#what an absolute wealth of life experience that woman must have...

[80s4life]

The Things I've Never Done Pt.2

Word Count: 1,968

Status: Not requested!

Fandom: Titanic 1997

A/N: I went to the actual Titanic museum in Tennessee last weekend! It was very sad, I'm not gonna lie, and I may have shed a few tears along the way. Besides that, it was an amazing experience and I absolutely love the movie even more now! I am also thinking of making this into a short story of sorts, but let me know in the comments or something?

Relationship: Caledon "Cal" Hockley x Brown!Female!Reader

Summary: Now that the offer is on the table, it is a matter of if Cal will take it or not. And if he will, what could possibly so worth-while and so fulfilling compared to what he has already done?

Warnings: language, fluff OVERLOAD!

Masterlist Titanic Masterlist Part One Pt.3 Pt.4* Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 [epilogue]

{Not my gif and and additional information was given through extensive research of the actual Molly Brown and Titanic}

Y/C/C= Your Choice of Color {for the dress}

"Jack is a drawer. An artist even. He sees the beauty in things that go underestimated, underrated, and overlooked. He's a dreamer. I'm a dreamer. You, you are a man blinded by his own wealth and fortune. You're materialistic without even realizing it! You do know that not everything needs to be bought right? And love, love is another story. You can't stop love even if you tried, arranged or not, it's love. Have you ever even tried to live life outside of luxury? Taken risks?"

He takes in this new information surprisingly, actually considering the words that had spewed so naturally and from the heart. After a moment of silence, he finally answers, whispering, "No, no I haven't." He finishes his sentence, now looking at me, staring into my eyes, the loneliness and uncertainty evident.

I almost feel bad for him, considering the fact that I don't know him either. He probably never had the chance to be a kid, reckless and free, dumb and crazy. With that thought, I quickly ask him, "Want me to show you?"

Now we continue...

Chapter 2: The Beginning of Something Beautiful

<3rd Person Perspective>

The pair sit in silence. It was almost suffocating with how quiet and embarrassing the situation had seemed. Y/N had asked the question in the heat of the moment, a quick question that never quite registered in her mind before she spewed it. Now she sits quietly, a tint to her cheeks, with everything around her now evidently more interesting than the man beside her. For Cal, the question was quite offending to say the least. The way the woman had described a thrill seemed amazing, like it was something he never experienced. He didn't understand what could possibly be better than money, no matter what anyone says is better being free. Maybe he was materialistic. But he was happy?

"What could possibly be so thrilling if it isn't bought? To me, it is the most absurd thing I've ever heard," he finally speaks, followed by a dry laugh, catching Y/N's attention quietly.

"We if I must say, not to overstep our boundaries sir, but your an ass to judge things you have never done personally. It is neither the same in perspective nor is it anymore correct than if it were another person with the same mindset disagreeing with you. You don't have the facts nor the personal experience to deny or support your claim. It's simply untrue."

The space between the pair quickly grow quiet again, this time not so much an embarrassing silence, but more a tense silence full of questions and strong beliefs on both ends of argument. If Cal was to be honest with himself, she holds her own quite well, not letting him belittle her in the way he had intended. This makes him think that what she may be saying may possibly be true, may be something one of a kind, and that's what finally led him to his decision. "If what your babbling about is what you claim it is, then I would like to take you up on your offer."

Y/N's face instantly lights up, emitting such a broad smile, brightening up her face underneath the pale moonlight. It was a striking sight, someone so utterly excited, like a kid in a candy store. Y/N was about to jump up and down with his acceptance, but instead, settled for a firm handshake of promise. Cal smiles and returns the handshake, quickly being lifted off his seat on the bench immediately after, with not a second to waste. Cal could see Y/N's happiness, making him snicker at such a mindless behavior.

To him, this was just something that was going to waste his time, but to Y/N, it was something extravagant. It's not everyday that you get to let loose and show someone something they've never seen. Y/N always enjoyed the look of disbelief and sheer excitement when opening them up to something new. It was like giving someone a gift for their birthday, or a present on a day not important at all. Either way, she couldn't wait, knowing exactly where to start.

///

Y/N awaits Cal by the grand staircase, informing him to where something less stuffy and stiff, wanting him to let loose. But alas, as he makes his way to her swiftly, he wears yet another suit, gorgeous, but less intricate in his opinion, making him feel that his status could be at risk. He clears his throat sharply as he looks at her from the last group of stairs beside her, hands in his pockets and bored expression as evident as ever. Y/N couldn't help herself, and laughs at his stature.

For her, she had settled for a light Y/C/C, long and free-flowing dress, illuminating her features. It was high-class, yet calm and comfortable compared to the stiff dresses she would usually wear, settling with no corset or bra of any type, being comfortable in her natural beauty and prime. Even as they had tried to be more relaxed, they still managed to look like porcelain dolls.

{The dress}

Leading Cal down the staircase, she takes him toward the staircase of the lower deck as quickly as she could manage. She knew the closer she got, the awaiting cries of disagreement would sound. And as if he had read her mind, he quickly stands his ground where he is, stubbornly not making any attempt to move and crossing his arms. With this, Y/N imagines a toddler, except this toddler was 6' 1/2" and very high in status. All she does is sigh and give him a pointed look, if he wants to act as a child, she would simply give him a taste of his own medicine.

"You shook on it!" she says, cursing herself for actually being as childish as he is, mimicking his stance. He raises his brow, obviously amused, smirking in response. "Fine!" without a second to spare, she takes hold of his hand firmly, yanking him down the stairs with her. Surprised, he trips down the lot of them, now following blindly behind her with his arm held hostage.

If his eyebrows weren't as high as they were when he was still above deck, they were now, as he is met with the smell of booze, smoke, sweat, and the sounds of blasting music, laughter, and an overall happiness that overcomes the room, or floor, as he could say.

Cal takes it in silently, watching the people from the entrance of the lower deck, as Y/N silently observes him. She watches as he drinks everything in; the card games, the drinking games, the dancing, the band, the groups of people enjoying each others company. Y/N giggles as she notices a little girl coming Cal's way, in a determined state-of-mind.

Stopping just before his legs, she tugs on his arm lightly, looking up at his tall frame. He lowers his gaze surprised, given as he was a scary individual, even to the adults. Y/N giggles lightheartedly at the kids guts, surely she has never seen so much audacity on such a small being.

"Hi mister, I was wondering if you would like to dance? My friend William had went off to dance with my older sister, Mary, and left me alone even though we were dancing first!" the little girl asks with a glint in her eyes.

Cal looks at Y/N for help, almost as if he were panicking. She simply gives him a small smile and nudge on the shoulder, motioning to the girl before him. She was roughly 5 years of age, with the bluest eyes and prettiest curly black hair, a perfect contrast in Y/N's opinion. She might draw the girl later.

When she motions to her sister again, it is easy to see the reason why her sister, Mary, had ditched her. She had the same features of the little girl, but clearly a bit older than her, being maybe 13? 14? And the boy, William, about the same age as Mary. A childhood crush maybe, or the first steps into young adulthood when boys become more important.

Giving Y/N a look, it came as a shock as he knelt before the girl, silently asking for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a polite kiss, treating her as a princess in the books you read as a child. "Why, I would be honored to have this dance with you," Cal says sweetly, in a voice Y/N is sure no one's ever heard before. "But first, milady, I must ask, what is your name?"

The little girl giggles at the funny voice he had used, responding with, "Dorothy. Dorothy Richmond."

Watching silently as the pair walking hand in hand towards the deck used as a dance floor, Y/N smiles warmly, never seeing this side to Cal before. He's not so much an ass once you see him in a different light I guess, she thinks.

Y/N makes her way away from the dance floor, towards the sidelines, this type of dancing not done when sober fro her. Instead, she finds a table with two ladies her age, warmly welcoming her to sit and talk, or watch if she preferred. The table was neatly hidden from Cal, as Y/N wanted to experience this new sensation on his own, even if it was with a child or a group of people.

The pair dance to a slow song, the girl clumsily tripping on her feet before Cal lightly lifts her to stand on his shoes, as he leads them in a more articulated two-step. The girl can be seen in a fit of giggles as Cal says something incoherent and too far away from Y/N for her to understand. She can only assume it might've been a joke of sorts.

As the song ends and a new, faster song starts to play, the pair is jostled about as the dancing becomes more intense. With this, Cal settles with placing Dorothy in his arms instead. One arm under her bum for support and the other outstretched in a mock-dance. Dorothy's once unease quickly settles with the new position and instead, leans in, and wraps her arms around Cal's neck.

Y/N takes a moment to look around once more, having her eyes glued to the pair for a while. She snickers lightly as she catches a glimpse of Mary, dancing with William, gazing at her younger sister in slight jealousy. Y/N couldn't blame her though, Cal was a sight for sore eyes. He looked so into his element, so free and beautiful.

Looking to the women beside her at the table, she catches knowing looks, as if they could see something Y/N didn't. Giving them a questionable look in return, they giggle like little schoolgirls before the teasing and prodding about the two being together starts. Y/N denies the pairing questions, but can't help but realize that she might like him, Caledon Hockley, the asshole. Maybe just a little bit...

After a few more songs, Dorothy's mother comes to collect her, taking her and Mary back to their room somewhere on the 3rd class floor. Cal smiles and waves as Dorothy leaves, and her mother gives him a silent thank you in response, leading her happy little ones away.

Cal, now exhausted, looks around the room, searching for Y/N until their eyes meet with matching grins. The ladies, who Y/N had come to learn were Frances Gates and Lillian Butterfield, giggled once more before they each squeezed Y/N's shoulder, and left, leaving the table open for Cal to sit beside her.

Cal makes his way to the table, smiling with his hair in a untamed, sweaty mess and a light red tint to his cheeks. "Hi," is all he manages as he sits down beside Y/N, pulling his chair closer to hers and snagging a beer left untouched.

"Hi," she responds sweetly, looking at his relaxed figure. The pair just stare at each other for a while, before they get into a comfortable conversation.

It started with Y/N asking where he learned to dance, leading to them telling each other their lives before they boarded the Titanic, leading to funny childhood stories, and finally lighthearted teasing and jokes that only they understood. They had learned more about each other in the hours spent at that table than anyone had liked to know about them before; not Rose, Cal's arranged fiance, and not even Molly, Y/N's mother, who although loved her, does not know the trouble she has gotten into throughout her youth.

The pair, now in fits of laughter at one of Y/N's childhood stories, involving a pig, rope, and mud, had slowly faded, leaving them staring into each other's eyes fondly had soon ended with Cal's simple question, "What's next?"

To be continued...

[trashroyalty99]

Just some domestic life headcanons for Aurelia. (Yes, I like her. Stop judging me.)

-You two got together in one of the parties she attended, which was dreadfully boring to her.

-That was until you bursted in with a flamethrower in your hand. You fired it in the air, releasing the heat and making the guests search for cover.

-You cackled madly as you headed to the champagne bottles and opened one.

-Aurelia walked over to you with an smile on her face.

"Your entrance was one of kind, good sir/ma'am . And brought much needed entertainment to this event."

"Why thank you. You're one of the few to compliment my entrances Miss.."

"Hammerlock. Aurelia Hammerlock."

"My, my, one of the legendary vault hunters from Elpis. Pleasure to make your acquitance."You try to gently take her hand and kiss it but she pulled it away.

"Ah, ah. Not so fast my darling. That is an privilege one must earn."

-And that is how this romantic tale between you started. Well, as romantic as relationships with Aurelia can be.

-It started out as you starting trying to get her interested in you but she was already interested. She just wanted to see how far you were willing to go.

-After serenading to her, she knew you weren't going to back down. She decided to give you a chance.

"Entertain me for tonight and I'll decide, if you're worthy of my attention." You chuckled to this.

"I may not worthy of your time but you're worthy of mine."

-For your first date you took her to hunting exotic creatures on Eden-6.

-You having almost no experience in hunting let Aurelia lead the hunting trip, only for you to be mezmerised by her.

-You were impressed by her talent in tracking and shooting, only for you to be constantly to be complimenting her.

"Such raw talent. I've never seen a woman who possess this much both beauty and skill."

-She absolutely loves the way you compliment her. This is how she'll react tho.

-"I do know all this. But please do keep going. It's nice for someone to recognize my talent."

-After you've managed to kill the Saurian, you'll both fly back to her mansion. You awkwardly lean on the railing as she walks up on the stairs.

"Well, moment of truth. Am I worthy of your..mph!?" She suddenly grabbed you by your collar and pulled you into an kiss.

-After she stopped the kiss, she gazed into your eyes. "You've proven to be an enjoyable entertainment. Therefore, your mine for the time being."

-This lead you two buying an ginormous mansion, just for you two. (And some of the servants)

-Aurelia doesn't really treat her service people with respect, so it's upto you to remind her that they're human too.

-She'll be slightly annoyed by this but does say an thank you. Overtime she'll become less of an bitch, thanks to your influence.

-She's very busy with managing her wealth and hunting, so you'll become her assistant/all time available boyfriend/girlfriend.

-She will buy all the expensive stuff, for you even, if you were rich enough to buy them yourself. (You know what's better then Xbox? Better Xbox. That's pretty much how it'll go when she's buying you gifts.)

-She will buy both you a lot of outfits. And I mean a lot.

-Whenever you have to attend an event or an ball, Aurelia will make sure you two are the most expensive things in the room.

-This includes wearing the most expensive suit/dress, jewelries and fancy makeup if that's your thing.

-She doesn't say I love you often but when she does you know it means something.

-When she's drunk she'll shower you in compliments and kisses. Which is every other weekend, when she opens an new wine bottle.

-Mornings are the most together time you get. You two cuddle underneath the blanket sharing its heat, Aurelia clinging to you searching for warmth.

-She prefers to be the big spoon but doesn't mind being small spoon. (She's usually the big spoon.)

-Her hands are constantly cold, so this means you have to warm them up for her. She does usually wear gloves but she left them out of her wardrobe once, she realized you could warm them for her.

Once again relationships with fictional characters are fun to write.

[rhys-rambles]

FIGHT CLUB | 1999

I was introduced to the movie Fight Club around 3 years ago. It wasn’t until recently I’ve become interested in it. So here’s my Fight Club breakdown :) WARNING FOR SPOILERS!!

For those who don’t know, Fight Club is a cult favorite novel that was later adapted into a film released in 1999, directed by David Fincher. Starring Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, and Helena Bonham Carter.

The story of Fight Club revolves around three main characters. It’s told from a first-person perspective by a nameless character that’s commonly called ‘the narrator’, who has a dead-end white-collar job at a major car company and has fallen prey to what he calls the ‘Ikea-nesting instinct’. Dictated by social norms he walks perfectly in line like a docile sheep, which translates into an inauthentic, repetitive and empty life.

He suffers from a bad case of insomnia, which causes him to be neither fully awake, nor fully asleep. Sometimes, he entertains self-destructive thoughts: as he flies around from state to state for his job, he prays for a crash or mid-air collision every time the plane bankes too sharply on takeoff or landing.

During a flight, he meets an eccentric and hypermasculine character named Tyler Durden.

Tyler seems to be the direct opposite of the narrator. He’s a wolf rather than a sheep, disentangled from society, and impervious to social norms. He takes what he wants, without asking, and whenever he pleases. He’s self-sufficient, has no superiors, and doesn’t care about material possessions.

The movie later reveals that Tyler and the narrator are the same person, as Tyler is a product of the narrator’s imagination, that’s probably induced by severe insomnia combined with dissatisfaction with a dull, meaningless existence and a lifetime of repressed urges.

The narrator is addicted to going to support groups for specific illnesses because these give him the opportunity to cry, which seems to be a remedy for his insomnia. The downside of his behavior is that he isn’t genuine; he has no testicular cancer, or blood parasites, yet acts as if he does, so he can reap the benefits of these sessions.

But these benefits come to an end when another non-genuine visitor starts to join the sessions as well. This is a woman named Marla Singer, and her motive for joining these sessions is, and I quote: “It’s cheaper than a movie and there’s free coffee.”

Marla is a self-destructive, chain-smoking fatalist, who’s expecting to die at any moment, but finds it tragic that it never happens. She steals food and clothes for a living and attempts suicide by overdosing Xanax.

Even though the narrator, Tyler, and Marla are totally different personalities, they all live their lives accompanied by a nihilistic undercurrent.

Tyler seems to have figured out what causes this emptiness, and during the course of the story, his solution unfolds. Unfortunately, his character slides from a sage-like father figure to an anarchist terrorist, who’s out to destroy modern civilization. Nevertheless, he exposes a series of harsh realities about modern life that are worth contemplating.

Anti-consumerism

The anti-consumerist stance of Tyler Durden becomes obvious when he verbalizes his concern about the modern way of life. Shortly after the narrator meets Tyler, he discovers that his apartment went up in flames. After this unfortunate event, realizing that he has no friends to call, he calls Tyler. The two meet, and the narrator complains about losing his furniture, and his respectable and almost complete wardrobe. Tyler responds rather indifferently and slightly sarcastically before he begins to express his views on the matter. Quote:

“We’re consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don’t concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy’s name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra…”

It becomes clear that Tyler has quite an unconventional view of what’s good and bad. Murder, crime, and poverty are generally considered bad things, while consumer goods like televisions, clothing from a certain brand, products that help to hide aging, enhance bedroom performance, and help us with weight loss, are considered preferable.

Tyler has a contempt for the artificial, as opposed to elements that have been a natural part of the human condition, probably as long we exist. This way of thinking touches upon an ancient Cynic philosopher named Diogenes of Sinope, who believed that modern, civilized life hinders our natural state.

At the end of the movie, it appears that the narrator has destroyed his apartment himself when he was taken over by his alter ego, Tyler Durden. This deed was the first step onto the road of detachment from his property, into a more authentic way of life and to (how Tyler puts it): “reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.”

The narrator moves in with Tyler, who lives in a dilapidated house with ongoing leaks, power failures, and no Ikea furniture. Slowly but surely, the narrator indeed detaches from his previously destroyed property. “Things you own end up owning you,” Tyler tells him. And this simple piece of wisdom probably hits home, when the narrator realizes that he doesn’t need all these worldly goods, and is actually much happier without them.

Non-conformity

Tyler Durden is a non-conformist, and shows, again, similarities with Diogenes, who not only purposefully lived in poverty, but also rejected social norms. For him, social constructs are nothing more than a superficial layer of culture that represses our true nature.

Diogenes lived in a barrel, Tyler lives in an abandoned building. Diogenes urinated in public, Tyler urinates in the soup of a restaurant.

The narrator, on the other hand, seems to be the embodiment of conformity, as he adapts his lifestyle completely to societal expectations. The problem with this behavior is that we dedicate our existence walking the paths that people other than ourselves have laid out for us. This need to conform, the fear of falling by the wayside, this sickly preoccupation by what others think of us, this necessity to keep up with the Joneses: what an exhausting way of life, just to feel ‘accepted’.

So, what if we stop caring? What if we reject the generally accepted norms, and choose our own values, elect our own leaders, determine our own goals, regardless of the social expectations? This is a fundamental difference between the narrator and Tyler Durden, who puts it like this: “I am free in all the ways that you are not.”

Ironically, later on in the story, Project Mayhem, a terrorist organization led by Tyler that grows out of Fight Club, is a textbook example of conformity, as it’s members wear the same clothes, are absolutely equal, abolish their names, and are referred to as space monkeys that sacrifice their lives for a greater cause. We could say that by rejecting one doctrine in order to be ‘non-conformist’, we often imprison ourselves in another one.

Fighting and masculinity

Fighting and the experience of pain play a significant role in Fight Club. At the beginning of the story, Tyler asks the narrator to hit him as hard as he can. He explains his strange wish by saying: “How can you know yourself if you’ve never been in a fight? I don’t want to die without any scars.”

So, the narrator hits him. Tyler hits him back, and the two engage in a fistfight. Both seem to feel surprisingly pleasant afterward and decide to do it again. Their nightly activities on a parking lot attract the attention of other men, that are also interested in joining these non-hostile fistfights. And thus, Fight Club is born.

It’s widely known that voluntary exposure to certain forms of pain makes us stronger in the face of adversity, which could be a legit reason to partake in these fights. As the narrator states: “After fighting everything else in your life got the volume turned down.”

However, Fight Club is more than just a metaphor for dealing with hardship through exposure: a physical fight, and the violence and aggression that goes with it, resonates with the primal part of our being.

Not only the men in the story are attracted to the violence of fighting; Fight Club as a movie and novel was so impactful on its audience, that real-life Fight Clubs started to emerge.

The story shows an experiment in which the members of Fight Club pick fights with random strangers (and are supposed to lose), which isn’t as easy as it sounds; most people do everything to avoid physical conflict.

But Fight Club makes us wonder if it’s a good thing that we’ve lost touch with these primal tendencies. Should we repress this part of human nature? Or, perhaps, integrate it in healthy and constructive ways?

Self-destruction

When the story progresses, Tyler and the narrator begin to see the world through a different lens. Tyler criticizes the modern self-improvement hype by saying: “Self-improvement is masturbation. Now self-destruction… ”

This statement is slightly confusing, as the increasingly destructive nature of Fight Club, in which faces are permanently mutilated and teeth are knocked out of people’s heads, doesn’t seem to be a sustainable way to live.

But Tyler might be onto something when we look at self-destruction as the destruction of a false self.

‘Self-improvement’ often points to the accumulation of external goods: a better house, a better job, a better body, more money. But why should we endlessly want to improve ourselves? Why can’t we just be happy with how things are, and take life as it comes? Or as Tyler states:

“I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let’s evolve, let the chips fall where they may.”

We create an identity through material wealth, and social status. And as far as Tyler is concerned, this false sense of self must be destroyed, before we are free to do anything we want. Therefore, the ‘space monkeys’ of Project Mayhem live by a mantra which goes like this:

“You are not your job, you’re not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. You are all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.” - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Tyler makes a so-called human sacrifice, namely a man called Raymond who works a dead-end job in a convenience store. Raymond wanted to be a veterinarian, but didn’t make it because it was “too much studying.” Tyler threatens Raymond, saying that if he doesn’t start studying within six weeks, he’ll kill him.

In this scene, Tyler points to another aspect of self-destruction: the act of letting go of fears, negative self-talk, and all distractions, so we can fully focus on our purpose. It’s the destruction of everything within ourselves that holds us back from living life on our own terms.

A near-life experience

Many people go great lengths when it comes to pain avoidance. The problem is that running from pain means running from an inevitable part of life.

The prospect of incurring pain makes us anxious, and often leads to self-indulgent decisions. That is: choosing the less painful path, even if a more painful path guarantees more success and pleasure in the future.

Tyler Durden deals with this by inflicting a chemical wound on the narrator’s hand using lye.

As expected, the narrator does everything to escape the pain: he uses visualization techniques he learned at a seminar, and retreating in his cave to find his ‘power animal’. But Tyler slaps him in the face, forcing him to stay with the pain, saying: “This is the greatest moment of your life, man. And you’re off somewhere missing it.”

For the narrator, Tyler has one central goal: he must reach bottom. After putting him through suffering, and destroying his false identity, there’s yet another aspect that must be crushed: hope. Losing all hope is freedom. And, therefore, he must reject what has rejected him: his father, and God. I quote:

“Consider the possibility that God does not like you. In all probability, he hates you.” - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Tyler states that we don’t need God. That we shouldn’t care about redemption and damnation. And if we’re God’s unwanted children, so be it. Thereby, we lose all hope, but are also liberated from religious doctrine and fatherly authority.

Now we’re truly free. Now we can create our own meaning, and live how we want to live.

Tyler emphasizes the importance of knowing what we want in life. To achieve this, we must be willing to get out of our comfort zone and jump into the unknown without safety brackets.

The narrator, however, has difficulties letting go of security. He begs Tyler to not mess around when he lets go of the steering wheel in a driving car while hitting the gas. Tyler calls the narrator ‘pathetic’, and yells: “hitting bottom isn’t a weekend retreat. It’s not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go!”

After an inevitable car crash, Tyler states that they just had a ‘near-life experience’.

Wrap up

Fight Club is a story about rebellion against the status quo and a plea for the simple life. It criticizes the ways in which we are so hung up on security, and material possessions, and how people let social norms dictate their lives.

‘Stuff’ has become our religion. The idols we worship are Ikea and Starbucks. And the more we immerse ourselves in such an empty and unfulfilling existence, the more we start to resemble the things that we produce: manufactured products rather than authentic human beings.

Tyler shows us a way out. And even though his insights are profound, the execution is questionable. Fight Club, and its terrorist branch Project Mayhem, show us how easy it is to oppose one ideology, in order to fall into another, and how a cult-like echo chamber built on rigid beliefs could become very destructive.

Nevertheless, Tyler challenges us to be self-sufficient and disobedient to the authorities that let us down, to live authentically and in the moment, to confront our fears, to boldly step out of our comfort zones, and let the things that don’t matter truly slide.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Hell is just a beat away (2/9): Keen to show you the unhappy ones below you

Despite early promise, young Maul has turned out to be a disappointment, willfully delaying his training with secret attempts to make himself friends from scrap metal. He must be properly motivated, and so Darth Sidious sends him to a slave market on an impossible mission. It backfires. (A Star Wars: Darth Maul (2017) comic  AU)

Warnings: accidental underage alcohol consumption, body horror, mention of sex slavery, violence against children, minor character death.

The attendant bends gracefully, smiling as she refills fine translucent cups. The first one is in front of Master Zalandas Fyaar, so the standard diplomatic protocol of privileging the Jedi emissary and guest apparently holds true even on this tiny corrupt world, and then comes that of the twi’lek’s own employer. The man who is Zalandas and Eldra’s new charge. His name is Martrey Woobudg, a tall harried human just like Fyaar, and the upstart frontrunner candidate for mayor of the capital of the Outer Rim planet of Teth. A second passes—a wriggling suspicion in the back of her mind, and then Eldra smooths it over—and then the beautiful twi’lek looks at Master Zalandas and bows and tops up the cup in front of Eldra, too, even though that one has barely been touched.

Woobudg and Master Zalandas pick up their drinks immediately, taking a break from hurried planning to praise the olid tea within. Eldra nibbles at the porcelain edge of her cup. The twi’lek attendant does not drink. She doesn’t even have a cup. Or a biscotti. Or a seat, and when fine hot droplets of tea splatter Eldra’s padawan tunic, and she realizes she’s actually biting down hard now on her crockery.

It’s not the fear of getting poisoned that holds Eldra back from enjoying her tea, although, considering they were called here after the third assassination attempt on Woobudg… maybe a little caution should be in order. It’s a serviceable excuse should Master Zalandas ask, anyway, even if it’s not the true reason, and neither is what Eldra privately decides is the painfully obvious and pointless braggadocio inherent in Woobudg serving imported Chandrilan tea, despite the well-publicized price-hike after last year’s ruined harvest there, and the fact that it absolutely genuinely does taste like unfiltered bantha piss. He’s serving his pricey swill to a couple of Jedi, moreover: to his protectors bound by duty, who do not revel in wealth.

It’s not that, though.

It’s not even really because this is only Eldra’s second diplomatic mission, and she’s sworn she’s going to take her job more seriously this time around. She’s going to make sure no-one, not even once, peeks in unnoticed through the doors and windows. That isn’t it either, and truthfully she’s paying attention far less than she means to.

It’s something far more petty and profane: the subtle spiced fragrance of the attendant’s perfume as she bends over Eldra to reach the china. Her dress, as expensive as the tea, made from rippling opaque silk in a slightly lighter shade of blue than the woman’s skin. It’s a fairly modest cut. Barely any flash of cleavage, despite Eldra’s vantage point. Chosen expressly for this meeting, Eldra thinks sourly, and who do you think you’re fooling?

It’s the attendant’s bearing, calm and open and as serene as any Jedi Master.

It’s the fact that Eldra’s still thinking of her as ‘the attendant’ even though she’s been flitting around the room for two hours now at least. It’s that she wasn’t introduced. It’s that she doesn’t have a cup. A biscotti. A seat.

It’s her teeth.

What would happen, Eldra wonders, if I asked her to come sit and have a drink with us? Besides the obvious, of course: Master Zalandas’ abject disappointment at Eldra’s dearth of diplomatic skill. Would the attendant keep smiling? Displaying her teeth? Or would she flinch the moment the hot nasty leaf juice hits them?

Because her teeth are white-lacquered, dainty, tiny, horrifying stumps. Eldra can’t stop looking at them. They’re almost worn down to the gums. Twice-sanded at least, probably. Once, to sharpen the natural edges further—Eldra runs her tongue over the edges of her own canines, her pointy incisors, like she’s been doing ever since researching for a class project the customs of the peoples of the polar tip of the northernmost continent of Ryloth, the place where she was told she’d been born—teeth sanded once, sharpened, and then, they were ground down again mercilessly to make them blunt.

“Another biscotti, Padawan?”

Watch your feelings, Eldra. Remember that you are a Jedi. Remember your duty. That’s what Master Zalandas means, and Eldra startles, self-conscious and guilty. She must’ve lost her bearing, been grabbing attention even with the question bitten back behind her lips. She nods, a quiet thanks for the reminder. She studies the window again, on guard for any assassin. She tells herself: this meeting is important. Martrey Woobudg is a reformer, an anti-corruption juggernaut, and his rise a chance to wrest Teth from out the criminal syndicates’ control and, ultimately, bring it into the regulatory orbit of the Republic once more. If he keeps his promises after he wins, the election will spell a sea-change for the poor, who’ll finally be able to go about their lives without paying massive bribes to every single government official they have the misfortune of meeting, and it will aid the rise of a stable middle class. It’ll keep out the Hutts, too. It’ll be a triumphant sign of progress. Woobudg is important. His safety is paramount. His fate determines the future of so many people; it’s so much bigger than the life of this one attendant. Eldra knows the brief.

And still, her eyes are drawn back to his twi’lek servant.

To his slave.

That’s why you sand down someone’s teeth until there’s barely anything left. Why you keep at it long after it hurts. Why the sharpest teeth are so popular on Ryloth in the first place.

No-one wants a sex slave capable of biting their throat out.

Dutifully, she attempts to listen again, to keep watch, but looking at Woobudg’s face it’s still all she can think of. Slaver, slaver, slaver. He’s important, and Eldra must protect him, and he’s a slaver.

Looking back at the attendant, she’s met by the serene smile again, full of awful tiny teeth.

Looking at her Master, she feels her own inadequacy.

Looking down at her own hands is no escape. They’re darker than the attendant’s, callused and oil-stained and nails half-covered with flaking black nail polish. They’re the hands of someone far too slowly growing into the knowledge that her body is a shell, a vessel, that she is a luminous being of higher purpose. They’re a Jedi’s hands, or will be, and through them the force flows and shapes the galaxy. They are the hands of someone who will know no emotion, but peace. They are the hands of someone who neither covets nor disdains expensive Chandrilan tea. They are the hands of a faithful servant of the Republic. They are the hands that will protect Woobudg from his enemies and facilitate the rise of Teth, come what may, because she knows right, and she knows duty.

She forces herself to meet Woobudg’s eyes when he looks at her, feigning attention, and hopes he didn’t just ask a question.

She fidgets with her twi’lek girl fingers.

⁂

Hiding and curled and dirty under the stranger’s ship in the now-deserted hangar, two hours after he crawled down there, Maul finally realizes he’s been underestimating his Master. This mission on Nar Shaddaa is not just a chance for the apprentice to prove himself. No, Master is wise and efficient, and he wouldn’t have a single purpose for anything He does when He could, instead, have a myriad. It’s not just a test of Maul’s skill and loyalty.

It’s also a series of lessons.

Yesterday, Maul had been so sure he knew the meaning of cold.

He’d read about it, after all, memorized all the ice worlds in the galaxy and the medical texts on hypothermia and studied the schematics of atoms bouncing ever more slowly off each other. He’d looked at holos of skin blistered and sloughing off from unwise exposure, and he’d been impressed. A little scared, maybe, and very excited to progress in his studies so one day he’d have a chance to experience winter. But Maul’s been hiding under the stranger’s ship for hours now, and Nar Shaddaa is cold. It’s not flashy, the cold, like the holos of icebergs and boiling water thrown up and coming down powder implied. It’s not exciting at all. The cold of Nar Shaddaa is quiet. It’s the floor leeching into Maul’s back and legs, until he can’t tell anymore where wet dirt ends and he begins. It’s uncontrollable shivering. It’s his nose leaking, leaking, leaking. It’s making him tired.

Mustafar bubbled and smoked, and even inside the training complex with its sophisticated uncounted layers of insulation—Maul had dug into the wall once, tunneling almost a quarter-way through with a droid’s breastplate repurposed into a shovel—even inside, during some of the periods that Maul had taken to calling ‘seasons’ after researching the planet of Naboo, it was often so warm Maul wished he was allowed to tear off his tunics, and an additional layer or two of skin with it. Sweating, panting, he’d read the word cold, and he’d wanted it badly. He’d dreamt, open-eyed, for so many hours, of himself rolling around in the cold white snow and chasing ice-weasels. But back then, on Mustafar, it was hot. And Nar Shaddaa is real, and it’s now, and it’s so so cold.

Maul can’t stay down here forever, or even for another minute. He wants to sleep. He wants to run, at the same time, to fight the Jedi apprentice until he meets victory or glorious death. He wants to have completed this mission already. He wants a lightsaber of his own, so he can hold it and bask in its warmth. He wants to sleep. Force, he wants to be asleep. He wants to wake up in his small boiling cell and realize this has all been a dream.

(He wants someone to hold his hand and say, “I’ll help you,” but that’s the most impossible thought of all.)

There is no point in wishing for anything, though. There has never been. He must act. He must stop sneezing. The slave auction will be in four days now, a short strip of time he just needs to overwinter somewhere, Maul tells himself, and even if he doesn’t want to go anywhere near Master’s Star Courier now that it has killed the teenagers that could have been Maul’s friends and the mangy brachno-jag besides, there are many other options. Many other ships. He’s curled down here, in the cold, under just such a ship.

He knows how to pick locks.

It’s not hard at all to gain entry to the ship, now that he’s thought of it. He could have done it in less than thirty seconds, if his hands were shaking less and he had the proper tools, the ones he’s been meaning to build himself for years but in Master’s complex on Mustafar there was little point and then he had to construct stilts and the vocoder-mask for his mission and he forgot—Maul could have sliced the lock in under twenty-five point five seconds, he decides, with the tools, but the ten minutes he actually fiddled with it were acceptable too, because neither the training-droids nor Master himself were there to witness it, and besides, he doesn’t have much practice yet. (He should lock the door again and re-slice it, and over and over, until he’s quick enough. He should. But there’s no-one here to watch, and Nar Shaddaa is cold…)

This one looks almost exactly like Master’s ship, on the inside. Maybe all starships do: a few red-plush benches around a low table in the main travelers’ compartment, overlooked by a massive idling viewscreen, two small side rooms with pairs of sleeping berths, a refresher with a sonic shower and a kitchenette and, most interesting of all, an unlocked engine room and a cockpit with a slightly different layout than the Star Courier had. Maul shall explore them in detail, as soon as he’s warmed up and fed and made sure there are no hidden traps in here. He didn’t dare take apart his Master’s property, but this ship belongs to someone who won’t, can’t, defend his claim against Darth Maul, heir of the Sith—soon-to-be Darth Maul, he corrects quickly—and power is the only true right in the galaxy. Through power he will gain victory, and what is victory in this situation but access to a stranger’s ship’s mechanics? A fuel tank blinks enticingly, and soon Maul shall learn its secrets.

Food first, though.

He upends his satchel over the low table and picks through his haul from the ill-fated convenience store visit. Bottles, ordered by color, to the left—a toxic orange looking one the furthest away, then brown, then the two water bottles with their beautiful waxing gibbous shape when seen from the top and the yellow labels with red writing—and the crinkly chips packages to the right, joined by the sandwiches and the jaw-mask and two pairs of huge glasses with dark lenses and wide red-black frames.

The orange drink is bitter and sickly sweet and probably poisoned, and when he pushes it away it tips over and spills all over the carpet. It deserved that ending, though. It was vile. It didn’t have the right to be drunken by a Sith Lord.

Trying to rinse the taste off his tongue is unsuccessful: the fancy water is bitter, sharp, oily, and Maul shudders. At least the sandwiches smell bright and meaty through their flimsi wrapping. They’ll mask the awful water he’ll have to sip from to avoid dehydration, and so he picks one, to devour while he explores the sitting area.

Perched in an overhead nook is a flickering holo of a weequay male kissing the top of a young weequay’s head, and he turns it off as quickly as he can.

The two blankets and five little pillows are far more welcome spoils, and so is the datapad wedged underneath one of the benches. Someone’s taped a scrap of flimsi securely to the back, too, with two neat rows of handwriting. A name, and then a series of numbers.

Maul types them into the datapad, and it lights up.

“Good evening, Johen,” the pad greets him.

There are pages opened already on the datapad, a search for restaurants on Coruscant and a school’s newsletter and—two catalogues. One of them is Grakkus’ slave auction, and Johen is already logged in.

It’s… in three days?

There must be a mistake. Master said it was in eight days, four days ago, and Master is never wrong, but there’s no slave auction on that date no matter which button Maul presses and where he navigates on the catalogue, just the one in three days, and then five days after, and another five days, and another…

Master doesn’t make mistakes. He knows everything, studied the secrets of the galaxy that the Jedi would keep suppressed, and the hidden weaknesses of far-off planets’ politicians, and every single one of Maul’s minute failures except for the secret dreams, and He would know the true date of this slave auction. He would not err, not when this mission is so vital to the grand plans of the Sith that he sent his own apprentice to complete it. He would never…

He wouldn’t…

But what He would do is test Maul.

A true scion of the Sith does not trust blindly in dates and dossiers, and Master knows that. He must have told Maul the wrong date to pass on this wisdom. He must have, and He didn’t even fear the risk that this momentous mission might fail, because He trusted that Maul would understand.

And Maul did.

Master made the right choice. It’s as if someone had pumped Maul’s chest cavity full up with helium, pulling him off the upholstery and into the cool air: he found the correct date, with time to spare. He procured food and drink and shelter by himself, anticipated the need to hide his childish face under a mask. He built a vocoder. He is powerful and devilishly clever, and more prepared to serve the Sith than anyone has ever been, in all the history he knows, and Lord Sidious knew this when He sent Maul to Nar Shaddaa.

Master has never put His true pride into words; despite the considerable skill of His tongue He likely never will, but this mission is plain proof of the sort Maul never dared to yearn for.

His Master trusts Maul’s skill.

The emotion is overwhelming, and Maul wraps himself up in his blankets, to trap the acknowledgement for a while before it can dissipate.

He is victorious already. He is vengeance. He is Sith.

He’s won three days early.

After half an hour, though, basking in his glory gets boring. His face is growing warm. He’s eaten two sandwiches, too, and forced down seven gulps of awful water. He should sleep, but he isn’t tired yet.

Maul doesn’t exactly know what to do with downtime. Or: he does know. On Mustafar, he had long stretches with nothing to do. Apparently, it’s physically impossible to keep training all the time. SRT-X (or Strut, as Maul had called it in secret) once put itself in front of Maul and showed articles to Lord Sidious, about a vain bodybuilder on Corellia whose arm muscles had eventually started breaking down from overexertion, and he’d nearly poisoned himself with the waste of his own overbulged dead muscle tissue. Strut didn’t survive that confrontation, which in retrospect Maul admits was completely fair. (At the time, he’d cried his eyes out, no matter how much Master had tried to make him to stop, but that too had been a valuable lesson: the Master is always right, and contradiction suicide. Even if the frequency of lessons had tapered off somewhat after that. Lord Sidious had probably independently decided to make Maul train less. He was wise that way.)

He’s had long stretches where he didn’t even feel like tinkering with his droid projects, or meditating, because occasionally the hatred just wouldn’t come. That was before Lord Sidious showed Maul what the Jedi had done to the Sith: nowadays, it’s much easier to feel hatred. (Or what passes for hatred, anyway. Mostly it’s nothing but protective anger, but that is just another failure he cannot admit even to himself.)

During those times when there was nothing to do, Maul often researched people. Master is a politician in His spare time, of course, as Maul overheard some years ago, and He makes people dance and shiver and obey with a single word. It’s almost more impressive than being a Sith Lord. To manipulate people… to talk them into being your friends… Maul might need that skill, especially in the future when he will become the Sith Lord and teach his own apprentice—he would need the skill just to find an apprentice—and so he started his research project. Which admittedly consisted of looking at the hololessons that Master left for him. But that was the best way to observe natural behavior. Which was why Maul watched them. Over and over.

He’s not brought the hololessons with him now, but he is in someone’s ship. Johan had a picture up with his child. Maul already learnt so much today, about cold and efficiency and never trusting anybody and stealing from supermarkets, and maybe there is something additional to learn here, about people. He wobbles back over to the small holo and brings it down to his nest.

There’s nothing else on the datadrive, though, nothing but the toddler cradled in her father’s arms. No instructions. No meaning. Maul tries to imagine what it would feel like, to be that small or that big, but nothing wants to move in his head except for the water strangely threatening to blur his eyesight.

His chest hurts.

His chest hurts, and pain is a message.

Maul wishes he knew what he’s being told.

He moves closer and closer to the holodevice—there must be some power trapped in there, to make him react this way—and then his nose bumps against the plasteel.

It hits the off button, and Maul is alone again.

He tries to fall asleep.

He counts: he nearly finished his mission. He learnt about cold, and efficiency, and not trusting, and probably something about babies. He found food and water and shelter. He nearly made friends with hooded aliens and a brachno-jag. He—

Maul shoots upright and logs back in to the datapad.

He’s forgotten to search the database for the padawan.

⁂

There is one location on Teth even worse than the tea room: the stage out in the open air where Candidate Woobudg is stubbornly campaigning for freedom.

That’s what he keeps shouting.

Freedom, with the might of the Republic guarding his back and his twi’lek slave kneeling at his feet.

Freedom, the people rallying below mutter. Eldra is walking amongst them, looking for threats, while Master Fyaar is standing grimly behind Woobudge. “Optics,” Woobudg had explained and Master Fyaar had acquiesced, and Eldra didn’t understand and did: the twi’lek attendant would look too much like a person, she thinks, if she was next to a Jedi who could have been her daughter.

Freedom! Freedom! All around her, and something pulls on Eldra’s sleeve. It’s the hand of a young red twi’lek man. He’s collared and his left breast is exposed, suckling a sullustan baby. The child’s family—slavers—are a few meters ahead, and that’s what must have given him the courage to beg, wild-eyed and hoarse, “Take me with you, please!”

Freedom!

“We didn’t…” Eldra looks away. “We did not come here to free the slaves.”

⁂

No padawan is listed anywhere in the catalogue for Grakkus’ slave auction. There’s no Jedi, no witch, no force-sensitive or force-null or Sith or any thing or any being in any way remarkable. Nothing, neither in any listing for any future auction nor in the archives of successful deals stretching six decades into the past. No padawan who is not for sale but just a member of Grakkus’ personal collection except a boy who died ten years ago. No references to a Jedi sold by a third party, or even any guest who might be a Jedi when Maul cross-referenced the user lists with holonet articles about his ancestral foes. Two Jedi artifacts, but it’s not like those count.

No person that could in any way be interpreted as the mission target that Master talked about, not even after Maul exploited a weakness in the catalogue’s search field to give himself access that Johen shouldn’t have had and scoured it all over again.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

No way to succeed.

He should have been afraid all along. Maul wasted two hours basking in premature victory and safety; he wasted three days being cautiously optimistic, when he should have been swallowing down his pleas for mercy ever since the very second Master announced He’d send him to Nar Shaddaa.

Send him to failfail.

There’s no padawan here.

What does it mean, that Master wants Maul to fail the very first mission he ever had? What did Maul do wrong? Why couldn’t He just punish—?

Master might have made a mistake, perhaps, Maul’s mind offers timidly. Maybe He’s seen news of a padawan that isn’t here, but Master does not make mistakes. Master knows everything.

Besides, it being a mistake—which it isn’t—wouldn’t make a lick of a difference to Maul’s chances of surviving his Master’s wrath.

Maul swallows a gulp of the oily water, then another, and it burns. That doesn’t make his mind stop spinning, makes him even more woozy and warm and nauseous, but his growing illness won’t matter anyway if Master wants him dead. If he doesn’t find a padawan, nothing will ever matter again.

He’ll be punished. He’ll deserve it. He’ll die.

Maybe this is another lesson. Maul is training to become the Sith Lord after all, and every true Sith must learn that failure is not an option. Their mission is too important for that. Revenge is too important.

(Even if it’s not really meant as a lesson, not truly, Maul has to believe it is. Otherwise, what else is there to do but wait for death?)

Maybe this is a lesson in improvisation. In overcoming terror. In never giving in.

There must be a padawan somewhere on Nar Shaddaa. Somewhere in this quadrant, at least. Somewhere in the galaxy. Master must have meant ‘Nar Shaddaa’ in some general sense that doesn’t just refer to the planet, or maybe the padawan He talked of was moved…

The one location where there definitely are some padawans is the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Maul knows. But there are also several thousand armed and trained Jedi Masters there, and while Darth Maul will absolutely kill them all to avenge his fallen Sith brethren and sisters and siblings, he generally assumed it would happen at least one or two years in the future. That he’d have time to build a lightsaber before fighting to the death against the Grand Master Jedi, and also grow a little taller. His battle plans always took those things for granted.

Maul will just search the rest of the galaxy first for a suitable padawan, he decides, and keep the all-out assault on the Temple as a backup plan. That’s not cowardice: he only has a few more days and travelling to Coruscant will take a lot of time. It’s just efficient to try and find a padawan somewhere else first.

Maybe even somewhere on Nar Shaddaa. Maybe the owner of this ship just wasn’t interested in Jedi padawans.

Maul could get a different result on a different ship. He has to.

⁂

It happens too quickly for Eldra to process. The rally ends and the people disperse, and then there is a sound like static—and then she’s on her back with Master Fyaar’s heavy body on top of her. The air is shivering with the heat of blaster bolts and thick with the stench of burnt flesh and hair.

“Eldra,” Zalandas Fyaar rasps out. “Eldra.”

Eldra looks up at her. Master Fyaar’s blonde locks obscure her face, but they cannot hide the stripe of cooked skin at the very top of it, flecks of bone showing through. More than anything, Eldra wishes she could see her Master’s eyes, see the clear blue serenity that reminds her that all is as the force wills it. More than anything, she wishes she could see a mouth twisted in disappointment at Eldra’s failure to notice the ambush. Freckles. Worry-wrinkles. But Master Fyaar cannot raise her head, because she shielded Eldra with it, and—

“Eldra.”

Eldra raises her hand to Fyaar’s wound. She’s good at healing, she gets far better marks there than for diplomacy or geography or sports, and this is cauterized so there won’t be an infection, she just needs manipulate a few cells, to stabilize…

“You’re strong, child. You will not fall to the dark. I know it.”

That sounds like a goodbye. It doesn’t have to be. It won’t… “Master, please—” Eldra can heal her, she is healing her, the wound is closing a little.

“Always remember you are a Jedi.”

“Master—”

“Remember yourself.“

Jedi Master Zalandas Fyaar doesn’t die because she gives up. She doesn’t die because Eldra gives up, or because Eldra fails, or because survival was impossible: the man who pulls Eldra away from her dying Master simply doesn’t care that they need to touch.

He pushes Master Fyaar to the ground—“This one’s toast!”—and pulls Eldra upright by her left lekku, and no matter how desperately she fights through the pain worse than anything she has ever thought she’d bear, like her brain is being squashed and really that’s what is happening, like every thought she has has been replaced by puke-inducing pressure and she does retch and vomit, but still she fights, because if she can just get to Master Fyaar and save her then everything will be okay.

She fights until she doesn’t see the rise-and-fall of her Master’s chest anymore, and then she screams, and then she stops.

⁂

It’s the twelfth ship now. Same procedure as the last ones. Maul’s working through the entire shipyard ship by ship. Slowly, he crawls over and stands up and waits until the world stops wobbling, and then he slices the lock of the cargo hold. He searches for datapads and tries to access any slaver database he can.

Somewhere, someone must be selling a Jedi padawan. They just have to.

⁂

Something’s being shoved in front of her. A holocam, Eldra registers, to—shoot a picture for the ransom note? But why would they… it would suffice just to contact the Temple; they know where they sent Eldra and her Master; they know they haven’t been in contact; the must know that something went wrong.

Unless they don’t know she’s a…

“How do we want her?” the man holding the holocam asks. “Sultry?”

“Nah,” someone behind her back replies. “Feisty little Jedi like her’ll fetch more as a gladiator or something.”

So they do know. The Temple will ransom her, she’ll go home and everything won’t be okay because Master Fyaar will still be dead but—

“Growl.”

But she’ll go home—

“Growl, you little piece of shit!” the one behind her shouts, and she snarls. There’s a clicking sound. “Again!” she bares her teeth and gets another click, and another, and one more. There. They got the holo they don’t need, and then soon she’ll go—

Eldra screams when a hand twists her lekku.

She screams and screams, and when she calms down, she’s alone in a cell, on the ground, covered in fresh vomit and terrified and confused. I wasn’t fighting! I snarled for the camera, she thinks. I did what they asked me to do, there’s no reason… except they could. Because I’m alone right now.

Because they killed Master Fyaar.

They killed my…

And she…

“Remember yourself,” Master Fyaar said, her last words, and here Eldra is with her fists balled and gathering strands of hate around herself like a shroud. “Remember yourself,” and Eldra could hurt these people so easily if she felt for their cells and made them boil. Eldra could make it painful, and slow. It would be so easy.

So easy to fall.

“Remember yourself.”

⁂

Maul is sweaty and hot and he feels the way he did when he wasn’t allowed to sleep for days. He’s finished one half bottle of the awful water, and it hasn’t helped: everything is spinning and blurry and he’s still thirsty on top. He’s also inside his seventeenth ship and ready to give up on Nar Shaddaa. He’s been seeing the same nine slaver auction databases on repeat, and there’s considerable overlap between the offerings, and still nothing Jedi in sight.

I can’t fail, he thinks, and hits refresh again.

I can’t just fail my Master, and he’s about to exit the database and the ship and the planet when he notices the flashing window at the bottom right.

An alert!

An alert prominently featuring a twi’lek girl baring her teeth at the holocam, but the person is almost incidental to his interest.

“Jedi padawan for sale!” the headline screams in flashing red. “Freshly captured!!!”

So this is his enemy, his target, the prize he has to fetch to fulfill his destiny: she’s young, though probably older than him, and her blue face is badly cut up. There are deep purple bruises on both her lekku, and despite the anger and toughness she’s trying to display she mostly succeeds in looking terrified.

Hah, Maul thinks to himself. I knew the Jedi were soft. I wouldn’t be this weak, if I was captured, which never would happen in the first place because I am Darth Maul, heir of the Sith Order.

He looks at the picture again, trying to find his hatred. She and hers slaughtered the Sith on Malachor; they live in pampered safety; they know nothing of the Force. They—she would just as soon kill him, hurt him, traffic him if their fortunes were reversed. She is his enemy.

Still, she looks just like a person, alone and scared.

There is no point in looking at her image any more.

Maul studies the alert carefully. She is going to be sold tomorrow—not the date Master had told him of, but Maul already established that it was a test. She is going to be sold in the palace of Xev Xrexus, but maybe Master had misheard the name or it was yet another way of probing Maul’s skill. The terror Maul felt because of these tricks was a valuable lesson, a reminder of the utmost importance this mission held for the Sith Order and how inacceptable any kind of failure would be. Maul, moreover, has seen through it: he is completely equal to the task. He will bring the padawan to his Master, and not deviate from the plan for a single second. He is much more skilled than anyone else would be, anyone who isn’t an awesome Sith and therefore, he’ll perform admirably and easily, and Master will be proud. Master will pronounce him Darth Maul, and the many years of training will have paid off. He knows this. (Thinking it really hard, over and over, is the same thing as knowing.)

She’s been captured—

Master must have foreseen it. He is, after all, gifted in the art of clairvoyance he had told Maul, always already aware of the mistakes Maul might make at any point. So it makes sense, it does, that Master sent Maul to this planet days ago on a mission to buy a padawan that was captured two hours ago.

Master is wise that way.

He planned…

And…

By now, Maul is so tired and thirsty—his brain flashing Master knew and but why in quick dizzying succession—that even the relief of having succeeded can’t boost his energy anymore. He locks the ship, overriding any key fobs, and sets an alarm for well before the padawan’s auction. He takes a bite of the awful chips he acquired in the shop, and throws up.

⁂

“Smile.” He does. “Growl.” He does. “Not like that.” There is a slap, and then he arranges his facial muscles differently. He doesn’t know whether he’s succeeded, until he sees the approving nod, and feels the lack of punishment.

There is his body and there is him, and no connection between the two. If he had a mirror, he could make it look more natural, but only an approach. There is no joy here. No anger, or not the kind they would have him display. No future. There are no brothers to watch. There have been no brothers, ever since he was selected and taken off-planet, off-home, too many days or years ago now to count. These people’s expectations are a thick leather shirt, riverdunked and allowed to dry on the body, so tight that he can hardly breathe. There is no space inside for himself, let alone dreams or brothers or rage. There is only a face to rearrange, to the approval of a master.

A different master, soon.

Maybe that master will kill Savage. Maybe they won’t. One way or the other, this will the last ever auction he is sent to. Savage will make sure of that.

[maddie-grove]

The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2020

My main takeaways:

I’m glad that I set certain reading goals this year (i.e., reading an even mix of different genres and writing about each book I read on this tumblr). I feel like it really expanded my horizons.

There are a lot of proper names on my Top 20 list this year, which possibly means something about identity? That, or I just tried to read more Victorian novels. 

Be horny, and be kind.

Now...

20. The White Mountains by John Christopher (1967)

In a world ruled by unseen creatures who roam the countryside in tall metal tripods, all humans are “capped” (surgically fitted with metal plates on their heads) at age fourteen. Thirteen-year-old Will Parker looks forward to becoming a man, but a conversation with a mysterious visitor to his village raises a few doubts. This early YA dystopia has gorgeous world-building (notably a trip to the ruins of Paris) and expert pacing. The choices Will has to make are also more surprising and complicated than I ever anticipated.

19. What Happened at Midnight by Courtney Milan (2013)

John Mason wants revenge on his fiancée Mary after she skips town following her father’s death...apparently with the funds that her father, John’s business partner, embezzled from their company. When he tracks her down, though, she’s working as a lady’s companion to the wife of a controlling gentleman who refuses to pay her wages, and John’s fury turns to sympathy and curiosity. This is a smart, well-plotted Victorian-set novella about a couple who builds a better relationship after a rocky start.

18. Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes (1943)

It’s 1773, and fourteen-year-old Bostonian Johnny Tremain has it all: a promising apprenticeship to a silversmith, the run of his arguably senile master’s household, and...unresolved grief over his widowed mother’s death? When a workplace “accident” ruins his hand and career, though, he must “forge” a new identity. Despite its jingoism and surfeit of historical exposition, I fell in love with this weird early YA novel. It’s a fascinating, heartbreaking portrayal of disability and ableism, and, to be fair, Forbes was just jazzed about fighting the Nazis.

17. Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf by Hayley Krischer (2020)

After universally beloved jock Sean Nessel rapes starry-eyed junior Ali Greenleaf at a party, his queen-bee friend Blythe Jensen agrees to smooth things over by befriending his victim. Ali knows Blythe’s motives are weird and sketchy, but being friends with a popular, exciting girl is preferable to dealing with the fallout of the rape. This YA novel is a complex, astute exploration of trauma and moral responsibility.

16. The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein (2017)

Rothstein details how the federal U.S. government allowed, encouraged, and sometimes even forcibly brought about segregation of black and white Americans during the early and mid-twentieth century, with no regard for the unconstitutionality of its actions. He brings home the staggering harm to black Americans who were kept from living in decent housing, shut out of home ownership for generations, and denied the opportunity to accumulate wealth for generations. It’s an impactful read, and I was honestly shocked to learn Rothstein isn’t a lawyer, because the whole thing reads like an expansion of an excellent closing statement.

15. My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf (2012)

In this graphic memoir, Backderf looks back on his casual, fleeting friendship with future serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, a high school classmate who amused Backderf and his geeky friends with bizarre, chaotic antics. Backderf brings their huge, impersonal high school to life, illustrating how the callousness and cruelty of such an environment allowed an isolated, troubled teen to morph into something much more disturbing without anyone really noticing. It’s a work of baffled, tentative empathy and regret that stayed with me long after I finished it.

14. Daniel Deronda by George Eliot (1876)

Gwendolyn Harleth, beautiful and ambitious but with no real outlet, finds herself compelled to marry a heartless gentleman with a shady past. Daniel Deronda, adopted son of her husband’s uncle, finds himself drawn into her orbit due to his helpful nature, but he’s also dealing with a lot of other stuff, like helping a Jewish opera singer and figuring out his parentage. I love George Eliot and, although this bifurcated novel isn’t her most accessible work, it’s highly rewarding. The psychological twists and turns of Gwendolyn’s story are a wonder to experience, and Daniel’s discovery of his past and a new community is moving.

13. The Plot Against America by Philip Roth (2004)

The Roths, an ordinary working-class Jewish family in 1940 Newark, find their quiet lives descending into fear, uncertainty, and strife after Charles Lindbergh, celebrity pilot and Nazi sympathizer, becomes president of the United States. This alternate history/faux-memoir perfectly captures the slow creep of fascism and the high-handed cruelty of state-sanctioned discrimination, as well as the weirdness of living a semi-normal life while all of that is going on. Also: fuck Herman and Alvin for messing up Bess’s coffee table! She is a queen, and she deserves to read Pearl S. Buck in a pleasant setting!

12. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (1850)

Young David Copperfield has an idyllic life with his sweet widowed mom and devoted nursemaid Peggotty, until his cruel stepfather ruins everything. David eventually manages to find safe harbor with his eccentric aunt, but his troubles have only begun. Although the quality of the novel falls off a little once David becomes an adult, I don’t even care; the first half is one of the most beautiful, funny, brilliantly observed portrayals of the joys and sorrows of childhood that I’ve ever read.

11. The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve by Stephen Greenblatt (2017)

Greenblatt examines the evolution and cultural significance of the story of Adam and Eve from the Bible to the modern day (but mostly it’s about Milton). I can’t speak to the scholarship of this book--I’m not an expert on the Bible or Milton or bonobos--but I do know that it’s a gorgeously written meditation on love, mortality, and free will. Greenblatt brought me a lot of joy as an unhappy teenager, and he came through for me again during the summer of 2020.

10. The Music of What Happens by Bill Konigsberg (2019)

Self-conscious seventeen-year-old Jordan is mortified when his widowed mother hires Max, an outgoing jock from his school, to help out with their struggling food truck. As they get to know each other, though, they realize that they have more in common than they thought, and they end up helping each other through a particularly challenging summer. This is an endearing, exceedingly well-balanced YA romance that tackles serious issues with a light touch and a naturalness that’s rare in the genre.

9. Red as Blood by Tanith Lee (1983)

In nine wonderfully lurid stories, Tanith Lee retells fairy tales with a dark, historically grounded, and lady-centered twist. Highlights include a medieval vampiric Snow White, a vengeful early modern Venetian Cinderella, and a Scandinavian werewolf Little Red Riding Hood. Fairy tale retellings are right up my alley, and Lee’s collection is impressively varied and creative.

8. A Room with a View by E.M. Forster (1908)

Unnerved by an impulsive make-out session with egalitarian George Emerson on a trip to Florence, young Edwardian woman Lucy Honeychurch goes way too far the other way and gets engaged to snobbish Cecil Vyse. How can she get out of this emotional and social pickle? This is an absolutely delightful romance that gave a timeless template for romantic comedies and dramas for 100-plus years.

7. My Ántonia by Willa Cather (1918)

Jim Burden, a New York City lawyer, tells the story of his friendship with slightly older Bohemian immigrant girl Ántonia when they were kids together on the late-nineteenth-century Nebraska prairie. It was a pretty pleasant time, give or take a few murders, suicides, and attempted rapes. This is one of the sweetest stories about unrequited love I’ve ever read, and it has some really enjoyable queer subtext.

6. Mister Death’s Blue-Eyed Girls by Mary Downing Hahn (2012)

In 1956 Maryland, gawky teen Nora’s peaceful existence is shattered by the unsolved murder of her friends Cheryl and Bobbi Jo right before summer vacation. Essentially left to deal with her trauma alone, she begins to question everything, from her faith in God to the killer’s real identity. Hahn delivers a beautiful coming-of-age story along with a thoughtful portrait of how a small community responds to tragedy.

5. The Lais of Marie de France by Marie de France, with translation and introduction/notes by Robert Herring and Joan Ferrante (original late 12th century, edition 1995) 

In twelve narrative poems, anonymous French-English noblewoman Marie de France spins fantastically weird tales of love, lust, and treachery. Highlights include self-driving ships, gay (?) werewolves, and more plot-significant birds than you can shake a stick at. Marie de France brings so much tenderness, delicacy, and startling humor to her stories, offering a wonderful window to the distant past.

4. Maus by Art Spiegelman (1980-1991)

In this hugely influential graphic novel/memoir, Art Spiegelman tells the story of how his Polish Jewish parents survived the Holocaust. He portrays all the characters as anthropomorphic animals; notably, the Jewish characters are mice and the Nazi Germans are cats. I read the first volume of Maus back in 2014 and, while I appreciated and enjoyed it, I didn’t get the full impact until I read both volumes together early in 2020. Spiegelman takes an intensely personal approach to his staggering subject matter, telling the story through the lens of his fraught relationship with his charismatic and affectionate, yet truly difficult father. 

3. At the Dark End of the Street by Danielle L. McGuire (2010)

McGuire looks at a seldom-explored aspect of racism in the Jim Crow South (the widespread rape and sexual harassment of black women by white men) and the essential role of anti-rape activism led by black women during the Civil Rights movement. This is a harrowing yet tastefully executed history, and it’s also a truly inspirational story of collective activism.

2. In for a Penny by Rose Lerner (2010)

Callow Lord Nevinstoke has to mature fast when his father dies, leaving him an estate hampered by debts and extremely legitimate grievances from angry tenant farmers. To obtain the necessary funds, he marries (usually!) sensible brewing heiress Penelope Brown, but they face problems that not even a sizable cash infusion can fix. This is a refreshingly political romance with a deliciously tense atmosphere and fascinating themes, as well as an almost painfully engaging central relationship.

1. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (1814)

Fanny Price, the shy and sickly poor relation of the wealthy Bertram family, is subtly mistreated by most of her insecure and/or self-absorbed relatives, with the exception of her kind cousin Edmund. When the scandalous Crawford siblings visit the neighborhood, though, it shakes up her life for good and ill. I put off reading Mansfield Park for years--it’s practically the last bit of Austen writing that I consumed, including most of her juvenilia--and yet I think it’s my favorite. Fanny is an eminently lovable and interesting heroine, self-doubting and flawed yet possessed of a strong moral core, and the rest of the characters are equally realistic and compelling. Austen really made me think about the point of being a good person, both on a personal and a global scale.

[yanderecandystore]

How would (female) Darling react to a yandere King of the human world and a yandere Queen of vampires fighting for Darling’s hand)? [Headcannons]

Hello everyone, I hope you didn't wait too long.( ˘ ��˘)♥

I wasn't sure how to write this one, but it's a really interesting concept and I couldn't leave it behind.

 I don't think this is my best work, since the story that I'm going for is a little too big to be contained in a headcanon, so all may feel a little fast, and a little too long at the same time.

 So maybe I'm going to make an proper fanfiction with an longer experience of this events. And I'm sorry if this isn't what you were waiting for, and if there is too many errors. This is so huge, is a nightmare!

 Also, a little trigger warning, there is an mention of an increasing number of deaths caused by an "disease", but is mostly used in the headcanon as a little plot point, and is mostly because I like to reference the anime Shiki when I write about vampires. But if you feel like this may trigger or affect you in anyway, especially considering the recent events, I would just like to warn you right now.

꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡

Crossfire [Yandere Human King x F!Reader x Yandere Vampire Queen]:

 Being born as an commoner was already hard enough, you didn't need anymore trouble in your life!

 You started working inside the castle as a simple gardener, attending to the gardens inside the castle walls. The queen was known to love gardens, well, until she passed away.

 The queen passed away years before you started working inside the castle, and the original king? Died a couple of months ago.

 Both stated to have mysterious causes of death. Most likely caused by an disease.

 The coronation of the prince wasn't so long ago, so he is your king now. But even working under his roof, you only met him a couple of times.

 Some of your co-workers who had been here way longer than you would say he was a childish, egotistical man, who only cared about his wealth and power over the happiness of others. He didn't have a good relationship with the older king, and his mother passed away when he was only 5 years old.

 It wasn't a surprise for any of them that the new monarch would be an bitter man. Yet, he didn't seem to tend to only his needs.

 Although he is very rude to you and the other servants, he seems to take his responsibilities really seriously. He seems, almost always on edge, but you don't know why.

 Your task made it really easy to never interact with him, he seems to dislike going in his mother garden. You started feeling uneasy out in the garden, you could tell someone was watching you, and when you looked to find out who it was, you could see the king himself watching you from a window. Yet, even when meeting his gaze, you still felt like there was another pair of eyes watching you.

 One day, when you start to feel really paranoid, he decides to visit the garden.

 "- Oh! Greetings, your majesty!" You bow down to him, trying to hide your surprise, yet it didn't go unnoticed by him, he did came out of nowhere while you were doing your job after all.

 "- Good morning, miss [Y/N], right?" He doesn't seem to care about being to formal, but you still feel a little afraid to act the same way towards him.

 "- It's been so long since I last came here." He says. Looking around at this place which seems so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

 He seems to be daydreaming, memories of his mother flow through his mind causing him to feel desperate to go back inside the castle walls. Yet, he feels like he needs to be here.

 He knows you shouldn't be here. It's dangerous in the garden, his mother said so.

 "- A-are you okay?" His breathing, his whole body language tells you he is not okay. His almost hypnotized by whatever terrible thoughts going on his mind. It's the first time you see a different expression on his face. It's not one of anger or of silent disgust, is fear.

 It's like a child.

 You can't have him passing out like this, you take him to the nearest sit so he can calm down.

 "- I am calm!" He corrects you, clearly lying yet trying to strike his usual confident and superior act.

 "- No, you're not. Please, tell me what happened, should I call the maids? The guards?"

 You asking what's going on with him, yet he can't find the words to describe it. He is too scared to say, so you should try to comfort him instead of asking too much questions.

 Slowly, he start to feel more comfortable around you, your eyes, your voice, the reassuring touches, it helps him calm down. Your presence makes him forget that his is in this terrible place. You call the maids to help him out, it seems like they already know what to do in this type of situation.

 Weeks after the incident, and it seems like the king has been way more attentive to you. Always coming to the garden to talk with you, although he doesn't like to go to far inside the garden. It makes your job a little more difficult since he seems to take all of your attention, yet is a better company than the winds that shake the leaves of the lonely trees.

 He doesn't seem to be so rude with you. He is a little narcissistic, but not really mean towards you.

 He never told you what happened that day, he only said that the garden brings bad memories. Ever since that day, he kept worrying about you.

 Trying to convince you to take the roll as a maid, it would be more beneficial for you, and he could keep you away from the garden.

 Yet, you never accepted his request. It seemed weird how fast you became close to the king. 

 You never understood why he would be so afraid at the garden, until one day, you unfortunately found out who was always watching you work in the garden.

 You weren't feeling well, so you decided to take a night walk through the garden. It didn't seem like an clever idea at first (and it wasn't), but when you saw the lights coming from the garden from the window of your room, you couldn't resist taking a closer look.

 Fireflies! They look like little stars dancing around the garden.

 You should have stayed inside.

 Someone, or something, came from behind and neutralized you. It was too fast for you to notice, but now that you're awake as in a completely different place with an familiar knight in front of you, you guess this is what happened.

 "- W-where am I?" You try asking the knight who is blocking the door. You try pulling yourself up, yet feel your hands immediately be pulled to the ground by the chains wrapping them.

 This makes you instantly freak out and fully wake up. You're inside a dungeon cell.

 Yet, the knight doesn't say anything. He just huffs at your whining. You were about to try take some information out of him, when someone knocks on the door.

 He looks at you one last time, you can't see his face because of his helmet, yet you can still tell he is threatening you to try anything funny. He turns his way to open the door and go outside, closing the door after getting out.

 You can't hear what's going on outside, but since you're all alone, you might as well try to take a good look around. There is only the door, a uncomfortable looking bed, and a window too small for you to fit in.

 Noticing that the only light in the room, was the moonlight coming through the window. It is still night time. There must be away out-

 "- Evening." Said an female voice. It was monotone, yet seductive in a way. You turn around to find an tall woman wearing dark, extravagant clothes.

 Her face was covered by an dark veil, it was as if she was an bride wearing fully black, or an black widow. You didn't recognize her voice, or her appearance, yet you could only feel extremely frightened by her presence.

 "- I didn't think you would be awake this early, but since you're finally conscious we can get to know each other." She says as she starts to walk closer to your shaking form. You can't see her eyes, but you can tell she is staring at your very soul. 

 This feeling is way too familiar to you.

 "- Who are you? Where am I?" Trying to maintain a confident attitude you ask who is she. Yet, you are visibly too scared to strike a threatening tone, she notices this and laughs at your naivety.

 She kneels down and is face to face with you. This is not exactly how she wanted things to go, yet she is just so thirsty, she can't wait any longer!

 "- Aham." You hear the knight call the woman's attention, he seems annoyed with the lady. But either she doesn't notice him, or is just ignoring him. She just keeps observing you with a smile on her pale face.

 "- Your majesty." He calls, oh, well apparently your kidnapper is royalty! You don't feel honored by that even a little bit.

 "- Yes?" She says overly cheerful, while cupping your cheeks and turning your face, examining your neck. You hold your whimpers, you feel like that would be giving her too much satisfaction.

 "- I'm aware I'm not in any position to question your actions-"

 "- Yes, absolutely. You're not!" She giggles, although her statement wasn't necessarily mean, her tone seemed to change between anger and playfulness, like she is mocking the knight intrusive behavior.

  "- May I ask why I had to go to the filthy castle, to bring you just a simple gardener?"

 "- Excuse me?" She finally turns to look up at the knight, who can easily see the mistake he has made. Her tone is serious this time around.

 "- I mean- Why her? Why not bring the king? Or any more powerful member of that place? We could have planned an elaborate attack, destroy their kingdom and bring in the humans for-" You started to really dislike where he was going, but before you could get all of the information, the queen shushes him, before he spilled so much info.

 "- Oh, my dear, loyal knight, can't you see we have a quest?" She almost yells at him so he could stop mumbling.

 "- You're making her afraid~" She pinches your cheek. 

 "- WE don't want her to be afraid on her first night, right?"

 ' How considerate.' You think.

 "- And for your question… Well-"

 She pauses putting a finger over her lips, thinking over what her knight just said.

 "- It's true we could have stuck we the plan and destroy the human kingdom fully, and although it is NONE of your business, I'm going to explain to you why I asked you to get me this sweet looking girl instead."

 "- …"

 The room falls silent, is she waiting for him to question? She wraps her arms around you, her grip is almost squeezing the air in your lungs out.

 "- … W-why?-"

 "- Because I'm extremely pick with what I drink, love." She keeps giggling and hugging you tighter. Wait, what did she mean by-

 "- And you, my lovely knight, is in no position to question me, or are you?" Her tone is playful, yet her whole demeanor seems so threatening.

  He keeps his head down, you can hear him say a meek "yes". Maybe he is just as scared if her as you are.

 "- Leave." Her happy tone goes away again and is replaced by the serious one.

 He stumbles a little, but manages to get out of the cell as quick as he could.

 After she makes sure she can't listen to his footsteps anymore, she signs and turns her full attention on you.

 "- Sigh, I lost the mood, you know?"

 Yeah, you know exactly what she is talking about.

 "- Oh don't look at me like that, aren't you glad you're here? You're in presence of a vampire queen, you know?"

 "- … What?" Is all you can think of asking. What is she talking about? Vampires aren't real, right?

 "- You're so cute! I'm so glad you're here, I been hungry for so many weeks now. How mean of you to make me hungry~" She smiles while teasing your neck with her fangs. They look so sharp to the touch.

 She is saying the truth though. They had planned an attack for months now, yet after she saw you, she had thrown all of that preparation out of the window.

 Like a spoiled child, she refuse to drink from anyone or anything. Your sweet little form plagued her mind. She was a pick drinker, nothing but the best for the queen, after all.

 She was planning on having a better approach to you. Having a better room for you than the other blood stocks on the dungeons, having an good preparation to meet you in person and bring you here with her mind control.

 But she is just so hungry. And you have an nice sent, better than any of the nobles of your kingdom she had drunk from.

 "- Don't worry about it." She whispers, not waiting too long to just sink her fangs into you.

 After so much screaming and so much failed attempts at running away from her grasp. You had fallen asleep. While she didn't know if she would stay here or go back to her chambers.

 And on the castle were you once worked for, the king search for you at every corner, after noticing that you were missing from your room.

꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡

[milknette]

day 20 - fairytale

no-one to tell us no or where to go, or say we're only dreaming.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

PRINCE Adrien does not want to marry.

Or, well, he does— but not to some princess he doesn't know; not for the sake of politics and prevention of war; and especially not for a woman who would only marry him for his stature and family.

As corny as it is, Adrien wants to marry for love.

But it's not that easy to find someone to love when you're not even allowed to step outside the palace gates.

As if on cue, his father enters his bedroom.

"I assume you've accepted my proposition, Adrien?"

His low voice echoes through the otherwise empty chamber, the tone devoid of almost any love and care a father should have for his own child.

The younger boy only looks down, barely getting up from his bed.

Suddenly, the silks and expensive pillows that he lay on felt so stiff.

Cold, even.

"Adrien," his father repeats. "I asked you a question."

He sighs, deciding to try and confront him. Maybe this time, he'd actually listen.

"Please, father, reconsider. I don't understand why I must marry so soon. And to someone I've never met…"

"We have already discussed this. You must wed Princess Chloé; your marriage will unite our kingdoms and bring prosperity to our family. I'd have thought you'd be over being so stubborn about this."

"I'm not being stubborn! Marrying someone I've never met; and all the more to someone I don't love… didn't you love mother when you married her?"

The look in his father's eyes makes Adrien want to take a step back.

"Do not bring your mother into this."

But why not? Ever since she's disappeared, you've stopped talking about her, and shut yourself completely… you've become so cold, even to your own son.

Instead, Adrien quiets down.

"I'm sorry."

"Then it's settled. I shall send the Bourgeois Kingdom a letter accepting their proposal for marriage." The king stares at him, as if daring him to speak up. "Do you understand, Adrien?"

"Yes, father."

.

.

As soon as his father leaves, Adrien dons on a black cloak— his mother's, from way back when, and carefully starts packing a bag of necessities.

A black panther with stunning green eyes nuzzles close to him.

Don't leave, Adrien.

He sighs, before hugging the creature close to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Plagg. But I can't continue to live like this. I love my kingdom, and father, even, but I want to be free. There are things I want to experience in this world, and being trapped by my father will never let me do that."

Plagg growls, evidently conflicted, but carefully steps away.

"I'll come back one day, okay?" Adrien smiles softly. "I promise."

.

.

Adrien is stealing. Apparently.

He doesn't really understand how currency or paymentworks, having spent his whole life being pampered by life in the palace.

(Well, he's learned about it from his private tutors; but those largely had to do with managing the treasury and ensuring the gold stays within the family. He's never actually had any issues with wealth.)

So when a shopkeeper threatens to chop off his hand as retribution for giving a child an apple, of all things— Adrien realizes two things:

That economic conditions were actually so poor in his kingdom— a stark contrast from the apparent lie the palace advisers had told him, and;

That he was truly too sheltered by his father, not knowing anything at all.

It's when a strange woman suddenly grabs his hand and pulls him away that Adrien's knocked out of his reverie.

She's telling him something around the lines of, come with me if you want to keep that hand of yours, but he barely notices.

Instead he notices the deep bluebell of her eyes, the rosy pink dusted on her cheeks, and her vibrant red cape flowing as they duck into alleyways and abandoned street corners.

Adrien hasn't met many women outside of those in the palace, but he assumes that it's common knowledge that whoever this is— she is absolutely beautiful.

She takes him to the highest floor of a run-down old building, barely standing from apparent years of abuse and neglect.

The girl notices him staring in wonder.

"Sorry it's not great," she starts, carefully patting the block next to her. "Things haven't been great for some time now."

"I don't understand," he starts, trying to find the words. "Last time I was here, the kingdom was flourishing. And now, people starving, buildings on the verge of collapse, and violent men…"

She laughs. "Now how long has it been since you were last here? And you can't really blame the shopkeeper, you did just take his apple without paying for it. What kind of land did you come from to think that was normal?"

Adrien has the decency to look almost sheepish.

"Let's just say I've been gone awhile," he says instead. "But to think it's changed this much… I have truly missed a lot."

"Well, it wasn't always that bad," she sighs, pulling her legs up to sit down. "You know the king, right? Ever since Queen Emilie died, he just… stopped caring about us. All wealth they kept to their inner circle, leaving us to fend for ourselves." Her eyes narrow. "The people over there don't care about us, and would leave us to die."

That's a cruel wake-up call.

"That's not true!" Adrien suddenly blurts, earning a confused glance from her. "What about the prince?"

She scoffs. "The prince? Nobody's seen him here in years. He's probably just some entitled brat, living in leisure in the palace while we all suffer here. He's no different."

He wants to protest.

But how could he?

If Adrien were in her position, he'd feel no differently from her.

"Is that why you steal?"

"It's hard to make an honest living here," she smiles bitterly. "I've tried selling bread… but it never worked. People will step over everyone else to survive." She looks downward. "I know some orphan kids… scattered around. I've seen them pass out from exhaustion, ignored by everyone here. I know it's wrong to steal, but I— they're children. They shouldn't have to suffer like this!"

The pit in Adrien's stomach grows ever-larger.

How could he have lived so easily, without knowing any of this?

He feels disgust— with his father, with the greedy men from the palace, and even with himself. How could someone who would one day rule over the kingdom not know anything about the realities of the people who lived in it?

"Anyway," she finally sighs. "That's old news. So what's your story, stranger?"

Adrien shrugs. "I ran away. I was just feeling so… trapped, at home. I needed to be free." He pauses, taking in his surroundings— and the mysterious girl sitting next to him. "But I guess freedom wasn't anything like I expected."

"Well, I'm sorry about that. It's hard to come across anything good these days." She says, a far-off look in her eyes. "But one day, I'll get out of here. Travel the world, maybe. Somewhere I can actually live my life, without fearing for it everyday."

"...

Would you mind some company?"

She looks up at him, her face completely caught off-guard by the sudden question. He looks nervous, and scratches his head. "I mean, I've got nowhere to go either. And maybe I can help out! I don't know how to bake bread, but I could learn, and—"

"I'd love that."

Adrien looks at her, visibly surprised. "Really?"

She smiles. "It would be nice to not be alone for a change. So, you got a name?"

He smiles back. "... you first."

"Around here, they call me—"

"LADYBUG."

They both whip their heads up at the sudden intrusion, as a group of soldiers come bursting through the room. The floors shake as they flood the area. "I finally found you."

Adrien belatedly recognizes the voice as Madame Sancoeur's— his father's Royal Vizier and consequently, Captain of the Guard.

The stranger— Ladybug— stands, grasping his hand tightly.

She doesn't back down.

"I didn't think you'd show up yourself. A special occasion?"

Sancoeur flinches.

Ladybug raises a curious eyebrow. "Oh, so it is. What happened? The King throw another tantrum? Does he want more money? Because like I said, I'm completely broke. Like everyone else in this damned kingdom is."

"Do nottalk about King Gabriel like that. He is a good king, and you would be smart to watch your mouth when biting the hand that feeds you."

"Feed me? I have to fightjust to have a morsel of food on my plate. I don't live as the rest of you do, bathing in wealth while we barely survive. Now go back to your king and your prince and leave me alone."

Both Adrien and Sancoeur freeze at the mention of the prince.

"Oh. So something happened to your prince, then?"

Adrien's never seen his father's vizier look so angry. "What did you do to him?"

Ladybug rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Like I'd want anything to do with someone as entitled as him." Suddenly, she squeezes his hand. "Besides, I already have one partner to keep me company."

"Ah, another pest to take care of." Sancoeur only sighs, before snapping her fingers. "Well, that shouldn't be an issue. I've brought a whole army this time. You won't get away."

At that, Ladybug is suddenly grabbed by a burly soldier, holding her so she can't escape. Two others hold Adrien back, separating them.

"I don't need the boy," she only says, turning back toward the exit. "King Agreste only wants Ladybug. But throw him into prison. Anyone who works with her is surely a menace to society."

"She's not a menace!"

Sancoeur looks back, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, so the alleycat can talk. Do you even know what she's done? That this woman has been stealing not only her fellow townspeople, but from the soldiers as well? The very people who are protecting you?"

"She's only stealing things to provide for those who can't. There are children, and they're starving. Dying— and she's only trying to save them." He struggles against the arms holding him captive. "If you would only listen, Nathalie!"

The vizier pauses. Then: "Let him go."

Almost reluctantly, they do.

Then, Sancoeur walks forward, with terrifying speed and precision, before whipping the hood off his head. "Prince Adrien," she finally says, eyes widening with shock. "So it's true? Ladybug really did take you?"

"No!"

He shakes his head. "Ladybug has done nothing. So let her go, now. As the Prince, I order you…"

She only ignores him, then snaps her fingers.

Two pairs of arms come to grab his own, again.

"Nathalie, what are you doing?"

She turns back, then sighs. "I'm sorry, Adrien. You gave me no choice." Sancoeur gives the two soldiers a brief glance, her eyes almost flashing with concern— but disappearing so quickly it's almost like he had imagined it. "Return the Prince to his chambers. I will deal with him later." Then, she turns to Ladybug; who had been eerily quiet since the exchange.

"Ladybug comes with me."

"Wait!" He starts, struggling to find the words. "Ladybug… I—"

The look she gives him is almost unreadable. Ladybug doesn't fight back; doesn't even struggle. She doesn't even turn back to him, not even for a glance, and walks away.

.

.

"Let's make an agreement. I'll give you all the riches you desire, enough to start a new life outside of this kingdom, if you do me one small favor."

"What do you want?"

"A simple thing. There's a cave, not so far from here. I've gotten old, and can't get it for myself but… I need a lamp."

"A lamp…?"

"Isn't it so simple? Retrieve this single item for me, and I will let you go. Is it agreed? Do we have a deal?"

Ladybug looks up at King Agreste, quiet.

Then:

"Where do I go?"

[kim-lexie]

hospital playlist.

i’ve got to say that this drama is one of my ultimate favorites, and this is no surprise. our genius director shin won-ho and lee woo-jung joined forces again to bring us this gem. i appreciated every facet we got to see and experience alongside these great characters. 

a little background: this drama follows the friendship of 5 medical doctors through their daily life, seeing a snapshot into hospital life. we of course get to see some flashback scenes that help depict their friendship development from university days as they played in a little band (hence the title hospital playlist) into their separate lives of the present as they reunite their band. this drama shows that no matter where life can take you, some friendships are meant to hold you through all seasons.

*now we are going to discuss themes, and characters in depth, so you’ve been warned spoilers are ahead*

these characters, as to be expected from our dynamic duo of creators, had many facets and dynamics within the friendship and with those around them. i incredibly loved each and every main character we got to know. they all had their struggles and shortcomings, however, as a team of friends they were able to overcome and tackle each roadblock in front of them. 

ik-joon was absolutely hilarious. our favorite general surgeon of course. he was always an uplifting spirit within the group of friends. i especially love his son, woo-joo the cutest nugget. you could see how much he treasured his son, and it was beautiful seeing how all of his friends rallied around him to help him during the time when he went through his divorce. i loved seeing his outgoing side in his approach to work and helping others, but rather hesitant ways to approach song-hwa. 

my main man, jeong-won. literally dream character (like can i find him in real life?!) he loves children, is a brilliant pediatric surgeon, and cares for his family. his family is incredibly wealthy and he uses his wealth and blessing for good in his ‘daddy long-legs program’ to support children needing surgery who are unable to afford it. however, his downfall to an extent is not being able to be selfish in ways when it is important for those around him for him to voice his opinion. overall, he was probably the most steadfast character and unmovable, until the very end where is truly mattered with gyeo-wool, our resident in general surgery with an eye for jeong-won. 

jun-wan our cardiothoracic surgeon. this man is insanely talented in his field and is leading the team. i loved how we were able to see him as the immovable surgeon who always did what was best for the patient and ensuring the best, as well as seeing him build up the surgeons learning under his guidance and teaching. then to seeing him being completely smitten with ik-sun, ik-joon’s younger sister. it was precious and i appreciated seeing various sides to his personality and character.

seok-hyeong our favorite unexpected ob/gyn. his character always surprised me. like everything he experienced from his mother and family situation with his father leaving his mother, his mother unable to divorce, and his father dying and leaving nothing to his mother but rather his mistress was devastating. seeing him originally smitten and heartbroken over song-hwa, to finding his way and potentially opening up his heart again to our girl min-ha. (please and thank you for season 2, i’ve shipped that). i appreciated all his little moments that showed us into his personality behind his stoic exterior.

our leading lady song-hwa, the fantastically incredible neurosurgeon. this woman is a queen, leading her field with expertise and a kind heart for her patients making those around her feel at ease. i really appreciated that they have her in the cast of characters in such a competitive expertise such as neurosurgery. her character was sweet, appearing timid at first glance but completely unshaken with whatever life threw at her. i found this piece especially when she found the lump in her breast, and when she approached it with her friends they were all ready to jump, but she had made peace with what was coming, but when it came down to it ik-joon was right by her side letting her be as she needed to be. she also cares immensely for ik-joon’s little on woo-joo. i loved how she went over when ik-joon needed to go in for emergency surgery but woo-joo had a fever, and she stayed with him all night. my heart broke when we found out that she had been the surgeon who was the doctor for our twin medical students jung hong-do and jung yun-bok. and how when she was describing her experience, and yun-bok started crying and how she wasn’t hesitant in embracing her in a hug and comforting her.  side note, i loved how she also had multiple love storylines that we experienced with her. from seok-hyung’s confession, to ik-joon repressing his feelings because of their friendship, to chi-hong starting to have feelings for her and acting on them and confessing, to ik-joon finally confessing. to our girl being unsure about what to exactly do. ahhhh so much (and i need answers as to what she is going to do.) 

the friendship between all these unique individuals is what really drew me in and kept me running alongside them. i was awaiting each week to see what was going to happen in all of their lives. i loved that through it all they always found the time to be consistent and talk and see each other. i loved all their moments when they came together from their karaoke rooms, to their band practices, to eating tteokbokki in their offices. you can see their nature of just being present for each other. 

the writing was stellar as always from this team, i appreciated all the dividends of life from their relationships with each other to their familial ties, and their relations with fellow residents and nursing staff in the hospital. i loved being able to see the somewhat trivial moments of the day to day as well as seeing the pivotal moments that helped shaped our cast of characters. 

i must say i also appreciate the nature of this medical drama. i am a nurse in a neonatal intensive care unit, and i typically am disappointed in the nature of the hospital setting and the explanation of treatments and silly nature of dynamics within hospital drama settings. however, with this drama i was pleasantly surprised by the realistic nature and attempt to accurately portray this setting. it was exciting when they had pediatric surgery and cardiology plots that made sense, along with obstetric birthing situations that were realistic. of course it had it moments but overall i was living my best life. the writers actually did their research! 

things i need to happen in season 2, because it has been confirmed to air in 2021 (and i freaking cannot wait!) i need some relationships to flourish please! including, seok-hyung and min-ha, jung-won and gyeo-wool, joon-wan and ik-sun, and of course ik-joon and song-hwa. okay so that’s not some but all the relationships to flourish please and thank you. i would love to see more woo-joo moments as well because his spicy little character was too precious and i need more of his sass. i would love to see more of these unique cases that they are able to collaborate on. i would also love some more band scenes of them all playing together and attempting to appreciate our girl song-hwa’s singing (loved that they had her character be horrible at singing, i’m sure she, as someone having a beautiful voice, loved playing this character up). so if i continue to speak this over, hopefully it will manifest soon!

[aion-rsa]

Best Romantic Movies on Hulu Right Now

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Romance gets a bad rap at the movies. Until you behold the best romantic movies on Hulu.

Yes, Hulu is on the case with an expansive collection of romantic movies for you to connect with your softer side… or the side of you that screams in an eternal tormented shriek, desperately trying to find a mate whose shrieks match your tone in this expansive disappointing nothingness of existence. Love is hard. Anywho, here are the best romantic movies on Hulu right now.

Sense and Sensibility

This Jane Austen character really seems to have a handle on romance. The 1995 film Sense and Sensibility is adapted from the Austen novel of the same name and has a great deal of talent both in front of and behind the camera. Oscar winner Ang Lee directs while Emma Thompson (yes, that Emma Thompson) wrote the script.

Thompson stars alongside Kate Winslet, Alan Rickman and Hugh Grant. The movie, like the book concerns the Dashwood sisters and their sudden descent into non-stupendous wealth. Of course then the romance begins (not between the sisters, weirdos. Alan Rickman and Hugh Grant are in this thing too, remember?)

AWOL

AWOL is how indie romances should be – small, authentic, affecting. Joey (Lola Kirke) and Rayna (Breeda Wool) are two young women from a nowheresville Pennsylvania town. They meetcute at a local carnival and quickly fall for each other but circumstances threaten to crush their romance before it can even begin.

AWOL understands first and foremost that while love is easy, relationships (and arguably everything else in the world is hard). Sometimes what you want and what your environment is able to allow you to have are two very different things.

Margarita with a Straw

2014’s Margarita with a Straw is both a coming-of-age and romance film the likes of which you’ve probably never seen. This Indian film comes from director Shonali Bose and stars Kalki Koechlin as Laila, an Indian teenager with cerebral palsy, trying to achieve some independence in her life.

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That opportunity comes for Laila when she is accepted to New York Universtiy and moves to Greenwich Village. There she meets and falls in love with blind Pakistani activist. Miles from home, Laila must deal with her changing, burgeoning sexuality and live in a world not built for her. But it’s cool: she can always take her margarita with a straw. 

Hello, My Name is Doris

Between TBS’s (now HBO Max’s) Search Party and Hello, My Name is Doris, director Michael Showalter had a stellar 2016. Hello, My Name is Doris is a wonderfully sweet, equally tragic and completely hilarious romantic comedy. 

Sally Field stars as the titular Doris, a lively woman in her ’60s who after the death of her mother becomes infatuated with a younger man. With the help of cliched self-help materials she does whatever she can to get his attention. Hello, My Name is Doris is an empathetic romantic comedy that will change how you view age.

Cashback

Cashback wins a very important award on this list: most intriguing, provocative poster. But it’s more than just a pretty poster. Cashback is a British romantic comedy about the most mundane of topics: working at a grocery store.

For anyone who as ever been young and had an interest in the opposite sex (or any sex for that matter), however, they know that one’s place of employment is often an absolute fountain of sex and chemistry. If that simple exposition isn’t enough, Cashback comes along with a sci-fi twist and more importantly: Oliver Wood from the Harry Potter series. 

Let the Right One In

Let the Right One In may seem like another odd choice for a romantic movie on Hulu but it’s romantic and sweet in a way that few other movies are. Sure, the players involved are a little boy and a little girl vampire (though the fact that she’s a vampire may very well mean she’s centuries old, just try not to think about it).

It’s a spooky yet undeniably sweet movie that presents the female side of a romantic entanglement as the ultimate protector.

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50 First Dates

50 First Dates has a somewhat disappointing Rotten Tomatoes score. Ignore that. It’s probably partially due to many critics’ distaste for at least one of the actors in the above screengrab. Not that they can be blamed. The presence of Adam Sandler or Rob Schneider in any comedy can be a rough sign. In 50 First Dates‘, however, it’s not an issue at all.

50 First Dates is a legitimately funny and romantic romantic comedy. Drew Barrymore stars as Lucy Whitmore, a woman with short-term memory loss. Due to a car accident, every day she wakes up believing it is October 13, 2002. Sandler’s character Henry Roth meets her in Hawaii and the two must overcome this bizarre condition to establish a lasting relationship.

Date Night

What do you get when you take the male lead of a popular NBC sitcom and pair him with the female lead (and mastermind behind) another popular NBC sitcom? A pretty decent rom-com as it turns out! Date Night stars Steve Carell (The Office) and Tina Fey (30 Rock) as a disaffected married couple trying to spice up their love life with a romantic night out on the town. But when a reservation steal turns into a case of mistaken identity, the pair’s night gets quite dangerous.

Date Night‘s action-heavy concept isn’t anything new to the romantic comedy genre but the presence of Carell and Fey (along with Mark Wahlberg, Taraji P. Henson, James Franco, Kirsten Wiig, Mark Ruffalo, and a whole host of other impressive talent) is enough to make this a pleasant viewing experience.

The Princess Bride

So you want to watch one of the most purely lovely and entertaining romance movies of all time? Well Hulu is here to say “as you wish.” The Princess Bride is a 1987 fantasy adventure film based on a book by prolific screenwriter William Goldman. The inspiration to the story infamously came from Goldman’s two daughters requesting conflicting stories about “princesses” and “brides.” So the writer decided to do two for the price of one.

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In this adaptation, Cary Elwes stars as Westley, a young farmhand who loves Princess Buttercup (Robin Wright). But when Westley is shipwrecked and left for dead and Buttercup is betrothed to Prince Humperdinck, the hero must embark on a sprawling adventure to rescue her. And of course this is a framed bedtime story being told to Fred Savage in bed…as all movies should be.

The Boy Downstairs

So much of what goes into a good romantic relationship is timing. Sometimes the chemistry is there but the timing is not. 2017’s The Boy Downstairs delves into this phenomenon from a millennial perspective.

Aspiring Brooklyn writer Diana (Zosia Mamet) and aspiring musician (millennials are always aspiring, you see) Ben (Matthew Shear) are in a happy, successful relationship. But Diana is forced to break things off after she moves to London. When Diana returns, she finds a new apartment through her friend and guess who just happens to be the boy downstairs? That’s right: Ben…and with a new girlfriend, no less. What follows is a funny, yet mature examination of what it takes to get the right one back.

Happiest Season

The setup for Hulu’s 2020 Internet-breaking comedy Happiest Season is very romantic…to a point. Abby (Kristen Stewart) and Harper (Mackenzie Davis) are in love. Yay! Not only that, but they’re going to Harper’s parents’ house for Christmas where Abby might propose. Woo! Also Harper has not told her parents she’s a lesbian and in a committed relationship with a woman. Oh. Oh no. Poor Abby!

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Questionable setup aside, this an excellent, personal effort from actress turned writer-director Clea DuVall. It’s an attention-grabber and conversation-starter to be sure. It also certainly doesn’t hurt that much of the cast is mind-meltingly hot. Stewart, Davis, Alison Brie, and Aubrey Plaza are like a who’s who of TV and movie crushes. Hell even Victor Garber and Mary Steenburgen can absolutely get it. All in all, the charismatic cast and accessible concept makes for a surprisingly wholesome romance movie.

Plus One

Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something really charming about erstwhile TV stars playing the lead opposite each other in a romantic movie. Such is the case with 2019’s Plus One, which stars Maya Erskine (of Pen15) and Jack Quaid (of The Boys).

Erskine and Quaid star as long-time friends Alice and Ben enduring the portion of their twenties where every friend seems to be getting married at once. Thankfully Alice and Ben have a longstanding agreement to always be each other’s “plus one” at every wedding. But such an arrangement couldn’t possibly lead to them discovering they have romantic feelings for each other, right? Right???

Palm Springs

“Time loop” movies frequently try to distinguish themself from Groundhog Day, the progenitor and most famous example of the form, by changing up the genre. Edge of Tomorrow is an action movie and Happy Death Day is a horror movie, for instance. What’s so impressive about Palm Springs is that it leans in to the romantic and comedic stylings of Groundhog Day and in many ways bests them.

In this movie, Andy Samberg styles as Nyles, a young man living through the hell of experiencing the same day (a wedding in Palm Springs) on a loop. In one particular loop, Nyles accidentally brings in the bride’s sister Sarah (Christin Milioti) and the two must confront the reality of living the same day over and over again forever together. You know…just like any couple.

LOVE AND BASKETBALL, Omar Epps, Sanaa Lathan, 2000, (c)New Line Cinema/courtesy Everett Collection

Love and Basketball

And now we come to a movie whose title is the two greatest things in the world! Love and Basketball is about…well, what you’d think. Quincy McCall (Omar Epps) and Monica Wright (Sanaa Lathan) are two next-door neighbors in Los Angeles, California, who are both singularly focused on pursuing their respective basketball careers.

Love and Basketball is a film all about passions – both creative and romantic. The movie also does a surprisingly thorough job of marking all the important beats of a relationship from childhood through the adult years. There’s a reason Love and Basketball has become a modest cult classic – it’s a fine execution of both the romantic and sports movie genres.

The post Best Romantic Movies on Hulu Right Now appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[darealpatyu]

The Kingmaker Review: A Story of How One Family Screws the Philippines

Without a doubt, The Kingmaker is one of the best documentary films that I’ve seen in a while. I don’t know if that’s because it’s about a social issue that continues to haunt the Filipino people, or because the Marcoses are such a rare display of narcissism and greed that you can’t help but be astounded by the sheer incredulity of it all. The Marcoses are like the Filipino Kardashians, and it was both a treat and a pain to watch the whole circus of their lives unfold.

Could a Filipino filmmaker have made a documentary like this?

I would say that a Filipino couldn’t have created a documentary with this level of bluntness and sarcasm. Filipinos are more than capable of being sarcastic and artistic at the same time, but as a citizen living in this country, you can’t release a film as critical of current politicians as The Kingmaker was and not suffer consequences. You’d probably wake up dead if you did. Also, I think that the Marcoses wouldn’t have allowed a Filipino team to interview them and ask them about their regime because they already know that they have a band of haters in the country, and only haters want to find out more about that period in life. The Marcoses don’t openly acknowledge the haters, so I highly doubt they would’ve agreed to a personal interview like that. A foreigner conducting the interview, on the other hand, is a different story. The Marcoses love attention. If there’s anything they love more than money, it’s international acclaim. Interestingly enough, studies show that a telling sign of psychopathic tendency is their propensity to crave attention. I’m not directly saying that the Marcoses are psychopaths, but I’m sure you can piece two and two together. Anyways, Lauren Greenfield is an internationally recognized filmmaker, so you can imagine Imelda’s excitement when she found that she was to be her next subject. In the film, one of Imelda’s first lines is literally, “I miss the clout of being the first lady.” She misses the clout, everyone! Who even says that? Getting back to the point, I’m certain that the Marcoses and other prominent people agreed to be interviewed because they thought that they would be having a beautiful historical film about them – which is exactly what they got, in all fairness. Not only was this interview done for the clout, but it was probably also done because they knew that this documentary wouldn’t harm them in any way. They’ve already successfully revised history in the Philippines – they have a steadfast Marcos loyalist base that is only getting bigger. They literally have nothing to lose by taking part in this documentary. Think like Imelda – “I lose nothing, AND become relevant in the international sphere once again; I’ve gotta do it!!”

How were Imelda Marcos’ answers as the film progressed?

As the film progressed, Imelda was trying to portray herself as the victim of everything that had happened. She was trying to turn the experiences of all those innocent people who had suffered into her experience of suffering. I really lost my cool when she talked about how she was the mother of the Philippines and how she had been wrongly stripped away from her child. She would constantly try to victimize herself, probably because she realized that the interviewer’s questions were meant to attack her character, and not to give her the positive clout that she was expecting. When Imelda’s words of care for the country is contrasted with the reality of what happened in Calauit Island, it’s clear that she’s delusional. The historical information presented in the film was meant to be an antithesis to every word that came out of Imelda’s mouth because that’s the best way to expose a liar. You hear her saying she brought the beauty of exotic animals to the Filipino people, and then you see that she displaced over 200 families. You hear her feeling sad about the impoverished state of the country, and then you see her boasting extremely expensive paintings and giving out thousand-peso bills from plundered wealth. You hear her pride about the peace that Martial Law brought, and then you see the blatant disregard for human rights that occurred as accounted for by the Martial Law victims themselves. This presentation of historical truths, presented side-by-side with the proud lies of Imelda, was flawlessly executed. I could clearly deduce how far from the truth Imelda’s words were, and I’m certain that everyone who watched it experienced the same.

Thoughts on Sandro Marcos?

Talking about Sandro Marcos and his future role in Philippine politics, I do think that he has intentions to have a career in politics. I saw this 2017 article writing that Sandro had earned a Master’s degree in Development Studies from the London School of Economics. Given that his family has a solid reputation for lying about their academic credentials, I don’t think it would come as a surprise if he were lying too. Because the Marcoses heavily publicize Sandro’s achievements, I really think that they’re planning to make him continue the Marcos legacy of screwing our country as well. In the film, there was this part where in front of a crowd, Bongbong was telling Sandro that he’s ready to become a politician already – even though Sandro was only 21 years old at the time. This kind of mental conditioning – that you’re entitled to a successful political career even though you’ve achieved absolutely nothing and don’t have the passion for service – is the kind of conditioning that creates dictators at worst, and at best, corrupt political dynasties. When you have parents that constantly push you into thinking that your destiny is to dominate Philippine politics, you end up thinking that you’re entitled to it – willing to do anything to get what you want to make your parents and yourself proud. As a young adult, your entire self-worth becomes grounded on whether you become a successful politician or not. I assume Sandro’s conditioning to become a politician is the type of parenting that Bongbong was raised with, and look at how great he turned out, right?

My Three Takeaways on Leadership and Diplomatic Relations

The three takeaways about leadership and diplomatic relations that I got from the film are: 1) you need to be open to honest feedback to be a good leader, 2) just because you personally think a certain plan of action is going to be good for the group doesn’t mean that it’s good for the group, and 3) be critical of yourself and listen to your own words before and after speaking. My first learning was inspired by Imelda Marcos and her inability to acknowledge her haters. She seems like the kind of woman who listens to no one but herself. She hasn’t had any character development after all these years, and in the film, when she showed the picture frame of her acquittal from thousands of crimes, she had the audacity to say “the truth always wins” or something to that effect. She’s not open to feedback at all. My second learning was inspired by when Imelda brought all those animals to Calauit Island. She thought it would bring beauty to the Philippines when it actually had the opposite effect. My third takeaway is inspired by the fact that Imelda thinks she solved the Cold War. Leaders really need to listen to their own words and analyze their statements to understand if what they’re saying is factual and makes sense. If I were to compound all my takeaways into one unified idea, my one great learning would be: A great leader does not do anything that a Marcos would do.

What historical facts did I uncover through the film?

During the film, there were a lot of significant historical facts that I didn’t know about; these facts should really be taught in school. The historical facts that I was not aware of were: 1) exotic animals were brought to Calauit Island, 2) Ferdinand Marcos had affairs with other women, and 3) the reason why Imelda was the chosen diplomat was that the Marcoses were anticipating a coup d’etat. Also, I don’t know if this historical fact is verified but it shocked me when Imelda said that she checked into a psychiatric hospital before her husband became president. Is that true? I’m sure you can understand why I’m a bit wary of Imelda’s stories.

The Big Conclusion

To conclude this lengthy blog entry, I think that the greatest lesson to be learned from this film is that leaders are here to serve us, and not the other way around. They are not gods – they are fallible and must be held accountable for their mistakes. If we fear our leaders, follow them blindly, and make excuses for their incompetence, we encourage a culture of fascism, fanaticism, and corruption. Sadly, a parallel reality of the Marcos regime is happening today. If a dictator will not take advantage of the current political climate now, one will eventually find a way soon. That’s why this film should be making waves and reaching the masses. If only more of us knew about what is happening in the political landscape, we’d take the problematic status quo seriously. This documentary deserves to be acknowledged as educational material for the sole reason that history is being rewritten as we speak, and it is the duty of those who know the truth to let everybody know as well. There are so many material facts that remain unknown and hidden from the public, and it’s ridiculous that people don’t know about them. People need to know because we might just make the same mistake again, and that’s sad.

In conclusion, MARCOS IS NOT A HERO. THE FACT THAT THERE’S A MARCOS LOYALIST BASE IMPARTS A SENSE OF URGENCY TO THOSE WHO KNOW THE TRUTH. HISTORY MIGHT REPEAT ITSELF.

We really don’t want to see what happens if it does. #NeverAgain

[ramblingrachell]

Have You Read This? The Election of 2020

Like many of us, I watched Hamilton on July 4th, 2020 – our nation’s birthday. I met the day with mixed emotions as the spirit and character of our nation as of late did not seem appropriate to celebrate.

As I watched the story about many of the nation’s founding fathers and first leaders unfold, I was struck by the parts of their personal trials and tribulations that went beyond their contribution to the nation. Hamilton was the first politician to be involved in a sex scandal; Layfette – an immigrant, unafraid to step in and become America’s favorite fighting Frenchmen; Washington – a slave owner willing to admit “it probable that I may have committed many errors;” Jefferson – gained wealth profiting from the work of slaves, one of which he fathered six children with after making her his mistress. Burr – the untried murderer of Alexander Hamilton, whom he killed while still holding office as the third Vice President of the United States. In short, a hot mess of moral contradictions. I have been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack ever since my first viewing on July 4th, and realized a number of lines in various songs could be strung together to reflect my perception (key word: my) of the current political climate. Over the last week or so, I finally sat down to string all of those poignant lines together (with a few liberties for relevant context), a lyrical short story I have dubbed, The Election of 2020 (seen further down, further down). The beauty of democracy that is reborn during election seasons is our ability to get a fresh start, gain new perspectives, correct past wrongs, and continually better this land of the free for generations to come. I saw a quote recently that described voting as not so much like trying to find the perfect partner for marriage, but rather like using a bus for public transport. Voting is a map of bus routes that you must choose from in order to get from point A to point B. There may not be one specific bus that is going to your exact destination, but that doesn’t mean you stay at home and give up on travel entirely. Voting is not about waiting for “the one” candidate who is absolutely perfect. Instead, you choose to get on the bus that gets you closest to where you want to be. I know and love many republicans and democrats that have used the privilege of voting to get us all closer to where we want the nation to be. To me, where we are right now does not seem to fit under either traditional party umbrella – no, it’s much more like an umbrella that has been turned inside out and torn apart by a calculated hurricane of divisive and selfish endeavors. Perhaps more than ever before, this is the time to reassess our voting bus routes that will get us from point A to point B. Are we moving from indifference to tolerance? Hate to love? Despair to hope? Chaos to consistency? Negligence to protection? Moreover, before you get on your bus of choice, remember the route is designed to get the whole of our nation where we want it to be. Not just for me and not just for you. For all of US – as in, all of the United States. We will never all agree, I know this, but in spite of these disagreements, I am reminded of the hope that comes from the story of Hamilton. Even 244 years into this nation’s story, despite many dramatic peaks and valleys, the journey to our shared, happily ever after epilogue lives on. It lives on in me, in you, and in every vote cast to get us where we want to be. Regardless of how your vote is cast, the courage to reexamine your route and get on that bus… well, that would be enough.

The Election of 2020

“America, you great unfinished symphony A place where even orphan immigrants Can leave their fingerprints and rise up We’re running out of time Eyes up Time's up Wise up He's not the choice I would have gone with History will prove him wrong Winning was easy for him Governing's harder Welcome, folks, to a dysfunctional administration! He stands only for himself It's what he does I can't apologize because it's true Have it all, lose it all The President is gonna bring the nation to the brink He’s the villain in our history Frankly, it's a little disquieting that so many are blind to this reality He doesn’t have an ounce of regret He accumulates debt, he accumulates power Yet in our hour of need, he forgets Ardently abuses his post It's hard to listen to him with a straight face Watching the tension grow He cannot be left alone to his devices Indecisive, from crisis to crisis Stay alive 'til this horror show is past We're gonna fly a lot of flags half-mast Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us How many died because he was inexperienced and ruinous? We're too fragile to start another fight Where do we draw the line? Someone oughta remind him We're running a real nation Him and his words, obsessed with his own legacy His sentences border on senseless And he is paranoid in every paragraph How they perceive him Let future historians wonder How he tore so much apart And watched it all burn I wish I could say what was happening in his brain He's not very forthcoming on any particular stances Ask him a question: he glances off, he obfuscates, he dances I will not equivocate on my opinion I didn't say anything that wasn't true His father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, is this dude He is uniquely situated by virtue of his position Though 'virtue' is not a word I’d apply to this situation He seeks financial gain, straying from his sacred mission And the evidence suggests he’s engaged in speculation Why does he assume he’s the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude will be his doom He knows nothing of loyalty Smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty Desperate to rise above his station Everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation See how he lies Look at his eyes Follow the scent of his enterprise If we don't stop him, we aid and abet it Watching him grabbin' at power and kissin' it Somebody has to stand up to his mouth What do we stall for?  If we stand for nothing, what'll we fall for?

Be careful with that one He will do what it takes to survive No one knows who he is or what he does His pride will be the death of us all God, we hope he’s satisfied This man has poisoned our political pursuits Destroyed our reputation I can almost see the headline, his “career” is done Ya best go run back where ya come from! This dude is out! You ever see somebody ruin their own life? History obliterates In every picture it paints It paints him and all of his mistakes It's him against us, the world will never be the same He better get ready for the moment of adrenaline Try not to crack under the stress When he finally faces his opponent They’ve fought on like seventy-five different fronts He smacks others in the press and doesn’t print retractions We're breaking down like fractions But when all is said and all is done I have beliefs, he has none Gotta get us out of the mess he’s got us in There’s a reason no one trusts him No one knows what he believes I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion The way he primps and preens and dresses like the pits of fashion Our poorest citizens, our farmers, live ration to ration As Wall Street robs 'em blind in search of chips to cash in He’s askin' for someone to bring him to task While we were all watching, he got Washington in his pocket But the sun comes up And the world still spins I hear wailing in the streets There is suffering too terrible to name This is not a moment, it's a movement Are we a nation of states? What's the state of our nation? The issue on the table: We are engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul I’m past patiently waitin'. Let’s passionately smash every expectation For the first time, I’m thinkin' past tomorrow. We're gonna rise up - time to take a shot This nation better rise up Raise a glass to freedom Something they can never take away No matter what he tells us Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now But we'll never be truly free Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me Seek out injustice in the world and correct it Life doesn't discriminate Between the sinners And the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep living anyway We laugh and we cry And we break But can l be real for a second? For just a millisecond? We gotta make an all-out stand Get him out of power So he holds no office We are a powder keg about to explode We gotta stop 'em and rob 'em of his advantages Let's take a stand with the stamina God has granted us We pick and choose our battles and places to take a stand We will fight for this land Summon all the courage that’s required Be a part of the narrative The story they will write someday How we emerged victorious Leaving the battlefield waving Betsy Ross' flag higher No one has more resilience Let’s move under cover and move as one We have one shot to live another day Don’t throw away this shot We will fight up close, seize the moment and stay in it And so the American experiment begins again We bleed and fight for the next generation We'll make it right for them If we lay a strong enough foundation We'll pass it on to them, we'll give the world to them For a strong central democracy We may never all agree, but There's only one man and woman Who can give us a command so we can rise up Throwing verbal rocks at his mediocrities What do you stall for? What was it all for? We studied and we fought For the notion of a nation we now get to rebuild Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness We fought for these ideals; we shouldn't settle for less I don't pretend to know All the challenges we’re facing But this once, take a stand with pride This is not the time to stand to the side Stand with us in the land of the free To get the people that we need to lead We need the votes We need bold strokes When there’s skin in the game, stay in the game We don't get a win unless we play in the game We may get love for it We may get hate for it We get nothing if we wait for it I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me I dream of a brand new start I want real leaders that can save the day We won't be invisible We won't be denied If we get this right The nation can start to move on It outlives us when we’re gone We are the one thing in life we can control We are inimitable, true originals We can’t stand still Or lie in wait We don't wanna fight, but We won't apologize for doing what's right Together we can turn the tide If we manage to get this right They'll surrender by early light We have no control Who lives, who dies, who tells our story But I know that we can win I know that greatness lies within us But remember from here on in History has its eyes on me and History has its eyes on you”

(All Lyric Credits: Hamilton: An America Musical. Performances by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Daveed Diggs, Renée Elise Goldsberry, Jonathan Groff, Christopher Jackson, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Leslie Odom Jr., Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos  Phillipa Soo, and Original Cast Company. Atlantic Records, 2015.)

[eyreguide]

A Detailed Book Review of Jane Eyre

My thoughts on the novel was originally posted in parts on the Bookish Whimsy blog for a readalong of Jane Eyre in 2013.

Chapter I - XI

Re-reading these first chapters I am struck by the fact that Charlotte Bronte started our introduction to Jane when Jane finally rebels against her bullying cousin John and the irrational hatred of Mrs. Reed. It’s a powerful representation of Jane’s character because although she becomes outwardly subdued and her passionate nature is restrained for much of the book later, it’s important to know that this is who Jane is, no matter the cultural conventions. As a child she’s not cute and cuddly and as an adult the “rugged points” in her character must be accepted by the people she allows to get close to her.

The other aspect I find so interesting is how quick Jane is to point out hypocrisy. I think I read somewhere that children excel at recognizing hypocrisy and what is and isn’t fair and while it’s pretty serious how unfair it is that Mrs. Reed shows such disdain for Jane and gives preferential treatment to her children, and how Mr. Brocklehurst is so intent on making the Lowood girls humble and plain yet his family lives in ostentatious luxury, Jane can put her statements about these circumstances in such a way that shows a very ironic and sly wit that I really enjoy. For instance:

-  “Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.”

-  “Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned for what we had not got…”

-  “Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room. They ought to have come a little sooner to have heard his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired in velvet, silk, and furs.”

It was great to read Jane grow into an adult - with her childhood memories sometimes tempered by the adult Jane who is telling the story so we can get that bit of humor and a little bit of perspective - like why she felt she was an outcast at Gateshead. Of course now that we are at Thornfield, there’s so much stuff to look forward to reading about!

Chapters XII-XXI

Oh Jane. I find your restlessness so endearing! When I was a teen, I would re-read those passages where Jane wishes to see more of life and “more vivid kinds of goodness” and really empathize with how she was feeling. I think this is one of Jane’s great monologues in this book, and I always find it funny how such deeply heartfelt thoughts are suddenly followed by Grace Poole and the strange laugh. It’s like those momentous thoughts of hers should be it’s own chapter!

Now Mr. Rochester! I just love him so. He acts so unconventionally with Jane from the beginning - and his sense of humor is so skewed! Cause it’s kinda mean how he didn’t introduce himself to Jane in Hay Lane. But Jane wasn’t even upset, so you know it’s true love! :D I love how Jane can barely follow and almost certainly doesn’t understand some of the things he talks about in their second conversation and yet she holds her own and comes up with great answers! The back and forth banter in those scenes between Jane and Rochester just remind me how much I love Charlotte’s writing because it’s intelligent with that touch of humor. And re-reading it I am again reminded how much I associate Michael Jayston’s voice and acting with Rochester now because I just hear and see him in this role completely! (I’m referring to the 1973 miniseries adaptation - my favorite!) Mr. Rochester is so talkative too, Charlotte makes it clear through Mr. Rochester’s words that he is falling in love with Jane, even if Jane is not so sure.

There’s really all kinds of moments in this section where I’m just gleeful every time there is an indication of Mr. Rochester’s interest in Jane. My favorite is the tantalizing “Good-night my–” Ahh, what was he going to say?? And then the whole scene after the fire in his bedroom is full of indications as well as the Gypsy scene, the scene in the garden after Mason’s attack and Jane asking for leave. These are all some of my absolute favorite parts of the book because this is the kind of romance I adore - the subtly indicated and gradual evolution of love. It’s just so beautifully done!

Chapters XXII-XXIX

The too short amount of time we get to see of Jane and Rochester’s courtship is one of the highlights of this book for me. So sweet and romantic on Mr. Rochester’s part and so sassy and teasing on Jane’s; I feel like this is a heightened idea of how Mr. Rochester and Jane’s conversations went towards the end of the three months they were getting to know each other in the beginning of the story. Where Jane was just beginning to realize her power of “vexing and soothing him by turns.” Their banter in these couple chapters just makes me smile!

But my favorite chapter in this book is chapter 27 - the one where Mr. Rochester talks to Jane after the interrupted wedding. The scene where Mr. Rochester’s secret is revealed is incredibly devastating, but in this chapter the emotional damage to this reader just gets worse. It starts with the fact that Jane believes Mr. Rochester didn’t really love her, to her realizing that he did and still does, but that doesn’t change the fact that she must leave him. And Mr. Rochester is deluding himself with a hope that he can keep Jane with him by promising to treat her as his only wife. It’s so tempting and Jane does love him, but she just can’t compromise her integrity and her moral beliefs and it’s an exquisitely painful dilemma. And even though Mr. Rochester has committed such a betrayal, I love that Jane forgives him almost instantly when she sees how remorseful he is and how much he still loves her. It’s such a big thing to forgive him for, but I completely understand it because Mr. Rochester is a flawed character and he tried this because he was desperate to secure Jane. This is the time that Mr. Rochester is totally truthful as well (it is his only recourse now) and when he has no more secrets and no more games to play but is earnestly pleading, it’s so darn moving! And romantic! So much of both Jane and Rochester is revealed in this chapter and I think that’s why I find it so powerful.

Jane’s three days wandering is a part of the book that I didn’t used to appreciate as much - it really is distressing to read how Jane suffered and was almost ready to give up. But she clung to her dignity and to her moral convictions. As if it wasn’t enough that she had to turn her back on the love of her life, she also had to suffer starvation and mortification! But again everything just reinforces Jane’s strength of character and makes her a fabulous heroine to look up to.

This section has all the extreme ups and downs of the entire book! Though I don’t really think of it, it is pretty odd that Charlotte Bronte plotted this story to have such a climax in the middle, but I feel the last section of the book is a genius addition that really completes Jane’s journey.

Chapters XXX-End

St. John Rivers - the anti-Rochester. Re-reading this part of the book again, I focused on all the things that made St. John the complete opposite of Rochester. And there’s a lot. St. John is blonde and fair to Rochester’s black hair and dark features, tall and statuesque to middle height and square-ish, a minister and philanthropic and you know Mr. Rochester isn’t that concerned with religion and early on Jane points out that Rochester’s brow is deficient where it should indicate benevolence. St. John likes to read at mealtimes and study, while Mr. Rochester can’t stop talking to Jane, St. John is completely honest with Jane and Rochester is considerably less so. Both however are intelligent, and both study Jane’s character well and find something in her to attract them but Mr. Rochester sees Jane as his equal and really better than him, and St. John sees Jane as the diligent workhorse he’s always wanted. 

That’s where I really have a problem with St. John. Sure he’s striving for good things, and wants to use his skills and intellect to make a difference and fulfill a duty to God, but with his dismissal of the individual needs of a person and then of a woman, it’s hard to feel very sympathetic with him. He continually puts reason above feeling and in doing so cannot understand the complete beauty of humanity. Of course for Jane, meeting him at this point in her life when passion has not resulted in happiness, it is great for Jane to see the other side. In this section Jane matures even more - she knows that she needs to be loved for herself and not what she can do. And she gets the family and financial independence to live free and contented on her own. 

So she can return to Mr. Rochester as his true equal - she doesn’t have to worry about depending too much on Rochester’s wealth and connections because she has some of her own. But I think the transformation Mr. Rochester undergoes is the greater. He’s so broken when Jane comes back - humbled and accepting of his fate - and what breaks my heart is that while Jane was strong enough to soldier on without him, Mr. Rochester was not. It’s too romantic that Rochester needs Jane that much. And he’s not just humbled by the experience, but also accepts God and his past. Passion balanced with reason. Just like Jane. Now they can have their happily ever after. I’ve long thought Jane Eyre a study in that balance of passion and reason - Jane was too passionate at Gateshead but tempered at Lowood by Helen’s reason, then Jane is pushed towards an excess of passion at Thornfield and an excess of reason at Moor House, to finally find the middle ground with Mr. Rochester at Ferndean. 

This book is just so extraordinary to me. It has so much depth and has resonated with me so strongly ever since I was a teen. I wonder what I would have thought of it if I had read it when I was older, but I’m so glad I had the chance to grow with this story because I’ve found so many different things to appreciate about it at different times in my life.

[imagine-loki]

Ella

TITLE: Ella

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: breemaggs

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Odin throwing a ball, inviting all the young ladies of the realm to come to be chosen by Loki to be his future wife. (a bit like in Cinderella I guess?) Loki despises the idea, knowing all the women won't be interested in him, but just in the related power and wealth ... And to prove it, he tricks Odin by projecting an image of himself during the ball ( ...refusing every dance and every contact for obvious reasons...) while he disguises his true self in an ordinary ( but still handsome) young man. He tries to see if any of the girls would be interested in him for his personality instead of the possible power of match with the prince of Asgard. (Click to read the full imagine!)

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Rated for language. This is very much AU. I tweaked the imagine a bit to fit the muse’s demands. Enjoy!

“...a ball the likes of which the Kingdom of Asgard has never seen!”

Loki rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide his annoyance at this point. Such grandeur was right up Odin’s alley, but he found it in poor taste. And the reason for the ball? Simply archaic; Odin wanted to marry off his last prince and he figured that packing the castle chuck full of Asgardian noblewomen ought to be the perfect way to do it.

But Loki knew better than to kick up a fuss. It would only make Odin enjoy the entire process more. So he stayed silent, limiting his protestations to body language only. But it was difficult; he had to bite down on his tongue more than once to stay quiet and just let him carry on.

All he could think of was how dreadful it was going to be. Daughters of important dignitaries and nobles... He suppressed a shudder. The daughters were bad enough on their own, but the prize at stake was going to make them absolutely crazy. He could almost hear them simpering about how much they adored him and wanted to forever be in his favor. And the mothers... Fuck, best not to think about the desperate mamas seeking a match for their babies.

His only saving grace was his mother. Frigga kept casting concerned glances at her youngest son when the King wasn’t looking. He took comfort in the fact that his mother was on his side. She had always been on his side, even if it was often only in secret. And while she couldn’t completely keep the atrocity from actually occurring, she could keep it relatively under control.

It would have to be enough.

xoxoxo xoxoxo

Well, it wasn’t a complete atrocity, Loki thought as he looked across the ballroom from his hiding place. It was going well. Or at least, that’s what Odin must have thought as he watched Loki’s illusion interact with the silly debutantes. He was careful to keep his projection from touching anyone. It wasn’t difficult; he’d been playing with illusions since he was a child and he’d damn near perfected them. He didn’t even have to babysit them anymore.

It helped that his mother was running interference. He was sure that she knew it wasn’t really him on the floor. She was waving off the formal greetings for all the women who were trying so hard to even graze against him. He loved her all the more for it.

And he was having his own fun, proving his personal theory correct. He knew none of these women wanted him for who he was. He wasn’t stupid and neither were they. Love matches were exceedingly rare. These women were out for blood; they wanted to align their families with royalty. They wanted the endless pampering and wealth that came from a marriage to a prince.

So he’d cast a glamor over himself, creating a new identity. No one paid him any mind, just as he had expected. It was fun to experiment, though. No one was interested in anyone but the prince. Woman after woman had turned down his deep bows and offers of a dance. He’d taken it well enough, but a hint of annoyance was beginning to creep in.

Fucking nobles. They were all the same. Money hungry and utterly ruthless in their attempts to better themselves.

Deciding he’d seen enough for the moment, he headed towards the library, shedding his glamor as he did so. There would be no need for a disguise in his favorite hiding place. It was his sanctuary. It was where he went when he needed space to breathe.

And he definitely needed some space to breathe tonight. He loosened his collar and let out a long sigh as he approached the closed doors. He threw them open and was well on his way to his favorite nook when he realized that he wasn’t the only person in the room.

He stared in shock as the loveliest woman he’d ever seen, scrambled to pick herself up off the floor from where she’d been sprawled out reading. She had auburn curls that were escaping their pins, sending her hair into disarray around her heart shaped face. Her green eyes were a bright contrast to her perfectly tanned skin and they were pleading with him as she looked up at him.

“Shit! No, um.” She fumbled for words. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll go, okay? Please, please don’t tell His Highness that I was trespassing!”

At that, he laughed, charmed by her mouth and the way her lips shaped her filthy words. “I promise you that I will not tell on you, my little trespasser. Your secret is safe with me.”

She gave an audible sigh of relief and her shoulders sagged with it.

“I am curious, though. Why is it you are in here and not out there-“

“Oh, please. Those blathering idiots.” She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be caught dead vying for the hand of a prince. The only reason I accepted the invitation was to see the library.”

He cocked a brow, but let her continue as he watched her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.

“This library is the stuff of legends. Noble women aren’t encouraged to read or, in all honesty, have much of a brain. My father thought that was stupid and made sure that I had the best private tutors and teachers.” She trailed a hand down the spines of the books on the shelf closest to her, her eyes faraway and a small frown forming on those damnable lips. “But that all changed when he passed away. My stepmother didn’t agree with him. She thought he was indulging me and filling my head with nonsense.”

He opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. She turned towards him and gave him a grin.

“She’d shit her pants if she knew I was wasting this opportunity in the Royal Library.”

He laughed again and was rewarded with a true smile from her. She stepped away from the shelves and put her hands on the desk in between them, leaning forward just enough that he could see the barest hint of cleavage. But he was raised a gentleman and yanked his eyes away from temptation and met her amused ones. She graced him with a smirk as if to say that she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone.

“So, what about you? Why are you hiding in the library when there’s such a wonderful party going on? Too much competition from the prince, huh?”

It was at that moment that he realized she had no idea who he was. She didn’t know he was the prince. She thought he was just another guest in attendance. And that filled him with relief. Finally. Someone who wasn’t after him just for his title. Someone who could hold an intelligent conversation.

“Something like that,” he affirmed with a shrug, pulling out the seat in front of him and sitting down at the desk.

She took the hint and pulled the chair on the other side so that they were sitting across from each other. “I can’t imagine you having trouble finding a date,” she admitted, propping her elbows on the desk and cradling her face in her hands.

He smirked. “I find that their company is extremely lacking,” he confessed.

It was her turn to laugh and he immediately loved the sound. It didn’t grate on his ears the way most women’s laughter did; he supposed the fact that her laughter wasn’t forced or faked had something to do with it.

“I can’t say I blame you,” she agreed with a soft sigh. “They’re all bitches, if you ask me.”

That. That right there. He loved that. What would she say next? He had no clue. It was a constant surprise. He had known her all of twenty minutes and he was already enchanted. She was so different from any woman he had ever known and that was so very appealing to him.

He lost track of time as they swapped stories about their childhoods and shared interests. And there were a lot of shared interests, they found as they continued talking. It wasn’t until she was yawning in front of him that he realized that it had grown late.

The clock chimed midnight and she started in front of him.

“Fuck! Is that clock right?” Before he could answer, she was up and out of her seat. “I have to go. If I don’t beat my stepmother home, my life is over. This was fun! We should do it again!”

Her last words were toss over her shoulder as she raced out of the room. He took chase, calling after her. He couldn’t lose her now. He’d only just found her.

“Wait!” How did she run so fast in those fucking heels? “I don’t even know your name!” And I never told you mine.

She looked over her shoulder, surprise written all over her face. “It’s Ella!” And mine is Loki. Prince of Asgard.

And then she was gone, tearing through the gates as if the very hounds of Hel were on her tail. At least he had a name. Ella.

Now he just had to find her. And then tell her that he was the prince.

He’d have to figure it out.

xoxoxo xoxoxo

It had been a week. A very, very long week.

He was frustrated. He was smart. He was resourceful. He was multitalented. And he had still been bested by a woman. A woman who had seemingly vanished into thin air. Ella. She’d said she’d gotten an invitation to the palace for the ball, but he couldn’t find her name on the guest list. And he’d checked it more than once.

To make matters worse, his father was insisting that he should abandon his search and marry one of the many other girls that had attended. His mother had stepped in at that point; she knew the entire story as she was the only person Loki had trusted enough to confide in. She’d urged Odin to let him find his mystery woman. Odin had reluctantly given in to his wife’s request.

Loki knew that wouldn’t be the last conversation on the matter, but for now, the subject was closed and he was free to try and find her. He poured all of his time and energy into finding her. He pulled the previous year’s census report, but because he had no surname, it wasn’t any help.

He was exhausted and beginning to lose hope. So he decided to go back to where it all started; his safe haven, his favorite place. The library. He did his best thinking in there anyway, surrounded by books that held years of knowledge.

With a heavy heart, he yanked the doors open and was, once again, shocked to find someone already using his space. His heart leapt into his throat as he took in the form of a woman patiently restocking the shelves. She slowly turned around at the sound of the door and his heart began a wild rhythm in his chest.

Ella.

She shot him one of those smirks he had so enjoyed the night they had met. “Took you long enough,” she told him, setting the rest of the books down on the desk they’d shared only a week ago.

He frowned and crossed his arms. “If I knew all I had to do was return to the library, I would have done it a week ago,” he replied crossly, trying to ignore his leaping pulse.

She laughed. “Calm down, I wasn’t trying to insult your intelligence. Your mother said you spend a lot of time in here. I thought we’d have crossed paths before now, that’s all.”

His heart dropped into his stomach and his jaw dropped ever so slightly. He swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. This was uncharted territory. He’d prepared a speech to explain to her that he was, in fact, the very prince she’d been avoiding at the ball, but apparently she already knew. And his mother was in on it.

She laughed again at the expression on his face. “It’s okay,” she said with a soft smile.

She came around the desk to stand in front of him. She used her hands to uncross his arms and tangle their fingers together. She tilted her head and studied his eyes. What she saw in them, he wasn’t sure, but he found that he couldn’t look away.

“Loki,” she breathed and he bristled.

Assuming she knew who he was and having it confirmed were two very different things. And suddenly, he was very worried that she’d just played a very elaborate game to trap him. He didn’t like that notion. He finally dropped his eyes away from hers and fought the growing hurt.

But she wasn’t going to let him off so easy. She lifted his head with gentle fingers until their eyes were locked again.

“Let me explain. A week ago, I truly didn’t know who you were,” she told them and he could see the truth in her eyes. They were shining bright with determination. She wanted him to believe her. She wanted him to know that she wasn’t lying to him. She took a deep breath and the rest of her words came tumbling out of her mouth.

“But the day after the ball... The prince was all my stepsisters could talk about. They regaled me with tales about the prince’s soft raven locks and cool eyes. They told me about how polite and wonderfully handsome he was. With every description, I found myself thinking about how very similar you and the prince sounded. And then there were the posters...” She paused to frown, drawing a finger down his smooth cheek. “Stasja got her greedy hands on one of the promotional pieces for the ball... And there you were staring at me from my dining room table.”

She visibly swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. He reached up and swept her unruly hair out of her face. He let his hand tangle in her hair. She leaned into his touch and he felt the knot that had formed in his stomach loosen a little. Her words rang true to his ears.

“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to see you again, but I didn’t know how. The fact that you are a prince...” She winced.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, feathering his thumb across her cheek.

She didn’t seem to believe him and continued with her explanations. “You have to understand. My father came from a very noble and old bloodline. But my stepmother is nothing more than a leech. After my father died, she began treating me like dirt beneath her feet. I had to sneak out of the house to get to the ball. That’s why I ran out of here so fast.”

If I don’t beat my stepmother home, my life is over.

“Your mother caught me trying to sneak into the palace two days ago.” She smiled. “I thought was dead. Caught by the Queen. Fuck, I thought she was going to send me straight to the dungeon. But she seemed to know who I was.”

“That sounds like mother,” he agreed.

She sighed and finally lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

She shrugged. “I get it. You’re used to the bitches at court.”

He laughed and tugged her against him. She wrapped her arms around him and returned his embrace. She felt so good against him. Better than he had ever dreamed. He pulled away ever so slightly and used the hand in her hair to angle her head back. And then he took the plunge and kissed the woman who had literally run away with his heart.

She kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised him, but shouldn’t have. She knew what she wanted and she went after it. It was in her nature. And she, apparently, wanted him. She wanted him for him. Not for his title. The thought lit a fire in him and he deepened the kiss, wanting her to feel the depth of his emotions in that kiss.

She whimpered against his lips and opened her mouth, giving in to his demand. Her hands were pressed flat against his back and she used them to pull him impossibly closer. His hand in her hair tightened and tugged while his other hand squeezed her hip.

When it became clear that the kiss was getting out of control, he broke away from her. It took everything in him to keep from kissing her again when he saw her lips that were swollen and wet from his kiss.

“Why did you stop?” she asked.

“Because I would hate for someone to catch me fucking you against the bookshelves,” he murmured wickedly in her ear.

He stepped back with a grin and watched as a blush spread up her neck and to her cheeks.

“But what if that’s what I want?” she shot back at him, her eyes flashing.

He smothered her devious laughter with another kiss. She would be the death of him.

He was looking forward to it.

[slingsendarrows]

To His Coy Master

“I have often reflected on upon the new vistas that reading opened to me. I knew right there in prison that reading had changed the course of my life. As I see it today, the ability to read awoke inside me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive…My homemade education gave me, with every additional book I read, a little bit more sensitivity to the deafness, dumbness, and blindness that was afflicting the black race in America.” — Malcolm X “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”

Photo by Will Small

It never ceases to amaze the length, and breadth white people will go to willfully deny history in as much as it tells them the truth about themselves. I don’t blame them. It is a bitter pill to swallow owning up as a member of a people that has wreaked such havoc and extended so much unmitigated violence. Your domination in pursuit of betterment for your people and racial superiority was at the unquantifiable expense of others.

Now, before we get bogged down in the mire of wilfully confusing terms, let me resentfully explain what I mean by the words I am using. I say resentfully because expounding upon the injustices heaped upon my people requires I justify my position and take care not to offend the sensibilities of those I am addressing. It is dormant trauma indicative of the master/slave dichotomy I still have yet to shed. For it is only the oppressor that necessitates the oppressed exercise restraint and caution in stating and expressing his grievances, however vile and repulsive, adjusting for nuances and individual circumstances as if his subjugation wasn’t abrupt, violent, and complete. What is the virtue of incremental progress if the oppressor committed the original sin with absolute expediency? But, I digress.

“White people” or “white men,” refers to the collective white man, woman, and child as befits the ideologies of white supremacy, meaning those originating from Europe and the inheritors of their ancestors’ misdeeds. I will not deign to account for individual acts or attitudes of “good” white people because it is irrelevant. It is a tactic the oppressor uses to detract from the larger truth about himself.

Also, in speaking collectively, I will use the masculine pronouns, reflexive and otherwise, in an umbrella fashion similar to holy writ, signifying patriarchy as the apex of privilege and tyranny. Occasionally, I may address collective “white people” as women and men, specifically. “Master” is not restricted to those who owned slaves in actuality but those who propagated ideas of white superiority and black subjection.

Finally, and for what I hope will be the last time, privilege is a Russian doll ladder in that some have more than others in the broader context of the hierarchical structure as well as within each rung. Privilege is the exemption from specific experiences due to the inherent characteristics of race, ability, sexuality, gender identity, sex, socioeconomic status, etc. I have privilege within my rung as educated, able-bodied, cis-gender, and heterosexual. I shall leave it there.

I know you are, but what am I?

There are things you can’t unsee. I can neither unsee injustice nor abide civility for civility’s sake. Living as a black woman person is a burden, but one I am learning to carry with pride. You live in the depths of a valley with a clear perspective of the surrounding landscape. I look about me these days, and I yearn to be free. Natural freedom, not granted, but inborn and awakened through the conscious effort. Freedom rising from truth and understanding, painful though it may be. But master, I must tell you the truth about yourself, for I see now, as Malcolm X stated, you love yourself so much you’re often surprised to discover we do not share your “vainglorious self-opinion.”

Bettmann Archives/Getty Images

The cyclical nature of oppression angers me: outcries and marches, cosmetic salves for change, and disingenuous support that lasts just long enough for us to return to business, as usual. I don’t want to mince words anymore. It no longer serves to be palatable. You must swallow whole my incredulous raging despair and dubious hope for change. You will taste every unpleasant bite as I tell you the unflavored truth about yourself. I will not be distracted by dog-whistle racist dismissals of reverse-racism and black supremacy. Pipe down! You know I do not have the power to alter a fraction of your daily existence fundamentally.

For all your talk of progress, history shows very little of significance and import has materially changed. Individual achievement is pointless if institutionalized racism persists, unimpeded since the advent of colonial conquest when you left your lands to “discover” ours. It matters little that some of us make it if most of us continue to suffer the same injustices bereft of reprieve through education, wealth, and status. In short, your surface efforts at woke-ness and allyship are of little use if, in your white homes and white spaces, you propagate or remain silent in the face of racist sentiments and ideologies.

I reason real change calls for radical action. The how eludes me. Real change requires rooting out the problem in its entirety, a problem so deeply ingrained and pervasive it infects every facet of our daily existence. It is institutionalized. But our subjugation was so final we forgot our names. We have been in the wilderness far too long, thirsting for understanding and starving for identity. You hope we never figure out our freedom was never a matter for your consent.

In the midst of my hungering, I have awakened to two fundamental realizations: 1) we are and have only ever been as free as you have allowed us to be, 2) truth comes through knowledge of self, and knowledge of self comes through self-education.

It’s been a long, long time coming, but I know change is gonna come.

During moments of considerable racial unrest, you remind us to be grateful for the crumbs that fall from your feasting tables and make it into our mouths. With each protesting hamster-wheel cycle for change, you erroneously juxtapose our grievances against your apparent signs of progress, as if the two are analogous. You caution against violent reactions when your institutions murder us, and you selectively misquote our advocates out of context to suit your purposes and invalidate our rage. The conversation inevitably becomes about how we are not decent people, and our behavior courted death; therefore, we deserve to die. There is no need to mourn, much less to protest. Still, during our tear-gassed and rubber-bulleted peaceful protestations, you implore us, once again, to be patient. Someday we’ll all be free. Incrementalism over expediency!

Photo by Charles Moore

You ask us to remember Abraham Lincoln and his hundreds of thousands of Union soldiers. Do we not recall the numerous, albeit contradictory, supreme court decisions that have brought us thus far? Lyndon B. Johnson and his predecessors awarded us civil rights, benefitting the electorate with the sacrifice of black bodies. The matter of reparations is a non-starter — sins of the father, and all that; it’s in the past. See our constitutional amendments, white abolitionists, James Meredith, northern white liberalism, and lest we forget, the progressive black achievement permitted in your industries and society.

But the fact that we’re still witnessing black firsts 400 years later is not a sign of progress; it is the opposite.

Our schools teach the efforts and white generosity of Abraham Lincoln liberated black people in America. However, a cursory glance at your records will show this is factually incorrect. I am tired of being reminded to pay homage to the “Great Emancipator,” whom we remember, in large part, due to this astounding act of condescending deference. Master Lincoln is an excellent example of your self-conceit that our freedom is yours to grant or deny. And to add insult to injury, you congratulate yourselves for it. The overarching white supremacist belief you can deign to give us freedom is a glaring reminder we are only as free as you enable us to be. Your love for this lie is so profound; you pull it out each time issues of race arise. But Lincoln, a white man, freed you! He might have been black too.

So let’s set the record straight.

Lincoln did not free slaves out of moral imperative but political expediency. A cursory study of his papers and thinking at the time show he was willing to maintain slavery if it meant keeping the Union intact because “a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

Before the Missouri Compromise of 1820, a carefully maintained 1:1 ratio determined the slavery status of newly admitted states. This balancing act was codified when Maine and Missouri sought admittance; the former was free, and the latter legally permit slavery. The law also prohibited slavery north of the Mason-Dixon line.

At the onset of the Civil War, Missouri demographically split between confederate and union allies. In 1861, witnessing Missouri’s descent into chaos, Union Major Generals Fremont and Hunter issued emancipation proclamations calling for the execution of those found guilty of taking up arms against Union and the confiscation of their property, including freeing their slaves. Shortly after that, Lincoln fired the generals and annulled the proclamation. He issued a Second Confiscation Act in July 1862, allowing for the confiscation of slaves owned by the rebels, freeing them at the discretion of the court.

District of Columbia. Company E, 4th U.S. Colored Infantry, at Fort Lincoln

Slaves were commodities of considerable economic value. Slaves were mortgaged collateral and settled debts. Losing slaves would result in a substantial financial loss for southern masters. The Union knew that, so they exploited it. Freeing slaves robed the Confederacy of its free and disposable labor, eliminating the possibility of slaves fighting against the Union army at the behest of their rebel masters. Lincoln did not issue the Proclamation of 1863 because he thought black people were inherently equal and deserving of justice under the law. Asked about his decision-making process, he stated, “…if I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that…” The Civil War did not end slavery in acknowledgment of black equality. Slave emancipation crippled the Confederate economies and, in so doing, weakened the southern rebellion. Emancipation was a means to an end.

Lincoln could not conceive of a nation with black people as equal if not, primary stakeholders. Nevermind their backs built the wealth of the country. Now that the problematic part of nation-building over, he could simply return them from whence they came and be done with it. He thought it better to return black Americans to Africa and failing that, create a whole separate nation unto themselves.

Reportedly the only known photo of a black American Union soldier and his family. (Library of Congress)

In 1854, before the Civil War, Lincoln stated, at a speech in Illinois, his “…first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them back to Liberia.” It was the only foreseeable solution to the race issue. He considered the coal-mining prospects of the Chiriqui region in modern-day Panama an option for deportation and resettlement. Still, the idea met fierce abolitionist opposition when he tested it on a sample slave population in Delaware. He supported a congressional bill that would “…aid in the colonization and settlement of such free persons of African descent […] as may desire to emigrate to the Republic of Haiti or Liberia or such other country beyond the limits of the United States as the President may determine.” After signing the Second Confiscation Act, in August 1862, Lincoln invited a delegation of five prominent black men to the White House to clarify that white and black people cannot coexist; therefore, separation was the most direct path to peace. He wanted their support for a mass black exodus.

Liberia presented a logistical nightmare. The Chiquiri coal was worthless, and the land in dispute with Costa Rica. Approximately 450 black people moved to an island off the coast of Haiti, of which almost 25% died of poor nutrition and illness before the remainder returned to the U.S. Defeated, Lincoln, considered deporting “the whole colored race of the slave states into Texas.” Days before his death, he stressed, “I can hardly believe that the South and North can live peace unless we can get rid of the negroes…I believe it would be better [for the whites] to export them to some fertile country…”

Getty/Library of Congress

In conclusion, asking me to celebrate a white master for granting me what is rightfully mine is ludicrous — honoring him for a decision that only benefitted me as a secondary consequence of his primary purpose is the height of white arrogance. It merely cements you don’t believe freedom is ours by right; it is yours to give in the manner befitting your white sensibility stretched out over the expanse of time. Time to legitimize the numbing effect of revisionist history and position us in gratitude toward master’s acquiesce and tolerance, however slow. Master is doing his best. After all, his wife, at a time, condescended to teach Frederick Douglass to read and write.

And yet, here we remain, yearning for crumbs off of master’s table. Asking, begging, pleading, for what is ours.

The real nightmare scenario for white supremacy is an actualized black mind, educated and conscious of its pervasive and pernicious effects. Global black unity jellies the white man’s spine in fear of retribution for his crimes. It is why you champion incremental progress and hail peaceful protest as the height of moral discourse. You only understand violence for violence is what it took to achieve your dominance. You cannot conceive of any other possible outcome, and you cannot revise history with enough “good” white people committing “good” white acts to cover the rancid stench. You know it stinks, and since you cannot find a solution outside your oppressive playbook, you must deny, obfuscate, distract, appease and roll the ball down the road of historical replay.

To that, I now turn a deaf ear. We must educate ourselves about our people and history if we are to be truly free. We cannot depend upon you to what is right. You have made it abundantly clear.

[ais-n]

1 | more like apologise for how harmful it was? how the mlm relationships were so clearly hetero? the sex scenes were so straight to me tbh. and i say this as someone who has read the books twice. first time i didn't see what i saw the second time. i think you genuinely wanted to have people of colour representation but it's very racist to me how hsin and emilio were done. constantly called "exotic" which is a thing americans like to use so much when it's not their ethnicity.

Hi! Thanks for the detailed explanation, I appreciate it! At first I had such HIGH HOPES I could reply to all three of your asks in one place but it turns out I talked too much (go figure lol) So I’m going to do then one at a time. I did want to start out replying to one offhand comment in the 3rd ask and then I’ll get into the rest. Below is what I had written before I realized I need to split it into three and then edited out saying I’m answering all at once. For anyone who hasn’t seen all three asks yet, that’s why part of what I’m talking about isn’t represented above - anon, hopefully it makes more sense to you since you know the future right now from what you had written in the past. ....wow, I made that confusing.

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Thank you for the explanation! I appreciate you too! Also you made me laugh out loud at the gay comment, so thank you for that XD You are not making me feel worse; I appreciate the courage you no doubt had to pull together to post this :) I could be wrong but if I imagine myself in your place, I imagine feeling a little scared or intimidated to post and yet feeling it is necessary. I think it’s really cool you were able to post this in such a thoughtful explanation. Thank you!

In order to not overwhelm anyone’s inbox - and to make it easier for you - I put these all together in one ask. [[[EDIT: JUST KIDDING I talk too much - this is answering stuff from each ask at a time, sorry. I put it behind a cut to make it less long on people’s dashboards.]]] 

Still, I imagine with so much I want to talk about at once, I will probably miss things so let me know if I miss something you really wanted to talk about or you wanted follow up on something in particular.

Anyway READ MORE BELOW for a probably stupidly long reply lol Just, knowing me at least….

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Hi welcome to the below deck party! I don’t know why I said it that way. That was creepy sorry lol Anyway I’m breaking this up a little bit but the more I think about it the more I think this probably really can’t address everything properly in one place. So, again, seriously just let me know if you want follow up on anything - or if anyone does, for that matter. I’m not doing this quite in order though.

RACE: 

Yeah actually, I agree that “exotic” is pretty ??? terminology to be using tbh. I don’t imagine I would use that wording if I were writing something today and if we were to edit the series now, I’d remove it. I don’t remember the context, to be honest; whether it was only used in narration or if it was used in dialogue too. Dialogue might stay, if it’s to show a person speaks a certain way and has certain views on life, but I’d personally probably change that in narration unless it had a specific reason for being there. Which my very vague memories combined with your comment make me think probably not?

In regards to Hsin/Emilio plus even terminology like ‘exotic’ or whatever being used - so, upfront, I need you to know this whole post is not an excuse or etc. It’s just an explanation. 

I didn’t write Hsin or Emilio, so I honestly can’t speak for or about them. I would like to be able to give you some insight into “Sonny’s” background and his friends and family he said he was inspired by in writing them, or give you insight into Alicia’s background (as she is a person of color, at least I was always told she is), but I truly don’t even know what was a lie and what was truth anymore. He always told me his characters like Hsin and Emilio were based pretty directly on people he knew - well, Emilio in particular was hugely based on a cousin of his. But that cousin didn’t exist, it turns out, or at least not in the way I knew. We wrote our own characters and were in charge of their own stories, although we also co-wrote the series as a whole and had input on the plot and etc. But I never really dealt directly with Emilio or Hsin in the writing of them other than how my characters interacted with “his” characters.

I can’t speak on behalf of anyone so I honestly can’t say if Emilio and/or Hsin are concerning or not concerning portraitures of any demographic. I really feel that such a determination has to be up to each reader. I say that in part because I’ve heard over the years that people actually appreciated the way they were written, for various reasons, and some of the people saying that were from demographics that the characters represented. But that also doesn’t mean it has to be something across the board; that because one person feels a certain way, everyone else whether in or out of that demographic has to agree. Quite the opposite, really.

I wish I could even say something like “I know Sonny did a lot of research on xyz specific topic because we talked about abc in regards to it” but I can’t. I know we had those conversations but I don’t know if anything I was told is true. What I can say is the series was written basically 15 years ago. Or rather, started around 15 years ago, then written on/off over multiple years. And we started it essentially in the same vein as BL fanfic, just sort of as a fun thing to do on our off time without any initial plan to ever publicly share it. The good thing about humans and culture is we change as we grow, and there are many things we can continue to gain understanding of as we go. 

One of the really good things about the last 15 years is it’s become more and more accessible to learn about the world and its people. When we started ICoS, for example, Google streetview wasn’t a thing. In order to try to be accurate about something like the streets of a particular city, we either had to totally make shit up and say the war changed everything in that town or I had to try to track down a paper map of it and hope nothing had changed significantly since then. 

Slowly over the years, the globalization of information expanded. Over time, all the little details I didn’t know to even question became things I could find easily. Like, do they say W Something St or Something St W? Is it Avenue Blah or Blah Avenue? Do they even use terminology like avenue or streets? Do they commonly have alleyways everywhere or anywhere and if so how big are they? What are the roads made of? What is the lighting like? Are there basements? 

I grew up in Midwest USA on the tail end of tornado alley where a basement is an absolute must. Imagine my absolute confusion when I learned there are houses out there where they DON’T go underground. Like, at all. wtf??? From my, at that time obviously limited, experience, the only people I personally knew who didn’t have some sort of underground space were apartment dwellers or my friend who lived in the mobile home park. It was such a staple understanding in my life to assume everyone had a basement in their home that I had no idea to even question the existence of such a thing when trying to write another location within the US, let alone anywhere else in the world. And at a certain point when we were writing it, I didn’t even know to ask certain questions, or if I did I didn’t have an easy way of finding it.

If you were to read the very, very original version of Evenfall and compare it to what’s most recently released, for example, there are many differences. One example of something you might notice is the streets are totally different in Monterrey. That’s because we had to make up streets the first time around because I could not find any maps for the city. I tried but they just weren’t accessible for whatever reason; not in the detail I needed and where I could find them, or probably afford. We had to just be like “Welp, guess the war changed it all, sry!” to explain the random names and structure. But as the years passed, information spread to a minute level across the world slowly but surely. First, Google eventually had the layout of the city streets, then it had satellite imagery, then it had Google streetview, then it had people randomly uploading photos to locations, and so on. Eventually, there was enough information from big to small to feel relatively sure we could at least somewhat accurately represent the geography - not perfectly, absolutely not because we’d never been there - but an approximation that hopefully wouldn’t be too jarring for someone actually able to visit, themselves.

You may wonder why the hell I’m talking about streets in Mexico when your comment was on Hsin’s and Emilio’s characterizations, but I mention it because I look at a lot of things in writing with that same level of paranoia of wanting all the details possible to write it to try to be as accurate to at least someone’s reality as possible. That’s one reason why I haven’t written Domino, for example, which focuses on Vivienne’s life; it probably seems like it should be easy to do, and in ways it is. But I don’t feel nearly educated enough on how it would be to grow up in France in a rural then urban area with the sort of pressures she had as a young woman and with her different levels of wealth and the way she looked and etc etc to be fair to anyone who may find representation within that and to not accidentally jar them totally out of the experience by the equivalent of randomly throwing a basement in the middle of Texas because who the fuck knew Texans don’t automatically have basements in all their homes?? 

Really, with anything, there is always room for improvement - especially with anything as complex as any aspect of any demographic which inherently then serves as some form of representation for a huge variety of human beings. Humans, being complex beings themselves, will thus have an even larger variety in the way any topic can be seen. What is severely off-putting to one person might be acceptable to another. Sometimes society steps in and is like nah bro, idgaf if you’re cool with that, I’m not. And sometimes it remains so complex that it’s hard to give one exact answer.

What we tried to do was listen to feedback as we wrote and take it into account in the writing of the series itself. Also, especially later in the series, whenever possible we tried to do research as much as possible on whatever detail or topic we had going on to try to be as accurate as possible.

I’m truly not trying to skirt any sort of issue, I just don’t think I can properly say a singular reply to your concern without being unfair to different voices I’ve heard on this topic over the years. If I had never heard directly or indirectly from people that they specifically appreciate the representation of the characters, if in fact I had only ever heard concerns about them, it would be easier to say we were wrong. But I’m not part of any of the demographics so I can’t speak on behalf of any of them. Thus, I can only listen to what different people tell me, and know that regardless of what I’m told, for them that is truth and thus I respect it.

What I will say is it certainly was not the intention to upset, insult, alienate, or otherwise cause concern for anyone reading the series for anything other than the actual things intended to be fucked up like the things the characters went through and so on. I’m very sorry that the characterization is so upsetting and concerning for you. That really sucks; it takes away from the point of the story and puts you in a place that is deeply uncomfortable. I’m very sorry we put you in that position.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Actually, I’d love to hear more what you mean by your comment. I have certain inferences I make based on what I think you mean but I don’t want to misinterpret and misrepresent your concerns.

The way I interpret “how the mlm relationships were so clearly hetero? the sex scenes were so straight to me tbh.” is maybe related to the idea of dominance vs submission? Like making an equivalence of that to masculine = dominant = power/strength = top = Hsin, and feminine = submissive = weakness = bottom = Boyd? Is that what you’re suggesting or did you mean something else? I have a lot of thoughts on this subject but, again, I don’t want to ramble on a tangent if I am totally misunderstanding what you meant. Especially since I rambled so much above.

So if you’d like to explore the topic more and would like thoughts/answers/etc just let me know in another anon ask more specifically what you mean, if you can. Thank you :)

I’ll go onto ask 2 for now - I forgot exactly what came up in that ask vs the 3rd ask so I’m not sure how long it will take me to type up a reply. Just in case I don’t finish it today, I wanted to sign this off in the meantime with I hope you’re staying healthy and safe!

[blueeyedslytherin]

Canon scene: When Draco left for Hogwarts for the first time

//Tagging my Draco babes and my Lucius for BIG EMO REASONS: @mindthevoices @aparecium-muses @xfpureblood

     She knew it should not have been this hard, she was a grown woman, why was she getting so emotional? She knew the answer to that, why was she bothering to lie to herself? She wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly why she was being so emotional right now. Draco, her first and only child, her baby boy, was off to Hogwarts for the very first time.

     She could still remember her very first day of school, 11 going on 12 and absolutely nerve wracked. Both of her sisters were already in school, Andromeda a budding third year and Bellatrix a stunning fifth year, both of them already living and breathing embodiment of what her reputation should look like at school. Both of them had impeccable grades and wonderful social standing among their classmates, both of them had been sorted into Slytherin and had made their family proud for it. 

     She remembered on that day, standing at platform 9 ¾, with absolutely no doubt that she would get sorted into the same house as her sisters and would take her place beside them not only at the Slytherin table but also at Hogwarts. She would take her place beside them as they made their way down the hall, the family to beat, the sisters to impress, the Black sisters once more united on an educational front to take down all social standing and to beat the odds. And from that day on, at least for the next few years, that was exactly what happened. By the time Narcissa entered her fourth year of school Bellatrix was graduated and married freshly, leaving her and Andromeda to rule the school alone. And then at the end of her fifth year, when Andromeda graduated, she lost her sister in an even more permanent way, left alone to walk the halls in humiliation.

     She hoped so dearly that Hogwarts would be a different experience for Draco, that he would make wonderful friends and learn all the things the wonderful wizarding world had to offer him, that the professors would treat him with the respect he deserved as her son, the other students would respect the Malfoy name and that he would end up in Slytherin just like his parents before him. Now is the time for him to start making a wonderful reputation for himself, because it would reflect on him later. Lucius often spoke about the ties that he had in business were ones formed with people they had gone to school with, and the same reputation that garnered him his business allies had also garnered him enough respect and power for him to become her fiancé by the time she was 16 years old. The things her son said and did for the next seven years at the school could determine not only his career but who he ended up marrying, especially with blood and wealth like theirs. It was a lot of pressure, but in the same vein, she wanted him to have a wonderful time.

     Hogwarts had been some of the best and worst days of her life, it had been some of her closest memories with her sisters, some of her safest days because she was away from home. It had been where she met Lucius, completely unaware that love would one day strike them as hard as a broom flying at top speed. She wanted him to make amazing memories and amazing friends, for him to look back on that time in his life and be terribly happy about it. That was part of why she was so emotional, because she knew she wouldn’t be present for such happiness in him. Draco had always been very attached to his mother, and she was attached to him in returned. He was her only child and the thing she loved most in the world, the only good thing that had ever come from her, her bright light in a dark world. That was why it was so hard for her, taking him to the train station.

     Lucius had taken the time away from work, she had practically begged him to. She knew how busy he was and that there was a lot to be done at the ministry, but this was a special day. This was their son‘s first day of school and she wanted to be able to see him off. It was painful, definitely, because she never been away from him for a long time before. She knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. She had never been away from him for more than a few days before, days when she would sometimes leave him with his grandfather so that she and Lucius could go away on a miniature vacation just the two of them. But she had never been apart from him for more than a few days, not even a full week. And here she was, in early September, having to say goodbye to her son knowing she wouldn’t see him again until the holiday break in December. And then what was she supposed to do after the holidays? Then she wouldn’t see him again until the summer break and that was an even longer time!

     She held back tears as she watched her husband give her son one last good speech as they stood beside the Hogwarts express, listening to Lucius talk to him about always remembering to write home and that should he ever need anything, just let him know and he would be there in a flash. She watched them hug and bit her lower lip so that it wouldn’t tremble, but she knew that her sorrow was obvious by the way that her son clung to her before he ever even said anything. She hugged him back tightly, momentarily not caring for her reputation as she allowed  tears to fill her eyes and simply hoped that her mascara would not run.

     “You’ll be a good boy won’t you? You’ll be safe for me?“ She asked, watching him nod his head, her fingers stroking over his gelled hair, a style that he had insisted on because he thought it made him look like a proper young man on his first day of school. “And you’ll write home to me often? You must be sure to pay good attention to your classes and always do your schoolwork. I’ll be sending you lovely thing from home all the time, your favorite treats and anything else you should like,” she promised, reaching her hands up to hold his face.

     “I’ll write all the time, I promise. And I’ll be very good, I’ll make both of you proud,“ the young boy promised, making both of his parents smile.

     Narcissa smiled brightly and hugged him tightly one last time, her lashes wet from her tears. “I love you, Little Dragon,“ she said, her tone breathy and emotional.

     “I love you too, Mother,“ Draco said, his voice very sure of himself. He was his mother’s boy, and she had spent his entire life making sure that without a shadow of a doubt, he always knew how loved and how special he was. When he pulled away he smiled at her, clearly trying to hide his own emotions because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the other students. She held his chin for a moment and smiled, slowly releasing him although she was hesitant. She watched as he hugged his father one last time, promising his father that he would write to him should he ever need anything and bidding them farewell until the Christmas holiday.

     She sniffled softly as she watched him get onto the train, watching for a towheaded boy who would stick his hand out the window to wave to them as she had hoped he would. And when he did, a bright smile on his face, she had hoped that maybe everything would be all right. She felt a strong arm wrap around her waist, turning her head to look at Lucius who she could swear was a little bit emotional himself. They were never usually ones for extremely affectionate acts in public, usually keeping all of their affection behind closed doors, though the affection was very strong and passionate. But in moments like this, when it was matters of family and when she couldn’t really help herself, she wouldn’t complain. She leaned into the strong arm around her and smiled softly, bittersweet almost.

     “It’ll be all right, Cissa," Lucius promised, turning his head to kiss her temple before looking back at the train. “He’ll be back for Christmas, and then you’ll miss the quiet,“ he said with a smile.

     She smiled in return and turned to look at him, shaking her head. She knew that she would enjoy having her husband to herself for a few months, free reign of the house without having to worry about what Draco may see or hear, some time to experience each other alone in a way that they never got before because their love hadn’t blossomed until after they had become parents. It would be a nice thing to experience. But she knew that she would often miss the sound of her son’s quick and footsteps across the hardwood floors, that the halls without his laughter would never be the same, that only seeing one of her boys at the breakfast table would be heartbreaking. 

     “No, not really. I don’t think I’ll ever miss the quiet…I’ll be too busy missing him,“ she said, her eyes closing as her husband pressed another kiss to her temple as the train began to move.