been with her since her days as a labor organizer in Adytum. He managed her campaign for an Angel’s Boneyard council seat and didn’t even ask for an appointment to some cushy job in the bureaucracy. Although, being aide to the president came with similar guarantees of job security and long term financial security.

“It’s Madame President now, Maxim.” She made the deals, led the censure, and cast the first vote of Kimball’s downfall. She earned her position. Now she just had to keep it, and that meant any deal with New Vegas had to insure the lights stayed on. At least until the project she arranged with the Followers of the Apocalypse was complete. It would be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating. The Mojave Campaign was Kimball’s war, and he lost his job over it. Now it seemed most of her job was picking up the pieces, when she had campaigned on an extensive program promising to fix the many problems at home.

“The answer is no. I’ll give it my signature, but Crocker can shake that man’s hand. He knows if the deal screws us, I’ll screw him harder. I like the good Ambassador, but if he expects to come back to a career he has to earn it. Speaking of which, draw me up a list of candidates to take his place once the negotiations are finished. If his plan does work I’ll want him running for a seat here in the next election. I know Thaler’s will soon be up for grabs, and he might act like a friend, but we all know he didn’t vote with us when we got rid of Kimball. His days on the council are numbered.”

“Yes, Madame President. My apologies Madame President. I will send out word to the State Department to have a list drawn up at once. As for Councilman Thaler, we should avoid alienating him until after the vote tomorrow. He has been more than supportive of the Crimson Caravan inquiry. Alice McLafferty was forced out of her post in the Mojave branch, it’s practically an admission of guilt on their part. If he thinks we intend to endorse someone else for his seat, he could end up voting with Senator Morales. And if Morales rallies the governors then they will certainly shut down the investigation and shut down this investigation” her aide said with great uncertainty. She couldn’t blame him for his skepticism. Aaron Kimball was wildly popular until he wasn’t. All Yulia had to do was alienate the wrong person and she could lose her majority. Then it would be all over.

“Have a little more confidence in me, Maxim. I didn’t win the Presidency for the novelty of it. I intend to hold on to this seat for as long as I can. The people aren’t so fickle as to turn on me yet. Thaler will vote for me because if he doesn’t again, then it is a certainty he will lose his seat. I might have been a councilor for Adytum, but I was born in Shady Sands. Now I represent all of California. And it’s about some time someone stood up to the merchant houses. And don’t call the representatives from Hub that, their heads are already big as it is” She was right, and Maxim knew it too when she said it. Yulia had always spoken truth to power, and now she was the power. Not the only one, granted. That’s just how it was in democracies. Still, that wouldn’t stop her from using the authority she was given to hold her colleagues to account.

“We can discuss tomorrow’s vote later. There’s still a lot of other work to be done. Have we received a report from General Hsu yet? What’s the status of the withdrawal?” Military matters were the one aspect of governing she was new to. She had coordinated with the military in the past, back in Adytum during one of the multiple operations against the raider gangs that are pervasive in the Boneyard. Yet she only ever acted as a point of contact then, now she was Commander in Chief.

Maxim cleared his throat, “Slowly, but surely Madame President. The General and the Ambassador were able to convince the new management in New Vegas to allow a handful of our forces to remain at the Dam and watch over our civilian personnel that will stay there. Long term arrangements haven’t been decided yet, but the General is unsure of the prudence in leaving the Dam in the hands of those... robots. He seems uncertain if we even have a choice in the matter. You’ve already seen the projections. A renewed conflict is not likely to be in our electoral interests. As for the full withdrawal to Mojave Outpost, we are expecting the last of our forces to be safely within the border in three weeks time.”

“Sooner we conclude this business the better. What of the Legion? The rangers set out after the battle to scout their territory and I’ve yet to see a report land on my desk. I would hate to leave our new friends on the Strip defenseless against such savages.” Yulia folded her arms, leaning back against the desk.

“The robots were actually quite thorough in their assault on Fortification Hill. The military seems to think the enemy was quite completely demolished. Caesar had died three months earlier, reportedly of a botched attempt to remove tumors from his brain. As for the rest of the Legion’s leadership, they are all believed to have perished in the battle.” Now he was just rehashing what she already knew.

“What about the east? Arizona... New Mexico. Those places. I recall from the archives we sent scouts out that way decades ago. There are people out there. The Legion’s people. What will happen to them?” That was the real question. If Kimball had succeeded, if the NCR had annexed New Vegas, would they have been next? Would the NCR have kept going? Just like the old world. That she didn’t like to imagine.

“Our commanders speculate what is left of the Legion will converge on Flagstaff. That I suppose you would call the Legion’s capital. It’s also where Caesar left his heirs, supposedly. General Hsu has assured us that the Legion isn’t a threat to the Mojave, let alone us here in California.” Maxim knew as much as she did. They would both be left to wonder until the rangers they sent east reported in. It could be months, and that’s if any of them managed to cross back over the Colorado.

The Mojave Campaign began decades ago, back then the NCR only had to contend with the same raider tribes they had been fighting and beating for generations. Jackals, Vipers, Khans, all scattered to the wastes. The war with the Legion only began in 2277 when their warband attempted to seize Hoover Dam the first time. All the while her country was being bled try. More lives and more money than she could imagine. Costlier than every other war fought in California combined. Not mentioned in official reports, the rumor was General Lee Oliver died not at the hands of the Legion, but after the battle had already ended. Thrown off of the side of the dam by one of the robots that now defended New Vegas. She chose not to ask if it was true when she received her first briefing from the military, after all it allowed blame for the defeat to fall squarely on Kimball’s shoulders. And he deserved it. She wouldn’t make his mistakes.

“I can’t tell if we were lucky, or unlucky. We won the battle and still lost the war.” She chuckled at the irony, at the sheer stupidity of it all. “We saved the damn... dam, and it doesn’t even seem like we’ll be able to keep it. First we get strung along by the seemingly-immortal Mr. House, and now we’re negotiating with a former Vault dweller with a gambling addiction? We clearly didn’t play our cards right, even though for all intents and purposes we had a winning hand.”

Maxim nodded in agreement, ever willing to play the sycophant. “Poor governance ultimately makes for poor policy decisions, Madame President. I believe you will lead us towards a much brighter future. One where the people of New Vegas are our friends, not subjects.”

“Friends? We’ll just see what terms Crocker wins for us. I’ve no intention of getting us into another war, if that’s what your concern is. Still need to see about making states out of the territories up north before I go looking for more outside of our borders. Congress can’t deny the territories real representation forever. We give Arroyo and Klamath statehood, and I won’t have to worry about losing my majority for as long as I’m President.” She sighed, “First we need to see about officially ending this war and bringing our men and women in uniform back from the front. Once the withdrawal is complete we’ll set up the podium in front of the statue of Tandi in Republic Square. It won’t just be to welcome the troops home, but another state of the republic address.”

“Very good, Madame President. I also brought that report you requested last week. It took some time for the rangers to compile it. This one’s complete at least. I thought you would want to have a look at it before the committee did.” On the desk next to Yulia, her aide placed a folder that was so full of paper that it was nearly as thick as some of the books in her office.

Yulia took one look at the folder’s contents, thumbing through the various pages of eye witness testimony collected in the Mojave and official statements by other officials in the NCR. This one file alone would could take up the rest of her afternoon just to read. “One question, Maxim.” She pursed her lips, her curiosity piqued.

“What’s that Madame President?” “Who the hell is this Courier?”

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv fanfic #fnv headcanon #fallout fanfic #NCR

1 note · View note

cromulentbookreview · 6 years

Text

Menstruation!

Yes, that’s right, menstruation! Something half the world’s population experiences on a monthly basis - the regular discharge of blood and mucosal tissue from inner uterine lining through the vagina and...are all the dudes gone?

Sweet.

Let’s talk about Mackenzi Lee’s fiercely feminist follow-up to The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue: The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy!

“You’re trying to play a game designed by men. You’ll never win, because the deck is stacked and marked, and also you’ve been blindfolded and set on fire. You can work hard and believe in yourself and be the smartest person in the room and you’ll still get beat by the boys who haven’t two cents to rub together.” - From the ARC of The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy

For some reason, I have a terrible time writing about things I really, really like. I can go on and on about that one thing that I hate (and I do, often), but when I like something, I say “hey, I like that” and then not much else. My eloquence deserts me when I have to articulate why it is I love something beyond “aw man it’s the best” and then nothing else. Not sure why that is. What I do know is that I finished reading The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy on August 28th, actually, it was August 1. I know how dates work. I started writing a review as soon as I finished it, then just...didn’t. Perhaps it’s pure laziness. Perhaps its writer’s block. Perhaps it’s because I’m in the middle of another epic book binge (five books in, four to go, plus a novella and possibly an ARC of book 10!).

Whatever the reason, I’ve come back to this review over and over, determined to be clever and such, but...man it’s just harder to write about things you love versus the things you hate. It’s very easy to criticize (fun, too), but writing endless praise gets boring fast.

So how am I supposed to describe how much I love Mackenzi Lee’s books?

Mackenzi Lee’s works are the book equivalent of a warm, comforting hug. A hug delivered directly to your brain, with words. The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue was one of the best books I read last year, and its sequel does not disappoint in the slightest. Lady’s Guide is 100% pure feminist awesomeness. If you’ve ever been angered by the patriarchy, then this book is definitely for you.

Since praise is hard and complaining is fun, let me take a moment to complain.

All girls, all women, really, know how it is to feel “less-than” for simply being female. That shit starts the minute we’re born and it’s pervasive as fuck. It never stops. Even in a world where a family cannot survive on just one income, women are expected to work two jobs: one for pay, and one for free. Women are described not as people, but as extensions of others: “Wife”, “Mother”, “Girlfriend”, “Daughter” - as if that is all we are, and all we’re expected to be. (On a related note, I am so tired of books with titles that end with “wife”, “daughter”, “sister,” etc. Also, describing women as “girls.” Fuck that shit, I’m an adult, don’t you call me “girl.”). All the bad things that happen to women are our own fault somehow. Rather than teaching men not to attack women, women are expected to take every single precaution in the universe to protect themselves from men. A single “lapse”? Well, then, anything that a man does to you is your fault. Ladies, have you ever had to fake a hypothetical male partner in order to avoid being harassed? Because men would automatically respect a non-existent male before a real human female?

I am so fucking tired of all of that shit. I am so tired of women being blamed for every single bad thing that happens to them. I am so tired of men getting away with harassing, demeaning and belittling women. I am so tired of male authors saying shit like “Mary Shelley didn’t really write Frankenstein!” I am so tired of women’s accomplishments being treated as “less-than.” I am so tired of a woman’s value being equated with whether or not she has a husband or children. I am so tired of a woman’s worth being equated with her appearance. I am tired of being paid less for the same work my male coworkers do. I am so tired of job interviews with loaded questions meant to suss out whether or not you’re planning on taking maternity leave (because it’s illegal to ask if someone is planning on having kids, but perfectly OK to ask “what are your future plans?” wink wink). I am so tired of all of it. It’s bullshit. All of it is bullshit, and the fact that being a woman means fighting an uphill battle every goddamn day just makes me tired.

And all I’ve described above is just a fraction of the bullshit women of color experience. It’s the fucking worst.

This is why we need books like Lady’s Guide. The patriarchy might not be as visible or obviously terrible as it was in the 18th century, but it’s still here, and still as toxic as ever.

Ahem. Anyway. Ladies Guide! See, I can complain forever. When it comes to things I love I’m like “uh, I love it, you should read it” and that’s it.

Lady’s Guide takes place roughly a year after the end of Gentleman’s Guide - Felicity is living and working in a bakery in Edinburgh. She’s been trying, and mostly failing, to get accepted into medical school. But, this being the 18th century, and Felicity being a woman, she doesn’t get very far. After her coworker at the bakery proposes to her, dismissing Felicity’s desires for an education as nothing more than a phase, Felicity decides to take off and try again in London. She sets up shop with her brother and Percy, living happily ever after (because Monty/Percy forever, goddamn it!) and attempts to get into one of the London medical schools via subterfuge. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work out. Felicity is on the verge of giving up when one of the hospital’s more enlightened board members gives her the contact info for Alexander Platt - a trailblazer in the medical field and Felicity’s idol. Dr. Platt might just take a woman on as a student, but he’s all the way in Stuttgart...

...about to get married to Felicity’s childhood best friend, Johanna Hoffmann. Sounds like a perfect way for Felicity to ingratiate herself with Dr. Platt, right?

Except Johanna and Felicity had a falling out years ago. As kids, Felicity and Johanna loved exploring and science and getting dirty, but, as they got older, Johanna started showing more interest in “girly” things while Felicity’s interests never strayed. Nothing like that painful phase of adolescence where you look around and see that all your friends have changed, gotten into boys and makeup and all that shit, while all you want to do is read Tolkien and watch Sailor Moon...

Such a classic episode.

Anyway, Felicity decides to say “fuck it,” and head off to see Johanna in Stuttgart anyway, because this is her chance and she’s not going to throw away her shot.* So Felicity teams up with Sim, a friend of the pirates from Gentleman’s Guide, ditches Monty and Percy and heads off for the continent.

And if reuniting with an ex-best friend who you haven’t spoken to or seen in years isn’t awkward enough, meeting your hero, who is about to get married to said ex-best friend, is even worse. Like all heroes, Dr. Platt isn’t exactly everything Felicity thought he would be. And his upcoming marriage to Johanna isn’t exactly a love match on either side...

Lady’s Guide is not only a massive brain-hug, it’s existence-affirming. Felicity writes herself a message, one she returns to time and time again throughout the book, and something all women and girls should hear: You Deserve To Be Here. Yes. Yes you fucking do. Felicity deserves to attend medical school - but men block her path. She deserves to be her own woman, an intellectual, a scientist - all of that, without being scoffed at.

Lee also makes the point, throughout the book, that the patriarchy is not just men. Women perpetuate patriarchy as well by bullying and policing the behavior of other women. We’re kept down by our own infighting. We see this in the relationship between Felicity and Johanna, whose friendship fell apart because of their differing views on femininity. Felicity was keen to reject feminine trappings, like clothes, makeup, boys, etc., focusing instead on her books. Johanna wanted to embrace her femininity and be a scientist. Felicity looked down her nose at Johanna’s embrace of the traditionally feminine, and Johanna resented Felicity’s high-and-mighty-better-than-you attitude, and thus their childhood friendship fell apart.

The relationship between Johanna and Felicity and their views on femininity is very much like Sansa and Arya Stark. On the Sansa-Arya spectrum, Arya is all about rejecting traditional femininity - no frilly dresses or talk of marriage for Arya. No, she’s all about sword-fighting and vengeance and wearing other people’s faces as masks. Sansa, on the other end of the spectrum, embraces traditional Westerosi femininity, at first suffering it’s trappings, but then she learns to embrace it in another way. Sansa learns to wear her femininity like armor, and use it to her advantage. First, she uses it to survive in King’s Landing, where one wrong move would have gotten her killed, then she uses it to get the same thing Arya hopes to get with her assassin skills: vengeance. Independently, Sansa and Arya are both powerful women. Together? Aw, man. Shit’s going to go down.

I do have one nitpicky complaint, re: Lady’s Guide.

At one point, Johanna tells Sim: “I will drag you back to Bavaria by the ear and take you to court there if I must.”

OK, so in the novel, Johanna lives in Stuttgart. Stuttgart is in Baden-Württemberg, though so...why is Johanna threatening to drag Sim to Bavaria? In the early 1700s, Stuttgart was part of the Duchy of Württemberg which was definitely not in Bavaria. I’m not sure how the Swabians would take it if they were mistaken for Bavarians. Or vice-versa. And heaven forbid you mix up Bavaria and Franconia, even though Franconia is technically now a part of Bavaria…

Ok. Here’s the thing, though. Germany, as it is today didn’t exist until the 90s. The 1990s. Until then the 99.999999% of German history is trying to figure out the goddamned map. There was no unified “Germany” until 1871, and even then the borders didn’t mesh with what they are today. The area that we refer to as “Germany” historically was about 100,000,000 little Kingdoms/Grand Duchies/Duchies/Electorates/Principalities/city-states/what-have-yous tangled together by the Holy Roman Empire, until Napoleon kicked the Holy Roman Empire’s ass in 1805, leading to Francis II to dissolve the Empire in 1806 then it was the German Confederation with the same amount of Kingdoms/Grand Duchies/Duchies/Electorates/Principalities/city-states/what-have-yous … Jesus, just look at the maps. I mean, look at Baden-Württemberg in the 18th century alone!

I honestly don’t know how actual Germans sort this out. It’s easier to just be like “OK, we’re just going to start at 1871 and go forward, OK? Let’s just call everything that came before Germany and move on.”

Still, if you’re from Stuttgart and you show up in Bavaria to file a complaint, you’d probably get laughed at by a bunch of mustachioed dudes who’ve been drinking since 9 AM.

But really, that is my only complaint. Read The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy. If you pre-order it, you can get a bonus ebook epilogue to Gentleman’s Guide! So...go do that.

RECOMMENDED FOR: Everyone, women especially.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Assholes, men’s right’s activists.

RATING: 5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED FANGIRL RATING: 5,000,000,000,000,000/5

RELEASE DATE: October 2, 2018

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL/CONTINUATIONS: Olympus Mons

AMOUNT OF TIME IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS RIDICULOUS REVIEW: 21 days. Hahaha, no it took me 48 days. Because...fuck...I don’t know.

* (curse you, Lin-Manuel Miranda!)

#the lady's guide to petticoats and piracy #mackenzi lee #montague siblings #monty/percy #felicity montague #historical fiction #ya historical #ya feminist fiction #we need diverse books #YA LGBT #lgbtq literature #the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue

8 notes · View notes

k-p-p-d · 6 years

Text

Stay: Think About You (A)

Pairing: Jisoo x Male OC (feat. Bobby)

Summary: Jamal knew breaking up would be difficult, but he knew she would be better off for it. What he didn’t know was how he’d ever be able to keep himself from ever regretting letting her go...

Length: 2k

A/N: Listen to this while you read! @blackinkfics This has been a year in the making and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to a point where I felt comfortable enough to post it. I’m also sorry that this is how far I’ve gotten in all this time, but I hope it lives up to your expectations. Ily~ #LongLiveJJ

Jisoo POV

Jamal stared blankly at his phone. The screen was still aglow with the notification of a received message, allowing his eyes to fixate on the name he tried so desperately to keep out of his heart and off his tongue. God, he knew he shouldn't have thought of her. He knew it. But he had and in a cruel twist of fate she had made her unwelcomed but desperately craved grand entrance into his isolated world with a text.

His conscience was torn straight down the middle. He didn't want to open it because he didn't know if he was ready to have a conversation with her just yet; if he was being honest with himself, he really didn't want to try to talk to her. But what if he didn't open it? Would she realize he was purposefully ignoring her? Would she be further hurt by him? Would she never try to speak to him again, and would spurn all his future attempts to strike up a conversation when he was ready? But what if he did open it? Would he be hurt by what she said? Would he be forced to defend himself against her well-deserved but still painful attack? Would he have to break her heart again by cutting short her attempts of reconciliation, give her some bullshit and noncommittal answer to make it seem as if he was significantly more unaffected than he was? What if he was the one who tried to reconcile but she shunned him? What if, what if, what if?

Those two words and the countless possible outcomes they preceded echoed loudly through his head, only drowned out by the pounding of his aching heart. He snatched off his hoodie and threw on his headphones. Tapping the side of the ear cuff, he silently thanked the Lord for wireless technology as the song began to play without him ever sliding open his phone. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, surrendering himself to gently crescendoing song. He couldn't help but wonder if she still used this trick like he had taught her so long ago. The bright image of her smiling appreciatively at him as she thanked him, her beautiful voice ringing through his ears and making his heart soar. Jamal grunted as his eyes flew open, "Channel it!" With the first drop of the hard beat, he flung soul first into the music and he let himself be consumed by the banging deep bass. With every powerful move, he roughly shoved aside his haunted thoughts. With every sharp hit, he sliced through his pervasive regrets. With every precise step, he chased away his conscience until he was blissfully numb, only sensitive to the familiar ache surging through his exhausted muscles.

It wasn't until he was stooped over and dripping with sweat that he felt the presence of someone else in the room with him. A pang of bitter disappointment pierced his heart as his eyes met familiar grinning slants sparked with amusement. But they weren't those of his dazzling starlight. "You gonna keep staring or come up here, big boy?" Jiwon teased, waggling his eyebrows and poking out his tongue.

Jamal groaned loudly, unceremoniously dropping onto the edge of the oversized bed. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing," came the response with its shoddy veil of feigned innocence sliding off each word.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"So you're saying I shouldn't send you this dope ass beat for you to dance your girl problems away--"

The elder snappily interjected, "I don't have girl problems."

Jiwon shook his head, "No, you don't have a girl. But you got 99 problems and a--"

"Watch it," Jamal growled fiercely.

"--chick is the source of all of them. Jeez, lemme finish talking at least once, will you?"

"You're a lot more respectful when we're in Korea," the exhausted dancer griped, allowing himself to slip from Korean to English as his brain was too worn to properly translate.

"That's because we're usually surrounded by 50 million other people and a shit ton of cameras," Jiwon pointed out in English before tacking on a quick, "hyung."

"True," the dancer conceded as he lay back onto the uncomfortably soft bed. His eyelids drooped to a close and he lay there for a few moments just listening to his breath while Jiwon tapped away on his phone. "So," he flipped over onto his stomach, "are you going to play this beat for me or just hog my bed instead?"

The rapper lightly flicked his shoulder with his foot and stuck out his tongue, cheekily quipping, "You should be happy to have a body in your bed!" Jamal snorted derisively, a habit he hadn't realized he'd picked up from Jis--

Her.

He shook his head as if to erase the name he almost thought. If he said the name, the pain he had been trying so desperately hard to beat back and ignore would rear its ugly head and rip the sloppy stitches of time and distance from his still-bleeding heart. So it would always have to be simply "her" until he could no longer recall the sensations of her silken raven hair twisted around his fingertips. Or until the sounds of her voice stumbling over his name no longer made his breath hitch and eyes prick hotly with tears. Or until he could look at himself in the mirror without seeing the pain and confusion and loss in her eyes glaring back at him. "Ass," he mumbled bitterly to himself as he pushed himself off the bed to retrieve his phone, the closest thing he could hold that directly linked him to her.

Luckily, Jiwon mistook who the comment was directed towards and defensively shouted, "Hey! Just because I have a great ass doesn't mean you get to call me one!"

With a roll of his eyes, the elder dismissively retorted, "Your ass is flatter than your chest so chill out."

"That's not what my fans say..."

"The ceiling fan doesn't count."

"Asshole."

"Dickhead."

"Shitface."

"Ugly bunny ass, gapped tooth ass, head ass, fake punk ass, weak ass, lame ass--"

Jiwon clutched his chest and whined, "Shit, man! That was below the belt. Why you gotta roast me that hard? What did I ever do to you to deserve such hate?" Jamal's eyes scrunched shut and his cheeks bunched upwards as his mouth fell open in laughter, head tilting back involuntarily as howls of laughter ripped through him. Jiwon beamed brightly as he watched his friend finally laugh so fully for the first time in what felt like eons. He'd really missed this sound. He knew it was already hard enough on Jisoo to go through this split, so he could only imagine how rough it was for the man before him to pretend he was alright despite so clearly still being completely in love with the woman whose heart he willingly broke to save.

Jiwon cupped his hand on Jamal's shoulder, making the elder look at him with misty eyes from laughing so hard, before he brought him into a tight bear hug. The aftershocks of laughter causing the dancer's strong shoulders to tremble faded into quiet sobs of loneliness. The younger man held him much tighter than before and began gently rocking him hack and forth. "Let it out, hyung," He mumbled softly. "Let it all out."

Amidst his tears, Jamal hiccuped, "Y-y-you're supposed to tell me not to cry."

Jiwon shrugged, the movement causing Jamal's head to rise and fall, "Nah. That's some macho bullshit old, wrinkly ass men like to spout because some even older, more wrinkly assed men used to repress them by telling them that."

"Smart ass," came the harmless quip in response. Jiwon only chuckled, loosening his grip on the older so he could step back and look at him. Jamal wiped away the sniffled, "Thank you, Bobby."

"Any time, bro." The two men sprawled across the bed once more, but something caught the younger's eyes. "Hey, hyung?"

"Yeah?"

"You've been clutching your phone hella hard. Did you get some nudes or something?" Despite his attempt to make his friend smile again, Jiwon watched a crestfallen grimace pull across his lips. "Oh."

"She texted me, but I can't open it. I just...it's too hard and there's too many what-if's and I've already hurt so much and I don't wanna be hurt and I'm scared I'll make things worse but I'm damned if i do and damned if I don't and I'm just--"

Jiwon interrupted, "Then don't open it."

"What?"

The younger shifted so he was eye-level with his friend. "Don't open it. Knowing Jisoo," Jamal flenched at the mention of her name, "she isn't expecting an immediate reply. She probably isn't expecting anything for a couple of days or so. She likely had something on her mind that she needed to voice right then and there or else it would've eaten her alive. You know I'm right so don't stress about it. Open it when you're ready." With that, he eased the phone out of the other's tight grip and tossed it to the other side of the room as he stood up. "Now, you need to get some sleep. We've got a concert tomorrow and I'll be damned if your old ass makes me look bad."

Jamal snorted, "Those shitty ass, fake ass dreads you got do that enough as is. I'm only 25."

"First of all, that's old as shit. Second of all, Taeyang-hyung said they looked cool-"

Jamal tossed back, "You really gonna trust him considering those tattered yarn strands he called dreads were blocking his eyes half the time? I know yaki hair works best for fake locs; but damn, homie really looked like a whole yak."

Jiwon self-consciously reached up to pat his hair, which luckily was no longer twisted together in fake locs; though the sting of the verbal dragging he just endured still hurt. "Well, shit, Jamal. Tell us how you really feel next time."

Smirking, Jamal held open the door, "Gladly. Now get outta my room, dumb ass."

"Last time I ever cuddle you," Jiwon mumbled bitterly under his breath as he left.

Jamal rolled his eyes and retrieved his phone; he stared at the screen for a couple moments then brazenly unlocked it before his mind could further rationalize the decision.

“Are you home?”

Jamal deflated, releasing the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. She had forgotten he was on tour now. He didn't know what hurt more: The fact she had forgotten about him or that he couldn't be there with her now. He read the message again, trying to come up with a perfect response that would neither hurt her nor reveal how lonely he also was. But maybe... Maybe he was missing some deeper meaning she had meant for him to glean from it. That had to be it, otherwise this gaping chasm in his soul would only grow wider and wider until it consumed him wholly and drowned out any chances of happiness he might have someday.

“Are you home?” could easily mean, "When can I see you again?" Or perhaps, “Do you still think of me?" Or maybe even, "Do you miss me as much as I miss you?" Or, if he squinted just right, "You're always on my mind, day and night, hour after hour, minute after minute."

But there was nothing else to it. It was just a straight forward question: "Are you home?"

That was it. That was the message. That was all that was said. No "hi," no "how are you," no "I miss you," no "I hate you," no "why did you do this to me," no "I forgive you," no "I'll never forgive you," no "I'll never give up on you," no "I love you," no "do you still love me because I love you."

It was all too much to bear so he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, drowning out the cracking of his heart to the sharp synths and crisps beats of the track Jiwon had crafted for him. Slowly, he left himself slip away into a restless sleep. Maybe one day, he’d wake up and his heart would heart less...

—Admin Lily

#blackpink #blackpink kim jisoo #blackpink jisoo #blackpink scenario #blackpink fic #blackpink jisoo scenario #blackpink angst #blackpink scenarios #admin lily

11 notes · View notes