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#he really said these bland women are not part of the family and no one cares what they are doing with his whole chest
lovecolibri · 2 years
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Still not over this moment. JCC understood the assignment
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Let Me See Inside Ch. 3
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Series Summary: Can Rae help Ben save himself, by finding his true self?
Chapter Summary: Rae and Ben meet again and this time Rae connects with him, but can she make him listen?
Warnings/Explicit 18+: Some objectification of women, an attempt at intimidation, one use of a derogatory term for a lesbian, some cursing, show level violence. A bit more twisty brain shit. 😁
Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Rae Stewart (OFC)
Word Count: 4,073
A/N: Again I apologize for the wait for this update. I hope you feel it was worth it, and I'm hoping my muse will not desert me again too quickly! Spoilers for The Boys S3 E8.
Both the beautiful text dividers here and below were created by @firefly-graphicscs
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Ben leaned on the bridge rail and stared out over the river. Was this the Hudson? He couldn't remember, and it didn't matter. He wasn't really seeing the rippling water; all he could see was the bland, blonde, preening, weepy, pathetic grown man that was, apparently, his son.
When he'd first seen Homelander in pictures and billboards he just shook his head, completely bowled over that this tool, with his blue leotard and fucking flag cape, was what passed for a super-hero nowadays. Talk about sending the country to hell in a handbasket.
But he'd simply dismissed him. That is, until Butcher and little Hughie Campbell struck up their deal with him. Their showdown at Herogasm, had surprised him; the flying jackass was more powerful than he'd expected.
But between the three of them, they'd had him, and if he hadn't just used all his juice icing the fucking wonder twins, he could have scorched him and taken him out right then.
But the little prick had gotten away, and lived to fight another day. But Ben had known it was inevitable that he'd take out the flying Supe. He'd never failed to complete a mission, no matter what it was.
But then...
Fucking Mindstorm. At first, he was sure the psychic was lying to him, just trying to fuck with his head. But the more he'd contemplated it, the more he came to believe it was true. It made sense. Everything fit - the timing, Vought's reasoning and why they'd thrown him to the Reds.
The surprisingly powerful Supe in blue tights was his son.
Or if I listen to Butcher, all he is, is an ejaculation.
Part of him agreed with the Brit, no way this weeping mass of self-pity and pathetic neediness was his fucking son. He would never allow a son of his to be that much of a pussy and a loser.
But at the same time, biologically speaking, he was in fact his son, which would mean he had family in the world. Was he just going to kill the fucker?
He'd meant what he said to him on the phone the other day, if Vought hadn't lied to him and sent him off to be tortured, he would have been proud to see his son become a badass super hero alongside him. They could have fought together and been unstoppable.
But that wasn't what happened, and now his son was a man that he'd promised to kill.
He was unsure of what to do, and he absolutely hated uncertainty. So, he'd told Butcher he needed to get some air, and he'd been wandering around ever since.
He pulled a joint from the pocket in his left sleeve and lit it up, hoping the reefer would calm him enough to make an answer come clear.
As he inhaled deeply, a voice spoke from just behind him.
"Hi Ben."
He was startled and the smoke he inhaled got sucked down wrong, and he started coughing hard.
"Sorry!" The voice spoke again and he spun around to see a woman standing slightly behind him to the left. She was holding up her hands as though she was surrendering.
"I'm so sorry." She said as she walked up beside him. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Ben gave her his most ferocious look. "You didn't scare me, sweetheart."
She nodded. "Of course not."
A tiny piece of weed had escaped the rolled joint to sit on the tip of his tongue and Ben removed it with his thumb and forefinger.
He didn't miss the way the woman's eyes darted to his mouth and then quickly away. Or the way her cheeks flushed.
She was sexy as hell, he had to admit that. She had his favorite kind of figure. She was an hourglass, round and thick, soft.
She was maybe a little thicker through the middle than he'd prefer, but her thighs were full and soft in her jeans, and her hips were wide. He wanted to grab hold of that plump ass and squeeze hard while he crushed her up against a wall.
As though she could read his mind, her face was bright red as she spoke again.
"My name is Rae Stewart and I need to talk to you."
He frowned slightly and took another drag from the joint, holding it in his lungs for a moment before letting it escape slowly. She waved the smoke away from her face.
"That name's familiar." Ben stated. "Do I know you?"
She bit into her lip. "In a manner of speaking."
Waiting for her to elaborate, he took another drag, and this time blew the smoke away from her. He could be a gentleman if he wanted.
"So," she sighed deeply and Ben had the feeling she was worried. "Okay, so this isn't really happening right now. We aren't really standing here together on this bridge and you aren't really smoking that joint."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He shook his head and chuckled. "No, clearly YOU are smoking something a lot more fun! Got some to share?" He asked with a deep grin. The reefer was working its magic and everything was taking on a soft kind of glow.
Rae shook her head. "No, I mean that your consciousness is currently residing here, but this is just a memory - a memory from the night that you...went up against Homelander. You think you're here trying to decide if you have it in you to fight and kill your own son, but you made that decision a couple months ago now. You went through with your promise to Butcher."
Ben could practically feel the effects of the weed disappearing as his senses sharpened. He pulled his sidearm from its holster.
Rae held her hands up high again. "No, please don't shoot. Please don't kill me again."
Ben stared at her darkly. "What do you mean, again? Who the fuck are you, woman?"
"I'm just here as a projection in your mind and you've killed that projection many, many times before. But I really, really need you to listen to me. There is so much riding on this. Not the least of which is getting you..."
She stopped abruptly and Ben walked closer to her, forcing her back against the bridge rail. He placed the muzzle of his gun against her heart.
"Getting me to what? Exactly what are you here for? You're telling me you're in my head, fucking around with it, and you don't expect me to shoot you right here and now?"
"Actually, I kind of did expect it. But the fact that you haven't yet gives me reason to hope, that and the fact that my name is starting to be familiar to you."
Ben cocked his gun and Rae started sputtering again. "Okay, okay. I'm gonna tell you the god's honest truth about what's going on. Please believe me. I swear I'm only here to help you."
At his continued silence she swallowed hard and started speaking very fast.
"So, you went up against Homelander, but everything went sideways and you ended up fighting Billy Butcher and...Marvin Milk. And Starlight. They, um...they got the mask on you but..."
Rae stopped talking as flashes lit up the night sky like fireworks. Ben dropped his gun from her chest and stepped back. Images rocketed into the air, and he squinted up at them, they were almost too bright for him to look at.
But every image brought back the memory, vivid and undeniable: throwing Butcher into a desk, about to crush his skull with his shield; the extreme heat coming off the rays Butcher burned into his shield; his shield shattering into pieces.
As he stood on the bridge, he looked down at the shield he held, and it was suddenly nothing more than a jagged piece of metal. He dropped it to the ground and it landed soundlessly and disappeared.
When he looked back into the sky he already knew what he was going to see, could practically taste the poison in his mouth as the the two girl Supes and the giant fucking guy who'd smashed his shield to bits, held him in place and tried to shove the mask over his mouth. He heard his panicked voice echo in his head.
"I'm not going back into that fucking box!"
He saw his chest begin to glow and then the light show above him stopped abruptly. The sky over the bridge was dark so suddenly that Ben had to blink rapidly to clear away the spots in front of his eyes.
Silence reigned in the darkness for a moment before Ben spoke. "I went nuclear and they put me back in that...I'm back in that box right now, aren't I?" He hated how weak his voice sounded, how whiny; he hated that he could hear hints of fear in his tone, and knew she probably could too.
But he couldn't help it. The idea of being back in the box, of only being pulled out so he could be experimented on again, of decades passing in nothing but nightmares and memories full of regret...it filled him with dread, even in the annals of his own mind.
Rae nodded slowly. "Yes. Sort of. You're in the hands of the American government now, not the Russians. You're under the care of Lieutenant Colonel Grace Mallory." She shrugged. "And me."
She stepped closer to him, and he flinched back a step.
Jesus Christ! He screamed at himself. Who's being a pussy now? You're running away from some broad? For fuck's sake.
Rae held up her hands. "I swear Ben, we're only hear to help you. We want to be able to wake you up, we want you to be well. And you have my word, that absolutely no experimenting will be done on you."
Ben snorted in disbelief. "Right. And just who are you, exactly, to promise something like that? What authority do you have? I promise YOU that if the government, or Vought, wants to do something to me they'll run right over you to do it, little girl."
He didn't miss the flicker of annoyance on her face and he chased that annoyance, allowing his pleasure in provoking her to take over the fear that still clouded his mind.
"I mean, you said Grace Mallory is in charge? Well, fuck, that dyke has hated me for a very long time. I'm pretty sure she's not anxious to see me awake."
He watched a muscle twitch in her jaw as she gritted her teeth and knew he'd scored a point.
She nodded. "No, you're right, she doesn't like you. In fact a LOT of people don't like you. With good reason."
Ben rolled his eyes. "Yes, a fact that leaves me heartbroken, what can I say?"
Rae continued as though he hadn't spoken. "You are a misogynistic, racist, homophobic, antiquated asshole. You're ideas are half a century out of date, if not longer. You say hateful things to get a rise out of people, you're selfish, and egotistical, and a complete fraud in ninety percent of what you purport yourself to be."
Ben arched a brow, impressed in spite of himself. His ego didn't like the beating, but he found himself intrigued by the fire in her belly.
"Huh. Tell me what you really think, sweet thing." He gave her his best rakish grin, but her steely expression wouldn't relax. He shrugged. "Is there a point to your insults?"
"I like you."
There was a pause while she let her words sink in. "My point is, in spite of all of that, I like you."
Ben could feel himself falter in surprise, and quickly fell back on defenses that had always served him well with women. He stepped close to her and backed her up against the bridge rail. His voice was low and he dipped his head to murmur in her ear.
"Really, baby? You like me?" He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and then stared down at her full lips. "What exactly do you like about me, sweetheart?"
Despite the fact that he was just trying to make her squirm a little, he was surprised by the way his body was reacting to her closeness. She really was entirely fuckable.
She stared up at him, her eyes blazing and her jaw set. "Not this. I don't like this bullshit you pull when you feel cornered. You do this to try and knock women off kilter. But it won't work with me, I'm not interested in your physical attributes or your charms."
Ben stared at her long and hard, and he picked up on little tells that made him think she was lying. The way he could hear her heart race and see her pulse quicken at the base of her throat, the way she licked her lips when her eyes flickered down to his mouth, all told him she was at least a little interested in his "attributes and charms".
But then something occurred to him that made him step back slightly. If this was all in his head, maybe she wasn't actually interested at all, maybe he was just imagining it. Hell, maybe she didn't even look like this, maybe he was just manifesting a body to go with the the thoughts she was pumping into his head.
It would explain why she looked like his dream girl.
Before he could think more about it, she answered his question. "I like you because...I know there's more there, below the surface, beneath the peacocking and the dickishness. I've...I've seen the films Vought brought back from France. From Normandy."
Ben scoffed and turned away from her. "Then you know what a joke it all was, how I stood there and posed and talked about what real heroes the soldiers all were...while their fucking buddies' arms and legs were still littering the goddam beach."
He nodded her way and gave a bark of laughter. "Part of that ninety percent fraud you mentioned earlier."
He ripped his chest plate off and whipped it out into the water below. What the fuck did he need it for, living inside his own fucking head? He pulled a flask out of his hip pocket and took a long drink. He passed it over to Rae who accepted it and took a small sip before passing it back to him.
He shook his head as he screwed the lid back on. "What's the point of even drinking this? It's not going to do anything; it isn't real."
Rae shook her head. "Maybe not, but you'd be surprised what the mind is capable of, I bet if you drank enough of that, you'd be drunk, or at least you'd feel drunk."
He thought of how the reefer had calmed him briefly and realized she was probably right. Or else, she was doing all of this, and he had no real control over anything in his own mind.
He studied Rae carefully for a minute and tried to get a read on her. "Why are you doing this?"
"I told you -"
"Right!" He interrupted, his tone skeptical. "Right, right, because you, uh...you like me, in spite of my many failings, and because you saw some propaganda bullshit Vought put together."
Rae shook her head. "No, it's because I saw what happened when they yelled cut." She tilted her head. "You were furious."
Ben straightened up and started to walk away. This was stupid, he didn't have to stand here and listen to her, they were in his head, that had to mean he had some kind of control, right?
But Rae followed after him; he thought about shooting her, but realized it was pointless if she was just gonna come and find him again.
"I couldn't figure out what you were so mad about." She said loudly as she jogged after him. His stride was twice the length of hers, but she ran alongside him, and he couldn't shake her.
"At first, I thought maybe you were just being a diva when you told the director you didn't want to do anymore takes, that you were 'fucking done', as you phrased it. But it seemed like more than that, so I did some digging into Vought's archives, where I found at least a dozen letters that you sent to the President of Vought at the time, telling him that you should be part of the invasion of Normandy..."
Rae trailed off and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, "...and I also found the dozen responses they sent back telling you that you couldn't be risked. They said you were too valuable to the morale of the people to risk you being killed."
Ben spun around, and eighty-year-old anger spewed out. "I was fucking bulletproof! Literally bulletproof! My skin can't be damaged, I've been shot, blown up, burned, slashed with knives - for fuck's sake, the Reds tried to slice open my fucking skin with a chainsaw - but fucking nothing!"
He turned and slammed his fist into the brick wall of an empty storefront they were passing. He smashed a giant hole into the wall, bursting a pipe and drenching them both with water.
"I was in absolutely no danger going over there." Ben yelled above the noise of the broken, rushing pipe. "If I'd stepped off one of those boats first, I could have taken down every one of those enemy guns and barely broken a sweat. Vought didn't want to risk my safety? Bull. Shit. They didn't want to risk Soldier Boy being part of a campaign that failed. They waited to make sure the Allies won before they let me show up and 'boost morale'."
He pushed the wet hair off his face and started walking forward again, knowing Rae was following behind.
"Boost morale." He scoffed. "Do you have any idea how much those fucking soldiers hated my guts? Showing up, filming scenes talking about 'our' glorious victories?"
He shook his head angrily, spraying droplets of water. "Yeah, if they could have, they would have beat the shit out of me."
Rae reached over and put her hand on his arm and it stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked down at her face upturned to his; her big blue eyes were imploring. "You weren't responsible for the men that were killed on those beaches. That was Vought's doing, not yours."
He felt something twist in his gut as the vision of severed limbs and splattered brains swam in front of his eyes and he could see faint outlines of the memories in the endless black sky above them.
He angrily shook off Rae's hand. "Oh, Jesus Christ, don't start this pussy bullshit. I'm not weeping in my tea over soldiers I couldn't save. It was just a waste of manpower is all I'm saying, it was shitty strategy, and it made me look weak."
He started walking again, only to stop a second later not sure what the hell he was doing, wandering aimlessly around the streets within his own head. This was all stupid and pointless.
He turned back to Rae and charged towards her, stopping when she held her ground. "Look sweetheart, all of this is a waste of fucking time. None of it means anything. You got me trussed up inside my own fucking head, and you say you're here to help me. So, how? How are you supposed to be helping me?"
Rae lifted her hands. "Just like this." She turned away from him, and walked in a little circle. "We're going to meet here inside your mind, and I'm going to help you work through some of the things that are holding you back. I'm going to help you work through your fear and trauma."
Ben felt his gut twist again, and his chest constrict slightly. "Fuck you!" He shouted at her, anger pulsing through his veins. "I am not letting you dig around in my head and shrink it, like I'm some neurotic laying on a couch."
He raised his gun again. "Now, get the fuck out of my head, or I will shoot you out of it."
"What's the point, Ben?" She asked in a perfectly reasonable voice, no hint of fear there. "I'll just be back and we'll continue from here. I'm pretty sure now that I've spent real time with you and talked with you properly, you'll remember me next time. So, why bother trying to fight me?"
She raised her hands in front of her and pushed them forward in a placating motion. "Look, part of the way you can free yourself is by letting me help you figure out how to deactivate whatever trauma the Russians caused when they tortured you, then we can know that you'll never accidentally go off again."
"I don't have fucking Shell Shock!" Ben shouted, sick of defending himself on that front. "I'm not letting you try to - "
Rae cut him off. "What's your other option, Ben? If you don't take my help...then they're either going to brainwash you somehow to get you on our side, or keep you in this box forever."
Ben felt his blood run cold. "Don't threaten me, bitch!" He roared, rushing forward and wrapping his hand around her throat, slamming her back against the wall of the empty Chinese restaurant behind her. Empty, he realized, because this was all in his head, none of this was real. This wasn't a real New York City street; everything was dark and empty.
She was right, what choice did he have, trapped here in the endless hellscape of his mind?
He dropped his hand from Rae's throat and felt a moment's remorse for the bruises he could see forming on her otherwise smooth and unblemished throat.
She doesn't really die when I shoot her, does she really bruise? Will she wear those bruises when she leaves my head? Does she feel pain when she's here? Does she feel anything physical? If her mind is here inside mine, then wouldn't she feel things too?
He shook his head. He'd go crazy if he thought about it too much.
Rae coughed a couple more times and then straightened up and cleared her throat, but it still sounded hoarse when she spoke. "I'm not threatening you, you fucking lunatic!"
In spite of himself, Ben felt a small smile form at her attitude. He liked people who fought back.
Her voice was still harsh when she continued. "I'm trying to explain that I am your chance. I'm your chance to get the fuck out of this box and never return."
He switched his smile into a scowl. "So what exactly does, 'working through my fear and trauma' even mean? What are we doing?" He felt bile rise at the words. Such bullshit.
Rae sighed. "It means you and I are going to explore some dark memories together and I'm going to try and help you work through them. I'm a psychic, yes, but I'm also a psychologist. So I can help you identify the toxic influences and fears that cause your behavior, and help you to get over them."
Ben felt anger burst over him again. "I'm not afraid of anything! Jesus Christ, I'm a fucking Super Hero!"
Rae took a step towards him, ignoring the anger that pulsed off of him, and looked up at him without blinking. "If you're not afraid of anything, Ben, then you shouldn't be afraid of strolling down memory lane with me, should you?"
Ben started to try and argue her logic, but found that just out of the blue, he was suddenly exhausted. The lights dimmed around them, and he felt like he might pass out.
He frowned at Rae, who was looking a little out of focus.
"Shit," she said delicately and he decided he like the way curses sounded falling from her lush mouth.
"Okay," she said, grabbing hold of his hands. "Your consciousness is ebbing, you're falling into deep sleep, and you won't be reachable again for a couple hours."
Ben saw darkness coming into his peripheral vision and he shook his head trying to avoid it.
Fuck, I don't want to dream.
As he was drifting away, he felt Rae's small hand squeeze his. "But I'll find you again soon, I promise."
As he sank away into darkness, that promise stayed with him, acting like a shield when his nightmares came to terrorize him.
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astro-can · 6 months
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long kny rant, bare with me
!KIMETSU NO YAIBA SPOILERS!
sup guys i was on youtube and came across a one hour video pointing out all the bad things in demonslayer and the comments under the video had mixed reactions so i decided to make a unnecessarily descriptive paragraph of my own opinion.
now first of all, kimetsu no yaiba, or 'demonslayer', is one of my favourite anime/manga ever. i dont know why i like it so much, i just like it.
the storyline is extremely simple. tanjiro kamado, a 14 year old boy, had his family killed by the demon king, muzan, but his younger sister Nezuko survived. however, nezuko had turned into a demon and tanjiro is finding a way to turn her back into a human.
tanjiro is a good main character, and there is no argument in that. he's the typical kind, caring, and sweet mc, but unlike emma from tpn and deku from mha, he does not hesitate to kill a man-eating demon, no matter who it was as a human. he shows pity, but he kills them because he knows that if he leaves a demon alive, it would just kill and eat more people. he gives mercy as well, like when he gave the spider-demon mother a painless death because she had accepted her fate. he doesnt try to find loopholes to 'save the evil guys and give them a second chance'. no, he simply wishes them to be reborn happily and kills them. simple as that. tamayo and nezuko and yushiro are different, because its confirmed that they have never eaten a human before and probably wont in the future. thats why tanjiro leaves them alive. he is not 'bland' or 'boring' or 'uninteresting', he's better than most modern anime mc's out there.
nezuko WOULD HAVE BEEN a good character, but she's honestly just there for plot armour. i wish the author had shown us more about her internal struggles. like, in the red district arc, nezuko shows a lot more emotion and struggle than usual, and i respect the author for putting that part in there. however, she's so bland. i wish she could talk, so she could squabble with her brother and show more emotion.
zenitsu's character interests me. i like how he 'falls asleep' to fully activate his full potential, because he's too scared to do it consciously. people ridicule him for being a coward, but lets be honest, we would all act like him if we were in a world full of demons. what i dont like is his behaviour towards nezuko, and ESPECIALLY how they get MARRIED IN THE END. like bro know nezuko has the mental capacity of a toddler when shes a demon and swoons over her and acts like a pervert - thats why i don't like zenitsu that much.
inosuke, on the other hand, is so unhinged that it makes me laugh. his behaviour is fully justified - i mean, he grew up in a forest with boars and never learned of 'human manners', of course he would act the way he does. i also like how he gradually trusts tanjiro more and more, its the very little character development that counts the most.
i wish we saw more of rengoku. he was introduced, then killed like a few episodes later. i didnt really get how the trio got so attached to him in a short amount of time, i wish the author had specified more on their relationship. rengoku leaves a everlasting impression on tanjiro, but i think rengoku's character should've been shown more if he was going to be used as motivation for tanjiro. he really said "set your heart ablaze" and died. like, um, ok, love those sentimental words but sir i would like to know more about you????
someone in the comments of the video commented that they dont like how mitsuri was given an explanation for her strength and how shinobu was just weak af. they were like "um im female too and i think the female characters should have been as strong as the male characters without some stupid explanation 🙄". first of all, girls are just weaker than boys. im not being sExIsT, its just how it is. even if men are weak, there's a good chance that they would be stronger than a 'strong woman', because MEN ARE PHYSICALLY STRONGER THAN WOMEN. its not a big deal. men are born stronger, period. there is absolutely no way mitsuri could be as strong as sanemi or giyuu without the author explaining her strange muscle composition. shinobu is short and weak, which is what mitsuri would've been without, again, her muscle composition. female demonslayers cannot be on the same level as the male demonslayers without training. tanjiro is strong, and he trained to get stronger. kanao was weak, and she trained to get stronger. currently, i believe that kanao is stronger than tanjiro, but at one point in their life, tanjiro will become stronger. this is why there are only two female hashiras and barely any female demonslayers - they simply aren't strong enough. shinobu's speed makes up for her lack of strength, while mitsuri has a strange muscle composition. those unrealistic ocs where its like "y/n is as petite as shinobu but she's actually the strongest hashira lol" always annoys me because its not physically possible.
there are definitely badly-written and bland characters in demonslayer, but there are definitely well-written and interesting characters as well. stop trying to categorise it all into 'boring characters'.
animation plays a big part in demonslayer's popularity. a lot of people only like it for the beautiful animation, and they say that its nothing without it. demonslayer is a story that you dont have to put a lot of thought into, you just watch it and somehow get engrossed. its not good, neither is it bad. its a decent story with its perks along the way, so stop comparing it to other anime. anime is always compared, and some people take it way too far. just enjoy whatever you like and don't bother other people who watch different things. the amount of fights ive seen between the jjk fandom and the kny fandom scares me, especially since i love both of them lol.
there's def a lot more to add but ill just leave it here for now. thanks for listening, bubye 👋
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morsobaby · 2 years
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For your ship thing, how about:
Beloterra (as in belos X terra, I think it's got potential)
Squirrelcrow (Squirreltail X Crowfeather)
Whitestorm X Tigerclaw
Also Jayce X Vic Vs Jayce X Mel?
Beloterra ??/10 uh well I had to mull over this one for a bit ngl. I've looked into it a bit. There was one post that explained and elaborated really well on why they'd make a good pair and it was good! But Belos hates witches. Regardless of how much they may have a good connection with him. But now, if we ignore that part.. Honestly I really have a hard time imagining Belos in any romance? Also Ironically despite being an actual White cracker™ who probably comes from the age that sees homosexuality as a mental illness, I cannot see him liking women lmao. Take this lightheartedly please. But in more seriousness, to me, Belos as a character truly shines in other relationship dynamics. Familial, authorial, antagonistic and so on. There's much more interesting stuff to be done with him and his personal relationships and I just can't really imagine the kind of person in the show that he'd fall for. Ngl I'd probably be annoyed if they gave him a romance in the show (obv. Depends alot on how it's done but Idk). This isn't me going "Bad guys don't get to have romance u_u" at all, this is just me saying I'm not sure how I'd vibe with shipping culture™ + Belos.
But I must admit, I think unrequited romances would be kinda fascinating for him. Either in the case that someone likes him and he doesn't like him back, or the other way around. Just something.. Complicated, ykno?
Anyway, despite that, I definitely accept this ship into my house 👍
Squirrelcrow 5/10 (I think you meant Squirrelflight? Bc I can't really think of who the other one there would be otherwise. Correct me if I'm wrong ofc). Nah. Don't see the appeal. I get that people make the argument that she and Crow coulda played off each other much nicer and had an interesting relationship, also minus the age gap Squilf has to Bramble, which is Def a plus. But meh. I'm not feeling it at all. I see your argument and I can respect it but I don't care about this ship at all. I really really don't think Crowfeather would be much better of a boyfriend than Brambly. Not as bad probably! But not good enough in my eyes. I think either someone else entirely or just. Let her be single and heal. With her friends and family. Please. I don't feel super strongly about this in the negative way either tbh but I definitely don't care for it at all. I ignore it.
Whitetiger 8/10 yes. Nods. I'm not like Uber invested in this ship but I definitely think it's a good one, especially considering what other ships Tigerclaw has in the Fandom.. *side eyes them in mild discomfort*. Anyway. I'm not sure if I have much to comment? I think it's cool how people noticed these two as an item bc before being introduced to the ship I wasn't aware they basically grew up together?? That's dope! I love their sort of. Relationship development I guess? At least as much as the fans have expanded upon it
Jayce x Vic vs Jayce x Mel - okay so. I think I've touched upon this briefly when I mentioned my aro(spec) hcs, and Mel was on it. I don't wanna say I dislike Mel and Jayce's relationship but it's really bland fr. It's painfully obvious how this is just "Man like woman, obviously!". Like Idk if it was just me but right up until they boned i was 90% convinced she'd turn out to be a twist villain or stab him in the back or just, like have some. Suspicious things going on. Her interest and interactions with Jayce were not romantic at all imo, if anything I'd probably have to say it just seemed like pure lust. Which, good for them I guess, that's valid too. But you get what I mean?? There were no sparks. They sure had A dynamic, but not a romantically coded one. To me at least.
With that said I'm not gonna protest the fact that they're together, even though I'm just facepalming at it. I'll just let it exist since clearly that's how they wanna tell this story and apparently one gay couple is their maximum quota for this show (looks at Vi and Cait). However, Jayce and Viktor have an infinitely more interesting dynamic and a much more genuine feeling relationship. They actually seem to have a connection and care for each other as people, to an extent I don't see with Mel. To me it felt like she was more interested in Jayce for his inventions. I honestly do with it woulda been Jayce and Viktor, and not just bc "Gay uwu" but genuinely bc it would be very engaging to explore their relationship develop. Ofc, relationships don't need to be romantic to be engaging. But just, with Jayce being a poster boy of the upper class and Viktor rising up from the dumps, it would create interesting conflict for them! Explore that please! It was so cool seeing them work together bc they play off of each other so well! And they were given actual bonding moments!!!!
I'll just say. They both exist to me, in my heart. The way I see it, Jayce and Mel are queerplatonic and Viktor has Feelings™ for Jayce, who is probably a little suppressed about his own feelings for him. Ofc it does clearly seem that he cares for Mel as well. I don't feel annoyed enough to gloss over that. But to me this is how it works and I'll be fine if they explore Viktor and Jayce's relationship in a meaningful way later on.
Also I'm not hating on Mel btw. Tbh I kinda wish she'd turned out to be a bit more devious, that woulda been interesting to me. I feel like she was only allowed to be interesting towards the end of the season (before that she was honestly just "Hot,,, lady👀👀support Jayce inventions??? She is mysterious and graceful,, in a hot way")
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saturnsstufff · 3 years
Text
The Empress (pt. III)
Hello lovelys! Incase no one told you today, I think your spectacular!
Also, lets be real. This part really shows how much I love Buff Techno
Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, blood
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   You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The Emperor was asking you to sit and eat with him. With his family. You didn't want to come off rude or impolite, so you simply nodded and walked over to the remaining open seat. Phil pulled the chair out for you a bit, you lowered yourself onto it and pushed yourself in.
   To say the room was beautiful was a understatement. The table was made of elegant dark oak, the edges lined with detailed gold. The chairs matched the table with wood. But the seats had a plush Black velvet cover over the cushions. The backs of the chairs stood taller than you, Techno's chair was the most detailed and the tallest out of them all. When you glanced up at Techno you were only met with the skull staring forward.
   You honestly became nervous now. Your hands grew clammy as you held a bit of your cloak. Yesterday you had no problem being in front of this family and now you were terrified of offending them. The Family was known for being nothing short of dangerous, and blood thirsty. Yet when you look to Philza, or Wilbur who sat in front of you. You couldn't see how, they were perceived as dangerous. Don't get yourself wrong, you saw how Techno could be seen as terrifying, the man stood at well over 6ft, maybe approaching 7ft?
   Wil watched you a bit, taking note of the complex look you had. "So where are you from?" He asked simply, taking a drink of his milk. "Dadza said you were wearing really light clothes when he met you." The boys tone was casual. Trying to set your wild nerves at ease.
   "O-oh, I'm from a little village in Madagascar" techno's mask faced you as you spoke. Showing you had his full attention. "It's pretty... small..." You tried of how to explain it but, every way you turned it in your head, it was still bland.
   "What's your village like? For the small size is it well off or strugglin'?" Phil inquired. At this a few butlers came out with platters of food. They placed a plate full of eggs, toast, sausage and oatmeal in front of Techno, Phil and you. Talk about a meal fit for a king- no pun intended. Techno only nudged his mask up a tad more. His mouth now visible more. Your eyes lingered on him. A slight scar could be seen on his lip, it looked a bit fresh if your being honest. You averted your gaze before he noticed your lingering eyes.
   "It's... struggling. We were slightly larger, but years ago there was a raid by some Pilliagers" you couldn't help your face twist into a bit of disgust. After how they humiliated your village, and father, you couldn't help hold a high distaste for them. "They ransacked what we had. The men of our village defended what they could, but too many lives were taken if you ask me." You took your fork into your hand, starting to cut up the egg.
   "Did you loose anyone close to you?" Phil spoke between bites. Only speaking when his mouth was empty. You hummed and nodded as you chewed your food. Waiting to respond out of courtesy.
   "I lost my uncle, but that luckily was all. My father was injured too, but he survived.” your eyes scanned your food, slightly pushing the food apart so it wasn't touching. “I was too young to understand when it happened, but I guess one pillager took a swing at his leg. It never healed properly since during the attack, the Pilliagers targeted the women and children mostly. Who for the most part were in charge of medicine and occasional potion brewing" You could feel Techno's lingering eyes on you. He ate in silence only listening.
   "I'm sorry to hear of your uncles demise. however, we are glad that you are ok." Phil said, resting a hand on your shoulder reassuringly. You smiled gently and nodded. the action was similar to that of what your father did. Even if Phil didn't recognize it, the little actions he did put you at ease.
   Everyone ate for a bit longer. the sounds of silverware and plates clinking were the only sound that filled the room. Techno finished his plate first. Neatly setting his dishes together. Phil and I worked at our plates still. Mostly because we were the ones talking. "What made you get into Smithing?" Phil asked. Having previously recalled you mentioning the blade was your creation.
   You took a sip of Orange juice to clear your throat of food. "When my father was injured our family suffered. Smithing was how we made money. My father couldn't stand long- he still cant. even if he could, I'm pretty sure the hammer would be too heavy for him." You paused thinking a moment. " I think I was eleven or twelve when he started showing me the tools and the trade. After a few months I could put a tool out. By no means was it good though.” You could still remember the first tool you put out. It was a twisted, warped mess. At the time you were proud, but now you rather not admit it was yours. “By the end of the year I at least could put something worth a show out. Ever since then I just continued. I didn't know how to sew or weave like my mother so I never strayed from the forge."
   "It was somthin' in your blood" Phil commented. You tilted your head slightly as you ate a bit more. Starting to feel utterly stuffed. "A lot of trade's or artistry’s get passed down so long that it just becomes part of their heritage, they seem to have a natural born talent for those knacks." He fallowed up with. "Techno is like that with sword combat" you herd a sound of disagreement from under the boar mask.
   Wil decided to chime in now. "If your blade pasts the test, what will you do with the money?" You thought a moment. In your heart you knew you had no use for it really. Your father and village however did need it.
   "I'll probably give it to my village and my father." It was a simple and cliché answer but you meant it. "I have a roof over my head at home, parents who love me, support me. For once I wanna support them." You set your spoon down. Only having ate half your oatmeal, feeling too full to finish. "My village also needs the help. The baker. The farmer. They all could use a bit of spare change." You looked up from your plate to face Phil. His eyes were kind. They glittered like your fathers, when he was proud.
   "Your very kind to offer your riches to others." you didn't expect Techno to voice his opinion. But you graciously took his complement. Your cheeks a faint pink. As you nodded. He moved his mask back to where it fit comfortably. He stood up from the table. the action commanding attention, The mask faced you. "Fetch your blade. I wish to test it."
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   Ok now the nerves really set in. You stood outside on a snow covered training ground. Your head was covered by a cozy fur lined cloak. Beside you stood Wilbur, and Philza. You had the cloth wrapped sheath in your hands firmly. The sword secure in it's place. Waiting for someone to release it and show the strength it held.
   You were unsure where techno was, he was supposed to give the test but as it stood, he was nowhere to be seen. That is until he turned the corner with a thick wooden log over his shoulder. You couldn't help how your jaw dropped. You knew he had to have some strength but you didn't expect him to turn the corner with a good size Hickory log. He dropped the log in front of Phil, Wil and I. Next to it was a rather large block of ice, and a Anvil. Once Techno situated the log securely in the snow he unchained his cloak. Handing it off to Phil.
   There he stood. This monster of a man. broad shoulders drawn back, his posture perfect. Where he looked as strong as twelve oxen, he also had a elegant, ethereal beauty. His jaw was sharp, lips drawn into a thin line. His hands, although gloved, moved with precise elegance. When he breathed a puff of cloud would push itself out of the Boar's empty nasal cavity. He looked terrifyingly beautiful.
   He turned to you and outstretched his hand. A wordless request for your blade. You bit your lip. The moment had come for you to truly test it. Carefully you unwrapped the cloth, the simple sheath was the underwhelming part of the blade. however when you moved the Sheath towards Techno he made no comment on the simplicity.
   His hand easily took the handle. Skillfully he pulled the blade out. The black blade shimmered brilliantly. The purple-blue pearlescent really popped against the snow. When he saw the color of the blade you could have sworn you saw his hand falter slightly. “tis’ a beautiful blade...” was the first comment. “what is made of?” he inquired.
   You swallowed the slight lump in your throat. “It’s Netherite and Diamond” You didn't expect them to know what Netherite was, but the look Phil gave you shown that he very well knew what it was. Even Techno turned his head to face you. This is the part where you wondered if you shouldn't have said the true material.
   “Netherite eh?...” the angle was just right, you could see into the empty eye sockets and pinpoint techno’s eyes. they lingered over your blade fondly. he seemed very familiar with that type of material.
    You watched as he took notice of how the blade was well balanced. The handle was comfortable and surprisingly it fit his hands. He tossed the blade between his right and left hand. Seeing how it felt. Mentally he assumed the blade's handle would have been made small to accommodate your own hand. But he was pleasantly surprised to see you took account that maybe you would not be the one handling it. He moved the blade back to his dominant hand. Looking to the mound of ice. You felt a hand rest on your shoulder, pulling you away from Techno. You looked up to see who the hand belonged to, only realizing it was Phil. well you stood in front of Phil pressed up to him, you didn't have to look to know how much he towered over you. His wings only adding to the height. you thought it was a tad weird  that he pulled you so close, until you realized he did it to Wil was well. The action was out of protection.  your gaze shifted back to Techno. He rotated the sword in his hand once. From Phil, Wil, and your stance, all you saw was a quick movement of purple, the light bouncing of the blade beautifully as it swung. He did not delay on his swing back, it was fast and powerful. Techno simply stepped, and swung back down, hard. The idea of being on the other side of the blade seemed impossible to survive. Well he beat the sword edge against the ice, his body moved as if he was reciting a simple dance. He was testing the durability. Seeing exactly how much your blade could take. The sheer force of his hits only needed two, to break the ice chunk in half. Sliding both halves away from each other upon the swords impact. You could only watch in shock. His strength was raw and powerful. You were genuinely terrified for your little sword.
   Techno didn't let up his assault. Moving from the ice to the wood in one swift movement. Continuing to strike the hard wood. The woodchips flew in the air, you averted your eyes a bit, worried the wood might hit you. After beating a decent size gash into the wood, you spared a glance back up. He shoved the sword into the snow bank next to him. Lifting the abused log up. Placing his hands on both sides of the gash, he with little struggle, tore the log in half with his hands.
   To say that it wasn't a little bit attractive, would have been a lie. Your cheeks were pink again. but luckily you could blame it on the cold nipping at your face. You watched as techno looked at the log, now in two parts at his feet. He made no sound of disproval, or really said anything. He simply took the sword from the bank and looked over at the Anvil. ‘surely he wouldn't hit the blade on the metal’ you thought. Oh, don't worry he would. He looked down to the blade, judging it breifly before glancing the anvil. You looked away, you couldn't watch. the blade was going to break as soon as it hit the anvil. It was evident on why no one was able to past the test. The test was a fucking nightmare. 
   The only sound you could hear was a harsh ring. He did it, oh shit he really did it. Phil from above you just whistled. “tha’s a mighty blade (y/n).” you spared a glance. in Techno’s hand was your sword. structurally intact. you let out a rather large, breathy laugh of relief.
   Techno didn't congratulate you, or make a remark on your blade. instead he removed a glove and pressed his thumb to the blade. He wanted to see if it was still sharp after the pure beating it just took. You watched, now unsure if this was all positive or negative. He hummed, he wanted to say he was surprised. but he wasn't. what you didn't understand, was that he was used to Netherite. He knew it took something almost godlike to break anything with that material.
    Although the sword was beat to hell, when he pressed his thumb against the blade and applied pressure, it was still sharp enough to draw blood. He put his thumb to his lips. The hard metallic taste of blood filled his mouth from the cut he received. his lips only twisting into a bemused smirk.
    "Your blade passes" he turned to face you. Wiping his bloody thumb on his black pants before offering his hand to you in a handshake. "You are the only one that somehow designed, dare I say it. The perfect blade."
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   After the event that occurred out on the field you were a giddy mess. You did it. You fallowed techno down the hall. He explained that since you did impress him, he was now wanting to open the table for a discussion and a possible contract. But first, he wanted to know how much knowledge you possess.
   He opened a large door that was detailed in gold. when you stepped in he fallowed. walking past you in a easy, lazy stride. You were in his office. the shelves were lined with books, many having titles about Mythology, histories of wars, war tactics, potion brewing, etc. The titles were endless. From the books alone you could assume he probably had knowledge on a plethora of subjects. The walls were high, the detailing never faltered however. Two Antarctica Empire flag's hung on the walls, framing the main desk. There were paintings, but unlike the one of the whole family you saw on your arrival. There was one of Phil and Techno, the mask painted on his face. The second painting was Tech and Wil. But similarly. The mask was present. Looking about a little more, there were also swords of all types on the walls. In the center of the celling there was a massive candle lit chandelier. A fireplace stood tall behind techno's desk. You only assumed the desk was placed there solely for the point of warmth.
   Technoblade took his seat at the rather large desk. His posture, was still perfect even when sitting. His hands were folded together. The rings still adorning his fingers. Everything he did, and wore just screamed elegance. "I will give you 3k for the blade. An additional 2k will be added for your trip" he said, his voice still straight.
   'Holy shit, 5k? That's far more than I thought' you were speechless. You could already imagine how the money would help. ‘Father could get the help he needed.’ ‘The farmer could build a new barn possibly’ The upgrades flowed through your mind. Hope and joy surged through your veins. "Thank you your Imperial Majesty..."
"You said you used Netherite, correct?" You nodded to him. The mask was facing you, he was quiet. But you assumed he was thinking. "Were did you find the Neitherite?" He leaned onto his desk, moving his folded hands to the desk top. Resting his head on his hands.
"A man in my village had it. It was pretty cheap to buy it off him" you thought back to the man. Trying to recall the conversation. "He uh.." you paused trying to remember it properly. "Oh- he said it was a great material when used properly. But he couldn't understand what he needed to achieve it." Techno stayed quiet a moment.
"So how did you come by the proper techniques?" He questioned. You thought back again. It was a off day when you discovered it really. You weren't trying to use it. It just fell into your pan.
"Well, I was trying to make a diamond sword for a sister village originally. But when my pan was over the fire heating, I had left the room. Not realizing the small chunk of Netherite I had on top of the mantle had somehow fallen in. When I came back I saw the discoloration of the metal, that wasn't normal so I pulled it from the fire. When it cooled I noticed it made a unusual harder substance, so from there I just started experimenting with it" he nodded and pondered what you said. He didn't linger on the subject for long however, Instead he changed it.
"I have a proposition for you. That is... if your interested of course" You looked to him. Showing he had your attention. He had mentioned something along the lines of a deal well you walked down the hall with him. "With your permission, I would like to hire you as the royal blacksmith." The skull never faced away from you. You swallowed thickly.
   "You mean... I would work here?" Your brows furrowed. "I don't live anywhere close to here..." he nodded his head, shrugging a bit.
   "I'm aware" he paused. "We would give you a room, Pay you weekly, you would have benefits. Access to the best quality material" he didn't rush all the information out. He simply just read the list from his mind. "The only thing in exchange, is for you to make my armor, weapons, and anyone else I deem fit for them." It was a basic comply. He wanted you to work for him. Have your craft explicitly his only.
   You shifted your weight as you stood. "Do I have to make a choice now?" You were hoping you didn't have to hurry this. you were already hesitant on bringing the sword down here, but now the idea of staying in this frozen tundra had you uncertain. Yes you would live in wealth, and possible glory. But, at the cost of being over a thousand miles away from your family. You also were still uncertain of the land itself.
   Techno shrugged a bit. "I mean, I'm in no particular hurry" he explained. Tilting his head to the side a tad. If you accept, you knew what it meant. Your devotion to a nation, to the royal family, to the Emperor. You really would be making a shot in the dark.
   "If I work here. Could I send the money elsewhere?" He watched you. You couldn't see his eyes, but you could feel them eating away at you.
   "We can arrange that." You watched him in turn. Trying to see if he had a underlying plan, or possible catch to add. "I mean, I am a lenient man" his hands unclasped. Opening his arms slightly to motion to himself.
   "R-right... of course" you nodded. Agreeing with him, not wishing to anger him. He pondered a moment before he stood from his chair. The chains, and pendants around his neck jingling slightly from his movement.
   "I look forward to hearing your answer"
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   About a week had gone by before you had your answer. During the said week you started to notice the family had a slight routine. Phil would come for you in the morning to walk you to the dining hall for breakfast. after that Wilbur would either roam to the music room, or to the library to do some of his studies. Techno was harder to pinpoint, sometimes he would leave to his office, be in the library, or other times he would walk towards the room with the planes. No matter what, Phil kept you in good company and made you fell welcomed.
   You choose to tell techno of your answer over dinner. Assuming it would be a decent time since that was when everyone was together. The dinner was casual. Since your stay was expanded, the boys would roam the hall’s in there casual wear instead of there more formal, business attire.
   “So I've thought on it..” Your voice broke through the peaceful silence. Techno and Phil lifted there heads to address you. Wil looked up at you as well, the noodles from the dinner slipping from his lips back into the soup bowl. “I’ll work for you... if you would still have me.”.
“of course we’ll have ya’” Phil said, his smile wide. “It’s been nice havin’ someone new and different around these halls” you smiled a little and nodded to him, looking over to Techno. 
“I do have two questions though...” techno gave a slight nod to you, motioning for you to continue. "If I choose to quit at any point. Could I?" Techno, hummed and nodded.
"Of course, that would only be right." a bit of weight was lifted from your shoulders knowing this wasn't a endless contract type of deal.
”My other question is a bit personal, but could I go back to my village to explain my new job to my parents? I don't feel right sending it through a letter.” You chewed your lip, hoping you weren't over stepping your bounds of what you could request.
Phil answered for Techno. “I don't see why not, me and Tech were discussing going on a trip anyway.” your eyes lit up, you would see your parents again. “You could tag along with us. of course we’ll be making trips other than Madagascar. techno was talking about visiting Russia, and France” you tilted your head a bit.
“why Russia? you already live on a ice cube” you said, humoring Phil, earning a chuckle.
“They have a few things Techno and I have been looking for” he said, continuing back on his dinner. You thought on it a moment and shrugged. nodding your head, you turned your attention back to your food. 
“when would you like to leave?” you asked, curious of when you should pack your bag again. Techno hummed a bit.
“We were thinking of leaving in two days time.” He set his fork down before looking up at you. “I wouldn't worry about packing, we will not be traveling in our typical attire. We plan to dress down” Techno said as he wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I'll have some simpler clothes sent to your room”
You were a little surprised. They planned to travel, but not in there imperial attire? That's what you assumed he meant at least. Either way you were excited. Not only would you be seeing your parents, but you also would be taken to Russia and France. Man if this was your new job, you could get used to this.
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@goldensunshineshit @snobunns @olyink @lolitsellieletsgobro
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newtonsheffield · 2 years
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MOLLY! Does good girls Anthony ever see Kate in traditional dress maybe for a holiday like Holi? Or maybe a party? Cause I think GG Anthony would be MESMERIZED?!
Oh Anthony is *obsessed* with this. He's obsessed. Like, LOOK AT MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND IS SHE NOT THE PRETTIEST!!!!
As always I am not an expert on South Asian culture (ya girl is white AF) and I do get nervous sometimes discussing Kate's culture because I am sensitive to the fact that I 1) may be accidentally insensitive which is never my intention and 2) May be perpetuating harmful stereotypes however inadvertently. So as always if I need correcting, hit me up!
May I also just say I spent 45 minutes staring at pictures for this. White People, why are we so bland at weddings?????My word. Anyway, here's Anthony, attending his first event for Kate's family.
Anthony was stressed. That was an understatement, actually. Anthony thought his stomach was going to shrivel up and die from nerves.
"Mum, are you sure I look okay?" He said for the millionth time, standing in front of the mirror, the grey suit stark against his skin.
His mother hummed, "You look very handsome, Anthony. I promise, Kate's going to like it."
Anthony sighed at her unhelpfulness, fiddling with the blue of his tie. "What if this isn't the right colour blue? And I look stupid! Or like... I don't know, what if she's decided she doesn't want me to come with her. Her grandma's gonna be there."
Panic had been rising steadily in his chest for weeks, ever since Kate had said, very casually,
"My cousin is getting married next month."
Anthony had smiled at the thought of it, "Cool, that'll be nice, You'll get to dress up pretty, and dance. You'll have to send me a picture."
Kate bit her lip, "Actually, you were invited... if you want to come, you obviously don't have to, but my grandmother wants to meet you, and um... I want you to come as well."
Anthony's mouth had fallen open in surprise, his heart pounding, unable to formulate a response to the fact she wanted him to be part of her family in a more intimate way.
"You don't have to dome. Forget I said anything." Kate said quickly, misreading his silence completely.
Anthony had shaken his head a little desperately, "If you want me to come. There's no way I'm not coming, Princess." And her smile had been so beautiful.
He'd asked her, specifically, what colour her dress would be, because he wanted to match and she'd smiled,
"It's blue and gold. You can wear either."
And it had suddenly occurred to him in a way it hadn't before. "This is a Hindu wedding."
Kate had looked a little bemused "Yeeesss." She'd drawn out the word as though it were obvious, and he supposed, yes it fucking was obvious.
But Anthony had panicked, "I don't really... know a lot about your culture, are you sure you want me to come? I don't want to embarrass you."
"Anthony do you want to come?" Kate's head was tilted curiously, a genuine question.
Anthony nodded, maybe a little too vehemently. "Yeah, I want to meet your family."
Kate smiled, kissing his cheek, "Then that's all you need to know. The rest I'll teach you."
So now here he was, standing in his bedroom with his Mum fussing around him, in the first suit he'd work since his father's funeral. And even more nervous.
"You think Kate is going to see that your tie doesn't match her clothes perfectly and ask you not to come?" His mother said a little exasperatedly.
Anthony scowled, "Well When you say it like that, it doesn't sound great."
"Exactly." His mother said marching from the room, "Come on now, or you're going to be late."
The whole way to the Sharmas Anthony thought he might vomit. Nerves nipping at his stomach even as he stood at the door, too afraid to knock. The door swung open anyway.
"Anthony sweetheart, what are you doing out here?" Mrs. Sharma had obviously spotted him, loitering on the curb.
"Oh um... I was tying my shoelace." She gave him an astute look, a little hum.
"Don't you look handsome? Kate's in the living room."
Anthony nodded, finally, bringing himself to look at her, and when he did he couldn't help but smile.
"Mrs. Sharma, you look amazing." Green and gold silk seemed to spin around Kate's step mum, cascading like a waterfall, Anthony suddenly felt very underdressed in his three piece suit as Mr Sharma walked down stairs, in green to match his wife.
“You’re very sweet, but wait until you see Katie.” Anthony had a sudden jolt. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d be in traditional dress, she hadn’t said, but he supposed it must have seemed obvious to her, and he’d been too stupid to ask.
“Anthony, you look very smart.”
“Thank you sir, I wasn’t um, sure… Kate said this would be okay?” He was resisting the urge to sprint from the room, suddenly desperate to get away before Kate’s entire family judged him wanting. The crown tattoo wrapped around his left forearm burning.
Mr Sharma clapped his hand on Anthony’s shoulder, wheeling him towards the living room. “You look great, Son. Be careful, all the Aunties will be trying to steal you for their girls.”
And then Anthony stopped dead, even as Kate’s father tried to tug him forward. Because the Kate that was standing in the living room, pinning some decoration into her sister’s hair was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, blue and gold silk and organza woven together in a skirt, that floated and swished in the air around her, her skin glowing golden in the light, a corset style top he doubted was strictly traditional tight against her, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. And his tie was the wrong fucking colour.
“You are so beautiful.” The words were out before he could stop them, causing Kate’s head to shoot up a slow smile stretching across her face.
“You don’t look so bad either.” Anthony felt a little smug, suddenly as she walked towards him, her lips brushing his cheek, but Anthony was still fixated on the fabric all around her. Even as he was bundled into the car, he couldn’t stop staring, barely even looked at the bride, barely looked at anything until he was tugged up to stand in front of a group of women that included Mrs. Sharma, Kate’s hand tight in his.
“Who is that handsome man, Katharine?” The oldest woman said narrowing her eyes at him.
Anthony felt his cheeks grow warm as Kate smiled, a Tamil word Anthony didn’t quite catch falling from her lips before “Aunties, this is Anthony.”
For a horrifying moment everyone stared at him, their eyes raking over him, Mrs Sharma smiling encouragingly.
“It’s lovely to meet you all, you all look so beautiful today.” God he sounded stupid, panic was rising in his chest, even as Kate’s hand gripped his tightly.
And one by one they all smiled, the oldest woman, Kate’s grandmother, patting his cheek. “Katie, what a polite boy, and so handsome. Now tell me young man, what are your plans for the future?”
“Kate rolled her eyes, “Anthony’s going to be a mechanic.”
Anthony nodded as her Grandmother nodded approvingly, “Not afraid of hard work either, excellent young man.”
Anthony relaxed ever so slightly.
“They like you too much already, Son.” Mr Sharma hummed as they watched Kate and Edwina twirling around the floor. “No getting out of it now.”
“I don’t think I’d ever want to Sir.” He couldn’t help himself.
Mr Sharma clapped him on the shoulder, “Good Lad, now, this is your queue.” And he pushed him out onto the dance floor next to Kate.
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mmvalentine · 3 years
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The Washing Machine | Jurdan
Canon complaint. Post QoN. Smut warning.
The next time we return to the mortal realm is for Oak's tenth birthday.
I do not much like leaving Elfhame these days; the mortal realm has never held especially fond memories for me. My family visits often enough, and Oak is now attending school in Faerie and returning to his parents in the holidays. Hadn't wanted to, of course, having been able to play such marvelous tricks on his mortal friends, but since he's part of the royal family Oriana insists he have an education amongst the Folk. Personally, I think it can't hurt for him to have to contend with other faerie children, either.
This year, Oak wants to have his birthday at Time Zone.
To my great surprise, Cardan declares it high time we took a break anyway, and thinks we should spend a week in the mortal realm. I can't help but be skeptical.
"The mortal realm?" I ask in disbelief. "You, Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Expense and Excess, wish to spend a week in the mortal realm?" "Sure," Cardan shrugs. "Don't worry so, wife of mine, I'm sure it'll be fun." I shake my head. "Alright you weirdo. This I've got to see."
And so next thing I know we're in the spare bedroom of Vivi and Heather's apartment. Cardan finds the whole experience fascinating for all of three days and then promptly gets very bored.
"Let's go home," he says, flopped over our bed on his stomach. "No," I reply curtly, not looking up from my book. I've got my feet up on Cardan's back, and having seen this coming a mile off, I'm not letting him bail out now.
"I've had enough now," he says. "You're the one who wanted to spend all week here," I point out. "I was wrong. I take it back. Let us depart." "We can't go yet, Oak's birthday is tonight."
"Fine," Cardan says through gritted teeth. "Let's go tomorrow." "Tomorrow is Heather and Vivi's engagement party." "Since when?" I turn the page. "Since Monday, they announced it when we got here, remember?" "No, I do not." "Would I lie to you?" I meet his eyes over the top of the book.
Cardan growls low in his chest, and his tail flicks back and forth through the air.
"Okay so what, we just sit around waiting?" he demands. I don't know why he's so antsy, I swear he spends most of his days lounging around on his behind. I snap the book shut and put it down on the night stand.
"I'm so glad you asked," I tell him brightly. "In actual fact, we have several chores to do today!" "What are you talking about?" Cardan says crossly. "Here there are no servants," I remind him, bopping his nose. Cardan is now irritable, and swats my hand. I ignore him. "We need to get groceries for the next few days, and go to the laundromat.
"What's a laundromat?" Cardan asks. "It's where we wash our clothes." "We have to wash our own clothes?" "For the thousandth time, yes we have to wash our own clothes."
Cardan opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again.
"Fine," he grumbles. "But if we're going to the shops I want ice cream." Of all the human foods he had tried so far, Cardan loves ice cream the most. Is an absolute sucker for ice cream.
"It's a deal," I say, sliding off the bed. "Now glamour up."
Cardan groans loudly, and rolls over onto his back.
"Now what you big baby?" I asked, exasperatedly. There really is no end to his complaining. "I'm sick of looking mortal," Cardan grumbles. "And just what exactly are you implying?"
Cardan looks at me upside down, his head hanging off the end of the bed. He reaches out and snags my waist, pulling me down next to him.
"On you it's beautiful," he says, nipping at my lower lip. "You have fewer sharp edges than faerie women." His eyes trail down to my chest. "You have more... more." He grazes his thumb under the curve of my left breast, and kisses the hollow at the base of my throat.
"Let's not go out at all," he says. "I can think of far better ways to beguile the time." His hands slide down my back, and for a moment I think we totally could just stay in here all day. But I also refuse to give in to him.
"Are you trying to use sex as an excuse to not have to be glamoured?" I accuse. Cardan makes a face.
"On me it just looks..." he gestures vaguely. "Bland."
"Too bad," I tell him. "We're going." Cardan harrumphs, and then a shimmer ripples through the air. His ears round down, his tail disappears, and the clawed tips of his fingers reduce to short, tidy nails. He keeps all the rings in his ears and on his fingers.
"I just don't want to go out like this," he says, pouting. I whack him with a pillow. "If I paint your nails, will you leave the house?" "Yes!" Cardan said, sitting up quickly. "Shiny black to match my eyes." He holds out his hands imperiously, and I bite his fingers savagely before rummaging through my bag for the nail polish.
Fifteen minutes later, we are walking down the street. I'm carrying a bag of laundry, and Cardan is blowing on his nails. He may not think much of mortal fashion, but I rather like him in his soft, black cotton t-shirt, and black jeans that hug his backside. He has kept his own boots, and he looks good. Not that I'm was going to tell him that, of course.
Our first stop is the laundromat to put our load on, then we continue on to the grocery store. I load Cardan up with a loaf of bread, bag of oranges, peanut butter to replace the one we've finished at Heather and Vivi's, a carton of eggs, a pint of milk and two packs of tampons to take back to Faerie. While I'm doing this, Cardan also grabs a bag of marshmallows, a box of froot loops, and a stack of flavoured condoms that I choose not to acknowledge at all.
When it comes to picking ice cream, Cardan spends a good ten minutes just going over all the flavours. He's transfixed by the multicoloured boxes and various promises of chocolate fudge and strawberry cheesecake utopia.
"One," I tell him firmly. "But there are so many I haven't tried yet!" he protests. "One." "You know we're not exactly short on funds, right?" "We're short on freezer space, and we're only here a couple more days. Pick."
Cardan takes on a pained look like I'm making him choose between children, and eventually selects a tub of rocky road.
We make our way home, and the laundry still has twenty minutes left on the timer. Cardan is eating ice cream out of the tub with a wooden stirrer he snagged from a coffee cart.
"Now that you've seen me do this one, you can do the next load, before we go home," I say to him. He feeds me ice cream.
"Why wash before we go home?" Cardan asks. "We've got people to do it for us there." He sucks on his makeshift spoon.
"Yes," I agree, plucking the whole tub from his hands. "But it's still a good thing for you to know how to do." Cardan reaches to take it back, but I yank it out of the way and continue eating. "You're a grown ass adult," I say. "You can't always have everyone do everything for you."
Cardan snarls.
"And stop growling and snarling at me, you're in the human realm now, act like it." I point the stirrer at him for emphasis.
Cardan raises his eyebrows.
"Do I detect a hint of vexation, my dear?" he asks. "You're awfully harsh with me today." It's true. Cardan in the human realm is like a little kid, needing constant supervision and cajoling. Not for the first time, I pity his servants at home.
"Because you're awfully annoying today," I say, putting the ice cream away. "You've been whingeing all day, consider me vexed." Cardan just grins, and it's infuriating. I hate the way he lights up when I'm annoyed at him, and it makes me all the more mad.
"Stop smiling at me like that," I snap. Cardan only grins wider, and then suddenly he's scooping me off the bench.
"What are you doing?" I yelp, as I'm lifted into the air. He sets me down on the washing machine, slides his hands behind my hair, and kisses me softly on the mouth.
"Still annoyed at me?" he asks against my lips. "Yes," I say. He kisses me again, and although I don't approve of this as a method of getting back on my good side, nor can I quite bring myself to push him away.
"How about now?" he whispers. "Kissing me doesn't make you less annoying." I try to sound stern.
Cardan smooths his hands down the outside of my legs, pulls them around his waist, and moves his lips under her ear. "Are you sure?" he purrs. Damn him.
He kisses along my jaw, lifts my hands to his shoulders, wraps his arms around my waist, and then licks at my tongue as he kisses me again. My mouth opens automatically for him, and despite myself, I shiver under his touch. It's always, always like this with Cardan and it'll be the death of me. When his mouth curves against mine, I know that he knows it.
"Seems to be working, to me," he murmurs.
"And that makes me hate it all the more," I say, a last stab at irritation before I give up, grab a hold of the front of his t-shirt, and pull him back to me. Cardan laughs as he kisses me, and the movement of it is echoed in the movement of the increasingly active washing machine he has sat me upon. I am suddenly very aware of the vicious vibration of it beneath my thighs.
"For fuck's sake," Cardan says, "this thing feels like it's about to take off. It's like video of the rocket thingy Oak showed me." "Shhh," I tell him, and drag his lips back to mine. I tighten my legs around his waist, as the whine of the machine gets higher. Cardan raises an eyebrow.
"I thought you were annoyed at me," he says. "I am," I reply, and then continue kissing him. His skin is delicious, and I want to taste more of him. I move my mouth down his neck. "It doesn't feel like... Oh. Oh." He pulls back.
"Jude. My love." A wicked gleam comes into his eye. "Are you rather enjoying this here washing machine?" "I don't know what you're talking about," I said steadily. But then the machine speeds up again, is shaking steadily under me and a shudder goes through my legs.
"How very delightful," Cardan says, and I want to slap him. He puts his lips to my ear. "Are you turned on right now, sweet nemesis?" he asks. "Do you want me, you angry little thing?"
"Shut up," I say, but then Cardan's hand is sliding up my thigh, slipping under my skirt and even though it's broad daylight and a public place, it's exactly what my body wants right now.
He licks his tongue up the column of my throat, and as he does the lights go down in the laundromat. Magic hums in the air, as the glass front frosts over and Cardan's glamour fades. His tail winds its way around my calf, and I hear the click of the lock in the door.
"Oh come now," he says. "Is that any way to talk to your husband?"
I opened my mouth with a retort on my tongue, but then Cardan is kissing me again and I forget it. He yanks me onto to the edge of the machine and before I know what I'm doing I'm reaching for the button on his jeans.
Cardan pushes my underwear to the side and sinks into me with the most delicious moan. Even thought he doesn't move for a minute, the rocking of the washing machine moves us enough that we are clutching at each other desperately and trying to get closer. Cardan hooks his elbows under my knees and my hands fall back to catch myself as he tilts me up toward him, and then he's fucking me right there in the laundromat.
The double sensation of Cardan moving inside me and the vibrations flooding through us both is almost too much. My moans turn to screams, but they are hidden by the clanging of the machine, and then Cardan's thumb is hovering over my clit and the pressure building in my abdomen is now threatening to surge up my throat and pour out my mouth.
With no warning, Cardan lands a stinging slap across my backside, where it is lifted off the machine. This last push, the flash of pain amidst my pleasure is what has me falling over the edge and I hit my climax hard, barely aware of Cardan falling right behind me.
We just stay there while the washing machine slows and beeps to tell us the laundry is done. Finally, Cardan speaks.
"You know," he says, "I think I like doing washing after all." I roll my eyes at him. "So what comes next?" he asks, and that's when I get my own wicked grin.
"The dryer," I say, and suddenly I, too, am excited by the prospect of more laundry.
****
I'm deep in my Jurdan feels, can you tell? If anyone is interested, I'll start a Jurdan taglist separate from my Feysand one. Let me know if you'd like to be on it.
For now, I'll just tag @asteria-of-mars because you got me into this mess and now you have to be subjected to my feelings...
JURDAN MASTERLIST (there's not much on it but may as well get into the habit)
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I have many thoughts on the weird phenomena in the DC fandom and the Batfam fandom specifically where probably the majority of people just straight up. haven’t interacted with the source material. and almost all of those thoughts can be summarized as ‘lmao that’s weird and mildly concerning’.
and because I’m annoying I will list them all here right now <3
1. To preface this post, I mean, obviously, comics are inaccessible as all hell, both in the disability kind of way and the ‘you need to understand the concept of hypertime to fully comprehend the DC timeline’ kind of way. Because of this, even if you don’t have a disability that prevents you from reading comics, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to look at the amount of comics you need to read to have even a base understanding of a character and go ‘no thanks <3′ and just enjoy fanart and fanfic in a vacuum. Ultimately, this is fandom, this is supposed to be fun, it doesn’t really matter.
2. That said, it’s VERY weird to me that the majority of this fandom just straight up hasn’t interacted with the source material, and moreover, that it’s considered rude to tell people that they should do so. It’s especially weird considering the amount of fanon-only fans I’ve seen who straight up have a superiority complex over canon. The idea that it’s gatekeeping to tell fans of something to actually interact with canon is just. so weird, and a fundamental misunderstanding of what ‘gatekeeping’ actually entails. 
3. But honestly I’m less interested in discussing the ways in which canon and fanon fans should interact with each other (personally, I think it would be helpful to create separate tags of some kind, but that’d require quite a big overhaul of the current fandom state) than in figuring out how this actually happened in the first place. On the one hand, it’s obvious; long-running superhero comics the way DC writes them have made themselves so thoroughly inaccessible that most people are simply too daunted to even try. Most media has a cohesive beginning and end (or at least, a planned end somewhere). Comics just... don’t.
But I do think it says something that, even among people who are clearly interested in the characters (since they have, you know, entire blogs about them), the effort to get into comics just seems to be too much to even bother. This really doesn’t bode well for the future of DC Comics. Obviously, I am no expert on anything at all ever, but I’d personally be surprised if DC survives beyond the few decades, at least in its current form/without a big overhaul.
4. But on the other hand, I don’t think the confusing state of DC Comics is the only thing to blame here. Fandom has a well-known problem with reducing any character down to archetypes to more easily ship and write fic/make content with. This problem is particularly prominent in fanfic, which, if you read enough of it, you’ll eventually start seeing not just the same tropes and trends, but essentially the same fics over and over again. And not just within the same fandom; everywhere, or every large fandom, at least. 
Fanon Batfam is entirely built on a bunch of those tropes; insecure/depressed sadboy Tim, team mom with optional hidden trauma/emotional problems Dick, bad boy with a heart of gold + sadboy combo Jason, abused sadboy Damian/angry easily-villified-for-fic-reasons monster Damian, good dad Bruce for found family fic and bad dad Bruce for angst fic, etc. This all culminates in a found family dynamic that’s generic and malleable to whatever fic the writer wants to write.
(This isn’t getting into the ship fic, which I avoid like the plague because the vast majority of it is incest, but I’d bet real actual money that the tropes in those fics fall under what is often preferred by the Migratory Slash Fandom.)
By having a decent excuse not to get into canon (the inaccessibility of comics) and a, by now, well-established fanon fandom, many fans feel free to use the batfam fandom as essentially an excuse to write whatever fic with reduced archetypes and tropes they personally feel the itch to write, without having to bother with even consuming a canon. This is compounded by the fact that canon itself is often contradictory and frankly bad, meaning that whatever interpretation of a character you want/need to go for your fic is at least theoretically backed up by canon (for example, you can just as easily cast Bruce as an abusive shithole dad who his kids need to get away from as a loving father figure who cares deeply for his children), which you can always use as a defense if people question your characterization.
5. This focus on fandom trends and tropes over actual creativity or care for the characters is also visible in the way bigotry manifests in this fandom; namely, in literally the exact way you’d expect. The female characters and characters of colour are shuffled to the side, non-existent, vilified, and/or reduced to harmful stereotypes. 
Barbara is probably the one I saw the most often in fanfic, but usually just as ‘Dick’s girlfriend’, and even then, she was often vilified for Dick angst (especially in fics about examining Dick’s trauma from his canon sexual assault; Kori also often gets the short end of the stick in those). After that, probably Stephanie, who fanon fans don’t really seem to know what to do with, so she’s basically just there as comic relief waffle girl, most of the time, though sometimes she can be used to either further Tim angst or further vilify Tim, whatever the fic calls for. Cass has gotten included more in batfam fics as of late, likely in response to critiques of fandom racism for leaving her out, but again, it’s clear people don’t actually know what to do with her. She’s often reduced to a racist stereotype of a quite, stoic therapist for whatever guy du jour needs it. That, or she’s in Hong Kong and just not there. Duke especially gets left in the dust in fandom, usually just being non-existent, but when he’s there, he’s almost always nothing more than the straight man for the actual fun characters to play off of. Talia probably has it the worst, though, and almost universally gets vilified by fanon stans in order to write sadboy Damian.
All of this is extremely predictable behaviour and falls entirely in line with general fandom misogyny and racism; ignoring or vilifying women and characters of colour, or using them as very minor characters at best. The only two characters of colour who aren’t regularly left out of fic are Dick and Damian, who are both also conveniently the two characters most often drawn and written in a whitewashed manner. In addition, there’s a real trend of demonizing Damian in fanon fics where he isn’t written as an abused sadboy, which I’d argue is in no small part due to fandom racism, considering Damian’s behaviour is in no way as bad as Jason’s, who doesn’t get anywhere close to the same demonization and gets woobiefied instead. I also find it convenient that Damian is probably the batboy who receives the most vilification in fic, when he’s the most obviously non-white of the batboys they’re willing to acknowledge.
Fandom often cries for more diversity in canon, only to ignore the diversity already there and focus on the same generic white guys. The batfam fandom is a brilliant example of this.
Which is not to say that fandom racism and misogyny isn’t present in the canon parts of the fandom (and canon itself); it absolutely 100% is. But I’ve found that canon fans are also more likely to like and care about at least one of the characters I’ve listed as ignored/vilified, and are willing to create and consume content for them, whereas fanon fans... aren’t, really. I’ve never seen a fan of fanon Cass the way I’ve seen fans of fanon Dick, for example. Obviously, this could just be by coincidence, or I’ve just surrounded myself with people like that, but it’s been a trend I noticed. Racism and misogyny is present in every part of this fandom and should be addressed as such, but I feel like it manifests the most blatantly in the fanon parts of this fandom. 
(I’d also recommend the articles Migratory Slash Fandom’s Focus and Beige Blank Slates, which expand more on the type of fandom racism I think is especially prominent in the batfam fandom, as well as literally every article in the What Fandom Racism Looks Like series.)
6. All this leads me to conclude that the majority of fanon fans don’t actually like the characters all that much; they’re convenient excuses for them to participate in fandom. Which I also think is, in no small part, a reason why so many of them react so negatively to being told to pick up a comic; they came to this fandom specifically to consume it as a fandom, because they wanted the fandom experience without having to consume a canon. 
This is not a phenomena unique to the batfam fandom (again, see the Migratory Slash Fandom), but it does fascinate me. While fandom is often said to be an experience focusing on transformative art, I think it’s also safe to say that, especially as fandom has become more mainstream, an increasing amount of people are looking to it less as a way to engage with their favourite pieces of media, and more as a type of media in and of itself. I think the reasons for this are similar to the reasons mass media entertainment like the MCU are so popular; you gain a lot of enjoyment out of it with very little risk involved. 
By consuming the same fics of the same characters (or the same archetypes) over and over again, you are rarely at risk of being challenged or even disappointed. It’s often very clear right from the start whether or not a fic will appeal to you, and if it isn’t, it’s easy to just look for another one. It requires less emotional investment than most other types of media, even ‘popcorn media’ like the MCU - or, yes, DC Comics. It’s safe, it’s enjoyable, it’s comforting, like McDonalds, but just like McDonalds, it’s ultimately bland and unsubstantial. 
7, TL;DR. Ultimately, I don’t think it’s like, wrong to enjoy the fanon version of the batfam without wanting to engage with canon, and I certainly don’t think it’s okay to harrass people over it. But I do think it’s in large part based on a desire to interact with fandom rather than other pieces of media because people are scared of being let down by those pieces of media (or worse, just uninterested in actually thinking), which is mildly concerning. 
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yoursecretmuse · 3 years
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My Perception On No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai
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🥀 This year has brought me many joys, that have left me with melancholy victories. I have been venturing out of my usual book genres and I've found a selection of well to do books that I simply cannot live without. How I've existed this far without them, I will never know. There are many different types of literature out there and of course I only focus on English and European Literature. Not because I'm bias  in some way. But I've always found American and European culture very interesting. Despite ignoring my very own culture. It had never occurred to me, that until now, I have never heard of Asian Literature. It's like an unknown phenomenon that no one speaks of. When I think back of my studies in school, I've never even heard of my teachers mentioning Asian writers at all. It was like they didn't exist or people found Asian culture not important enough to read about. Which is odd because in Asian countries they have liberties filled with European novel and American novels. Is it safe to say that Asian people find European and American culture interesting, though we do not share the same feelings toward them. Nevertheless, I stumbled upon Osamu Dazai after reading a mutual friends post about Vincent Van Gogh. It was a silly meme that consisted of Van Gogh and Osamu talking over their depression. Which is not something to joke about but I must confess I found it humorous. Through that humor, I decided to research Osamu and the rest is history. So, here is my thoughts on the exceptional book, No Longer Human. I want to give an in-depth review without giving the book away too much (if at all). But I must warn you that spoilers may become a possibility. No Longer Human is broken into three parts, including an introduction in the beginning by Donald Keene, as well as a Prologue & Epilogue by Osamu Dazai himself. So, to make things easier to understand, I'm going to review each part individually.
The Introduction Normally, I would skip this part of the book because at times it can be very boring and bland. But after reading The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johaan Wolfgang Von Goethe, I found it important to read book introductions because they can have valuable information about the writer. In this section, Donald Keene noted how under appreciated Asian writer are in literature. For some odd reason, American & Europeans cultures specifically seem to feel like we cannot learn anything from Asian culture. Perhaps it has something to do with our history with going to battle with certain Asian countries. Yet, that did not stop countries like Japan and China from filling their liberties with American & European literature. Which upsets me. Had it not been for Van Gogh, I would have missed out on an extremely talented writer. I'm not sure who is to blame for this but I find the idea of not representing Asian writers outside of manga is shameful and sad. There is more to their culture than just that. However, as a whole our world only views Asian people in a small and certain light, that barely gives them any kind of positive recognition outside of the obvious stereotypes. In short, I really urge everyone to take time and read the introduction and share your thoughts on Keene's and my views. What do you think and why is Asian literature so lost and underrepresented? Why do Asian writers rather be on the bottom of American top writing lists, than the top of Asian writer lists? It is very interesting.
🥀
The Prologue In this section, you learn of how Ōba Yōzō (aka Dazai himself) feels alienated and very much of a misfit. He tells you how all of his life he has worn a mask to hid his true sensitive and self destructive self. He harshly criticizes himself and informs you of how he feels about the nature of "humans" and how he never felt like one, thus making him believe that he is not. I like this part of the novel because I can relate to it in so many ways. Many things he explained and said is how I felt (and still very much feel) about myself. Not only of my appearance and state of being but also without people. We both share the same reflection on our confidence or lack there of as a child. I shared his thoughts on normality being ugly and being bland and not standing out is worse than being ugly or beautiful. He even goes on to explain that death has more of a soul or an expression than him. The ugly/void he felt as a child (as well as his whole life) has manifested into a visible void, that crept from his inner darkness and it carries a bland look. Which to me speaks volumes. 🥀
The First Notebook Unable to cope with the world around him, Ōba begins to become a jokester and class clown, in order to mask away the alienation that he feels. He engages in planned fails and acts as if he has no clue as to what he does. He tells us of his environment at home. His father always being gone on business and his mother he did not mention much. He speaks of his maids/servants mistreating him, but he never reported them because he sees it as pointless. We also learn he views a "human" as someone who is happy and hopeful. Perhaps, attractive in some way and could possibly have a great deal or comfortable amount of money. Which is strange because his family were quite wealthy and well known. He speaks of how he feels his life is a shame and the life of a "human" was not cut out for him. There is much more to be said here but I do not wish to spoil everything. I still want readers to get a wow factor from this book, without knowing every details and topic. 🥀
The Second Notebook A very key factor in this part is that Ōba is caught by another student named Takeichi who suspects and confronts him on faking his fall during "gym" class. This sends Ōba into a manic behavior and he somewhat becomes obsessed with Takeichi and fears that he will expose him for being a fraud. I found this interesting given Takeichi had no intention on exposing Ōba or telling anyone about his opinions on his stunts. Certain things happens and the two become somewhat of friends and Takeichi began to mention things to Ōba that were predicting and in a way life changing for Ōba. Ōba also finds an strong interest in art, which leads him to start painting. Ōba also becomes apart of a communist group and becomes a respectable member. Though, he does not share their same views and is only there because he views them as misfits. In this section, a young man now, Ōba meets someone by the name of Horiki. Horiki is also a college student but exposes Ōba into an unfortunate and dreadful life cycles, that pleasures and destroys him further. He also tries to commit suicide with a woman named Tsuneko, who dies but he does not. This even tears him apart and causes his family to the verge of disowning him. 🥀
The Third Notebook: Part One Ōba begans to have multiple affairs with different women, from different walks of life. He becomes a heavy drinker and is expelled from college. He becomes too focus on self destruction, he was not able to create or focus on his artwork. He tries to quite smoking and drinking. But struggles terribly. He marries a young girl, who tries to encourage him to stop drinking and for awhile it works. And for a moment Ōba is happy. The two both marry and move in together. 🥀
The Third Notebook: Part Two Working as a cartoon and sober, Ōba feels somber toward marriage life. He thinks of his wife as native and innocent. But he falls into bad habits once he is visited by an old friend named Horiki, who (with Ōba) witnesses Ōba's wife being sexually assaulted by an associate friend. Ōba begins to blame himself, as well as his wife and becomes manic and fills himself with alcohol and is committed into a mental hospital. After leaving his wife for another woman. This parts ends with him being brought to a home that his brother purchased for him and given the money he needed for living and personal interest. Ōba is left feeling empty and recounts his choices and views of hisself. 🥀
Epilogue We are then given the prospective of an outsider, who wanted to meet Ōba but fails. He then meets a friend of Ōba and she gives him the three notebooks. The man is intrigued by the notebooks and decides to publish them. We are left with a reflects of Ōba's friend telling us that he was a kind and gentle soul, who made everyone laugh and smile. 🥀
My Final Thoughts I believe this is one of the greatest books that I have read. I love the rawness of this book and I adore how the events were true. I feel that Osamu Dazai was a great writer and his death is very unfortunate. I find the way he told his life very interesting and beautiful and poetic. I wish I was able to meet him and praise him for being an amazing artist and writer. But the result would probably remain the same. There is so much that we can learn from Osamu and his life. His perception on life and people is very interesting and a very rare viewpoint on life. I highly suggest that everyone checkout this novel and spread the works of Asian Literature. Thanks For Listening. -𝓒
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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years
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Adore You (Yamato x Reader)
A/N: hi guys. Yamato is your secret admirer and you are desperate to find out who's been leaving all these gifts at your doorstep. Civilian reader. Will be two parts, and since i just found out i have the coronavirus and cant leave the house, i’ll be putting out the second part very soon.
Ps i headcanon that yamato would be very shy and awkward with his crush. i also think that when he is nervous he definitely has really sweaty hands. idk thats just the vibe i get from him lol. please enjoy.
Word count: 4500
Y/N walked down the street after a long day of working in the bakery, kneading dough and icing cakes and sweets. It was a great job, and she really enjoyed the company of the two elderly owners. In her arms was another small picnic basket filled with sourdoughs and garlic loaves and cinnamon raisin buns. Those leftovers served as her breakfast, lunch, and dinner most days and it saved a lot of money on groceries.
Sometimes, she gifted the bread to friends and family though, like tonight.
As she walked the bustling streets, people walking home from work for the night, she noticed a couple of familiar faces sitting in the windows of a nearby restaurant. Feeling a little social, she walked into the restaurant and turned the corner, walking through the tables and past other booths full of people talking and drinking. It was busy tonight in Konoha, everyone getting ready for the weekend.
She came to a stop beside their table, and shifted so her basket rested in the slight curve of her hip. With her free hand she waved to the men, a small smile gracing her lips.
“Kakashi, Yamato,” she chirped, “I saw you guys in the window on my way home from work and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”
“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” Kakashi hummed, peering over his glass of golden liquid at his friend, who he could tell was struggling to figure out what to say or do. Yamato wasn’t normally nervous; he was very cool headed. How else would he become such an important Anbu member? But around Y/N, this woman with flour dusted in her hair and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate on her clothes, he crumbled. Just that smell alone could make Yamato lose his composure. And Kakashi knew that very well. “As a matter of fact, we were just talking about you.”
Yamato coughed on his drink, covering his mouth with his arm to keep from spitting up on the table. Even if they were just talking about her, it was completely uncalled for for Kakashi to stab him in the back like that. He turned to face the young woman who looked down at him with curiosity in her eyes.
“Really? What about?” she questioned, raising a brow.
He averted his eyes to the table again where his hand rested clutching at the glass. “We were just discussing the bakery,” he explained sheepishly, a hand going to rub the back of his neck. He felt the stress coming on, and sweat was beginning to gather on his palms. He felt ill, and more importantly, upset with the friend sitting directly across from him, smirking under that damn mask.
What an evil bastard.
“Mind if I join you guys? I could definitely use a drink.” She motioned to the seat next to Yamato, and he scooted closer to the wall to make room for her. She made sure her basket was sealed and secure before reaching over the table to Kakashi. “Can you sit this next to you? I don’t wanna take up the whole table.”
“No problem.”
She slid into the seat beside Yamato, and he realized just how small their table really was. The chair was clearly made for one person, or maybe two small people. They were just inches away. He could literally feel the heat of her thigh beside his. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it. There was absolutely no reason to act or think this way just because of a woman, a little baker from the village. No reason. It was inappropriate.
He took a deep breath and sipped on his drink. Everything was cool. Y/N L/N was cool.
“What kind of goods are you bringing home tonight?” Yamato asked calmly.
“Uh, lets see. A sourdough loaf and a garlic rosemary loaf. Also, I have about eight cinnamon buns in there,” she listed off the top of her head, “Why? You wanna take some home with you, because that’s fine. I’m not gonna eat all of it.”
“No, not this time.”
“You, Kakashi?”
“Yeah, I’ll take whatever.” It was a free meal for the next day? How could he say no to that?
The waitress came around, and Y/N ordered a tall glass of some sweet drink, something she knew wouldn’t taste like shit but would get her all warm and cozy quick, fruit juice covering up the taste of poison. “So, what were you guys talking about before I came around? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“It’s good you came around, actually. We could use a woman’s opinion here.” Yamato glared at Kakashi, pleading with everything he had for the copy nin to just leave it alone. Kakashi was set in his goals though, and pushed forward with what he was saying. “It’s about Tenzo.”
An even brighter smile grew on her lips, one full of mischief and curiosity. “Oohoho? I see. What’s got you men stuck?” She loved to gossip, it was just something so interesting in her mundane life. Surely, it wasn’t as interesting to shinobi who almost die all the time and always have something to do, but for a village girl who goes home every night to read and eat bread, and then go to work where she just makes and sells said bread, a bit of juicy personal information really intrigued her.
“It’s honestly not a big deal-”
“Our boy here, he’s got a crush.”
Her eyes widened and suddenly, she felt the urge to down even more of her drink. He was interested in someone? She never expected that. He was always so quiet and calm, and kept to himself. He didn’t seem like the type to ever care about someone in that way. She sighed, taking a long sip on her drink, which tasted like peaches and oranges. At least it was sweet enough to help her curb the impending sadness.
Maybe she was stupid for it, but she cared for Yamato. He was such a sweet and kind man, so earnest and gentle. He was everything good about her mornings, when he would walk in and ask for the same hot cross bun to start his day. He would smile and compliment the cake decorating she was working on, and tell her about his missions and what he had to do for the day.
Perhaps Y/N had the tiniest of crushes on Yamato. It was something she would never reveal to anyone else, but it was true. She couldn’t deny herself that fact.
Kakashi stared at the woman, gauging her reaction to the statement. From the way she immediately went to sip away half of the drink in her glass, and the way her shoulders curled in on themselves, he could guess how she was feeling. He wasn’t usually a fan of meddling in other people’s business, but he was beginning to feel tired of Yamato complaining day in and day out about how he could never get the girl or express his feelings. He was afraid of rejection, as sad as that might be.
He was just there to give them a push in the right direction.
“I see.”
“What do you think he should do? What do the civilian girls like?”
This crush was just another civilian. It would be one thing if he fell in love with a kunoichi, someone she would never be able to compete with, but the thought of him choosing another normal woman over her, the envy practically oozed from her pores. What did this other girl have that Y/N didn’t?
Y/N ordered another drink when the waitress walked by. And then another after she drank the second one. Might as well get more down and drown out these jealous thoughts.
Meanwhile, she listed off things that random women normally like when men do for them, things she didn't really care about like chocolates and asking them out to dinner and giving them stuffed animals. Boring things. Things they all already knew. Kakashi agreed that the advice was kinda bland, and he could have come up with that easily.
Yamato eyed her down nervously as she practically chugged the rest of her drink. The woman wasn’t a big drinker, just a couple innocent cocktails here or there, never with the intention of getting drunk.
“You okay, Y/N?”
“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” she told him smoothly. “Anyway, I’m not done telling you all about us village girls.”
The third drink came by and she sighed, taking another long sip. At least it tasted good, that made it easy to drink and drink and drink.
“Maybe you should slow down.”
“Maybe you should worry about yourself. I’m grown. I can handle myself, Yamato.” He felt a pang in his chest at her sharp words, ones that he’d never really heard directed toward him. She scolded Kakashi on the daily for being a pervert, but only kind words met Yamato’s ears previously. “Anyway, about this girl. Have you tried getting her anything as a gift? The things I listed before? Love notes? That sorta thing?”
He shook his head. “Well, no. I haven’t tried anything yet.”
“That’s the thing about you, Tenzo. You’re so modest. If you want the girl, you need to go in and get her. You need to show her what she means to you, since you can’t bring yourself to just outright tell her.”
“The whole bold displays of affection aren’t my thing.”
She hummed, her head lolling from side to side as she twirled the straw of her drink in between her fingers. “Maybe you should try some roundabout approach since you’re so scared of rejection. Send her anonymous letters and gifts, give her little clues that it’s you and see how she reacts.”
“Like a secret admirer?"
“Exactly! That’s sooo romantic. I wish some guy would do that shit for me.”
Kakashi raised a brow. “Oh, really?”
“Of course. I’m almost 27 and I’ve never had a long lasting relationship. I just want some guy to really, I don’t know, just love me. Love who I am, not hook up with me for my body or-or only pretend to like me for coupons on bread,” she complained, quite loudly as well. “Fuck those guys and their bread discounts...”
“Y/N-”
“I’d suggest you do something like that for your crush. Make her feel like you really care about her mind and soul.” Y/N clutched her hand over her heart and squeezed the front of her dress. “So many men nowadays act like horny teenagers, and us ladies are sick of it.”
She really did not need to go into such detail, and Yamato could tell she was drinking too much. Y/N would never say these things aloud if she were completely in her right mind. He felt rude just sitting there letting her rant on and on, exposing her own feelings to the table. But at the same time, he was grateful to know what she wanted in a lover. She never really let on what her romantic life was like, other than single for the most part.
That is what he and Kakashi were discussing before she came around. He was desperate to sweep her off her feet and woo her, to make revealing his feelings easier. Kakashi told him to just go to the bakery and tell her right then and there, but that was just too bold. He wasn’t going to go in without a plan, it was irrational.
“Yamato, I’m telling you, if this woman rejects you, she’s fucking stupid. You’re a catch. You and Kashi over there, both of you could get any woman you want, and that’s a fact.” the woman waved her hand to emphasize her point, only to knock the rest of her fourth drink over into her lap, sticky syrup soaking into her apron and through to her skirt. “Oh man.”
“I think it’s time for you to head home, little miss Y/N,” Kakashi chimed in, “This is exactly why we don’t bring you to bars, you know.”
“Shush. I am fine.”
Yamato sighed, motioning with his hands for her to move to the edge of the seat. He rolled his eyes at her words, knowing she was talking out the ass. “Yeah, yeah. Just get up, Y/N. I’m taking you home.”
Both men were surprised when she lifted her hand and pushed him away from her. Her glare was intense, anger behind those eyes. “No! Not you. I want Kakashi to walk me home.” The man was taken aback by the harshness in her tone. She was normally calm tempered, but her head was spinning and she was obviously growing moody.
“That’s fine by me. Yamato, you’ll pick up the bill for us and uh, clean this mess, right?” Kakashi smirked as he slid out from the booth and picked up her bag of baked goods. She followed suit, climbing out of her seat and grabbing onto the shinobi’s arm tightly. He really couldn’t care any less about her nonsense. It had been so long since they became friends, he’d seen her in every mood imaginable, and much drunker than this. He’s walked her home more than a few times in their past years.
“Curse you, cheap-ass.”
“Gotta go.”
With that, the white haired man walked out the restaurant with a woman in tow. They lived in the same direction, so he started down the street as she stumbled after him, tripping occasionally on pebbles. He felt bad for his friend, really. But the answer was clear as day now. Y/N cared for Yamato a lot more than she let on. It was just up to one of them to make a move. He couldn't do everything for them.
She tripped along beside him, letting her head fall against his shoulder a few times. Her eyes slid up to the man’s masked face, and he felt her hands begin to quiver a bit around his arm, just a tiny bit, but it was still there. Those little, very-telling, tremors.
“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked gently, knowing she would immediately spill whatever was stuck on her mind.
“Kashi, why does Tenzo want some other village girl?” she questioned, her cheeks puffing out and her eyes getting watery with tears. “Why doesn’t he want me? I want him so badly, it hurts right here.” she placed her free hand over her stomach and gagged. “I might throw up, it hurts so much.”
“Trust me, it’s gonna be okay,” he hushed, a tiny smile on his lips. He didn’t want to reveal too much to her, but it was just so amusing pulling the strings like this. Two of his friends, one a subordinate and the other a sneaky baker, falling for each other right in front of him. With all the work piling up, this was definitely a refreshing take.
“Also, you shouldn't throw up. It'll burn your throat, you know.”
She nodded, and just clutched onto her stomach as they made their way down the narrow alleyways toward her small apartment. He unlocked the door for her when she struggled to fit the key into the tiny hole that blurred together with everything else. He was a good friend, she thought, and made a mental note to thank him next time she saw him. Well, she tried to make a mental note, but when her body hit the mattress in the corner of her small studio, she found herself drifting away.
__________
God, her head hurt so badly she thought her skull was cracking open right then and there, as she lifted her head from her pillow. Light shined in through the window only to make things worse than before. She looked around the room and noticed that her coat was hung up properly on the hook and her shoes were sitting by the door. Her basket rested atop her counter.
Most importantly, on her nightstand sat a glass of water and a couple pills, ready for her to take the moment she woke up. Kakashi or Yamato must have walked her home and put her to bed. They were very nice men, she enjoyed having them as friends, she just worried she had made a drunken fool of herself last night in front of them. She rarely drank heavily, for that reason. She couldn’t even remember what happened, just that she met them at the restaurant and then the rest fell empty in her mind, little images blending together until she couldn’t decipher a thing that happened. She was more than ashamed.
How could she lose control of herself so casually, she wondered. She never even wanted to drink, much less enough to give her this searing headache. Something must have happened last night that influenced her decisions. Maybe she had a drinking contest with Kakashi like that one time before. If so, that was completely uncalled for on the man’s part. He knew her tolerance.
Nevertheless, she needed to get ready for work. A hangover wasn’t enough to heed the workings of the bakery.
She took the pills, and threw off her covers, walking over to her counter to take out one of the cinnamon rolls, taking a big bite to curb her hunger pains. After taking a moment to compose herself, she got ready for work. If she was late, she knew the owners would be forgiving, but she still felt bad regardless. She was going to walk in looking like a complete disaster.
As she headed out her door that morning, she stumbled on something sitting right at the foot of her doorstep on the welcome mat. Resting there, in a tiny little ceramic pot, stood a bonsai tree, trimmed and cared for perfectly. Her eyes scanned the area for who could have set it there, but met only empty space.
Hesitantly, she picked it up and brought it into her home. There was no note attached, nothing to signal who’d given it to her. Just a little tree that she would put on her window sill. It was strange, she had to admit that, to receive an anonymous gift at such an hour. She’d have to ask her friends about it later on to see if one of them had given it to her, for reasons she didn’t know.
But as the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, she continued to receive gifts every few days. More tiny trees in pots, sometimes flowers in little glass vases. None of them at first had anything attached until the most recent piece which when she picked it up to take into her home, a folded piece of paper sat beneath the vase. She made sure to pick it and put it in her apron to read on her break when she went to work. She didn’t have the time when she woke up only about 20 minutes before she was due at her job.
She was more than grateful for the little garden she was accumulating on her window sill, the beautiful flowers and trees somehow surviving despite her little knowledge of taking care of them. She stopped by a flower store in town to get some fertilizer just to keep them alive. It would be a shame if they died since someone was being so kind as to give them to her.
With her boring life, the flowers brought a smile to her face and a warmth in her heart that she hadn’t felt before. Regardless of who was leaving the items there, she felt like she was important to someone. Some person was taking time out of their day to show they cared about her.
Truthfully, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished it was Yamato leaving her gifts. She’d been attracted to the man for quite some time, ever since they met really. He was just so strong and brave, and awkward in a cute kind of way. He was truly the only man of her affections, and she could only dream she was the object of his as well.
It was more than unlikely though. He was a strong ninja of the leaf. The chances of someone that amazing wanting to be with someone as simple as the town baker were lower than she wanted to admit. He most likely had his eyes set on some gorgeous kunoichi like Shizune or Kurenai. Someone he could relate to, really.
It was embarrassing to even admit she had a crush on him. It made her feel so tiny and weak, knowing that she wasn’t his ideal.
So she pushed that thought from her mind. Yamato would never be interested in her, and he most certainly not the one leaving her little notes and plants.
What she did know was that this person was a shinobi. Maybe not Yamato, but they were definitely a shinobi. She set up a trap, at least one she thought a normal person would fall for. Right before her door, she set up a tiny trip wire made of floss at the perfect level for someone to pull loose when they walked up to leave a gift on her welcome mat. Her room was at the very end of the hallway, so there was no way anyone else except her secret admirer was the one to set off the trap. Any normal person without the high perception of a shinobi would set off the trap and she would be able to narrow down the results to a civilian.
Only, the morning after she set up the trip wire, when she opened her door, there sat another bouquet of flowers, as well as an untripped strip of floss.
This person had to be a shinobi. She concluded. It was the only explanation in her mind, desperate to find out who the mystery person was all this time.
As she walked the streets that afternoon after the store had closed, her eyes honed in on Yamato, who stood next to a vegetable stand picking up some groceries. Immediately, she turned on her heel and cornered him between the squash and the sweet potatoes.
“Yamato, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Do you mind?” she practically demanded, and his eyes widened. He did not expect such an abrupt conversation between them. He shifted awkwardly to rest his grocery bag in the crook of his elbow and lean on his left side, arms crossed over his chest.
He knew what she wanted to talk about. It was about those gifts that he had been giving her. It was just a matter of whether she had figured out it was him or not, that was the question. He was kinda hoping she didn’t know yet. He was not ready to face what came after the reveal, rejection or otherwise. He really hadn’t thought it that far out yet. How could he. Just thinking up love notes and what plants to give her next was more than enough to worry about.
But damn, when he looked down at her, hair dusted with flour from a days work, a smudge of cake batter still on her forearm, apron a complete mess, he wanted to cave and tell her everything. She was just so beautiful, so clumsily perfect he couldn’t help but lose his train of thought. He swore he’d never seen a woman more perfect than her, not even Naruto’s sexy jutsu could come close to this girl.
He found his ears heating up and no doubt turning red at the thoughts running through his mind, and he was quick to smother them down. He was not irrationally emotional. Hell, he was ANBU, he should be able to control his emotions down to a tee.
“Yes, Y/N?”
“I have a secret admirer, and I know they are a shinobi.”
He felt himself growing nervous. How had she deduced that? “Ah, that’s definitely exciting for you. How do you know it’s a shinobi?”
“I know because I set up a tripwire last night and the person didn’t set it off, so I know they are coordinated enough to avoid it. This isn’t just some random village boy. This is someone skilled.”
“Y/N, he could have very well just avoided the trap with his natural gait, don’t you think?” he tried to reason with her, try to get her off his trail. Admittedly, he thought she was quite clever for setting up the trap. When he walked over it the night before, he swore it was just a spider web. He didn’t even consider the possibility of a trap in his way.
If only he could throw her off his scent. He needed more time. He couldn’t confess to her now. It was too abrupt, too sudden. He would probably die.
“No, I’m convinced it’s a shinobi.”
Shit. “Well, what are you going to do now?”
She thought for a short moment on what she was going to say, tapping her foot on the ground beside her. Her eyes widened and she smiled at the thought that ran through her mind. Of course, it was so obvious. “The gifts come sporadically, so I know that the shinobi can’t leave gifts when they are on missions. Next time there is a long break in gifts, I will just ask around to figure out who has been on a mission for a while. Bam, I’ve got my answer. It’s foolproof.”
She really had thought this through more than him. She was too good, and he felt himself panicking. He had a weeklong mission in 3 days, and if she asked anyone, they would tell her it was him. He felt moisture gather up at his brow, and he internally cursed his situation. He had to find some way out of this mess without her figuring out it was him.
“Yeah, that could definitely work. I hope it all works out for you, Y/N,” he lied through his teeth.
“I know. I’m just smart like that, aren’t I?”
“You sure are,” he muttered, but honestly, he just wanted to go off and find Kakashi. He needed to talk to him. His eyes slid away from Y/N and he sighed. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah, of course. Don’t forget to stop by before your next mission to get some of our special food pills, okay? I just made a new batch and you can try them free of charge. Anything for a fella as handsome as yourself.” She laughed, shifting her weight to press a hand to her hip.
Jeez. There was no good reason for her looking so adorable. Calling him handsome as well? It was all too much for his heart to handle. Needless to say, he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t walk away right then. With that, he simply nodded before patting her shoulder. “Like I said, gotta go.”
“Oh, okay. See you around.”
“See you.”
He walked away quickly, heading in the direction of Kakashi’s apartment, knowing he just had to do something about the mess he was currently in, and ways to avoid the inevitable. His heart was racing so fast he thought he might be having a heart attack. How could he be swayed so easily by a pretty face. He had no idea, but he really wanted it to stop. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to learn to be calm around her.
He would tell her soon, get all this off his chest and share his true feelings. He just needed a bit more time.
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write-r-die · 3 years
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Prisoner - Part 13
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February, 1067
Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Lady Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.
Masterlist
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Thomasin was horribly ill in the morning due to the combination of her courses, sleeplessness, and anxiety. Etheldreda summoned Elaine without needing to be asked. 
“Are you often like this in the early days of your time?” Etheldreda asked when she was sure Thomasin was, for the moment, finished vomiting in a bucket.
“Not often, thank God,” Thomasin croaked. 
There was a knock at the door. A moment later, a very small Elaine came rushing in. 
“Mercia is with me,” Elaine said, following after her miniature. “I hope you don’t mind.”
The little girl looked very much like her mother. Her curly blonde hair was light but still a shade or two darker than Elaine’s straight, pale tresses.
Thomasin did mind but she wasn’t in a place to object.
Elaine removed her satchel and unpacked its contents: around a dozen small jars filled with herbs and flowers. She set a small cauldron of water over the hearth to heat while she muddled peppermint, ginger, and herbs Thomasin did not recognize into a goblet.
The child parked herself beside Thomasin’s bed. “This my doll,” the child said proudly. “Her name Batty.”
“She’s very pretty,” Thomasin said. “Did your mother make her for you?”
“No. It’s present.”
“A gesture of good will from the queen,” Elaine said from the hearth. “It used to belong to one of her daughters.”
“I make her dress. See?” She shoved the poppet straight into Thomasin’s face so she could get a good look at its wrapping. 
“Very pretty,” Thomasin said, carefully pushing it away. It had an odd smell to it. Lavender, Thomasin thought, and perhaps milfoil.
Elaine finished ladling hot water into the goblet of herbs and brought it to Thomasin. “You must wait a little before drinking this.”
“How long?”
“Until the water turns brown.”
Thomasin frowned. “Lovely.”
“You sick?” The child climbed onto the bed beside Thomasin. Thank God Etheldreda had already changed the bedding.
“A little.”
Mercia leaned forward like she was sharing a secret. “Is it lady sickness?”
“Mercia,” Elaine called. “Stop bothering Lady Thomasin. She has to drink her potion and prepare for the day.” She gestured at Thomasin to start drinking. 
The hot, murky water smelled and tasted considerably better than Thomasin had anticipated, but she would never admit that. She made a face as she drained the cup.
Mercia took the liberty of scooching closer to Thomasin and crossed her little legs. “You got castle?” Mercia asked.
Thomasin looked to Elaine, silently willing the woman to shut her daughter up, but she was back to meddling with her herbs by the fire. “Not anymore.”
“I not have castle,” Mercia said comfortingly. “You have horses?”
“My family had some, yes.” She was without a horse of her own since her mare’s death the year before.
“Not anymore?”
“Not anymore,” Thomasin confirmed.
“I not have horse. You got –”
“Etheldreda, I think perhaps I might bathe. Could you send for a tub? The hot water unknots my muscles.” Thomasin was planning a veritable monologue – as long as she was talking, the child was not – but Mercia had already lost interest in Thomasin.
She crouched beside her mother by the fireplace and plucked dried leaves and flowers from Elaine’s many jars which she then ate.
“A note, milady,” Etheldreda said. She handed the paper over to Thomasin. Thomasin tore it open, expecting something from Henry. It was not. “Are you still ill, Lady Thomasin?” Etheldreda asked.
“It’s from Lawrence,” Thomasin said. All three women fell silent; Mercia tugged at her mother’s hand in a soundless demand for protection and an explanation. “Perhaps I am still unwell.” Thomasin settled back into the pillows.
“What does it say?” Elaine asked.
“He would like to walk with me in the gardens.”
“In Heaven’s name, why?” asked Etheldreda.
“I’m supposed to marry him.”
Mercia wasn’t totally sure what was happening, but the toddler knew how to distract everyone from their problems. Something she heard from Henry and Simon when she caught them by surprise once.
 “Goddamn it!”
*
Thomasin shouldn’t be surprised that Lawrence expected to spend time with her, since they were, after all, engaged.
She supposed she should be pleased in some way. Or that she would be pleased if she were really going to marry him. He was handsome – or would be, if he weren’t directly compared to Henry. He was long-limbed and slim, a combination which made him look foxlike and sly. He was about Henry’s age, which put him somewhere in his early thirties, at least ten years older than Thomasin if not more.
It was a small age gap by most standards; most women wed by sixteen to men at least twice their age, often far more. Justina’s husband was nineteen or twenty years her senior.
As for Lawrence’s personality . . . 
Thomasin originally imagined Lawrence to be the sort of man who took joy in chaos and death. Instead, he was reportedly the sort not to find joy in anything at all. According to Elaine, he wasn’t the angry type either. Indeed, he seemed rather disinterested in general. 
The snow had started to melt, so Lawrence suggested a walk through the garden. They had no chaperone, but there were at least a dozen others walking along the paths. Etheldreda had altered Thomasin’s borrowed clothes so thankfully she didn’t get mud on the hem of her skirts.
The conversation was bland, to say the least, until Thomasin grew tired of being polite.
“I’ve heard the stories about you,” Thomasin finally said. “How you killed that baron’s wife and daughters. How you let your men rape the servants.”
Lawrence took a deep breath and shut his eyes, summoning his every ounce of patience. “My lady, that is what soldiers do in war. The reason most of these men came from Normandy in the first place was to enjoy the spoils of war. More often than not, those spoils are women.” He took another deep breath and went on walking. “I tell you truthfully, I’ve never had a girl against her will. That’s more than I can say for most of these other barons.”
“Indeed,” Thomasin said again.
“Does it surprise you to hear that most of the men here at court have raped defeated women?”
“No.” Thomasin wasn’t a fool, but she didn’t like thinking about that sort of thing. “But not all of them. Henry and his brothers haven’t. Roger hasn’t.”
Lawrence snorted. “Roger’s perversion sways him from women to men, and the Cavills are an anomaly.” 
Thomasin had no idea what the first part meant but she agreed with the second. 
“Henry cares for you deeply,” he said after a moment, tone perfectly conversational. “Tis a pity, that. His family are the most honorable men in Normandy if not the world, but I fear he’s a fool.”
“Why are we speaking of Henry?”
Lawrence stopped walking and raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”
Thomasin straightened up. “All right. What’s your point, then?”
“I’m sure the two of you will cook up some plot to overthrow me so that Henry can take my place as your intended. Frankly, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Thomasin made a face which she couldn’t hide. “Then why not just release me and let me marry him?” Her words dripped with judgment at his stupidity
“The king gave you to me, not him. He would be insulted if I gave you up for no reason. Besides, you are the sort that I want.”
“The sort,” she repeated. 
“You are beautiful, self-possessed, intelligent, strong. And you speak your mind, which i think saves a great deal of time.” He shrugged. “It’s a sound match.”
Had he just complimented her? The words were kind but his tone was so detached it felt more like an insult. 
Thomasin had the thought that maybe she should hold her tongue. Maybe she shouldn’t say what she wanted to. But she did “How sound was your last match?”
His ears went so red that Thomasin thought they might burst.
“There you are!” Elaine said, feigning relief. She conveniently appeared from a bend in the garden path. “I was looking for you.” She folded Thomasin’s arm into her own. “We must get you back to bed or I fear your promenade will be spoiled with sick. Do you mind terribly, Baron, if I take Lady Thomasin back to her chambers for some much-needed rest?”
“By all means,” he said - in a similarly sarcastic tone to the one Thomasin often used. “I’m due to visit your Saxon brethren in their dungeon anyway. I’ll be sure to give them your best.” He smiled and bowed. “Ladies.”
The women curtseyed and muttered farewells.
“Did you hear him?” Thomasin hissed when he was out of earshot. “He mentioned the Saxons.”
“I heard him,” Elaine said tersely. 
“Shouldn’t they have been executed by now?” asked Thomasin.
“One of the men told me that William is reluctant. They’re fine warriors, supposedly. The king would rather have their loyalty than their heads.”
Thomasin sighed. “Little chance of that.”
**
Henry was among the best warriors under William’s command. He was without a doubt a finer warrior than Lawrence, but he was still vulnerable because he adhered to a code of honor that Lawrence did not. Lawrence’s ruthlessness and detachment made him highly effective, though, and Henry would not make the mistake of underestimating him. 
There was a large stone courtyard between the castle itself and the wall William was building around it to make it into another bailey. Henry joined Roger, Charlie, and most of their men to train. Knights were expected to keep their skills sharp and were therefore expected to practice their skills, so it wasn’t strange for him to be there. No one suspected he was training for a duel, or if they did, they were quiet about it. 
Henry was barely out of the castle before a little voice called his name,
“Henry!” 
He turned around just in time to see Mercia, Elaine’s daughter, crash into his solid legs. He barely had time to maneuver so that she wouldn’t run smack into his scabbard.
“Ah, Mercia!” he said brightly, hoisting the girl into his arms. “You must be careful running. You could’ve gone straight into my sword and be chopped in half!”
“I careful,” she said. “I not cut in half. See?” She opened her arms as if to show him she was whole.
“And what about Batty?” Henry asked, nodding to the doll in her hand. “Is she as careful as you are?”
“Batty not a person, Henry. She not need be careful.”
“Ah, of course! That’s why she won’t talk to me!”
In fact, Batty didn’t interact with Henry because of an unfortunate incident in which Kal thought the poppet belonged to him and nearly tore it to shreds. Mercia had yet to forgive the dog. Her mother repaired the doll as best as she could, though it still bore the marks of its ordeal. Elaine was clever enough to replace some of the lost stuffing with the same herbs she used to treat people with similar wounds. It was Simon’s idea to add lavender to it to help the child relax.
“Where Simon?” Mercia asked.
Simon was Mercia’s dearest companion and she was his. He often referred to the girl as his own small angel, and sometimes asked her where her wings had gone.
Henry would’ve gladly been her playmate, ready for a footrace or a game at a moment’s notice, if his older brother had not asserted himself in that role. Simon’s special relationship with her daughter kindled Elaine’s affections for him until they mirrored his own admiration and tenderness for the healer. 
Simon, like Henry, longed for the joy and companionship of a wife and family, though his desire was even greater than his brother’s.
Charlie, too, wanted a family of his own, but he would not admit such a thing aloud. He could be prickly and cold to those he disliked while charming, funny, and kind to those he did. He often made up his mind about people quite quickly, and once his opinion was formed it was difficult to change. Such was the case with Thomasin.
“Simon is still in the north, at the castle I told you about,” Henry said to the little girl. “I know he would rather be here playing with you.”
“He coming back?” 
“Soon.”
She frowned. “I miss him. He my friend.”
“Am I not your friend, too?” Henry said with false sadness.
“Yeah, you my friend but you not best friend like Simon.”
Henry sighed theatrically. “I suppose I understand.” He looked around but there was no sign of Elaine, only a handful of serving women pinning wet clothes on a line. “Where’s your mother?”
“She with Lady Thomasin.”
Henry broke into a smile at the sound of her name. He always did. “You’ve met Tom?”
The child frowned again. “Who Tom?”
“It’s a name I call Thomasin.”
“Tom is name for boys. Thomasin not a boy,” she explained patiently.
“Of course, of course. Please forgive me.”
“I forgive,” she said, patting his shoulder.
Henry chuckled. “Is your mother friends with Tom? Thomasin,” he corrected.
“Yeah but they not play today. Thomasin not feel good.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
Mercia motioned for Henry to bring his ear closer so she could whisper to him. “Lady sickness.” She pulled away. “Mama say not to talk about it cause it a secret. Cannot tell!”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Henry promised. He was quietly relieved to hear it was nothing serious, but he frowned over it. Was she really sick, he wondered, or had her engagement to Lawrence prompted her to withdraw from court life?
“Thomasin pretty,” Mercia said.
“Very pretty,” Henry agreed.
“I like her hair.” The little girl started wiggling, a silent signal for Henry to set her down. “She sad though cause she gotta marry Lawrence. Lawrence really scary. And it a bad thing so I say, ‘Goddamn it!’” She shouted the curse; a female servant nearby looked shocked and horrified at the sound.
“Shh!” Henry said, putting his finger to his lips. “Who said that in front of you? Where did you hear it?”
“You say it. When Kal sneaked up on you and barked. You jump and you say, ‘Goddamn it!’”
“Shh!” Henry said again. “You mustn’t say that.”
“Cause why?”
Henry didn’t have a good reason handy. “Ask Simon when he gets back.”
“Why you not tell me?” she asked, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.
“Because I’m not your best friend.”
Henry went for two rounds with Roger, winning both. He then sparred with his squire, since it was his responsibility to train the boy, but he lacked the patience for it today. “Practice your footwork before next time, Jamie. It’s too easy to knock you on your arse.”
“We have an audience,” Roger murmured, nodding to a small, barred window at the base of the castle that looked in on the dungeon. A red-bearded face was just visible through the iron grate. One of the Saxon prisoners, no doubt.
“Can I be of service, sir?” Roger called out. He was courteous by nature, but he became excessively so when speaking to a handsome man – even if that man was in chains.
“Are you preparing for a fight?” the man asked. 
Henry opened his mouth to tell the Saxon that it was none of his business, but Roger answered instead. “Aye.”
“What are you fighting over?”
“What do you care?” Henry said. The Saxon shrugged. “A woman,” Henry finally said.
The Saxon didn’t approve. “One woman is just as good as another. It is no great tragedy to lose one to another man. Certainly not worth dying over.”
Henry though the Saxon must not have known many women in his life if he thought they were all interchangeable. But fair number of men, Saxon and Norman alike, shared his sentiment: So long as she ran the household and gave birth to sons, a woman was a woman, and her personality was of little consequence.
“I disagree,” said Henry. 
“Then she must be the kindest, most loving woman in all of Christendom if you’re willing to die for her,” the Saxon remarked.
Roger smirked. He spoke low enough that only Henry could hear when he said, “She most certainly is not.” Henry shot him a look which he pretended not to say. “What’s your name, Saxon?”
The Saxon sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes in thought but did not reply.
“I’m Baron Roger,” Roger said. “This is Henry, my brother-by-law. And you are?” he prompted when the Saxon didn’t respond.
The Saxon replied, “Cerdic.”
**
One of the squires came around with a note from Henry when Thomasin was readying for dinner. It told Thomasin to come to the servant’s corridor at once. She hurried to finish preparing and went straight to the meeting spot.
“Henry?” she whispered, tiptoeing through the silent hall.
“No.”
Thomasin’s hand flew to her chest in surprise; her fist closed around Henry’s ring. “Charlie,” she gasped. She took a deep breath. “You nearly frightened the life out of me.”
Charlie did not look even the least bit contrite. In fact, he looked murderous. “You can’t let Henry get himself killed for you.”
Straight into arguing, then, Thomasin thought. A gentleman of Charlie’s pedigree ought to feign civility before starting trouble, at least in the beginning of the conversation.
“Do you think I want that? That I’m happy to have Henry risk his life?” Thomasin snapped. “Do you think I haven’t tried to reason with him?”
“You must try harder.”
“I must do nothing of the sort.” Thomasin agreed with his sentiment, but the way he spoke to her made her see red. “You try to reason with him! You’re his brother.”
“I have tried,” he growled, each word as sharp as a razor. “He’s determined to kill himself for you.”
Thomasin was ready to murder Charlie. It was a long time coming. “It’s not my fault that Henry fell in love with me,” she snapped. And that was true, wasn’t it? She hadn’t encouraged his affection, at least not at first. Had she? “I can’t control what he does. Go on hating me if you like, but it won’t change anything for anyone.”
“There’s another way.” Charlie swallowed his discomfort. “If you invite him to share your–”
Thomasin shook her head. “I’ve tried that,” she said, blushing all the way to her hairline. “He won’t. He’s too damn honorable for it.”
“Well you don’t need him to now if it’s already been done,” said Charlie.
“I don’t follow.”
Charlie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I know about that night at the pond, just before you were injured.”
She shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he knew; they hadn’t exactly been subtle. But Charlie assumed too much. 
Thomasin took a deep breath and ignored the feeling of blood rushing into her cheeks. “Henry and I didn’t . . .”
Charlie shut his eyes and tried to be delicate. “Madam, you were unclothed –”
“He didn’t bed me,” Thomasin said strongly. A moment later, she added, “Not quite.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just tell the king you are not virtuous; you’ll be released from your betrothal without getting my brother slaughtered.”
Thomasin exhaled through her nose. “I’ve considered this course of action,” she confessed. “But it seems unwise to lie to the king, especially for a Saxon. Besides, Lawrence might demand proof. They’ll know I’m lying if they examine me.”
Charlie believed his brother was too fine a man to take advantage of Thomasin, but he was a bit surprised that she was a virgin – or claimed to be, at least. She didn’t possess many virtues that he was aware of, and he hadn’t expected chastity to be one of them.
“It won’t come to that. Some of the men will attest to what they saw that night in the camp.”
Some of the men? Good Lord, how many of them had seen her and Henry together? The fact that any man had seen them meant the whole group knew what happened; gossip spread through camps like wildfire through a dry forest.
Good. Wonderful. Now she was a shrew and a whore.
Charlie was calmer now but his gaze stayed sharp. “My brother loves you. He says it and shows it all the time.”
Thomasin’s throat tightened. “I know.” There was never a doubt in her mind about it. She had the love of a good man. Not many women could say that.
“Yet I’ve never heard you say you love him. I’ve never seen you show it,” he continued. “I won’t let him die for a woman who doesn’t love him back.”
He was right.
She didn’t love him. She couldn’t.
It would betray the promise she made the night her father died never to forgive the invaders that stole her life away. That promise and the anger and pain beneath it were all Thomasin had left of her old self. She doubted she’d ever see any of her siblings again, or her home. That promise was her quiet rebellion against a change she could not fight.
She was allowed to feel tenderness for him, even affection, but she could not love him.
“You don’t know a damned thing about what I feel,” she snarled. She could hardly contain her fury; her whole body shook with the urge to lash out at Charlie and the difficulty of controlling it.
“Perhaps I don’t,” Charlie said. “But don’t allow a good man get killed for nothing.”
Thomasin’s throat was suddenly dry and tight and sore. “I won’t.”
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jj-lynn21 · 3 years
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Stellan interview
"Stellan Skarsgard Is Finally Seizing the Spotlight"
https://www.thedailybeast.com/stellan-skarsgard-is-finally-seizing-the-spotlight
With roles in “Dune,” the Star Wars series “Andor,” and “Hope,” the character actor par excellence has never been more popular. He talks to Marlow Stern about his stellar career.
Few if any actors have built a resume as impressive as that of Stellan Skarsgård.
After achieving teen-idol status in his native Sweden—even releasing a pop single—due to the TV series Bombi Bitt, Skarsgård transitioned to film acting. It was in the mid-’90s, with roles as a sadistic oil rig worker in Breaking the Waves, a fiery abolitionist in Amistad, and a haughty mathematician in Good Will Hunting, that the towering, stone-faced Swede would cross over into America, and establish himself as one of the finest character actors alive.
He’s since maintained a healthy diet of what he calls “experimental films,” including a total of six with Danish auteur Lars von Trier, and Hollywood studio fare, such as the Pirates of the Caribbean and Mamma Mia! films, the Thor and Avengers superhero extravaganzas, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and Cinderella. And right now, at the age of 69, Skarsgård is at his most prolific. There was his Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO’s Chernobyl, the upcoming villain in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, and a main role in the Disney+ Star Wars series Andor, which he’s filming right now in London. Oh, and he’s fathered eight children, including the actors Alexander, Gustaf, Bill, Sam, and Valter.
“There’s no competition, really,” the elder Skarsgård tells me of his talented brood. “There’s some joking competition at the dinner table, but I know they’re better than me, so I’ve given up.”
Skarsgård’s latest is the Norwegian drama Hope. Directed by Maria Sødahl, the wife of his frequent collaborator Hans Petter Moland, it is a heartrending autobiographical film about a long-married couple, Anja (Andrea Bræin Hovig) and her theater-director husband Tomas (Skarsgård), whose atrophying bond is put to the test when Anja develops terminal brain cancer. As they fight for Anja’s survival, the two reevaluate how their relationship went off-course, and why they fell in love in the first place. (The U.S. remake rights were quickly snapped up by Nicole Kidman and Amazon Studios.)
Anne Frank’s Stepsister: How Trump Reminds Me of HitlerNEVER AGAINMarlow Stern
In a wide-ranging conversation, Skarsgård opened up to The Daily Beast about his many great films, the controversy surrounding pal Lars von Trier, being a nudist, and much more.
How have you been passing the time during the pandemic?
In different ways. The first half of the year I was at our summer house on an island outside of Stockholm, and all my kids—who were also actors, most of them, and they weren’t working either—were all out there in two houses eating dinners together, having a good time, and seeing the spring inch-by-inch, everything grew, which you never get time to do otherwise. But this job I’m doing here now [in London], I was supposed to fly back and forth from Stockholm because I’m shooting this Star Wars series called Andor, and it would have been very convenient because it’s only a two-hour flight, but because of the quarantine I’ve been stuck here. For more than a month I’ve been alone in a hotel room staring into the wall.
Speaking of the Skarsgård household, I read a quote from your son Alexander who said that when he was a teenager, “Dad was always walking around [without clothes] with a glass of red wine in his hand.” Was that your vibe during the pandemic?
Not this time! Is it the wine that worries you? [Laughs]
Did the stress of the pandemic make you feel less… free?
No, I’m still taking off my clothes when I get home very often—and my kids also, some of them do. It’s not a big thing. We’re Swedes! And we have no God that says we can’t show our body parts.
What about it do you just find so liberating? I don’t go the full monty but when I go home, I do tend to take off my pants and let loose a little bit, because it is constricting.
If it’s warm enough you don’t need clothes, right? Unless you’re ashamed of your body—or taught to be ashamed of certain body parts. For me, it’s all upbringing. It’s cultural. Some cultures don’t care about what part of the body you show, and some cultures are very precious, and some cultures the women can’t show their faces.  
I’m curious what life was like in the Skarsgård household, because you’ve helped produce so many talented kids. Alexander described it as “bohemian,” similar to what you described during the pandemic, filled with dinner parties and a free-flowing atmosphere.
It’s always been a very open house, and the kids’ friends, it’s been easier to sometimes be in our house than their houses—especially during puberty, when conflicts arise—because we’re very relaxed and non-judgmental in our family. It’s really, truly pleasant. And my kids are more like pals to me. There’s no hierarchical relationship at all. It’s very nice. We just have fun!
It’s a very talented—and frankly, attractive—family. How did this happen?  
How did I make kids that look so good? [Laughs]
Is that something you’re particularly proud of?  
[Laughs] Well, the looks I don’t care so much about, but I’ve had two beautiful wives—and very smart wives—and that’s helped a lot. I’m not going to take much credit for anything. But what I’m proud of is, when I hear from other people in the business about Gustaf or Sam or Bill or Valter or Alexander, I hear that somebody worked with them and they were really nice on the set and totally cool with everybody, and how no matter what menial job anyone had on the set they were nice to them, then I’m proud. If they win awards it’s secondary to that, because that is a lottery anyway. Awards are sort of like reality shows.
They really are a popularity contest. Let’s talk about Hope. It could have very well been called Grief.
I thought it sounded bland to begin with, but in fact the film is about hope—and about love. It’s not a normal cancer film where it’s all about beating the cancer or fighting against it, but it’s about someone who gets a death sentence in a family situation with a lot of kids, like I have, and everything that was petrified in the relationship floats up again. It’s about how they rejuvenate their relationship, and through those horrible circumstances, find love again.
There’s one very powerful scene in the film that really encapsulates many elements and themes that it explores, and it’s the sex scene between you and your wife. It manages to capture the joy of reconnecting as well as the grief you’re experiencing.
I think it’s a great scene, because it starts beautifully—very gently—and it looks like it’s going to be really nice for both of them, and then her anxiety sets in, and things start to bad. And it does go bad pretty fast.
On another level, I’m an American and we don’t see sex very often in movies. And when we do, we don’t see it in the service of such complicated emotions.
With sex in film, it’s difficult, because sex is something that feels fantastic when you do it, and it looks ridiculous when you watch. Those humping movements like a dog? It’s not sexy at all! So, you can’t do a sex scene that looks like it feels, so they always have to be about something else. The sex scenes I had with Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves, it was about her curiosity, because she discovered her first penis, she discovered sexuality, and it was totally about the relationship. The sex was just there. And in this film, the scene is not really about sex but about something else. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sex scene that looks like it feels, and that can convey that beautiful thing that sex can be.
Really, in America, we get almost no sex scenes in movies. And it’s 2021.
It’s very strange. It’s not as bad as during the Hays Code, when you couldn’t let the lips meet for more than one second.
You just had a train going into a tunnel.
[Laughs] Yes, that very subtle image. But in America, you have a strong, strong tradition of bigotry or fear of sexuality. Only two years ago, in nine states in America, it was still illegal to have sex outside of marriage, and my American friends have told me that when they were growing up, it was even regulated how they could have sex—you couldn’t have oral sex or anal sex—so it is so ingrained in American culture that people’s sexuality is not a private thing, but something that everybody should interfere with.
Hope is also an exploration of mortality. Is that something you think about often? 
I’ve never been that interested in it. I’ve always been aware of it. It’s the only thing you know in life—you’re gonna fucking die. But already many years ago, I thought I’d had such a fantastic life that it would only be fair that I died, because I’ve already lived more than most people. So, I don’t feel any injustice in death. And I’m not afraid of death because I’m not religious, so I don’t have to worry about whether I’m going to end up in hell or heaven. But I have small children still, my youngest is 8, and I’m no spring chicken anymore, so I think about how I should stick around for at least another ten years until everything is set.
I read that you’d studied a bunch of religions in the wake of 9/11 and reached the conclusion that it was all sort of bunk.
I grew up with total freedom of religion—my parents weren’t religious, though my grandmother was very religious. It was taught to me without judgment, and it was a very tolerant upbringing I had. But I hadn’t read the Bible. And after 9/11, when I saw George W. Bush standing in front of TV cameras and claiming that God had put him there, I thought maybe it was time to read what they actually believed in. So, I read the Quran and I read the Bible. There are some fantastic stories—as fiction, it’s sometimes brilliant and sometimes boring—but the God in both the Quran and the Bible, there’s only one reason to really worship them, and that is fear. It’s a power that says, “If you don’t worship, you’re going to die—and not only die, but burn in eternity.” It’s a bit autocratic and dictatorial, I would say. It’s very hard for me to worship something under threat.
And if God put George W. Bush in the White House, then God has a very cruel sense of humor.
[Laughs] Yeah, he does. And the latest president said the same thing.
But he doesn’t believe in God. He only believes in himself.
Yeah. I think that if he had more appreciation from the liberals in America, he would have just as well gone populist-liberal.
I think so too. You know, I read that your Dogville co-star Nicole Kidman already picked up the remake rights to Hope for Amazon.
She’s picked up the remake rights, yeah.
Both you and your son Alexander have shared some pretty intense scenes with Nicole. There’s that dramatic scene in Big Little Lies where Nicole hits your son in the dick, and it almost seemed to me like payback for what you put her through in Dogville.
[Laughs] Yeah, I’ve done two films with her and Alexander just finished doing The Northman with her. But she’s lovely. I really like her. She’s so cool.
At least it was a prosthetic and not Alexander’s real thing.
Yeah… coward! [Laughs]
I gotta say, between Chernobyl, Hope, Dune, a Star Wars series, and even a Simpsons cameo as yourself, how does it feel to be at your most prolific at 69?
I’m just working! I’m doing my job and having fun doing it. I’ve been lucky and a lot of good projects have emerged. It goes up and down, you know, throughout life. And I don’t think I could have a better life than I’ve had. I don’t have any regrets. And I don’t have to be the star or be in something very successful, I just have to have fun.
Nice. Do you feel you’re underrated? I think you’re someone who’s so consistently great in everything that it can almost be taken for granted how great you are. I know you won a Golden Globe recently, and that was long overdue, even if it’s mostly bullshit.
I don’t know! I can tell you: it’s much better to be underrated than overrated. So, I’m very comfortable if I am underrated. But I’m a Swede with an accent—or most of the time I have an accent—and for being a Swede with an accent, I have been extremely successful internationally, so I can’t complain. When it comes to the big studio movies, and I’ve been in four or five gigantic franchises that have paid a lot of bills for me, their concerns are financial, and I’m not a ticket-seller. I’m a solid fucking actor, and I’d rather be an actor than a star.  
It gives you the mobility.
Exactly. The freedom I have. I can easily do small, experimental films and strange stuff—films that could ruin another actor’s career—so I’m in a good position.
I wanted to ask you about Breaking the Waves, because it’s the 25th anniversary this year and I consider it a masterful film. And it was Emily Watson’s first film, which is just extraordinary. How did you two establish such strong chemistry?
She’s British, which means she comes from a rather prudish society too, and to take on a role with an obscure Danish director—who wasn’t that famous at the time—and to take on a role with such explicit sex and nudity took enormous courage, but she was fantastic. My job was to love her, and that felt easy, but I think that she felt loved, and I think that she felt secure, which is essential for being able to do anything courageous. But she’s such a brilliant, talented, wonderful woman. I finally got to work with her again in Chernobyl. I mean, you just have to look at her and everything comes.
There’s this longstanding debate over whether Breaking the Waves is misogynistic or not, and I personally find it to be a misreading of the film. I’ve always thought of it as a biblical allegory of sorts about a desperate woman navigating a deeply sexist world.
Absolutely. Lars doesn’t have that in him. Those fantastic female roles that he has written, if you want to defend women in film, you’ve really got to take care of him because he writes the best roles for them. Those roles are very much him, and he definitely doesn’t have a negative attitude toward women. He loves them. There’s a plague of labeling people—not for what they’re really saying, but for what they appear to say. He was stamped as a misogynist and then he made a bad joke about Hitler at Cannes, and everyone stamped him as a Nazi, which is the furthest thing from what he is.  
Stellan Skarsgard and Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves
You stamp people as a “racist,” a “fascist,” a “communist,” I mean this fucking stamping is as smart as QAnon. It’s frightening. The fantastic thing about mankind is that we’re not one thing. We’re all capable of the most brutal and horrible crimes and we’re all capable of love. We do good things and we do bad things. There are nuances. The way of seeing people as “good” or “bad” guys is forcing something upon humanity that is really dangerous, because when you say someone is the “bad” guy then you’re saying you are the “good” guy, and it’s forcing you to not look at your own flaws.
I’m a huge fan of Lars’ films but I think one thing that’s really colored people’s opinion of him are the allegations that Bjork made against him on Dancer in the Dark. You didn’t have the biggest role in that film, but is it something you witnessed?
I’ve never seen him do anything like that. It’s not him. And if you talk to any of the other women who have worked with him over and over again, you will not get those kinds of accusations. But the Bjork and Lars conflict was enormous during the shoot, and it had very little to do with #MeToo. Lars, like all directors, in the end is a control freak, and Bjork has controlled everything in her career—from the music, to the costumes, to the way she sounds—and if two control freaks try to make a film, there will be conflicts. I got phone calls from Lars during the shoot where he was in tears. She left the set several times, and it had nothing to do with sexuality. She tore up her clothes. They had a very difficult relationship. But you’ve gotta pick your toxic males. You can’t put a “toxic male” label on everybody, otherwise it will be watered down, that label.
I’m so excited for Dune. What can you tell me about it? Denis Villeneuve said that your Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is different from the comics or the David Lynch film in that he’s not as much of a caricature but a calmer, more sinister presence.
The thing about it, and why I’m looking forward to this film as well, is because it’s Denis Villeneuve. Whatever he does, he creates an atmosphere that is dense, that you can touch, and you’re just sucked into it. You’re never bored—even if he does long, slow takes. The atmosphere builds up, and you’re in his universe. I think it will be the same with this one. He’s lovely to work with, and a beautiful man. I did eight or ten days on the movie, so my character doesn’t show up for too much, but his presence will be felt. He’s such a frightening presence where even if he doesn’t say anything, I think you’ll be afraid of him. And I’m extremely fat. I had eight hours in the makeup chair every day. And in some scenes, I look very tall because I levitate. You’re going to have a lot of fun with it.
The whole HBO Max day-and-date thing is weird, and I hope as many people as possible get to see the film on the big screen.  
Oh, definitely. I think they made a deal with AT&T—which owns Time Warner, which owns HBO, which owns my phone—that they cut a four-week deal where it’ll be just for the theaters, but I’m not sure. That could change.
I also feel culturally obligated to ask you about Andor, the upcoming Star Wars series you’re in. What’s that about, and who do you play in it?
As you know, they’ll shoot me if I say anything! I can’t even get a proper script. It’s printed on red paper so I can’t make any copies of it, it’s ridiculous! Of course I’ve seen all the Star Wars films, because I’ve had children in the ‘80s, and the ‘90s, and the 2000s, and the 2010s. I’ve had children in five decades, which means you’ve seen all the Star Wars films—and seen all the toys as well. But when I saw Rogue One, it had much more atmosphere and seemed a little more mature—and that was Tony Gilroy, who’s the showrunner on this one. So, hopefully this one will be a little more than little plastic people falling over.
Was a part of the motivation to do Andor to look really cool to your kids?
I do think like that sometimes! I’ll go and do a children’s movie for that reason. But also, I’m not the most mature person myself, so who doesn’t want to go and fly a spaceship?
Plus, now you can give your kids action figures of yourself and say, “Play with me.”
Fuck yeah. Go play with dad. Don’t disturb him! Go play with him! [Laughs]    
I’m not the most mature person myself, so who doesn’t want to go and fly a spaceship?
OK, this is kind of a silly question, but do you have a favorite movie death of yours? My favorite has to be in Deep Blue Sea, because in that one you get your arm ripped off by a shark, and then the shark uses your body as a battering ram to destroy this underwater facility.
I would say that is probably, in terms of inventiveness, my favorite one too. It was Renny Harlin. Yeah. I like it! Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend that much time on that stretcher—it was a doll. But it looked really cool! And the sharks weren’t CGI back then. It was mechanical sharks, and they were pretty dangerous. The little boy in me was very excited.
Another movie of yours that I love, for entirely different reasons than some of these other ones we’ve discussed, is Mamma Mia! Is it basically a vacation filming these? I imagine the cast parties are a lot of fun, because it seems like you all are having a ball.
Well, it is. I’m not a singer and I’m not a dancer so I was scared stiff, but the only way to make it work—because it’s not much of a story—is that we had fun doing it, because that joy is contagious to the audience. And we really had fun. It was very relaxed in Greece there on the beaches, and the parties we had there were very good too. It was a nice bunch of people to hang with.
When the cast of Mamma Mia! goes wild in Greece, who is the one that parties the hardest? Who’s the VIP?
It depends what you mean by partying! I usually get pretty drunk. Down there, Colin [Firth] and I were pretty good at it. And at those parties, we also had 50 dancers in their twenties, and they had much more stamina.
I have to ask: Will the gang get back together for a third one?
I don’t know! It took 10 years between number one and number two, so if it takes another ten years, I don’t know. Some of us may just be there in urns, with our ashes!
You released a pop single in the ‘60s, right?
Yes. When I was 16, I became extremely famous in Sweden. We had one TV channel back then and I did this TV series, and it was like being a rock star. But it meant also that all kinds of shady people thought they could make money off me. So, this guy calls me from Stockholm and says, “Stellan, can you sing?” And I said, “No.” And he said, “Well, try it!” And then I hear this guitar on the other end of the line, I go, “Ahh!” and then he goes, “Perfect! Come over to Stockholm.” I went to this very shady studio in the suburbs and we recorded it, and then the guy who was running the project said, “I listened to the tape now, and I think it’s better if I sing and you speak on the record.” So, I don’t sing on the record. But there were very cruel headlines in Sweden. One paper had a headline that read, “Stellan Skarsgård, who we loved on this TV series, we don’t like anymore.”
That’s so mean! In addition to Breaking the Waves, another film that really raised your profile in the United States was Good Will Hunting—which holds up remarkably well. Some of my favorite scenes in that film are the ones where you and Robin Williams are jousting. And I know he’s a wild card, so what was it like shooting those?
He really is a wild card because anything can come out of him, and he can say anything and do anything, and he has this urge to do it because he has these three parallel brains that are constantly working on finding something funny or interesting. Sometimes, even when we would do ten takes and everybody would be happy with them, he’d say, “I have to get something out of my body,” so we would do one extra for that. You didn’t know what you’d experience when the camera would start rolling—you just had to dance with it. And it was fantastic. He was such a lovely man and had no ego. He was just a volcano of creativity and ideas.
Do you ever think about your legacy? You not only have a bunch of talented children but also have amassed such a strong body of work.
The thing is with legacy: you won’t be able to enjoy it, so just forget it. No, I don’t. And it doesn’t matter. If you’re extremely successful, it takes a decade and you’re gone from people’s minds. You can only hope that your children remember you for a couple of years, at least!
Well, they’ll have the Star Wars toys, at least.
They’ll have the toys! That’s right. [Laughs]
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astriefer · 3 years
Text
To Real Friends, Till the Reel End | PART TWO
Summary: A lesbian and a gay trying to chill at a party. That's it. Really.
Word Count: 2503
Warnings: None
It's a collection friendship-themed one-shots/drabbles. The first part is somewhere but I can't find it so I'll add the link when I do :) I don't want to change the order, so have fun with the second part for now!
part one part three
“True friendship comes when the silence between two people is comfortable.” 
— David Tyson
"Again, hiding behind champagne glasses and a stoic mien?"
Alastair turned toward the source of the voice, finding no other than familiar brown eyes on him. "And I thought I'd be safe here."
"You are never safe from the power of friendship," Ariadne Bridgestock - or rather Kamala Joshi - said as she swooped into the chair next to him. The gesture was elegant, her silks moving with her in an impressive arch. Alastair had seated himself where he was at the beginning of the evening - with one of his nicer attires. Eugenia had implied he put effort because Thomas was attending. Alastair dismissed it and insisted it's due to the event. Which he had no idea what it was being held for.
"Or the power of a woman trying to escape suitors inviting her to dance," propounded Alastair, causing Kamala to laugh. "Have you found no new women to lay your eyes on?"
"Well, the selection is not particularly plentiful. Anna is there with her family, as always," Alastair didn't miss the bitter tone that hoard in Kamala's voice. But it was lighter each day. It was hard to miss fashionable and proud Anna in the crowd, surrounded by her family. Her brother and cousins were laughing and mingling around her, and she seemed oblivious to the attention the two young Shadowhunters paid her. Matthew Fairchild, who engaged in conversation with Anna, did notice. He shot them an obscure look, leaned in, and whispered into Anna's ear.
Kamala had a distant look in her eyes as if she remembered a past she could not reach again. Alastair promptly ignored the fact that they were the ones now being observed. "Well, I'm not a judge of women, but I'm not sure Miss Townsend would appreciate your remark," He attempted. It worked, and Kamala turned back to look at him. 
Kamala cleaned her throat and regarded her hands before raising her chin to meet his eyes. They were no longer far away. "Well, I daresay my taste is less bland than those English folks."
Swiftly enough, they were deep into conversation. Alastair was never a person of big crowds. He didn't need many people, just as they did not need him. But those who were held close to his heart always were different. It was easier to be himself - the way he hadn't been a very long time. When Alastair devoted all of himself to them and opened his heart, they did not stomp on it. They cradled it with care and appreciation and accepted all the broken parts across it. 
"How could you escape the horror that is girls gossiping about young bachelors this time?" Alastair asked. Every social occurrence he attended, a group of young ladies were crowded, waiting for the gentlemen to sweep them to dance and talk. He's seen some eyes on him, even though Alastair knew his reputation proceeded him whenever it comes to suitable marriage material. Not that he was interested in getting married. Or girls. Yet, sometimes he marveled at how desperate they seem to dance with someone.
"I wager on 10 Sterlings you wanted to be in my place, so you could hear all they blather about Thomas-" 
"What about Thomas?" Alastair inquired, far too quickly for it to be nonchalant.
Kamala eyed Alastair mischievously. "Well, isn't it delightful how lively you become at the mention of our handsome fella?"
Alastair groaned and pressed his lips. "I wouldn't," he spoke equitably as he held his chin up. "And Thomas isn't interested in any of them, so I don't see why to make myself sick with-"
"Jealousy?"
Alastair glared at her. "Socialization." 
"Oh, big aloof Alastair," She smiled at him cheekily. "Always so rational." She knew it's not true. Not when she had to stop Alastair from confronting Anna the day she told him about their relationship. He had held his dagger and proclaimed to want a 'face to face, adults dialogue.' Kamala had not bought it for a second. "When would come the day you-"
Kamala stopped abruptly and swore under her breath. If there were anyone near to hear her, she would have gotten scandalized stares. Yet, they were in a faraway corner of the ballroom, and the only person to detect her swarm of words was Alastair. He merely quirked an eyebrow.
"There," she huffed and patted her skirts in dismay. She tilted her head imperceptibly. "To your right."
Alastair examined the crowd. He saw two figures heading in their direction. He looked back at Kamala but could see them in the corner of his eyes. He prayed whatever ploy they have it wouldn't involve chatting with the two of them. He was having fun.
Kamala gave him a light kick under the table. Play nice, she mouthed at him. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"Mr. Carstairs, Ms. Bridestock," greeted Thoby in a sickly pleasant tone. The two men came to a halt right in front of Alastair and Kamala. And while her face was positively blank, he noted the strain in Kamala's shoulders by her adopted surname being used. 
Alastair had to remind himself glaring and rolling eyes at people is considered rude. He kept his features stiff and bowed his head in greeting. For a few seconds, none of them filled the awkward silence that settled in their little group. That, until Jarred Gladstone spoke up. 
"It's a fine evening, isn't it?" 
"Certainly," Kamala replied, and there was a frosty note in her tone. Hidden behind a sweet smile, the only reason Alastair detected it in the first place was due to how well he knew Kamala. "The Herondales do magic whenever it comes to how to throw a party."
They hummed in response and went to talk about the last enclave meeting. Alastair used all his willpower not to stare at them and ask why they neared them at the first place. He knew, of course. But it was fun to see them struggling to keep the conversation going.
How far would it last until they decide to cut to the reason for their approach? Alastair mused. Until then, he entertained himself with their countenances to his dry answeres.
It was shortly after, Jarred shook his hand impatiently. "How come both of you were yet to dance tonight?" 
Alastair raised his eyebrows at Kamala in what was meant to convey, is this what their best white men can do? However, he replied: "The right opportunity didn't strike us."
What he truly wanted to utter was, are you inviting me to dance? But he knew none of the partners of the conversation would appreciate it. It was an all too perilous territory to joke about.
A line appeared on Thoby's forehead. "What?"
Kamala flashed a wide, fake smile at him. "So many people on the dancefloor, you see."
The music shifted to a familiar one. Dancers cleared the way to new ones, Kamala caught the first opportunity before anyone else could speak up and said, "Oh! Alastair promised me this dance," just as Jarred fixed his jacket and asked, "Will you accompany me to a dance?"
Everyone stared at the other. Only the music playing accompanying the chatter around was heard. None of them uttered a sound.
"Ah." Jarred's face fell.
"We will be going," Thoby dived in to help his friend. Kamala rose up from her seat.
"Yes, you wouldn't want your fiancee waiting," Alastair murmured as he departed. It was nicer than saying, aren't you engaged, Mr. Baybrook? Why should you have your eyes on the unmarried single fellows? 
They stepped away together from the two men. When they were swooning around on the dance floor, Kamala commented. "You could've been nicer, Alastair."
"What's fun in being nice?" he spun her in her place effortlessly, every step in tune with the beat.
Kamala rolled her eyes and retorted, "You can benefit from not being broody and cold all times a day."
"You think I'm cold and broody?" asked Alastair with a hurt look on his face. The ounce of distinguishable teasing in his voice made it clear it was just a joke, so she went along.
"Me? of course not," she patted his arm. "You're just very, awfully bad at common manners."
"My manners are perfectly fine," sniffed Alastair. Kamala moved and stepped on Alastair's foot. He glanced at her in a jolt of surprise. Kamala was a good dancer. Which means it was intentional. 
"What was that for?" he inquired.
"Don't dispute what I say."
"Dear Lord. Your manners are just as bad as mine."
Kamala battled the smile that threatened to spread on her face. "You have no proof."
"My aching feet is enough of evidence."
"Don't be a fusspot!"
Alastair gaped at her. "I cannot believe you just called me a fusspot."
"I just voiced the truth," objected Kamala, failing to stifle her laugher. "And I am glad we agree, you need a re-learn about manners. I can be your teacher."
"Don't think yours are much better," he countered.
"Oh?"
"I see how it is," Alastair teased. "You chose me as an easy getaway from your bothering suitors."
Kamala averted his eyes. "Perhaps so."
"Rather cunning, I must say."
"If it comes from you it is a great fluttery."
They both chuckled. Alastair gave one last offense, "Using a person as a shield from an unwanted company doesn't sound very well-mannered, is it?"
"Oh, but you don't mind, do you?"
Perhaps she didn't expect his gaze to turn earnest, but Alastair couldn't help it. They talked low and quiet before, but now he whispered. "Of course not. Helping each other avoid undesired throng is included in our friendship terms."
Kamala observed his shift of tone, her soft smile touched with honesty. She leaned her face a little closer. "And I'm immensely grateful for that."
Alastair felt fuzzy inside. He was astonished when he felt tears prickling the concern of his eyes, so he backed away slightly. They both stopped at the end of the music. Dancing partners moved out as new ones stepped into the dancefloor. Kamala peeked around her and saw Anna has disappeared from the hall. Jarred Gladstone was glaring at them and quickly turned away when their eyes met.
"Another dance?" Alastair asked. His voice was slightly thick with emotion. Kamala just grinned and nodded as they adjusted to a new starting pose, not addressing the tears Alastair held back. 
For a little, they just danced in comfortable silence, only the music filling the air. Words seemed so useless sometimes. Because when you knew someone's soul, there was no need to say much. If you learned a map of their heart, you could navigate through it and be content in the knowledge your presence is enough. Upon time silence reigned and enveloped the both of them, words weren't needed to fill it. Kamala could recall a handful of times it was just the two of them. At Cornwall Gardens, with Risa to watch the two from afar. At patrols. At walks and visits they took to wherever their heart told them to go. They could recall the gestures of care and love that were evident in the silence they shared. 
Alastair was trapped in his own thoughts, it seemed. After a particular swift move, Alastair broke the quiet around them. "I never noticed how long this song is."
A pair of golden-brown eyes fixed on his face. She quirked an eyebrow at him. "That desperate to escape me, are you?"
Alastair rolled his eyes. "I find sitting in a dark corner with my book more pleasant than dancing with everyone's eyes on me."
"And that is where I come into the picture," Kamala laughed. "One of my tasks is to make sure you suffer at least the needed amount of social interaction during events."
Alastair huffed. "Where exactly did you bring it from?"
"Oh, that is included in our friendship deal as well."
The dark-eyed boy studied her for a few moments. "We should write a book," he advised. Kamala would have clapped her hands if she could.
"Lovely! Friendship Guide of 1904, written by your loyal, Stairstairs GrumpyFace and-"
"And a rising dresses-shredder."
"Rude," Kamala scrunched her nose, but her shoulders shook in the force of her contained laughter and betrayed her.
"I just voiced the truth. And I told you never to call me that." He complained. Kamala smirked at him in that way she sometimes did, full of carelessness and joy. While he would never admit it, his chest felt warm when she looked at him that way. She seemed happy, and Alastair reflected that happiness.
That was nice to have a friend like her, Alastair mused. Easy-going and kind as she was, with the hint of impishness in the tilt of her smile. Their sort of understanding felt different, more grounded one may say, than others. It had held something inside it that other companionships he had, how very little they were, dearth of. An additional thread between them. Similar marks, knowing eyes.  Their other friends could not see it. They never could. Kamala was the spirit of changing who burst down into Alastair's life and refused to leave ever since. Not that he complained. 
Their bond consisted of mutual understanding, the sort he craved desperately in the past. He had never imagined it'd come as naturally as it was to him. Calm as raindrops and warm as the burning wood crackling in a fireplace. At times it was as if Kamala knew what his thoughts were. And in return, he was given to know hers. When the silence surrounding Alastair filled with banter and laughter, his feelings bubbled at his chest from the force of his adoration held for this woman. Kamala Joshi was a new star lighted up in his almost starless sky.
The last note of the song played. "Let's head back to our seats. I have had enough of the humdrum English music and dance for one night."
Kamala couldn't help but agree. Then she added, "If I recall properly, calling you in silly names was explicitly stated in our friendship contract. Stairstaris."
"You are unbelievable," he cut in and made his way to the table he'd left before. Kamala followed him laughing.
She put into effect her most graceful smile. "We can spend the rest of the night creating funny names for each member of the enclave." They've played that game before when they were very bored. Alastair had tried hard not to laugh in an enclave meeting that occurred the day after. When he was spoken to, he almost snorted because of the silly nickname Kamala had glued to who called him.
"It would be nice," Alastair agreed and then looked outside the window of the ballroom. The stars were climbing in the black canvas of the sky. "But a nice walk in the garden would do just as well."
Kamala's smile widened.
----
Thank you for reading this far jsjs it's not my best writing but it's at least something after a few months with only drafts //0^0//
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swanlake1998 · 3 years
Link
Article: Oklahoma’s Gift to Ballet: The Five Moons Ballerinas
Date: August 19, 2021
By: Meryl Cates
A festival at the University of Oklahoma celebrates the impact of these ballerinas on 20th century ballet, honoring their Native American heritage.
At the first Oklahoma Indian Ballerina Festival, in 1957, its founder, Moscelyne Larkin, danced Myrtha in Act Two of “Giselle” and Maria Tallchief performed an excerpt from “Swan Lake.” It was a festival created to honor five Native American ballerinas, all hailing from Oklahoma. But it would take 10 years, and the premiere of a ballet, “The Four Moons,” for the festival to really celebrate the dancers’ heritages as well as their artistry.
As prima ballerinas in the 1940s through the 1960s in major companies, Yvonne Chouteau, Rosella Hightower, Larkin, and Maria and Marjorie Tallchief were transformative artists. This summer, the Five Moons Dance Festival, presented by the University of Oklahoma’s School of Dance, will celebrate their impact on 20th century ballet, honoring the significance of their Indigenous backgrounds.
“The Four Moons” ballet, with a score by the Cherokee-Quapaw composer Louis Ballard Sr., was danced in 1967 at the second Oklahoma Indian Ballerina Festival with four of the ballerinas. The fifth, Maria Tallchief, perhaps the most recognized in American ballet, had retired from dancing and remained firm in her decision not to perform. It was the first time, as professionals, they would represent their own stories as Native American women on the stage.
Without any known recordings of the performance, “The Four Moons” has been fragmented into a few hazy memories, with some clues left by reviewers. Larkin (Shawnee-Peoria), performed a swift and effervescent solo, and then Hightower (Choctaw) appeared in a self-choreographed, playful story. Next came Marjorie Tallchief (Osage), whose elegant variation shifted the atmosphere in the theater, enrapturing the audience. That led into a section by Chouteau (Shawnee-Cherokee) about the devastating Trail of Tears, with delicate yet determined bourrées pulling her heavy heart along, despite her gliding feet.
“I’m very glad we did it,” Marjorie Tallchief, 94, said recently, on the phone from her home in Delray Beach, Fla. “It was amazing, at that time, that they got us all together.”
On a program including works by George Balanchine and Bronislava Nijinska, “The Four Moons” was created to honor the histories of these tribes as they were forced from their land and settled in Oklahoma. The dancers themselves were meant to represent the destinies of the tribes; the original program featured them as four moons in a painting by the artist Jerome Tiger, who was Muscogee-Seminole. They would later become known as Oklahoma’s Five Moons ballerinas. (Marjorie is the only one still alive.)
Audiences loved “The Four Moons,” but some critics stumbled over its convergence of Native American themes and classical ballet, seemingly surprised by a traditional pas de quatre instead of a “corn dance or sun dance,” as The Saturday Review put it.
With so much discussion in the dance world about representation and diversity, the moment for a Five Moons festival seemed right to Michael Bearden, the director of the School of Dance, which was founded by Chouteau and her husband, Miguel Terekhov. Bearden also wanted to involve female choreographers, who are still rare in ballet, and Native communities (there are 39 federally-recognized tribal nations in Oklahoma) through conversations exploring aspects of the Five Moons ballerinas’ careers and lives as Native women.
The festival, which runs Aug. 27-29, will feature works by Stefanie Batten Bland, Annabelle Lopez Ochoa, Rena Butler and DaYoung Jung, as well as Osage Ballet’s “Wahzhazhe,” about the story of the Osage nation, produced by Randy Tinker Smith and choreographed by Jenna Smith.
Russ Tall Chief, who lives in Oklahoma and is related to Marjorie and Maria through his great-grandfather, is on the festival’s planning committee and will participate in one of the lectures.
“I think it’s important for us to remember that Maria and Marjorie and all five of the ballerinas came out of Oklahoma, from small rural reservation communities,” he said. “To have these women of color, representing not just American Indians, but America, on the ballet stage was profound.”
Excerpts from the ballet “Wahzhazhe” will include an opening prayer section, an important tradition of the tribe.
“To us, to Osages, there’s a direct silence about Native America,” Tinker Smith said. “Because every day we face challenges. We have to work harder, try harder and do better, just to have things that non-Indians have. And I think that the timing is perfect for this. To have this legacy of these five ballerinas in our past, that are part of us, really inspires the kids. You can dream and you can follow your dreams.”
In the 1940s, when Chouteau, Hightower, Larkin and the Tallchiefs were beginning their careers, they were proudly Oklahoman, though ballet as an art form was widely considered European.
The only season in which Hightower, Larkin and Marjorie Tallchief were together in Col. W. de Basil’s Original Ballet Russe, 1946-47, the program linked them together by their home state, and distinguished them among the company’s handful of Americans. (Larkin was billed as Moussia Larkina; like many others she had opted for a Russian-sounding stage name, which she soon shed again for Larkin.) Only Tallchief is identified further as “of Indian ancestry, part Osage.”
“It was part of me, it was my name,” Marjorie Tallchief said, acknowledging that being Osage was significant in her career. After a lengthy pause, she added: “Actually, my father made me promise that I would never change my name. I just suddenly remembered when I was leaving, he said, ‘You promise me you’ll never change your name?’ And I said, yes. So I never did.”
Marjorie and Maria grew up in Fairfax, Okla., and it was their mother who encouraged their early music and dance training. The Tallchiefs performed sister act dance routines, first locally — including at the Tall Chief Theater, built by their father Alex Tall Chief, which still stands today — and then in California, where their mother relocated them for better ballet instruction. It was in Beverly Hills that Maria made the adjustment from Tall Chief to Tallchief.
Maria joined the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo at 17, leaving several years later to join Ballet Society, the company that would become New York City Ballet, after becoming the wife of George Balanchine, its founding choreographer. There she ascended to star status.
Balanchine, who adored America, loved her Osage heritage, she wrote in her 1997 autobiography. But strained cultural characterizations prevailed in the 1944 version of his “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme,” which included a “Danse Indienne” pas de deux. In a performance crisply preserved on 16 millimeter film, Maria dances quick stylized parallel lifts of her knees wearing a billowy feathered headdress, pompoms and a sash. (Balanchine would later rework the ballet entirely, with no “Danse Indienne.”) Maria went on to important roles in ballets including “Firebird” and “The Four Temperaments,” and became a beacon of American dancing.
Marjorie followed her sister into professional ballet, joining Ballet Theater and then de Basil’s Original Ballet Russe and the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas in France. In 1956 she was invited to join the Paris Opera Ballet as the first American étoile, the highest rank in the company, commanding classical repertoire with her exhilarating control and lyrical stage presence.
Hightower also made her career largely in Europe, eventually becoming a leading ballerina with the Grand Ballet du Marquis de Cuevas. She was so beloved that when she returned to that company in 1957, after ending a touring contract with Ballet Theater, audiences applauded for 15 minutes during her entrance in “Piège de Lumière.”
These five distinguished Native American ballerinas came out of Oklahoma all within one decade. As students, they frequented some of the same studios and master classes, including in Kansas City and Los Angeles, but in fleeting phases, just as they sometimes performed in companies together during their careers. In several interviews, Chouteau credited her Shawnee-Cherokee heritage as her inspiration to dance. (As a child she toured Oklahoma, her family insisting on the authenticity of each of her dances.) Marjorie Tallchief noted the immense influence the Ballet Russe had on small towns as it made its way through the country.
Chouteau and Larkin would go on to perform alongside the dancers that they once admired from the audience. Chouteau was a leading ballerina with the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo, which she joined at 14; and Larkin made her career with companies including de Basil’s Ballet Russe and the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo.
As professionals the Five Moon dancers would each encounter challenges, not only because of the grind of constant traveling, but also because they needed to find their place in the culture of their companies not just as Oklahomans, but also as Native women. Being from the United States, they were perceived by the public and press as demonstrating an overall informality, and possessing an ease onstage. While internationally respected, Hightower was still referred to as a “little American girl” in a Dance Magazine feature. Chouteau recalled her fellow dancers encouraging her to pronounce her name in a more French way, instead of how she grew up saying it in her family. They were Americans in a time when ballet wasn’t exactly American yet.
In an early review written about Maria Tallchief, John Martin of The New York Times noted her Osage heritage and said that “with careful handling,” she might very well “develop into ballerina material.” A decade later, in 1954, she was featured on the cover of Newsweek, with the headline “The Ballet’s Tallchief: Native Dancer,” her Osage heritage used to signal a “new order in the ancient and honorable clan of ballerinas.”
A reframing had occurred, especially in the media — if ballet was now American, it proposed, then here were your truly American dancers. “We were a curiosity,” Chouteau said in an interview in The Oklahoman in 1982, when gathered for the state’s Diamond Jubilee.
Marjorie Tallchief said that in Europe, newspapers mentioned she was Osage, but she thought it was a different treatment than her sister might have experienced in the States.
“They didn’t have anything against me,” Marjorie Tallchief said. “Maybe, but not because of my heritage.”
“Back in the Paris Opera I was the only one who wasn’t French,” she said. “Obviously, they noticed this. It’s very hard to become a dancer at the Paris Opera. So anyone that comes from outside as a first dancer” — or étoile — “I would say there was a little pressure on me because of that.”
Despite every desire to define them, and describe them within ballet’s rigid terms, they established five distinct and powerful careers. “These are American Indian people that have made this impact on ballet,” Russ Tall Chief said. “And that they consider themselves American Indian before they consider themselves ballerinas, I think that’s important. That is part of their vocabulary as dancers. They bring that history of American Indian culture to their dance, and to their interpretation of the way that they see ballet.”
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melanielocke · 3 years
Text
A surprise baby - part 2
After spending the night with Augustus Pounceby and being humiliated when he proposes to someone else, Eugenia Lightwood finds herself pregnant outside of wedlock. She doesn’t want to lose her child, but doesn’t know how to keep her situation hidden anymore, nor does she have any intention of marrying Augustus, or any man at that. Instead, she’s fallen in love with Kamala Joshi.
CW: Pregnancy
AO3
Part 1
Taglist: @foxglove-airmid @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1
‘I hope you don’t like Charles too much,’ Kamala said. ‘As Alastair and I are having our weekly Charles Fairchild is an ass meeting and you’ve been invited to join.’
Eugenia would have considered Charles a friend once, but that was a long time ago. She’d thought once, that he was a more mature and sensible than his younger brother and had hoped he could talk some sense into the Merry Thieves. They certainly didn’t listen to her, and were the most reckless fools she’d ever encountered in her life.
But that was before Charles had abandoned Kamala in such a terrible way though. Who left their fiancée when they were sick? Kamala, it turned out, was glad to have dodged that bullet in the end. Eugenia guessed she felt the same way about Augustus now. She knew Kamala preferred women, and Eugenia began to suspect that she might not have a preference at all, and was in love with Kamala now.
It had been a few weeks since telling her parents and Thomas about her pregnancy. It had been decided Eugenia would have to travel for some time, but she wasn’t yet sure where and with who. With everything going on, Thomas preferred to stay in London with his friends.
‘Would it be possible to add Augustus Pounceby?’ Eugenia asked. ‘I mean, make it a weekly Charles Fairchild and Augustus Pounceby are both an ass meeting.’
‘Augustus Pounceby ís an ass,’ Alastair agreed. ‘He and I went to school together. He was the worst.’
Eugenia knew that at some point during his school years, Alastair had been awful as well. But since befriending him recently, he’d explained some of it and Eugenia could sympathize. The image of schoolboy Thomas trailing behind him was hilarious, especially now that she knew Thomas was deeply in love with Alastair. But it was also because Thomas had always noticed something was not right with Alastair, that he was hurting. Her little brother had always been awfully sensitive to other people’s moods, Eugenia couldn’t keep a thing from him. From Thomas’ stories, Alastair had grown and changed a lot since their school days, and Eugenia was glad for it because now she had two amazing friends she could hate on Augustus with.
She didn’t think anyone had ever treated Augustus badly, he simply believed he was better than everyone else and therefore deserved more. Even when Eugenia had been close to him, he’d always acted very entitled.
‘He is awful,’ Kamala agreed. ‘And racist. I agree we can hate on Augustus as well as Charles here. Who wants to share their feelings first?’
The afternoon was fun, and Eugenia felt welcomed into the group. Alastair and Kamala had been friends for a little longer, although that had taken a lot of effort on Kamala’s part. The problem was, a man and a woman spending time together was suspicious, and therefore there always had to be a third party present. At first that had been Grace, but she mostly seemed bored, and now her engagement with Charles was broken and Grace was gone… somewhere. Kamala was still looking into the whole thing as she had not given up on Grace, but Eugenia had no clue what had happened. Kamala and Alastair were glad to have Eugenia’s company, because even if the Bridgestocks did not approve of Alastair, at least they could be sure no one was ruining their daughter.
Alastair at some point decided to make fun of Charles’ posh accent, and Eugenia had to admit his imitation was on point.
‘I am thinking of traveling to India,’ Kamala said. ‘My parents… I know they love me, but they took me away from everything I know and pretend I was born here. I remember so little from India, I barely speak the language anymore. But I had a past there. And I’ve been trying to replicate the food my mom used to cook for me, but I never quite got it right.’
Eugenia had no idea what it was like, to be so disconnected from her culture and her homeland. Alastair knew a bit better. He still had his mother, but he hadn’t been in Persia for a long time and was estranged from his family. Eugenia suspected it was part of why Kamala and Alastair were so taken with each other, they both knew what it was like to live in England as someone who wasn’t white and who was disconnected from their homeland.
‘I’ll help you if you want to make another attempt at replicating your mother’s cooking,’ Alastair offered.
In the end when it was nearing dinner time, the three of them did go into the kitchen. Alastair apparently had learnt how to cook from their cook, Risa and mostly knew how to cook Persian food. Kamala knew a little about cooking, but mostly tried to go by smells she remembered from her childhood and vegetables she remembered had been in there.
Eugenia decided it was best for everyone involved if she sat back and watched. Tommy was the cook in the family. And her mother, of course, who had been a servant once. Eugenia, on the other hand, had been forbidden from entering the kitchen at home, and only helped with cutting up the vegetables here and there. Even she couldn’t mess that up, and if she ended up cutting herself, healing runes could be applied.
Bridget, the institute’s cook, was not too happy about them using the kitchen as a pastime, and released some very unsavory Irish curse words about the mess they were sure to make. Eugenia recognized the words, her mother was Irish too and she’d learnt the language, even if she had always struggled with learning languages. She responded in Irish, explaining what they were doing here as best as she could. For good measure she promised she would clean up.
‘I didn’t realize you spoke Irish,’ Kamala said.
‘I’m not great at languages, but I learnt Irish and Spanish from a young age,’ Eugenia said. ‘My mother is Irish and my father loves speaking Spanish at home. Tommy is better at languages though, he also speaks Welsh and Persian.’
Alastair stared at her, his eyes wide. ‘Thomas speaks Persian?’
‘He’s been studying Persian with Lucie,’ Eugenia said. ‘Lucie wanted to learn because she thought she should be able to speak her parabatai’s mother tongue. Thomas helped her because he’s so good with languages.’
Eugenia suspected his feelings for Alastair also played a role in his determination to learn the language. It was sweet, to learn someone’s language for them.
‘Charles never cared much about my language,’ Alastair said. ‘Nor what I said when I spoke it. I understand not everyone could learn, it’s not easy for an English speaker. But Thomas, he really speaks it?’
Eugenia imagined that had to be hurtful. She would love to learn Kamala’s language for her, even if she would never get any good at it. Still, it was the effort that counted, right? At least she hoped so.
‘He does read Persian poetry, so I imagine he grasps it. Don’t pin me down on it though, I don’t know how good he is. But he excels at languages and has been studying for several years now. He also helped James with learning for Cordelia. I was under the impression he speaks it quite well, doesn’t he?’
Alastair snorted. ‘I think he understand enough, but honestly his accent is embarrassing.’
Soon enough, the kitchen began to smell delicious. Kamala admitted what she’d made wasn’t quite what she remembered from home, but it was a better attempt than the last. Eugenia had had all sorts of cravings lately, not to mention a sensitivity to smells. She could barely stomach meat anymore, but she craved sweets at the most opportune moments.
Kamala and Alastair had made a vegetable dish with some rice and lots of spices, and the smell had to be the most amazing thing she’d smelt in a while. English food tended to be rather bland, favoring the flavor of meat and gravy which Eugenia currently couldn’t stomach. This was much better, and once they could eat, she made sure everything was finished even if Kamala and Alastair had cooked way too much for three.
‘Do they not feed you at home?’ Alastair asked when she finished her third plate. ‘Is it because Thomas eats everything? He must have gotten so ridiculously tall somehow.’
Eugenia snorted. Thomas was like a bottomless pit when it came to food, she suspected he was always hungry.
‘This is very good food,’ Eugenia said. ‘And I was very hungry.’ She contemplated what to say next for moment. Telling people about a pregnancy was a huge risk, but Alastair and Kamala were her friends. Apart from her parents and Thomas, they were the people she trusted more than anything. ‘I’m also eating for two people.’
Alright, at the moment she was eating for three people, but she blamed that on pregnancy cravings.
Alastair stared at her in confusion, Kamala in shock, her hand over her mouth.
‘You’re having a baby?’ Kamala whispered.
‘You can’t tell anyone,’ Eugenia said. ‘My parents and Tommy know, and now you, but beyond that no one can know. We’re still figuring out what to do. But as my closest friends, I thought you should know too. I don’t think I’d be able to hide it for much longer anyway.’
‘You could come to India with me,’ Kamala said. ‘I can hardly travel as a woman alone, and Alastair cannot leave his mother while she is about to give birth. We could return when you are about to give birth, make sure no one sees you until the baby is born, and the pretend we found the baby and don’t know whose it is except that they’re shadowhunters.’
Eugenia had to admit that plan was sound. She didn’t know anyone in India, no one who could spread the word she’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock. She could pretend she had a husband somewhere, but was traveling with her dear friend Kamala who wanted to reconnect with her home country.
‘Will your parents approve?’ Eugenia asked.
Kamala waved with her hand. ‘Oh, probably not. They do not approve of people calling me Kamala rather than Ariadne, or me spending time with Alastair, who they think is very improper company.’
Alastair shrugged. ‘They aren’t wrong.’
‘But I’m done seeking their approval,’ Kamala added. ‘I’m thinking of moving out. When I agreed to marry Charles, I had no one to fall back on, no support, only the very conditional love of my parents. But now that’s changed. Living as a woman alone would be unproper. But if you were to join me, dear Eugenia…. No one would question a thing.’
Would Kamala feel for her, as Eugenia did for her? She knew Kamala had recently broken things off with Anna, perhaps it was too soon. Eugenia loved her cousin, of course, but found it hard to accept that she treated her lovers as Augustus had treated Eugenia.
‘Would you help me care for the baby?’ Eugenia asked.
She knew reputation wise it was probably best to let someone adopt her child, but she didn’t want to. Eugenia did want to be a mother, and she didn’t want to wait around for another man who was only going to treat her badly.
‘Of course!’ Kamala exclaimed. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a mother, but after Charles I thought it wouldn’t happen. And I’ve had plenty of practice with little Alexander, I know how to take care of a child. And of course, Alastair will have plenty of experience soon enough.’
‘I’ll help you wherever I can,’ Alastair said. ‘And after several months of shopping for baby things with Cordelia, I know the best stores. Do you have any ideas for baby names?’
Eugenia had to admit she hadn’t thought about that yet. ‘If it’s a girl, her middle name will be Barbara,’ she said. ‘Beyond that, I have no clue. But we have at least four more months to figure it out.’
Alastair looked amused. ‘That is sweet. I am sorry about your sister.’
‘She would have loved the baby, I’m sure of it,’ Eugenia said.
‘Cordelia and I have been arguing about baby names ever since she found out mâmân was expecting.’
‘What did you come up with?’ Eugenia asked.
‘Rostam if it’s a boy. Shadi if it’s a girl. We both agreed the baby should have a Persian name, and with Father gone he won’t be able to object.’
‘Those are both lovely names,’ Kamala said.
‘I’m sorry about your father,’ Eugenia added. She didn’t think she’d offered him condolences yet. The funeral was days away now.
‘Don’t be,’ Alastair said. ‘He was… not a good father.’
She remembered Elias’ outburst at Cordelia’s wedding, how Alastair and James had dragged him off. Uncle Will and uncle Gabriel had attempted to distract people, but how much did that do, when everyone still left Sona and Alastair with him? She regretted not befriending Alastair sooner. She hadn’t known him all that well, honestly, not until he’d come to the sanctuary that day when Thomas had been arrested and she found out he’d been keeping her brother safe in secret.
‘Would you like to come take tea with me this week?’ Eugenia asked. ‘Both of you.’
Alastair hesitated. ‘With your parents? And your brother?’
Eugenia waved her hand impatiently. ‘Oh they’ll adore you. And they already know about those rumors, they’re not upset about stupid things you did when you were fifteen.’
Alastair didn’t say anything, and Eugenia wondered if he believed her. ‘I’m serious. My parents are very kind and forgiving. And they’re grateful you kept Tommy safe.’
‘I’m not sure it would be good for me to be around Thomas,’ Alastair said.
‘Because you still have feelings for him?’ Kamala asked.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Alastair said. ‘It is my curse, apparently, to always want what I can’t have.’
Eugenia rolled her eyes. ‘Always so dramatic, Alastair. Just ask my brother to go out for dinner with you. Tommy is old enough to choose for himself what he wants.’
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biminie · 2 years
Text
IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR! GMMTV DROPPED THE TRAILERS! and this 2022 we have many many show to see but this time around I didn't fall in love with them yet. However I'm going to put my two cents in again.
Three gentlebros: okay so stellar cast. Luke Tay and Gun are so talented that I think it will go well even if the plot is generic and doesn't interests me very much.
UMG: I love that Nanon is getting all the love he deserves. This looks interesting but aliens are not really my thing. Also I might like namtam and nanon more than I do with the alien girl who returned. So I might binge watch when it's finished if everyone says it's good.
Star and Sky: so GMMTV said we should plagiarize ourselves and put half of every generic uni BL with half of 1000 stars plot together. It doesn't work for me and it's probably the BL I'm the least interested to. Didn't expect this to be from P New.
Home school: gives me the gifted vibes but with a bit more horror elements. I think I will check it out and hope that the gifted comparison won't make it seem bland to me. Gun is in this but again I am getting too many similar vibes from the gifted.
Cupid's last wish: I love the three mains and I'm looking forward to this a lot!!! I know people are tired from the body swapping plots but I enjoy them. Also I like that from the trailer you wouldn't understand who Earth character is really in love with between the brother and the sister. Cannot wait to watch it and find out!!! Also White is in it! Can't wait!!
Oops! Mr suspestar hit on me: yikes. Age difference doesn't look good for me.
My dear Donovan: this is generic and targeted towards straight women, I won't watch it. Luke looks hella good but it's not enough for me.
The warp effect: I'm gonna say I was surprised that the first het show I got interested in was a Newwie one, but I really enjoy the whole virgin get teleported in the future and his now a knowledgeable gynecologist plot. It looks hella fun and it seems to have some feminists themes in it as well. The main actress caught my eye and I really enjoyed her way of portraying her character as well so!!! Note me excited for this one! The guy who did Way in the shipper is back as well and it's a gay role which is a plus for me. Many known faces in this as well both for the girls and the boys. As soon I saw this I was like this looks like a P Jojo show and IT WAS!
The eclipse: LOVE LOVE LOVE. Khaotung and First are an unexpected couple but I love when gmmtv pairs actors who didn't work together before and I loved their previous works so I am really excited to see their chemistry. The plot is interesting and I love time traveling a lot. I do not understand the rivalry at the start but I really loved the second part of the trailer. I love that Khaotung is the flirty one as he always did kind of shy characters. Secondary couple is the same from FUTS and I enjoyed them in FUTS more than the main couple. But this is a lot of actors I love who did comedy before and the plot here is not comedy so count me in to see how they perform with a much bleaker plot.
Good old days: I like the shop plot. I don't understand why gmmtv is putting out shows with age difference like this this year as I don't enjoy seeing this endorsed on my screen. Which is a shame because I love the main actress. If I watch I watch for Tay, Namtam and Joss only. But I don't think I will.
Never let me go: okay so I didn't expect phuwin to come back this soon after FUTS. It's no secret I didn't enjoy FUTS and didn't even finish it but I think it was more of a plot and directing thing I didn't like. So I'm glad we're having a new phuwin series. The theme is much more mature and it's like a crossover between wyel plot and 3wbf plot so I am for sure checking this out! Also another P Jojo show, so happy he's getting so much love this year!!!
10 years ticket: this is as confusing as it is interesting!! Time skip messing everything up between two families who were really close to each other before. Ohm is gonna eat this role that looks so compelling and complex! I wanted to see a grey character portrayed by him. I like that we have a older cast too and interesting storylines for them as well. Off is in this as well and I'm just SO SO EXCITED for this. Probably one of the shows I look most forward to.
You fight, I love: boring and bland but I love Love and Joss, so I might binge watch when it's finished if I don't have anything else to watch.
MIDNIGHT SERIES: WOOOOOOO this was unexpected but I am the most excited for this!!! P Jojo and P Aof collaborating? I AM UTTERLY SPEECHLESS. I feel sorry that I don't know the other director but his part of the series looked interesting too so cannot wait to learn about his directing style as well. Let's start from the first, Midnight Motel: loved the plot and it's sex workers positive! Mond plays an evil character and I think he portrayed that well. I adore Off in any kind of comedic role (loved him with mild) and I'm sure I will love him with Jan who I also think is perfect for her role as she can handle both comedy and serious plots. Moonlight chicken: EARTHMIX are really popular this year! As they deserve!! I love the mature vibes and I get a lot of people don't like cheating plotlines but I don't mind. Khaotung back again and also a character using sign language is in this which is so good for representation! Dirty laundry OMFG this is gonna be SO FUNNY! don't know the main actress but she sold the trailer! Nanon in a comedy series cannot wait! And P JENNIE I LOVE YOU! P GOLDJI AS WELL. THIS CAST IS JUST CHEF KISS! This is gonna be ridiculous and I'm gonna love every part of it! (Ps the laundry theme reminded me of YYY lol)
Viceversa: again I love time/world traveling plots! I think they kind of spoiled the ending with the last few seconds of the trailer but I'm here for the ride! I love the idea of one wanting to get back and the other who doesn't. So happy for Jimmy who got his main role so early after BB!
P.S. I hate you: murder secrets and affairs and a group of very sneaky girls navigating through it. Another het drama I might enjoy just for the sheer chaos is gonna bring to its characters! Cannot wait to unveil all the secrets! The girl cast is STELLAR again and they all landed the trailer so well!
My school president: I'm not really excited for this one. It reminds me of lovesick which I adore but lovesick was a 2013 show and I don't know if this concept can land in 2022.
Devil sister: I was so bored by this trailer. Not my thing.
You are my favorite: LOL I don't think any of us was gonna even imagine this trailer would drop. I kind of think Krist is trying to clean his image or he just need to pay his bills and I'm not for sure the only one thinking this. I'm just sad because the plot is up my alley and I love Aye and Mike. Idk how I feel about this one.
Astrophile: this is kind of generic and I don't think I will check it out. The ugly wig on bright head was the real star of the trailer ahah
So Midnight series, The Eclipse, 10 year ticket and The warp effect are the shows I'm anticipating the most for 2022!
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