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arcielee · 1 year

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Ask Me Anything

Summary: Aemond asks his professor some questions. Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3162 Warnings: The smutty smut you all wanted, fingering, p in v. Author’s Note: Here is part 2, you can read part 1 Hazy Shades of Spring ♥ This was the poll winner and I had to make it into 2 parts. Also, I am also celebrating that I have over 400 followers now! Thank you all so much for reading, it fills me with joy. A shoutout to my muse and editor @f4ll-for-you thank you for your unique perspective and helping me become a better writer! ♥ Also, I got this finished on Ewan’s birthday? Coincidence? Yes, absolutely. My planning and scheduling is terrible. Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @nina2697 @skikikikiikhhjuuh @itsabby15 @greenowlfactif @padfooteyes @danika1994 (If there is a strikethrough, it would not allow me to tag you.)

Mrs. Lannister had been kind enough to share that even though you ended your office hours early on Fridays, you would often remain to finish the lesson plan for the next week. “She’s the only one who does this,” she continued her overshare, batting her lashes. “The rest of the faculty is already gone for the day…even I’m about to leave!”

Aemond returned a warm smile that was close lipped and allowed his cheeks to dimple, noting the faintest hint of rose to her complexion when he thanked her. His gait was languid with his fluid stride to follow the hallway that snaked through the building and back to where he already knew your office would be.

He saw the glint of your name on the door plaque and it seemed closed; he stopped and rapped his knuckles on the wood, the action pushing it slightly ajar and allowing him to step in.

“How may I help you?” You had asked without bothering to look up. Your laptop was open and a stack of papers were tidy on the side, but your focus remained on the one in front of you.

Aemond thought to when his brother first enrolled in your business law course, his arrogance more obnoxious than usual when he came home to say, “My professor is hot and I am definitely fucking my way to an A.”

Aemond did not even acknowledge the cocksure idiocracy he spewed and remained silent when Aegon would return with weekly updates before he inevitably begged their grandfather for a suitable donation to help him pass your class. He remembered being intrigued by the professor who, despite the board’s pressure, then only gave Aegon a barely passing grade.

Aegon was furious and Aemond only said: “You could always attempt studying,” with his eyebrow cocked.

His brother moaned. “Wait until you have to deal with her.”

When Aemond entered the classroom, he remembered you were bold with your gaze and without the hint of fear he often met with other professors. Aegon had once described you as a librarian in need of a good railing, but Aemond liked your tasteful, almost bookworm look, how your hair would be twisted back and the glasses you wore during lectures.

He was dutiful with his classes, but with yours he found himself pressing for more; he would push for answers, often getting a rise from his classmates with his constant disputation, but you were unfazed by it, taking the time to pick apart any argument in your eloquent way and even admitting when he was correct with his verdict. Aemond would wait after the room emptied to approach your desk, pleasantries always exchanged and he liked your smile when you once said, “Are you sure you’re only twenty-two?”

“Age is only a number,” he replied and relished in the blush that dusted your cheeks.

Aemond could admit to himself he had a slight crush, but he did not understand the extent of it until the semester ended, until that Friday night.

With Aegon doing a “study-abroad” in Essos, it was put on Aemond to help with the new restaurant. His uncle had been annoying throughout the set-up, using Aemond for menial micromanaging, and he was relieved with the grand opening, just to be rid of the role of Daemon’s tedious shadow.

Everything is perfect, though, he thought during his rounds, walking the grand staircase towards the bar when he noticed your backside.

Aemond did not immediately recognize you. For one, your hair was down, your thick main smoothed into a cascade of curls instead of the usual bun or braid your locks would be in. Also, the dress you wore fit to your curves in a way that looked like you had been poured into the garment, not your usual comfort uniform of a top, cardigan, and jeans.

He was enamored by the curve of your back, how you were curled over the bartop and your attention focused on something, unaware of the few patrons that lingered with the hopes to draw your attention, before grabbing their drinks and moving on. It was the moment you paused to grab your glass of wine that he recognized your profile.

He had to talk to you.

“Professor?”

Your hesitation was understandable, but eventually you fell into the ebb and flow of the comfortable conversations he would get moments of during your office hours. His heart jumped when you offered the excuse to take you out on the balcony. He was enamored with the way you held yourself, the smile on your lips and how he never truly noticed the beauty of your eyes or how your lashes framed them.

Aemond noted the moments you would hem for words, as if it was an internal debate to say one thing before you would give your genuine thoughts and your upfront honesty was something he welcomed. He noticed the flush to your cheeks and nose, perhaps from the bit of cold in the night air mixed with your passion for science fiction, which he had not expected, and that was the moment he stepped in to kiss you.

You seemed to meld against him with a soft familiarity to his touch. He loved how your expression brightened when he took your hand and how you moved to keep with his strides towards the car he called for. Aemond waited with bated breath when you paused at the car door, watching when you leaned forward and it exaggerated the curves your dress complemented. He would have followed you to the ends of the earth, but you only asked him to come upstairs.

The next morning, Aemond woke with your curled so perfectly against his chest, his silver hair between your fingertips. He did not move because he did not want to wake you and allow this tranquil moment to end. You were cute when your eyes fluttered open to take in your surroundings and he handed you your glasses.

You seemed to not want him to leave and he stayed until Sunday. Even then you hesitated to let him go and he made sure to follow up with you, just a simple text that thanked you for the lovely weekend. He followed to ask when you would be available and was surprised when he did not get even an emoji for a response.

Aemond waited before sending another text, but when he saw he had been left on read, he let it be. Maybe you thought the weekend was a mistake? Perhaps you had not enjoyed yourself like he assumed you had?

The abrupt end confused him, until he received an alert from Amazon, suggesting a new book release from an author he made sure to follow.

Your pseudonym, an anagram of your first and last name.

He read Hazy Shades of Spring in one sitting and knew he had to see you again.

“Hello, professor,” Aemond stepped into your office. “If you have a moment, I came to seek out your expertise on a matter.”

Your expression was stunned, your lips parted for a moment and your cheeks rosy from his severe gaze, his one sapphire eye glinting in the office light. “Yes, Aemond, hello,” you struggled for the greeting. “Please, sit down. How may I help you?”

There was the probability of running into him on campus, but you had not expected for him to come directly to your office. Your eyes could not help but drink in his lithe figure, the grace of his movements as he seated himself in the chair across from your desk. His expression would have been stoic except for the slight upwards curl of his lips, amused by your flustered state.

“I had some questions in regards to one's penumbra rights,” he began, watchful of your reaction with his deliberate words. “I think I could be a victim of unwarranted appropriation and I wonder how that would hold in the court of law?”

You could feel the blood drain from your face and your tongue pressed against your bottom lip, your teeth biting as you brought it forward to try and relax your jaw. The gesture was subtle with your attempt to calm your nerves, but it was not missed from his intense gaze.

Aemond fucking smirked.

Your eyes narrowed on him. “You would need undeniable proof of tort liability,” you began, your voice hoarse with your reply and you cleared your throat before continuing. “It would need to be undeniable that your likeness had been used without consent.”

There was a pregnant pause; you refused to ask what he may or may not have and you watched the dimples line his cheeks with his knowing smile. “I believe I do have proof,” he finally said, reaching into his jean’s pockets and retrieving his phone. “It’s an ebook that was just released.”

Oh, fuck.

You force your features to relax and watch his screen light up, filled with text. “His mien is breathtaking, the sharp contours of his features-”

“That description could be used for any protagonist worth noting,” your voice interrupts, almost shrill; you find yourself standing on your side of the desk, your hands pressed on top to anchor you.

“Perhaps,” he replied, his eye flitted to you for a moment. Your breath came out slow through your parted lips, watching as he looked back at the screen and continued to read. “The severity of his gaze was offset by the sapphire stone-”

Your moves are quick and clumsy, coming around the desk and clasping your hands over his; your cheeks are flushed and you are bold with your stare. “Aemond,” you finally find your voice. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

There is a moment that his expression hardens, a flash of an emotion that is wiped away and instead his perpetual smirk returns to play at his lips. He pulled his hands away, pushing to stand while tucking his phone into his pocket.

You fall back as he takes a step towards you, his silver hair spilling forward when he leans forward to hold you attention. “I actually came for clarity,” his eye flits to your lips and he purses his own for a moment. “I had thought we had a lovely weekend together, but every reach out I attempted since had been left on read.”

“Aemond,” you say his name with your exhale, breaking away and looking at the floor.

His head tilts with a slight hum as he looks over your stance; your bottom is pressed to the edge of the desk and your arms stiff at your sides, with a hold on the profile that has your knuckles white with your grip, like you could not trust your idle hands.

“I had thought,” he softened his tone. “I thought I had done something to offend you, or perhaps… you did not enjoy yourself, until…” you looked up and saw the glimmer of hope that danced through the aloof façade of Aemond Targaryen. He didn’t finish the thought and instead said, “I also came here because I want to take you on a proper date, to go to an agreed location, where I will be punctual and we will have dinner together.”

You cannot form words; your face is burning and you make a noise of disbelief, a mixture of a gasp with an almost laugh that stops in your throat by the touch of his warm palm to cup your cheek. His hold keeps you from looking away again, his stare intense. “I am telling you what I want, why I came here.” He leaned forward until the tip of his nose touched yours, the breath of his words fans your jawline and you can feel the ripple of goosebumps all over. “But if you are not interested, tell me now and I will stop. I will leave you alone.”

You did not want him to leave you alone.

In fact, that weekend was on an endless loop in your mind. After he left, you began to write, fervently, and with every keystroke, you poured the intimate, delicious details into a transcript, hoping that when you sent it in, it would empty your mind of him.

It did not and Aemond consumed your thoughts. You remembered the ease of conversation, the comfort of his presence, and how you craved his touch, how alive you felt pinned under his steady gaze.

Now he was in your office and his steady gaze was burning; you bit your bottom lip, your fervor basked in the flame of his stare, savoring the warmth that he exuded. His scent washed over you, just his proximity made your skin feel aflame.

The moment ends when Aemond relaxes his stance, falling back a step, and only then did you react. Your hand touches the junction of his shoulder to his throat, your fingers curling around the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours. He welcomes your mouth with a lusty frenzy and you moan when you feel his tongue move to taste your mouth.

He closes in on you, his thigh pushing your legs apart and his hand on your jaw to tilt your head, moving to ghost his lips on the column of your neck until they reach your ear. “I love that you are a woman of action,” his husky tone and words tickle your skin. “But, remember, I require verbal consent.”

Your hands move to his jawline, your right hand hovering and careful to not quite touch. “Yes, Aemond, please,” you beg him, your eyes wide. “I wanted to reply but I…”

He interrupts your words with another kiss and he is hungry to taste you again. Your arm wraps around his neck and the other hand is pressed against his solid chest. His hands move to follow the curves of your hips and wrap around to cup below your ass, bringing you flush against him.

Your hands drop to unbutton your jeans and you feel his warm palms slip into the waistband of both, pulling your underwear as he peels you bare. He presses against you, lifting to set you on the desk edge before kneeling in front of you and unlacing each Converse shoe. Aemond sets them aside and returns to grab the fabric to pull it off; you burn from his stare and he leans to kiss the inside of your knee, his lips trailing your thighs and his hand pulling himself to stand again.

You watch him bring two slender fingers to his mouth and wet them with his tongue, before they dip between your thighs. A gasp spills from your kiss-swollen lips when he touches you with familiarity, following the crease of your wet folds and the slow curl of his finger inside you.

He watches your response, the arc of your back with the rub of his fingertips in your velvet walls until you mewl his name. Aemond hums, a smile to his lips, and adds a second finger, continuing the same come hither motion to that same sweet spot. His wrist shifts, allowing his thumb to press against the nub above with ample pressure and you moan loudly to his touch. Aemond continues his ministrations until he feels you clenching; there is a lewd sound of your wet heat and how his fingers continue to fuck you through your climax, until you whimper from the overstimulation.

You look at him through lidded eyes, still on the curtails of your release; he licks his fingers clean with a grin, his gaze narrowing on you. “Is it better than the book?”

Your look hardens and you push from the desk, desperate to pull his shirt over his head and the fall of his silver tresses tickle your face; your cardigan falls to the ground, your fitted shirt follows. He is still smug when you place your hands on his chest and push for him to fall back into the chair, your touch falling to unbutton his jeans.

Aemond lifts his hips to bring it down enough, his hand wrapping around the base of his member. Your mouth waters at the sight and you step to straddle the chair, lowering yourself so he can line with your entrance before you sink further.

You moan as he fills your velvet walls and he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck and allowing you a moment to adjust to his size. With slow breaths, your nails bite into his shoulders and you press onto the balls of your feet to rise and lower onto his length.

There is a soft echo in the office with the lewd noises, the suction of your cunt to take him in and your wanton moans when he begins to thrust upwards, meeting your motion. He presses his lips against your ear with the hot whisper, “Stop clenching or I won’t last.”

You almost purr from the sensation, turning your head to find his lips. “You’re fine,” your voice is breathless. “I’m on the pill.”

He stills and you look to see his pupil blown, taking you in; without a word, his hands grip into the soft flesh of your ass and he moves to lift you. You squeak your surprise, your legs quick to wrap his waist as he takes a step towards the desk; the polish wood is cool to the touch when he sets you down, reaching behind you to clear away the clutter and laying you back on the desktop, positioning you until you are nearly folded in half.

This new angle has you a mewling mess of tears, the flutter of your cunt encourages his fingers to bruise into your hips with a brutal pace until you see stars.

You can feel the twitch of his cock and a low, guttural groan from the back of his throat with his peak. Aemond leans forward, his forehead damp and pressed to yours, his breath warm with his exhale until it evens again.

He looks and notices a box of kleenex, reaching for it and is careful to clean the mess. You sit up, still feeling the trough of the waves of your release tingling over, your hand moving to pull the hair tie and your fingers comb out the braid.

Aemond rightens his jeans, but does not button them; instead, he looks at you, another hum as he reaches to cup your face, bringing his lips to your forehead and then tilting your head back to find your lips. You stare at him a moment, warm from his touch and also shy at the realization you are still very much naked.

“What now?” You ask, pushing to stand.

He pulls you against his bare chest and your heart flutters from his warmth. “Depends,” he murmurs and you pull back to look up at him. “Which restaurant did you want to go to?”

#ask me anything #part 2 #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female!reader #here is the smut you all wanted #my tumblr kindred spirits #thanks for reading #♥

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brrrkdslek · 2 months

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🎀 𓂃 ࣪˖ DYING WISH

SYPNOSIS : knowing the dangers with mafias roaming downtown recently, your dumbass still decides to take a stroll praying it'd relieve your current stress and struggles. but god had other plans for you as she sends two stress relievers your way. but what you didn't know was that you'd be a great asset to them.

PAIRING : mafia! sanhwa x fem! reader

GENRE : non-idol au, mafia au, mafia members duh, idfk honestly

WARNINGS : smut!!!!, no names mentioned(y/n), yummy hunky men(sanhwa), degradation(hwa), praise(san), face fucking, unprotected, creampie, throatpie, strip tease(?), voyeurism, abused pussy lmao idk

WORD COUNT : 4.2k

YINGLES' NOTES : LMFAO HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVOURITE EDITOR EVER!!!1!!11!1!1 @ygswl enjoy yo mega smut bitch ;) ps i almost creamed myself while writing this hehe👉🏻👈🏻

you groaned and flopped onto the bed, this was the fourth time in a row that you didn't win a fancall with your favourite idol. you stared at the ceiling and contemplated your life, is this it? whining over the perfect man that doesn't even know who you are? get a life.

"ugh, i'm trying!" you whined to the voices in your head and slammed your fist against the bed, startling your cat as it jumped up from its spot next to you and meowed at you sassily before it jumped off to some corner in your room you never bothered to clean.

you suddenly sat up and slapped both of your palms onto your cheeks and sighed, "focus! you need to get a grip!" you screamed to no one in particular as you threw the covers off your body and got dressed.

you looked in the mirror and smiled in satisfaction at your lovely outfit; a sleeveless low cut top paired with a cute cropped white jacket. you put on a pair of high-waisted flared jeans and did a small twirl at the mirror.

you decided to take a stroll downtown as you walked down the stairs humming some song that's been stuck in your head since the month before, time really passes by quickly. you jogged towards the kitchen to grab a snack before heading out, eyeing the banana in the fruit bowl as you reached to get it.

your mother emerges from behind you and smacked your hand, making you jump and turn around. "where do you think you're going?" she asked grumpily as she eyed you up and down, still salty you didn't help her prepare dinner.

you chuckled sheepishly and followed behind her as she tossed the bowl of meat she was holding into the pot of boiling water. you gently massaged her shoulders as you coughed, "hah, so uh, what're you making, ma―"

she cut you off and shrugged your hands off her shoulders, "what do you want now?" you stiffened and laughed, "whaaat? pssh, nothing of course..." she eyed you up and down with an eyebrow raised, "looking like that?"

you pursed your lips before taking a deep breath and sighed, "can i go downtown please? nothing serious, just a walk and―" she cut you off again and smacked your arm with the plastic spatula she was holding, "no! are you insane? don't you know about the stupid mafia down there right now?"

she tsked and furrowed her brows, "what's their name? dala dala- no, bala bala...?" you crossed your arms against your chest and grumbled, "it's hala hala, ma..." she rolled her eyes, "whatever, if you die i'll kill you!" she said before walking past you to grab the spices in the cabinet.

you deadpan, "that's not even- whatever, i'm going now." you said as you put your shoes on and heard her hum. "love you ma!" you said before slamming the front door shut and bouncing excitedly as you took a bus downtown.

you haven't been going anywhere for the past month due to work and babysitting your annoying cousins, not that you ever complained since your aunt and uncle paid you generously. it's been a long time since you were downtown and you're excited to see the change made in these few months you've been gone.

you grumbled as you leaned against the brick wall, swirling the kool-aid in your cup as you glanced around the area. it wasn't surprising that everything was still the same, i mean what was there to expect?

but you've already encountered three catcallers and tripped on nothing twice, the second time making mud water splash onto the ends of your new pants, spoiling your mood even more than it already was.

you looked around again and perked up when you saw two delicious looking men in suits turn a corner and into an alleyway.

of course, being nosy as fuck, you followed. tiptoeing quietly, you looked into the alley curiously and felt your heartbeat quicken, this was so enticing.

one of the men was taller and slimmer than the other, hair slicked back and dressed in a suit, any woman that passed would probably fall heal over heels, including you.

the other man was slightly shorter and had wide, and when i say wide, i mean wide shoulders. your expression soured when your eyes trailed down and saw his small waist, his proportions were insane.

the current feeling of infatuation quickly turned into envy as you pouted, wondering how easily these two men looked so effortlessly handsome.

"tonight?" the man with the dorito body asked, "hm, i have no clue how we'll manage to take down valhalla in just one night but i'll figure it out." the taller said sternly, looking as proud and confident as ever.

you scoffed, arrogant prick. the shorter whined and rolled his eyes, "how are we supposed to do that? that little man always has crazy high expectations." the other chuckled at the height joke, "that's how we're able to even rise this high, you know this."

you deadpanned when the dorito man continued to whine in annoyance before he suddenly stopped and turned his head to your directions. thank god for your reflexes cause you retracted your head just in time.

you slapped your hand over your mouth as you slid down the wall, having just realised what dangerous situation you put yourself in. you continued to eavesdrop but furrowed your brows in confusion when you stopped hearing voices.

like an idiot, you poked your head back towards the alleyway and felt your heart jump out of your throat when the two men were much closer now, looming over you with their hands in their pockets.

you shrieked and fell back onto the concrete and breathed heavily, your mouth drying as you desperately tried to speak. the shorter chuckled and squatted down, "what's this? you're a pretty little thing, ain't'cha?" he cooed as his hand came up and stroked your cheek gently, making you blush.

however the taller wasn't amused as his expression remained stoic. "san," his voice was icy cold, sending a shiver down your spine. "you know what to do." the dorito man, san, nodded and got up, feeling his knees crackle.

you glanced at both men that were standing silently before you quickly got up and scurried away, screaming for your life. then, you felt a cloth on your mouth and breathed in a soft scent. and it all went black.

you groaned as your eyes fluttered open softly and gasped when you found yourself in a dark room, a soft purple hue wrapped all around. it seemed like a karaoke room, the interior was absolutely gorgeous, you probably wouldn't be able to afford it if you sold your house.

san tsked and snapped his finger in front of your face, bringing your attention back to him. "hey, focus on me little girl." he mused as you tried to speak, only just realising there was a piece of tape on your mouth.

you began to panic as you wiggled your body around, the ropes around your hands and feet rubbing uncomfortably against your skin, making you whine and whimper.

san rolled his eyes as he stood up, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulled you close towards his face. "i'll remove the tape if you shut up." he said sternly as you slowly quieted down, relaxing onto the chair.

the man hummed as a small smile took over his features, "now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he spoke gently, his voice completely different from his authoritative and demanding one from before.

he liked when he's listened to, got it. you made a mental note not to get on the man's nerves as he ripped off the tape from your mouth with one swift pull, making tears pool in your eyes from the sudden feeling of pain running down your body.

you pursed your lips as an awkward silence takes over the room, the booming music from the two rooms beside you making it slightly less awkward.

"a-are you gonna kill me?" you murmured quietly, cringing slightly when you heard yourself stutter. san bit at the skin of his lips and went silent before sighing, "yes, there isn't any nicer way to put this but you overheard our plans, so that's just how it is. protocol."

you felt your heart beating out of your ribs as the realisations hit you like a ton of bricks. "can't we work something out?" you asked desperately, the words pouring out of your lips like waterfall before you could even process them.

san sighs and leaned back on the long couch, "listen, i'd love to but i can't decide that, only seonghwa can." at the mention of the elder, the door to the room opened and the taller man from before emerges, closing the door behind him.

"you're awake?" the man, whom you've learnt is seonghwa, asked with a bored expression on his face. san was alerted and stood up as seonghwa was practically staring a hole through you.

you gulped and turned your head away as he continued, "i'm assuming you heard everything?" without hesitation, you nodded your head. "then death is necessary." he answered confidently.

you cursed yourself in your head, why do you have to be so honest? you could've made this better for yourself but noooo. your bottom lip trembled as you held your head down, "please, isn't there... something we could work out?" you asked shakily.

the two men held eye contact with each other for a few seconds before seonghwa spoke up, "i'm... gonna go find hongjoong." he murmured before quickly exiting the room, leaving you in more distress as san cursed under his breath.

you felt a tap on your shoulder as you looked up and saw a glass of wine being held towards you. san coughed and looked away, "to calm your nerves..." he mumbled as if he read your mind.

i hummed before taking large gulps of the wine and finishing it with a groan. san swallowed dryly as he chuckled, "you can swallow real good, huh?"

san's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches a singular droplet of wine roll down the corner of your lip and down your chin, dripping onto your cleavage and disappearing into the crack.

san's eyes darken, only seeming to have noticed your revealing outfit just then. san hummed as he tilted your chin up, "let me get that for you, beautiful..." he growled lowly before he licks the bead of wine from your chin and to the corner of your mouth.

your breath catches in your throat as you let out a breathy moan, face flushing from the alcohol and how close san was to you.

san pulled back with a groan as he begins to untie the ropes from your wrists and ankles, "y'know what? i'll do you a favour and let your last moment be as enjoyable as possible." he licked his lips.

seonghwa comes back in the room not even five minutes later and sees you knelt onto the ground giving san a blowjob.

seonghwa raised his brow and leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, "so is this what we're doing now?" he asked san, unamused.

san only let out a low groan as he pushes your head deeper, "yeah, just like that babygirl..." he murmured and moaned lowly, the grip he had on your hair getting tighter and tighter as you hummed, sending vibrations through his body from his cock.

san shivered as he looked up at seonghwa and smirked, showing his pretty dimples. "ya jealous, park?" seonghwa laughed, "me? jealous of you? please, i have other whores that is can get off to." he rolled his eyes.

san cursed under his breath before gripping the sides of your head and slamming his cock down your throat, not only was it big, it was so thick also. your face turned red as you gagged and tried your best to keep your mouth open, feeling your jaw lock in place.

after a few more sloppy thrusts, san cums in your mouth and pulls out. just as you thought it was over, a few more ropes of cum is splayed on your face as you panted.

seonghwa whistled, "two loads just from a blowjob? you're a weak one, san." he scoffed arrogantly. san glared at the older before slicking his hair back, "you wouldn't know how good this little mouth is."

you blushed and stayed in your spot on the floor, feeling the arousal pooling between your thighs. you shifted on your knees as your panties stuck to your crotch uncomfortably, a result of the amount of slick that you guessed was already spread all over.

seonghwa hummed before walking over behind you, the sounds of his leather heels clacking on the ground, even his footsteps sounded elegant.

he tilted your head back and grimaced at the sight of san's cum spread all over your face. his big hand wrapped halfway around your neck as his thumb teased you by the edge of your mouth, "suck." he commanded.

and without another word, you opened your mouth as seonghwa's thumb enters and presses down on your tongue, smirking at your obedience.

san watches from the couch, a bag of chips in his hands as he chomped away. "see, you're liking her now, right?" he mused, chest puffing proudly from being correct.

seonghwa hummed, "obedient and has a pretty face, her features are a mix of sensual and cute, perfect." he muttered under his breath. san could be heard yawning but seonghwa didn't even react, his eyes solely on you, making you incredibly flustered.

seonghwa pulled his fingers out as he pushed san to the side and plopped onto the long couch, his head relaxing into the leather as he gestured for you to come.

you squeaked softly, and got up slowly, feeling the blood slowly come back to your legs as seonghwa patted his lap, "make yourself useful and ride me, slut." he smirked and glared playfully.

you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. you were embarrassed but aroused, mostly cause of his degradation. you swallowed dryly before obeying to his words and slowly went over.

as you got closer, seonghwa sat up and licked his lips as he began to unbuckle his belt. seonghwa unzipped his pants before pulling out his cock and stroked it slowly.

while san's dick was more thick and girthy, seonghwa's was longer and slimmer, just like his form. there was also a singular vein that ran down his length prettily, the sight alone made you shiver.

you shivered and watched seonghwa stroke his length as he chuckled lowly, "strip, but make it entertaining. you probably know how with a body like that." he scoffed as his eyes traveled down your form, eyeing your curves and crevices.

you didn't need to be told twice as you took off your jacket first as san whistled in the background. your cheeks heat up as you've never been this revealed in front of others, only in the comforts of your own home.

but your insecurities are washed away when you watch seonghwa stroke his length faster as his eyes traveled along your body, "c'mon, give me more..." he murmured with his brows furrowed, even then he sounded so authoritative.

immediately obeying the elder's words, you hesitated before slowly pulling the tank top over your chest, taking it off completely.

maybe you were fat and maybe you were skinny, but who knows? everyone views your body differently and you didn't know either. all you ever thought was that you were average, but you didn't feel so average under the gaze of two sexy men that are capable of pounding you till the sunrise.

you squeezed your thighs together as your heartbeat picks up, seonghwa notices this and stroked himself harder, squeezing his cock tighter as he groaned and stared holes through your head.

you took that as a sign to keep going as you slowly unzipped your pants, only then realising you wore the cutesy panties out today, never expecting to be performing a striptease for two mafia members.

seonghwa grumbled as he halts his movements, "can't you hurry it up? my dick's about to fall off." he comments harshly as san only chuckles popping a few pieces of chips in his mouth as he passed one to seonghwa, who's already bored as you've stood frozen.

you took in a deep breath as you pushed your pants down in one go, the fabric piling around your ankled as you stood awkwardly, your gaze turning to the interesting looking wall all around you.

san snorted and fell onto the couch dramatically as seonghwa only chuckled, "so adorable..." he murmured. you pursed your lips and blushed furiously, feeling seonghwa eat you up with his eyes.

he finally moved and rubbed the tip of his cock with his thumb as you water in awe. seonghwa pressed down and moaned, throwing his heda back from pleasure and blushing from the way you were staring.

seonghwa stopped his movements when he felt himself twitching as he breathes out, "come." just that one word sent a shiver down your spine as you immediately complied and moved on top of his lap, facing the male.

you could feel your heart hammering into your ribs as your hands placed themselves awkwardly onto seonghwa's shoulders.

the male shuddered as he pushed your hips down right onto his hardened cock. the feeling of your crotches rubbing together made seonghwa's breath hitch. he became even more aroused at the thought that the only thing separating the two were the thin fabric of your underwear.

you whimpered and felt your lower half jolt from the sudden friction of seonghwa's cock. you tested the waters and began to grind your clothed pussy onto his cock, watching in fascination as the foreskin moved up and engulfed the tip of his cock before moving back down.

seonghwa could feel the weens from your underwear and smirked, gripping your hips tighter and rocking them faster. "faster," seonghwa demanded as he groaned and threw his head back, "yeah, just like that- fuckin' whore..."

you picked up the pace, his degrading words serving as an encouragement for you to keep going. you would've forgotten that san was also in the room if not for his sudden groan. turning your head to the side, you blush harder at the sight of san stroking his hard-on, all while staring intensely with those dark eyes.

seonghwa grumbled and gripped your chin, his hand engulfing your entire jaw as he turned your head back and thrusted his hips up, making your panties push into your pussy slightly.

you let out a soft squeak as seonghwa growled lowly, "focus on me, bitch. you'll be riding my dick soon, so just be patient." he announced in an authoritative tone. that got you going as you whimpered softly and nodded your head, "y-yes sir."

seonghwa groaned, his cock twitching from how obedient you were being. "fuck, i can't take this any longer." he grumbled before suddenly halting your movements and pulling your hip upwards, you were taken aback by his actions but nonetheless complied.

seonghwa used one hand to move your soaking panties to the side, purring at the sight of your wet folds. you shuddered slightly when the cold air hit your cunt, your whole body was heating up from how exposed you were right now.

seonghwa rubbed his thumb over your clit as he chuckled lowly, "so wet already? thought i needed to prep you more, guess you're ready to take my cock..." he mumbled excitedly.

seonghwa gave his length a few more pumps before rubbing it against your folds, loving the way you whined and squirmed as he teased you. "p-please sir, don't tease me..." you whimpered softly and seonghwa felt his body grow weak with your begging.

you gasped and gripped onto seonghwa's shoulder as he pushed his cock all the way in without giving you a second to adjust. slamming his hips upwards, your thighs began to tremble as you panted, drool so close to dripping from your mouth.

you shifted on seonghwa's lap a bit, feeling his cock poking out of your tummy with the way it curled inside. seonghwa looked down and smirked seeing a small, barely noticeable bulge on your lower stomach.

finally catching your breath, you began to slowly move your hips up and down with the help of seonghwa's hands on your hips. he had to physically hold back from being too rough as it was pretty obvious that it was your first time taking a cock as big as his.

you thighs shook as you slowly began to move by yourself, your hands on seonghwa's shoulder to keep yourself steady. seonghwa smirked as he let his hands roam all over your body,you closed your eyes and let your body melt into seonghwa's touch along with his dick pounding deep inside you.

seonghwa began to grow more and more aroused as his hands trailed down and gripped your ass, humming from how your flesh spills from his fingers. he licked his lips before thrusting upwards roughly with the help of his hold on your asscheek.

you let out a loud moan at the sudden thrust and slap your hand over your mouth, feeling your drool trickle down your chin. you gripped onto seonghwa's shirt, creating crinkles around your fist.

you stuttered through your moans with each thrust, your body squirming and trembling as seonghwa stared up at you, absolutely entranced by the sight before him.

you were snapped out of your trance when your face was suddenly tilted upwards. soft moans continued to leave your mouth as san smirked and cupped your cheek, opening your mouth with his thumb as he smirked, his dimple showing on one side.

"open." san said softly, his tone was gentle and sweet unlike seonghwa's; authoritative and demanding. you gulped before opening your mouth slowly, san smiled and let his thumb press against the inside of your cheek, making you whine softly.

san licked his lips as he hummed, "you think you can take my cock down your throat, pretty girl?" you stuck your tongue out and moaned wantonly as you nodded.

san smiles softly as he takes out his throbbing cock and slaps it onto your face, "open wide, princess." he sang as tilts your head further back and slips his cock into your mouth, groaning at the feeling of your warm mouth.

san thrusts slowly at first as you adjusted to his size, already gagging and feeling it hard to breathe with his cock just halfway in. san hums before pushing the rest of his length down your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat making him shiver.

seonghwa tsked at how your attention wasn't on him anymore and quickly picked up the pace, thrusting his hips upwards at an animalistic pace and made eye contact with san as the younger hummed, understanding instantly.

you whined in a high pitch and sent vibrations through san's cock making the other shudder. san rested his hands on the side of your head before starting to thrust in and out, matching seonghwa's fast pace, making your head spin.

your whole body was trembling from how overstimulating this was. you felt like you couldn't breathe as your sight began to turn a bit hazy. seonghwa moaned lowly as your velvety walls clenched around him as he thrusted harder, hitting your prostate.

san was the same as he was starting to get addicted to your mouth, he knew it barely fit in your mouth and how tight your lips wrapped his length made him more turned on. he continued to slam his cock down your throat, feeling precum spill with each time his tip hit the back of your throat.

your face was beet red and you could feel san's precum dripping down your throat, and you could do nothing but let your body be used by these two men. but hey, this was better than dying, right?

seonghwa's thrusts became sloppier and slower as he let out his loud deep inside you not without cursing and moaning lowly. san was right behind him and fucked your face harshly before his seed was slipping inside your mouth, some of it running down your chin with how much he came.

with trembling thighs, you pulled out of seonghwa with a moan as the both of you watched his cum drip down your swollen cunt. seonghwa felt his heart beat faster at the sight and his soft dick hardened up within a second.

he quickly pulled you back onto his dick as you squealed, still overstimulated from before. "one more round..." seonghwa says breathlessly as he began to rock your hips, making you whine softly.

san followed along and tilted your face backwards, arching your back once again as he lathered his, still dripping cock onto your face. "i might need one more round also..." he chuckled awkwardly with red cheeks.

this was gonna be a long night...

©BRRRKDSLEK 2024

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 8 months

Text

PROPAGANDA

CHLOE BOURGEOIS (MIRACULOUS LADYBUG) (CW: Child Abuse)

1.) Girl was done so dirty… She was starting to develop and could've had a redemption arc and then they made her even more one-dimensional than she was at the start, dumbed her down, and the creator on twitter claimed she was never abused and that she never cared about her childhood friend, only his status. And in a scene that thankfully got cut by editors, her father was going to disown her, adopt her sister instead (who is like a "nicer" replacement for her) and pass Chloe onto her abusive mother.

And then a male character gets introduced who is also at first an antagonist with a backstory that gets revealed later, also a childhood friend of the same character, but it's acknowledged that he got abused by his parent and he gets a redemption arc and a romantic subplot and a spot on the hero team (which Chloe was excluded from because she was irresponsible with her power and revealed her identity publicly… Except he also did that)

This show is about girl power btw.

2.) Chloe was done so fucking dirty. So basically, the creator of the show (Thomas Astruc) created the character in the first place as a stand-in for his childhood bully (red flag no.1) Because of this, any development that she as a character got from the other writers (and it was a lot) got retconned, just because he hated her. Other, objectively much more evil, (male) characters (the main villain!) were portrayed as more sympathetic than her, because god forbid a hurt, abused, emotionally immature, unloved little girl be portrayed as anything other than an unlovable, unforgiveable unchangeable demon. Also she's obsessed with clothes, shoes and handbags, because she's a mean girl, don't you see, so obviously the nice girls (who don't wear makeup while Chloe does) are better than her.

3.) Stuck up spoiled rich girl is treated as worse than the actual villains of the show. At some point we get a glimpse into her awful traumatizing home life and she starts to be redeemed, but the second something doesn't go her way she backslides and is suddenly even more evil and dumb. Also her father is incredibly neglectful but it's portrayed as her somehow abusing him into doing what she wants and he's so sad about his awful evil daughter. He gets a redemption arc but never actually becomes a better father. She's seen as unfixable.

MILLA MAXWELL (TALES OF XILLIA) (CW: Inappropriate Age Gaps)

1.) Milla was the first female MC in a Tales game. Xillia actually has dual protagonists; Milla is a female demigod on a mission to stop global warming, while the other one, Jude, is a male med student who gets dragged into her quest. The game says that you can play as Jude or Milla… except it’s extremely obvious you are meant to play Jude’s route, and play it first. Why? Because Milla dies at the end of act 2. The plot continues in Jude’s route. If you’re on Milla’s route, you do not get to see it. Instead, you wander around heaven for a while until you’re booted back into the world of the living as a deus ex machina. It is impossible to follow. Milla doesn’t get to reckon with her own death, while her friends all get to reckon with it offscreen. All of this character drama is conveyed to her through two skippable conversations. Playing this was completely infuriating, not to mention confusing. Even in her own route she’s written as the cool, mysterious hyper-competent woman.

I have a lot of issues with the plot of this game (it’s bad!) but that’s the bitterest.

2.) 1.) If you decide to play Milla’s route, and not Jude’s route, there is a part of the game where Milla has her spine broken by the villain, and you are forced to play as Jude anyway. Her paralysis is resolved with little fanfare (the important part of this life-altering injury was Jude fighting to defend her honour, of course).

2.) (CW: inappropriate age gaps) Milla is 20, but she’s teased as a ship with the other PC Jude, who is 15 (despite being a university student? I have no idea why they did this; most Tales protagonists are 17-21). You might say “hey wait, it would be extremely inappropriate for her to be interested in him, as he is a teenager and she is an adult!” Well, first of all, it never actually seems like she is interested in him, like at all. This plot is solely about the fantasy of having a hot older woman attracted to you, presented for the presumed male audience, presumed to be playing as Jude. If you’re playing as Milla it is a totally bizarre informed plot that comes out of nowhere. Also, I guess to get around any objections to the age gap, the game pulls a “born sexy yesterday” type dynamic with Milla, where she might be a 20-year-old demigod but really she knows nothing about human society and Jude the prodigy has to teach her. Everything about this is extremely terrible from every angle—I don’t think the writers even thought of “teenage boy shipped with adult woman” as much of a problem because of the genders. And from Milla’s end the relationship is totally incomprehensible. They didn’t think about why she would be interested in Jude, because what’s important is that Jude has women who are interested in him (she’s one of 3+).

In the sequel, there’s an alternate universe version of Milla whose love interest is the PC of that game, a guy the same age as her. I was so relieved! They actually “are both adults” and “have anything in common”! Unfortunately this hint of a relationship ends when the alternate Milla is sent to super hell (not only dead but her soul erased from existence) for contrived plot reasons. We are supposed to be okay with this, because she believes she deserves to die. Why? Because her actions in this universe apparently indirectly caused Jude’s death as a baby. Even though she barely knows Jude, he is, of course, the most important person in the universe, and so the only moral option is for her to die by suicide. ARGH.

Again, I can’t emphasize this enough: she was presented as the groundbreaking first female PC of a Tales game. And we were let down SO BAD.

3.) Since you’re looking for propaganda, Milla Maxwell. Very skimpy outfit. Their justification? She has a handmaid that designed and created her clothes. But the handmaid is a 16 year old boy who’s in love with her. And she has no idea about human society, so she’s just like. Ivar put in so much effort, I’ve been assured this is fashionable. She spends a 2 hour section of the game in another plane of existence, in a skin tight white body suit with cut outs at the boobs and inner thighs

In the sequel, her outfit is almost as bad, but this time she chose it and they don’t even discuss it 🙃

#polls #round 1 #week 1 #new #cw inappropriate age gaps #cw child abuse

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purelyfiction · 2 years

Text

All Fun & Games ♧♤♡♢ 3.1

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x F!Reader |1| 2 | 3.2

Word Count: 5,335 words

Summary: In a rather spontaneous fashion, Bob has invited you to take a glimpse into his routine - one that you don’t normally get a good look at while up in the air.

Content Warning: This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own decision. || Mild NSFW subjects

Author Note: .... don’t hate me. This has taken such a long, long time to get out because of work, life - so many things kept piling up. Thank you so so so much for your patience, I think it was early July the last time I updated, so this is long awaited. And because of that - I’ve double updated. This chapter has an extension to it, since I am a madwoman and can’t stay under 8k words and ended up writing nearly 11k words for one part. So, please enjoy more Bob x Vegas content - and please please thank @callsignthirsty and @deadratio for being my editors, sounding boards and generally great friends. You’ll likely see them again soon. Without further adieu: All Fun & Games - Part 3.1

Attention: If you would like to be on the tag list please see the pinned post on my blog for the document. If you’re not able to access it please message me, I rarely find any tag requests in my notifications!

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Bob simply told you to go home and change into an old pair of jeans, a shirt you can sweat in and closed toed shoes. And that he’d eventually be over. So, you did just that despite the 99 degree heat wave North Island is going through. You can’t help but think he’s going insane when he shows up to your door wearing double denim. A stark brown cowboy hat sits on his head, making his gold aviator frames shine in the late morning light.

The jean jacket on his shoulders is worn, and so are the jeans on his hips. Rugged and thoroughly loved cowboy boots sit on his feet. “You look like a right cowboy,” you offer with a smirk as you shut the door behind you, engaging the automatic lock on the door.

“We’re goin’ ridin’, I’d hope so,” he snickers, hands in his pockets as he turns. When you begin down the path, you spot his vehicle in the street. Bob had showed up to pizza night after dark, and the street was very poorly lit - meaning you’d not seen what he’d driven there.

Which is why it takes you aback to see a midnight black silverado at the end of your driveway. “You drive a truck?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in surprise as he approaches the vehicle, looking back at you.

“I’m dressed like a cowboy and you really think I ain’t gon’ be driving a vehicle that matches?” he retorts, before reaching the passenger door and opening it. Bob offers his hand to you, which you hesitantly take before climbing in. He shuts the door before he gets to his side and you can’t help but find the entire interaction... charming.

Once he’s in the cabin, you smile at him. “Maybe I should’ve seen it coming the second you showed me photos of a horse when I woke up this morning,” you tease as he’s starting the engine.

“The signs were all there,” he jokes as he pulls from the curb. It’s not until you’re pulling out of your housing plan that you notice he’s seemingly driving from memory. Another 15 minutes pass before you’re in winding streets, only to pull into a very small parking lot.

“This does not look like a stable, Bo,” you point out and he gives you a look. What he’s pulled up to looks like a red and silver classic bullet diner, neon lights and all. The lot isn’t very full but it looks like there’s a lot of people from what you can see from the wide windows.

“What an astute observation, Lieutenant.” He gives a snicker before opening his door. Bob’s nearly halfway out his own before he sees you try for your own. “Don’t you even think about it.” He gives a pointed finger before shutting his door, making you laugh while he’s dashing around the front of the truck, coming over and opening your door. With a waiting hand, he helps you out and the door swings back to the closed position.

“Thank you. I… don’t remember the last time someone opened a car door for me,” you admit as he waits for you to head to the diner building, a hand coming to the small of your back as he walks a little way behind you.

“I can. It was last night,” Bob points out and you laugh thinking about being leant over the console of your car, attempting to reach the other door handle from the driver’s side.

“It was, wasn’t it?” You can’t wipe the smile off your face as he moves to pull the door open, a bell ringing above you as you pass through what seems to be the entrance to a time machine. There’s classic black and white tile through the entire building, as small as it is, neon red leather booth seats, a classic milkshake machine down the bartop - a jukebox at the end of the narrow aisle that’s been created.

The diner is absolutely bustling, almost every seat is filled, despite the few cars that adorned the parking lot. As you wait to be seated, your wandering eyes fall on a row of familiar machines. “I haven’t seen these in years,” you reminisce before crouching down to look at the little red capsule vending machines.

They haven’t been filled in some time - at least from what you can assume, as many of them are nearly empty. You’re looking over a novelty one when you hear the clinking of metal on metal. Turning your head, you find Bob cranking the knob to one of the dispensers, his hand sitting at the bottom of the chute, waiting for his purchase to come tumbling down. Orange, brown and yellow candies tumble into his palm, a childlike grin on his features as he stands upright.

“Reese’s Pieces at 9 in the morning?” you scold, watching him make a funnel with his hands and letting them fall into his mouth.

“What?” He snickers, mouth full as he chews at the candy. With a shake of your head you’re turning your attention back to the machines in front of you. A laugh leaves you when you spot a range of incredibly poorly made necklaces.

“Look!” you laugh pointing at one of them, making Bob crouch down to look at the panel wedged into the glass. “There’s a bull - it would complete your outfit,” you tease, standing upright as he takes a closer look. A quick glance around the restaurant, you’re finding the bathroom and excusing yourself.

When you return, you find Bob with at least a dozen plastic bubble containers, making you laugh as he wedges yet another quarter into the machine.

“Bob! What on Earth are you doing?” you question, crouching down again, picking up a few of the bubbles. You’re looking at each of them, finding a skull and crossbones, a motorcycle, a dagger - Bob huffs when the next container tumbles out.

“Ah! Finally.” He lets out a laugh and stands up, making you follow suit and step closer to him as he pops the lid off the plastic, pulling the metal from the container. “Turn around.” He’s got a wild grin on his face, but you turn so your back is facing him. In a matter of seconds, he’s pulling the chain around your neck, doing up the clasp in the back. Your fingers pick up the charm, quickly identifying it.

A bull.

As you let out a laugh, you hear Bob’s last name through the waiting area and are quick to follow the older woman hostess to a seat. You approach a booth and are quick to slide in on one side as a menu is offered to you. “Robert, are you gonna need one as well, or the usual this morning?”

Your eyes look toward his face as he grins at the woman. “No, same thing for me this morning, Diana. Coffee - for both of us?” He says it more like a question as he wags a finger in the air, grouping the pair of you together.

“Alrighty, I’ll get Paisley on that right away. Take your time, dear.” You give an appreciative smile at the woman before looking over at the WSO across the table, who’s already peeled his hat off the top of his head, setting it on the seat next to him. His hair is a wild mess, which makes you take a deep breath as you try to gather the sentence that had been on the tip of your tongue - now suddenly gone at the sight of the male in front of you.

Finally, it springs back to its launchpoint on your lips.

“You really come around here frequently, don’t you?” you quip with a smirk, and he shrugs.

“Sort of. The riding thing is newer but - I used to come here a lot back when I was at TOPGUN the first time. One of my good friends and I spent a lot of time in these booths - and a lot on syrup and coffee.” Bob snickers but there’s something lingering in his words that rings somewhat insincere.

You choose not to prod, smiling in return before looking down to the menu. As you’re still reading over the options, a black haired woman approaches with an all too eager grin. “Bobby! It’s about time you were here for the morning, I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to show.” She grins, setting a mug down on the table complete with milk and sugar. Bob greets her in return, a quick glance is sent your direction when he realizes she hasn’t brought a mug for you.

“Me not show? Unlikely,” he hums. “You’ve not met my colleague,” Bob continues in his introduction of you, wherein Paisley gives a very cold fake smile.

“Pleasure, Lieutenant. Guess I forgot your mug, didn’t I? Let me grab that. Do you know what you want since I’m on the way in?” You’re giving her your order - leaving her to snatch the menu from your hands and make her way back to the kitchen window.

“Well she’s… pleasant,” you suggest and Bob shrugs.

“Must be having a rough morning. She’s usually a right sweetheart.” He shrugs and sips at his already prepped coffee, which makes you furrow your brows.

“You must be here a lot if she knows how you take your coffee…” you offer, receiving a shrug in response.

“I’ll stop in sometimes during the week or grab dinner when the mess hall is less than appetizing. But I’m usually only here on Sunday’s before going to the stables.”

“Understandable.” You hum, leaning onto your hands that are propped up by your elbows on the table while meeting his eye. Bob mimics the stance, which doesn’t seem natural on him - making you laugh. He’s joining in as well before you start asking a question: “Not to be weird but: What’s your favorite color?”

Bob gives a chuckle before he taps the leather of the seat he’s sitting on. “You’re looking at it. I haven’t been able to figure why, but red is just such a… vibrant color. It makes me think of home. My pap’s ranch — well my uncle Dale’s ranch, now — has this massive red barn and a few dozen cows to boot. I spent my summers there, like I said, so I have fond memories of that red shining in Tennessee July. That and apple picking in the fall. My momma planted a few apple trees on our acreage in Georgia and she makes the best apple pie with them. It’s funny, seein’ we’re the peach state and all.”

Your laugh pairs with his before dancing through the metal and linoleum of the diner, only to be stomped out as Paisley returns with a mug and fills it with coffee for you. “There’s cream and sugar on the table. Bobby, your food should be out soon. I put hers in a minute ago so it’ll be here… eventually.”

“Thanks, Paise.” A grin from the brunette, the woman exchanging one and dismissing herself from the table without another word. You let out a sound of astonishment and he furrows a brow at you as he sips his coffee.

“It’s like I don’t exist when she shows up,” you point out and Bob shakes his head as he swallows.

“I don’t think, she’s just doing her job,” he offers as you fix your coffee.

“It wouldn’t kill her to be a little nicer,” you mumble once your mug is to your lips. “Anyways. Tell me more about this ‘acreage’ of yours. You guys have a farm in Georgia?”

Bob shakes his head as he shifts in the booth. “No. I mean, momma has chickens but that’s about it. There’s a good 10 acres at minimum. At least a quarter of it has a line of wooded area. Land is a big deal in the south for some reason. Our house is this massive farmhouse built in the seventies, and most of us have moved out. Rylie is the only one still there.”

“Rylie?” you question, your gaze taken by a passing truck with a trailer hitch attached to it. You must be somewhat close to the stables. That paired with the countless farm hands around you, you had to assume.

“Youngest of 5,” he answers, leaving your eyes to widen.

“You have four siblings?” Your jaw slides to open your mouth as he nods.

“Sisters, to be exact. I’m the oldest, then there’s Robyn, she’s 13 months younger than me. We’re jokingly referred to as the twins since we were raised so close to one another. Rowan was born in ‘93, so she’s 27, Raine at 25, leaving us with Rylie who’s 16.” Bob sips at his coffee again, your hands twirling the mugs bottom on the table it rests on as you listen.

“That’s…. A gap.” You kindly point out and he snickers as he sets his mug down.

“She was a bonus kid. Momma said she was done having kids and then… Ry-guy came along.” You click your tongue, sitting in silence for a minute before you point out the obvious.

“All Rs,” you hum, and he sighs.

“Was hoping you wouldn’t point that one out.” Bob stretches back against the leather, leaving you to tilt your head.

“Why’s that?”

“It always follows with ‘is your mom Rebecca and your dad Robert Senior?’” He fiddles with the silverware on the table.

“Well, are they?” He smiles as he sees your expression of intrigue and shakes his head.

“Johnathan and Kelly.” A laugh breaks out and you have to cover your mouth.

“Sorry, sorry - so what the hell is with all the Rs?” You can’t wipe the stupid grin on your face as he grins with an air of discontent on his shoulders. Clearly you’re not the first one to ask.

“My granddad on my dad’s side is named Robert - so I’m technically jr, but he’s not around that often. He lives in a retirement plan in Florida. As for the Rs, I was named after granddad, and then they had Robyn. So when Rowan was born they… just kept goin’.”

“It’s kinda cute,” you admit as Bob goes for another sip of coffee only to realize his cup is empty. He shrugs as he reaches across the table, sneaking your mug away from you as Paisley approaches with a coffee carafe in hand. He’s still mid sip when both of you look at the dark haired woman.

“You could’a asked for more coffee, Bobby,” Paisley notes as the male returns your mug and she takes his to fill it.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, coffee tastes better from Vegas’ cup anyways,” he teases with a grin, making you giggle.

“I see. Well, food will be here soon,” Paisley mumbles before turning back toward another table, making you look to him with a look of ‘is she ok?’ and Bob waves you off as he fixes his coffee. In the time it takes to finish his task, a food runner is dropping off a meal of waffles, bacon and eggs in front of your coworker, making him grin and thank the employee.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom and washup, ‘kay?”

“Sounds good.” You confirm as he gets up, passing Paisley on the way to the bathroom as she stops at your table to check your coffee.

“So, how long have you been together?” she asks bitterly as she fills your mug to the top. You freeze at the question, your head moving back and forth.

“I- We aren’t-”

“He’s flirted with you since the minute you stepped foot into the diner. I knew I heard your name before. You’re the Vegas chick that Diana keeps mentioning when she waits on him. She asks him every week how things are going with you two, and he always says you two aren’t dating but I get it. Work probably doesn’t like the idea of you two together-”

“Paisley, right?” You clear your throat and look her in the eye. “Bo-Robert and I aren’t dating.” The nickname leaves you first, leaving you to correct yourself. “It really isn’t any deeper than just a good pair of friends who happen to work together.”

The woman in front of you lets out a laugh and shakes her head. “Friends don’t spend three seventy five on a capsule machine for a toy necklace, but you keep telling yourself that.” Paisley then disappears as quick as she appeared, leaving you to your thoughts.

People in this diner knew who you were. Which meant Bob had been openly talking to people about you. What had he been saying? Was it bad? You’re tugged from any questions as Diana reappears with your plate.

“You’re paler than a ghost, are you alright?” she asks as she sets your dish down. You nod and grin at her with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. She notices, but she doesn’t dare prod you further.

“Yep, yeah, I’m good.” Your brow furrows and you’re about to ask a question when Bob slides back into the booth.

“I’m so excited about these waffles, Di. I’ve been thinking about them all week.” He beams at the woman and she lets a hand hover over her chest as you start at your meal.

“Well that just made my day. You’re a charmer Robert.” She then looks over at you. “Watch out for this one.”

“I certainly will,” you fire back as Diana starts off, leaving you to watch the childlike joy on Bob’s face as he tears into his breakfast.

════⋆★⋆════

With full stomachs, you’re headed back to Bob’s truck and pulling onto the road. He’s got his window down so there’s a refreshing breeze in the truck. As the wind flows, it makes the wispy bits of Bob’s hair that stick out from under his hat flit about.

Eventually, he turns onto a gravel road that leads down toward a large building and a small parking lot. As you climb out of the cab, Bob’s grabbing a brown bag from beside him, making you tilt your head.

“What’s that?” you ask with curiosity, as he leads the way toward the stables.

“A little somethin’. Don’t fret your pretty head about it.” Bob glances over his shoulder as he guides you to an open barn door. You smile at him, despite the way your stomach is flipping at the words.

Just friends. Just friends.

Between the cracked concrete and the rusted lock hatches, you're sure the stable has seen better days, but it smells well loved and lived in. Like home away from home. You try to take it all in while keeping up with Bob's over-eager steps down a poorly-lit hallway. There are multiple people tending to stalls and carrying feed, and you give them all an awkward small smile and a wave, not sure what else to do with your hands. They usually reciprocate a smile in return - many of them have not so subtly taken notice of your incredibly white shoes, their low chuckles telling you that they won’t remain white for long. Part of you is self conscious as you pass people, and it must be clearly written across your face, because when Bob turns to see you lagging behind, he stops and waits for you. Once you’re at his side, he carefully takes your hand in his and looks you in the eye. “Hey, what’s the matter?” His grip is reassuring, but you shrug it off.

“I’m fine.” You wave him off with a smile but he’s already trying to find a solution.

“No ma’am, you are not.” He turns to face you as someone passes by with a quick ‘morning Bob’. He greets them with a smile but grabs their attention. “Can I ask somethin’ of ‘ya?”

“Sure thing.” The woman pockets her hands, smiling at you before looking at Bob.

“This is my friend’s first time ridin’,” he looks to you to confirm and you nod, “is there anything you can suggest that will help her confidence?” Bob asks.

The woman gives you an assessing once-over before she starts on her soapbox. “Well, for starters, she could get a heartier shoe on her foot. Somethin’ with a heel and steel toes. Or at least more protection than fabric. Those sneakers won’t offer nearly the same protection as a boot. As for the horses themselves, they’re more nervous than you. A first time rider like yourself should ride a well-broken horse.” She then turns to Bob, “who were you going to take out for her?”

“I was thinkin’ Goldrush? She’s pretty even tempered, there was a six year old ridin’ with her last week,” Bob offers, tilting his head in what you assume to be Goldrush’s general direction. His hand is still in yours, somewhat playfully rocking in the air as he continues his conversation with this stable hand. The feeling is reassuring while simultaneously strange.

“That’s probably your best bet. I know Heeler and Levi were just out, so they’re probably darn tired and wouldn’t stand another ride.” Bob gives a nod and thanks the woman by name - Jennifer you think it was? You were too focused on the curious head poking out of the stall to your right, making you grin. Soon, Bob is guiding you to a wall that’s filled with lockers that have seen better days. He’s grabbing his keys from his pocket and opening one up, old and nearly peeling duct tape over the door with black Sharpie scrawled across the front:

R. Floyd

It’s funny how six letters could make you break out in such a childish smile.

Yet here you were, watching as the cowboy next to you opens his locker (a rather messy one at that) looking around for something.

“What’s your shoe size?” He looks up at you from his squatted position, a rouge boot in his hand.

“You’re going all stalker on me, Floyd.” You tease, looking down at the boot. Luckily, the boot was a half size bigger than your own, making you look at him as he guides you to a seat nearby. “Do I wanna know who these shoes belong to?”

“First off, they’re boots. Get it right.”

“Sorry, sorry. Whose boots are these?”

He has a wild smirk on his face, shaking his head as he undoes your laces on your sneakers. “They’re Robyn’s. She left them here back when I was in Leemore,” Bob answers before looking up at you, one knee to the ground as he tugs the shoe off your foot. “I’m not tryin’ to be a dick you know. My name’s not Seresin.”

An astonished laugh leaves you as he starts to get your other shoe off, a rather proud expression painted on his features. “Oh yeah? So what’s the difference, cowboy?” you hum, watching as he undoes your laces and shifts onto his other knee to toss your still-white Nikes into his locker.

“Well most notably, they’re leather. But, I reckon you already knew that.” He snickers, carefully taking the back of your calf, guiding your foot into the boot and shuffling it in for you. When your foot finally sinks in, it’s damn comfortable. “The boot has more protection to keep your calves from chafing against the side of the horse, and the heel keeps your foot in the stirrup. And, well - if a hoof ends up misplaced on your toes, they’re better protected.”

Your eyes widen at the last one and he taps your knee in reassurance as he slides the other shoe on.

“It’s never happened to me and I’ve been ridin’ for years. Just a precaution, V.” When your feet are secure in the boots, he’s standing upright and taking your hands to guide you onto your feet, like you were a newborn calf learning to walk. “They feel good?”

“I get why you wear boots now,” you admit as your feet shuffle along the dirt floor. They’re hugging your foot comfortably, and barely have any shift to them, keeping them in place. When you look back up at him, he’s grinning ear to ear.

“Now you’re a right cowgirl.” He’s beaming and you can’t help the reflected smile on your face. With his hand still in yours again, he’s shutting his locker and leading the way out of the barn like structure, out to a gravel path and toward another barn. When he opens the door, you find nearly a dozen horses in their own respective stalls. “Welcome to the stable.”

Bob begins to lead you down, introducing you to each horse, a few of them getting nose and ear scratches from the back seater. It’s not until you’re in front of a stall with a white and brown horse who’s bouncing their head excessively and whinnying at the sight of your coworker.

“And here’s the man of the hour,” he cheers, pulling his face away as the horse excitedly tries to lick at him. “Easy, Cop, easy.” He chuckles with a greeting pet to the side of the horse’s neck. Bob’s handing you the bag he’s been carrying around. “Open that for me?”

When you do, you’re greeted by a cinnamon sugar coated pastry, which Bob pulls from the bag still in your hand.

“This is what you’re after, ain’t it buddy?” He holds the donut up in the air, the horse sniffing along, lips moving in an effort to grab the snack in Bob’s hands. He’s teasingly keeping it just out of the poor animal’s reach.

“Bo, stop mocking him,” you admonish with a laugh, leaving Bob to cave and feed the treat to the white and brown spotted animal. As Copper’s teeth bite into the fried dough, he notices the bag in your hand. You have to reach out with your spare hand to stop his muzzle from entering the bag and stealing another treat.

“Hey!” you laugh, gingerly pushing his snout from the brown paper. “I don’t think both of these are for you, pal,” you hum, using your knuckles to gently rub his forehead.

“Unfortunately not,” Bob confirms, before pointing out a tan horse a few stalls down. “That’s Goldrush. The other donut’s for her. We can feed her and then I’ll get her saddled, we’ll get her in the pen, and then we can grab Copper.”

Bob leads you to Goldrush, and teaches you how to feed her — palm flat, fingers together, thumb tucked against the side of your hand. She’s so calm, happily letting you pet her as Bob starts to layer on tack to get her ready. The brunette is carefully teaching you about each layer: the saddle pad, the saddle, the girth, and bridle. As he moves about the stall, you can see the sweat begin to bead on his forehead. He’s eventually shrugging off his denim jacket, leaving him in a long sleeve linen shirt with countless stains on it. He’s pushing the sleeves up his forearms and getting back to the task at hand. Now your attention has shifted from the tack equipment and all their names, to the way his muscles flex with the tightening of clasps, the sheer strength needed to lift the saddle up and over the horse, the spots of his shirt that have changed color with moisture-

You realize he’s said something, which makes you startle back to attention and look at him with eyes and ears open.

“Huh?” you prompt, seeing his outreached hand holding the reins.

“You wanna walk her to the pen?” Hesitantly, you take the leather leeds from his hand and begin to guide the horse from her stall - with Bob’s help. “Look at you, you’re a natural.” He’s clearly teasing you, based off of the smirk on his features, you roll your eyes.

“Open the gate, Floyd.”

“Yes ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long for Bob to get Copper ready, but once he’s done, the WSO is drenched in sweat, which certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re not sure if he can tell, but there is a burning to your skin that you’re absolutely certain isn’t from the sun.

Bob recommends that you take a few laps around the enclosure before you head to a trail, just to make sure you’re comfortable, and Goldrush is letting you be her passenger. You’re attempting to navigate the task of mounting up when Bob rushes over, pulling a pair of gloves on.

“Here, wait.” Soon enough, the WSO’s hands are on your waist. “At the count’a three, jump.” With one foot in the stirrup, you’re nodding at his instructions. As he counts, you bounce your knees, before jumping up, Bob’s arms helping you up as you pull yourself up and over the width of the saddle.

“Hey! Look at that!” you cheer, looking down at Bob who’s grabbing ahold of the reins in leathered gloves.

“How’s the weather up there?” he chides as he begins to step with Goldrush along the wooden fence, helping you get used to the motion - you’re holding on to the horn of the saddle as you shift side to side which each step Goldrush takes.

“Hah hah. You should drop out of the Navy and go on a comedy show,” you taunt with a smile.

“I know, such wasted potential.” Bob smiles up at you before reaching up to hand the reins over. “You feelin’ okay up there, darlin’?”

You swear you had an answer. All the way up until darlin’ in that damn drawl flies off his lips. It’s like a Rubrik’s cube was scrambled just as you were about to solve it - and now you’re being timed to get all the colors right.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah. I’m good.” You hesitantly take the straps from his hands.

“Glad to hear it. So let’s work on steering.”

With a quick lesson under your belt, Bob is climbing up on Copper’s back and starting to navigate you both from the pen toward a path just off the grounds of the stables. The path is a dirt path that starts up the base of the nearby hill - or was it a mountain?

Either way it had some elevation to it and both horses breezed over it. There were trees littered along the path, but they gave way to glimpses of the ocean nearby.

“How often are you on this path?” You’re shouting so Bob can hear you up head on the trail. He turns to look at you from over his shoulder.

“At least once a week. There’s not many paths near here that are horse accessible, so we’re pretty limited,” he explains and you nod. You’re taking in your surroundings, trying to focus on staying in the saddle, your knuckles gripping the leather of the horn as you continue to climb further up the trail path.

“How are you so rigid on this thing? I feel like I’m sliding with every step.” Bob glances at you again and kicks his legs out at his sides.

“Hug the horse with your legs. You should be moving your body with her head. Horses move their entire body when they walk. So you’ve gotta move with them.” He’s faced forward again and you’re watching the way he’s riding, trying to figure out what he means.

You’re not easily distracted, but there’s something in the way thatBob’s hips seem to bounce with each trot Copper takes that has your head in the clouds. You swear if you knew the way back, you and Goldrush would’ve been running back to the stables, but you don’t, so your skin is hot and you hope Bob’ll just blame it on the heat.

The two of you mingle in light conversation, taking in sights and listening to Bob’s stories about his grandfather’s ranch. Getting to know him has been a big part of the weekend, and there’s a mental list you’ve been running:

Tequila and Robert don’t mix

He doesn’t wear pajamas

He’s a cowboy

He drives a truck

The man is ripped

He’s a true gentleman

He has lots of siblings

You’re certain the list will continue to grow the more you’re around him, and frankly, you’re not too mad about it.

════⋆★⋆════

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#bob x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert x reader #bob x vegas #bob x f!reader #bob floyd x f!reader #robert floyd x f!reader #top gun fic #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick

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batmansymbol · 3 months

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I hope this isn't a weird or too random question (and if it is, feel free to ignore ofc!) but I was wondering if you had any advice for someone thinking of writing full-time? The obvious question is, of course, can one make a living from it even if they're not like Stephen King or GRR Martin or something? Do you have any tips from your experience that you would have found helpful when first starting out? <3

Hi, sweet anon! Not weird at all. I'm happy to chime in with some (long) thoughts.

Firstly, yes! Authors can make a full-time living from writing even if they're not GRRM &c. I know a number of full-timers, and some of them aren't even NYT bestsellers.

As a caveat, I know very little about the indie/self-publishing space, so the following is based on my experience in traditional publishing.

I spent around 2-3 years writing books full-time. I no longer do that, and don't plan to return to it unless I have a big commercial breakout. It was just a never-ending parade of financial stress. It's hard even to give "tips" because so much is out of your control -- but if you're considering trying to write full time, you should definitely know what you're signing up for.

Here's an average situation for a non-bestseller trying to full-time it:

Let's say you've published two books, and your third is on the way (awesome!). For your first two novels, you got advances of $40,000, but maybe they've only sold 15k copies apiece -- not enough to "earn out" your advance and start making new money. So, you're not making a cent off your older books. Probably won't for years.

Let's say your book 3 is supposed to publish in June 2025, and it sold for more than your last books: $75,000. Pretty good! Advances are usually divided into thirds these days: 1/3 on contract signing, 1/3 on delivery of the fully edited manuscript (D&A), and 1/3 on publication. So that makes a $50,000 salary this year, yes?

Kind of. Right off the bat, your agent gets 15%, so that would make a $42,500 salary. A little tighter, but still seems doable. Also, you need to make estimated tax payments to the IRS. So, let's ballpark your taxes at $7,000, state and federal, which you'll pay in installments throughout the year.

Contract negotiations take a few months as usual, and let's say in April, you get the first payment: your first $21,250. Nice.

Unfortunately, your editor's swamped, and 2 months go by before they send you edits. When you get the letter in June, you're like -- shit, this is a more extensive revision than I thought. You start rehauling the novel, but after your month-long deadline passes, it's still not right. You take another six weeks before you're happy. It's now September.

Suddenly money is very tight. You got $21,250 in April, but since then you've paid $5,250 in estimated taxes, and every month you pay $2,250 in rent, health insurance, and food. You were supposed to have your second payment already, because the contract's estimated D&A date said September. But you still need to do line edits. You now have $2,500 in the bank. You are very aware that this will last a little over a month.

Your editor gets back after a few weeks, having loved your revision, and has sent you line edits. Thank God she didn't want a second round of bigger edits. But it's now October. You rush through the line edits, turn them in after a single jam-packed week. You have $250 in the bank. Your D&A payment is now due.

A week goes by. Where is the payment? You email your agent. She badgers the publisher. They say the payment will be sent through in a pay run next week, so after agency processing, it'll be with you in early November.

You have $75 in the bank. You start putting everything on your credit cards. Then your utility company makes a direct withdrawal from your checking account. You wake up to an overdraft notice and zero dollars in your account. Holy shit, you think, why did I choose this career. November hits. You are late on rent. Maybe you should start drawing from your retirement account, which you put $5,000 into, one time, three years ago?

When your payment arrives, you're not happy so much as ready to cry with relief. You start paying off your cards and sending late, embarrassed Venmos to your friends. You can finally stop declining invites to hang out because you have no money.

And by then it's November, and you're realizing that you really need to be thinking about your next book. If you were working smart, you got a jump on it earlier in the year, when your editor was late with your edit letter. Let's say you wrote an entire first draft back then, between January and June. (Which, to be clear, IS fast for a novel, do not believe the ridiculous standards of writing speed you see online.) If you now take six months to mold that first draft into actual art, then send it to your agent next May, and she wants changes, and you submit in July, and it sells after an average couple months on submission, you won't get your next contract payment until January, 2026.

ARE YOU ANXIOUS YET?

The above scenario is ordinary. An editor having a delay on an edit letter for a month or two, or an author getting stuck and running over deadline for a month -- that stuff is barely worth commenting on.

And there are all sorts of other bumps in the road. Let's say the publisher has turnover in the contracts department. Immediately, that'll be a delay on your signing payment. I've waited 6 months for a contract payment before. I've waited months for a simple email reply from an editor because the company was going through layoffs.

Add more people into the process, and it gets slower. Are you working on IP, let's say a novelization of a TV property? That team might take months to get back to you even on your proposed outline. Working with a freelancer or cowriter? Add weeks or months to every step. In publishing, you spend half your life waiting. You know what doesn't wait? Rent, taxes, and health insurance.

Anon, this is the shoestring, desperate kind of full-time author existence. If you're doing a little better -- still midlist, but better -- you might have earned out one or more of your backlist titles. That means you'll get additional royalties twice a year, usually April and October. That will help.

Or maybe you're a super-fast writer who's always, always juggling multiple contracts and shooting drafts in and out of your door. That's a decent way to make a healthy living as a full-time author, but you'll need to complete multiple books a year, for sure.

This is why I have a survival job half the week that pays my rent. The stress is still there, but it's less frequent and less intense. Honestly, given my sales figures, which are (checks notes) bad, I'm lucky to get to keep doing this after five novels. Because the biggest looming threat is that if you don't break out, editors will start shutting the door immediately because of your lack of established audience.

The only really reliable way to pay your bills is to break out. Then if your editor leaves your publishing house, and you get reassigned, and that pads 3 months onto the editing process, or whatever, it doesn't matter. You'll have actual, substantial royalty payments twice a year. Your advances will always be over six figures. You can live a normal life where you're not staring into the murky distance, wondering when some payment is going to soar out of the night and into your terrible bank account.

Or ... you can just get a day job. And you will get paid biweekly, reliably, on SPECIFIC DATES!!!, forever. When I tell you this shit was life-changing for me. Good God.

Obviously the biggest problem in this whole post is the bit where I wrote "every month you pay $2,250 in rent, insurance, and food," and worried if I was, in fact, lowballing that amount. What a broken world!

Anyway. Best of luck with the writing, anon -- no matter what your experiences in or around the industry, I hope the work itself continues to feed your soul.

#reply #publishing #advice

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inchidentally · 4 months

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U wanna analyse this? The words kinda made me sad: https://www.planetf1.com/news/peter-windsor-oscar-piastri-negative-impact-lando-norris

oh babe that one's easy bc not only did Lando have his best season yet by a long shot, he has many many times publicly credited it to Oscar pushing him and giving him the kind of competition that he's needed. as in he's said it so many times it would take me hours to screenshot all of them. Andrea and Zak have said it too, and actually the article itself even admits it. at the very last race Lando said how much Oscar has brought and that Lando himself has learned from him.

so big shock, "planetf1" faked a headline for clicks lol.

just to get ahead of the inevitable doom and gloom that sports media posts for engagement, let me pass on what I learned while in hockey fandom:

if the headline is dramatic, it's fake and don't give it clicks and ad rev. if it's not something like "grosjean leaps through fireball" which is easily verifiable then trust me, they won't be able to back it up in the article. remember when Lando did the landolog of him and Oscar karting in Italy and how much fun they had? at the beginning, he joked that Oscar had been a "little snake" for getting there early and practicing. he literally laughed while he said it. but sure enough, headlines on sites w names like F1dotcomBizFunHorny4U had "McLaren's Norris calls teammate Piastri a snake".

negative stories get engagement and melodrama gets even more. they'll worry about fixing it to not get sued way down in the article under the tenth video ad.

if the article was cribbed/didn't get a direct interview with a named source with an actual role within a team then it's either fake or stretched beyond reality for engagement.

even quotations can get chopped to hell and misplaced to fake a story - like people seeing Pierre explain his lack of relationship with Esteban by saying that other drivers might not be close friends either and to not make assumptions. despite quotes from those other drivers that they do in fact like their teammate (Carlos actually said this about him and Charles to Esteban and Pierre on the fanstage at Vegas). if people want to go hogwild with a quote to fit their negative personal narrative then they will. sites that exist solely for ad revenue and sponsorships will do everything to draw those fans in.

if DTS ever lands on the truth it's because that storyline wasn't worth the time in post twisting it into lies. so the fact that Oscar and Lando haven't had melodrama between them and keep saying how well they work together and like each other could mean that we get some unedited actual decent content! but since the 2023 season was so boring it might mean that the editors decide to do a hatchet job and bring in the usual talking heads to fabricate a drama between them. it ultimately doesn't matter bc DTS is only good for f1blr so that we can pull stuff for memes and gifs etc. when Lando recorded his viewing of some of the seasons he spent most of it laughing.

also this isn't the 80s or 90s or even early 00s Formula 1. the drivers are expected to stay much more even keeled out of respect for their teams and even the Pierre/Esteban situation (jsyk I do know their childhood history) isn't like they're out for each other's throats. they have a solely professional relationship now and they'd both agree that being civil is much better than not having an F1 seat. drivers are also way too busy nowadays with their own sponsorships and work outside racing to sit and fester these crazy rivalries in bars and pubs - as well as the media duties for their team that are way more since Liberty Media took over.

every set of teammates will experience ups and downs and tensions but they also have every incentive to get over it and not fuck up their work environment. especially at McLaren where Andrea and Zak now take a hard line about the drivers cooperating at all times for the sake of the team, that's never going to spiral into the kind of drama that media want. Lando beating himself up this season is because he's 5 years in and dying for that win, it's his mentality and it clearly didn't stop him from snatching podiums and points anyway. does he envy Oscar's sprint win, of course!! but if he hated or even resented Oscar for that Sprint win then he wouldn't keep bringing it up on Oscar's behalf all the time. he would do like other resentful teammates have done and simply avoid talking about it at all.

tl;dr anon, for your own sake please customize your F1 media experience or it'll drive you crazy <3 and just to say, I don't look at anything but F1.com or AP news to get updates on anything and I don't pay attention to anything else.

#inchreplies #I hope this isn't talking down to you anon I'm just wanting it to be helpful #and some folks aren't aware just how much wider f1 journalism straight up tells lies #wank adjacent #but not really

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dailycass-cain · 1 year

Text

How do you take a minority character in Cassandra Cain, who had an ongoing series that lasted over seventy issues, was part of the core cast at the time, downgrade them from an "A-list" (to me she was) hero to D level, and her importance gone? DC Comics found a way. Tonight let's talk about it.

(2022 me: I wrote these series of tweets back in 2020. Originally, I posted my original essay of this in five parts waaaay back in 2015. Here’s part 1).

Like many things, it wasn't just a singular major cut but several ones, and lots of smaller ones that ousted the character from said position, and probably ran the fandom for the character to other places.

The first big cut is THE story of Batman in the early 2000s, Hush. Many people's "go to" or favorite story for Batman universe. Why? because it features almost every single Bat-Family and major rogues at the time appeared in it. Save for Bane and-- Batgirl.

For Bane it's quite understandable, he was in a story at Gotham Knights at the time. So his story was "being played" out elsewhere. Cass however, the story is notorious for excluding her. I believe even to this day because of the lack of appearance is a key reason why we're here.

Everything "birthed" from Hush has ruled the Batman comics roost for years since it's publication. You might say even to this day, Batman comics cannot escape the shadow of the story or some of the bad characterization within it (2022 note: Oh how right I was back in 2020 when I wrote all of this. We’ve gotten yet another addition of this story, a new omnibus, published this year with a new five page story from the same creative team).

Key among them is this mythical level that the story puts Babs' time as Batgirl. It along with the Tommy and Jason portions are given Bruce's justification for wanting to kill the Joker in it.

There is this thing. This myth that Barbara was the greatest Batgirl ever because simply, she was the one who was in live-action. The one in Batman: The Animated Series. That she should still be Batgirl was played out by writers during this period.

As I said earlier today she was given this chance. Where as Cassandra never really has ever been given a chance save for cameos and some really bad video games. But even then, Tim was in those too? Yet how did he get a pass but Cass did not?

There also lies a rather confession from now former publisher at DC for his distain for legacy characters. How they "age" characters up. I believe this also pertains why Barbara is always Batgirl as well. Since it ages her and Bruce up.

.The irony is, we always get the Robins (save poor Stephanie) in media too. So it's rather-- hypocritical and kind of sexist really that all the boys get their time in the spotlight but the gals do not? Why is that? This myth for Babs as Batgirl and viewpoint on legacies already puts a great hinder on Cassandra as a character. You already have factors going against the character. But wait there's more.

There-in lies the second big cut. A great famous comic writer once told me on a forum, if he didn't like a character he'd just ignore them. Better ignore than write them badly. This sort of thing does make sense but-- in Cassandra's case for one writer it was taken to an extreme.

After War Games event in 2004 does anyone want to play a guess how many times Cassandra appeared in the mainline Batman comics to the end of her ongoing in 2009?

The answer isn't much, just a handful. Not to mention the love affair over returning Jason as well was all over the place. Jason this and Jason that. A fact that this was so metaly pointed out in Batgirl Vol. 2 #1.

There-in lies a revelation tonight I had. I always wondered why the writer of Batgirl Vol. 2 wrote Nightwing so awful in it. Then it hit me across the face tonight: the book's writer at the time. The thing from 2006 to even now there's been an editor/writer who kind of obviously doesn't like the character of Cassandra. In fact his own contribution to this happened in Nightwing as Batgirl Vol. 2 was ending. The whole "family" subplot throughout his entire Batman run.

There in lies the second major cut, the ending of Cassandra's ongoing. Why was it canceled? Not due to sales. Other comics that survived/relaunched into OYL were selling worse than Batgirl. No it was canceled to make room for a Batwoman ongoing.

A Batwoman ongoing (by Devin Grayson) that would never see the light of day. The inker of #73 confirmed this because I guess one female Bat comic was one too many for that day and age. Oh, the sexism was high at DC.

Of course, the third major cut came not too long after. Turning Cassandra into a "dragon lady" villain.

So you take everything fans loved and adored the character. And take it into the trash to give us the worst stereotypical character ever. Worse, is the aftermath following in Robin #152.

Why is it worse? Because it downplays Cassandra's importance in the family to now being a "sad troubled" girl. .....

Fans didn't take well to this all at all during the time period. Cue this article from Wizard #182 (which came out October 2006) when fans were ticked and higher ups threw the Robin writer under the bus at conventions.

And that would come in Titans East over in Teen Titans in early 2007 where we get this crazy retcon to explain it all.

With some extra padding in some oneshots of 52 to show, "Hey Cass did good things in the missing year. Things we'll never see." Aka devaluing her story unlike say Tim who we got to see the complete tale of him at the time.

Back to Titans East, throughout the story neither Tim/Dick help Cass in her problems they instead hinder her more after learning the truth. Thankfully for Tim that characterization would later be course corrected. Dick-- not so much.

So DC said they had "plans" for Cassandra. After East we were teased things in Black Canary mini in the summer of 2007 that Cass had feld from her sect of the League of Assasins.

And as I let you all know here. Well, we all know where Cassandra ended up, as a supporting character in Batman & the Outsiders.

But this in line also ties into DC Nation blurbs where we were teased in Batman & the Outsiders #3 we would be getting a new mini for Cass.

So interesting to note during this period as you know Chuck Dixon was writing Batman & the Outsiders. He really laid out his plans for both this and Robin on podcasts (and one issue of Robin slipped into solicitations).

When I personally attended the Wizardworld Chicago 2009, Dan DiDio said at the DC panel when the subject of why eventual writer for Batgirl Vol. 2, Adam Beechen was person writing this comic. DiDio answered by saying Beechen was the only creative at DC giving him pitches on Cass.

Turns out, DiDio lied as prior to that year in December 2008, Dixon went on the Word Balloon podcast and talked about a “filler” issue of Detective Comics that could include Cassandra Cain.

Of course, as we got said mini with one hand, on the other hand several Bat Family comics were winding down. Those included Robin, Nightwing, and Birds of Prey. And as #6 was closing things out so this was being teased in the final issue of Nightwing.

That is so not Cass, but Barbara as Batgirl kissing Dick in his current Nightwing costume. The heck? Well, at it turns out (as we later learn). Higher ups already were planning Cassandra's ousting from Batgirl even though they gave us a mini. So DC giveth and DC taketh away.

However, prelim hype around the book teased Cass would be Batgirl going in. Note the bulletin board on who was listed as Batgirl (courtesy of IGN, but here’s the Multiversity article on it).

Of course, DC didn’t know WHO was going to Batgirl even at the time this article was posted as they were debating all over the place at this point. Much so in fact it made it to another DC Nation (after Stephanie was chosen):

"2010 will have big plans for our favorite non-lethal assassin".

Yes, we did get Cass in 2010 but just in Red Robin #17. Such a "big plan" that was. A single appearance. Well, okay we did get the retcon on why Cass wasn't Batgirl any longer too. But there wasn't much at all.

So you have DC downplaying the character. And then you get Black Bat.

But as I said before a few days ago, any importance of Cassandra that was coming from the new Batman writer was short-lived as the New 52 rolled out fully on Babs back as Batgirl. Many got their wish (higher ups included) Babs was back as Batgirl. The "myth" was a reality again.

At the very least, Stephanie got one final adventure as Batgirl even if, plans were in place to make her Spoiler just in case her as Batgirl wasn't allowed.

What followed was an agonizing three years of DC downplaying the two characters completely. Why you ask? The easiest answer: jealousy and sexism. Look at how loyal we fans of the two characters are. What if that love was directed at them instead of Babs.

I guess you could say now "two" female Bats were okay, but FOUR?! FOUR iS SIMPLY OUTRAGOUS!!!!

Course the controversy would be a embargo of the two characters by DC. Embargo that hit Stephanie more with the online Smallville comic and Lil Gotham.

I'm also reminded the mindset of DC higher ups at the time period post Battle for the Cowl as we recently learned from the SDCC: Batgirls panel (2020): Higher Ups: "Cassandra leaves." Writer: "WHY?!" Higher Ups: "Cause she just does-- so your book can exist."

Suddenly this begins to explain Lady Shiva and the lack of Cassandra Cain in Batman: Hush now.

That's the cruel mindset DC higher ups had with Cassandra and eventually Stephanie. So when you say, not to give either character a chance. This is what people you're defending.

So you add ALL OF THAT, four years is quite a long time. A long time for fans to move on or just forget DC Comics. But we Cass/Steph fans persisted. Better we did get them in 2014 even if it was an alternate reality (and Gail's final issue).

BUT... Cass in the main universe? Yeah, Stephanie can be slotted in because she has the Spoiler identity to fall onto. But Cass? She was Batgirl. So what do you do when you have a Batgirl, but can't use Cass?

Simply you just create a new identity, Orphan. But by not making her Batgirl you take away three key things away from the character. #1 Who she's truly loyal toward.

#2 Who mentors her.

#3 Where she is in the Family order. By including Babs as the new "daughter" figure in Bruce's life. You take away Cassandra's. Why do you think a certain DC Direct statue with the family earns my ire anytime I see it? For that.

Babs is no daughter figure to Bruce, she's an equal. That's a downgrade to her role in the family. But it is rather curious two ongoings with Barbara and not a single appearance of Cass in them (so far). Makes you wonder?

So you take away Cassandra's importance in the family, you downgrade her identity, don't give her a bat symbol, take away her mentors. What does that leave you?

You wonder why. Why do I'd stick around? I mean honestly, there are probably really vocal Cass fans out there in this world still. One of whom did a retrospective multipart video earlier this year of Cass (and he comes to the EXACT same conclusions).

Because as I said quite recently, "What is the greatest lesson for Cass fans in Batman media given all the mess DC and Warner Bros. does in treating this character?

It took almost TEN YEARS to finally see Cass in her OG Batgirl suit earlier this year. Almost TEN YEARS to see a solo story which-- dammit was like the greatest gift to us. Like seriously to all those involved going thru all of this.

I really hope the creative team realizes just how special that graphic novel is to the fans. Like literally, it showed all the greatest things we love about the character. The fighting is just the added bonus. I bow and try not to cry at being so grateful to this creative team.

But this is the road we fans and the character of Cassandra Cain have to endure. So if you're wondering why we're ticked at the Gotham Knights video game (2022) not including her outright? This is our reason.

This is why I am still grateful for BoP movie. It may not have been the role I wanted to see of Cass as the damsel in distress, but goddammit we got so much Cass comic content this year because of it. JUST FOR THAT ALONE-- I'm grateful.

That's why if any person in media can hear me. Just give Cass a chance. A short. A main role in the video game. Heck, an episode. JUST GIVE CASSANDRA A CHANCE PLEASE! You might be surprised at what you get.

Just know that Cassandra will NEVER be a placeholder. She is Batgirl, and dammit she deserves that role and that role so BADLY. I know Stephanie is too.

Gods I love Stephanie too. But I just always hate that DC did that to both characters. Pitting their fans against one another. It guts me. Like the lowest thing for DC to do is pit these two close friends against one another.

That's why it kills me. Part of me YEARNS for a new Cass ongoing, but goddammit Stephanie got screwed too in this. So if both get ongoing with Babs I am okay with this. Because dammit these characters need love, not freaking hatred.

DC really does owe it to both characters and their fans this. THEY REALLY OWE THEM for the hell these characters had to endure because of idiotic higher-ups who had horrible agendas and wanted to push a fast buck.

So now you know how DC did it. How they took this character who was a major fixture in the Batman comics and downplayed her SOOOOOOO much with bad storytelling and shuffling her off to be a side character.

I'm mentally exhausted worn now. I just hope you take these lessons to heart. To learn this shady stuff that DC Comics did and turned an amazing character-- to something less. How fans want more from that character again.

Update July 2021: Gail Simone’s tweet (that she deleted soon after) on this nugget of how the character of Cass was changed due to studio higher ups.

Update September 2021:

....

Here I go again with an UPDATE. After all these years. Confirmation at last (even if they aren't mentioned). We all know WHICH characters by now Dan DiDio is talking about here.

(You can read the whole interview here.)

#cassandra cain #dc comics #the tragedy of cassandra cain

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carsonian · 8 months

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August '23 SteveTony Fics Recap

Ayo, whassup YouTube. It's ya Boy. Cars to the O-N Ian. BACK at it again with the SteveTony fanfiction. You already KNOW what's about to go down. . .

But before that, here's a word from our sponsor ➡️

Word! Now, onto the fanfics, featuring our favourite blond/brunet duo. No, not that one. The OTHER one. Yeah, that one. Let's GOOOOOO ➡️

Your Mans wrote a total of SEX fanfics this month. Your Mans wrote a total of 36942 words. Haha 69.

That is pretty crazie! And telling of your Mans emotional state. Which is to say: get a life. And another hobby. Now BACK to the video.

Fanfics (in chronolgo chronsol ciacal chrongologic edit prev out @ editor chgrasonlogical order):

"I Can See Clearly Now The Blindfold's Gone" | 3,577 Words | M | 1 Aug

"Then, without further ado, I'd like to offer my sincere congratulations to the two of you for winning the all-expenses paid date." "What?" Steve straightens. "Pass." Tony says at the same moment. (A.K.A. Modern, No Powers AU where Steve and Tony go on everyone's favourite internet shitshow, "The Button".) For the prompt fill: blind date au

If I had to rate this fic I would SMASH THAT BUTTON !!!!!

"Just Wanna Feel Your Touch (When It's Cold)" | 1,339 words | M | 16 Aug

Steve's got a press conference to deal with but he's more worried about Tony's cold hands. Stony Bingo 2023 Round 2: "Rescue Me"

If I had to rate this fic I would rate it!

"'Cause It's You and Me (and All of the People)" | 8,945 words | T | 19 Ugh

Steve and Tony discover that they're soulmates in their senior year of high school. As they wrestle with this realisation and try to build out a genuine relationship in the backdrop of high school nonsense and college admissions stress, they're met with a ridiculous number of hurdles in the form of every friend in their circle recruiting them as "fake dates". (A.K.A. the high school soulmates AU where they keep getting pulled into fake dating schemes for other people, told in a chatlog / texting format) Stony Bingo 2023 Round 2: "WTF"

Just a day ago I had to go back and fix some GIFs that had disappeared. So if I had to rate this fic I wouldn't.

"We Just Keep Going" | 1,829 words | M | 23 Aug

A coda to "Here I Am & Here You Are" where Steve and Tony go and visit the Chip 'n Dale duo in New Orleans. (A.K.A. Established relationship, banter-y nonsense.)

The only fic that isn't trying to be a FOB lyric w/ the length of its title. So, this fic, if I had to rate it I would rate as oim just a nocch in yewr bedpowst. . . but yewr juust a loine in a sowng!!!!!!

"Must Admit I'm Out of Bright" | 2,606 words | T | 25 Aug

Steve's got a handful of bullets in his abdomen and Stark's looking at him all funny. Stony Bingo 2023 Round 2: "Pain"

If I had to rate this fic I wouldn't but I would desecRATE it and if I had to desecrate it I would desecrate it w/

youtube

Are you still here? Yeah?! 😲😲 Please like, comment and subscribe! 🙏Make sure you hit that post notifications bell so that you can type "first" in the comments! 1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣

"The Remarkable People Initiative & The Zugzwang Dilemma" | Chapters 8 & 9 (aka the FINAL CHAPTERS. Yes this fic is DONE! FINALLY!)

Chapter 8: "Pawn to Queen, Promotion Forseen" | 5,594 words | E | 9 Aug

Chapter 9: "Rematch?" | 13,052 words (don't @ me I tried to plan this shit out and it did not WORK. planning is a SHAM. or maybe I am. either way. don't @ me!!!) | E | 31 Aug

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark first met as promising candidates of The Remarkable People Initiative when they were children. Twenty-four years later, Tony shows up at Steve's doorstep. (The Mysterious Benedict Society AU.)

If I had to rate this fic I would uhhh ok come on. Someone else make the bad joke this time. I can't carry this whole goddamn video.

& that's all we have for you today! Tune in next month to hear all about the myriad situations I put our favourite boiz in! There will be many situations and many ships. Perhaps even a situationship 👀 NO SPOILERS! This is, after all, an MCU ship 😜

Finally, due to mounting pressure from *reads smudged ink on hand* budgetary cuts & the economy, here's another word from our sponsor! ➡️

Word!

#im sorry 4 the way that i am im working on it #my fics #stevetony #fic writing #fic recap #Youtube

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demonslayedher · 1 year

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Things that popped into my head while rewatching this episode:

--Recalling Gotouge's journey in developing the world and story and how Tanjiro and Nezuko were originally going to be side characters until the editor heard about them and swooped in to save the series by making Tanjiro the main character. (According to interview in Fanbook #1)

--Recalling how the art direction team, in order to produce this episode, made a trip out to the mountains of Tochigi Prefecture (which would have more snow than Mt. Kumotori typically gets nowadays) and experienced stomping around in the deep snow and feeling it pack under their feet, and feeling the exhaustion and early lack of sunlight. (According to interview in booklet handed at out at early Mugen Ressha showings)

--Giving Takeo, Hanako, Shigeru, and Rokuta red eyes like Tanjiro is such a choice and it was made. --I believe Saburo the umbrella craftsman lost his family to demons. --I love that we got to see Grandma Kamado. Tanjiro was so little. --Tanjiro really is just everybody's favorite person, isn't he???? Look at him, Tanjiro-ing all over the town.

--I've heard it said how Tanjiro must so bitterly regret telling Hanako and Shigeru to stay home that day.

--Did Nezuko imply that Rokuta's sticking to Tanjiro because he looks so much like Dad??? That loss really is so recent in their hearts, as is the encounter with the bear, as it's the first possibility Tanjiro thinks of when he sees the attack. But, we see their worldview so clearly in how Tanjiro muses on the fickleness of life like the changing weather of the sky, and he knows from the get-go that happiness is fleeting. But also, we see how he appreciates what he has so much. ;__;

--Kokushibo took three days to become a demon and wondered how long it might take Kaigaku to become one, as strong ones may take longer. Nezuko's body was left out there in daylight for many hours, and probably many night hours too as Muzan wouldn't risk being so far from cover so close to dawn. It was still daytime when Giyuu got to them, albeit covered with clouds, but Nezuko might had taken 8-16 hours. A lot of time seems to have passed between Tanjiro's discovery of the family in sunny conditions and then being partway down the mountain with her in overcast conditions; perhaps Tanjiro didn't hurry at first under the assumption that they were all hopeless and was in the process of preparing their bodies for burial, and he didn't notice the hope for Nezuko right away. Imagine his panic into action once he did. --When first following this series, I had read Giyuu's entrance into this scene as heartless and distant and jaded, which made his change to yelling at him and then hoping he'll do something (even before being impressed by Nezuko) felt strange, but now I read every line as full of kindness and sympathy from the get-go. ;___; Giyuu was hurting for Tanjiro the instant he knew what happened. --Might I say how much I love Nezuko's slow stare at Tanjiro lying on the ground after Giyuu hit him? She's still not making sense of everything going on around her, but there's this pause when she's having to compute that the person (brother???) whom she... doesn't want hurt (cares about???) is... not moving... oh, hurt??? HURT!! HE'S HURT AND THIS GUY DID IT!!!! DEFEND, DEFEND!!! GRRRR!!!!

--The drop of Nezuko's piano theme music as Giyuu comes running, no sound effects to his upcoming violence, I love the juxtaposition

--I have no clue how long Giyuu waited around for Tanjiro to wake up. Probably not terribly long since it's still daytime hours, but long enough to have neatly dressed a demon and fitted her with a muzzle.

--Curious if Giyuu had any knowledge or recollection of Kanae's wish to befriend demons, though the person he thought of who insisted on a demon not harming someone seems to have said that right before being proved wrong, and Giyuu seems to carry guilt for not having prevented their death

--My gosh, Tanjiro is still so little and powerless. He struggled so much while carrying Nezuko, noting how his lungs hurt breathing that frigid air. He has so, so much ahead of him.

#KnY Rewatch #my art #kamado tanjiro #kamado tanjirou #kamado nezuko

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planetkiimchi · 10 months

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ten things i hate love about lee | l.t

pairing: ten x fem implied!reader, highschool au, non idol!au, academic rivals

warnings: pg13, used a few curse words (fuck once for emphasis)

word count: 5.9K

summary — ten lee is practically perfect in every way. good for him, because you don’t care. except that he’s outshining you in areas you’ve never been outdone in before, and you hate him for it. maybe the reason you hate him is not because he’s talented, but because of how you’re falling for him.

a/n: thank you @ssunnae for beta reading the last part <3 i accidentally deleted my work on tumblr editor, had to try and copy and paste from docs, realised my docs wasn't the latest updates version, tried to restore the last bullet point from tumblr (which i had just tried to delete thinking i’d just use the docs version) when making this. it was hell. however, i did have a lot of fun playing with the chinese parts! please enjoy.

New year, new you. The careful arrangement of your stationery in your pencil case and the neat stacks of books in your bag are all leading up to one thing really. This year, this year is going to be your academic comeback.

#1: His academic prowess.

Now the thing is, when you say "academic comeback" you're not really talking about going from failing to passing. You're actually already at the top of the class. It's just that there's a certain boy called Ten Lee who constantly puts you on edge.

You're constantly competing in everything that you do now. Last time, you couldn't really care less if you were second or third in class, because you could run circles around most of the people during physical education (PE) class, play the piano semi-proficiently, and carry a tune.

Then, the year that you turned fifteen, a new boy transferred to your school.

He was Thai and had a deceivingly cute smile, and at first you couldn't wait to be friends with him.

"Hi! I'm Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, but you can call me Ten. Because I'm a ten out of ten in everything I do!" was how he had introduced himself.

And honestly, it was a little cheesy, but you thought he was all the cuter for it. Especially because he had clarified the Thai system of nicknames and explained that it really was his name, not just a joke to boast about himself.

So that was fine, up till the point when everyone started comparing you to him.

When he got first in class for math, you were surprised but not disappointed. You had done your best, and since you hadn't studied that much anyway. you were proud of your solid understanding. Besides, you had seen how much he had studied and worked for his grades. It was understandable to you.

But not to everyone else.

Not when he could keep up with you during gym class. He said that he did martial arts, which obviously made a lot more sense, but his stamina was scarily good. It was insane how much he trained and the discipline he had, and your parents started calling you out for it.

"Why aren't you studying?" They would ask. "Didn't the new boy, whose first language isn't even English, do better than you in Literature? It's probably because you don't work hard enough." It was the first time in your not-very-long life that you realised you actually had to start studying and not just submit homework on time.

It was a realisation you could have done without, but it was starting to eat into you. Your friends would throw in teasing remarks from time to time about how "Ten Lee was so smart and hahaha Y/n you finally have a competitor!" without consideration for the fact that you didn't want a competitor. You were perfectly fine cruising through high school and you didn't need someone to put into perspective your talents.

You had been the prodigy for so long you couldn't comprehend someone threatening your status.

Getting used to it took a while. And by "a while", you meant three years. But this year, you were going to be eighteen. You were going to become legal, and you had new worries to think about.

Like adulting, and drinking, and several other things like when were you going to get a house or pay your parents back for your car? Trivial matters seemed to occupy your mind a lot, but it was all similarly linked to proving yourself in the eyes of your peers again.

Also, you missed being validated.

Speaking of which.... "Hey there. I'm... supposed to be sitting here?"

That voice sounded familiar, who was it? As you looked up from your phone, you caught sight of a very familiar, annoyingly handsome face. Ten Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul.

The universe must have been conspiring against you, because there was no way your luck was this bad. In a room with 20-odd teenagers, you still ended up with Ten, of all people? Seriously?

You gave him a stiff but polite smile (mostly to show him that you weren't above having manners either) and went back to fidgeting with your pen and trying your best to ignore his presence.

Sitting next to Ten was the worst experience of your life. When you previously a minimum of two seats away from him, how studious he was didn't bother you quite as much.

But it was a little more difficult to ignore the constant scribbling he was doing in his notebook (and they were good, neat notes; you peeked). His quiet confidence should have been contagious, but it was slightly disarming.

You were about to confidently explain why the work done against friction in your physics problem was 30.0 joules, when he lightly tapped your worksheet and said under his breath, "You missed one step. It's 27 joules."

Lo and behold, as soon as you looked at what he was pointing to, you realised he was right. Your skin coloured and you shook your head, lowering your hand as your teacher turned to look at you.

"Yes, Y/n? Would you like to answer the question?"

"It's alright," you mumbled softly. "I realised I missed something out."

The embarrassment seeped into your skin like poison, making you feel more and more terrible throughout the day. It wasn't the first mistake you had made, but that somehow made it worse. It made you wonder if previously Ten had noticed all your mistakes, and thought you were careless and silly.

You were still thinking about it at the end of the school day, as you collected your books and stashed it back into your bag, too tired to think about organising it.

"See you tomorrow," Ten smiled at you, waving as he left. Oh, how you hated the unreasonable way you disliked him.

#2: His chivalry.

"Good morning." Being greeted by Ten in the morning was one of those things you could do without. But it had been a good morning so far, and you weren't going to let him ruin that.

"Good morning," you replied, reaching for the door that both of you were standing in front of.

He beat you to it, opening the door before you could and gesturing for you to go first. You did, but with a slight huff, trying not to let it show how annoyed you were that you hadn't been faster.

It was a good morning though, he was right.

Firstly, your Chinese teacher was sick and not in school, meaning you had a free period. You and Yangyang decided to go to the library during your free period, happily speaking in Chinese all the way there.

Obviously, your teacher had assigned work, but the quiet confines of the library allowed you to be productive as you and Yangyang listened to music through your headphones (and his Airpods. Rich boy).

The hour passed uneventfully, and you headed back to class, refreshed from the cool air of the air-conditioned library.

Secondly, it was Literature period. You were currently on the topic of poetry, and though some of the poems made little to no sense to you, "Five ways to kill a man" was one of the most interestingly satirical poems you'd read.

Analysing poems was not your forte, but listening to people give their interpretations of poems and seeing the influence of their worldview on their interpretation was definitely intriguing.

Time flew by, and before you knew it, it was time for break.

You would gladly and easily have slid back into the rhythm of ignoring Ten completely, except he suddenly seemed determined to be everywhere in your life.

As you queued up for your food, he moved back, allowing you to order first. When you went back to class, he pulled your chair out for you to sit. When you dropped your pencil and bent down to pick it up, he covered the edge of the table so you wouldn't hurt your head.

What was wrong with him? Why was he going out of his way to be so nice?

Ten was a nice guy, there was no denying that. Even when he was constantly overshadowing your achievements, he never bragged about it, especially not to your face. But never before had he gone out of his way three consecutive times to be nice to you.

Something had to have been up. Maybe he had had too much sugar in his coffee, and was channeling the energy rush through being nice. Maybe he had been dared to do so. Maybe-

"Earth to Y/n. Are you okay? You've been staring at the same math problem for five minutes now without lifting your pen."

You blinked rapidly and looked at Ten, then back down at your paper. He was right (again). It was an easy question, but you were so caught up in your thoughts that you hadn't even started it yet.

Hurriedly, you put your pen to paper and began writing, trying to forget how caught up you had been in your thoughts of Ten.

#3: His generosity.

After a week of sitting next to Ten, his mannerisms became quite commonplace. You got used to his greetings each morning, coming to enjoy the positive way they started your day.

His smile and the way he threw his head back when he laughed — you grew used to it, to like it, even. He brought cheesy humour and dad jokes to class sometimes, muttering them under his breath and being surprised when you replied.

Slowly, your dynamic with him shifted from tolerance to acceptance, and his prominent existence in your life grew more and more bearable.

Take the time you bumped into him at the coffee shop near school, for example. You had left home early, as per usual, and were on your way to grab a cup of coffee from your favourite place just next to the school.

The shop was a small little place along the road that experienced high traffic in the mornings and afternoons when school ended. Students and teachers alike frequented the place, and you were no exception.

Like clockwork, you made your way there for your usual cappuccino (you liked milk) in the wee hours of the morning as the sun groggily rose. As per your usual morning routine, you were about to order your drink when you stumbled and bumped into the person in front of you.

Cursing your clumsiness, you immediately apologised. The person turned around, and you came face to face with none other than Ten Lee. You had been coming to the shop every schoolday for one and a half years and not once, had you seen Ten order anything from the shop. You’d never seen him step foot in it, nor bring a cup of the fresh coffee into class to savour.

It was so out of the ordinary that you froze, not quite sure what to do. Thrown off by the lack of habitual routine, it was all you could to pull yourself together to deliver your order.

“So sorry about that. I’ll pay for your coffee,” Ten told you, and the cashier nodded before you could protest. You wanted to tell him that really, it was fine, and it was definitely your fault, and could he please stop being such a gentleman?

But the words got caught in your mouth, and you stared dumbfoundedly at him as he paid.

Feeling a bit guilty and slightly awkward, you moved along down the queue, reaching out to grab your order. Thankfully, Ten didn’t try to initiate any conversation, and slowed down his pace when you briskly walked away.

That was, well. Perhaps not the best example of an encounter with Ten that was bearable. But you did understand his well-meaning intentions and were starting to get that maybe that was just what he was like.

After all, Ten’s generosity did seem to come intrinsically. He never failed to offer a pen when someone needed to borrow one, or to buy someone a gift when it was their birthday. (That was actually another thing you’d noticed. He remembered things about people.)

Once, you overheard him talking to Xiaojun about the upcoming NCT 127 concert. Xiaojun's bias was Jaehyun, and when Ten was buying them tickets, he'd purposely selected the category of restricted view seats that would be nearer to Jaehyun.

At the time, you didn't really think much of it, but thinking back on it, Xiaojun must have felt so loved to know that someone noticed his preferences like that. Ten's thoughtfulness in his gifts (not just giving costly, expensive and useless items) was something else that made you like him, just a little.

#4: Him being multilingual.

February 22nd was probably the first day that you didn't get greeted by Ten at the door. It was funny how over the course of a month, you'd quickly become accustomed to saying good morning to him. Although it was only two words, they did help to start your day on the right foot.

You had read somewhere that it took 59-70 days to form a habit. It might only have been about 50, but you had come to form the habit of greeting Ten each morning.

So when Ten was busy on a phone call that morning, you couldn't help but to notice that he seemed to be speaking in Thai. You had to confess that even after three years of knowing Ten, you had never heard him speak in his native language before.

His English was extremely good, and the accent could not be associated with his Thai origins, so the way he sounded in Thai was quite foreign to you.

"Y/n, why do you look so out of it today?"

"Hm?" You shook your head, shaking yourself from your trance to say hello to your friend Kun. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking."

"What about?"

Ten Lee? You couldn't possibly tell Kun that. You'd sound like a silly little highschooler with a crush on your classmate! Instead, you shrugged and gave as vague of an answer as you could. "Projectile motion..."

Kun nodded, unconvinced. But he didn't press you for details, instead choosing to switch to Chinese, suspecting that you wanted to talk about Ten without him realising.

“Zhe shi yin wei li yong qin ma？” Is this because of Ten Lee?

“Ng!” You replied unhappily. “Wo zen me mei gan jue dao zi ji wu yi zhong xi huan shang le ta ne?” How could I have not realised myself unconsciously falling for him?

"It happens," Kun replied, not unkindly. "After all-"

"Wo hen you mei li a," Ten interjected. I have a lot of charm. You half-flinched, half-gasped. Since when could Ten speak Chinese? Yes, you were well aware that he could speak Thai, English and Korean fluently, but nobody had told you that he could speak Chinese!

If you had known, you would have saved yourself so much embarrassment. Luckily, Kun was as surprised as you, meaning he hadn't deliberately tried to put you on the spot when switching languages.

Oh, his multilingual brain was too much for you to bear. How were you going to explain yourself? You had basically just indirectly confessed your undying love for Ten in the least subtle way possible.

You buried your face in your hands to hide the blush spreading over your cheeks, and Kun patted your back comfortingly, trying to tell you that it was okay (it wasn't).

Just then, Yangyang of all people had to walk past.

Of course, the nosy boy wanted to know what had just happened. Kun pulled him aside, gently explaining under his breath the absolutely mortifying situation you were in, while you tried to ignore the amused look you were sure was on Ten's face.

"Are you done sulking yet?" He asked, the light-heartedness in his tone somehow making things worse. He obviously didn't understand how humiliated you were feeling.

"... No." You pouted and turned over so that you didn't have to face him, drowning out the sounds of Yangyang's laughter.

"Zumindest kann er kein Deutsch," he offered.

"It doesn't matter if he can't speak German," you groaned. "Neither can I, really! Ahh zhen bu hao yi si!" You cry into your sweater. This is so embarrassing!

Wait a second... you don't own a sweater.

Reluctantly, you sat up and looked at the sweater, checking for a name of some sort. Written on the tag of the sweater, in cursive, was Ten's name.

Of-fucking-course. He probably just draped it over you while you were wallowing in your sorrow, and you didn't realise because you were too busy being embarrassed.

"You can keep it," Ten supplied helpfully. "I've got plenty anyway."

You didn’t know why, but you were glad it smelled like him.

#5: His arms.

It was late when you left school that evening. Your extracurriculars had dragged longer than they were supposed to, and the sun was already setting by the time you climbed into your car.

It wasn't the first time that you were leaving school late in the evening, but you still felt like there was someone watching you, or following you. Afraid to draw attention to yourself, you quickly started the engine and drove off towards your house.

You were maybe fifteen minutes away from home when you realised that a car behind you had been following you for the past fifteen minutes. Instead of going home by the usual route, you turned left instead. (You were probably going to get lost due to your terrible sense of direction, but it was fine.)

The car followed.

You took another left, hoping against hope that it would finally stop tailing you.

But it didn't.

Nervous and unsure what to do, you noticed with a start that the street you were on was oddly familiar. Where had you seen it before... Oh, that was right. Ten's street was on the left. You'd seen it on his Instagram and thought it was unfairly good for photo taking.

With one hand on the wheel and your fingers shaking, you dialed Ten's number and turned left.

"Hello?" His voice sounded warm and inviting, and you wished you could be next to him right at that moment.

"Are you home? Can- can you open the door, please?" You asked, voice trembling. Ten didn't reply for a moment, but you heard his footsteps over the call and breathed a sigh of relief. Surely he would say yes....

"What's going on, Y/n?" He asked, voice hardening. He sounded annoyed, angry, even. It was not an emotion you were used to attributing to Ten. He always seemed happy all the time, and if he were mad because you were calling him, you didn't know where else to go.

"I think someone's following me. And I'm on your street. If the lights in your house are on, I'll be able to spot you," you forced yourself to say.

"Okay." Without asking any more questions, you saw the side gate of a house open. You abruptly came to a halt, trying to ignore the screeching of brakes as the car behind you struggled to come to a stop as well. You threw open the door and shut it behind you, fingers shaking as you tried to lock it and ran into Ten's house, stumbling into his arms as he hurriedly locked the door behind you.

"Didn't know where else to go," you mumbled, your legs turning into jelly as you shook nervously in his arms.

#6: His art.

It took a while before you felt alright again. It came slowly, as Ten handed you a mug of hot chocolate and sat you down on the couch. Every one of his moves was slow, cautious, careful not to jar you and gently bring you back to your senses. You hugged the sweater tighter around yourself, curling up and wiggling your toes, glad he did not mention that the sweater you were wearing was his.

Neither of you spoke, and instead you let your gaze linger over the vastness of the inside of Ten's house. You'd never been in it before, but even though it didn't feel sprawlingly big, it felt open and spacious, with plenty of space for creation, and more importantly, creativity.

Art was everywhere into the house, imbued in the very spirit of it. The mug in your hand was glazed, and you could feel the untouched base of the mug had something etched into it. If you flipped it over, you would have seen Ten's Thai name engraved there, a mark of his own work.

The wall was covered in wallpaper, but the wallpaper was blank, and acted as a giant canvas. On some edges, there were doodles in bold black marker, something he must have done mindlessly when he was bored. On the other sides, there were impulsive brush strokes drawn in large arcs, some dry and opaque, some more translucent, and some that were just delightfully textured.

It drew you to it, making you feel at home even in the house with all its modern furniture. The rug beneath your feet felt like his work as well, with the cow pattern on it reminiscent of his unique art style.

"Are you alright?" Ten asked, breaking the silence.

You would have liked to stay quiet for a little longer, absorbing all the little pieces of Ten that had slowly been absorbed into the house, to learn everything that made him him. But perhaps it was the art itself and the way that it made you feel that caused the words to spill and heave out of you like a waterfall.

You couldn't tell if you hated or loved the way you felt vulnerable and willing to overshare in the atmosphere that he had created, but when Ten gently smiled at you to go on, you decided that things could most definitely be worse.

"This guy was following me, and I didn't know where to go, so I tried to shake him off and realised that I was near your house and then I got scared and tried to call you and you picked up and well. I didn't know where else to go." The words tumbled out of your mouth, and you couldn't stop yourself from rambling.

"Hey. Are you alright?" Ten inched closer towards you, setting his open palm facing upwards on his thigh, inviting you to hold his hand. As soon as you reached out towards him, he clasped your hand tightly and comfortingly and said nothing for a few moments.

When you spoke, his smile had dropped, and you knew he was trying to hide his shock at the man following you. It was creepy, yes, and you had been so afraid, but you had always kind of known that this was an experience you would go through at least once in your lifetime. However, for a man, this could well have been one of his worst nightmares.

"I think I'm okay now."

#7: His willingness to help.

"You know, I won't be there every time if you're getting chased. You've got to learn how to protect yourself. I can teach you martial arts, if you'd like."

The offer came from nowhere, so you were a little surprised, but also inclined to take him up on it. It really was going to be a problem, and even if it wasn't, it was always good to learn a new skill from someone who's proficient in it.

You nodded numbly.

"Want me to drive you home?" You shook your head, reaching into your pocket for your phone to let your parents know where you were. Knowing them, they were probably worried out of their minds because you hadn't reached home yet.

Sure enough, when your mother picked up the phone, she bombarded you with questions. They were all very well-meaning, like asking you where you were and why you weren't home, and are you okay? You told her that you were at Ten's house, a creepy guy was following you, and you had been deathly afraid but you were all good now.

"Can I stay over at Ten's place?"

Your mum sounded doubtful when she replied, asking about your clothes and your books and where you were going to sleep. She sounded inclined to say no, telling you that you shouldn't overstay your welcome. She made you thank Ten several times, insisting that you leave.

Thank goodness for Ten, who charmed your mother into listening to him and agreeing to let you stay overnight. He assured her that you could borrow his younger sister's clothes and that not to worry, she was overseas and wouldn't mind.

Your mother told you to thank him (again) tonight and the next morning when you left his place. You agreed, reminding her that you love her and she hung up.

"Your sister doesn't really live in this house, does she?"

Ten looked at you confusedly. "Where else would she live?"

"I don't know, it just seemed like I'd never seen her before." You shrugged, looking around at the house again. "And, well, it did seem like you lived here all alone, but I guess it's too big of a house for you to manage on your own."

"I assure you that I live with my family. My parents are upstairs right now, and my sister's on an exchange programme right now so she's not in town. The reason they haven't come here is probably because it's a big house and they're busy doing something together. The last activity they were doing was solving a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle."

Ten's family seemed so chill and easygoing, a stark contrast to what you were used to. Ten brought you up to his sister's room to borrow her pajamas, and you took the chance to take a quick shower, wiping yourself down with a towel you had borrowed.

Afterwards, the manners your parents had ingrained in you caused you to insist that Ten introduce you to his parents, and you apologised for intruding and disturbing their evening.

However, they were absolute sweethearts. His father offered to make some food for you, if you were hungry, and his mother asked if you were quite alright after the ordeal. You insisted that you were fine, but they wouldn't stop worrying until Ten assured them that you're fine.

It was really all very endearing, because your parents fussed in a different way from them, and had never been so open to simply having people over. In fact, you couldn’t remember the last sleepover you had.

Ten brought you up, but his parents wouldn't let you sleep in his room. He brought you to his sister's room, and you fell asleep fitfully.

Image

#8: His proficiency in martial arts

You really misinterpreted what Ten meant by "teaching you martial arts". You thought he meant a chill session and some quick tips on defending yourself, maybe a few corrections. After which, you'd feel badass and ready to tackle any horny, screwed-up in their minds men.

You were dead wrong, because Ten had not meant any of those things.

You were only five minutes in and already drenched in sweat, your clothes sticking to your skin and droplets beading at your hairline. You lifted your arm to wipe the sweat away with your sleeve, and your biceps screamed out in pain, begging for mercy.

It turns out that the reason Ten was so physically fit was because his training routine was rigorous. Not pretentious rigorous, and not the type of rigorous that bodybuilders used to lose fat, either. It was the type of rigorous that strengthened your muscles and pushed them just shy of their breaking point.

If you had to do this every other day, you'd probably be in the best physical shape of your life, which was Ten's current situation.

Ten was determined to make you stronger, because according to him, you "can't defend yourself if you're weak." It was a really polite way of saying that you weren't strong enough to protect yourself, which was a humbling thought.

He told you that you were only going to be doing a warmup, since you were just starting and you had school the next day. ("I want you to be able to walk tomorrow" were his exact words. It was... encouraging to hear that. Not.)

10 minutes in, you were cursing Ten's proficiency in martial arts. And your own stupidity, for agreeing to it. Why had you thought you would be able to keep up with him? He was Ten, your archnemesis, your one and only competitor who could beat you if he tried just a little. Obviously, you never learned from your mistakes.

Ten decided that you should try to punch people first. But not the way that you wanted to.

Instead of cool punches and socking people in the jaw (you're sure Ten got to do that in training, but you weren't Ten), he made you hit your elbows upwards against his padded gloves until the muscles in your arms, shoulders and back that you didn't even realise existed throbbed.

Then, he simply moved on to the next exercise. You never got to throw him over your shoulder like a sack of rice, but you did get to practise almost breaking his arm. A hundred or so times, until you weren't even trying to hit him anymore. He would yell at you to try harder ("Where's your energy?") and then, when you gave him a tired look, lower his volume and say, "Let's try that again."

Again, he was not being unkind, but his focus and seriousness made him a very strict teacher indeed.

The most fun part was when he decided to teach you how to kick a man in the groin. (Not knee them. Because that would take away the advantage of distance, of course. Of course you knew that.)

He lifted his arms up, carefully moving himself out of the "line of fire" and positioning himself diagonally in front of you. Channeling all your rage, tiredness and desire to go home, you kicked your leg out as hard as you could-

And fell right on your butt.

Your butt hurt, but your ego hurt more. Especially when Ten failed to contain his laughter, gasping for air and even choking. Was he trying to be dramatic or was he always like that? It was a far cry from the stifled, polite laughter in class when you laughed at his jokes, but it was endearing all the same.

You couldn't fault him for finding it funny. You were, after all, on your butt on the ground and it was possibly due to your hubris. Maybe being overconfident while trying a new skill wasn't a good idea, especially when you were trying it out with your expert classmate (who maybe wasn’t really your rival anymore).

Ten knelt down, arms wrapping around you from behind as he pulled you to your feet, his warm embrace making you want to fall asleep in his arms.

#9: His back.

Wait... what?

Okay, this definitely wasn't a good idea. Thinking about falling asleep in Ten's arms, in Ten's house, after spending a night over? Yeah, this was a recipe for trouble.

Ten seemed oblivious to how you were feeling, since all he did was continue teaching you a new skill.

“So what if he tries to grab you from behind? Well obviously, if it’s someone you know, you might hug him back. But if it’s a creepy guy? You’ll want to be able to attack him regardless of how he’s holding you.”

To demonstrate, Ten tightly grabbed you from behind. You would have liked to protest, but he grabbed you so suddenly that you lost your balance, falling forwards. Reacting quickly, Ten rolled over and you landed on top of him, hyperaware of his arms and his body heat and the feel of his breath on you.

Your faces were so close to each other that if you moved too quickly, you might just kiss him. Which, honestly, didn’t sound like a bad idea at this point. Your locked arms were the only thing keeping your lips from his. And they were trembling from your exhaustion and the desire to give in to the tired pleas of your muscles.

Ten tried to lift your arm off of him, trying to stand up—which was a terrible mistake. Your elbow immediately gave way, and you crashed onto him, your chest falling onto his. Your heart was racing, and with the proximity, you couldn’t tell if the thumping sound was coming from your heart, or his.

Just before you thought things couldn’t get any worse, Ten angled his face up and whispered in your ear, “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded dumbly and he gently kissed you, so quickly you couldn’t tell for sure if it was intentional. It was the slightest brush of his lips on yours, the brief contact making you yearn for more.

Before you could advance on him any further, he stood up abruptly, one hand carelessly pulling you up.

#10: His pretty face.

Ten’s face was flushed red and you were sure yours was too. He looked away quickly, composed himself, and turned back to you. “Shall we continue?”

Except you didn’t hear him, because you were too busy pressing your fingers to your lips in shock and staring into his eyes.

He waved his hand in front of your face and you jerked back to reality. “Yeah- Actually, no. Let’s discuss this.” You gestured meaninglessly, realised how dumb you looked, and dropped your hand lamely.

Ten looked at you expectantly, clearly waiting for a greater revelation than that.

“Like, me sleeping in your sister’s clothes and you buying me coffee? And—goodness forbid—you flirting with me? And now this? Ten, I thought we weren’t even on speaking terms!”

It was only until the last sentence that Ten’s confusion dissipated, and you realised with a start that the pressure he put on you was very much one sided. To him, it was a friendly rivalry. To you, it was a threat to your pride.

“Y/n, we were always on speaking-”

“Actually, you know what? It’s fine. I’m just confused, but I’ll be fine. Please, continue.”

Ten’s hand reached out and grabbed your chin, tilting your head and forcing you to look at him. “You’re so dense! Is kissing you not obvious enough? Y/n, I like you!”

“I- I don’t understand,” you fumbled, desperately grasping for straws.

“I like you,” he deadpanned. “I don’t know how much more obvious I can make it. Is this not straightforward enough? What more do you want me to do?”

“Kiss me again,” was out of your lips before you could stop yourself, and Ten’s lips were on yours before you could process what you had just said.

“I blame it on that pretty face of yours,” you said as soon as he pulled away.

“Oh yeah?” He tipped his face upwards and laughed, the sound of his laughter as light as a feather. You couldn’t help but to stare at him, the curve of his chin and the tilt of his jaw, his scoff and the way he rolled his eyes at the same time. His cheeks were dusted pink and his eyes fixed themselves on you again.

He flexed his hand, adjusting the wrap around his wrist and you felt the sudden urge to give him a hug.

“I love you, Ten Lee,” you whispered in his ear, and although you couldn’t see it, he smiled, just a little.

glossary:

*这是因为李永钦吗？ (is this because of ten lee?)

**嗯! 我怎么没感觉到自己无意中喜欢上了他呢？ (yes! how could i have unconsciously fallen for him?)

***我很有魅力啊。(i have a lot of charm)

****真不好意思！(how embarrassing!)

#k-labels #ten #kpop fics #xiaojun #wayv #jaehyun #nct #🪁 — my works #😾 — ten things i love about lee

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technicolorfamiliar · 5 months

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Technicolor Familiar Watches Too Many Conrad Veidt Movies Part 2 of ?

(More on what this is all about in Part 1)

Disclaimer: I think I get into more plot spoilers here than I did in my last post, incase that matters to any interested parties reading this.

We're getting into the titles where I mostly went in cold, no expectations or even general ideas of what these movies were about beyond brief descriptions on IMDB or Letterboxd.

Oh and, Disclaimer #2: If the creators/editors/scanners of any images used see their work here, please let me know so I can give you proper credit! 🖤

The Thief of Bagdad, 1940 Dir. Ludwig Berger, Zoltan Korda, Tim Whelan, Michael Powell, William Cameron Menzies ⭐2/5 Watched Oct 24, Max Ehhh, I don't know. A lot of people really love this movie. I did not particularly enjoy really anything about it. Sure, it's a groundbreaking technological marvel that set the standard for a lot of future fantasy films. But the story is messy in a way that couldn't be rectified by Movie Magic. All those directors probably account for some of the problems there, but I haven't done a ton of research into the making of the film (what is it with large scale, big budget movies made around this time all having multiple directors?). And, I have to say, putting white actors in brown face is always a tough sell. The third act was partially saved by Sabu and Rex Ingram, two actors of color, having some extended screen time, but only just barely. And frankly, I think Connie, although absolutely glorious in Technicolor, was largely wasted on this one.

Der Student von Prague (The Student of Prague), 1926 Dir. Henrik Galeen ⭐4/5 Watched Oct 29, Archive.org Poor Balduin. All he wanted was a hot, rich girlfriend and what did he get? His evil double chasing him around Prague like Michael Myers. I really loved the old school mirror effects and filming tricks. The updated score in the version I watched was pretty good, too. The final act was excellent. The suspense, the build up -- it's all so well-crafted. And an excellent bridge between high German Expressionism and dramatic period romance. We love to see Connie as the tormented romantic hero. Especially when he's giving face, he's giving eyes, he's giving shapes. I'm having a hard time finding anything negative to say about this one. My only gripe is that it's just a little long, could have had maybe 20 - 30 minutes chopped off (but which 20 - 30 min I could not say).

The Passing of the Third Floor Back, 1935 Dir. Berthold Viertel ⭐4/5 Watched Nov 1, Archive.org This film... it's timeless, actually. I may be a grumpy old so-and-so, but stories where one kind and gentle character comes in and leaves a lasting influence on a bunch of deeply flawed or even outright awful people always get me. For some reason, this is the first of Connie's films from the 1930s on my watch list. Not sure what took me so long, but I was really pleasantly taken aback by his delicately nuanced and subdued performance here. His measured gestures and restraint are so great in this film, and so appropriate for the character. I really appreciate the way the Stranger takes time to consider and see the folks at the boarding house in a way they're clearly not seeing each other. I also love that there's not a lot of exposition or explanation like there usually is in similar pictures: Why is the Stranger there? Who/what is he? Where did he come from? The audience kind of gets an answer at the end, but ultimately nothing more than what we're given matters and wouldn't affect the story anyway.

The Last Performance, 1929 Dir. Paul Fejos ⭐4/5 Watched Nov 4, Youtube Gooped and gagged! Somehow we go from adding a fourth to Erik's polycule to MURDER? I'm so mad so much footage (and a voiceover??) was lost. Can we please talk about the big bisexual energy Connie has in this movie, maybe more than any other film on my list so far? From how he physically handles his costars to how he's styled with the heavy makeup, the tails, the dressing gown, it was a lot to take in, and I am living for it. I'm realizing that, as a performer, he really is a master technician, somehow without anything he's doing on screen coming off as inauthentic or too studied, without "showing the work." Erik's face journey when he kisses Julie's hand and wishes her all the best with Mark is worth watching the whole movie for.

Dark Journey, 1937 Dir. Victor Saville ⭐3/5 Watched Nov 12, Youtube Please believe me when I say I really tried very hard to pay attention to the plot of this movie. But it was extremely difficult as I nearly swallowed my tongue because of how stupidly attractive Connie is as Von Marwitz. He's charming, intense, vulnerable. He really has the range, darling. He's kind of using his lower vocal register a bit which apparently does things to me. (Sorry for all the parentheses in this post, but I was shocked years ago when I saw Casablanca and heard that voice come out of that person. It… it does not go. He's like a early 20th century German Jeremy Irons and I guess I half expected him to sound like that too.) Also, I wasn't into monocles before. I am now. So I have to apologize, I know I said I was going to keep the thirst posts to a minimum but can you blame me? Really? But uh, the movie itself? The story is fine, the script is just ok. There's lots of eye candy with the production design. Vivienne Leigh is doing Vivienne Leigh. And she got that man, so good for her I guess.

Part 3 is going to be all over the place in terms of genre and tone, so we'll see how that goes as I piece together all the stuff I wrote.

#my writing #conrad veidt #the thief of bagdad #the student of prague #the passing of the third floor back #the last performance #dark journey

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magratpudifoot · 2 months

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Finished 10 March 2024:

How to Destroy Surveillance Capitalism - Cory Doctorow

(No one needs to point out the irony of me posting to Tumblr from an Android device about reading this book and wishing it was More, I get it. Life is a series of philosophical quandries.)

So, yeah! This tiny little volume is a pretty good primer on a particular perspective on digital rights advocacy in 2020. I see it having two very important uses: 1) helping left-leaning people without technical backgrounds better understand what is concerning about Big Tech (almost everything) vs. what we shouldn't put too much energy into worrying about ("AI" actually being "intelligent", Google actually being effective enough to "brainwash" anyone despite having other ways to control us all), and 2) documenting the current state of things for future scholars.

There wasn't much here that I hadn't already heard Doctorow say pretty much verbatim in his Oh No! Ross and Carrie interview, though, and there are places even in these ~140 pages where points are restarted almost word for word, so I just...wanted more. And at one point, I wanted a term to have been defined about 50 pages before it finally was. I recognize that this was not originally written as a book, but just one pass by a professional editor would have been awesome.

I ordered another Doctorow book at the same time, so standby for more on this subject. I think I am probably going to pass this one along to either my librarian pal or my English professor bud, because I suspect they will find more value than I did, and maybe it will make my rants seem less unhinged.

#i don't completely agree with the author on all points #i expect that he would probably think i err too much on the conspiracy theory side of the slider bar #(good golly would i love to hear what he thinks about onrac being sponsored by paypal honey)#but i am here for most of it and am grateful that he is a good enough science communicatir that i can easily see where we disagree #ms p reads 2024 #no one asked you ms p

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literaticat · 3 months

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Hi Jennifer. How typical is it for an author to find out their pub date from a sales listing, like seeing their book on Amazon, rather than being told by their publisher? I understand publishing likes to justify doing things differently than any other industry, but it seems disrespectful to find out your pub date from the internet rather than your own team of collaborators.

"Disrespectful" feels a little dramatic. I really don't think it's personal or should be taken as a slight or anything like that.

Short answer: Your editor is your main liaison with the publisher, and they aren't the ones who create the publication schedule. If they haven't told you your pub date, it's either because they don't know it yet, or because they thought they DID tell you and didn't realize they hadn't, but at no point is this SECRET information or anything, and they'd be happy to tell you or find out for you if/when that info is available. So, as with most things, if you want to know something you don't know, the best thing to do is ASK.

Long answer: Here's the deal: Waaaaaay before your book is even a product yet, probably when you get the offer, you'll know the pub season they are shooting for. That is like, say, "Spring 2026", which could be anywhere from maybe late Feb - early May (all publishers might be a LITTLE different here) -- but basically, the general months that they intend for this to be published. Now that COULD change for any number of reasons -- it's two years from now! Who knows what will happen between now and then! -- But you know the approximate time, and if it DOES get pushed a season, you'll know well ahead of time, because the deadline will change.

A year passes. Maybe more. At some point, taking into account the dozens (or even hundreds) of other books also scheduled for Spring 2026, the publisher will narrow down what books are going to come out which month / week. This isn't your editor deciding this, btw, and your editor may or may not be aware when this schedule is being decided, and whether they are or not, it's still not set in stone. At this stage the publisher may have just decided "OK this is a May 2026 book" but not know the exact date. (A lot of times, if you look up a book quite early, it will say "May 1, 2026" but then closer to the pub date it will say "May 16th" or whatever -- because they chose the general month, and then the specific day later.)

MEANWHILE, you are going back and forth with your editor about copyedits, the jacket, blurbs, whatever -- there might be a ton of information going back and forth. At some point your editor might have said, "this is a May book" but they didn't mention "May 1st" or "May 16th" because, well, they didn't know or realize that this had been decided, or because it hasn't been. So you look it up and see "May 16th" -- that doesn't mean that they were hiding that info from you, or anything LIKE that -- that info is just not the first most-pressing thing in the midst of all the other things your editor has to communicate with you, and again, they might not even realize was decided, or up online, or what's online might be a placeholder or something.

It doesn't become super important for you to know the exact date until, like, a few months before pub, when you are scheduling things like a launch party or whatever -- At which point, you will have been told, or they'll THINK you have been told, because you've been told a lot of things, but if you HAVEN'T been told, you can always ASK! And if you see something online, you can (and should) ask for confirmation that the info is correct.

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 7 months

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PROPAGANDA

CHLOE BOURGEOIS (MIRACULOUS LADYBUG) (CW: Child Abuse)

1.) Girl was done so dirty… She was starting to develop and could’ve had a redemption arc and then they made her even more one-dimensional than she was at the start, dumbed her down, and the creator on twitter claimed she was never abused and that she never cared about her childhood friend, only his status. And in a scene that thankfully got cut by editors, her father was going to disown her, adopt her sister instead (who is like a “nicer” replacement for her) and pass Chloe onto her abusive mother.

And then a male character gets introduced who is also at first an antagonist with a backstory that gets revealed later, also a childhood friend of the same character, but it’s acknowledged that he got abused by his parent and he gets a redemption arc and a romantic subplot and a spot on the hero team (which Chloe was excluded from because she was irresponsible with her power and revealed her identity publicly… Except he also did that)

This show is about girl power btw.

2.) Chloe was done so fucking dirty. So basically, the creator of the show (Thomas Astruc) created the character in the first place as a stand-in for his childhood bully (red flag no.1) Because of this, any development that she as a character got from the other writers (and it was a lot) got retconned, just because he hated her. Other, objectively much more evil, (male) characters (the main villain!) were portrayed as more sympathetic than her, because god forbid a hurt, abused, emotionally immature, unloved little girl be portrayed as anything other than an unlovable, unforgiveable unchangeable demon. Also she’s obsessed with clothes, shoes and handbags, because she’s a mean girl, don’t you see, so obviously the nice girls (who don’t wear makeup while Chloe does) are better than her.

3.) Stuck up spoiled rich girl is treated as worse than the actual villains of the show. At some point we get a glimpse into her awful traumatizing home life and she starts to be redeemed, but the second something doesn’t go her way she backslides and is suddenly even more evil and dumb. Also her father is incredibly neglectful but it’s portrayed as her somehow abusing him into doing what she wants and he’s so sad about his awful evil daughter. He gets a redemption arc but never actually becomes a better father. She’s seen as unfixable.

CHI-CHI (DRAGON BALL)

1.) okay so to start at the beginning, she was introduced as a young kid but they put her in a super revealing bikini styled outfit. pretty sure it was supposed to be armor too, so besides just being a disgusting design choice even in-universe it’s impractical. but besides that she was pretty charming as a kid, she was cute and funny and pretty tough, and had a cool gimmick in her blade/ laser helmet. even when she reappeared in late Dragon Ball, she was a bit abrasive but was overall rational and kind. she was strong enough to make it into the World Martial Arts Tournament, one of only 16 to qualify.

but come Dragon Ball Z and on, she’s reduced to just a shrill, nagging, aggressive wife and mother. all she gets to do is cook, worry, and berate her husband and sons. her physical strength is only used so she can comically hit Goku. sure its played for laughs, but he’s shown to be afraid of her. I only recall her leaving her house once or twice in DBZ. just the worst mother character stereotype, with nothing left to make her likeable. she’s portrayed as irrational but despite her aggressiveness, half the time her wants are completely reasonable. can’t blame a woman for not wanting her husband to die every other day!! her writing us ass but I still love her and she deserves better!!!

2.) So in Dragon Ball she wasn’t the BEST character to start out with. Toriyama hasn’t ever been the best at writing women or not making stupid fucking sex jokes about them. So she had to deal with that. The outfit she wore as a kid was… NOT GREAT. Let’s say that! Then in late Dragon Ball her entire character revolves around Goku and trying to marry him, which she gets by tricking Goku and getting beaten by Goku in a tournament in one hit. Not off to a great start. Then Z started and Toriyama just… gave her an ENTIRELY NEW new personality, and that new personality was just a stereotype of a tiger mom. Regardless of how correct she might’ve been about letting Gohan fight (and she WAS completely correct, he was 5-6 for a HUGE chunk of Z) the narrative frames her as a hysterical and unreasonable woman nagging at the menfolk and not letting them do things. So naturally people hate her without even considering why she’s upset because the story itself frames her as in-the-wrong. The whole franchise also just forgets that she’s a martial artist and never has her DO ANYTHING.

This is only scratching the surface, there’s a LOT more because the franchise is like 40 years old and we’d be here all day.

3.) GODDDD okay so full disclosure i guess shonen is such an easy pick but like. out of every shonen wife she was and is THE most hated by the narrative and creator (maybe tied with sakura omfg). shes always made out to be a beast, got her fighting skills shafted after she got married, was always played like she was hysterical for worrying about her kid dying in battle, and not to mention the creator actively HATES her. like toriyama just straight up hates writing her. its bad. its really bad. shes just “bitch wife” but for no reason :(

#polls #round 2 #week 3 #new #cw child abuse

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whentranslatorscry · 5 months

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Chapter 4 Kakushidate Yakusuke Listening (1/3)

Think of the children: this exalted pretext seems to pass easily, and I think the truth of it lies somewhere around what Kyouko-san said. One could argue a decent point of view whenever they want to go against the grain, and those feelings might just be jealousy towards the pure and unblemished innocence from adults who have experienced failure. It is not to be denied, neither is it to be affirmed.

When it comes to the right to freedom of expression, things get even more complicated. It is easy for parents to say, “If you read manga too much, your grades will go down,” which is a typical example of an opinion that does not reflect reality.

Of course, reading manga all day long will not help your grades, but not because manga is bad. You can’t read manga and expect to get good grades. You have to make a commitment to study instead of reading manga.

Games and sports are the same, in that, fundamentally, anything that is not studying is a distraction from studying.

On the other hand, if you study too much, you will have no time to play. Thinking only of your grades means that you will lose your communication skills, to say nothing of the other problems you will encounter, you may even end up committing crimes.

As you must study if you are to read well, so you must read manga if you are to become a manga artist.

I’m not saying this to be mean, but the creator of the problematic manga "Cicerone," Fumoto-sensei, was a totally different person than I thought. I had heard that he was so depressed by this incident that he wanted to give up his pen, so I imagined him to be a delicate, sensitive, maybe even neurotic man. But in the Sakusousha meeting room, I saw him as a hundred times more capable and reliable than me, and he was well built too.

At first glance, he looked nothing less than hearty.

Having met Satoi-sensei before, I had the preconception that manga artists, being freelancers, didn’t care about their dress, but perhaps because he was meeting strangers Kyouko-san and me, Fumoto-sensei was dressed smart yet casual; his rich beard seemed not so much grown out as neatly groomed.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Fumoto Shun, manga artist.”

The way he spoke, the tone of his voice, he really did come across as a very tough guy. But if you judge people by appearance then I, being over 190 centimeters in height, should give you the creeps.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Okitegami Kyouko, forgetful detective."

Kyouko-san, unlike me, showed no sign of fear as she handed out her business card with a coquettish smile and bowed her white-haired head respectfully. She then turned to Kondou-san standing next to Fumoto-sensei and introduced herself in an identical manner.

"Pleased to meet you. I’m Okitegami Kyouko, forgetful detective. I appreciate your faith in me. I’ll do my utmost best.”

On a first formality she scored a hundred percent, aside from the fact that it was their fourth meeting. Naturally, Kondou-san was not surprised at all and he returned a flawless greeting.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kondou Bunbou, editor-in-chief. Please make yourself at home.”

And everyone sat around the long table in the center of the meeting room.

As a guide or as an intermediary, if you think about it, my job was over when I brought the two together, so I did not need to attend this meeting. To make matters worse, as a stranger I ought to have known better than to miss my chance to leave at this point.

This is a rather sticky problem, not to say a matter of internal office politics, so looking at things from Fumoto-san’s place, he might have liked this giant man who came from nowhere to leave the room… I felt a bit guilty about it. Though with my critical fractures I was obviously involved in this incident. I couldn’t really call myself an outsider now.

Another way of looking at it is me being an indirect victim of Fumoto-sensei’s manga—which was all the more reason to tread carefully so as to not touch on any sore subjects.

As for Kondou-san, he probably just wanted Fumoto to retract his resignation—hope that my presence here won’t create unnecessary pressure on him—though it’s possible his thinking was the exact opposite and the reason he allowed me to attend is precisely to pressure Fumoto.

He’s that strategic of a man.

Otherwise, he could not have climbed to the position of chief editor so young.

It is naturally possible that he simply enjoyed the idea of coming to work with Kyouko-san… While I was thinking over it, Torimura-san, Kondou-san’s subordinate and Fumoto-sensei’s editor, came in with tea. She put a teacup in front of everyone, and when she took her seat, Kyouko-san immediately got down to business.

“Now, with regard to Kondou-san’s commission, I would like to explain what I consider to be the malaise you feel.”

The fastest detective, as good as her word.

Still, as I had been thinking about this matter since the morning, I felt that it was about time that it was made public. But, just as I held my breath ready for the detective to reveal the answer,

“Hold on, please,”

Fumoto intercepted her—an unthinkable act in mystery novels, breaking off the detective’s speech. But he particularly probably couldn’t stand being left out of the conversation as it moved on without him.

"I don’t know what Kondou-san told you, but I… I think we're good already," he said.

“Mm? You're good already?”

Kyouko-san counter-questioned, seeming to not take offense despite her mystery-solving being cut short—a bit as though playing dumb.

She might have her considerations… like trying to avoid possible complications with him.

"It's just... It might sound like I'm throwing in the towel, but since I'm retiring anyway, there's no need for a detective to work on it," he wanted to say.

"Fumoto-sensei, this matter still…”

Kondou-san was about to offer some consolidation when Fumoto-sensei,

“I understand how unfair this is to you, Kondou-san and Torimura-san, but I think I have to take responsibility. A reader of my manga tried to commit suicide—I can’t be at peace with that. I can't just keep drawing manga as if nothing happened."

"......"

He poured out his words like a machine gun. This was not a momentary lapse of emotion, I felt a strong determination. It was something that someone like me, who lacked resolve most, naturally has no right to speak of, let alone anything to say.

But why though?

His talk of bearing responsibility even came off somewhat irresponsible, and there was a sense of relief in his voice about not being able to continue drawing manga, though it was a bitter decision to make.

"I came here today to give a face to the editorial department that looked after me… Please understand, I have come to a point with manga…”

“Fumoto-sensei!”

This time Kyouko-san interrupted him, the conversation now a battle for dominance.

Her cry had startled him, and he turned to face her.

“I had the chance to read the latest issue of ‘Very Well,’ and it was absolutely wonderful!”

She said it with a smile of pity.

“The theme running through the whole work is really wonderful. The challenge was to depict despair and the future through the medium of teenage comics, and I think it was successful. The content is, of course, excellent, but what impressed me more was the attitude of the author. Though it is written for children, it is a fiction that adults can enjoy.”

“It, it’s really… thank you.”

He seemed to be taken aback when he was suddenly praised for his work. He bowed his head in bashful acknowledgement.

Looks like the preview reading paid off…

I’m not sure if I can take Kyouko-san’s sentiments at face value—it was the same with Satoi-sensei, Kyouko-san is ultimately a detective in the service industry, so it goes with the territory that she more or less possesses the worldly wisdom of having to pay a compliment or two in public.

Without accumulating memories, she’s surprisingly worldly-wise. However, there is no point in pulling a rambling lie here, right. So her feelings about the work should really be positive.

As it turned out, because I ran to the site to search for evidence first, by the time I arrived at the publishing company, it was already very close to the time we had agreed to meet, so I didn’t have a chance to look through Fumoto-sensei’s works at all, and I was just sitting there.

But it seems Kondou-san’s assessment of Fumoto-sensei—very talented, with a bright future ahead of him—was far from exaggerated.

It is for this reason that Kondou-sensei was pulling out all the stops—even hiring a detective—hoping for Fumoto to rescind his retirement, too.

“I’ll be very sorry if I don’t see a follow-up to the manga, and the children will be disappointed, and some devastated reader will surely go jump off a building again!”

Kyouko-san said those shocking words in the same calm tone she used for her praise, and the strong malice implied in the word “children” hit me like a bolt from the blue. But it was Fumoto-sensei who was most shocked.

“How do you propose to take responsibility for that?”

"T-That is..."

The question, thrown out as if nothing had happened, was full of malice, forcing Fumoto-sensei to cast a plea for help at Kondou-san.

He seemed to want to say, "What's with this person?"

The answer was just two words: forgetful detective. A person who could get on anyone’s nerves because she forgets by the next day.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s a sure thing,” Kondou-san said with a bitter smile.

As he had entrusted Kyouko-san not for the first time, this kind of conflict was probably within his expectations, and he perhaps enjoyed this sort of bohemian atmosphere even more.

So this man was more tolerant than he seemed.

“It’s just that readers really won’t accept your resignation without a word! Personally I still hope that you will consider your influence.”

“I am considering my influence…”

Fumoto rallied his spirit to respond.

“I hope you’ll forgive my candor, but I never thought about it when drawing. I should have considered it earlier. It’s my fault for not considering it. I love manga, I’ve read them since I was a kid, and that’s what made me want to become a mangaka, but I really should have been more aware of the impact they have on readers. It was careless of me not to consider.”

He said it so solemnly that I could hardly argue with him. In fact, this was an unavoidable aspect of art.

“Even in baseball there’s risk of getting hit on the head by a pitch,”

Said Kyouko-san from the sidelines.

This time, completely ignoring Fumoto’s promise of reflection.

“Say you believe that 'a sound body produces a sound soul’ and take judo lessons. You may die in an accident during judo practice, or you may be late for class and get run over on your way home from tutoring. The risk of being run over is higher at night. Wherever they are, children are at risk of dying. Manga is not the only thing that has a dangerous impact.”

“…You want me to brush this off, like it’s nothing? A child of twelve jumped off a building because of my work—and you want me to act as if nothing ever happened?”

Positively enraged, Fumoto-sensei leaned aggressively across the long table, posing this question to Kyouko-san. I would have been crushed by this pressure, but it was no wonder that she was still keeping her serene face.

“Since I am not a creator, I cannot provide an apt solution to your problem. But if I were in your shoes, I would never have done nothing,”

She replied solemnly.

“I would bear this in mind and then apply the experience to my future works.”

“……”

Fumoto-sensei remained silent and still, slowly retracting himself back to his original position, stunned. Kondou-san also appeared shocked by her response, his eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. Her statement was too bold, and even I as an outsider found it hard to agree with. Nonetheless, how much she really meant what she said was unknown.

It felt as if she deliberately introduced an extreme argument to swiftly terminate the debate. At any rate, the forgetful detective was able to keep the situation under control with this.

“So, Fumoto-sensei, don’t say you don’t want to pursue this any further. Please listen to what I have to say, listen well and try to comprehend it thoroughly. Now, Kondou-san.” She turned towards him.

"Please show me the contents of the suicide note that the girl left behind.”

This is suicide in the name of suicide

Dying for the one I so dearly loved

To fly off is to become an angel.

Please, do not grieve for me

And bless my completion.

Defer this death of mine

To my Cicerone

Fumoto Shun.

The police only allowed Kondou-san to see a photocopy of the will, and forbade him to make any further copies or take any photographs, so the above text was written from Kondou-san’s memory, and so it could not reproduce the original handwriting of the middle school girl—however, the memory of Kondou-san, not being a forgetful detective but a capable editor, can be considered reliable.

Incidentally, the handwriting of the suicide note was judged to be poor in an unbiased assessment, and the illustration said to have been attached at the end quite rough.

Well, to say that a girl's handwriting is beautiful just because she is a girl would be prejudiced—bad handwriting in children is just normal.

More problematic was the unambiguous mention of “Cicerone” and “Fumoto Shun”: there seemed to be no hope of different interpretation that could be read into it.

“The lines are practically quoted from the manga, she just copied the initial five lines verbatim,”

Said Kyouko-san mysteriously with a nod.

“Honestly, I can’t imagine what kind of character the middle school girl is just by reading this. There’s no individuality coming through.”

Perhaps thinking it inappropriate to mention the name of the jumper girl in front of Fumoto, Kyouko-san refrained as she shared her impressions. But her blatant omission of the name kind of further erased the girl’s individuality.

“That’s not important at all… What’s important is that a student imitated my manga and wanted to become an angel."

Fumoto-sensei said in self-depreciation.

He probably still hadn’t recovered from the bombshell Kyouko-san had dropped—his voice, though faint, still held his point.

"To become… an angel…?”

“Yes, Miss Detective, everything you said makes perfect sense. As an artist, if I—but I’m not that great a person. I became a manga artist simply because I can draw and like manga—please don’t expect so much of me. I have no such noble ambition in my heart.”

I just do what I want to do, without too much thought behind it—Fumoto-sensei went on, and he was completely indifferent to the meaningful nod from the girl in front of him.

It seemed that he was addressing not only Kyouko-san, but Kondou-san and Torimura-san as well.

“You know as well as I do that sometimes the state gets carried away and tries to intervene for censorship purposes, but there are those big names who stand up and speak out for the sake of freedom of speech, aren’t there? Comics are on a plateau, manga culture is declining… things like that. But I don’t think every mangaka has such high ideals. I only became a manga artist because I like reading and drawing manga. I don’t have the perseverance to keep drawing when people hate me and insult me. I don’t think I’m doing anything as grand as promoting culture. If I'm doing it because it's interesting, I should stop when it's no longer interesting. ...Honestly, I don't think regulation is all that bad. It's not as if the manga from the past, when expression was more free, are necessarily more interesting than today's manga. Isn't that just like what the old folks say, that the past was better?"

Hard to argue with that, coming from the mangaka himself. Personally, I felt that Fumoto-sensei was the one who was now in a plateau—even so, my objection was too superficial.

Censorship is not the devil.

That much is certain.

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#translation #okitegami kyouko #the testament of okitegami kyouko

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