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airasilver · 1 year

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Interesting read.

HOW RURAL AMERICA STEALS GIRLS’ FUTURES

Death in a dying town

By Monica Potts

Photographs by Brenda Ann Kenneally

Billie Jean after a breakup. Troy, New York, 2006. (Brenda Ann Kenneally)

APRIL 6, 2023, 7:30 AM ET

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“Boy crazy” was what people called it. “She was so boy crazy,” I would hear about my girlfriends. I never heard the reverse, that a boy was “girl crazy.” Girls having crushes, sneaking out at night to have fun: It seems innocent enough. But in my small, conservative town, a “wrong” choice at a young age could cut girls off from their future dreams, leaving them mired in despair.

Growing up in the ’90s in Clinton, Arkansas, all that my best friend, Darci Brawner, and I dreamed about was getting out. “I want to see new people and new places,” I wrote in my journal when I was 12. I wanted to move to California but would take “any state besides Oklahoma or Mississippi.” We wanted careers, we wanted to be rich and famous, we wanted to be far away. Boys and sex would only stop us, catch us, or so my mother had warned.

Clinton is the county seat of Van Buren County, Arkansas, and, with slightly more than 2,500 people, the biggest town in the area. It’s on the southern edge of the Ozarks, the hills we generously called mountains, situated in a valley where two big creeks come together in a Y. The county’s median household income in 2021 was $40,763. Almost everyone goes to an evangelical church, and in the halls of the town’s only high school, everyone knows everything about everyone else, or seems to: whom you dated, where you bought your clothes, how you acted on weekends, and even your destiny, inherited from the generations that came before you.

I moved away for college when I was 18. While I was gone, I heard updates: who was getting married, having children, getting divorced. I heard worse stories, about who was on drugs, who’d been arrested and sent to prison, who was in rehab, who was in rehab again. Who had died. By the time I was a journalist writing about rural poverty in my mid-30s, I’d seen studies and data that helped me put the stories from home in context. One of the most alarming trends emerged about a decade ago.

In 2012, a team of population-health experts at the University of Illinois at Chicago found that white women who did not graduate from high school were dying about five years younger than such women had a generation before—at about 73 years instead of 78. Their white male counterparts were dying three years younger. From 2014 to 2017, the decline in life expectancy in the U.S., driven largely by the drop among the least-educated Americans, was the longest and most sustained in 100 years.

They weren’t just dying from so-called deaths of despair—from drugs or suicide. Many of them were also dying from cancer, heart disease, or respiratory diseases like chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and lung cancer, a 2022 study found—even as these conditions became less deadly for the rest of the population.

Women in Clinton and places like it, women I’d grown up with, women I knew, were losing years of their life. What was going on?

I returned to Arkansas more and more, trying to reconnect to my hometown, looking for answers. In 2015, on a visit home, Darci contacted me out of the blue. We’d once been as close as sisters, but that spring was only the second time I’d heard from her in the nearly two decades since high school. We visited, and as we caught up and reminisced, I began to realize that I could pinpoint the time when our lives had first begun to diverge. It started during those boy-crazy middle-school years, when we were at the cusp of growing up, when our futures had not yet been written.

Kandice and Braydon in her room. Troy, New York, 2013. (Brenda Ann Kenneally)

Some of us—because our parents were strict or wealthier and more educated, or because we were “good girls” too nervous to break the rules, or because we were just plain lucky—got out. Others got pregnant.

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When we were in sixth grade, one of Darci’s good friends, a 14-year-old, had a surprise baby. She’d been feeling sick, and her mom took her to the doctor, who said she was due in a month. A few days after that, the girl went into labor. I heard her parents—the shocked and befuddled grandparents of a little boy just a few days old—relay this story in Darci’s living room.

I knew that what had happened was both wrong and not unusual. Arkansas had, and continues to have, one of the highest rates of teen pregnancy in the United States. Girls became pregnant in our middle and high schools, at least one a year. They dropped out or graduated as mothers and sometimes as wives, bearing a new name on their diploma.

In seventh grade, when we were 12 and 13, one of our friends had a pregnancy scare. She was dating a boy from another town who was at least 16. After a day spent sick and upset in the girls’ bathroom, she turned out not to be pregnant. But none of us thought to tell an adult, even though I knew of some who would have helped. We were not even quite teenagers but we were already navigating the full consequences of adult behavior alone.

In Clinton, sex—and the question of whether we were allowed to have it or talk about it—was related to how people viewed girls’ futures. The idea that we might become fully realized adults, experiencing sexual freedom and fulfillment, was not fathomable. We could become helpmeets for our future husbands, or we could be ruined.

The girls who got pregnant were stigmatized—until their babies were born. Then they were revered as mothers. Our school was full of young moms who were still students, and those newly graduated would come back for ball games and other events, babies on their hips. It was an endless churn, baby after baby, raised in families that spanned five or six generations because so few years separated grandmothers and mothers and daughters—and because the girls couldn’t take care of their newborns without help.

In response to the high rate of teen births, people turned to the church. In 1993 the Southern Baptists founded True Love Waits, an organization that promoted abstinence until marriage. My friends began to wear “promise rings” in middle school. Because some already had serious boyfriends, they dedicated their rings to them as sort of a pre-engagement promise.

Outside the church, the information we got was mostly misinformation. One day in seventh-grade health class, our teacher drew a big circle on the board, and a tiny dot within it. “This circle is the microscopic holes in a condom,” he said. “They’re microscopic, and that means they’re tiny. But guess what’s even tinier?” He pointed his chalk at the white dot on the board. “AIDS.”

The message at church was that we had to keep ourselves pure for our husbands, and the message at school was that sex would either kill us or leave us pregnant, and there was nothing we could do to prevent either scenario except abstain.

Despite the sermons, my friends were still having sex at about the same rates as teenagers elsewhere in the country. They were keenly aware that it was frowned on, and if a crisis resulted, they hesitated to seek help from an adult. In some cases, it kept them from breaking up with their boyfriend and made them vulnerable to exploitation and assault, though I didn’t know to use those words back then. As if they were living in the Victorian era, they assumed that because they’d gone all the way with someone, they would have to marry him.

Robert and Michaela and a backyard stick up. Troy, New York, 2007. (Brenda Ann Kenneally).

My momma spent her life guarding me and my sisters against this fate, lecturing us, warning us, and making sure we came home on time each night. But when Darci started to go boy crazy, there was no one at home to stop her.

In her den—where we’d spent so many hours playing Twister and having sleepovers on the floor—she took to hanging out with her older brother and his friends. At 12, she started sneaking out at night, tagging along with them to house parties. When I interviewed her after we reconnected as adults, she remembered this time as a turning point in her life.

I sneaked out with Darci one night soon after my 13th birthday. I was sleeping over, but instead of going to sleep, we went into the bathroom and put on makeup. My lipstick was mocha-colored, and Darci’s was tinted orange. She fixed her hair so that it was wavy, gelled it to tame it, then tied it in a knot on top of her head. I put on a denim shirt and jeans.

First we picked up a friend of her brother’s whose parents were away. He was in his bedroom getting ready, and I kept giggling.

“Monica, you’re like, ‘Oh my God, I’m in a boy’s house,’” Darci said, laughing.

Then the three of us crossed the high-school campus and the football field to a ramshackle old A-frame well past its tear-down date. Half a dozen kids were already there, mostly high-school boys, drinking. More boys drifted in and out of the house, grabbing bottles of beer. It was my first party where people drank and smoked openly. I was nervous and bored, while Darci made everyone laugh effortlessly, and abandoned me on the porch while she went off with a guy to hook up.

But I can see, looking back, that she was a vulnerable child. Both of us kept diaries for years, and after I came back she let me read through hers. They were full of descriptions of the boys she liked. In one entry, she described sneaking out to meet a boy she had a crush on. Her crush was drunk. “It was actually kind of funny, but it didn’t seem so funny when he started getting on top of me,” she wrote. “But on the other hand he was so drunk that he wasn’t strong enough to stay there.”

Later, the same boy would see her riding around with another older boy and chase her in his car. He followed her to the house where she was spending the night, banged on the door, and tried to pull her outside. The casual violence of it shocked me when I read it as an adult.

At that first party, I saw a glimmer of this other life Darci had begun to live. When we got back to her den late that night, I told her that her new friends were sleazy. “That’s not very nice, and not very Christian” was her response. “I thought we were trying to see the good in people.”

Kayla and Pop. Troy, New York, 2008 (Brenda Ann Kenneally).

BIG Jessie with her pellet gun, a gift for her 23rd birthday. Troy, New York, 2006. (Brenda Ann Kenneally).

Parties like that one were uncomfortable for me, largely because of my dad. Starting when I was as young as 4 or 5, I understood that he had a drinking problem. We lived in a trailer and he didn’t make much money. Momma, who had quit work to raise me and my sisters, was often frustrated and, I realize now, lonely.

Daddy came home for dinner one night talking funny and acting weird, and Momma was mad in a different way than usual, and sad. Daddy was apparently angry that supper was spaghetti, and yelled.

“Daddy, what’s wrong with you?” I asked, yelling too.

“You want to know what’s wrong with me, Monica? I’m drunk, that’s what’s wrong!”

When I was little, I thought that when people were drunk they were drunk forever. Later, I learned that this is not true. Even later, I learned that sometimes it is.

When it came to liquor, there were two modes in Clinton: alcoholism or abstinence. This paralleled the bifurcated morality I saw everywhere: girls were either virgins or whores; students were either geniuses or failures; you could go to church or you could be a sinner. The town seemed to operate in two modes—the buttoned-up propriety of the churchgoers, who held power in the county, versus the rowdy hillbillies in families like my dad’s. The rigid divide allowed no room for subtleties or missteps.

Even children were sorted into the binary: the upstanding citizens and the ne’er-do-wells. Darci was getting a reputation as the latter. At her 14th-birthday slumber party, half the girls sneaked out and half didn’t. After that, the “good” girls stopped going to Darci’s house.

I felt trapped by this system. I didn’t want to be judged by those around me, but I didn’t have the power to ignore their judgments. I never really fit in with either the “good” kids or the partiers, but I decided to align with the “good” kids. Today it’s sometimes painful, or laughable, to look back at how severe I was. I didn’t believe in the religious prohibitions on sex before marriage, but I did see the social consequences that those who failed to follow them in Clinton suffered.

Kayla and her son Tony. (Brenda Ann Kenneally).

Our friend vanessa allen, who was maybe the most boy crazy of us all, suffered the most. Vanessa had long, curly black hair and was the oldest of four kids. Her mom, Susie, had gotten married as a teenager and had Vanessa at 18. Vanessa wore a promise ring in middle school, but she liked attention from boys and had a reputation for being a flirt. I remember her wearing a tight-fitting bodysuit at a football game. When she walked past a group of grown men, they whistled at her, and one of them said admiringly, “Someone’s been eating her beans and cornbread!” She was 14.

Adults had taught us girls to keep boys from touching us before marriage, but no one ever told us what to do if we wanted to touch them. In that space between Vanessa’s desire and her shame, other girls smelled blood.

The first time Vanessa had sex, she asked her boyfriend to stop, and he didn’t. Later, with other boys, Vanessa sometimes felt like she couldn’t say no to their advances, because she’d already lost her virginity. Only many years later did Vanessa recognize some of these incidents as sexual assaults, she told me when I visited her in 2017. She didn’t blame the boys, necessarily; they were just doing what everyone expected them to do, she felt. But her reputation suffered.

At Christmastime during ninth grade, she wore a Santa shirt that said ho ho ho across the front, and one of our friends pointed at her and said, “Hey, that’s right! Ho, ho, ho.” Everyone laughed. Vanessa went to the office, sobbing, and called her mom for a new shirt.

The following summer, Vanessa and her parents went to Colorado to visit family. At the church, they met the preacher’s son, who Vanessa and Susie thought was about 19. He and Vanessa hit it off, and after she returned to Arkansas, they kept in touch. That fall, he traveled to Arkansas and stopped to visit. He asked Vanessa to marry him, and she said yes. She found out then that he was 24.

He was a good Christian, however, and she liked him. Sitting in her living room so many years later, she told me she knew that people in town called her a whore. They wouldn’t be able to do that if she moved to Colorado and became a wife.

Vanessa had to be married across the border in Missouri, because in 1996 not even Arkansas allowed 15-year-old girls to wed, not even with parental permission. Vanessa’s parents not only gave their permission, but her dad, a minister, performed the ceremony.

Destiny in her rooom. Troy, New York, 2006.(Brenda Ann Kenneally).

Susie later told me that allowing Vanessa to get married was the worst mistake she ever made. But she felt like she had to, that Vanessa had no future in Clinton. I asked similar questions of Darci’s mother, Virginia: Could she have set more boundaries, protected her better, in those years when her home became a teenage clubhouse, complete with alcohol and, eventually, drugs? No, Virginia said. She could never make Darci do anything she didn’t want to do. “Darci made her own choices,” she insisted. It troubled me that she so casually referred to teenage behavior as “choices,” when we had been only children, still learning and growing.

In 1994, the summer after we finished middle school, Darci broke my heart. We were out at Greers Ferry Lake with a few others on an August day so hot, we struggled to move fast or take full breaths. The warm green water was barely an escape. We walked a good distance out, kicking up slimy mud from the bottom, negotiating the minnows that nibbled at our feet, then swam out to the floating orange buoys that marked the edge of the swimming area.

The lake fills a part of the valley formerly known as the Big Bottoms, which had once comprised five fertile farming communities. Darci and I had read that when the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers built the dam that made the lake, it hadn’t exhumed the bodies from the cemeteries but just let the lake fill in above them. We would plunge down as far as we could and then open our eyes, terrifying ourselves with thoughts of what we might see.

That day we sat along the line of buoys, dangling our legs in the water, chatting mostly with the person next to us. I was sitting next to our friend Erica when she casually dropped the news that Darci had lost her virginity to one of her brother’s 18-year-old friends. Darci was only 14.

I must have looked shocked. “Didn’t you know?” Erica asked.

I hadn’t known. Darci, I felt, had given up on our dream of getting out. It was the first real fracture in our friendship, and it would grow wider over the years, as I stayed focused on leaving Clinton and she became lost in it.

In January of our senior year, Darci had a miscarriage, something she shared with me only years later in an interview. At the time, she told no one about it. But she had a doctor’s note saying she needed to rest. She kept using Wite-Out to extend the date on it in order to get out of school. She did this so many times that she missed too many days to graduate. Her teachers and the principal, perhaps having already written her off as a lost cause, never bothered to warn her that there was a hard-and-fast rule and that she was about to break it. I was the class valedictorian; when I gave my speech, she wasn’t there.

Darci drifted, she used drugs—pot, a range of pills, occasionally crystal meth—and at 22, she became a mother for the first time. She got in legal trouble for embezzling from her employer, for which she was convicted in 2008; she was sentenced to probation and lost custody of her children, who moved in with their grandmother. In the years that followed our reconnection, she swung between periods of stability and destructiveness, bouncing in and out of contact; lately she’s been doing better.

It wasn’t just Darci. I returned home to find my whole town in a long, slow decline, on the verge of dying itself. Drug epidemics take root in places that are already sick, already suffering. Momma had been right, it seems, to focus on getting us out, guarding us from boys and early pregnancy and keeping us distant from the people she thought would trap us here. I asked a second cousin of mine about this once, the man who would become the father of Darci’s children. I told him that I wished I’d known his part of my family better, but that my parents had kept me from getting close. “There’s probably a good reason for that!” he said. “This town didn’t suck you down the way it did some of us.”

When I started to investigate why women like those I’d grown up with were dying younger, I thought I was looking for reasons: What was different about their lives, and why? I realize now that I was looking for one person: my friend Darci.

This article is adapted from the forthcoming The Forgotten Girls: A Memoir of Friendship and Lost Promise in Rural America.

The images are from the book Upstate Girls: What Became of Collar City, published by Regan Arts 2018.

Monica Potts is a writer based in Arkansas.

#women #united states of america #rural areas #rural life

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svtatwattford · 1 year

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A lot of people in Peru didn't like Pedro Castillo. If I'm honest, neither did i, he didn't do all the shit he promised to help the forgotten part of the Peruvian population. The one who elected him at the end.

The situation was that people didn't liked him for not being a white rich man. He was a teacher of a small town, a campesino. God, to live in Lima and talk to limeños about Pedro Castillo was a fucking nightmare. It was always a racist comment here, classist comment there. "Mira a ese cholo, terruco".

I really don't know if people outside Latin America gives a fuck about what's happening here, but I just wanted to write a little.

Pedro Castillo is no longer president after a failed intended coup. Didn't know why he did it, just to know it was a really stupid move. We now have Dina Boluarte. First female president. Great news, right?

Right?

Well, the congress is like, really shitty. Not a surprise since we really don't know how to elect good parties. Anyway, since the congress was the one who removed Pedro Castillo as president (again, because he wanted to do a fucking coup), there are being protests around the country, because they want elections right away.

This congress is very aligned to the right, and there was being conflict with Pedro Castillo way before all this happened. And like I said, people always judged Castillo for the wrong reasons. Also, the congress don't want elections, they want to stay in power.

The protests are being more radical in the insides of the country, not the capital. And Peru, as always, as it wasn't the reason someone like Pedro Castillo was elected in the first place, tend to forget about people who aren't in Lima.

For now, seven people have died. I'm from Cusco, but have been in Lima the past months. And in Lima? The press didn't say shit about what was happening in small cities like Andahuaylas, Abancay. When I arrived Cusco, two days ago before the close the airport because of the protests, it was like being in another fucking country. Why in Lima, the fricking capital, didn't talk about this?

And when they talk, is to blame the people who protest. To call them terrorists. I've heard people to wanted them dead.

I would not make a blind eye and say the protests are not being violent. I'm here, I can see, but they are not being listened. The government don't want to lose their power, and don't give a shot about how many people are dying. Among the people you call delinquents, there are people who are using their right to protest against a government that don't represent them. The protests became like this because police are also being really opresive. They don't care about people.

Police repression is NOT the solution here, is never when it came with social conflicts. I do not condone violence used by people who use the protests as an excuse, but the context is more than what you can see as a privileged white girl in your apartment in Miraflores. It's more complicated than a black and white system.

If Peru continues to forget about this part of the population, which is neither white nor upper middle class, conflicts like these will continue to happen. People are fed up with empty promises of change, they want to be heard, they are, at the end, victims of a system that only benefit a few.

But hey, who would listen what a 21 year old have to say in Tumblr of all places.

#Peru

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navyhyuck · 3 years

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weakest link in the desi community

desis that refuse to acknowledge they’re desi, desi boys (or anyone desi? but it’s usually the guys :/) that say the n word, desis that are colorist, desi moms that coddle their sons and expect their daughters to be second mothers to their siblings, desis that tell other desis they aren’t desi if they don’t know hindi or some bollywood song, desis that let people use the white washed version of their name, desi boys that ‘would never’ date a desi girl because they’re proud of being desi and they’re insecure, etc etc

#i lived in a very white/pakistani community so everyone said my name in a white washed way 😁👍🏽#my bsf still says it like that but tbh i don’t mind as long as someone white isn’t calling me like that #but pls tell me i’m not the only one who wanted to be white soooo bad as a kid #my ex bsf wasnt white but she’s white passing! and she was friends with this girl who notoriously bullied me in 6th grade for being indian #and she used to be like ‘oh i invited her…i know you don’t like her but i hope it’s fine’#MF HER AND HER FAMILY ARE FUCKING RACIST ???#sorry this took a turn but i went thru so much bullshit as a kid and i barely understood it #i had three prominent friends: one was hispanic (white passing) one was white (prob republican) and one was black #and ok i used to walk home with [black friend] every day after school and one day my white passing friend went (AS A JOKE) ‘oh do you guys #walk together all the time because you live near each other’ and obv we were like yes and she found that so funny and was like ‘so all the #dark people in [our town] live in the hills’ like wtf #context i lived in a small town and the rich white people lived in the flats while the poc lived in the hills which wasn’t necessarily bad #but it was like a very funny joke for them idk why like okay! good job for realizing you’re privileged!!#okay end rant very sorry #asks

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aromantic-enjolras · 3 years

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Modern AU Amis cultural backgrounds

Disclaimer: all of my headcanons are fluid, and depend heavily on the story I’m writing and whatever fits the plot and themes I’m working on. But as a general rule, these are my main cultural backgrounds. (Also, those I have written more will have more developed backgrounds, for obvious reasons. Sorry, Bossuet!)

Courfeyrac and Enjolras are French and rich. While Enjolras’ dad is a CEO, Courfeyrac comes from Old Money. His family is old nobility, but they have fallen from grace: he doesn’t really have that much money, but his family owns a manor in the country, and he will get a full set of silver cutlery if he ever gets married, and one of his uncles is obsessed with the family tree and has traced it all the way back to the XVIth century.

Combeferre is half Spanish and half Burkinais. His family from his mother side came from Spain after the Civil War, and they are staunchly revolutionaries. I haven’t decided whether they are communists or anarchists, but in any case, Combeferre has been raised on stories of fighting the fascists. On his father’s side, his father came to France as a young adult from Burkina Faso. Combeferre has never been to Burkina Faso, which pains him a lot, but he makes do with the African community from his home town.

Bahorel is probably the Frenchiest French of them all. Their family comes from a small town in the Pyrenées, and as far as they’re aware they’ve been farmers for forever. They’re actually the first one to go study to the big city. They have a very strong Southern accent.

Jehan is Sepharadic Jew. His family has lived in Algeria for many generations, but they moved to France when Algeria got its independence. That means, among other things, that his native languages are French, Algerian Arabic and Sephardic (according to Wikipedia it’s called ‘Judeo-Spanish’ in English?), and that he took to Spanish like a fish to the water. He sometimes still mixes Sephardic words when he speaks Spanish, Marius finds it fascinating.

Joly is French-born Vietnamese, and he had some identity dilemmas as a teenager, because his upbringing at home was completely Vietnamese (when he arrived to kindergarten he didn’t even speak French!), but outside of the house it was completely French. Is he more French or more Vietnamese?

Musichetta is born and raised in Martinique (a French island in the Caribbean), and she’s painfully aware that they are a colony in everything but name. She is also very very done with people asking her where she’s from, because she’s 100% French, dammit, white people in Martinique are a minority, why is it so complicated to understand!

Bossuet is Sub-Saharan African, and he’s a first-generation immigrant, but I haven’t decided how or when or in what context. I need to write him more.

Feuilly came to France as a teenager, as an undocumented immigrant. As such, he has been treated to every single undignified thing the government throws at people who could be minors, but also could be passed as adults and not be tended to. He stumbled around the foster care system, and at some point he ended living at a squat house that was run by an anarchist group for immigrant kids. At least until they got evicted. That’s also his first links to anarchist movements.

Grantaire is French, from Marseille, and he can imitate the accent very well if he wants to. He comes from a working-class family, that never had a lot of money, and he buys into the whole “that’s how it is, nothing you can do about it” attitude. Which infuriates Enjolras, of course, because he has lived it, how can he not revolt against it???

I have no backgrounds for Marius, Cosette or Éponine, but I’m leaning towards @takethewatch’s approach for Marius, in which he has been raised by a very bigoted French grandfather, and has discovered very very recently that his dad was X nationality.

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

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Ok like I'm sorry for all the Elias discourse but stepping off from OGlias for a moment I legit saw someone saying it was a mischaracterisation to assume Jonah Magnus was himself a rich white dude which

Let's leave aside for the moment that Jonah Magnus not being wealthy and privileged utterly sucks the meaning of of a lot of what the podcast has to say about class and exploration because hey, that's a matter of interpretation

What do we know about Jonah Magnus (from all statements mentioning his original incarnation)?

1816: Interacts as at least an equal with Albrecht von Closen, who has at least one family estate and an aristocratic pedigree and thus could be expected to be at least middle class if not wealthy. This is relevant because Georgian class was very stratified and cross-class mixing heavily discouraged, 1816 is probably fairly early in Magnus' career, and Albrecht doesn't address him as one would a social inferior.

1818: Established the Magnus Institute, apparently without external funding partners because he's the only one ever mentioned in connection with its organisation and his friends talk about it as his own project; it certainly isn't associated with an existing university or academy as far as we can tell.

1824: not a lot of additional information, except that again Magnus' friends are all moving in wealthy, upper class circles

1831: In a position to hire professionals for Millbank under good terms. We learn more about Albrecht, he's definitely painted as wealthy old money, which continues to speak to this association

1841: reasonably close friends with Sampson Kempthorne, workhouse designer, who expresses the expectation of Magnus agreeing with him about workhouses and the treatment of the poor through work. At this time, Magnus is living in an Edinburgh townhouse, by which I'm guessing we're talking about one of the New Town Georgian 4-floors-plus-servant's-quarters which that name implies. Those aren't mansions, but they weren't where a clerk or shopkeeper would live - they were built for ship owners, lawyers, doctors, the upper-middle and upper classes, and as the name townhouse implies they were generally occupied as one of several estates, with the usual occupants being likely to also have a country place.

Beyond specific statement letters, Magnus largely crops up via his association with his wee gang, all of whom are wealthy upper-middle or aristocracy (Smirke, Rayner, Lukas)

He has the resources and social clout to devote his time to pursuing what is, effectively, a hobby; his interest in the supernatural doesn't bring in much income and, conversely, often costs him to chase up. He doesn't appear to have a full-time job at any point; he works on Millbank with Smirke but he doesn't appear on the records, meaning this is unlikely to be a paid management role. His friends refer to his supernatural work as a hobby or interest, not a job, and make it clear that at least by the 1830s-40s this is his whole life (he's "rattling around with his books and letters") - ergo he does not have a need to support himself beyond that.

He had the resources and funds to, by himself and for his own purposes, not only shape the building of Millbank but also to set up an independent academic institution which is still running 200 years later

Like, is it explicit that he's a rich white man? Not per se. Would all of this information make sense if he wasn't? I suppose it's possible but it's a reach, and one that I'm not sure why you as a writer would make without making pretty clear. To be able to move comfortably in moneyed Georgian circles without being born to money, and to be able to do the things Magnus does without having substantial disposable income - that would be exceptional, and would surely merit some sort of comment.

(I've talked about the race politics of Georgian Britain as relates to Jonah Magnus before, but just to sum up: in a time before the abolition of the slave trade and during massive colonial expansion into Asia, being a British man of wealth and not being white was pretty unusual. We can see this in the description of Rayner; he's very specifically described as Black, but also his Blackness is notable to a contemporary narrator. so again, not impossible for Jonah to be a person of colour, but definitely unexpected and it would be an interesting choice to write that unremarked)

just by way of historical context, as I say, class was very structured and immobile in Georgian Britain for the most part. It was also, as I understand it, much more discrete. Whereas now, the lines between working class, middle class and upper class are pretty fuzzy, in the 1800s they were a lot more clear-cut - the working class worked for little money, had little to no education past basic literacy and numeracy, and the entire household would work; the newly developing middle class made a living through highly-skilled jobs (artists, doctors, lawyers, clerks, shopkeepers, factory owners, shop owners and pub landlords, for example) and would have enough disposable income to buy property; and the upper class/gentry may work (but only appropriate to their station; academia, law or the church, largely, and of course a lot of them in the 1810s made bank from Caribbean plantations and their imports) but substantially they lived off the profits of investments, ownership and estate management, built off heritable wealth.

There’s a big range of middle class though, although it was a small segment of society. At the bottom end, you have your grocers, pub landlords, shopkeepers, clerks and so on - they probably own their homes and business and have money to buy things outright rather than renting. At the top end, we have some really pretty substantial wealth - we’re talking multiple houses and estates, large-scale business concerns, tens of permanent staff, and only one person in the family needing to work. The difference between upper middle and aristocracy isn’t necessarily in quality of life, aside from blood it’s really just a question of whether the majority of your income comes from work or from investment and property management. So for example, Smirke is upper middle, but very wealthy - he has a career in a high-profile trade, he’s notable and welcome in high society, but ultimately his wealth is dependent on him continuing to get work. Von Closen may have more or less material wealth than Smirke, but his money is old money and he does not work; he’s very much a gentleman of the upper crust. Particularly with Industrial Revolution and the profit that the slave trade and the expansion of the Empire were bringing in for traders, the middle class was abruptly getting a lot richer in at the start of the 19th century and if anything class was getting a lot more discrete - urbanisation and industrialisation meant the poor were getting poorer (and less able to exist outside a monetary economy) and the working rich were getting a lot richer (until of course after a couple of hundred years the upper middle class almost eclipsed the idle class as the Rich and Powerful)

So the gentry/nobles/old money/upper class were the only class whose wealth wasn’t to a high degree reliant on them working, and so honestly being a Georgian gentleman was stultifyingly boring. That’s why so many comedies of manners crop up from the lower end of the upper class - you have to find something to keep you busy and social politicking is something. But it also meant a lot of gentlemen scholars - men with time on their hands and nothing they desperately needed to be doing, who got really into eccentric hobbies and niche interests (like social engineering, or art theory, or the occult, or unpicking weirdly specific theological concepts, or a bit earlier experimenting with light and lenses, or a bit later investigating the origins of species, or getting super into a specific aspect of the classics). The idle rich weren’t the only ones doing academia or research, but they had the time, money and resources to devote to really deep dives into things without much financial use.

So my personal take is that, given that by 1818 Jonah Magnus had the capital, the social heft and the time to found and run an independent academic institution focused on his relatively niche interests, and to do so with enough resourcing that it still runs 200 years later, the safest bet is that he was born a gentleman. At the very least, all the people he socialises with are securely upper-middle or gentry; he has a visible disdain for the poor; he owned substantial personal property by at least middle age (the Edinburgh townhouse); he had the social clout to get involved behind the scenes in a major social architecture project - it seems like the lowest this could possibly place him is mid-to-upper middle class at birth (he could have made that much money from working and lucky investments, but to get into a position where by middle age you can afford to become the Idle Rich, spending all your money and time on an obsessive personal interest, you would need to have started off with at least the capital and clout to get a high-level education and/or make significant business investments (say, buy a series of factories or build a shipping empire). You could make a case that he could work his way up from being born to a middling-middle-class family - maybe a country vicar or a shopkeeper - but friends can I show you some numbers I googled?

In the 1810s, being mid- or upper middle class (fourth or above) meant you were richer than 94.5% of the civilian population. Upper middle and above (like literally every person we know of who had social ties to Magnus except maybe the architects)? Literally top 1%. (well. 1.25%).

The middle class in Georgian Britain was the elite. They weren’t the elite of the elite, but they had money, land, property, staff, clout and privilege. You can’t project the class politics of 2021 onto 1818 (that is, in fact, why pure Marxism still requires an updated reading, bc in even the last 150 years the specific distribution and attributes of class and wealth has changed substantially (although the same people do stay at the top and bottom)).

I think our perceptions are altered by the worries and perspectives of popular contemporary authors. For example, Austen characters often bemoan their lack of wealth, and are firmly Middle Class, and compared to the upper middle and the gentry they are living frugally and on a budget, but with “cottages” that are often six- or seven bedroom houses with several parlours and one or two servants, plus a town house, and with only one breadwinner per family and enough invested wealth to live entirely off the interest (that’s what the incomes of these characters are), they are living in a degree of wealth that would be unthinkable to 95% of their contemporaries, and it would be fair to assess them as rich by modern standards.

You can argue that Jonah Magnus wasn’t aristocracy. You cannot argue realistically that he wasn’t rich. Not only does that make no thematic or character sense (again, that’s a matter of interpretation, but it seems to me to be Pretty Key to his character that he’s an examination of inborn privilege) but it also makes no contextual historical sense.

#pls pay attention to me i spent way too long on this #p r o c r a s t i n a t i n g #also. there is an argument that class mobility was increasing #but uhhhh that doesn't mean it was a plausible thing to jump from penury to princedom #example: in the 1810s my ancestor walked from Edinburgh to London to seek his fortune and escape starvation at home #his was a remarkable rags to riches story #but his 'riches' was a job as a low-level law clerk and an undergraduate degree from Cambridge #he owned a flat I think #but he wasn't out here with the personal wealth to set up an independent research foundation #(I don't remember which ancestor but I think great grandfather?)#anyway the point is this is a wild take #I could talk at length about how it ALSO makes no thematic sense but I feel like I've tapped that one enough lately #tma meta

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ultraviolet-techno-ecology · 3 years

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People get genuinely shocked that I know so much about Capitalism in an "Inside Business" kind of way. Since I'm a rabid communist and all...

Let me break this down: the white side of my family were high ranking members of the VoC and the subsequent government of the Dutch East Indies, which is arguably the first literal "Mega-Corporate Government" (Whose neo-colonialist descendants would in no uncertain terms, put me in the ground if they could get away with it.)

Meanwhile, I was a fucking child farm-labourer breaking my body for less than minimum wage. I was watching as farm-after-farm got bought out by corporate agriculture, while my Agro-Economics classes in middle school claimed being a small-time farmer was a viable career choice!

I watched mainstreets dry up, the local grocery store go under because a WalMart opened up 20 some miles away! Then I saw rich Californians swoop in and buy up those failed buisinesses for their yoga studios, while refusing to interact with the former residents of the region.

Then I watched those hipster-businesses die every year because THE ENTIRE THING CAME DOWN TO TAX BULLSHIT. An entire mainstreet turned into unviable boutiques for the singular purpose of keeping prices too high for the local community and ultimately serving as nothing more than tax write-offs.

I read analysis of capialism and it's contradictions in my spare time. Literally the reason it's called "Das Kapital" is because it's an analysis of Capitalism which comes to the conclusion it's dogshit.

My first proper job after high school was in capital gains tax, where I was also an accountant in charge of payroll. A job which had me regularly doing straight up illegal shit (On both sides of my job) because THAT WAS THE NORM.

I watched people in that company go weeks with delayed pay, people getting their hours rounded down for being 5 minutes late or early. I watched people working without adaquate water, a guy with autism in IT getting a low wage despite being the single force keeping the entire company running! I WAS PUNISHED FOR FOLLOWING THE LAWS AND GETTING PEOPLE THEIR PAY ON TIME.

I was a disabled homeless person living on the street in an unfamiliar town, learning firsthand how it's impossible to get ANYTHING without an address. You can't even get a P.O. Box to use as a temporary address while you apply for aid!

Years later I watched a homeless man cry because I handed him a $100 because I KNEW what it was like to be on the streets. And to this day whenever I give homeless people what I can, I get lectured about how #TheyAreJustGoingToBuyDrugs.

Even people who considered themselve charitable, religious people who would preach about that, you can still see any empathy they have for other people vanish from their eyes the moment they spot someone on the street. (And if the person is black, you get to watch well-to-do white women literally run away sometimes!)

Immersion in a hyper-capitalist context only proved to me - from direct personal experience - that this system is fucking evil and the nemesis of life itself. You don't survive in Business if you have a heart.

Anyone who comes to the conclusion I just #DontUnderstandCapitalism can get stuffed.

#rant #capitalism #communism #socialism #anticapitalism #racism #homelessness #long post

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spasmsofthought · 4 years

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rough waters (zuko x water tribe! reader)

Inspiration hit at like 3 am early this morning, but I didn’t get around to writing most of this until this evening. Technically, this can be categorized as a Part II to rituals. If you want more context to this pairing, read it first!

If there’s anything off about how I wrote this situation, please message me your feedback so I can fix it! I want to be sensitive.

I don’t know what it’s like to be a minority, or be a part of a group of people that has suffered destructive and violent oppression, since I’m white and American and have only lived in the US. I don’t know what it’s like to be a victim of prejudice, racism, misrepresentation or hurtful stereotyping because of the color of my skin or my background, or race. I took what my friends of color have spoken to me about when they have decided to open up to me and tried to honor their experiences and emotions and spaces in these words. I’m committed to be a safe space for them as I continue to educate myself in order to support them and fight for justice for them.

If in any way shape or form, you do not feel that my writing reflected that, please let me know! I want to write an accurate representation in the small writings I present here in this blog.

With all that said, I hope you all enjoy this piece!

Like, comment, reblog! xo

Next: Raw

While the Fire Nation palace was beautiful and ornate and architecturally captivating, staying cooped up inside had never been a virtue of yours. Especially considering your home growing up had been among the raging ocean and freezing snow.

So, when you found yourself with a break in-between hefty meetings with lecture after lecture on what your life was going to look like as the future Fire Lade, you figured going out to explore the market was a good idea.

Despite traveling back and forth from the Water Tribe to the Fire Nation before your engagement to Zuko, there had been little opportunity to spend much of your time among the common Fire Nation people. Your scarce time with Zuko, what with his duties and responsibilities, was spent in the safety of the Fire Nation palace feeding ducks or taking walks or exploring the library.

It was obvious that to gain his people’s respect and trust as their new leader, and a leader that had recently ended the very supported and celebrated war his grandfather had started a hundred years ago, Zuko actually had to do his job. He was left time for little else.

With the position of being securely part of his future, and the future of the country, freedom was granted to you on more occasions. Advisors had also pointed that it would be better for you to be spotted out and about every once and a while in order for people to see you and get the chance to interact with you. How could the people ever honor and respect you as their Fire Lady, especially one from another nation, if you remained so aloof and distant that they had to guess at almost every aspect of who you were?

Thus, an adventure to the market was in order.

A stall of fresh-looking fruit was the first to catch you eye after about half an hour of walking through the different sections of the city. You were walking down a branched path away from a main road, further away from the Palace than you had ever been before, when you saw it.

When officials had offered you to participate in tours of the country before, they tended to stick to the places of nobility and wealth. This area looked less cleaned up and more familiar to you, a bit more like your previous home in the Water Tribe. Gone were stoned walkways and polished-up homes; you know walked cobbled streets and homes that seemed to be built with less care towards aesthetics and with more mind placed on structure and space equity.

It wasn’t quiet like the upper villages that housed nobles and high-ranking government officials; it was beautifully less sterile. You keep your pace even, but it falters a bit as you see people from their doorways and windows watch you as you pass by. There are no smiles or friendly greetings. You try not to take it personally. You had been told from the beginning that here people choose to be reserved and stoic. Ahead of you, parents usher their children through their doorways and into their homes.

They’re just shy and wary, Your head whispers to you. You’ve never been in this part of town before.

You hear a soft echo of children’s laughter as the breeze ruffles your face, and you smile a bit as you stop in front of the fruit stall you eyed a few moments ago. You turn your eyes to examine the fruit that is laid out in categorized groupings. Apples, oranges, a few tomatoes, and fruit only specific to Fire Nation agriculture.

You pick up a red apple to get a better look at it and don’t even notice the old lady sweeping the ground, positioned more in the shadows, until she speaks to you.

“Those are expensive. And we don’t barter with foreign money.”

Her voice sounds frail, but one look at her betrays what her voice implies. Her skin is weathered, and her eyes worn by time and emotions that aren’t able to be clearly deciphered. For a moment, you figure that the war had to have had an effect on everyone, even those who dwelt in the nation that benefited from it the most.

“I’m sorry?” You ask, trying to get a sense of what she’s trying to get at.

You’re wearing Fire Nation robes, rich in color but otherwise not gaudy, and to the latest style of what’s currently acceptable for ladies in the Capitol. There’s nothing off about how you’re dressed or presenting yourself. You even made sure to put your hair up properly, without your beads just this once.

A show of solidarity, one Fire Sage said to you when they were leaving from the palace a few weeks ago and you had asked for some advice in how to move forward.

“What’s there to not understand about what I said?” The old lady snaps at you, muscles recoiled with tension. “We don’t trade with foreign money.”

The words are like acid to your stomach as the old lady looks directly in the eye. Her eyes drift down, and you inwardly curse; you forgot that you had on the betrothal necklace Zuko had given you just recently. Blue was not common in jewelry or as a color to wear in the Fire Nation, as you have come to know well.

The lady mumbles under her breath and begins sweeping the stall floor again, like she hasn’t even spoken, and you set the apple back down to its proper place among the others. She’s not even ashamed of her tone or at her lack of manners. It’s like she doesn’t even recognize who you are.

It hits you: Maybe she doesn’t want to.

There’s no point in explaining that you only carry Fire Nation money with you now; that all your Water Tribe coins are saved in a box that sits on your nightstand because you don’t know if you’ll ever use them again. You don’t know quite what to do with yourself.

You’ve known that this country has suffered under at least a hundred years of nationalistic propaganda warding people away from associating with any other nation and promoting Fire Nation exceptionalism. You’d known there would be challenges to marrying the Fire Lord as someone from the Water Tribe, but maybe not that you’d have to struggle with changing an entire nation’s perception of your people and culture. That you’d have to prove to everyone here that you are just as equal as them.

It’s obvious that the old lady is not going to speak to you again and wants nothing more to do with you. No one else is around for conversation or distraction either, so the choice to head back the way you came is an easy one.

You’re turning away from the stand when you hear the old lady say something under her breath. At first, it doesn’t register as you walk away, but the further away you walk, the clearer the word becomes.

“Savage.”

It sends shivers up your spine and almost leaves you heaving in the middle of the street, but you refuse to cower to a word. Even if it is a word laced with a century, or more, of malice and hatred and prejudice. Your walk back to the Fire Nation palace is both long and short at the same time.

It is hours later when Zuko finds you at the edge of a pond, watching the turtle ducks swimming around in it and fishing for food. It is secluded and quiet, and he has a few spare minutes he can spend with you without worrying about his duties as Fire Lord.

You don’t startle when he sits down next to you on the grass, but you are surprised he found a few minutes of escape from the constant responsibility and pressure that surrounds him. Usually it’s not until at least dinner time that he’s free.

He moves one of his hands towards both of yours, signaling that he wants to split the loaf of bread you’re feeding to the turtle ducks with him. For a moment it feels almost satisfying to rip something in half. You hand him one chunk while you cradle the other. There are a few minutes of silence as it seems Zuko decompresses and you try to retrain your rage and hurt and sadness from your interaction with the old lady.

Your mother always told you that keeping a calm face when everything is the opposite inside of you is like the ocean trying to be a wave when it’s actually a tsunami. You block the memory out and just try to enjoy the stillness and peace with Zuko. It’s not like he gets much time for either.

“When I was younger, I threw a whole loaf of bread at a baby turtle duck and the mother bit me.”

The thought feels a bit incomplete, like it’s bittersweet, but you don’t press him today. It’s better for him to talk halfway about memories than not talk about them at all with you.

You chuff out a laugh but otherwise remain silent. You rip off a small piece of bread and softly throw it into the water. Soon the turtle ducks are swarming around each other for more, but you pace out the chunks enough for there to be some bread left a minute later.

Zuko is tossing out a few chunks of his own as you begin to speak.

“Some old lady called me a savage in the market today.”

Again, silence greets you. But this time, it’s not about governmental officials rejecting your culture while designing the wedding ceremony. This time it’s about the fact that the person he is going to marry soon is being prejudiced against by the people he rules; the people you will also have a part in ruling in a small amount of time.

“She didn’t exactly say it to my face,” You say angrily as you toss the big chunk into the pond, scattering the turtle ducks, and standing up. The fury can no longer be ignored. “But it wasn’t even what she said, Zuko.”

Your growl at the same time as the tears well up and make their way down your cheeks. You’re tired of crying, but it’s one of the only ways your emotions are expressed. Zuko stays in his seated position as he watches you. Tenderness clouds his expression, but he’s also being observant.

As much as the Fire Nation teaches their people rigidity, your community, especially your parents, taught you that to deny yourself expression is to deny yourself freedom. Emotional expression is where your relationship struggles the most sometimes, due to the polar opposite cultural values and teachings. Silence in his, complete and full expression in yours. Sometimes it’s hard to find a balance. Moon and sun, right?

It’s in situations like these where Zuko really takes time to consider what he says.

“It’s what everyone doesn’t say,” You say, swiping at your eyes, trying to make the cursed water on your face disappear. Anger feels better right now than grief. “It’s the looks and the silence about it all from those here who say they care. Like complicity is the same as advocating. Why should I suffer for the one-sided education people experienced at the hands of those who wished to destroy the world in the name of nationalism and supremacy? It’s not fair and it’s wrong and I shouldn’t have to be stereotyped because of the things other people said!”

You huff as you throw your hands at the sky. There’s also a bit of a yell that comes out, and you’re thankful it’s only you and Zuko in this secluded part of the palace. You sigh as you make you way back down to sit next to Zuko. He glances at his hands before staring out at the water.

“I wish I could say things will be different, but they probably won’t be for a long time,” His time as the Fire Lord has given him wisdom he wouldn’t have otherwise. Although discomfort stews in your stomach, you know he’s right. He’s suffered from this too, in different ways.

“I know,” You say back at him, laying a hand on his clothed forearm. A hundred years of war has left the Fire Nation’s own people divided and prejudiced, never mind the rest of the world. You had gone through your own journey of dismantling your own prejudice about the Fire Nation when Zuko joined you, Sokka, Katara, Toph, and Aang in order to defeat his father.

“There is a long road of healing ahead of us, of me. I meant it when I said it the day of my coronation, and I still mean it now,” Your hand makes its way down to his, clasping it in a show of support. Zuko always means what he says. “There are changes I’m making, and while some of them are already being implemented, it’s going to take time for some of the others.”

“I know,” You whisper again, leaning your head on Zuko’s shoulder as you both stare out at the water. It doesn’t feel like peace that settles in your stomach; it feels more temporary and elusive, perhaps because it’s a foreign feeling to you.

It may not seem be solid, but you cling onto it for dear life. One of each of your hands is clasped together as you breath out slowly; the rage has settled now, but the pain seeps deep into your being. You know it’s going to be a while before it fades away into healing.

“Someday things will be different.” Zuko’s tone is soft as he rests his head against your own.

And you realize what is stirring in you: hope. Fragile and small, but still sitting there in your belly when all else seems bleak. It looks as if undoing it all will take more work than what it took to do all of it in the first place.

But as you and Zuko sit together and stare out at the calm little pond, a little oasis of tranquility, you can’t help but think, hope, that maybe, someday, even if it’s far into the future, things will be different.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #avatar: tla #avatar zuko #prince zuko #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x oc #atla #atla zuko #fire nation #water tribe #zuko one shot #zuko imagine #fire lord zuko

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yikesola · 3 years

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Hiii!! I couldn’t resist and read all the spoilers you posted lmao 😂😂 thank you for posting them!!! But as you’ve finished the book- do you think there was a lot of juicy dan stuff in it? He kept saying there would be but I saw some perhaps questionable anons on some other accounts saying that it was all stuff we’d know already. What are your thoughts?

So I’m bundling these just bc it’s easier lol hope this helps!

It’s not a memoir, he didn’t get into salacious deets— but it’s not a wellness brochure promising a little yoga and celery and deep breathing will magically cure you either. he was personable and chaotic :’)

There were definitely moments he bared his soul, but it wasn’t an exclusive tabloid scoop, if that makes sense. It wasn’t “you won’t believe who Dan’s been sending nudes to” and “this relative said a ~slur~🤭” and “top five youtubers dan will NEVER collab with again!”

And the therapies/exercises were semi-familiar to me but explained in such a helpful way that like ,, I might actually effectively use them. Like instead of my therapist saying “just pay attention to your body when it tenses” and me saying “..okay?”

I also can’t praise enough that I think it’s so appropriately paced for what is immediate concerns (coming down from a panic attack) to turning point concerns (exiting a depressive episode) to long term concerns (meds and lifestyle and non-linear healing)

He wasn’t lying about the number of Easter eggs which us in the know ,, will know akdjf but I also think the general public will find it so damn helpful for what it is

there was A Lot about financial insecurity, which we like /knew/ about his upbringing and student loans and moving to london broke, but it just really put into context for me that like ,, until tabinof they were living off ramen and still not making rent :( which idk I knew they moved as a risk but then I assumed working for the bbc paid Something! It gave really good context for their work work work anxiety ;__; and it stopped any like “poor little rich boy” the mean corners of my mind would’ve wanted to pull forth, in a similar way to when he’d mention “and I’m British so I know I’m privileged to have health care, and I��m a white guy so I’m given systematic advantages in that way, other people will have additional hurdles and that simply isn’t fair” which was always a nice reality check

there was a bit about the canceled Philippine ii show which we all at the time assumed was a customs issue, and it kinda was but it was even Bigger than we thought, like all the stage equipment was detailed and the crew and them were detained and they couldn’t talk about it publicly and dan went into problem solving mode while Phil and the crew panicked and he admits like ,, he could’ve just panicked with them. It was a very panic-worthy moment, there was nothing HE could do to solve the problem! :( like I don’t want to say the Asian phannies who traveled very far specifically for that show had no right to be upset by the last minute change, I’m saying dnp don’t do things flippantly or callously and this is a really large scale example of how some things are simply out of their hands

he talked about making online friends on guild wars and how hard that is to make those specific friends but he did what we all do: scream at people and hope they like us lol and some of them did, some were weird, some ghosted him, and he’s got some he talks to all the time and who love him and check up on him and it reminded me so much of how us dumb phannies are and I hope he understands he and Phil have given us that :’’)

There was a lot of anecdotes that like the examples above we ~knew~ about, but now there’s a clearer and more human picture 🥺 stuff about his dad and about his “gonna get out of this small town!” compartmentalization and about his many many visits w doctors and therapists til he found the right ones, and so much more. It wasn’t necessarily brand new stuff he was offering unless Dan is new to you — what he gave was “Daniel and Depression: Extended Edition” and “Basically I’m Gay: Extended Edition” woven between genuinely digestible mental health exercises and contextual validation. Which makes sense, this isn’t a book Just for us, it’s gotta be accessible to more than his core audience, and saying things like “juicy” and “tea” might be kind of just promo language depending on what you’re looking for when he says something like that. But :’) I found it really satisfying. And it’s okay if you don’t, but I hope you do or at least helpful/enjoyable/interesting on whatever level you end up engaging with the text

It was good ;__; It wasn’t the big tell-all memoir I’m counting on him releasing for free as a pdf in 45 years, sure, but it was still very intimate and personable and Very Dan between the techniques and terminology ✨

#ask #answered #anon #ywgttn spoilers #dan book

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friendoftheelves · 3 years

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People, what is somethings you wish writers knew about your culture, I'll start (I'm English):

If you say British-English I will riot. It's standard English, American English is just the most commonly spoken version of English, being the dominant culture

Nobody cares about sports at Secondary school, I didn't realise my school had sports teams until like year 11 when I saw them leaving and it was just a casual observation

Also Primary school = reception to year 6 or ages 4 to 11, Secondary school = years 7 to 11 or ages 11 to 16, Sixth Form (attached to a secondary school) and college (independent from a secondary school but otherwise same thing) = 16 to 18. Primary school to Secondary school is compulsory, after that you have to attend some form of further education whether that be an apprenticeship or sixth form/college is up to you. It is common to have a compulsory uniform for secondary school and less common for both primary school and sixth form/college. Primary school and sixth form/college uniforms are noteworthy whereas a lack of compulsory uniform in secondary school is noteworthy

American culture is the dominant one, we have watched and read a lot of American media

If you're poor, you live in a council flat and probably have free school meals, "trailer trash" isn't really a thing because trailers just aren't a common occurrence, the only group I can think of that commonly lives in "trailers" is 'gypsy' who are their own community and live in motorhomes. Discrimination against them is common but not in your face, which I will explain in a bit because that is its own point

People care a lot about both rugby and football and if you call it soccer and act all superior about you will make a lot of people mad because British football officially came first and a lot of languages call it something that sounds very close to football in their language and American football is closer to rugby in how it looks to us so it is a very sore point

Also, in case you haven't gathered, Britain is subtly anti-American we had an empire and we are bitter we lost it so seeing America get to where we were is something Britain does not react well to

British culture is all about pretending everything so normal and subduing, ignoring and otherwise refusing to acknowledge what strays from that "normal" so unless we are forced to openly acknowledge it we will not and then we will passive aggressively snipe at it. American culture is all about being in your face, British culture is all about pretending we don't see what's wrong. We refuse to acknowledge we even had an empire

Class is a big deal. The elites in our culture have historically been their own one and this is still seen today. Class divide is what defines us. We have things like the house of commons and the house of lords. Rather than the rich ending up in positions of power due to society falling to prevent their privilege, British culture and actively encourages elite power. There is still discrimination but because of the importance of class divide and the British refusal to acknowledge our own faults, it presents differently. Race is seen as it's own class below working class and there is discrimination between the white classes. The working class are seen as beneath the rich and the rich are seen as 'upperclass tw**s'. The middle class are then seen as traitors and having abandoned the working class because the elite government has purposefully drafted policies to ensure that happens

Also,all of the above applies to English culture. There are three countries in Great Britain and 4 countries in the UK. England, Wales, Scotland and North Ireland and the divide between these countries is clear. Scotland actively hates England, Wales passive aggressively hates us and Ireland is a mess we created (I would suggest waiting for someone who is Irish to explain that because I don't know enough about it and it is an incredibly complicated topic which plays a significant role in politics)

Also we dislike the French, Britain and France are rivals because we have been fighting on and off for centuries but the French are still seen as equals. We dislike them but we will fight alongside them if if comes to it

Also accents are important, because of the class divide, if you have a working class accent you are being discriminated against, if you have a posh accent you will be hated but people will respect your 'authority', no matter how much they hate

Oxbridge is elitist but there are so many other great Unis across the UK

To American media specifically, stop romanticising British culture, I have never seen the academia aesthetic you are portraying and it irritates, we are not just the rich upper class, look at our history people you portray and because of the class divide it hurts to see that as our only representation

Also London is its own thing, Britain does not recognise London as representative of Britain and London does not like everywhere that is London, it is the most diverse and the biggest city in the entirety of England by a large margin, it does not feel like the rest of Britain

On that point, there are many, many other cities and other towns outside of London, please acknowledge them (having never been to a lot of cities I can't explain them to you)

London does have divides within it such as the divide between North and South of the river, the South does not want to be part of London and the North refuses to acknowledge it. The Northern edge of London is also up for debate, for me it is the edge of Zone 3 (on a tube map) and the other side of the North circular by car but for others it might be further in or out so be aware of that. There is also divide between the post codes for example Wood Green and Tottenham, both have the same council (Haringey) but there is a clear divide between them only further emphasises by Haringey having two MPs one for Tottenham (David Lammey) and one for Wood Green and Hornsey. Both Wood Green and Tottenham have bad reps but the Wood Green half of Haringey starts drifting into middle class at its edges with Hornsey being solidly middle class so be aware of the variation in boroughs

And, London has no centre. It is a city that grew with its country and absorbed the surrounding towns. So if you say the centre of London people will assume you mean a specific part in zone 1 but will not know which part you are talking about and will assume you are talking in a generalisation. If they are traveling with you though, they will expect further clarification, don't say the centre and expect me to know where

Also, there is no space between houses in England, they are mostly semi-detached. I once watched an episode of escape to the country where someone tried to find a detached house and just struggled massively. You either have to pay loads of money or be in the middle of nowhere before your house is fully detached and it will still be only the same distance away from another house as the average American house is. We have one of the highest populations in Europe but a small land mass

Going on from that, Britain is definitely European and has a lot of shared culture whilst still obviously being it's own thing (like every single other country) but Britain acts like and will get mad at the suggestion that they are European like any other European country because 'we are entirely seperate and on an island and how can we not have become our own thing' the actual variation is because Rome (contrary to what the school system will teach you) had very little impact on Britain so we aren't as similar to the other Latin speaking countries as is expected, the main reason we are still similar is because of the impact of Norman conquest. Also everyone underestimated the effect of Scandinavian and Germanic culture on Britain because we act like all they did was pillage when in fact they settled down and where embraced by Briton (unlike Rome which did actually pillage and subjugate Britain without being widely accepted) so that's why there is variation. We are very European but not in the way people expect so Britain refuses to acknowledge it

Honestly British culture is a lesson in tolerance versus acceptance. But there is still active discrimination as people of colour and the LGBTQ+ can attest

Also Christianity is baked into Britain to the point that even atheists follow Christian customs without questioning it but significantly less extreme than France which just stops on Sundays (but is acknowledged as a Christian country so you know) and 'pagan' - so, in this case, Celtic, anglosaxon and Norse - culture has effected us being carried down in fairy tales and witchcraft

Some of this will be upsetting to many people as it should be because British culture hurts, it discriminates without acknowledging it and I want people to know that. I want people to see that when they write about it because the alternative is writing about Britain as if it has faults and that would be so much worse. So writers, please bear all of this in mind when talking about Britain, even and especially, the ugly parts

This has been a white, middle class, Londoners, perspective on Britain and no I will not call myself English because the divide between England and London means that being a Londoner rather than just English matters in this context

I would recommend listening to the perspective of Brits from other groups, such as England, Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland, working class, upper class, Brit of colour, non-passing queer folk, Muslim, Hindu, Indian (the largest immigrant group is actually Indian and that's just immigrated in their lifetime rather than born British and Indian), Jewish (especially Jewish I can talk about that on another post but let's just say the Jewish have never been accepted but always been part of Europe) and so on, to get a more comprehensive view of Britain

#british #writers on tumblr #history #perspective #this was upsetting to write #my country needs to change #discrimination #english

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ninja-muse · 4 years

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i’m trying to branch out and read outside my genre (fantasy) do you have any book recs for someone whose heart is in fantasy but needs to see what else is out there?

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask! Fantasy’s such a wide genre, and this is such an open ask, that I’m mostly going to be recommending books with similar feels or themes from other genres, to push you a little outside the fantasy bubble and introducing you to different genres and types of storytelling. If you have a favourite subgenre or trope or author, I can maybe get a little more specific or offer read-alikes.

Also, I don’t know if you knew this before asking, but fantasy is my favourite genre too, so some of these recs are books that pushed me out of the genre as well, or that I found familiar-but-different.

And this is getting long, so I’m going to throw it under a cut to save everyone scrolling.

Science fiction

the Vorkosigan saga by Lois McMaster Bujold - This is space opera, which means it’ll have fairly familiar plots except with science-y things instead of magic. There’s an heir with something to prove, heists, cons, and mysteries, attempted coups and assassinations, long-suffering sidekicks, and a homeworld that’s basically turn-of-the-century Russia but with fewer serfs. It was one of the first adult sci-fi books I read and genuinely liked.

The Book of Koli by M.R. Carey - I finished this recently, and the second book of the trilogy just came out. This is post-apocalyptic sci-fi, but not grim or particularly complex. (Some SF gets really into the nuts and bolts of the science elements; this isn’t that.) Basically, Koli’s a teenager who wants more than his quasi-medieval life’s given him, and finds himself in conflict with his village (and then exile) because of it. I could see where the story was going pretty much from the start, but I loved the journey anyway.

The Martian by Andy Weir - This doesn’t have much in common with fantasy, but it’s my go-to rec for anyone who’s never read science fiction before, because it’s funny, explains the science well, and has a hero and a plot you get behind right away. In case you haven’t heard of it (or the film), it’s about an astronaut stranded on Mars, trying to survive long enough to be rescued.

Foreigner by C.J. Cherryh - This is an alien first contact story, about a colony of humans in permanent quarantine on an alien planet. The MC is the sole social liaison and translator, explaining his culture to the aliens and the aliens to the human, and working to keep the peace—until politics and assassins get involved. It’s been over a decade since I read this, so my memory’s blurred, but I remember the same sort of political intrigue vibes as the Daevabad trilogy, just with fewer POVs.

Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor - One from my TBR. It looks like dark fiction about women, outcasts, and revenge, which sounds very fantastic and the MC can apparently do magic—but it’s post-apocalyptic Africa.

Speaking of political intrigue and sweeping epic plots, the Expanse series by James S.A. Corey has both in spades. Rebellions, alien technology, corrupt businesses, heroes doing good things and getting bad consequences, all that good stuff. It takes the science fairly seriously, without getting very dense with it, and will probably register as “more sci-fi” than my recs in the genre so far.

Oh, and Dune by Frank Herbert is such a classic chosen-one epic that it barely registers as science fiction at all.

Graphic novels

It’s technically fantasy, but assuming you’ve never picked up a graphic novel before, you should read Monstress by Marjorie Liu. Asian-inspired, with steampunk aesthetics, and rebellions and quests and so many female characters. It’s an absolutely fantastic graphic novel, if you want a taste of what those can do.

I’d highly recommend Saga by Brian K. Vaughan. It’s an epic science fiction story about a family caught between sides of a centuries-long war. (Dad’s from one side, Mom’s from the other, everyone wants to capture them, their kid is narrating.) It’s a blast to read, exciting and tense, with hard questions and gorgeous tender moments, and the world-building somehow manages to include weaponized magic, spaceship trees, ghosts, half-spider assassins, and all-important pulp romance novels without anything feeling out of place.

Historical fiction

Hild by Nicola Griffith - Very rich and detailed novel following a girl growing up in an early medieval English court. It’s very fantasy-esque, with battles and politics and changes of religion, and Hild gets positioned early on to be the king’s seer, so there’s “magic” of a sort as well.

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry - A widow goes to the Victorian seaside to heal and reawaken her interest in biology. Slow, gentle, lovely writing and atmosphere, interesting characters and turns of plot. Doesn’t actually deliver on the sea monster, but still has a lot to recommend it to fantasy readers, I think.

Yiddish for Pirates by Gary Barwin - The late-medieval Jewish pirate adventure you didn’t know you wanted. It’s funny and literary, full of tropes and set pieces like “small-town kid in the big city” and “jail break”, and features the Spanish Inquisition, Columbus, the Fountain of Youth, and talking parrots, among other things.

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett - A thousand pages about the building of a cathedral in England, mostly focusing on the master builder, the monk who spearheads the project, and a noblewoman who’s been kicked off her family’s land, but has several other plots going on, including a deacon with political ambitions, a war, and a boy who’s trying so hard to fit in and do right.

Sharon Kay Penman - This is an author on my TBR, who comes highly recommended for her novels about the War of the Roses and the Plantagenets. Should appeal to you if you liked Game of Thrones. I’m planning to start with The Sunne in Splendour.

Lady of the Forest by Jennifer Roberson - Either a Robin Hood retelling that’s also a romance, or a romance that’s also a Robin Hood retelling.

Hamnet & Judith by Maggie O’Farrell - A novel of the Shakespeare family, mostly focused on his wife and son. Lovely writing and a very gentle feel though it heads into dark and complex subjects fairly often. A good portrait of Early Modern family life.

Mystery

There’s not a lot of mystery that reads like high, epic, or even contemporary fantasy, but if you’re a fan of urban fantasy, which is basically mystery with magic in, then I’d rec:

Cozy mysteries as a general subgenre, especially if you like the Sookie Stackhouse end of urban fantasy, which has romance and quirky plots; there are plenty of series where the detective’s a witch or the sidekick’s a ghost but they’re solving non-magical mysteries, and the genre in general full of heroines who are good at solving crimes without formal training, and the plots feel very similar but with slightly lower stakes. Cozies have become one of my comfort-reading genres (along with UF) the last few years. My intros were the Royal Spyness novels by Rhys Bowen and the Fairy Tale Fatale books by Maia Chance.

If you like your urban fantasy darker and more serious, and your heroines more complicated, try Kathy Reichs and her Temperance Brennan novels. Brennan’s a forensic anthropologist, strong and complicated in the same ways of my fave UF heroines, and the mysteries are already interesting, with a good dash of thriller and a smidge of romance.

Two other recs:

Haunted Ground by Erin Hart - The first of four books about a forensic anthropologist in Ireland, who’s called in when the Garda find bodies in the peat bogs and need to know how long they’ve been there. They’re very atmospheric—I can almost smell the bog—and give great portraits of rural Ireland and small-town secrets, and since not all the bodies found in each book are recent, they also bring interesting slices of the past to life as well.

A Burnable Book by Bruce Holsinger - This is essentially a medieval thriller about a seditious book that’s turned up in London. I liked the mystery in it and that it’s much more focused on the lives of average people than the rich and famous (for all that recognizable people also show up).

Classics

Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift - I swear this is actually one of the first fantasy novels but few people ever really class it as such. Basically, Gulliver’s a ship’s doctor who keeps getting shipwrecked—in a country of tiny people, a country of giants, a country of mad scientists, a country of talking horses, etc. It’s social satire and a spoof of travelogues from Swift’s time, but it’s easily enough read without that context.

Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll - Another, slightly later, fantasy and satire! Even more amusing situations than in Gulliver’s Travels and, while it’s been a while* since I read it, I think it’ll be a decent read-alike for authors like Jasper Fforde, Genevieve Cogman, and that brand of light British comic fantasy.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare - Also technically a fantasy! I mean, there are fairies and enchantments, for all it’s a romantic comedy written entirely in old-fashioned poetry. It’s a pretty good play to start you off on Shakespeare, if you’re interested in going that direction.

On the subject of Shakespeare, I would also recommend Much Ado About Nothing, Macbeth, and King Lear, the first because it’s my favourite comedy, the others because they’re fantasy read-alikes imo as well (witches! coups! drama!).

the Arthurian mythos. Le Morte D’arthur, Crétien de Troyes, The Once and Future King by T.H. White, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain, etc. - I’ve read bits and pieces of the first two, am about 80% sure I read the third as a kid (or at least The Sword in the Stone), and have the last on my TBR. Basically, these stories are going to give you an exaggeratedly medieval setting, knights, quests, wizards, fairies, high drama, romantic entanglements, and monsters, and the medieval ones especially have different kinds of plots than you’ll be used to (and maybe open the door to more medieval lit?) **

Beowulf and/or The Odyssey - Two epics that inspired a lot of fiction that came later. (There’s an especial connection between Beowulf and Tolkien.) They’re not the easiest of reads because they’re in poetry and non-linear narratives, but both have a hero facing off against a series of monsters and/or magical creatures as their core story.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley - The first real science fiction novel. It’s about the ethics of science and the consequences of one’s actions, and I loved seeing the Creature find himself and Frankenstein descend into … that. It’s also full of sweeping, gothic scenes and tension and doom and drama.

* 25 years, give or take

** There are plenty of more recent people using King Arthur and associated characters too, if this "subgenre” interests you.

Other fiction

Vicious by V.E. Schwab - I don’t know if you classify superheroes as science fiction or fantasy or its own genre (for me it depends on the day) but this is an excellent take on the subject, full of moral greyness and revenge.

David Mitchell - A literary fiction writer who has both a sense of humour and an interest in the fantastic and science fictional. He writes ordinary people and average lives marvelously well, keeps me turning pages, plays with form and timelines, and reliably throws in either recurring, possibly-immortal characters, good-vs-evil psychic battles, or other SF/F-y elements. I’d start with either Slade House, a ghost story, or Utopia Avenue, about a ‘60s rock band. Or possible The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, which I fully admit to not having read yet.

Devolution by Max Brooks - A horror movie in book form, full of tension and desperation and jump scares and the problems with relying on modern technology. The monsters are Bigfeet. Reccing this one in the same way I’m reccing The Martian—it’s an accessible intro to its genre.

Son of a Trickster by Eden Robinson - Contemporary fiction with a slight literary bent, that doesn’t pull its punches about Indigenous life but also has a sense of humour about the same. Follows a teen dealing with poverty and a bad home life and drugs and hormones—and the fact that his bio-dad might actually be the trickster Raven. Also features witches, magic, and other spirit-beings, so I generally pitch this as magic realism.

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones - Another Indigenous rec, this time a horror novel about ghosts and racism and trying to do the right thing. This’ll give you a taste of the more psychological end of the horror spectrum.

Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia - A good example of contemporary YA and how it handles the complexities of life, love, and growing up. Follows the writer of a fantasy webcomic who makes a friend who turns out to write fic of her story and who suddenly has to really balance online and offline life, among other pressures. Realistic portrait of mental health problems.

Non-fiction

The Book of Margery Kempe - The first English-language autobiography. Margery was very devout but also very badass, in a medieval sort of way. She went on pilgrimages to Jerusalem, was possibly epileptic, frequently “saw” Christ and Mary and demons, basically became a nun in middle age while staying married to her husband, and wound up on trial for heresy, before talking a monk into writing down her life story. It’s a fascinating window into the time period.

The Hammer and the Cross by Robert Ferguson - A history of medieval Norse people and how their explorations and trade shaped both their culture and the world.

A Time of Gifts by Patrick Leigh Fermor - Travel writing that was recommended to me by someone who raved about the prose and was totally right. Fermor’s looking back, with the aid of journals, on a walking trip he took across Europe in the 1930s. It’s a fascinating look at the era and an old way of life, and pretty much every “entry” has something of interest in it. He met all sorts of people.

Tim Severin and/or Thor Heyerdahl - More travel writing, this time by people recreating historical voyages (or what they believe to be historical voyages, ymmv) in period ships. Severin focuses on mythology (I’ve read The Ulysses Voyage and The Jason Voyage) and Heyerdahl’s known for Kon-Tiki, which is him “proving” that Polynesians made contact with South America. They both go into the history of the sailing and areas they’re travelling through, while also describing their surroundings and daily life, and, yes, running into storms and things.

Hope this helps you!

#bookblr #booklr #fantasy #read-alikes #answered asks #book recommendations #rec lists

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sweettemptaticn · 4 years

Text

Discord thread featuring: Ryleigh and Bear ( @laid-bear )

Where: The Grind

When: A week after their first meeting.

Description: Ryleigh finds Bear at the The Grind and extends an invitation to make dinner for him.

Trigger Warnings: None.

RYLEIGH

In the two months she's lived in Dayton, she's visited The Grind more than any other establishment. Some people enjoy their alcohol; Ryleigh enjoys her coffee. More than anything. It's her one basic need in life, besides food or, you know, water. "Thanks, Jacob," Ryleigh beams at the barista behind the counter, slipping a five into the tip jar. She doesn't have a lot of extra cash to spare, usually, but when she is capable of tipping a little extra here and there, she does. Everyone has to do their part, right? She takes a sip of the caramel macchiato she ordered, groaning with pleasure because it's spot on perfect. "If I ever become rich and famous, I'm hiring you to be my personal barista," she winks at the male, who offers her a small laugh and an agreement he'd take it before making his next drink. Ryleigh spins on her heel to leave, eyes barely scanning the interior of the coffee shop, when she notices a familiar hulking form. Her smile widens and her feet carry her across the shop toward his table, surprised to see him stationary after his quick stop in the bakery a week or so prior. "I see you decided to give my suggestion a try," Ryleigh muses as she approaches his table. Her blonde hair is drawn into a single french braid, wisps framing her face as she peers down to the order in front of him. "Well? What do you think?" Green eyes shine with a hopeful glint, one of her small hands wrapped around her own drink as her other slips into the back pocket of her distressed denim hugging her hips. Her casual, no work today look is topped off with a light weight sweater, slouched down one shoulder, exposing her fair skin to the world - and her Gemini tattoo on her shoulder blade. "S'good coffee, isn't it?"

BEAR

It had taken him a few days, but Bear had finally made it to The Grind. It was nicer than a lot of the greasy spoon-style places he’d stopped for coffee on the road...in fact, this might have been the first time he’d gone to a dedicated coffee shop since he was in Portland. He’d ordered himself a black coffee and posted up at a table near the window with a copy of MotorTrend and the local paper but was currently much more invested in the magazine, reading an article about trucks he could definitely never afford. He was wearing an ancient pair of jeans that had seen better days but looked worn in in a way that had become trendy, fading a bit at the pockets and hem, and a black t-shirt which exposed the army of tattoos that stretched from his back and chest down to his biceps where they peeked out from under the fabric. He raised his head when he noticed someone hovering over him, cracking a bit of a grin when he saw the girl from the bakery, taking a half a beat to remember her name was Ryleigh. “Hey—“ he greeted her, giving her a nod as he leaned back a little to meet her eye. “It’s pretty good,” he said, taking a sip and nodding. “Definitely could’ve done worse.” His eyes took in the tattoo and the loose bits of hair that brushed her shoulders before they found hers again. “How’re you?”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh hopes she doesn't come off like she's staring. She's not. Trying not to. But it's hard to keep her eyes focused on one part of him when she's really fascinated by all of him. Those arms, with a peak of ink beneath the sleeves stretched over those large biceps. Under any other circumstance, Bear's size would be intimidating to her, but after their initial meeting in the bakery, and finding him here now, she's surprised to find she doesn't feel anything but comfortable in his presence. He grins at her and Ryleigh offers one of her own, trying not to think too much about how said grin only enhances his handsome features. "Just pretty good?" She pouts slightly, before rolling her shoulders forward in a small shrug. "I guess you can't win them all. Pretty good is better than not good, so I'll take it," Ryleigh nods, biting at the inside of her cheek. "I'm alright. I actually have a day off today, so coffee first and then... I'll see where the day takes me, I guess. I don't really have any plans, actually," she chuckles, her eyes drawn back to his own. "What about you? Are you settling in alright?"

BEAR

Bear liked how she looked when she pouted then smiled—she was so expressive, it had caught him off guard the last time as well. He liked it even as he found it slightly intimidating in a way he couldn’t quite explain—it was open, transparent, two of the things he definitely was not. He shook his head. “It’s good, I promise, definitely the best cup of coffee I’ve had here,” he said, flashing her another half smile before she went on. “Settling in fine—I’ve spent a literal fucking fortune trying to get my apartment together...I’ll actually have a bed next week, kind of a big accomplishment,” he said sarcastically, making it clear that he was being self deprecating. “D’you want to sit?” He offered, nodding at the chair across from him.

RYLEIGH

Her noise of amusement is a soft hum in her throat, his comment at her query making her smile wider. "You're just saying that to get on my good side," she teases gently, lifting her own cup to wrap her lips - lightly glossed, but there's no other evidence of make-up on her face save for the mascara darkening her long lashes - around her straw to drink from her own Coffee. "That's... awful. I don't have my own place, yet, because I moved in with my brother. Couldn't really afford to find one on my own, but he spends all his time at his girlfriend's place, so I guess I kind of have it to myself?" She offers in turn, shifting from one foot to the other. "Hey, a bed is a big accomplishment! And nothing to take for granted, either," Ryleigh commends. Her gaze flickers to the empty chair across from him. "I wouldn't be keeping you from anything?" She'd love to sit with him, to find out more about the mysterious handsome stranger whose smile makes her stomach twist up into tiny little knots she can't explain, but she also doesn't want to impose and keep him from something else he'd rather be doing.

BEAR

Bear wondered if he /was/ just saying that to get on her good side. The coffee was good, but it hadn’t really struck him as particularly amazing until she was asking him and then yes, it was good, great even, it was literally whatever she wanted him to say it was. He would have laughed at his own obviousness if it wouldn’t have made him look crazy. Instead, he just shook his head at her. “Definitely wouldn’t lie to you about something as serious as coffee,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. He listened to her talk about living with her brother and envied just a little the roommate situation—places were expensive in this town, and he’d already thought about picking up a second gig so I’d have a little bit to save. He shook his head at her when she asked about the seat. “It’s all yours—this thing is mostly garbage anyway,” he said, closing the magazine that he would definitely be reading again later. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad sign that he was lying—or at least bending the truth—on little things as they related to her. He wondered what that meant in the scheme of things, brushing off the thought before he nodded at the chair. “Sit.”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh narrows her eyes playfully at him. "You better not. I take coffee very seriously, it's my krpotonite," she points out, hoping he can hear the soft jest in her voice even as her lips quiver to keep her grin in check. She fails, miserably, because she's smiling at him against her better judgement and-- he's going to think you're a loon if you keep smiling like that. He closes his magazine and pushes it away, but as immersed as he'd been with it when she approaches, she doubts it really is garbage. She gladly takes his invitation, however, lowering herself into the chair opposite him, sliding her coffee onto the table in front of her, and crossing her legs at the ankle beneath the table. "So, what other discoveries have you made since our last meeting? Stumbled on any other coffee hot spots?" Ryleigh props her elbow on the edge of the table and drops her chin to rest it against the heel of her palm, her bright green eyes never straying away from him.

BEAR

Bear pressed his lips together as she teased him, trying to keep from smiling in turn. He didn’t normally smile so much. He also didn’t normally hang out in coffee shops or spend time at bakeries or see the same girl—no matter the context—more than once unless you counted a couple total coincidences and about the same number of round twos when he’d been stuck in a town during a snowstorm when he was on the road. He watched her sit, her hands, then her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that she was young—probably much younger than him. But he also knew that he’d been behaving himself, that he hadn’t said anything he regretted or that seemed to have made her uncomfortable, and here she was, looking at him with a similar sort of lingering gaze that he knew he was looking at her. He hadn’t really been /out of it/ per say, but he had been /almost/ staring, definitely a little more obvious than he’d planned to be, before he answered. “No other coffee spots,” he shook his head, pausing to take a sip from the paper cup in front of him, lid sitting next to it on the table. He toyed with the cardboard sleeve as he spoke, pulling it from the white paper cup before he systematically and absently began to shred it into neat, thin strips. “I got a job, thank G-d...thinking about taking a second, idle hands and all that,” he said, smirking a little before he met her eye again. “It’s just a bouncer gig but it pays and it keeps me up late, I’m kinda a night owl.”

RYLEIGH

If they'd been in a different city, a different place in time, Ryleigh would've already offered to do more than take up his time in a coffee shop. She would've invited him back to her place, would've been on her knees for him, and wouldn't have thought anything of it because that's what she was good for. That's what she knew how to do. Her move to Dayton meant learning who she'd once been before New York, before allowing herself to fall into a pit of someone making all of her choices for her. Her ex never would've allowed her to be friends, or even know, someone like Bear. Would've strictly forbidden it because it wouldn't have been his call and he wasn't about to have his girlfriend throw herself at the first guy who smiles nicely at her. So she hadn't been granted the luxury of many friends. She'd had her thoughts and the solace of New York rooftop to pair with school and her job. To be allowed to do all of these things she once would've had to ask for permission for... sometimes it's overwhelming and exhausting, but Ryleigh would rather feel overwhelmed than desolate any day of the week. "That's good. I haven't found any others either. There's this one place on the corner of Main that's not bad, but I use them as a last resort," she offers lightly, gaze drifting down to his hands as he pulls apart the sleeve that'd been around his cup. "Yeah? I'm happy for you! I was so thankful for Sadie, she owns the bakery we met it, for offering me a job. We used to work together back in New York when I lived there and if it hadn't been for her suggestion, I probably would've ended up somewhere else other than Dayton. I'm glad I came here, though," she explains with a small smile, her face growing warm. "Idle hands are the worst. If I'm not working, I'm usually baking or cooking something at home because I'm... a little obsessed with food and keeping myself busy. A man after my own heart... I'm definitely a night owl. Sleep isn't all that easy sometimes."

BEAR

In Alaska, growing up, there had been girls like Ryleigh. Girls who were open and bright and who smiled a lot. In a place like that, though, that sort of thing only lasted so long until it was burnished into something flatter, more even. That’s what it had been like traveling, too—girls who had seen his bullshit before and knew the routine, knew the enviable quirks and traits of a man who moved through the world by his own volition, all else be damned. He had learned that from his father, inherited it in his DNA and carried it in his blood like a virus that sometimes reared its head to remind him that it was there. That he could become just like him at any time. Bear brushed off the thought, wondering why seeing the girl made him think so much about the ways she was different, why he had to sit there and analyze the fact that she smiled a lot or didn’t seem to have any agenda other than what was obvious in the conversation when she spoke. He listened, continuing to shred the sleeve slowly, half smiling at the things she said she liked to do because it seemed to fit, the warmth of her personality and the inherent warmth in the things she described liking to do. “So it’s not just a gig to pay the bills then? You’re one of those people who can follow a recipe and it actually comes out right?” He said, acting as this was a pretty novel concept. “That explains the coffee, then,” he said, nodding at her cup after she expressed being a night owl.

RYLEIGH

"Definitely not just to pay the bills, although it's a pretty good gig getting to do something you love, isn't it?" She answers, her free hand falling into her lap to toy with one of the loose strings of one of the holes stretched across her thigh. "I went to culinary school in New York, it was the whole reason I moved there in the first place, and I graduated three months ago. Haven't really done anything with the degree yet, but one day I'll be a famous pastry chef. That's my life long goal anyway," she explains, unsure why she's so eager to share parts of herself with someone she's literally had one other conversation with. "But, yeah, to answer your question... I don't follow a lot of recipes. I'm more of a make from scratch kind of person, but if you put a recipe in front of me, I could probably do it with a little tweaking." Ryleigh adds with a small blush of heat coloring her cheeks, because she doesn't like talking about herself. She's just really passionate about food. "Yeah... it's my life blood. You tap my veins and there's probably espresso running all through them." Ryleigh lifts her head from her palm to take another sip of said coffee. He's still tearing that sleeve to shreds. "Are you a night owl because you can't sleep or because you don't like to?"

BEAR

“I’m not good at sitting still,” Bear admitted, knowing this was definitely one of his worst traits. “I’ve always worked a couple of jobs at a time from the time I was seventeen—where I grew up, you either worked and lived on an oil rig a few miles off the coast, or you became an alcoholic,” he said with a snort, tone a little wry but he was serious. “And I’m not someone who can sleep if I’m not damn near exhausted, so I’ve found the best way to do that is stay awake until I basically don’t have a choice anymore,” he said, wondering why he was going on and on about this. “Culinary school?” He asked, his tone clearly impressed. “I could see that for you,” he said, nodding at the comment about being a famous pastry chef. “You seem like one of those girls who’d have their own show and a million followers on whatever app people are using,” he said with a half grin, making the jab at himself because he was /not/ a social media person.

RYLEIGH

Something else she could understand. Not wanting to sit still. Sitting still meant too much time with her own thoughts and that was never a good idea. She focuses on his voice, on the key words to fall fro his lips. "Oil rig? Where'd you grow up, if you don't mind me asking?" Curiosity has a heavy presence in her tone, a genuine desire to learn more about this man sitting across from her. Why he wants to spend time talking to someone who's definitely younger than him is beyond her comprehension, but she's going to gladly take his attention. She's always felt older than she truly is, anyway. Especially after all the shit she's seen in her life. "I can definitely relate. To the whole being exhausted bit. It's easier when your body just gives out on you instead of spending three hours trying to sleep," she agrees, drawing invisible shapes with her fingers over the table top - using some of the condensation from her cup as it drips onto the table. "Oh, no, that's not... I don't even use social media, right now. I wouldn't want a show, though. I want people to appreciate my food, not my personality." Ryleigh offers him a small grin of her own, lower lip falling prey to her teeth out of nervous habit.

BEAR

Bear rubbed a hand over his jaw as he considered her question, wondering it the question was just out of politeness rather than interest and maybe he was boring the shit out of her. His calloused fingers rubbed over the rough stubble as he answered. “Homer, Alaska—little peninsula out near the Alaskan gulf, kinda a shanty town when you get out of the tourist traps,” he said with an embarrassed sort of smile, looking up to meet her eye. “Lots of roughnecks,” he added, shrugging before he listened to her. “You’re not one of those girls who’s counting followers and all that?” He said, looking a little surprised—he figured for a girl who looked like her, she had to be into some of the validation to some degree. She looked like she was made for it. Instead, as she talked, he listened, liking the idea of her wanting her work to speak for itself—that was something he could relate to, something he could get behind. When her lower lip went beneath her teeth, Bear looked out the window to keep from watching her, to keep from thinking about the other contexts in which she might make a face like that, tendon in his neck standing out a little against the skin as his jaw tensed ever so slightly. “I’d imagine there’s a lot to appreciate in both of those regards.”

RYLEIGH

"Wow, you're... a long way from home." There's genuine delight in her face over his answer, because Alaska. Alaska always seems like one of those places which sounds nice, in theory and would be a great place to visit, but she's never met anyone who's actually lived there. Or was raised there. His smile endears her to him even more, those little knots in her belly twisting even harder. "Roughnecks... big, husky guys like you, you mean?" She questions teasingly. "No, not really. Even when I did have social media, I didn't really care about that. I was posting more pictures of food than anything else, so... when I left New York I dropped it all together." Because she was running and she couldn't have social media presence if she was trying to stay hidden. No social media. New phone with a no name contract. Random ass car with random license plates. For the most part, she'd had it all figured out. As long as she could stay that way, non consequential, then she might even make it the rest of her life without being found. When he turns his head away, she's given ample opportunity to allow her gaze to drift over him profile, his strong jaw, the visible tendon in his neck. She clears her throat softly, his comment causing the flush of her skin to deepen and spread down her neck. He's going to think she's a weirdo as often as she keeps blushing around him, goodness sake. "How do you know? You've never tried my food. For all you know, I could be joshin' ya," she teases, allowing her own gaze to fall away from him so as to not let herself wonder if his jaw is as sturdy as it looks.

BEAR

Bear smirked a little when she called him a roughneck, turning a little to look at her with a brow cocked, looking highly amused by her comment. “I strike you as that type?” He asked, smirk growing even more pronounced because of course she was right but that didn’t keep him from being even more entertained by his question. He nodded as she talked about social media, appreciating that because /God/, he’d known some blowhards in Seattle and Portland who were very proud of themselves for getting a couple of artsy tattoos and playing mediocre bass in a Nirvana-wannabe band. He listened to her talk about New York, trying to imagine her in a city he’d never been too—hell, he’d never been east of Idaho. He shook his head a little at her question, knocking a knuckle on the table. “See, that’s where you’re wrong—I had one of your cupcakes, remember? And that thing was good as hell and I don’t even normally like sweets, so as far as I’m concerned there’s plenty to appreciate there.”

RYLEIGH

Her hands press onto either side of her cheeks as he smirks at her and asks her if he looks the type. He doesn't seem mad, so that's a bonus on her part, right? "No, I just... I don't even know what a roughneck is supposed to look like or what it means, honestly, I just... made an assumption, I'm sorry," she apologizes genuinely, a smooth chuckle easing out of her throat at her own embarrassment. Her hands drop to the table, far smaller in comparison to his own, she notices, though she'd also noticed that when they'd shaken hands back at the bakery when they first met. "Technically, that wasn't my cupcake. It was Sadie's, my boss', creation. So you liked her cupcake, not mine, but I'm not opposed to having you try one of mine. Or, if you don't normally like sweets, you could let me cook for you," she suggest with a wider smile, thinking nothing of offering to cook for a complete stranger. Sometimes, she cooks too much food, or bakes too many cupcakes, and ends up sharing everything with the whole of Aiden's apartment building.

BEAR

Bear shouldn’t have smirked more when she started stammering and apologizing but he did, the expression on his face softening a little after a moment because he didn’t want the girl to be absolutely embarrassed even if it was cute as hell. “You’re absolutely right, I’m just giving you hell,” he said, shifting so he could nudge her knee with his under the table—given his height, he didn’t have to move much to make it happen. “Basically just go-nowhere local dudes who never bothered to get an education, are good at manual labor, what have you,” he trailed off, snorting a little because now he’d just made himself sound like an idiot who was only good with a wrench. Oh well. “Wait, that wasn’t yours? Sorta feeling betrayed now, Meadows,” he said, shooting her a look but then his brows raised at the comment about baking or cooking for him. “Yeah, actually, I can barely fry an egg so I couldn’t mind eating something besides cornflakes or takeout for a change...if you’re offering, that is, I don’t wanna make your life harder.”

RYLEIGH

"Oh, thank goodness," Ryleigh looses a sigh of relief as he nudges against her knee - the knock jarring her leg slightly, but not enough for her to move away from the touch. She keeps her knee there, resting lightly against his, as he explains what a roughneck is for her. "Oh... well, you're not go-nowhere if you're here, right?" She tries to see the bright side of his statement, not liking the idea of him thinking down on himself in any way. "I'm sorry, but it's one of Sadie's greatest creations and hey, you liked it, so you can't feel too betrayed!" She argues gently, knocking her own knee against his this time, though her touch is nowhere near as hard as his own because she's so tiny in comparison. "I'm definitely offering. Are you kidding? I love cooking for people. Please?" Ryleigh makes a show of batting her pretty lashes at him, even forcing a small pout to her full mouth, drawing attention to her plush, pink lips.

BEAR

Bear couldn’t help but cock a smile at her trying to find some type of light at the end of the tunnel from his comment—he wasn’t surprised she’d gone that route, wasn’t surprised that she’d taken a self depreciating comment and turned it into the opposite of how he meant it. More than that, though, he /was/ surprised how at how appreciated the way that something akin to a compliment came from her lips. And fuck. Those lips. He let himself watch her for a moment, that now-familiar tension coming back to his jaw as he let his mind wander for a bit and then reeled it in. He wasn’t sure he could take her saying ‘please?’ to him again with that expression so he nodded immediately, readily agreeing. “Name your day,” he answered, letting his knee rest against hers still after the nudging.

RYLEIGH

She tries not to put too much focus on the warmth of his knee against her own, but she can feel that heat radiating through her, those knots in her belly becoming even tighter than before. “Are you free this Friday? I have another day off and if you have to work, we could literally do it any time? I make great pancakes,” Ryleigh offers, giving him options to work with. Hopefully. He’d said he got a bouncer gig, which could be for any of the number of clubs in Dayton and knowing how this town works, he could definitely have to work well into the early morning.

BEAR

Bear didn’t take more than a few second’s pause before he answered her, shaking his head no but then quickly nodding yes. “No, yeah, I’m off on Friday...taking a double tonight and tomorrow,” he said, trying not to think about what it was going to be like alone with her, out of public, trying to keep his head on straight. “I could make Friday.”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh smiles so wide, her dimples clear as day, when he answers her. “Perfect. Would you want dinner or something earlier?” She asks him, already working out different meals in her head that she could possibly throw together for him. “Are you allergic to anything?” Ryleigh muses, tapping her fingers on the table, surprised her drink isn’t nearly gone. With anyone else, her cup would be almost empty at this point, but she’s been so immersed in talking to him, she’d forgotten about the caffeine in front of her.

BEAR

In the back of his head, Bear wondered if this was a bad idea. Not because he didn't want to go, but because he did want to go. Badly. He listened to her talk absently, weighing in his head if it was a great idea to hang around a girl who was probably more than a handful of years younger than him, but he was taking a sip of his coffee and shaking before he realized what he was doing. "Dinner sounds good," he said, shifting to lean back in his chair and rub a hand over his head. "Not allergic to anything that I know of."

RYLEIGH

She's almost giddy at the prospect of spending more time with him. He interests her and not just because she enjoys it when he smiles at her. He's incredibly handsome and could literally have his pick of anyone in this town to spend his time with, but she's thankful she gets to do this for him, at the very least. "Alright, great. I have the perfect thing in mind, but I'm not going to tell you because I don't want to spoil anything." Ryleigh beams brightly, reaching for her coffee to finally take a sip of the caffeine.

BEAR

Bear watched her bring her lips to her coffee cup and he picked up one of the cardboard scraps he'd created and shredded it now further still, eyes on her mouth for a beat before he directed them back to hers. "I should get your number then," he said, shifting to pull his phone out of his back pocket and unlocking it, passing it to her. His lock screen was a shot of the coast back in Alaska.

RYLEIGH

"Oh, yes!" Ryleigh exclaims, realizing him having her number would absolutely be very helpful. She takes his phone from him, fingers absently brushing against his much larger ones as she does so, and proceeds to thumb her number into his phone. Ryleigh adds her name with little smiley face emoji at the end of it, before slipping his phone back to him. "Text me, call me, any time." She enthuses. "And if you need to reschedule or cancel or anything, too. Just let me know. I'm flexible."

BEAR

Bear felt her fingers graze over his and was immediately surprised at the softness of her skin, hand lingering for about a milisecond longer than necessary before he let go. He watched her for a beat, wondering if she was going to shoot him a 'hey, something came up' text sometime on Friday after he texted her so she had his number. He wasn't sure if the thought relieved him or bothered him. "Here," he said, taking the phone back from her and texting her his first name--he assumed she didn't need the last, how many "Bear"s were there in one town anyway? "In case something comes up or whatever--text me."

RYLEIGH

Her own phone dings inside of her back pocket, which she's quick to grab for and save his number. She's got a no name burner phone, simple touch screen, and there's absolutely nothing fancy about it at all. Ryleigh smiles slightly as she adds his name to the four other contacts she has in her phone, rounding the number out to five. "I'm sure there won't. I'm pretty free and this is the most exciting thing I have to look forward to this week, so thank you for giving me that," she says as she lifts her eyes to meet his, an almost shy smile on her mouth this time.

BEAR

Bear moved to put his phone back in his pocket, watching her and wondering why she was being so nice to him. He was skeptical but intrigued, unable to truly detach himself from looking forward to seeing her as he nodded at her. “I’ll text you Friday beforehand, we can figure it out,” he said, determined for some reason to give her an out.

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh slides her phone back into her back pocket, shifting in her seat, her knee brushing against his again as she does. "Sounds like a plan, but don't think you're going to get out of trying my food, mister. I mean, if something important comes up, I get it, but I promise you won't be disappointed." If there's one part of her life she's confident in, her culinary skills would be it. One of her hands plays over the table top, reaching for the magazine he'd cast aside before. "What kind of magazine is this?" Ryleigh asks, genuinely curious, her fingers drifting over the glossy cover.

BEAR

Bear cracked the tiniest smile at the word ‘mister,’ shaking his head a little at her as he kept his eyes on her. “It’s stupid,” he said, shifting to move the magazine to the center of the table, fingers brushing against hers. “Motorcycles, trucks,” he said, feeling like an idiot talking about this with a hot girl.

RYLEIGH

"Hey, interests aren't stupid. Not everyone has the same ones, doesn't make them stupid, though," she shrugs, allowing him to move the magazine, biting harder at her lip when his fingers brush against hers again. These little touches keep sending sparks of heat skittering along her skin and it's distracting. "Motorcycles and trucks? I've never been on the back of a motorcycle, but I've always thought it'd be fun." Because she definitely doesn't want to drive one.

BEAR

Bear cocked a brow at her, looking a little pleased at the comment. “I have a motorcycle—“ he said, flipping a through pages through the magazine to get past the gaudy sports bikes before he found a picture of an old school Triumph and pointed at it. “Like that,” he said, then shot her a bit of a grin. “Except mine’s from the late 70s and beat to hell, it does the job...I could take you for a spin sometime.”

RYLEIGH

Her eyes light up, her interest peaked, as he flips through the magazine to point out the kind of motorcycle he has. "I feel like I would look even tinier on a motorcycle like that. I'm already small enough, you're a giant in comparison, and this... it's a little intimidating," she muses with a quiet laugh, lifting one of her hands to squeeze her thumb and index finger together to indicate how much is a little. "Really? I'd love that." Ryleigh feels like she's taken up so much of his time already, but he doesn't seem to be in a rush to be anywhere and she has nowhere to be today, either. "

BEAR

Bear laughed a little at the comment she made about being tiny because, well, there was no denying it. “It’s a lot of metal, that’s for sure,” he agreed, mind know set on the fact that she was tiny and something about this liked that. He tried to stop thinking about it, instead focusing on her words. “Maybe after dinner then,” he said, thinking about her on the back of the bike with him and trying to imagine this—any of the things they were talking about—being normal and platonic.

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh's never been sure of anything more than she's sure she wants to spend more time with this man. He's funny, and kind, and yeah, he's massive, but he's not like anyone else she's met in this town. Everyone was always so extra for no reason, looking for another fix, trying to drink themselves into a stupor. It's one thing to want to take the edge off, but it's another thing entirely to throw yourself into choas because that's what you feel like you need to stay alive. She loves the friends she's made, loves her brother completely, but Bear is different, and she appreciates that about him. "Maybe, if you're not completely full off what I feed you, then yes... I'm going to hold you to that," Ryleigh agrees, unable to stop smiling at him the way she is.

BEAR

Bear caught sight of her smile and he leaned back in his seat, hand moving over his hair. He was well on to his way of being in serious trouble right now, because the way she smiled...he just wanted her to keep doing it, wanted to say whatever it would take to keep that happening because she was beautiful and he liked the way it looked on her. He pushed back his chair, magazine forgotten as he picked up the cardboard he’d ripped and put it in the cup. “Deal,” he said, meeting her eye as he stood. “Friday then,” he reiterated, needing to gather his chill before it became totally obvious he had none of it.

RYLEIGH

When he pushes back his chair, Ryleigh hopes the flicker of disappointment in her chest isn't seen. Instead, she shuts the magazine she'd been looking at with him and slips it back into the spot she'd grabbed it from. Her own hand wraps around her cup and she rises to her feet and without a counter between them, it's easy to see how much smaller she actually is in comparison, which does nothing to help her addled brain. "Friday. Just... let me know if anything changes," she agrees, wondering if she'd maybe said or done something that suddenly put him on edge.

BEAR

“Sounds good,” Bear said, looking down at her and quickly realizing he has at least at foot if not more on her. He met her eye for a beat, then reached to the side of her to pick up the magazine. He rolled up and stuck it into his back pocket, then picked up his the keys to his truck that he’d almost left behind. “Friday...” he repeated, watching her for a half a second before he met her eye. “See ya then, Ryleigh,” he said, turning and going before she could answer.

RYLEIGH

"See you," she calls, as he's walking out the door. Breathing in deep, she releases a heavy breath, before shaking her head. "Get a grip, Leigh," she berates herself in a quiet whisper, before she spins away from the table and makes her own way out of the coffee shop. Whatever happens, whether he blows her off or decides he does want to have dinner still.. she hopes he still wants to have dinner with her. Putting those thoughts out of her head, she tries her best to go about her day, to not think about what she's sure will be the highlight of her day, and she takes out her phone to shoot a text to Stevie, asking her what she's up to.

#laid-bear #( interactions. )#( discord thread. )#( ryleigh+bear.002 )

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psychobhyun · 5 years

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S I N N E R O R S A I N T

Foreword: Father Kyungsoo’s heart flutters with happiness whenever he sees you. He loves how your breath gets shaky and your voice quivers when you confess and the way your innocent voice says, “Forgive me, Father, I am weak.”

Warnings: priest!au, blasphemy, blowjob, creampie, loss of virginity, mentions of masturbation, dirty talk

Genre: smut

When your family moved to a smaller town hundreds of miles away from your city, you were excited. You hated the kids in the city. All they ever talked about were sex, drugs, and alcohol. The top three things you hated. Even thinking about it counts as a sin to you.

You knew the new town you’d live in would be more conservative. Your parents told you about the tightness of the Catholic community in the town since there was only one church. Everyone gathered a lot after church. There’s a lot of charity work too, which you were interested in participating.

Being raised as a Catholic since birth made you know the Bible well. You can recite popular verses, you can sing the songs, and you often served the Lord by singing in the masses. You can feel it in your heart. God is happy He has you as a server.

The first week you arrived, your family invited all the town to celebrate their new neighbors. You had a very big house, able to fit in all of the town. It was a small town anyway. Everyone came to the party, including the pastor of the church you will be attending every Sunday.

He looked young. It probably only has been a few years since he graduated seminary school. He had plush lips shaped like a heart and dark, thick eyebrows. Wait. Are you allowed to make mental notes about your attractive pastor? Surely not.

You slap your cheeks light to help you snap out of it. You’ve never focused on dating and guys. To you, it was something that would come on its own. When God allows you to. So for now, you’re just going to shake the pastor’s hand and try not to focus on your pastor’s doe eyes.

“I am Father Kyungsoo,” he introduces himself. He notices your nervous stance. The sundress you wore had a low cut, but the hot weather gave it context. He could see a little bit of cleavage, but this shouldn’t tempt him. He had vowed to stay holy like God. These kinds of thoughts shouldn’t be inside his head.

You reply with him politely with a smile. You bat your eyelashes at him and excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You lock it twice and lean against the door, trying to regulate your breathing. Father Kyungsoo’s hand was so big compared to yours. It was making you sin. The thing you despise of the most!

As the party reaches its end, Father Kyungsoo approaches you before he enters his car. “I heard from your parents you liked to participate in charity activities?” You only nod as a response. Father Kyungsoo flashes a smile and pats your head affectionately. “Good girl,” he says before stepping down your front porch.

“I’m excited to see you at church this Sunday.”

You looked at yourself one more time. The yellow sundress covered you up nicely. You decided to bring a black cardigan to cover yourself up more but ditched the idea immediately as you stepped out of the car. Before the service starts, your parents greeted the people around them while you sat nervously.

This was your first sermon in a new church. You fidgeted in your seat and your mom held your hand to help you calm down. You smiled at her sheepishly. Why are you like this? Your clouded thoughts are interrupted when Father Kyungsoo came in to greet everyone.

The rest of the service passed by normally. Your anxiety completely left you. Maybe Father Kyungsoo’s smile eased your heart. The way he spoke was also calming. You wondered how his voice would sound when it’s whispering naughty things in your ear-

Oh no, you thought. You just committed a sin. Your heart starts accelerating uncomfortably in your chest. A light tap on your shoulder causes you to turn your head back. The person you’re dreading to see the most. Father Kyungsoo. “What’s wrong?” he asks with a concerned look on his face.

“Father Kyungsoo,” you started, almost choking on the sudden inhale of breathe you took. Should you tell the truth? You should. You definitely should. But for some reason, the response you gave was, “I was just looking for my parents, Father.” Father Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow. As if he noticed you lied to him.

“Your parents are at the backyard, talking with a few people. Why are you here all alone, little one?” You gulped at the pet name he gave you. But you doubt it meant anything more than what it is supposed to be. “Everyone is old there, Father. I have no one to talk to,” you explained.

Father Kyungsoo laughs lightly. “You can talk to me while you wait, little one. I’ll accompany you.” Father Kyungsoo ushers you around the church. Since this town had a rich Catholic history, there were lots of stories he could tell you about the church itself and the Catholic community in it.

After your heart stops racing, you started to talk a bit more casually with Father Kyungsoo, but still with respect. You asked him why he wanted to be a priest and he told you it was a secret. “You are innocent, little one. You’ll know when it is the right time for you.”

You pouted and Father Kyungsoo clicks his tongue in disapproval. “You look more beautiful when you smile. So smile for me, little one.” Your lips curl into a tiny grin and for Father Kyungsoo, it was enough. You gathered up the courage to Father Kyungsoo and told him that you wanted to confess your sins.

“You can request for me personally next time. If it makes you comfortable, little one.” You nodded as a response and said your goodbyes to Father Kyungsoo after you picked up a call from your mom telling you to come to the backyard so you could go home. Father Kyungsoo sighs as you disappeared behind the door.

Turns out the town you innocent town you thought you lived in was the exact opposite. The school may be a Catholic one, but your classmates fooled around a lot. One night, when you were having a supposedly girls only sleepover, a few guys came over to play truth or dare with you and your friends.

You got dared to touch someone’s... genitals and it made you panic. You wanted to fit in, but it was wrong to touch someone else out of marriage. The next day, after school, you ran to the church and asked for someone to call Father Kyungsoo to listen to you in the confessional.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you said with a slight quiver in your voice. Father Kyungsoo notices the difference in your tone. It was not as relaxed as he remembered. “I was having a sleepover with my friends. She lied to me and said it was all going to be girls, but then some boys came over and we played truth or dare. My friend dared me to touch a boy, Father.”

Father Kyungsoo’s blood boiled. You? Doing inappropriate things? He could never imagine. When he thought you were done with your confessions, you continued. “I have also played with myself, Father. I am tainted.” You rubbed your thighs as you imagined Father Kyungsoo at the other side of the fence separating you and him.

Your breath hitches as you started crying. Unfortunately, Father Kyungsoo could do nothing about it. “Do you regret it, little one?” His voice echoed in the tight space of the box. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. But you answered him anyway. “I do, Father. But it felt so good. I don’t know why God would prevent us from orgasming, Father.”

Father Kyungsoo licks his lips and gets out of the booth. He opens the door you used to come in and pulls you outside. “Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you murmur incoherently with a shaky voice. You kneel right in front of Father Kyungsoo and look up at him, hands tied together in prayer.

Father Kyungsoo sits on the bench closest to him and tells you to take a seat beside him. “Lift up your skirt, little one,” he instructs. Your eyes widen, but you didn’t disobey him. You do as he says and bite your bottom lip when you notice the wet patch forming on your white cotton panties.

He presses his middle finger on top of your clit and rubs it slowly, enjoying the little gasps you’re spilling from your lips. “You’re getting so wet, little one. God is ashamed,” Father Kyungsoo says as he puls your panties to the side, revealing your freshly shaven pussy to him.

Father Kyungsoo inserts one of his fingers. He feels how tight you are. You’re definitely a virgin. “Let me cleanse you, little one.” You blink your eyes a couple of times in his direction, not knowing how he will cleanse you. But you trust him with all of your heart. Father Kyungsoo unzips his entire attire and lay on the floor.

“Spit on your fingers and rub it all over your pussy, little one.” You do exactly as he says and spread your saliva all over your bottom lips. You moan when it’s starting to feel good. “This is going to hurt, okay?” Father Kyungsoo warns. You nod and wait for his next instruction.

“I want you to say ‘Forgive me, Father, I am weak’ every time you sink down on my cock. Got it?” You spread your legs wider and Father Kyungsoo hums at the sight. Your clit is throbbing and your legs are twitching in excitement. When you push the first inch of his length into you, you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you say as you take the last few inches of his member inside your pussy. You lift yourself up and force yourself down, not forgetting to say the magic words. Father Kyungsoo places his hands on the sides of your hips and guides you up and down.

Your wetness was enough to lubricate yourself. Even though you were a virgin, your hole accommodated his length well, sucking in greedily inside of you. “Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you mutter for the nth time that afternoon.

“God, you feel so warm and tight, little one,” Father Kyungsoo compliments as he watches your boobs bounce from this angle. He sits up straight and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting on it. You run your hands through his hair as you gazed in each other’s eyes.

Then you feel Father Kyungsoo moving his hips, making his cock get deeper inside you. It only intensified your pleasure, so you’re more than happy to let him take the lead. As his pace gets faster, your legs started to give out. You let him do all the moving as you continued to moan.

“Forgive me, Father, I am weak,” you say for the last time before Father Kyungsoo comes inside of you. As he pulls out, he can see his own come tricking down your thigh. “Great job, little one. This should cleanse you well.” You flash him a satisfied smile. He leans in to kiss you tenderly and you intertwine your tongue with his in a heated french kiss session.

“Every time you sin, little one, I want you to come to me. So I can purify you again with my holy come. Promise?” Father Kyungsoo sticks out his pinky finger and you wrap yours around his. “I promise, Father Kyungsoo.” He pecks your forehead affectionately before he helps your dress up presentable enough to walk out again.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Father Kyungsoo. He never left your mind once after the two of you had sex. You also started to explore more and experiment with your girlfriends. You’d rub your pussies together and play with sex toys.

You also signed up for a charity event your church was doing. It was for a good cause, which is why you did it in the first place. And maybe because you could spend more time with Father Kyungsoo and steal a few kisses from him.

As everyone started to lift the boxes up for donation, Father Kyungsoo startles you and drags you out of the room into a confessional box. Specifically, the one you first used to confess to him. “So tell me, little one. What sin did you commit this week?”

You started by saying that you’ve been fooling around with girls, trying a cigarette, and touching yourself. “I played with my pussy as I thought of you, Father. Your cock messing up my insides as you come inside me with your holy come.”

Father Kyungsoo grunts low in his throat and undresses enough to reveal his cock to you. He pushes you on your knees and instructs you to open your mouth to take him inside it. “Choke on my cock. Yeah, that’s right.” He encourages.

As much as you wanted to focus on pleasuring him, you stopped immediately when you heard your parents calling out your name. You detached yourself from his cock and clamp your mouth shut. But Father Kyungsoo had other plans. He lifts up your skirt and rubs the tip of his cock on your clothed sex.

Your parents kept shouting your name as he whispers to you quietly to take off your panties. After you did, Father Kyungsoo inserts himself slowly into your cunt. He thrusts, slowly at first, but it became relentless when your whimpers started to become a bit messier and inaudible.

“You like that, little one? Getting fucked by a priest in the confessional? Almost caught by your parents? Tell Father,” he groans into your ear. You throw your head back and lean against his shoulder. “Rub your clit for me. Do it fast.” You follow his instructions and start using two of your fingers to rub figure eights on your clit.

Your orgasm was nearing every single time Father Kyungsoo thrusts. When he does, you couldn’t prevent a loud scream from escaping your lips. You could only hope it wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. “Once again I have purified you, little one.” You kneeled once more in front of him to taste his come that was dripping down the sides of his cock.

“Clean it up for me, little one. That’s a good girl.”

#d.o #d.o smut #d.o drabble #d.o imagine #d.o scenario #kyungsoo #kyungsoo smut #kyungsoo scenario #kyungsoo imagine #kyungsoo drabble #do kyungsoo #exo #exo smut #exo scenario #exo drabble #exo imagine

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nightshade-zoe · 4 years

Text

AWAE 3x06 Commentary

Matthew’s Radish ❤️❤️

Anne has a cold and she’s baking a cake. . .uh oh (for context in the books she tries to bake a cake for the minister’s wife at tea but she puts liniment flavoring instead of vanilla because of a cold).

Wow her hair is so glossy and the loose braids are 😘

Is Matthew going to have a heart attack ....oh no

Holy **** that radish is huge

She smashed the vanilla and yes they’re definitely going the book storyline.

No Anne please ask someone to smell the bottle 😣

I live for Bash sass.

Okay so I’m like a little bit whiplashed here. Last episode we saw Gilbert just suggesting winnie visit. How have they been communicating? Have they been on that many tea dates? It seems like they only saw each other four or five times after their first “date”. But I guess it’s been two months since then.

“But your mother wasn’t skittish” I’m dead.

No he hasn’t settled on Winnie. Does this mean Bash knows about Anne? She’s “easy to be with” okay I guess it makes sense Gilbert is stressed about constantly feeling things for Anne.

“Fond enough to marry her?” Bash literally slipped that in because Gilbert was talking about marriage last week.

“Winifred doesn’t have such expectations” dude you’re meeting her parents in the 1890s of course she does.

Gilbert you literally were considering marriage last week.

Josie doesn’t want to create a scandal yet her mother seems to be pushing her to it??

Anne crying over Mary my heart it can’t ❤️❤️❤️

Poor Anne is so flustered because she wants to not look like a mess in front of her crush. So relatable.

Gilbert, do you see any onions???

It’s interesting they showed this scene between Gilbert and Matthew when we barely have their interactions. Gilbert is denying it’s a special occasion when we’ve just seen him freaking out about his appearance.

The framing of Anne by the window is gorgeous. Also this episode seems designed the humiliate Anne every way possible.

Why is she sneaking out to go to Diana’s??

She’s going to confess to Diana isn’t she. This seems like really fast development for Anne who has recently been like I am the Bride of Adventure.

Yikes Minnie May overhearing this and finding Jerry’s gift.

I think it’s interesting and important (because even though I’m sure this episode will be painful) Anne’s crush is very much romanticized and infatuated. While I’m unsure about her realizing her feelings this early, the comparison to Mr. Darcy, the reference to novels seems in character even if the fact it’s Gilbert is sudden.

Can someone make a gif set of all the Cuthberts straightening up in front of a mirror.

Wow Anne really jumped to daisies. I definitely feel like they’re trying to do the whole dramatic teenager I LOVE THIS BOY AND WANT TO SPEND MY LIFE WITH HIM angst rather than set up her real love for him yet.

THE FOAL IS SO CUTE ❤️

Dellie and Bash ❤️ also oh my goodness he was knitting yellow socks for her.

Noooo Gilbert don’t belittle yourself. You’re an orphan and are incredible. Anne’s an orphan and she is too.

“can’t cook”.

How has Anne recovered from her cold this fast also?

They’re definitely going up in the hot air balloon.

Subtle reminder Ka’kwet is still in hell and we need to get her out.

There’s a stiltswalker. I literally wrote that into my fanfic.

I’m so scared about this cake but at least it will look beautiful.

Wow Rachel not making me mad for once ❤️

What is this ear pulling Matthew?

Also omg the white grub reference I can’t get over the throwback.

The fortuneteller and the smoke haha. I feel like this Anne would have more sense than to believe in fortune telling though?? I agree the daisy was more helpful but this is clearly just meant to amplify Anne’s infatuation.

It’s interesting that they spent so much time on how the fortune teller is clearly a fraud.

Diana please pay attention to and comfort Anne.

Aghhh I clowned myself I was right Diana was leaving because of something related to Jerry’s family but also they made Anne look this devastated over Winnie.

Also ugh it’s such a trope to have her see Gilbert help Winnie when she stumbles.

But also the handkerchief book signaling Derry thing was so well done.

The Rachel/Stacy development has been interesting also wow the shooting.

It’s interesting we have Prissy who is super feminist and advanced, Billy who’s a sexist pig, and Jane who is still figuring things out.

Wait so Mrs. Barry and Winnie are the only two people I’ve seen with parasols. I’m guessing it’s a status symbol? Something only rich people carry?

I hope Minnie May has her own storyline. She does reappear in a later episode.

DIANA A QUEEN I LOVE I SCREAMED. THEY KISSED.

But I feel like we definitely will see some sort of rift/problem given how fast this has been accelerating.

Also the musical theme for them (which also played during the scene by Diana’s house where Jerry quotes Frankenstein) is so so beautiful

No, Anne don’t go back to the fortuneteller.

Why is Gilbert so condescending about Queens? Also he’s not admitting that the Sorbonne is a dream because of money. Instead it’s the impression he thinks he won’t get in.

I’m learning so much about Winifred’s dad and yet I still know nothing about her. I hate when characters are so one dimensional.

“Can we PLEASE just enjoy the day” paralleling Gilbert earlier saying he’s just going to try and enjoy the day

What is this ear pulling thing we have now seen Matthew, Jack, Thomas Lynde, and Nigel Rose do.

Why do Gilbert and Mr. Rose pronounce Sorbonne so differently?

Couple points on Winnie. She seems to represent the part of Gilbert that was never content with the small town life and now also the part of him that is tired of fighting with Anne. So she really has been boiled down to whether he will choose an easy life with connections but no fire or Anne who makes his life incredibly complicated but extremely lovely.

Also it was interesting that they again paralleled Winnie stumbling with Josie stumbling earlier this season. (Post episode addendum her Mr. Bones scene weirdly foreshadowed Josie’s situation)

I swear Gilbert just visibly hesitated to introduce them to Bash. Also they really are making them out to be the perfect family which rings the alarm bells that either they are not or all they’re meant to do is be a foil for Gilbert’s current life/affections.

Okay it seems really extreme to have Anne call Gilbert her true love. Like I get they are trying to emulate teenagers but Anne is not like this and we already did this with Ruby.

“I want to believe you that it was true that someone could look at me that way. I never even dared to hope before” this hurts so much because we have seen how much Gilbert adores Anne. But also it hurts because Anne has just been able to accept family love and shes been told her whole life no one will ever want her. I’m crying.

But also I think it’s very important that this is a very idealized crush and is definitely emulating teenage fancies and the real realization from Anne will be much different.

I love all the eye/I puns and how this fortune teller goes against herself and decides to comfort Anne because Anne is just endearing like that. I think we’re supposed to simultaneously feel Anne’s pain while also being amused at the melodrama

Oh no they’re really doing this with the cakes.

Your schoolmate Gilbert? Really??? At least say she’s a friend.

I know they’re trying to make Winnie seem really nice but it’s strange she asks how Anne spells her name. It’s like it’s meant to add more weight to the visual way in which we see Anne comparing herself to Winnie.

Bash is so amused by the Winifred Anne meeting. I guess it’s also important Gilbert has told Bash about Winnie but still keeps his feelings for Anne a secret (even though they aren’t)

This cake thing bothers me so much. There was no need to take a relatively funny book scene, humiliate Anne in front of a large group of people and add to the already massive embarrassment she feels by having Gilbert and Winifred both be there. This episode just really was out to get Anne

Hmm so I think it’s definitely telling that Gilbert’s automatic instinct was to run after Anne to comfort her and he definitely looks upset when she runs off but I also don’t think he was super helpful. He clearly doesn’t get why she’s upset and also Mary would’ve been more likely to run after Anne and console her. I miss Mary.

Anne no ❤️ she’s hiding under the exhibit she was looking at with such wonder earlier.

Really? They couldn’t even let Matthew win. This is an adorable adorable scene between them though.

Matthew, Marilla how do neither of you realize Anne is upset because Gilbert is walking around with a super high class, beautiful girl.

The music when they get into the balloon is the same as Anne visiting Ka’kwet the first time + Gilbert taking the flower + Derry walking home the first time = new adventures?

Marilla on point “we are literally going to hell in a hand basket” “before I die, fly”

Yes Anne embracing her uniqueness ❤️

This is the most beautiful and joyous scene this episode and the music is excellent (ive definitely heard it’s before but I don’t remember which episodes). Well it plays when Marilla and Rachel head off to the oculist and Marilla tells Anne not to get into trouble

It’s beautiful seeing how Matthew and Marilla have grown due to Anne. This balloon ride is like symbolic of their relationship.

Passing over the first part of the dance scene which is clearly just an inverted love triangle from the last episode . .though Gilbert does look over at Anne after the dance ends...he also looks uncomfortable in certain shots with Winnie

I guess also “Seems like you’ve done this before” “I can’t hear you” parallels the first tea scene a bit.

I’m frustrated Ruby is basically the exact same just with a different boy who I guess at least shows interest in her

Also Anne dancing with Charlie >.<

It’s really effective that the scene with Billy and Josie is outside in the dark compared to the bright barn but also that you can hear the dance music and it seems garish and grotesque. Also FUCK BILLY ANDREWS.

Props to Anne for noticing something is off :-/

They do a good job portraying how rumors are spread fast and also twisted because it goes to people saying they saw billy and Josie

Hit him Anne HIT HIM . . .okay I guess I’m satisfied with yelling. Also I would like to point out everyone else looks shocked and confused.

I guess I understand why the other girls don’t get it given their different experiences but SIGHS. Also Diana constantly freaking out about Jerry when no one knows what she’s talking about

No Gilbert this is important

Okay but Anne’s references. Whose CABBAGE IS BIGGER. You don’t need a CRYSTAL BALL. Clearly salty about the fortuneteller and Matthew’s loss.

Oof she’s clearly jealous but also angry for her friend and I get that Gilbert doesn’t like being yelled at but also for him to just shake his head as if this is a normal Anne tantrum

Peep Gilbert looking back at Anne twice

Moody the mediator. I like the effect of everyone’s voices blurring together and fading

YES ANNE ACTIVIST WRITING but also im so scared about the potential backlash. I really hope they treat this story carefully because I’m so worried about Josie and Anne now and so so mad at Billy

#awae spoilers #anne with an e spoilers #anne with an e #awae #anne shirley cuthbert

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samanthanicolleco-blog · 4 years

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Magbubulaklak by Antonio Oil on fiberboard 60 x 81.5cm 1964

Angelito Antonio or “Mang Lito” was born on February 3, 1939 and grew up in a simple farming household in Malolos, Bulacan. His passion for art began at a very young age, he participated in various art contests and had begun earning several big titles and awards to his name as a child. In 1958, he initially took up Architecture at the Mapua Institute of Technology which he then continued at the University of Santo Tomas. However, he eventually shifted due to a scholarship opportunity given to him and studied Fine Arts instead at the University of Santo Tomas, where he met several future colleagues like National Artist Ang Kiukok, Mario Parial, Jaime de Guzman, and Norma Belleza, a woman he later married. During his time at college, Antonio was granted a teaching position for his excellence, which he kept for over a decade even after graduation, by National Artists Vicente Manansala and Galo Ocampo. After that, Antonio only seemed to rise up further into stardom in the art world as he quickly garnered 20 more local and international awards to his name. He’s considered as one of the most influential artists of our country’s Modern Art movement, well regarded as an action painting trailblazer and for proliferating the Cubist style in Philippine art.

That being said, Antonio is best known for his Cubism style, an abstract approach to realism, with his emphasis on strong confident diagonal lines combined with a unique take on figurative distortions, and his use of black juxtaposed with strong primary or muted tertiary colors. He’s regarded as both modernist and expressionist in his approach, his subjects mostly consisting of figure folk. Having grown up a country boy surrounded by farmlands and small towns, there wasn’t much inspiration to draw from, thus, the young Antonio focused on the people that surrounded him. He showcased vendors, farmers, fishermen, and the simple daily lifestyle of his community. He wanted to illustrate an authentic representation of Filipino customs, traditions and way of life to the world, and incorporate the genuine emotions his subjects felt in that image.

Angelito Antonio’s Magbubulaklak was created in 1964, during his teaching years in the University of Santo Tomas. He made it with oil paints, commonly used to bring emphasis to textures and colors used, and a fiberboard base, a type of cheap wood used as roofing and wall sheaths. Which in hindsight, may seem like an atypical choice at first but through deeper analysis, can make sense because it may remind viewers of impoverished, barren walls where one may find forms of vandalization and graffiti in dilapidated areas; a possible contributing factor for interpretations later. The piece itself is a medium-scale painting that depicts a long haired woman holding several white flowers. She’s seated barefoot behind a container of more flowers and has an evident look of unhappiness on her face. She appears to be a flower vendor. Her hands are slightly stretched outward as if she’s anticipating to offer the flowers she’s holding to someone. Her body and clothes have visible contours from the yellow, red, white and even green hues that surround her, like casted shadows from a light source, making it appear as if she’s situated near objects with these different colored lights.

The title of the piece itself, Magbubulaklak, tells a story that can be universally understood by most if not all Filipinos, with a majority of us having experienced seeing something parallel to it in our lives. In translation, it directly means flower vendor or florist, however, the piece falls short on the latter definition as florists typically have a florist shop to professionally arrange and cut flowers. Instead, the woman appears to be selling in an open area with only a container of flowers, and she’s barefoot which is far from being professional.

Looking at the lines in Magbubulaklak, we can see a rough outline which emphasizes the woman’s details and some of the background in the piece, the shapes appearing more organic and life-like in nature. Additionally, the texture of the piece is composed of variously layered brush strokes of different colors purposely on top of one another. These components may represent Antonio’s intention to illustrate an emotional setting and emphasize the reality of the scene. The use of thin, soft curved lines on the woman’s features contribute to her appearance of delicateness and sorrow. A feeling of being fragile or “walking on eggshells” that most of us experience when we are at a low point in our physical, mental or emotional health. The wide contour lines on her face and body also bring emphasis to her emotional state, the dark shadows toward the center of her face adding depth to her grim and frail look. Moreover, the outline of other forms behind the woman bring distinction to her surroundings and environment. This can be attributed to Antonio’s goal of creating a realistic and expressive setting that interacts with the subject, by acting as context and emphasis. He represents the scene as genuine as it can be to the flower vendors we see in most Philippine streets and sidewalks today.

Moving on, the piece holds more positive space than negative as nearly every inch on the painting is filled with shapes. It feels very crowded and chaotic, one might even say there’s a “fear of space” present in this piece. And since there is only one subject, the woman, it seems like the purpose of having no negative space was to somehow bring your attention to her first. By having a mess of shapes in a background that is incomprehensible at first glance, the painting forces oneself to look at something that is clear, stable and coherent which is her. In my opinion, it was a bold yet clever move as it conversely emphasized how the surroundings were unstable and volatile, possibly foreshadowing her metal and emotional state. The overwhelmness from looking at the painting at first glance is really just to draw our attention to the center going out, to first take note of a clear subject then expand our line of focus outward as we investigate her relationship to the chaotic background and vice versa.

Furthermore, the colors in Magbubulaklak are composed of mostly bright primary colors red, yellow, and secondary color green, all of which are juxtaposed to the monochromatic white and black present. Initially, I was surprised to find so many bold and traditionally “happy” colors in what appeared to be a solemn painting judging by the subject’s facial features. The tones were very bright and lively, making the piece very eye catching and immersive to look at. Although my initial thoughts were that the subject would suit duller and darker shades to compliment the seriousness of the painting, but after looking at the whole picture, I understand and commend sir Antonio’s utilization of these specific colors. He used these bright colors as natural representation to our progressive cities and societies. It’s an abstract or distorted version of reality as it looks more chaotic in image but everything it represents is genuine, emotionally and physically. Chaotic streets and troubling emotions that surround the woman trying to sell her flowers, she is outlined with strong black lines and this contrast is what makes her pop out as the painting’s stable focal point, creating a clear distinction between her and her background.

In my opinion, although the piece can be generally interpreted with one common idea, “the subject is an unhappy and poor flower vendor”, the actual specifics may go in several directions. One possible interpretation is that the flower vendor is situated by a busy street, where cars and stop lights can be found, signifying the purpose of the familiar color group, the yellow and red representing a car’s flashing front and tail lights, and the green for “go” on the traffic light. An economic representation of the inequality between the rich and the poor, a gap between people with opportunity and those without; the people who can travel with cars and those limited only to the streets. In relation to the previous paragraph, an additional interpretation may be the background’s relationship to the subject as her emotions and thoughts. The chaos around her possibly represents the true mental state she’s in, underneath her sorrow features, it’s an image of someone with not much options or a way out. Using a traffic light analogy, the yellow and red around her could represent all the restrictions or barriers she continues to face, constantly stopping or slowing her down before she can have the opportunity for a better life while those in the cars can come and go as long as the light turns green. On the other hand, although very small, the presence of green located on her body may represent her spirit and remaining will to fight against the poverty she’s facing. This act of strength may be seen in her slightly stretched out hand where she attempts to sell the flowers to a possibly more fortunate passerby just out of view, a bridging interaction between the poor and the fortunate. Inspite of the piece being two-dimensional, it seems the painting crosses the threshold if we look at the angle of her gaze, because it can be met.

Despite the fact that this piece is currently located in the Ateneo Art Gallery, a private university often referred to as a place of privilege, regardless of the painting’s location, anyone who meets the woman’s sorrowful gaze can recognize by reading her expression and appearance, the story of hardship, poverty and inequality she imparts to her viewers. If one chooses to meet her eyes, it is physically possible, noting painting size and placement, as her gaze is angled in a specific way that allows your eyes to connect if you wish to do so but just slightly out of reach so that you’ll have to actively seek it out yourself. This feature itself can be a play on social action, how recognition of present injustices and gaps in opportunity or privilege is there as long as you accept to see it. Though this interpretation might not be exactly what the artist wished to impart, I feel like this version engages with the country’s current social and economic concerns, especially on how the unfortunate are most affected by it. It provokes my mind about the structure of our own society and the injustices present. The historical divide between social classes but now in a modernized setting, and how we can do something about it if we only open our eyes and recognize that something needs to be done. In the end, this analysis deepened my own understanding and appreciation of the work and the artist’s thought process behind it, effectively motivating me to have more compassion for the other side represented behind the painting.

When we observe sir Antonio’s entire piece of work, we are able to see another side to the daily life he aims to portray in Magbubulaklak. We recognize his clever use of brightcolors to contrast and enhance the seriousness in the painting, a signature technique that he’s used across most if not all his pieces. I commend his level of authenticity for these conjured images, not because he had lived through the hardships firsthand, but for managing to observe time periods and modernize the setting of these experiences. He was able to evolve his perspective as times changed, knowing what current situations are, and manage to still reach the hearts of many people across different generations.

To conclude, from a bird’s eyeview, the piece does not come across as classical, harmonious or traditionally beautiful in nature. At first glance, it all just seems abstract and too complex to comprehend. Due to this, a possibility I see is the piece becoming overshadowed in the near future, maybe several decades from now, as it does not garner enough interest to an average person’s eye. In worst case, it would look irrelevant. And this may be because the work only portrays a current image in society, one that may yet again change in the future, thus, would leave this piece outdated and unrecognizable to any part in the Philippines. As a third world country, it’s only natural for the Philippines to experience dynamic changes every few years. However, the changing times also have an ability to emphasize the beauty in these pieces by classifying them as historical, so they set a reminder to everyone what life in certain time period was like; how society lived and such. If that is done, we will have further enhanced outdated pieces’s relevance to even future time periods, effectively making these historical pieces timeless. It’s honestly amazing how art can be just that, an abstract representation of realities and expressions. Thus, I can wholeheartedly admit that Magbubulaklak is a great piece of high value, as both a viewer and someone who has encountered seeing this representation in real life. Through this painting, I recognized my own experiences and values, it also opened my eyes to the reality of our society and the impoverished community that I don’t often get to see. Having been at tucked away at the safety of my home for the duration of the lockdown and pandemic, Magbubulaklak makes me pause and think about the people struggling right now, financially and in health, making me more aware and appreciative of what blessings I do have, and how simple actions like donating to these people can go a long way to help them. In the painting, the lady looks like she’s anticipating for someone to sell her flowers to. Rhetorically, by “reaching out” my hand to her, maybe then even if it’s just a little, can I make an impact in our society.

References: “ANTONIO, Angelito.” Heritage Arts & Antiques Gallery. Accessed July 14, 2020. Retrieved from http://heritagegallery.ph/2017/09/antonio-angelito/

“04 1964 Angelito Antonio – Magbubulaklak,” August 25, 2018. https://lakansining.wordpress.com/2018/08/25/katipunan-avenue-quezon-city-the-social-realism-collection-of-the-ateneo-art-gallery/04-1964-angelito-antonio-magbubulaklak/.

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pricechecktranslations · 4 years

Text

TTDS: The Ring of Evil; Chapter 5

Torture Tower Doesn’t Sleep: The Ring of Evil infomine under the cut

Scene 1

Magion explains, as Gibbet listens (feeling as though this is not the first time she’s heard this), that he was born in Pharma, with his parents and his older sister. His dad ran a small company, and while they weren’t rich they didn’t want for much.

He learned a secret about his family two years ago, when he was fifteen years old. Their mother died (she’d been sick for a while so it wasn’t a surprise even though it hurt), and a week after her funeral he and his sister were called to their father’s room.

It turned out, they had different fathers. His sister’s father was from a previous marriage (their mother never gave the details on it to Magion’s father, though). Magion says that it wasn’t a huge deal to them—they were still siblings even if they had different fathers, and his sister apparently had suspected as much already.

Six months later, his sister suddenly vanished. The police couldn’t find her. One day, about six months later than that, Magion goes to find his sister, thinking perhaps she ran off to find her real father. And that is what he’s doing here—he’s in the middle of his journey. And he actually is not the leader of a company after all.

He then presents Gibbet with his bracelet—it’s the one from Gibbet’s dream. This triggers her memory, the one that she dreams about. The boy and the girl in the field of flowers with the bracelet. Magion often gave his sister presents when he was young. They were in that field of flowers when she got attacked by a large owl. The boy cried. There was a flash of light, and the owl was suddenly gone.

Gibbet is freaking out in an identity crisis over what she is and what she’s done (and why she hates humanity). She remembers.

She hated everything. She hated the town, she hated the filthy men who lived there, and her greedy father who sold her to them (This is vague but I suppose that means Magion’s father pushed her into prostitution for money). She hated Magion, who had no idea that’s what was happening. She hated all men, wishing she had a sister instead. And her name was Christabel.

She freaks out and catches Magion in a “witch spider”. Unlike the others though, instead of grabbing his arms and legs it grabs his head, plunging into his eyes and hoisting him into the air (basically, he’s dead). For the first time, Gibbet has killed someone directly.

Scene 2

Maiden doesn’t really want to fight Garnes. She feels he’s like her and her sisters, despite being human. Still, if it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’ll get. He’s very good at fighting, incidentally, though it doesn’t last long (he’s still only human, after all, and he’s old).

He’s not afraid to die at all (he even chides her for thinking he might expect her to spare him). She then turns herself into her iron maiden form to execute him, sucking him inside. Strangely, though, it doesn’t kill him. Garnes communicates with her (as an inverse of when he was working on her earlier, he is projecting his thoughts to her rather than speaking out loud) and reveals that the mistake he wished to fix when making her was that she kills people immediately (thus not a torture device so much as an execution one). So he changed the spikes so that they won’t make fatal injuries (though you can obviously still die of blood loss).

He makes a utopia reference (“I suppose that Torcia Tower is a final utopia for you torture devices”), while also revealing that he didn’t care about stopping them or Beritoad—he just wanted to have a grand finale here, as the world is becoming one where torturers are unnecessary. Being killed by his own Iron Maiden is perfect for him (and Maiden doesn’t get it). They talk a bit more (him bringing up the idea that Hank is her adoptive father, and Garnes is her birth father), and then after suffering a bit longer he dies. It’s also worth noting that while the image depicts her holding Garnes, the text says that she stays in her Iron Maiden form to hold him inside her for a while (I know that’s worded badly but it’s better in context).

Scene 3

An unnamed “he” is in darkness (Benji). He thinks he’s dead. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can sense that it is a large black box. There is someone else in there—a boy that he recognizes (Amostia).

Benji asks Amostia what “he” (Romalius) is plotting, and he says that he is the weakest of the 72. He steals from those stronger than him. He stole pheromones that let him control snakes. He stole charisma that let him control an army. And other things besides, as he built up a good reputation for himself (the people he stole from—strong wraiths--are viewed as a threat by those that currently run the world). He also calls Romalius a cat? (from the viewpoint of the people who live in this world, I guess).

He says that the “cat” is currently trying to eat the “servant” and the “frog”. And also the “crow” that is between them. Then he will be the only “strong” person left in the world. At which point the “cat” will become a “lion” and eat the whole world.

Amostia is vague on how to stop Romalius, but suggests that Benji needs to open the iron trapdoor to release him.

Scene 4

When Benji wakes, he’s in a place he doesn’t recognize with a huge headache. Somewhere in Reverse Tower, at least. He’d been terribly injured on his head when Romalius struck him (he gets some of his blood on his hand), but it wasn’t fatal. He doesn’t remember it, but he must have escaped. There’s an awful rumbling above.

It’s the sound of battle above him. He finds a section of the ceiling that’s black, with a man-made hole inside it. Inside the hole is an iron panel, with a wooden platform right underneath it. He tries pushing on it, and the panel eventually opens when he pushes on it with the hand that has his blood on it. It slides to the side in reaction to his blood, leading up (this is the floor panel that leads up to the dining room in Torcia).

Before he can climb up, he’s startled by Johanson (the white wraith horse) poking its head in the hole. Rack is there too, and she’s amazed that the panel is open (humorously, she doesn’t remember Benji well).

Rack is distracted and pulls away from the hole. A light flashes, and then Raymond pokes his head down there. At Benji’s urging, Raymond and Tsukumo hop down after him. He reveals Romalius’ treachery and bids them follow him further down into Reverse Tower.

They can hear Rack screaming at them to wait as she chases them.

Scene 5

Romalius knows that as the weakest, it’s his fate to be weeded out. So, using his only natural power, he continued to steal from those stronger than him.

Wraiths can live a long time, but they can still die. Romalius realizes this when he becomes ill (this is blowback for continuing to steal power from his fellows). He has now become obsessed with averting his death.

He wants to take Amostia’s power. The armor before him has changed, taking on body heat and a pulse despite being inanimate (sort of like the torture devices). Amostia’s outer shell was revitalized by the blood of one of the architect’s descendants (Luna) being spilt on it. Amostia is just glaring at Romalius from behind.

He realizes that he needs the “body”, not just the outer shell and the spirit, to revive Amostia (to steal his power from him). Amostia says that it’s not here—it was taken elsewhere when this place was built. He says it was taken by “Clockworker”, who was apparently a torture device creator, but he doesn’t know where.

They’re interrupting by Raymond and the others. Raymond charges forward and points the tip of his sword at Romalius’ throat.

They talk a minute, and Romalius suggests that Raymond has no actual reason to defend humanity from wraiths as he does, given all he has suffered from them—really, he attacks wraiths due to instinct and fate.

He says that those who created this “era” have determined that wraiths should not exist in this new era (I don’t know if he means “era” as in period), and those who live in this “new era” can’t go against the instincts programmed into them by the creators—hence why humanity has sought to eradicate wraiths. Beritoad, Romalius, and Amostia are different—they’re remnants of the “old era”, and so don’t obey the will of the current era’s creators. As such the creators wish to eradicate them.

Raymond of course has no way to tell if he’s lying or not. But he doesn’t believe he’s been manipulated. He wants to save the world from Romalius. Romalius insists he’s just trying to survive. Even if he’s been accepted by humans, it’s by betraying and killing his own kind. He figures they’ll turn on him eventually. After they discuss it a bit more, Raymond disavows his connections to Romalius, and insists on battling him one on one.

Romalius wonders how Beritoad would react to his death—when Raymond says he’ll probably stay calm, Romalius comments that he doesn’t know anything. Then they begin their sword fight.

Scene 6

At some point Gibbet has run out of the tower. She can see that the lake beside it is almost empty of water (and gets all melodramatic and thinks that it’s similar to her own heart being empty like that). She’s not sad. Her memories just annoy her.

She sees Rabiah flying towards her—he takes one look and realizes what happened, lamenting that Beritoad’s lost a pawn (though it doesn’t really matter at this stage). The fighting in the tower is dying down, and all the suffering lives are being taken in by Beritoad.

He asks Gibbet what she wants to do, and she asks him to tell her everything he knows about her. He produces an octahedron amethyst, something he had stolen from Stolasphia. It was through this that he learned what life Gibbet had led and everything about her—it has her memories in it. He returns it to her—it floats into the air and scatters, and then Gibbet regains her memories.

Stolasphia was a middle-power wraith among the original 72, but she had the power to gather many familiars and also bind her opponents’ power. She built her own country using that power, enslaving humans and living in luxury. She lost everything when the humans revolted, though. Romalius joined the humans’ side, and took her power to gather so many familiars. She managed to escape by changing into an owl, and wandered the country that had once been hers for a very long time.

She wanted to regain her country, but needed a new power to do so. No one would help her (even her brother Rabiah), as all the other wraiths had scattered to their own ambitions. As they did, though, they were disappearing. Some were killed in battles with other wraiths, some were sealed by humans, and some killed themselves (? cursing their fates? idk). Eventually, you could count the remaining original wraiths on both hands.

Only two wraiths really had any influence with humanity anymore—Romalius, who allied with them, and Beritoad, who fought against them (and Rabiah was on Beritoad’s side). They fought, and Romalius’ side won. Beritoad fled to Torcia tower with most of his power gone. Stolasphia decides to take this opportunity to steal Beritoad’s power, while he’s weak—in particular, his ability to make gold from nothing, something that she would use to rebuild her power base again.

At this point, Beritoad already has torture devices in human forms protecting him, as a note.

She fought with Raymond before the tower. The battle was going in her favor—despite not being particularly strong, she still had experience over a young half-wraith. But her cockiness betrayed her, and she was blinded by his lightning strike (particularly devastating on her bird eyes). Raymond then stabbed her with his estoc.

Marshalling the last of her power, Stolasphia broke herself up into three owls. One of them flew to Torcia tower and sealed the entrance so that no one could leave or enter. The other one flew at Raymond, and using a similar magic it imprisoned him inside a gemstone. The last one was the one that carried Stolasphia’s consciousness. It needed to find a new being to reside in before it dissipated. And that person had to be a hereditary evil raiser (exact same concept as in Evillious).

She would have picked Hank, except he’d died a short time before. She flew south, and right before her time was up she found Christabel Blanken and possessed her. However, weak as she was she was partially subsumed by her own consciousness, which resulted in them fusing. And a new consciousness was born from both of them.

She had both her memories as Christabel and Stolasphia. On the surface, her life in Pharma was fortunate—but it was hell itself. Her stepfather and the men in town were vile, and the only reason she was able to withstand it for fifteen years was because half of her spirit was Stolasphia’s.

She’d known Magion’s father wasn’t hers much earlier, as her mother told her. Her real father was Hank Fieron. She resolved to go to Torcia Tower upon her mother’s death, to learn more about her real father, and Stolasphia, who had not given up on reviving herself, agreed. So she snuck away from home.

When she arrived at Torcia, she met Rabiah by the lake. He had evaded the seal on the tower Stolasphia had placed fifteen years ago. He told her to unseal the tower, promising to help steal Beritoad’s power when she did. She agreed and did so. When she unleashed the seal on the tower, it also released the seal on Raymond (which she didn’t see coming). Her weakness of spirit after having her power stolen kept her from remembering that Rabiah was on Beritoad’s side.

She was captured and tortured by Maiden and Rack the moment she entered. Not in body, but in mind. Drugs, electricity, sound waves, etc. After one month, they brought her before Beritoad, an empty shell. And Beritoad planted in her the memories/consciousness of the torture device “Gibbet”.

Back to Rabiah and Gibbet, they talk a little about what she’ll do now that she’s got her memories back (which all depends on which identity she’ll choose to be). She isn’t sure.

Scene 7

Beritoad and Isaac are at the top of the tower, Isaac approaching him with a knife in hand. Basically, Isaac is there because Pere Noel feels that Beritoad betrayed the organization (even though he wasn’t born then, he was brainwashed into carrying out their purpose). Isaac then cuts off his head.

Beritoad’s head is still alive. He says that Isaac took too long to get up here. Isaac stomps on his head until it’s just a mess of gross meat, but it’s too late. The frog isn’t Beritoad anymore. The tower is struck by lightning, which chars everything inside (and blows Isaac out) except for what was once the frog, now standing on two legs in human form with long red hair.

Beritoad has recovered his power.

Scene 8

Rack is going through Reverse Tower, having gotten lost inside. She can hear a ruckus going on beneath. When she finally reaches the fifth floor down, she sees Raymond with his estoc, having felled Romalius.

She’d fought with Raymond earlier using Josephine R (pulled along by Johanson and Robinson), and it was in the middle of the battle when the trap door had opened.

She goes to hide and watch what’s going on, and sees Amo there. He rushes over to meet her. She demands that he tell her her true identity as promised, and he points her to the armor. He says it was something that protected the both of them once, long ago. He says that she is the princess in the story he told her, and he is the servant. And that armor is their castle. Like in the story, they were once one.

Rack can hear a bell ringing, despite there being no bells in either tower. Amo tells her to become one with him again—to become their true form of Amostia.

Scene 9

Raymond’s not really celebrating his victory—he had no idea that Romalius was so weak, and wonders why he accepted the duel. He’s stabbed him through the chest already. But things aren’t over.

Benji and Tsukumo run to him, and they hear a sound that sounds like the tower itself is being destroyed above them. Benji points out that the armor that had been in the center of the floor is now gone, as well as the spirit boy. They decide to head upstairs and see what’s going on.

First though, Benji goes to Luna’s headless corpse. He wants to find the head, but they don’t have time. He picks up her body and goes to take her with them upstairs.

At the third floor they leave Reverse Tower the way Benji and Luna and Romalius originally came in. They’re quickly greeted by Luna’s two subordinates. Benji hands one Luna’s body and gives a brief explanation. The other one points out that Torcia Tower is a flaming pile of rubble.

Scene 10

Raymond climbs up the lake wall. The flaming pile of rubble has spread to the nearby forest and some of the nearby buildings of the town. According to one of Luna’s underlings, the tower was felled in a lightning strike, and a winged figure flew out of it. Raymond realizes that this means Beritoad has revived his power.

However, he wasn’t the only one who destroyed it—there was also an enormous wolf-like monster that came out, flattening the whole thing with its tail. The wolf can also breathe fire. Raymond figures this is Rack.

He suddenly sees Amo (to be clear—from now on when I say Amo I mean the spirit, and by “Amostia” I mean Rack’s transformed self—the narrative from Raymond’s perspective calls her Rack, but otherwise it calls her Amostia) before him, and demands to know what’s going on. He says it isn’t Rack, but Amostia, and explains the deal with him being the soul, them having a shell, and then Rack being the body. He says that Amostia’s body was transformed into the torture device Rack by a human magician (not sorcerer but more like sleight of hand magician). He’d thought that he could merge with her again, but she merged with the shell and started rampaging before he could join in the fusion.

He points out that Beritoad and Amostia are fighting right now, out of instinct (the instinct that beings of the new era must kill the original wraiths). Normally this wouldn’t affect Amostia, but Rack is now a being of the new era, as a result of her time as a torture device.

They banter a little about religion (the concept of a creator and god and whatnot as it relates to this instinct thing), and Amostia disappears suddenly. Raymond decides whatever’s going on he can’t just leave two wraiths to wreak havoc over everything. He dashes towards Lion City, using his special eyes that he inherited from Beritoad to help him see through the smoke of the fire.

Rack’s wolf form is roughly the same shape as it was a year ago, but now it has large wings, and its skin has durable scales on it. Beritoad also has wings. He and Amostia (who is talking with Rack’s voice) banter a little as they fight.

Raymond debates with himself over whether or not to join the fight or who he should target when he does (both of them are bad news). He then hears Tsukumo call to him from behind, and when he goes to her he sees Maiden in tow. Tsukumo brought her along, as Maiden wants Raymond’s help (and with her poor memory she doesn’t remember Maiden as a wraith). Maiden wants Raymond to help Rack (more specifically, to stop her rampage).

Scene 11

Amostia is winning the fight with Beritoad. Despite him striking her (or him—narrative openly questions which pronoun would be better considering Rack’s current state) multiple times with the lightning, it doesn’t seem to be dong much damage through the scales (the scales which represent the armor that was Amostia’s shell). Beritoad is also slowly accumulating burn damage.

Also, Maiden is able to stay in her current form because Beritoad’s power has returned, and thus just being near him is enough to keep her animate. Raymond briefly considers the notion that killing Beritoad will make Rack inanimate, but figures now that Rack is Amostia that wouldn’t work.

Beritoad’s wings burn, and he falls. He runs to where Raymond and the others are (apparently his all-seeing eyes are burned too, so he knows it’s Raymond through sensing it’s him rather than sight). He bids Raymond help him, pointing out that he doesn’t want the world destroyed (given that he needs humans to feed on them), whereas Amostia will burn everything in the world.

Maiden urges him to help. Not out of loyalty to Beritoad, but out of love and concern for her big sister. Tsukumo presses him to help, saying that she’ll assist too (which is particularly significant given that Hargain ingrained her with the mission to destroy wraiths). After a little bit of a crisis, Raymond decides to first stop the giant wolf burning the town down.

Scene 12

Raymond explains the whole thing about having Tsukumo enhance one’s powers to Beritoad, and hands him a bracelet. Beritoad makes it a gold chain and connects all three of them with it. Beritoad says that they can’t pierce the scales, so they need to shoot for the inside of Amostia’s mouth when it opens to spit fire.

Raymond figures he’ll defeat Beritoad after they handle Amostia.

Raymond and Beritoad both pour lightning power into Tsukumo through the chain. They time the attack just as Beritoad suggested, and then Tsukumo—despite struggling with the power output level a little—fires an enormous lightning sword. It strikes and seems to make Amostia stagger, but it isn’t enough. They try again (Tsukumo struggling but hanging in there), but Amostia’s jaw snaps shut so it can’t strike properly.

Then Gibbet uses her wires to pull Amostia’s jaw open. Maiden calls this “The Thread Gleipnir” (Or “Gleipnir’s Thread”? note—Gleipnir is the name of the bindings that hold down the wolf Fenrir in Norse mythology). Tsukumo aims the lightning sword again, but right before it can fire Maiden suddenly takes the blast into herself.

It fires Maiden (in iron maiden form, emitting light) clean into Amostia’s throat region (even through the scales). Amostia collapses. Beritoad figures out that Garnes must have made Maiden able to absorb and repurpose lightning energy specifically in preparation for Beritoad getting his power back.

Meanwhile, Tsukumo faints from the energy surge. There’s no way they’re gonna get another shot off, so all they can do is hope that the wound took care of Amostia.

#()torture tower doesn't sleep

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